#i went too hard at thursday now it Hurts

[explodinglotion]

my poor vocal cords

[jamminvroomvroom]

as sick as it sounds, i loved you first. 2

LN x fem!leclerc reader

PART 2 OF 2 -> read part 1 linked HERE!

here we go again guys, you know the drill! follows directly on from part 1 because of the silly word count :(

warnings: warnings: 18+!! minors GO AWAY! smut, angst, fluff, kinda enemies to lovers? kinda? r is charles sister oop, miscommunication, both of them are down bad for eachother but they are also extremely dumb! breeding kink, size kink, pain kink (if u squint), unprotected p in v (don’t be silly!)

part 2: 6.1k words

8. i have you.

“you never told me why.” lando blurts.

the sun is setting outside, the pair of you sprawled out over your hotel bed. he’d been in your room for a few hours, tangled with you between the linen sheets. it’s thursday in brazil, and he’d made a beeline for your hotel room after media day wrapped up. he couldn’t explain the anxiety he felt, pooling thickly in the pit of his belly, but it subsided as soon as he saw your pretty face, peeking through the crack in your door.

he’d stayed after, a habit that had been developing of late, when you were both at home in monaco, but it was unusual on a race weekend. you’d pulled out your laptop to do some work, and chucked the remote at him, telling him to put something on netflix. he’d just smiled and obliged, more than willing to stay with you.

“told you ‘why’ what?” you look up from your laptop, confused.

“why you haven’t really been with anyone else.” his voice is small, scared he’s overstepping but he figures he’s seen you naked one too many times to get shy.

“oh.”

you stare off into the dim light of the room for a second, collecting your thoughts, reliving it all.

“you don’t need to tell me, sorry if that was weird-“

“no, uh, it’s fine. it’s a bit tragic really, embarrassing.” you start. “there was a guy, a couple of years ago. he was on my course at uni. he was perfect, flowers on my doorstep once a week, romantic dinners overlooking the harbour.” you reminisce, smiling sadly. “we went on a few dates and he was selling it all perfectly, it was like he was telling me everything i wanted to hear. i trusted him, so i slept with him. it was my first time.” your breath hitches. “next thing i know, he’s telling everyone that will listen that he’s best friends with charles leclerc and that he’s fucked an f1 drivers sister. and, you know, monaco is small. charles and arthur beat the shit out of him.” you laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, which are now glossed over with fresh, stinging tears.

lando slides closer to you, tentatively wrapping an arm over your shoulder.

“it’s always been hard, you know? people trying to get close to me so that they could get close to charles. all my life, it’s been the same shit. i just wanted someone to want me for me, just once.”

you’re crying now, and lando wants to die for causing it.

“hey, ‘m so sorry, honey. i shouldn’t have asked.” he shushes you, pulling you close. he kisses the top of your head gently, and you snuggle further into him.

“no, it’s okay. wanted you to know. that’s why i like this. us.” it comes out just above a whisper.

“that’s why i like us too.” he murmurs. you look up at him, scanning his face.

“what’s your story? charles said something to me once about a bad breakup.” you ask softly. lando sighs.

“she wanted the lifestyle more than she wanted me.” he shrugs.

“i’m sorry.”

“don’t be. i’m better off.” i have you, he wants to add.

“i like the fact that we can’t hurt eachother that way.” you breathe, voicing the sentiment that you’ve both shared since the very first time you were together.

“i like it too, honey. more than you know.”

-

9. ache.

a weight lifts off of him in vegas.

brazil had been a shit show, one that he wanted to forget. one that left him awake for two days avoiding your calls, until you snapped him out of it by showing up at his place anyway, and giving him the best head of his fucking life. he’d slept like a damn baby after that.

he had a week off, after, which he spent in your bed more than his own, and then he was promptly off to nevada, awaiting your arrival a few days later and fixated on clawing something back after brazil, even if it was just pride.

well, that fixation didn’t amount to much, but at least you were there, somewhere, watching and waiting. charles is a wreck, though, storming away from parc ferme, which means you’ll be with him, instead of with lando. he feels selfish at the way it stings.

he’s exhausted when he leaves the track, dead on his feet in the elevator up to his room. he can’t bring himself to join max or george and celebrate. he’ll make it up to both of them another time. his phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, recognising your contact. he doesn’t even fight the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

packed something special for you. you gonna come find out what?

he’s in love with you. has been for a while.

the attention you pay to him for himl, the way you tease him and laugh with him and let him lose himself in unravelling you. your quick wit, mesmerising eyes, the way you switch languages when he scrambles your brain and you can’t think hard enough to keep speaking english. he’s a goner, and he knows it.

he doesn’t bother replying, just makes a beeline for your room. he’s spent enough time in it already this weekend to make it there without much thought. you’d even left him a keycard, which he retrieves with nimble fingers from his wallet, letting himself into your suite.

he calls your name, rounding the corner and he could die right there, just at the sight of you.

you’re lamplit, knelt on the middle of your bed, wrapped in nothing but intricate, baby pink lace.

“my god.” he pants, jaw dropped. you’re ethereal, gorgeous, a delicate gift wrapped up just for him to open.

“do you like it?” your eyes are wide, daunted.

“what the fuck did i do to deserve you?” he stalks to the end of the bed, shrugging off his jacket, his hoodie, until he’s left in a white vest and team joggers. he kneels down at the foot of the bed, ready to crawl over you. “i love it.”

you flush, grinning sweetly as he crawls over you, pushing you back into the mattress.

“you did this all for me?” lando asks, stroking over a lacy bra strap.

“thought you deserved it.” you purr, but your facade slips for just a minute. “is this okay? never done this before.” you glance up at him with round, doe eyes that make him swallow hard, melting further into you.

“‘s perfect.” he promises. “you’re so perfect.”

lando kisses you softly, his warm skin pressing into yours. you moan quietly into his mouth, holding him close. he thumbs over the lace adorning your bust, stroking it. you squirm every time he brushes your skin.

“wanna be on top. wanna try it.” you pant into his mouth, watching closely as he groans, eyes fluttering as he imagines the sight.

“only if you keep this on.” he bargains, flipping the pair of you over.

you sit up on his lap, smoothing your hands over his chest as his find your hips. he steadies you, playing with the band of your panties, tracing over the pattern.

“can’t believe you did this all for me.” lando coos, taking the opportunity to take it all in, you, flustered and breathtaking, straddling him. dressed up all for him, all his.

“you deserve it.”

“do you think you’re ready for me? lemme see.” his hand skates between your thighs, pressing the pads of his fingers against the crotch of your underwear. he applies pressure against the wet patch that he feels, licking his lips. “were you thinking about me when you were getting all dressed up? thinking about how i’d touch you?”

“yeah,” you nod frantically, grinding down on his fingers. “wanted you all day but i wanted to be good for you.” you pout. you’re gonna kill him, he thinks.

“always good for me.” he applies more pressure, toying with your clit through the lace, the sensation making you quiver, bucking your hips.

“just want you inside of me, lando. i’m ready.” you plead, palming over his sweats. your hand travels further, finding his between your legs. you tug your underwear to the side, and he feels just how wet you are for him.

“you sure, baby?”

there he goes again. baby. your tummy twists.

“yeah, lan, i want it to hurt a little.” you sound so sweet for him and it shreds the rest of his self restraint.

lando sits up just enough to rip off his vest, taps your thigh so that you lift up for a second, long enough for him to shrug off his sweats. when he’s bare, he paws at your hips, helping you to adjust. your fingers wrap around his length and he jolts, mouth falling open as you swipe the head of him through your slit. you sink down, taking just the tip, but it feels like the first time all over again, the angle creating delicious pressure that burns through your pelvis. your eyes squeeze shut and he swirls his fingers over your sides.

“take it easy for me, love.” lando urges, looking up at you with concern.

“i like it. promise.” you choke out, eyes rolling back at the pleasure, the burn.

you continue to slide down on him, sinking further and further until you’re flush against his pelvis. you roll your hips experimentally, your clit brushing against the thatch of hair at his base and you squirm, sensitive.

“want me to help?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“wanna do this for you.” you pant, rocking your hips against his.

the angle is brutal, so intoxicatingly good, and you can already feel yourself leaking all over him. you build up a rhythm, slow and steady, watching the ripple of his abs everytime you sink back down on him, the way his curls fan over his forehead, the veins in his arms bulging as he grips at your waist tighter and tighter.

“you look so pretty, baby, taking me like this.” lando sighs, helping you pick up the pace. you cry out, leaning backwards, fingers gripping his firm thighs.

“it’s so good, you feel so good.” you whine, arching your back.

he’s entranced by the way your breasts bounce, fighting against the skimpy bra and he sinks his teeth into his plush bottom lip, eyeing you hungrily. one hand leaves your waist and travels to the cups of your bra, tugging so harshly that you hear the threads break. he frees your tits, watching in delight as they fall out of the lace confines.

“you’re so sexy, honey, look so beautiful. you’re all mine, aren’t you? this is all for me, right?” lando’s eyes roll back in his head when he feels the way you clamp down around him at his words. he’s gonna fill you up, he thinks, mark you as his from the inside out.

“yeah, lan, all yours.” you slur, fighting the urge to cum. “‘m all yours.”

he can see that you’re tiring, the ache setting in, so he pulls you forward, until you’re chest to chest, wrapped up his his thick arms.

“i’ve got you, baby.” he swears, holding you close as he rolls his hips, fucking up into you.

it’s all too much like this, the constant pressure on your clit, the head of his cock tapping against your cervix, the thrumming of his heart, the cold sweat of his chest peaking your nipples. you let out a strangled cry of his name, and you see white, your nerve endings overstimulated and fried. all you can hear is his voice, pulling your through it and out the other side.

“did so good for me, baby, such a good girl. took it all so well, love.”

you’re limp on top of him, a dead weight curled around him like a life force. there’s nothing that could make him move you, and wouldn’t let you go unless you asked. you lay there in silence, your mixed release leaking out of you. your heart rate steadies, about as much as it can with him around, and you feel yourself blinking away sleep, exhausted. lando notices, of course he does.

“let’s clean up.” he suggests, sitting up carefully with you on his lap.

“carry me?” you request sleepily, a lazy smile painting your face.

“as you wish.” he jokes, bowing his head.

your legs wrap around his waist as he shuffles off of the bed, and he walks to the bathroom, setting you down on the marble sink top. he leans into the shower, adjusting the temperature and turning the water on. he lets it heat up and turns back to you. no words are exchanged as he peels your ruined panties off, as he unhooks your bra and drops its all onto the counter. he tugs you off of the side, guiding your under the stream of water, the warmth making you relax into him. he’s more than happy to prop you up.

“my legs ache.” you giggle, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

“was it worth it?”

“definitely.”

“good.”

he cleans you, massaging soap into your skin, and washing it off. you stay close while he does the same for himself, passing him different products as you clean up together. it’s quiet, nothing needs to be said, and you wonder if this is what life with him would be like. domestic and easy.

“stay.” you let yourself ask, croaking the request out into the silence. you’re both drying off, and he’s gathering he’s clothes.

“i thought you’d want me to go.” he looks like a deer in headlights. cute.*

“stay.” your repeat, and this time it sounds like a plea. he slides his boxers on.

“okay.”

he’s like a furnace under the covers and you can’t help but curl into his side, legs wrapping around eachothers. there’s no going back from this, you fear. he’s thinking the same thing. you kiss his chest as you fall asleep, just a quick press of your lips to his pec, but it makes him hot all over. if the lights were still on, you’d see him blushing. he returns the favour with careful peck to your hairline. you both nuzzle impossibly closer.

“has it ever been like that for you?” you whisper into the darkness. you hear the change in his breathing.

the question is loaded; have you ever felt like this before? was that just sex to you? what are we? what is this? do you want me how i want you?

“never.” it’s barely a whisper

you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

-

when you wake up, he stirs, bronzed arms tightening around you.

“go back to sleep.” he grumbles, pulling your back to his chest.

“i need to catch my flight.” you reply, turning around to face him.

you’re stunned when you see him smushed into the pillow, lips pouty, eye lashes fluttering to clear away sleep. he looks so pretty in the morning light, and you wish you’d asked him to stay the night sooner.

“just fly with me.” lando mutters. you freeze.

“lan, you know i can’t do that. what would that look like?”

“who cares?” he half shrugs behind you, and you wriggle away, sit up in bed.

“uh, me? i care, lando. i can’t be seen flying around with some other driver, do you know how much that would complicate things?”

“some other driver.” he huffs. that gets his attention, and he sits up. “what so we can sneak around, and you’ll let me fuck you, but being on an airplane together is crossing the line?” he grunts sarcastically. you narrow your eyes at him.

“don’t say it like that.” you scold.

“how should i say it, then? i thought maybe this meant something more to you.” he’s standing from the bed now, hurt thick in his voice, and you panic, reaching out for him, but he’s finding his clothes.

“it does! it does mean something to me but… lando, i can’t put charles in that position. i can’t put myself in that position.” you reason weakly, standing and rapidly moving towards him. you pull him to face you, holding onto his shoulders. “don’t go, please.” you whisper, cupping his cheek.

he stares down at you, dejected, a wounded animal, and pushes your hands off of him.

“i, uh. i care about you. a lot. too much, i think. i can’t go through this again, and you can’t hurt your brother. so…” he breathes shakily.

“so?” you plead, shaking your head. “don’t do this, we can…”

“i’m not gonna be ‘some other driver’, honey. ‘m sorry.”

“lando-“

“its okay. this was good while it lasted, and i know you’re gonna find what you’re looking for, without all of the, uh,” he gestures around blindly. “the complications.”

“don’t go.” you whisper, catching his hand. tears pool in the corners of your eyes, distorting him.

“go catch your flight.” he smiles sadly, finally dressed, and then he’s gone.

you stand frozen, taking stock of whatever the fuck just happened.

i care about you.

good while it lasted.

you’re gonna find what you’re looking for.

complications.

you choke out a sob, stumble backwards onto the foot of your bed when it hits you.

you’d already found what you were looking for, and now, he was gone.

-

you’re supposed to go straight to qatar with charles, but you beg him to get you a flight home instead.

he can hear that you’ve been crying, and tells you that he’ll kill anyone that you need him to. you promise it’s fine, through even more tears, tell him that you’ll fill him in when he’s got a minute to breathe.

the ticket lands in your inbox and you flee. you spend the twelve hour flight watching love actually, crying into a glass of wine, and wondering if you should get gracie abrams’ lyrics tattooed on your forehead.

i love you, i’m sorry would be quite fitting right about now.

when you land, you don’t even go home, making a beeline for alex and charles’ apartment instead. when alex lets you in, confused to see your face, leo does laps around your feet. you drop your bags and fall into her arms, sob until your throat is raw and your eyes are bloodshot.

“i fucked up.” you wail, breathing hard.

“lando?” she asks, tentative. she has a knowing look, and your eyes nearly fall out of your head.

“what? how did you-“

“well let’s just say that we saw the DM he sent you, and arthur was actually sat opposite me when you said you were with him.” she admits. you gasp.

“does charles… does he…?”

“oh, sweetie, charles knows nothing. although he did ask me what shoe size you wear after coming to your place a few weeks back. he said something about a pair of birkenstocks that looked huge compared to your other shoes, and i told him that was just the style.” she snorts, and you slap your hand over your forehead.

“oh, jesus.” you whine, hiding your face in your hands.

“wanna tell me what happened?”

“i don’t even know, he asked me to fly with him and then i said it would complicate things, that i couldn’t been seen with, quote on quote, ‘some other driver.’” you sigh.

“some other driver? oh, girl.”

“yep.”

“were you guys dating…? or?”

“no! lately things had been a bit more,” you pause, gathering your thoughts. “intimate? i don’t know. i definitely have feelings for him.”

alex looks at you sympathetically, strokes your knee soothingly.

“have you told him that?”

“no, i didn’t know how and now he’s done with me.” you wince, a fresh wave of tears pricking your eyes.

“maybe not, sweetie, maybe you if you told him how you felt, he’d understand. is charles what you’re worried about?”

“charles, the fans, all of it.” you whimper.

“the fans can be, well, intense, but take it from me, if lando’s worth it, none of that matters. is he worth it?”

you pause, weighing it all up. the way he’d been with you, so gentle and caring, considerate and interested in you. he’d made you feel safe and satisfied, and everytime you caught him looking at you, you felt that first initial spark all over again. you could laugh with him, push and tease and not just be charles leclerc’s little sister. you look forward to seeing him, feeling him, speaking to him. all of this together feels heavy, but you want to bear it.

“he is.” you whisper, looking at alex nervously. “oh, god, what do i do?”

“i think there’s a paddock pass with your name on it that you should make use of.” she tells you, wrapping you in a tight hug. “and if charles has a problem, tell him he has to go through me.”

-

10. pizza and pasta.

max fewtrell sips his coffee in the hotel lobby, waiting for keegan to join him. it’s hot in qatar, dry and bright, ornate.

his phone buzzes.

message request from: yourusername

HI SORRY ARE YOU IN QATAR????

he probably looks like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his skull.

another message comes through.

this sounds insane and i’m sorry that this is like, the first time we’ve ever spoken, but i need a huge favour. like a really really huge favour.

max scratches the back of his head, pulling a face at his phone. baffled wouldn’t even begin to cover how he feels.

he picks up his phone, and opens the messages.

-

lando over exerts himself keeping away from you. the sprint race had been a breeze compared to staying away, out of your reach. it hurts like hell, but it’s a necessary evil for both your sakes.

he wants to sleep, do nothing else but collapse onto his mattress, phone silenced and curtains drawn as tightly shut as they can go. he unlocks the door to his hotel room. the light flashes green, and he relaxes, finally. until, he doesn’t.

there’s a faint sound coming from down the short corridor that separates his front door from his sleeping area. it’s not max, he’s just left him outside his own hotel room, and it’s not keegan, either, for the same reason. he wonders if he has another stalker, braces himself and picks up the first thing he can find. a shoe. useless, he thinks.

lando creeps down the corridor, poised and ready, jumps out of his skin when you round the corner before he can get there. you yelp, bracing yourself against the wall.

“what the fuck, i thought you were a murderer!” lando huffs, throwing his head back.

somehow, the sight of you is worse than any murderer could ever be.

“putain! god, i’m so sorry! so sorry!” you squeak.

“how did you get in here?”

“funny story,” you tilt your head to the side, trying to look harmless. “max let me in.”

“verstappen?” lando asks, face twisting with confusion.

“no, idiot. fewtrell.” you reply, duh-like. “i can go, i know this is crazy and weird and a total violation, but i had to talk to you.” your voice softens and lando seems to finally relax. he’ll kill max later.

“this is batshit, actually, but i respect the grind.” lando shrugs. “what do you want?” he sounds harsher than intended, closed off, but you suppose you deserve it.

“i’m sorry about what happened last weekend.” you inhale shakily. “i… i care about you a lot, too, and i have done for a while but i was too scared to say it. i realised as soon as you left that i never ever wanna hurt you like that. never want you to feel like i don’t lo- care about you… like that.” you catch yourself, not ready to say certain words. he gets the gist.

“i don’t wanna be some hookup anymore. it was fine at first, when i thought that’s all i could have from you, but i know that it’s not. i want you.” lando states, his words poignant. “whatever pace you need, whatever you want from me, i wanna give it to you.”

the space between you dissipates.

“i saw you, you know, watching me from your garage all those months ago, like you were trying place me.” your voice is barely above a whisper. “admittedly, i kinda wanted to punch you for ruining that dress, but i also, really really secretly thought you were cute.”

“well, if we’re being honest, i really wanted to fuck you the first time i saw you.” he jokes crudely, and you slap his chest. “in my defence, i was blackout drunk.”

“asshole.” you mutter. you’re so close now that his nose bumps yours.

“i think you like it.” he whispers.

“yeah, i really do.”

your lips meet his urgently, homecoming. it’s been too long since you’ve had him in your hands, touched him and felt him breathe against you. the kiss is passionate, frantic, and you know you’re in love with him. you’re certain.

-

an hour later, you’re tucked into bed with him, a movie that you’re not paying attention to playing idly on the tv. pizza crusts lay on a plate, the leftovers of your impromptu dinner date.

you’ve covered your degree, how he got into racing, what you do for work, who you’re friends are, family dynamics.

you learn that his favourite colour actually is yellow, and he learns that you’re favourite drink is red wine. he prefers pizza, you prefer pasta. you like flat whites, and he doesn’t like coffee at all.

“after abu dhabi, i’ll take you on a real date. i promise.” he sounds excited as he says it, and you melt into his side.

“oh yeah?” you ask, looking up at him, your cheeks smushed against his shoulder. he tucks your hair behind your ear, thumb stroking your cheek tenderly. he just hums in response, gazing down at you.

“gonna talk to your brothers as well.” he murmurs, dipping down to peck your lips.

“not just yet.” you whisper. he furrows his eyebrows.

“why?” he doesn’t sound upset, maybe a little deflated.

“i wanna enjoy this a bit longer, at least go on a real date before, you know, they kill you.” you keep your tone serious, holding it together well. he bursts out laughing, squeezing you closer.

“and here i was worried that you were ashamed of me.” he’s grinning toothily, boyish and pure, and you kiss him again, deeper.

“never.” you coo.

-

11. daylight.

abu dhabi is a distant memory by the time you get back to monaco. you were happy for your brother and your boyfriend.

yeah, that’s what you get to call him now.

your first date had been effortless and yet so intricately perfect, lando planning it down to the last detail. flowers delivered to you the morning of, picking you up at the door, telling you just how beautiful you looked. your table had been waiting for you, candlelit, dressed immaculately. a bottle of red wine served as the centrepiece, your favourite kind. swoon.

he orders pizza, you order pasta. halfway through, you switch plates.

you wake up the next morning in his arms, content and satiated, still bare from the night before. your phone is buzzing, stirring your both out of your deep sleep. you ignore it.

“c’mere.” he begs, breath fanning out across your neck and you wriggle backwards, further into his arms. your naked skin moulds with his, and you can feel him, ready and waiting against the curve of your ass. he’s still half asleep, and so are you, but you spread your legs just enough for him to swipe himself through your folds and slip right in.

you groan at the stretch, he shushes you soothingly, clinging to your frame. everything is so warm and heightened.

“so ready for me.” he whispers, kissing over your shoulder, hips making the most minimal, languid thrusts that make you dizzy.

“want you like this every morning.” you purr, hiking your top leg up even further. he’s basically on top of you now, his body half covering yours.

lando drags your hips back to meet his, breathing heavily against the back of your neck.

“anytime you want me ‘m here. ‘m yours.” lando mutters, eyes rolling back in his head when you clench around him. lewd sounds are exchanged between your lazy bodies, so worked up, two powder kegs desperate to explode.

it happens in waves, powerful orgasms washing over your bodies like the sunlight through the curtains. it’s bright and warm and leaves you buzzing underneath him, electrified.

“good morning.” you smirk, rolling over to face him.

he’s already sunk back down into the mattress, a satisfied grin on his face, eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheeks where his eyes have fallen shut. he looks angelic, and if it wasn’t for his devious ways, you’d hail him a saint.

“very good morning, baby.” lando pants, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“you look so pretty.” you breathe, raking your nails through his hair. he groans, shivers of pleasure radiating through his scalp and down his back.

“not as pretty as you.” he surges forward, pinning you to the bed, the pair of you a hazy mess of limbs and laughter, so wrapped up in eachother. he’s peppering you with kisses, all over you face and your chest, further and further down your body.

round two is about to commence, and you’re more than excited, ready to welcome him back between your thighs, when you both here a loud, repetitive thud coming from faraway. lando pulls back, trying to pinpoint the sound.

“is that the door?” he says to himself. “sorry, baby. need to get that.” he frowns apologetically. you sigh, waving your hand in understanding, watching as he grabs a robe.

-

charles nearly chokes on air and fury when he gets the all caps message from arthur, followed by one from lorenzo, then his publicist.

arthur: HAVE YOU SEEN TWITTER? i don’t know if i should laugh or cry

enzo: be nice to her, don’t be a little bitch

publicist: Charles, we will need to address this news immediately and conclude whether the photos are out of context or not. Meeting scheduled on the shared calendar.

first question: what fucking photos? did someone catch him picking his nose in public?

second question: who does he need to be nice too?

third question: can he not go five fucking minutes without some impending media crisis?

he opens twitter and doesn’t need to look hard, because there on his screen is a picture taken the night before of his precious baby sister, and there is lando fucking norris with his tongue down her throat.

alex asks him where he’s going, watching him storm out keys in hand. he doesn’t respond with anything but a growl and a mutter of your name. alex’s eyes go wide, reached for her phone.

to: your number

girl he knows! idk how but he KNOWS!

for once in your life PICK UP THE PHONE

JESUS OKAY i just saw twitter…

OKAY im tracking charles location rn and looks like he’s near lando’s?

MISS LECLERC PLEASE! HELLO?????

it was nice knowing you babe.

-

you pick up your phone as lando leaves the room, scrolling absentmindedly through your notifications. your interest peaks, however, when you see about a million texts from alex, and even more missed call. in fact, you have literally thousands of notifications, and your blood runs cold.

you’d been so careful last night, surely it hadn’t leaked. your blood runs cold when you open your text chain with alex. the aggressive knocking on the door suddenly makes harrowing sense and you spring from the mattress just in time to hear the front door click.

“is she here?” you hear charles bellow, voice laced thickly with anger.

“uh… who?” lando tries, he really does, but he’s not a good liar. you wince, grabbing anything to cover your dignity: lando’s sweats and a t-shirt. you scramble out of the bedroom, sliding down the corridor from the sheer speed you’re moving at.

“fucking hell.” charles sighs, wincing at the sight of you. “of all the people on the planet, you pick my rival? you pick him?” charles barks at you. you close your eyes, focusing on your breathing as your chest constricts. “i told you. i specifically told you not to mess around with him, and c’mon, i don’t ask you for much.” charles throws his hands out in frustration.

“charles, listen to me,” you keep your voice calm and steady. “we’re not messing around, we… we’re together.” you confirm, watching his jaw tick.

“together? with him? do you know how many girls probably think they’re in a relationship with him? half of the portuguese modelling industry is linked to him.” charles laughs incredulously, disgusted. your eyes narrow, watching lando crumble into a million pieces in your peripheral.

“don’t you dare ruin this for me! and how can you come into his house and speak to him that way? my god, charles, you don’t get it, do you? i can never be happy with anyone because of you! everyone, everyone, uses me to get to you and, god, i finally found someone who cares about me and couldn’t give less of a shit about who you are and you don’t approve? shall i stay single and lonely and in your shadow forever? should i go for some greasy hedge fund legacy who wants to fuck any leclerc he can get his hands on? huh? i’m sorry if you don’t approve, truly, i am, but you will not have a say in this.”

charles stays silent, as does lando, the only sound in the hallway being your heavy breathing, a symptom of your monologue. you feel the ghost of lando’s touch on your waist, soothing you from your outburst, and you lean into his touch, looking up at him. his eyes are reassuring, the only source of comfort.

charles watches intently, the silent communication between you both, and it knocks him for six. ultimately, he wants you to be happy, but it begs the question: can lando make you happy? the way you truly deserve? he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, lets out a muttered string of expletives.

“will you look after her?” he stares daggers at lando, watches the way the brit straightens up.

“i will.” lando nods firmly, eyes sincere.

“and you won’t hurt her? you won’t fuck her around?” charles looks like he’s desperately pleading, but his voice is commanding, no margin for error.

“i promise.”

“and you’ll make her happy?”

“i’d do anything for her.”

your head snaps towards lando, the tears you’d been holding back finally breaking the dam. charles watches closely, steps backwards towards the door. there isn’t space for him here right now.

“okay. i- okay.” you watch the way charles backs down, and he finally meets your eyes again. “ma chére, je suis désolé.” he tells you solemnly. you nod, lips in a thin, hard line. you can feel lando nudge you forward.

“come here, loser.” you groan, opening your arms for your brother. charles meets you half way, squeezes you tight. he gently kisses your forehead and turns to leave, not before shooting lando a look that says ‘i’m watching you.’

you turn back to your newfound boyfriend, tears still falling, but you pay them no mind.

“well done, baby.” he affirms, thumbing away your tears.

“i love you, lando.” you whisper, threading your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. “thank you.” his eyes glaze over, total adoration swirling in the pools of green.

“so glad you said that because i absolutely love you too.” he laughs, hauling you in for a kiss. it’s a mess of tears and laughter and a weird sense of serenity.

“you might wanna call your publicist. pictures of last night leaked.” you mumble against his lips.

“at least we don’t have to sneak around anymore.” he shrugs. “i’ll call later. got things to do.” he picks you up effortlessly, throwing you over his shoulder. you squeal, and he teasingly slaps your ass.

you catch sight of the apartment as he walks you through it, and you think about the first time you saw it, under the cover of darkness, covert and clandestine.

you much prefer it in the light of day.

you prefer lando in the light of day, too.

yourusername and landonorris just posted on instagram:

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-

thank god that’s over lmfao - thank you for reading!!

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[bunny-jpeg]

hi hi could i possibly get an extra spicy s’more with a milkshake on the side for John Price 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

bakery menu

want to order something, take a look at the menu! always accepting orders! as for this, i am liking what you're thinkin'! the accent kink & the size kink, while that's something else! thank you for ordering and i hope you enjoy!!

s'mores ("The accent gets to you, doesn't it?") + milkshakes (size kink) served by capt. john price (call of duty)!!

cw: smut/pwp, age gap (20s/40s), size kink, voice/accent kink, mating press, fingering, romantic

price was a lucky man, how could he not be? he had the most perfect wife in the world! you lived most of your life outside of the uk, only moving in your adulthood for work. while you bounced between jobs, you got quite comfortable working in the hustle and bustle of the cash of a bakery near your flat.

that was how you met price.

now years later, you two lived together. it was perfect little arrangement you two had. while the time apart was hard, price always came home to you. and you were happy.

sometimes you two would go out, other times stay in. when you went out, he always had an arm around you. you found him often checking around as you walked, at first you thought it was to take in the sights around you. but in reality he was checking, even if there was no danger lurking. the man had primed himself to check all angles, especially since his love was beside him. can't risk getting you hurt.

you enjoyed going one of the galleries in the city, price was more transfixed on you than the art. he seemed to follow you like a comforting shadow, he was always a few steps behind. covering your back from any danger.

it was quite the domestic little life you had. a sweet, comforting familiarity that you both craved. you were each other's home.

regardless, you forgot how big price was sometimes. he was well over six foot-two inches, he had to look down at you when he spoke to you. it was hard to slip past him in your small kitchen and if he wanted to he could pick you up and carry you around. even if you whined and said you were too heavy he'd laugh and say, "no such thing, love."

price took up a lot of room, he was just so strong. he was burly in a way that made your mouth water. he could easily lift the recliner he often fell asleep in, but there was a layer of fat to it. not to mention the hair, sometimes when you had his nose in his unruly pubic hair, you only got more wet.

those strong arms wrapped around you, his nose in your hair as he rubbed his clothed erection against you. when he was home, he was constantly around you. he just loved the feeling of you against him, the weight in his lap (or on his face). he was a loving man who made sure his girl had everything she needed. you'd never go without.

that was why he had you on your back while he rested on his side. and his fingers dragged in and out of your sweet pussy. it was a normal thursday night and you had come back from work smelling like burnt caramel from a mess up while helping in the back of the bakery. the scent was painfully sweet and it made your boyfriend only linger around you more.

he fingered you with slow drags, his voice was in your ear. he watched you get more excited the longer he spoke to you. he said, "oh such a good girl. tryin' so hard to keep it together. you really know how to get me goin' huh? pretty little thing, nice tight cunt all for my takin'. the accent gets to you, doesn't it?" he knew that he was riling you up.

you whined, "i hate that it had such an impact on me." you held onto his wrist as he played with your pussy, "it's no fair!"

"ah, don't be so sour, love. you know you say certain things that get me all worked up. when you call me your big bear or.. other names." he winked as he grazed your clit with his fingers.

you blushed, "oh c'mon, honey!" you squirmed a little and felt the pleasure lap at your gut.

price just thought you were so cute all flustered, it only egged him on to pleasure you more. he said in your ear, like a low rumble, "you're so precious." he slowly took his fingers out and got between your legs. he knelt between them and grabbed you by the hips.

you yelped a little as you were pulled a bit down the bed. you swallowed at the sight of price's cock. he really was big all over. even when he was soft, it still was something to swallow at.

that somehow fit in you quite often. price licked his lips as he got your legs wrapped around your waist. he groaned deeply when he pressed the tip up against your slit "this is it. this is heaven." he pushed in slowly.

you held onto the covers under you and felt him insert his cock snugly into your aching pussy. it was a good kind of feeling to have him so intimately close.

he hissed before he got a better grip on you. soon you were resting on your upper back with your knees up to your ears. he said, "there, up we go." his voice was tinged with lust as he got you into a proper mating press.

your love for price was strong, even though he made you feel smaller at times. he didn't make you feel small. less than. it was quite the opposite, he thought of you as his equal. his other half. the perfect woman he always dreamed about.

his thrusts were short, but they weren't painful. he wasn't trying to hurt you. he held your hips as he continued to move against you. he kept you pinned under him. he drank in the sight of you as his hips met your ass.

"pretty girl." he purred, "nothing could compete with you." his voice was low, but filled with a certain affection that was reserved for you.

"john, please."

"you can't make me stop. i'm very much in love with you and will be until the day i die. so you better accept it, love. i'm not goin' anywhere." he leaned over your further to kiss the tip of your nose as the tip of his cock buried against the back of your pussy.

you knew you could never convince price to stop loving. that was like asking him to stop breathing. it came naturally to him, it was an all encompassing force.

he continued to move, glad he had you pinned. the pleasure built up in his gut as he moved up against you. he wanted to kiss you once more, but he didn't want to crush you under his bulky weight.

he gave you sweet praises the made you core throb. his thrusts picked up a bit of speed, and you felt yourself get a bit more squished under the weight of your lover.

your whimpered and whined, you felt the pleasure in your bones as he moved against you. to feel your bulky, hairy lover on top of you was a feeling that made your body sing.

"i love ya." he purred.

"i love you too, so much john." you whined.

he promised to himself that he'd always protect you and love you. you were his heartbeat. and he'd worship you as long as he could. his pace started to stagger and you felt your own pleasure come to a head.

"mm, john." you whined.

"i got ya, love. always will." he promised.

you soon climaxed and squirmed a little as you did. it only made price sink further into you. you could feel his cock in your stomach as you clawed at the covers under your back.

price still held your hips up as he battered your pussy. you felt so good, a heat that made lust course through his body. "beautiful girl." he gave a few more heavy thrusts before he finished inside of you. spilling inside with ease as he felt the dull throb in the back of his head. he continued to thrust a few more times before he stopped and put your hips down onto the bed.

he looked down at you, those sparkling blue eyes made something curl in your stomach. you reached for him and pulled him in for a searing kiss. his heavy body on top of you felt good, even his chest hair against your chest made your heart flutter.

soon you were lying together in bed with his strong arm slung over your hip as he admired your naked beauty. it was the kind of beauty that people made paintings of.

he purred in your ear, "you're so perfect for me. my perfect girl."

"only you could make me feel perfect." you responded.

he pulled you in as tight as he could and kissed the top of your head. his perfect woman, the light of his life <3

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

Draco had got barely halfway across the Entrance Hall when it happened. He felt the Trip Jinx round his ankles before he saw his assailants, and he went sprawling hard onto the cold stone floor, the wind knocked out of him, his wand spinning away to clatter out of sight and well out of reach. He lay on his front, coughing and gasping with ugly laughter ringing in his ears.

"Nasty tumble, there Malfoy," jeered someone behind him. "You want to mind where you're going, or you could hurt yourself."

Draco pushed up onto his hands and knees, still trying to get his breath. There was no way he could reach his wand before they jinxed him again; he hadn't even seen where it landed. He never was any good at muggle duelling. He got one leg under him, bracing himself to be knocked flat again, and heard a shout from above him.

"Protego!"

The jinx bounced off the Shield, and Draco got to his feet under its protection. Harry Potter was striding down the marble staircase toward them looking like a thunderstorm. Halfway along he stooped and picked up Draco's wand. He hardly glanced at Draco as he passed him and marched up to the little knot of seventh years picking themselves up from where they'd been hit by the rebounding jinx.

"Think it's funny to knock people down, do you, McLaggen?" snarled Potter, glaring up at the biggest of the lot.

"Oh don't get your wand in a knot, Potter. It's only Malfoy," said McLaggen in the sort of tone you might use to say 'It's only a slug.' "No love lost there, eh?"

"It doesn't matter who it is! We're not doing things like that anymore," Potter said furiously. "We just got done with a fucking war, and you want to keep fighting? You lot want to keep it going just for fun? Well, I don't, and I better not see you do that again! Now clear off! Twenty points from Gryffindor!"

"You can't--"

"Too fucking right I can! Now get back to your common room!" And, perhaps because Potter was Head Boy, perhaps because he looked like he could spit nails, or perhaps simply because he was Harry Potter, they did clear off. Potter watched them go, then turned to Draco. He still looked quite angry, but he was clearly trying to gather himself, "You okay?"

Draco had grazed his palms rather badly from throwing his hands out when he landed; his left wrist and forefinger were throbbing mightily, and his chest still ached, but he shrugged, "Fine."

Potter grabbed his sleeve and pulled Draco toward him to inspect his injuries, "Liar. You should go to the hospital wing and get that sorted out."

"I'll live," said Draco, but he didn't withdraw.

Potter frowned at him, chewed his lip. "I heal it for you if you'd rather," he offered after a moment.

"If nothing else will please you."

Potter pointed his wand at Draco's bleeding hands, "Episkey." The scrapes vanished, and Draco felt the spell heal his sprained wrist and finger as well. Potter pressed something into Draco's hands. Draco's wand. Draco had already forgotten he'd picked it up.

______

Excerpt from my new fic Queen of the Weeds! Drarry, Rated E, 60K. This is a coming of age story about figuring out who you're going to be and what you're going to do after your life very publicly falls apart. Draco and Harry become friends and more after they both return to Hogwarts for their 8th year after the war.

This fic is not a WIP, it is complete. I will be posting new chapters on Sundays and Thursdays until the whole thing is up.

Also gratitude to Allie @oflights from whom I got the poem that I took the title from.

Edit: This fic is now completely posted! You can read all 10 chapters now now now! I hope you enjoy reading it, because it was such a genuine pleasure to write, and I'm really going to miss working on it! Get the whole story here on AO3!

[reidrum]

good night moon | s.r

A/N: hi again ! this one is deeply self indulgent i fear but who cares i hope you like it as much as i do <3 ps let me know what kinda fics i should write next !!

cw: spencer reid x bau!reader, cm type violence, reader is afab but this only is referred to when mentioning reader is a daughter, sad thoughts, hurt/comfort, talks about nightmares, spencer just wants to take care you gdm it why won’t you let him

wc: 2.4k

_______________________________________________

trudging up the stairs of the bullpen, you tried your best to use whatever sense you had left to beeline to the kitchen to make another cup of coffee. thank god the bau had minimal reflective surfaces because you’re sure you look like the evil old lady from snow white. that was just, your opinion of course. to everyone else you looked fine.

fine was so subjective. what did these fuckers know about being fine? they weren’t the ones on the mission. they don’t know what you saw, how you did nothing, how you couldn’t do anything.

“FBI hands up!” you yell holding your gun and flashlight at the unsub. he’s holding the victim at knifepoint, a twelve year old girl who reminded you too much of yourself.

this unsub’s MO was kidnapping eldest daughters of families that had sons as well, because he believed the son should be the eldest child with the most responsibility and that the daughters were only there to create more babies. the team had deduced that he was the youngest child to an older sister who he felt had too much control over him, combined with his fascination with the perfect nuclear family, it slowly turned him into a sociopathic killer.

“come any closer and i’ll slit her throat!” the unsub bellowed, getting dangerously close to her carotid artery.

“you don’t wanna do that, man,” derek says behind you, “just put the knife down and we can talk.”

“there’s nothing left to talk anymore! i’m already going to prison. there’s no point.”

you called out the unsub’s name, “i know how you’re feeling, i have a younger brother too and he feels the same way you do sometimes. what your sister did to you was not okay, but not all sisters are like that. we just want to care for our family. let them have the chance to be the big sister you wished for.”

the unsub seemed to contemplate your words for a minute, then looks up at you with eyes devoid of any light, “then this one is dedicated to you, agent.” and he drags the knife across her neck leaving waterfalls of blood coming out.

you’re not really sure what happened next. a gun went off, presumably derek’s, to kill the unsub. and then it was you screaming as you rushed to the young girl to try and stop her bleeding, but it was no use. the cut was deep enough to nick that damn carotid and all you could do was hold her in her last moments.

“te- tell my family i love them, and that i’m sorry.” the young girl spurts out so softly you almost didn’t hear it.

“no sweet girl, don’t be sorry,” you say through hiccuped cries, “i’m sorry i couldn’t save you.”

the last thing you remember was feeling strong hands carrying you out of the building. you couldn’t hear much, the sound of your wails pretty much masked anything in a five mile radius. you could taste the iron lingering in your mouth from biting your lip too hard and desperately collecting the salty tears and sweat trickling down your face. at first you smelled smoke and dust, most likely from being in the cave where the unsub was. but as you were being dragged away from the crime scene you were influxxed with a musky scent, and a hint of vanilla with that fresh laundry smell. spencer. the last thing you see are his worried little brown eyes staring down at you before everything goes dark.

that was monday. it is now thursday. the case had wrapped up, the unsub was dead the families were notified and now you all were in the office doing your paperwork for the case.

and all of you were doing fine, right? everyone else had already coped and processed the case, already stepping back into their normal life routines. but you, you couldn’t have it that easy, but god you wish you did.

since that day, you’d been holing up in your apartment with all the lights turned on. you sat in your living room, eating a bowl of fruit loops and watching bluey, because listen it’s a great show and we should acknowledge it. you cry out loud seeing bluey care for her little sister bingo, and it brings you back to that dusty cave and the bloodied hands.

you could feel sleep creeping up on you, yet you subconsciously found a way to push bedtime by doing menial tasks like cleaning, extra long skincare, watching a movie. when you ran out of things to do, you entered your room and just stared at your bed. how were you supposed to admit to yourself that the horror isn’t in the movie you just watched where the creepy demons kill everyone, but it’s what is waiting for you behind closed eyelids.

so the only logical solution was to just, not sleep. you whipped out every trick in the book to stay awake for as long as you could— energy drinks, coffee, splashing cold water, anything so you wouldn’t have to reface your plagued memories.

spencer observed you from a distance. he watched as you got coffee a whopping three times before 10am, you picking at your skin, not to mention the bags growing under your eyes. it was then he formed a hypothesis, he was a scientist after all. that you simply were not sleeping because of the case. it was much less a hypothesis and more of a fact because he knew exactly what it was upon first sight of you, hell he invented the sleep avoidance look.

and as the inventor it meant he knew the feeling more intimately than he would like to admit. spencer knew what it felt like to be debilitated by the confines of your brain, holding onto shreds of memories you know are not worth remembering but have somehow marked their territory anyway. and everyone coped differently, for spencer he isolated himself for days and then threw himself into work. for you? well, that was the next part of spencer’s experiment.

spencer approaches you in the kitchen as you’re pouring your fourth cup before noon, “hi.”

“hi.”

“how are you? feels like we haven’t talked in a bit.”

“i’m good, sorry i’ve just been. busy.”

spencer frowned internally, he knew you weren’t doing a single thing but working at the office. “are you okay? do you want to talk about last week?”

you cut him off abruptly and start walking out, “i really have to finish these reports spence, talk to you later.”

spencer knew better, he should give you space to cope by yourself. you were an adult, you can take care of yourself. but you shouldn’t have to, he thinks. spencer still tells himself he knows better as he’s waiting on your doorstep that night, about to the rapp the door.

after a minute of no answer he knocks again this time calling your name through the door, “will you let me in please? i want to show you something.”

still nothing. he continues, “i know what you’re feeling, and i want to help, please.”

he almost gives up and turns around when he hears the turn of a lock and slight creek of the door opening to see you in all your beautiful glory.

now you, you were definitely a sight for sore eyes. avengers pj shorts with a baggy uni t shirt, hair flying in any direction, and a look that spencer could only describe as grief. but god if you weren’t the most beautiful human he’d seen in his life, he’d be lying.

you were coming up on day 3? or was it 4? of no sleep. it’s not like you were not sleeping at all you took little 30 minute naps each day, enough to get you some shut eye but not enough to make it your rem stage of sleep.

spencer speaks again, “can i come in?” you nod silently and open the door wider for him to step in. he removes his shoes and it’s then you notice a big ole tote bag he’s lugging to your living room.

“what’s in the bag?”

“ah, come sit. i brought magical things.” he smiles playfully.

you shuffle over to sit a seat’s cushion away from him and watch as he starts pulling item by item from his mary poppins bag.

candles, essential oils, books, but specifically romance novels with the silly cartoon covers that he swears aren’t real books but you argue with him until he concedes, melatonin gummies, pillow sleep spray, and one more item that he’s holding onto for what seems to be dramatic effect. you’re not amused.

“and the piece de resistance,” he presents the last item, and you look confused for a second, until you recognize the item in front of you and immediately start tearing up. in his hands is a grogu weighted stuffed animal that he holds out for you to take. “i know you’re not sleeping. it happened to me when, you know. i figured it would be helpful if you had someone who could empathize how you’re feeling. and because you’re my best friend and i care about you.”

your bottom lip trembles, and you feel the ice block you’ve kept yourself in this past week start to melt uncontrollably. “spence…” you breathe out so quietly. he did all this? for you? doctor spencer reid went out to the store, and bought a grogu stuffed animal for you to cuddle at night to ease your loneliness?

the concept of being taken care of was so foreign to you, as the eldest daughter in your family it was always you taking care of others and making sure everyone was okay. but rarely did anyone check on you, how you were holding up. and you had learned to cope by yourself, to handle the big emotions by yourself, but for once, someone was willing to take all that weight off your shoulders and let you breathe. and god, did it feel so cathartic you could burst out in sobs.

so you did.

“hey,” he says scooting closer to you so he can scoop you into his chest, “was that a lot? penelope said i’d probably overwhelm you but all of the things i brought are scientifically proven sleep additives-“

“no i just, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” you whimper.

spencer’s eyes soften, “you deserve it. what happened last week… was hard. i just wanted to help.”

“thank you,” he hears a muffled response and rubs his hands affectionately down your back, “damn, all this crying is making me so tired.”

“see! the magic of the poppins bag.” he chuckles. you laugh too. spencer thinks all the flowers in a mile radius just bloomed.

“it’s just,” you start out, nuzzling into his chest deeper, “the second i close my eyes and dream, i see her. and how i couldn’t save her. and how the others i couldn’t save either.” you feel your chest seizing up again.

“okay well hey, hey. you did what you were trained to do. any other agent in your position would’ve tried talking him down the way you did. and your personal story gave you an advantage that no one else would’ve had. statistically speaking, you were the best chance at getting through to him. yeah it didn’t work, but it wouldn’t be probability if it always worked,” he cradles your face in his big hands, “we’re all so proud of you, you know. rossi’s waiting for you to be back on your feet so he can host pasta night at his hou- sorry his mansion again.”

spencer looks down at you properly to your tear stained cheeks and brushes your hair back. he sees the pain and tiredness fighting behind your eyes and asks softly, “what do you need right now?”

“i’m tired.” you lament.

“then lets go sleep.”

“i can’t.”

“why not?”

“im scared.”

“well that’s why i brought the stuff silly goose,” he taps your nose, “come on, let’s go set it up.”

spencer brings all the sleep aids to your room and sets them up appropriately, even plugging in your sunrise lamp to help with the ambient lighting. the only thing left to do is for you to get into your bed.

you both stand on opposite sides of your bed, and he’s waiting for you to get in so can tuck you in. you hesitate and look up at him with the same worried eyes he saw all those days ago.

“could you stay for bit?”

“i can stay for some time if you want” you both speak at the same time. you giggle again, spencer thinks an angel got its wings.

thank god he wore sweats and a comfy t shirt he thinks. he slid in under the blanket and holds it open for you to come in, “come on, you’re missing the cuddle party with grogu and i!” you beam widely and finally sink into your bed.

spencer pulls you into his chest, wrapping an arm around your shoulder blade, and the other taking a spot on your hip rubbing soft circles. you lay your head to rest on his chest, right above his beating heart. you try to let the metronomic thumps lull you to sleep, but spencer can still feel your eyelashes fluttering about on his chest. he knows what you’re thinking, because of course he does.

“look at me,” he nudges you, you look up at his eyes again and see nothing but pure love and reassurance as he continues, “you are safe. nothing can hurt you. i promise.”

“are you sure?” you let out meekly,

“i’m sure. it’s okay, go to sleep,” he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your forehead. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

you shakily take a deep breath, and close your eyes.

after five minutes of spencer rubbing shapes into your back, he can finally hear the soft snores coming from below. he places another kiss on your head, whispers, “good night angel girl,” and doses off.

you wake up the next morning feeling so rested and relieved you can’t help but give spencer a big hug that wakes him up. spencer thinks he’d be the luckiest man in the universe if he could wake up like this everyday.

[pedge-page]

#3 of Joel dealing with his Preggo reader : hungry

Warnings: oral m receiving, lactation kink, breast feeding, pregnancy, Joel fluff doing the absolute most for his wifey

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel is leaning back in his armchair on this lazy Thursday evening after having worked 12 hours today on a rigorous construction project. He sighs heavily, glaring down at his absolute favorite sight in the world right now: his heavily pregnant wife between his legs leisurely sucking his cock like a popsicle.

With a pillow below your knees, you looked like a dream. Your eyes closed as you gently hum around his mushroomed tip, suckling his precum. There was no rush to your movements, no desperate urge to make him cum: you were simply just enjoying the heavenly weight of your husband's blessed member sliding in and out of your waiting mouth.

He doesn't immediately register when you pull off his cock with a pop.

"I want taiyaki."

Joel shakes himself from his dazed relaxation. "Taco what?"

"My cousin who took me to the international fair 3 years ago? She got that and let me try it and it was really good. I want that." You sit back on your knees, waiting for Joel to get moving. He doesnt. "Right now," you add.

He's learned very quickly that once you have a craving for something, everything else must pause until you get it. Joel begrudgingly tucks his hard and unsatisfied cock back in his sweat pants, grabs his keys and reverses out the driveway, repeating it in his head: tai-yak-i, taiy-aki tayo aki, taco yaki, taco yucky—tacos aren't yucky they're delicious why couldnt she ask foR YUMMY TACOS I COULD HAVE MADE THAT AT HOME.

It takes him an hour of frantic searching of Japanese shops, and finally finding one, having begged the poor lady at the counter to make them—whatever they are, —hot and fresh for his pregnant wife at this late hour despite the shop closing in a few minutes. Luckily she seemed to vaguely understand his garbled mish mosh of the word and went to work.

He tips her generously and is out the door, plastic "have a nice day" bag secured in the passenger seat of the truck as he speeds home.

He triumphantly drops the bag next to your sleeping body on the couch. Your nose wrinkles, eyes shooting open at the sudden new smell. No hello, no thank you, just grubby hands diving in to the bag and opening the styrophome container.

You pause, staring at the contents. "What is this?"

"Its the thing: taco-yauki."

You look at him in incredulously, and he shoots the same look back, mixed with confusion.

"These are fried octopus balls, Joel?"

"Why the fuck would you want that?"

"I didn't! I wanted cream filled waffles! Taiyaki! Not Takoyaki!

"I DONT KNOW JAPANESE, WOMAN."

"STOP YELLING AT ME!"

"I'M NOT YE—" he inhales deeply before exhaling, letting his shoulders sag. "I'm not yelling, baby. I'm sorry. I promise I didn't know."

You shake your head, eyes swelling with tears of hangriness. "Honestly, Joel, if I knew you were going to be this useless when I married you," your voice cracks. You push the now cold balls away and cross your arms, pouting.

Joel covers his eyes with his hands. What a fucking night.

He knows that you dont mean it. That you're tired, crankly, in pain, and hungry. And that your dumbass husband was in such a rush that he didn't take a second to write it down, let alone ask you exactly what he was looking for. He remembered the fish pastry now, something he could have bought at the grocery store 10 minutes down the road. His back hurts, dick hurts, eyes hurt. He doesn't want you to be hurt too.

"Joel," you peep meakly.

"Yes baby?"

"I'm um. I'm sorry for what I said. You're not completely useless." You twist your fingers apologetically, which he finds absolutely adorable. It's impossible to even remember what he was so annoyed by. You clear your throat and speak sweetly: "I don't want taiyaki anymore. Can we have tacos instead?"

He smiles. "White-people tacos or street tacos?"

"The ones you make, please."

Joel's warm hand craddles your cheek softly. "Coming right up, angel." His hand filters down your throat before settling over your chest, fingers ever so gently tracing the lace line of your nightgown, pulling it down slightly to expose more of your supple cleavage. "But first, I get my cream filled pastry."

"Wha—?"

He gets on his knees, yanking your shirt down as your swollen tits—courtesy of your soon-to-be child— bounce out. You hiss at the sensitivity of being so heavy and full of milk.

Joel wastes no time wrapping his lips around your pebbled nipple and sucking gently, the creamy liquid so built up in your system that it just flows naturally into his eager mouth.

"You were hungry too, huh?" You teased.

He hums around your engorged breast, eyes closed in bliss. He softly kneads your unoccupied tit with one hand, the other joining your palm in passionately caressing your large tummy. You both feel your baby kicking happily now that mommy and daddy have made up.

- - - -

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@harriedandharassed

[miraclewoozi]

DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC.  notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away.  notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago. 

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room. 

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right. 

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones. 

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’. 

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone. 

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name. 

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over. 

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry). 

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen. 

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts. 

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end. 

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour. 

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed? 

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him. 

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense. 

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know. 

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans? 

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can. 

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty. 

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it. 

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away. 

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced. 

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there. 

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since. 

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie. 

There is one more. 

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly. 

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most. 

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it. 

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits. 

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask. 

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through. 

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake. 

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh. 

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so. 

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage. 

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest. 

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning. 

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on. 

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth. 

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle. 

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough. 

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe. 

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.” 

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—”  He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go. 

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him. 

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.” 

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different. 

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms. 

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice. 

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants. 

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured. 

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use. 

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again. 

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans. 

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle. 

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat. 

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like. 

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base. 

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him. 

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming. 

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess. 

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop. 

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name. 

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to. 

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.” 

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the  steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own. 

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself. 

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle. 

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache. 

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum. 

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas. 

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

[lovelettersforthedamned]

Idkidk mean or depressed peter trying to push you away bc he’s afraid of falling for reader (he already is) but one night reader catches him after a nasty fight and cleans him up and sexy times happens but he’s finally opening up to her?

It’s Not Your Fault, It’s Mine!

--genre + trope: hurt/comfort, college!au, angst, flufffff.

--pairing: college!tasm!peter parker x college!gn!reader

--word count: 1.5k

--summary: something has been off about your friend, peter. he's been giving you the cold shoulder, and one bad night leads to the reason why he's been so distant.

--warnings: mentions of blood (bleeding nose), peter gets kinda mean, mention of alcohol, bruises, hurt/comfort, FLUFF.

There’s been a weird tension between you and Peter lately. Although you two are strictly friends, Peter has always been quite touchy. Both of your friends have seen you snuggled up next to him at parties, and holding hands while walking through campus. It was never weird for you and you never noticed how comfortable you were doing it until Peter stopped initiating it entirely. 

The beginning of the week seemed fine, October brings midterms, which means more work, for the both of you. It began to get harder to find time to see Peter, either you were in class, or he was busy. 

That’s how it was the entire week, until Thursday. You finally scheduled a time to hang out at his apartment to watch a movie and get takeout. As you head up the flights of stairs to Peter’s place, a weird pit in your stomach continues to drop, making you anxious. After finally reaching his apartment and knocking, he opens the door. You could’ve blinked and missed it, but right under his jaw was a sickening black and blue bruise, along with some dried blood right under his nose. His hood from his jacket is up, who knows what else he could be hiding underneath it. 

Once he opens the door, he immediately turns away, trying hard not to let you look at his face further. Walking in quickly, you shut the door behind you, “What the fuck happened?”

Still facing away from you, he walks towards the fridge, opens it, and takes a long look inside. “Nothing happened,” a monotone voice meets your ears.

He reaches deep into the fridge and pulls out a beer, opening it and taking a swig as he leans against the kitchen counter. You take a few steps toward him until you’re in his direct line of sight. Reaching up to inspect his face more, his hand comes up to swat you away.

You open your mouth to speak, but you are quickly interrupted by the boy in front of you, “(Y/N), can we talk?”

This catches your attention fully, crossing your arms as you peer up at him, frustration lighting your body on fire, “Sure.”

“Whatever we are, or whatever this is,” his eyes are avoiding contact with yours at all costs, he’s nervous, “I don’t want to be involved with you anymore, and I don’t want to see you around anymore.” 

Your once worried demeanor turns into one of shock. You suddenly feel like a deer in headlights, the warm air of Peter’s apartment now becoming too hot. Taking a step back, you speak before your mind can think of a real sentence, “What?”

“I’m telling you to leave, (Y/N),” his tone coming out harsher. His gaze finally meets yours, and he regrets he ever dared to look. Your lower lash line is filled with tears that are threatening to spill at any second. In reality, Peter would never in a million years tell you this, but fuck, does the thought of you scare him terribly. 

He was comfortable in this safe middle ground of romance with you, there were no titles, strings, or commitments. It was nice having you, you brought a familiar sense of safety wherever you went. Maybe that’s why Peter gravitated towards you. 

He thought he was going crazy one night, his mind had seemed to collapse at the mere thought of you. There was no escaping the thought of your smile, the warmth you brought to him, and the way your touch lit up his skin. All he could think of was you, and it was killing him. He wanted whatever you had to stay where it was, but it seemed impossible the more he thought of you. In all honesty, he’s afraid to love you. 

Stepping back from him, your voice starts to shake, “You don’t mean that.” 

“Please…please, just leave (Y/N),” his head dips, a tear falling from his eye, “just go.”

Looking at his slouched form, you bite your lip to prevent it from wobbling anymore. You remain there for a second, hoping that this is some sick dream, you’re waiting to wake up from it at any second. 

Peter still sees your feet planted in front of him, he finally looks back up at you, but now his nose is bleeding again. Wiping the sleeve of his jacket against his nose, the fabric is now stained with the deep liquid. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself before he turns around to face the sink, turning on the water and running his sleeve under it. 

You walk silently behind him, reaching your hand up to rest on his back and leaning into his arm. This time, he doesn’t push you away. You stay there for a few minutes before he turns to face you completely, “I’m sorry.” That’s all he says before he falls into your frame, wrapping you in a hug so tight that you almost can’t breathe. Pushing your second wave of shock and confusion aside, you hug him back. You’re not sure what was going on, but what you did know was that he needs you right now. And although the words he spewed at you were harsh, you pushed them aside, because Peter is hurting. 

That was another reason why Peter loved you, you care for people selflessly, even after being hurt by those same people. “Let’s go sit on the couch,” you suggest, grabbing a few tissues before following Peter. Sitting down, you’re able to look at his face closely, noticing his nose first, you grab a tissue to clean him up. There was a gentleness to your touch, he wouldn’t blame you for hurting him more, especially after what he said to you. But no, your touch is feather-like. 

Throwing the dirty tissues on the coffee table, you ask, “Can I take off your hood?” A nod is seen in response. Lifting both hands to pull down his hood, you see another bruise forming on his temple. Your fingers dance over it, scrutinizing it. Even though you barely touched his face, he craves your touch more. Quickly standing up, you make your way back to the fridge and grab a pack of frozen peas from the freezer, along with a kitchen towel to wrap around it. 

As he watches you walk back, all he can think about is how he hurt you. He hurt you and you're helping him. Placing the cold bag on his face, you grab his hand to hold it there. Right as you start to pull away, he traps your hand inside of his, grasping your attention, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

You sigh as you realize what’s about to come up, pulling your hand away from him and putting both your hands in your lap. “Why did you say that? There has to be a reason, right? What did I do?”

His heart cracks at your last question, his outburst caused you to think that you did something wrong. He swallows before responding, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I have no excuse for what I did, and I’m sorry. I just–the thought of us scares me.”

“That’s why we said we would keep this platonic,” you say, “we’re just friends.” That’s what you told everyone, that’s what you told yourself, but you couldn’t keep ignoring that inkling feeling whenever you were with him. There was always a pull towards the feeling of being something more, but the second it popped into your mind, you shut it down immediately. You couldn’t lose Peter. 

He was panicking at your response, was he making a fool out of himself for making this such a big deal? “I know we are,” he starts, dropping the cold bag of peas to the side, “and that’s great, don’t get me wrong, but god (Y/N) you make it so hard to be just that. And it’s so annoying because it’s not your fault! It’s mine! I’m in love with you, and it’s driving me crazy because the thought of you not existing in my life hurts me. There’s not a moment in the day when I am not grateful for you. You have changed my life and you don’t even realize it! Fuck! I am in love with you.”

You look at him with wide eyes, you weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it was not that. He’s breathless, panting at his hurried confession. On the inside, he was freaking out, you weren't responding. 

“Can you please say something–”

Your response contains no words, your kiss says enough. 

You softly cradle his head, keeping his bruises in mind. The kiss was soft, a pour of emotions flowing through your lips. Pulling away, you finally give him a verbal response, “I love you too, does that answer it?”

“I don’t know,” he teases, “I think you need to kiss me more to fully confirm your answer.”

“You’re such an idiot, Parker,” you laugh, leaning in to kiss him again. 

--author's note: HELLO!!! thank you so much for the request anon! im sorry, there's not a lot of spiciness in this one:(( my allergies are literally killing me right now, so apologies for posting so late and the lack of posts recently! BUTTTTT, be aware of a fic tomorrow featuring someone else on my masterlist...don't forget to support your writers by liking, commenting, and reblogging! my asks/inbox is open, so send me anything!! ok, bye ily<3

[ifimdreaming]

its all my fault

quinn hughes x reader || angst

authors note: sorta rewrote this but i still dont love it. mild cw: alcohol, fighting, toxic relationship protrayed

word count: 1.6k

-

“why do you act like ive never told you this bothers me? Every single time you go out, you stay all night and get drunk, and then come home at 4am and act oblivious as to how I could possibly be upset at you.” you say knowing that talking to him in this state is like arguing with a brick wall.

Without answering you, Quinn stumbles around the apartment discarding clothes from his body on his way towards the bathroom, and you watch as they fall carelessly to the floor.

It wasnt like this was an everyday occurrence, but it was happening more and more often and you knew it was getting worse. In the beginning of your relationship the two of you used to go out together. Always together. 

And it wasnt that you didnt like going out anymore, it was just that you didnt like the way he acted when you went out with him. So you stopped going. It was the same everytime. Always getting drunk whether you were drinking or not and never caring about spending any time with you at all. It was always about making himself feel good. Or maybe just to feel nothing. 

To be honest you didnt know why he was drinking to the point of complete and utter insensibility, and it hurt you the first time you brought it up to him. It was over dinner and he insisted you both finish a second bottle of wine. Again. On a thursday night;

-

“Why dont we just save it for the weekend? I dont mind having a glass or two over dinner, but it seems unnecessary to be drinking so much on a weekday, no?” you say cautiously.

Your boyfriend is sitting across from you with a hazy look in his eyes. you watch him fiddle with the bottle of wine as he places it on his lap momentarily. His left hand is around the throat of the bottle as he begins anxiously picking at the cork with his right hand. 

“Are you insinuating something?” Quinn says without making eye contact. 

His eyes stay peering down at the bottle in his lap as he speaks, then at your both empty glasses that are sat across from each other at the table and you can feel the heat in your cheeks intensifying. 

“Im just trying to look out for you..its not that i d-” you start but are quickly cut off by your half-drunk boyfriend.

“Then whyd you bring it up? What does the day of the week have to do with it?” He says with a mocking tone.

Quinn didnt raise his voice. He never would. But honestly what he said caught you off guard. It wasnt that you were scared of him, you were just worried about what he was doing to himself, his career, his relationship with you, his future - so many things were running through your head. 

You knew it was all getting worse too, and it was hard for you to admit it to yourself because you knew he was refusing to admit it himself. His absolute defensiveness is what you knew would be the hardest wall to tear down.

“Forget it. Lets just finish dinner, ok?” you say picking up your fork and trying to just forget the whole conversation. You hoped he would just forget about the alcohol altogether but deep down you knew it would be brought up again.

-

Following after him seemed like the most daunting task in the world right now. It was like living with a teenager at this point. And you knew it wasnt your job to take care of him. You wouldnt put up with that. 

But its been weeks, and here you are. Putting up with it.

“Quinn, we need to talk about this. Can you come out here?” you say as you begin down the hall to find him.

Although you say this calmly, as you walk further down the hallway you can hear him vomiting on the other side of the bathroom door and your anger suddenly intensifies. It makes you cringe hearing the sounds of his booze emptying into the toilet. Mostly because of how much it frustrated you how often this occurred.

Regardless of the state he was in when he walked in the front door, you knew once he was done throwing up his guts, he would be sober enough to talk to you at least 70% sensibly.

Waiting was the worst part. Recalling all of the other nights he came home in this state. Fearing he’ll completely ignore your attempts to talk this through. Worrying this might end up the night he finally lands himself in the hospital. 

After hearing silence for more than a minute you softly knock on the bathroom door.

“Just give me a fucking minute… Please?” Quinn says with a growl in his voice that he softly lets up as he speaks, knowing he shouldnt be talking to you that way.

You want to walk away so badly, but manage to stand your ground. 

“Im waiting right here.” you say proudly, but also, defeatedly.

Honestly you didn't understand how you had so much patience this late at night.

Finally Quinn opens the door. He slowly walks out towards you and looks terrified to face you. You didnt want your relationship to be this way. The overarching feeling of dread lingering over the both of you.

“Can you just try and understand where im coming from?” You begin to say,

“Just put yourself in my perspective.” You add quietly.

His eyes were clearly tired and you could see them gently squinting as he stares at your lips. Trying desperately to comprehend every word coming out of your mouth.

Maybe he wasnt getting it. Maybe he genuinely didnt understand how big of a toll his drinking has taken on your relationship - On your lives.

“Its not that easy.” He says in a whisper, matching his tone with yours.

“Ok?... Its not easy? I know its not that easy.” you try to hold back the disgust in your voice as you say this, but fail.

You close your eyes and air lets out from your nose in disapproval. You cant help it. Under communicating was what Quinn did best. He knew exactly how to piss you off and it was working right off the bat. 

“Are you going to let me explain or are you just gonna keep up the disappointed girlfriend act?” Quinn says as he looks at you through the doorway of the bathroom, leaning his shoulder on the wall.

He watches you as you uncross your arms, trying to appear open to whatever he is going to say next. But he stays silent which infuriates you even more.

“Go ahead Quinn! Its about goddamn time you explain yourself!” you knew yelling is not the right approach but just couldnt contain your frustration any longer.

Quinn takes a step towards you and you can tell he is desperately holding himself back from just giving up on this conversation altogether. 

He runs his hands through his hair, holding himself back from his anger and looks utterly defeated. And suddenly it is really hard to be angry at him. You can tell he has no idea how to express himself to you in this moment.

You were scared if you got any closer to him you would just hold him and never let go.

“I dont know whats wrong with me… I dont want to make excuses to you because i know you can see right through my bullshit.” Quinn begins and his voice wavers, “But i dont know whats wrong.” He repeats.

His eyes are bloodshot and glossy as he peers into yours. 

“Its unforgivable. How ive treated you? Its horrible.  makes me feel like shit to think about that.” He says.

His apology of sorts made you sad. You felt sorry for him, but mostly you wondered how much of this he'll remember in the morning.

You fight back tears as you continue looking at him without a word. You were afraid if you spoke it would open up the flood gates of your tears and you didnt want that.

Quinn scans your face looking for any clue whatsoever as to what you could be thinking before he brings his gaze back to your eyes. You couldn't stand the prolonged eye contact any longer so you look down at his fingers and watch as he begins to pick at his cuticles, his anxiety clearly getting the better of him. 

His hands are red and calloused and the only thing you can focus on. Suddenly the urge to hold them takes over.

You walk towards him and grab his hands in yours. Quinn immediately accepts your touch. He steps even closer towards your body and rests his chin at the top of your head, your forehead resting lightly on his chest. And for some reason the simplicity of his embraces finally brings you to tears.

You sob into his chest and he grips the back of your neck tightly, your hair wrapping messily in his hand. His other hand wraps around your body, pulling you into a tight hug. The sounds of your sobbing fills the room and almost begins to embarrass you with how loud it is.

Your arms grasped Quinn so strongly it almost hurt you to hold him that tightly. Everything hurt. Your throat burned as you continued crying, your eyes stung from your mascara bleeding into them, your body was physically and mentally exhausted from staying up all night worrying about Quinn. 

He was all you could think about and you really wouldn't be surprised if he was beginning to lose oxygen from your grip on him in this moment.

“Its all my fault. Everything.” Quinn chokes out and its then that you realize he is crying too.

He strokes your head gently and you let him console you.

But honestly you didn't know if allowing him to console you after being the reason for your pain was toxic or romantic.  

-

-

[darthannie]

day sixteen: degradation with jackson rippner

pairing: Jackson Rippner x f!reader  word count: 785 warnings: noncon, mention of stalking and kidnapping, choking, breath play, use of ‘sir’, spit, face fucking, he's mean a/n: I need him to say WORSE things to me. Like SO much worse. I need him to be TERRIBLE. kinktober masterlist

You woke up in a bed with your wrists bound in front of you. The last thing you remember was being hit in the head. You had no idea where you were or why. Fear set in as you saw a figure by the door. He spoke, “You don’t know me, but I know you. I know you very well.” 

“Please don’t hurt me,” you said as tears welled in your eyes. This was your biggest fear and you couldn’t believe it was becoming a reality. 

“I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to see what all the fuss is about.”

You yelped as he grabbed your legs, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. He took off your shoes and yanked down your jeans and panties. He knelt so his face was near your pussy. He licked your entrance and tasted how wet you were. He hummed at the taste. “Your hole is nice and wet for me. At least you’re good for something.” He stood up and pulled down his pants, taking out his cock and stroking himself in the process.

“Now when I speak to you, you respond with Sir. Understand?”

“Fuck you,” you spat.

“Hm. Not quite.” Anger flashed across his face as his hand wrapped around your neck, choking you. “Let’s try that again. Are you ready to be used like the little slut that you are?” You didn’t respond and his hand tightened. “What? Is something making it hard to respond?” You nodded slowly. “Say. Sir, please let me breathe.”

Your voice was thin. “Sir, please let me breathe.” His hand relented and you gasped. Without warning he thrust into you. He went slow, but his thrusts were calculated. There was nothing sloppy about his approach. He wanted you to feel him each time he pulled out and entered you again. Your elbows bent and your hands rested over your heart, which was beating out of your chest. You tried to pull on the restraints but they were too tight. 

“Fucktoys don’t get to use their hands. Disgusting sluts like you are only good for their holes.”

You groaned as you felt him shift inside you. His thrusts were more shallow now, but they hit an entirely new spot. It was starting to become pleasurable. He grabbed your breast over your shirt and toyed with it. “I’ve watched you day after day. I’ve seen you go to and from work. I watched you go on dates from Thursday to Sunday. And, I’ve watched you give it up almost every single time. What a fucking slut. Whoring yourself out as often as possible just to get a quick fuck. You’re so pathetic.”

He pushed your legs as close to your head as possible while he fucked you. “Did you know only worthless whores like being fucked in this position? Are you a worthless little whore?” 

You stayed silent and he spit in your face. “I said, are you a worthless little whore?” 

“Yes, Sir. Yes, I am,” you stuttered. 

“Say it”

“I’m a worthless whore,” you whined. 

“Such a needy little thing.” You moaned as if you agreed with him. You moved underneath him as he sped up. “Do you think you deserve my cum? Huh, fucktoy? Do you deserve my cum?”

“Fuck. No, Sir, I don’t deserve it.”

“Right answer.” He pulled out and dragged you onto the floor. “Luckily, I have another warm hole for me to use.” He shoved his cock in your mouth and started fucking it. 

“Say ‘Thank you for fucking my mouth, Sir’.”

Any sound you made came out muffled and distorted. He laughed at you. “Come on you can say it.” You tried again to no avail. “Here. Let me help you.” He pulled out of you just long enough for you to repeat after him, and he put his cock back in your mouth right as you finished. He moaned as he felt himself go as deep as he could. He shuttered as he came down your throat. 

“That’s it. All your good for is swallowing my cum. Say ‘Thank you for your cum, Sir.’” He pulled out and you repeated. As you did, a drop fell out of your mouth. He took his thumb and swiped it from your face. He stuck his thumb in your mouth and you sucked without being instructed to. 

“Look at that. My cumslut actually learning something.” He cleaned himself up and put himself back together, leaving you on the ground. He turned to leave and right as he got to the door you spoke up. “Sir, what now?”

He simply replied, “You wait until I need you again,” and walked out.  

Taglist:

@devotedlyshadowytheorist, @dxnger-dxys, @tommyshelbywhore, @quinnlilias,@madnessandobsession, @mvpr-moon, @nela-cutie, @faebirdie, @charmed-asylum, @anasanthology, @ilikefictionalmen, @akanne-aka, @no-fooking-fighting,@queenofstresss, @flwrs4aust, @mrkdvidal1989, @00hsv, @laylasbunbunny

(If something is up with your tag or you would like to be added, let me know!)

[therealslimshakespeare]

|| Apologies III | An Ode to Nipples

Warnings: 18+ explicitly written accounts of sex acts and male masturbation, John Egan going on too long about nipples to make up for Julie doubting he liked hers, a joke about their censor wanting to harm himself.

Previous Letter 💌

Full co-authored with my baby @stylespresleyhearted …in fact, majorly authored by her with me only tinkering, she has these two down to a science and let’s all make her take a bow

My dearest,

In trying to be a gentleman it seems I have offended you and for that I must once again apologize. I never meant to make you doubt yourself or that lovely photograph

-I swear to you I sleep with it in my fist, clutched to my chest every night. So no, you see, you can’t have it back. I've already warned everyone else I'll kill them if they ever even try to peek. Balls are on the line for even coming within a yard of my foot locker. I am your virtue’s most valiant defender. Lucky for us, my bunkmate Lt. John Brady is a good man. No threats needed from me to ensure he keeps a wide berth from my new possessions. He’s a good kid - looks up to me according to Buck and that’s a scary thought in itself.

Oh Jean this just all feels like a dream and I’d be heartbroken upon waking up. Buck convinced me to try to be better, that a woman of your status and money and loveliness deserved someone who wouldn’t ramble about giving you babies and A.C.O.R.N but be assured I’ve smacked Buck around the head since because his advice made me hurt you.

It was gut instinct to first write you, and it wasn’t pretty when I did, but if it matched yours, then maybe our guts belong together, no sprucing up needed. I’ll try to keep it that way, I’ll try to keep spilling my guts to you, if that's what you want.

Since receiving your photograph I find myself unable to be satisfied by my doing or anyone else’s. It may interest you to know I went to the bar last Thursday and strenuously chatted up a girl there who had the largest breasts around, but still they and she did not compare to you.

I found myself thinking yours would bounce and hit your chin, and I’d be a gentleman and hold them for you.

Don’t take me wrong, the dame was a good time and she took real good care of me. Let me slip in between her beautiful pair and let me call her by your name.

But she was not you, Acorn, and so I was still left hard as rod and needing more. Needing you. My hand does nothing for me either anymore and all my thoughts are only of you and your magnificent pair that you deemed me worthy enough to look at. And oh Julie, how I look at you! I wonder if you’d blush or just be pleased.

I wrap my hand around myself and I squeeze and I tug and I pull and it takes about three rounds before the little major goes down. Buck tells me I’m going to start chafing soon enough if I keep it up. I’m telling you this in pure honesty and because thinking of you believing for a second that you aren’t the epitome of the dream girl for me kills me. It hurts, Julie Jean and I’ve never hurt for a girl before. Maybe for girls back during my school days but nothing like this and it’s been so long now I can barely remember it.

Women now, as beautiful and charming and smart as they are, they do just to pass the time but you are different. And I promise here and now Miss Turner, that I vow to never try to impress you or be any more of a gentleman than I am. I will be honest with my desires regarding you like telling you I had a dream you took me in that pouty mouth of yours and you were making the most obscene sounds but I knew you were only asking for more. You don’t remember meeting me at the canteen but I remember how tiny you are compared to me and it’d be a struggle to fit all of me in you but we would make it work. Neither of us are ones to give up.

This dream was the first night since my first mission that I haven’t had a nightmare without having to drink.

You’re a goddamn tonic, baby cakes.

I dream of those large nipples of yours and of being able to take them in my mouth. Of tugging on them until they become tiny and angry and pointy. I could entertain myself with them for hours. Since receiving your letter and reading your insecurities on paper that I left you with, I've hated myself every day and I fear I will hate myself until I hear from you again. I hope to hear from you again, Julie. I really do. In this lifestyle it’s frightening for me to think about getting to have a future but you are the light at the end of all this fucked up tragedy I’m surrounded by. Don’t give up on me, Julie Jean, my heart couldn’t bear it. It’s become unalterably attached to you, I swear it. The only gal whose arms I want to come home to are yours. It’d be an immeasurable dream come true; the sweetest reward after the war.

Until I hear from you again my loveliest, favorite lady.

Your fool only,

John

P.S. attached is a photo of me and another one of me and Buck taken by one of our fellow men. I’ve never been one to shy away from anything in life so I’m not afraid to embarrass myself for you and let you know that big, doofus smile on my face (one that usually only a call from my mother or a snarky remark from Buck can illicit) is because the boys were ribbing me about you, Jean. It’s what thinking of you does to me; it brings me happiness during these trying times. Don’t mind Buck. He’s blushing because I’m reminding him he also took great interest in the photograph you gifted me. I’m sorry for that acorn, it fell out of the envelope and he picked it up but it isn’t something I'm sharing with anyone as I’ve assured you. Goodbye for now, sweetest, prettiest, favoritest of ladies -because it is just for now, you’ll hear from me again if I don’t hear from ya first, and with that I fear we’ve just committed our poor censor to the noose.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

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@pretty4u

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@waitedforlove743

@elvismylove04

@blikebarbie92

@luminouslywriting

@justheretoreadthxxs

@bookotter01

@mads-weasley

@ka-ski

@darkestbeforethedawn16

@slowsweetlove

@richardslady121

@barbeygirl

@prfctplcsreads

@vaf24

@harrys-housewife

@claireelizabeth85

@pearlparty

@piastrinho

@sapienti0sat

@atrophyingaphrodite

[graciegoeskrazy]

i can stage a situation

warnings: r has an eating disorder, although it's not defined the symptoms are very similar to anorexia, yelling, lying, idk its lowk rough, i think i hate this? but i dont?

a/n: I have not a single clue who requested this but someone did so0ooooo THANKS ANON❣️❣️❣️

V IMPORTANT NOTE: I am by no means trying to romanticize or promote ed’s or anything of the sort. I’ve been a dancer for 16 years training in many styles, and I have seen firsthand how things like this can hurt people and those around them, but even then I will not claim to know every single thing possible about this subject - because I don’t. However, I did try my best and did research to try and write the best story I could without dishonoring the real-life issues people have to go through. All my love goes out to those going through this. <3

Your dad said he had a late night ahead of him. Something about recording with John or whatever, you didnt really listen. The point was he was going to be gone on a trip for the night, leaving Friday afternoon and returning Saturday morning. He would leave before you got home on Friday so, when Thursday rolled around and you decided you didn't want to spend your Friday night moping around by yourself, you called up your uncle Matty to see if you could spend the night. He, of course, with you being his favorite person, said yes. You told him to pick you up around 6 that night and to be prepared for a movie night.

You just weren't interested in eating. You couldn't exactly pinpoint the reason why. If you thought about it long and hard enough, you could probably figure it out, but thinking about it too much only seemed to make things worse.

When you got in the car the next day, Matty offered to cook you something, you said you weren't hungry and that your Dad fed you before he left. Both of those things were lies.

…

“I’m Home!”

“I’m in here.” You said, letting your voice guide him to the living room. You were scrolling on your phone while something was playing on the TV. He dropped his carry-on and case onto the couch and immediately went to you. Hugging you from behind and dramatically placing kisses all over your forehead and face. You squirmed out of his grasp and he smiled and came around to the other side of the couch to sit next to you. “I’m so sorry I’m late.” He said.

You smiled at him again.“It’s fine, Dad. Really. You don’t have to worry.”

He smiled back before changing the subject, knowing you weren't too worried about his tardiness. “How was your uncle’s?”

You shrugged. “Fine. We just watched a movie and hung out. It was fun.”

“Yeah? What did you have for dinner?”

You thought for a second, caught off guard by the question. “Spaghetti.” You finally said, remembering what Matty cooked for dinner white you sat on the other side of the counter.

Ross hummed. “Really? Was it good?”

“Delicious.” You said with a smile.

“Hm.” He knew you were lying - he knows you too well - but decided to not address it for now. “If it's your uncle’s-cooking then I beg to differ,” he said, getting up from the couch.

You can’t keep a secret from Ross. He can see through everyone, especially you, his daughter for crying out loud. Ross always had suspicions about your diet. He was the one who fed you of course, but he noticed the way you played around with your food during dinner. He also noticed how you always skipped breakfast and how you were always so tired and your energy was so low when you came home from school. He could see right through you when you told him about your endeavor at Matty’s, but he wanted to see for himself.

Ross | Did she eat at your house?

Matty | Wym?

Ross | Y/n. Did she eat when she was at your house?

Matty | No? She said she ate before she came. Y?

Ross | Did she snack on anything?

Matty | No? Not that I saw? What’s going on?

Ross | Nothing. Just wondering.

He sighed and marched up the stairs.

…

His main emotion was anger, but he couldn't tell why. Maybe because you lied to him, or maybe because he thought his baby girl was in danger and couldn't stand the thought of you being in pain. Truthfully, he was angry at himself. It started to become clear thatEither way, he tried to collect himself as he walked upstairs, sighing and shaking his head as he reached your bedroom door. He knocked.

“Come in.” You said.

He opened the door and leaned against the doorframe. You both watched each other for a second, waiting for the other to make a move first. You broke first and laughed. “You just gonna watch me like a creep?”

He walked into your room and sat on the foot of your bed. “Baby, I'm gonna ask you a question and I want you to be honest.”

Your demeanor changed along with his. You could tell this was about something serious but you didn’t know what. And never in a million years did you think he would see this clearly though you.

“Okay?” You said, clearly confused.

He took a breath before answering. “Did you eat dinner last night?”

It took you back. Your thoughts from earlier flooded your brain with the realization you were right…he is onto you. “Ye-yeah…at Matty’s house…”

He sighed. “I don’t like it when you lie, y/n.”

You let out a dry chuckle. “I’m not lying-“

His face remained serious despite your best efforts to keep it light. “Yes, you are. And you just did it again.” You gulped. He knew. “And you didn’t eat breakfast this morning ethier.”

You took a moment to think but came up with nothing. “I was full from dinner.”

“But you didn’t eat dinner.” He answered sharply.

“Of course I ate dinner! Why would I not eat?”

“Because I texted your uncle and asked if you ate or not and he said ‘no’! In fact, he said that I fed you before you left, which I know for a fact I did not.” You had nothing to say after that. There was no use in fighting. He knew everything you’ve been up to and there was no saving you. The room stayed quiet. Ross sighed and slowly opened up. “So, I'm going to ask you again, did you eat dinner at Matty’s last night?”

You hesitantly look him in the eyes. “…No.” You whispered.

Ross continued. “And did you eat breakfast this morning?”

“No.”

“Did you eat at school at all in the past week?”

“No.” A tear fell as you spoke.

“When was the last time you ate something?”

You shrugged slightly. “I don’t know?”

Ross nodded, trying to remain calm, and stood to sit back down closer to you. “Why?” He asked

“I don’t know-”

“Y/n…”

"I don’t know! I don’t!" you burst out, the words tumbling from your lips in a rush. "I just... everything feels off... and I just don’t feel like... eating."

Ross's eyes widen, a mix of concern and desperation. His mind went to the first things he could think of. "Is it because of school? A-are people... pressuring you into this or something? I-"

"Of course not. I’m not that naive," you cut him off, glaring at him, the frustration in your voice evident.

"I never said you were." He takes a step closer, his voice softening. "Where did this start, baby? I need you to tell me." His eyes search yours, pleading. "You’re hurting yourself, Y/N. How could you do this to yourself? I mean... you’re the kind of kid people dream of raising-"

"No, I’m not," you snap back, your voice trembling.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I’m not!" Your voice hit a volume Ross hadn’t heard in a while. "I’m a clueless, lonely, boring 13-year-old who was the product of a one-night stand, trying to figure out what to do with her life."

Ross's face pales, the impact of your words hitting him like a physical blow. "Is that what this is about? Baby, is this about Mom?"

"It doesn't matter-" you begin, rolling your eyes, but he interrupts you, his voice rising.

"Uh, it actually matters more than anything else on the planet right now. My baby girl is hurting. Not only that, but she’s hurting herself, and I will be damned if I just let something like this go."

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "She was trying to make her life perfect... And so I thought... she’s trying to make her life perfect and I’m already doing this so what’s the harm if I keep going. I wanted to be perfect for her."

Ross’s eyes fill with tears. "You’re already perfect-"

"Will you cut the crap! I’m not! And you don’t understand it!" You feel the tears welling up, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall.

"You’re right, I don’t understand it." His voice breaks. "I don't understand how you can continuously, for months and months on end, hurt yourself when you are already the definition of perfection to me-"

"Well, I’m not that to Mom. Do you think I would be doing this if she thought that? Do you think I would put myself through this if she thought I was the ‘definition of perfection’?"

"You are the prettiest girl I have ever laid my eyes on-"

"You’re just saying that-"

"No. I’m not." You look away, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak.

Ross sighed. "Why did you never tell me?"

"Because you wouldn’t understand, Dad- you don’t understand."

He reaches out, his hands trembling as they rest on your shoulder. "I can try."

"It’s not that easy," you whisper, your voice barely audible, tears at a level 10.

Ross nods, his grip on your shoulder tightening slightly. "We need to get you help, Y/N."

"I know." Your voice is small, but in that moment, you realize it’s the first step towards healing.

[misserabella]

hello! so this is kind of an angsty request: (set in jackson) reader and ellie have been together for a few years and it's obvious to everyone that ells in very protective of her.

reader had been helping in town way too much and ellie didnt like cause 1) there's other people that can help and 2) she didnt like her gf working at all. so, after a week or so reader is so tired and overworked that she just collapses, maybe even gets hurt and ellie sees everything from afar because she was coming back from patrol. she's very scared but also pissed that her gf was put in that situation, maria and tommy get an earful from her. joel was also mad and comforting her.

a/n; OMG YES THIS IS LOVELY! hope you like how it came out! <3

♡

The town had been a mess for the last few days, with the incoming anniversary of the town —something all of you took enough pride for to even celebrate it with a massive party—, there was a lot of work to do and lot of things to get ready for the day, and since you were so close to Maria and Tommy —they being part of the council and confiding too much on you—, they very often asked for your help, even if they were more people they could ask for just because they believed you’d do an impecable job.

“Oh, y/n, could you please go and ask Mr. Herring for more whiskey? I think we’re gonna need a couple more bottles.” Maria, who you were helping with the decoration of the salon, asked you. And you couldn’t say no. You wanted to help everyone with the party as much as possible, it was an important event, something all of you were looking for. For another successful year of survival, of life.

“Yeah, of course.” you smiled, even though you were completely worn and Herring’s house was a few blocks away.

“Thank you.” she said, and went back to cutting the little hanging triangles she had been working on all night. It was already Friday. Tomorrow was the anniversary. Everything had to be perfect.

You were exhausted, not for just a sleepless night, but a whole week of hard work.

You had helped with the farm on Monday, when Mrs. Evans had pouted at you, feeling lonely and with a lot eggs to collect and cows to milk for the bakery. Your hands still hurt.

On Tuesday, you had lended a hand to Mrs. Peters with her bakery, helping her fix some problem she had with her oven and, later on, helping her with the cakes for Friday night and her delivers for the day.

On Wednesday, you’d stayed all night awake with Maria to go over some much needed paperwork and radio discussions.

And on Thursday, you’d helped Tommy in the wood shop with some new benches and chairs he was making for the salon. You still felt the pain of the splinters on your fingers.

You couldn’t say no. You never could. ‘Cause these were your people and they had welcomed you with open arms when you had nothing. Now you had a family, friends, the most beautiful girlfriend and your own place to call home. You couldn’t be happier. But you sometimes needed to listen to your own body… And it was telling you to stop, to slow down.

The cold hit you like rocks, making you grit your teeth. You needed to get all the way back to the gates of the town to go find the bottles. Somehow, even though the snow was finally melting and it was easier to move , your feet seemed to feel heavier than most days. You felt lightheaded, and so tired that you felt you would fall asleep at any moment. But you had work to do, and people needed you, so you wouldn’t complain.

You were also feeling lonely, you hadn’t seen Ellie that much over the last few days, most of them her being fast asleep once you’d get home. She wasn’t happy about you working so much, she told you so everyday, begging you to stop and rest. But you’d promise her you were okay even if you weren’t.

You were starving with just a mere cup of coffee on your stomach. You hadn’t been eating much as well, being too occupied to even remember to do so. Ellie would kill your if she ever found out, thank god she was busy as well with her patrols with Joel.

The walk to Mr. Herring’s was exhausting, to say the least. You head was hurting and your eyes heavy. What you’d do for a warm bed right now and your pretty girlfriend...

“Oh, hey honey.” Mr. Herring, a very old and sweet man smiled at you.

“Hi, Mr. Herring.” you said back with the same smile. “Maria asks if it would be okay with you to get us a few more bottles of whiskey for the party…?”

“Oh why of course!” he said, waving his hand. “Love to share it. How many bottles will you need? Will three be okay?” he inquired and you nodded.

“Yeah, three will be perfect.” you smiled. “Thank you Mr. Herring.”

He disappeared for a few seconds under the bar to get the bottles, and a little wave of dizziness hit you, making you rest against the bar.

“You okay, honey?” Mr. Herring asked you with a concerned look, the bottles resting in front of you, gently placed on a bag.

“Yeah, just a little tired.” you smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Herring.” you said as you took the bag to make your way out the licor store.

“You’re welcome, honey! Take care, alright?” you nodded at him with a wave and went outside.

The gates were opening at your right, the patrol team coming back from their morning routes. That meant that Ellie was finally home, but a few steps and a quick turn of head was all it took to make your world start to spin. The sun hit your eyes and your head hurt, your vision going white. You felt the same dizziness that had hit you minutes ago. And to your right a voice came calling for you.

“y/n?” but you were too gone to answer to your girlfriend, who was looking at you with a concerned look beside Shimmer.

Your world turned upside down and your head sunk under the pressure of gravity as your vision turned black and your legs wobbled. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw you fall onto the snow, the sound of crashing glass beside you catching the attention of those surrounding you. Joel was quick to follow to meet you unconscious body, one of the bottles having shattered and cut your forehead, painting your skin and the snow in crimson.

“y/n? y/n!” her voice was laced with panic as she shook your shoulder, trying to make you respond.

She was quick to grab you in between her arms and carry you to Maria’s house, who welcomed you with the same panicked expression.

“What happened?” Tommy inquired as Ellie softly laid you on one of their spare beds, Maria quickly grabbing the first aid kit.

“She fucking passed out!” Ellie screamed, panicked. “And of course she did! You’ve overworked her!” she pointed at Maria. Ellie loved her. She really did. But she loved you too, more than she could handle. And she cared for you, worried for you.

“Ellie…” Joel tried and stop her, ‘cause she knew how overprotective Ellie was over the ones she truly loved, over you.

“No. You know it’s true Joel. They have been overworking her this whole fucking week, even if there are other people that could do it, they always ask her!” she was angry, and very worried. You looked exhausted, as pale as a ghost.

Tommy and Maria gave Ellie a saddened look as Maria cleaned your wound. Ellie had checked. There were no other cuts. Just that deep slash on your forehead. It was still bleeding. She was sure it’ll need stitches.

Joel fell silent, all of them were, ‘cause they all knew it was true.

“You know she loves you, that’s why she can’t say no to you. But there are more people out there willing to help, she doesn’t have to do everything, fuck!” she exasperatedly dragged her hands over her face.

That’s when you slowly started to come back to consciousness, the cut on your forehead making you hiss in pain as you opened your eyes.

“Baby?” you heard Ellie’s voice, and in a mere seconds she was right beside you, one of her hands reaching for your cheek, her eyes focused on you and her eyes brows were furrowed on worry.

“How are you feeling, y/n?” Maria inquired and you look at her, she too looked worried.

“What happened?” you inquired as Ellie slowly help you sat up. You still felt heavy with sleep.

“You collapsed, that’s what fucking happened.” Ellie says and when you look at her, you see her anger under all her worry.

“Ellie…” she shook her head. “I’m sorry baby.” you whispered and you saw her melt, her eyes saddening.

“You scared me to death, you know? Seeing you there, bleeding and unconscious on the floor…” you hugged her, and she holds you gently, Maria pulling away to let you two be. Tommy and Maria leave Joel, you and Ellie alone, knowing you three needed to talk and close the door to the room behind their back.

Joel took the first-aid kit and sat down beside you.

“You’ll need a few stitches, kid.” he said and you nodded. He too looked sickly worried. “You need to say no every now and then, y/n… You can say no.” he said, a warm hand on your shoulder.

“I know. I’m sorry.” he nodded and gently rubbed your back.

“It’s okay. Just…, take care of yourself, alright?“ then it was you who nodded.

Ellie sighs, and you held her hand when she let go of you and you hissed when Joel poured alcohol on the cut to start stitching it up. She rubbed the back of your hand with her thumb, and sat through it all with you, making sure to get you back to your shared apartment and into bed.

She held you all afternoon, all night. And when the morning came, she held you tighter. It was clear that she didn’t let you go to that party, instead putting a good film and making you two something to eat.

It was clear she loved you. And even more that you loved her too.

xxx

ellie williams masterlist! <3

[gleasonlovesjasontodd]

🎀also this post is talking about my real life jason todd and i know some people are mad about me using the tags but this is how people who want updates find my posts for updates so don’t read if you don’t wanna hear just scroll also i did a poll and mostly a lot of people want me to use these tags🎀

okay this is my update from our date thursday so he picked me up at my house and i had my cute blair waldorf outfit even curled my hair and put my cute embroidered bow on and we drove to barnes and noble and we listened to his music which had a mix of 80s and some 60s and he added taylor swift for me (i died dead when i heard superman playing) and so we decided that we would buy each other a book to read like alsomething we wouldn’t typically read and he said choose a romance book and i was like are you sure and he said absolutely and i chose him icebreaker because i really liked that book and he got me a freakin jane austen book which don’t kill me i’ve only read pride and prejudice but he got me the book emma and it was like the pretty cover and we met up 10 minutes later after we bought them and i got him a little harry potter bookmark cause he likes harry potter and he smiled at it and he has dimples which is so cute and then he asked if i wanted to keep looking around and i said of course and he held my hand which i blushed at and we were talking about some books and we probably were the only people in the store and i was leaning on the bookcase because my back was hurting (thank you cheer 🙄) and his hand was right by my face which is so jason todd coded and i wanted to just kiss him there but obviously i didn’t and then he asked about my love for fashion cause we were right by the fashion books and i told him i just really enjoy it and then the comics and graphic novels were right next to the fashion books and he said i’m gonna go look at these and i said you read comics and i am so thankful he did not notice how red my cheeks were and he said yeah i read them mostly online now but sometimes i just look at them when i come here and i asked what he prefers and he said batman and that he is a huge batman fan and i said that’s good to know but inside i was dying and we sat down in like the kids section as he was explaining me his comics and he was so cute doing it and i didn’t wanna tell him i understood everything he was saying because i like batman as well and then he said we should probably get dinner so we checked out and went to a nice restaurant and then we talked more getting to know each other more and then at dessert time when the waitress brought the the tray he asked if there’re was any sugar free options for me because i’m diabetic and i died dead at the table and was so fucking red then after he took me home and we kissed that was my first kiss and his hand his musclar hand was on my face and i was blushing so hard once again before he walked me to my door and then left and then he texted me saying he had a good time with me and i said me too and we need to go back again and then yesterday we didn’t see each other cause i left for nationals but he said he was gonna watch me on the channel we were on and then today he sent me flowers because he knew i was nervous and sad since this year is technically my last year cheering

[minkkumaz]

WHAT'S THE ANSWER FOR ME + YOU?

although woonhak was deemed the golden boy of your school, he lacked in academics. when he goes to the pretty girl (whom also has a tad bit of a crush on him) in the library for math help, how'd he know you'd be this cute?

PAIRING kim woonhak x fem!reader WC 1.1k TAGS adults dni. so much fluff it hurts. mutual pining. OMI NOTE my sweet boy omg i love writing for him. tbh i wrote this as a distraction for the other woonhak fic i started oops. not proofread sorry for mistakes hehe

november was cloudy, as if the sun was too shy to peek over the soft blankets that covered the sky. despite the dreariness, his spirit was always there. kim woonhak was the golden boy of your academy. the school’s star athlete, good at winning over hearts and games.

though he had far from perfect grades, he was good at getting away with an f every now and then. however this wasn’t the most ideal.

sometimes you sat inside of the library, taking in the smell of new books. you had no practical reason to be there, but the quiet environment was good enough for you. you weren’t used to the popularity scene like he was. and though everything in your heart was telling you to talk to him, you just couldn’t.

that specific day, you settled on the floor with your back against the hard books. notebooks, pencils, and a laptop was sprawled out everywhere, but not so much that people couldn’t walk past you. you had an immense headache from cramming in an assignment last minute. because of this, you hardly noticed the body that was towering over you, until he spoke.

“hey! your name is y/n, right?” his voice was alluring like honey dripping down your throat, and a striped cardigan draped over his messily buttoned shirt and slightly loose tie. 

but in that moment you froze. admiring him for so long wasn’t considered as practice for actually talking to him.

“hi, yes! um, am i in your way?” you hurry to scoot away but he hesitantly places a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“no not at all!” he tells you anxiously. in his mind he was thinking you were much prettier in person.

“then what’s up?” you felt small in comparison to his large figure. 

“the counselor sent me over to you actually! she said i’d find you here.” he explained, “i need someone to tutor me.”

“you need a tutor?” you questioned with a confused expression on your face.

“yeah.. they’re going to pull me out of basketball if i don’t get my math grade up. and a little birdie told me you were one of the best.” he grinned at you happily and held his hand out for you to get up.

“oh! well i think i have some time right now. i just finished my assignment so you’re in luck.” you quickly grab your things and shove them into your bag before taking his hand.

the touch of his hand on yours made the both of you blush, swiftly pulling away after you were on your feet. you followed behind him to one of the nearest tables, setting your things down beside you before taking a seat.

“so ahm, what specifically were you needing help with?” you ask, pulling out your math notebook and flipping through the chapters.

“literally everything! like how do you even add exponents with different bases?” he whined next to you, letting his head fall onto the desk. 

“no i totally get how that can be tricky!” you laugh, “here i’ll write down an example.”

conversation throughout the rest of the study session flowed smoothly. despite it being your first proper interaction, he knew how to make you smile. 

a stupid joke here and then, sometimes a wink, or his hand grazing slightly against yours. what were you even saying?

meeting up became more frequent between the two of you. it came to the point where you met every tuesday and thursday for the remainder of the month. he wasn’t difficult to teach, but there were time’s he’d zone out in the middle of your mini lesson.

you wondered what went on in his mind, but every part of you wanted to hope you were the one he thought about.

“woon! are you even listening to me?” you frown, snapping your fingers infront of the boy.

“yes yes, i’m sorry i’m just a little sidetracked today.” he sighs, scribbling nothings onto his paper.

“we have our math exam next week and you’ve been doing so much better than when we met for the first time. you can’t be lacking on me now!” you pout at him. it was maybe your eighth time studying in the library together.

“you’re just so pretty, it’s distracting.” he says quietly, not exactly loud enough for you to hear.

“what?” you tilt your head a little.

“nothing! it’s nothing i promise.” he leans his head back, groaning, “there’s just this problem i’m really having trouble figuring out.” “what kind of problem, i’m sure we can find a solution to it.” your interest was piqued. why would he get so worked up over a math problem?

“i don’t think i’m ready to ask you yet, i want to try to figure it out on my own first.” he sighs into his hands, barely getting a glimpse of you through the cracks of his fingers.

“you want to figure it out on your own? when’d you get so independent without me?” you fake a sad expression.

“okay okay, i’ll write it down for you then. but close your eyes!” he gives in, ripping off a sticky note from the pad you took out earlier.

covering your eyes, your other senses seem to heighten. you can hear the rough writing of his pencil against the note he stole from your pile of supplies. he hesitates in between what you can only assume are numbers, before you feel him press the paper against your forehead.

“open your eyes now.” 

your vision is covered slightly from the note, so you can hardly see him fidgeting with his hands. when you peel it off to read, you’re met with a very mysterious question.

‘what’s the answer for me + you?’

“huh? what does this mean woonhak..?” you squint, re - reading the same words over and over again.

“um..” he laughs nervously, “i just don’t want us to be just friends yknow? i really really like you.”

“woon i–”

“i don’t know i just think i’d be a little heartbroken if i had to see you smile so prettily everyday and not be able to call you my.. girlfriend.” he rambled, “but you don’t have to say anything yet! don’t even worry or anything i know this is kinda sudden and we’ve only been hanging out for so long but–”

you interrupt him with a gentle kiss against his lips. he smiles against yours, placing his hands perfectly against your flush cheeks to pull you closer.

“i really like you too, woonhak.” you let your head fall heavy into his hands after finally pulling away, staring at him blissfully.

“i guess i have my answer then, right?”

© 2023 minkkumaz, all rights reserved support your writers by reblogging + giving feedback! it is greatly encouraged and appreciated. thank you! → why feedback + reblogging is so important. ~ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ if you'd like, donate to minkkumaz !

[shubblelive]

— INSTRUCTION MANUAL

summary : you and wilbur are having difficulty navigating life together as a couple. that’s nothing a vaguely insulting band-aid can’t solve.

genre : fluff

warnings : probably swearing, too much shakespeare, reader gets a paper cut, mentions of food/eating

pairing : cc!wilbur soot x reader

pronouns : none (you/yours)

featuring : cc!wilbur soot

requested : could i request just some domestic fluff stuff, you can do whatever you want with it honestly i just crave some more wilbur

word count : 1k

note : here you go my lovely anon, i hope you enjoy <3

over the course of your relationship, you and wilbur had gotten to know each other extremely well. he knew what laundry detergent you used, you knew exactly where he’d put his phone, wherever it was. you’d both been splitting your time between each others’ places, but now, coming up on five years together, you figured it was finally time to get somewhere of your own.

which lead to you spending your thursday night with wilbur on the floor of your new living room, swearing heavily. you were on the phone with the nearest takeout place while he tried to assemble the new coffee table you guys had just bought. he’d already hurt himself, a bandaid with william shakespeare’s face on it stuck to his hand, old timey script saying “go thou and fill another room in hell.”

apparently thursday night was extremely busy, and you were on hold. finally, someone at the shop answered, and you breathed a sigh of relief. “hi, would i be able to get-”

“i’m so sorry we’re swamped here, would you be able to order on the website and i can get back to you?” the poor girl on the other side of the phone sounded exhausted, and you felt bad for bothering her.

“oh, the website’s actually broken,” you cringed at the fact that you were being an inconvenience. “is it okay if-”

“i’m so sorry, give me one second,” you could hear yelling in the background and decided it was better to just hang up and give the workers one less order to worry about.

you put your phone down on the bench and went to turn back to wilbur, banging your head immediately after on an open cabinet.

will heard the thud and poked his head around as best as he could. “you alright, darling? need a bandaid?” he’d been desperate to show off his shakespeare bandaids, but you just shook your head, smiling tiredly. “this should be done in like, ten minutes?” he looked back at his project. “yeah, about that.”

the coffee table was still in pieces, but you didn’t say anything, coming to sit behind him on the sofa, him scooching over on the rug to sit right in front of you. your hands delved into his hair and his chin sat on your knee. “dinner’s not coming,” you informed him, sleepiness heavy in your voice. it had been a long week. all you wanted was to crawl into your newly assembled bed with your partner and sleep forever.

“want me to go pick something up?” he asked. “or i can run to the shops and i can make something?”

you looked at him, smile widening. “maybe in a little while. come sit with me?” the texture of his bandaid was rough against your skin as he placed his hand on your jaw. you leaned into him, smiling blissfully as he wrapped his free arm around you.

“you should go shower, relax for a second. i’ll go out, find some dinner. we can leave the table. i think it’s broken,”

“you’re reading the instruction manual for the fridge,” you pointed out. “the coffee table one’s in the kitchen.”

“i didn’t think i needed to connect the coffee table to the plumbing,”

you laughed. “do you want me to come with you?”

wilbur shook his head. “no, i know your order. i’ll be back in fifteen minutes?” you nodded and he kissed your forehead. “love you.”

“love you too,” your eyes fell shut, and you allowed yourself a few moments before you’d force yourself to get up and go shower. wilbur was right, it was exactly what you needed after a hard day, and you revelled in the warm water. another good thing about moving in with wilbur was that your new shower had incredible water pressure. you fell back on the bed and let yourself sit in silence. wilbur would be back soon, and you wouldn’t have to worry about when he’d have to leave to go back to his place or when you’d have to leave him to go to yours.

he returned, as promised, less than fifteen minutes later, and the two of you sat on the kitchen floor, ignoring the mess of wilbur’s attempt of putting together your furniture. he wasn’t wrong, he’d gotten you exactly what you wanted, and your hand ghosted over the cool tile to come rest on his leg. he let you place your head on your shoulder, and murmured gently in your ear as you both ate. “y’wanna know something, honey?” you hummed in agreement. “this thing says you should leave, and fill another room with hell. i disagree, any room without you is already filled with hell.”

“you’re gross,” you couldn’t stop the smile stretching itself out on your features, face pressed into his arm, both of you tangled in each other on the floor of your new kitchen. you reached blindly for your food and yelped as the side of the paper bag sliced into your finger.

wilbur shot up, your arm buckling under the unexpected weight of holding yourself up in his absence, and he brandished the shakespeare box at you proudly. he placed the plaster gently on your pinkie finger, pressing soft kisses to make you feel better. “do thou amend thy face, and i’ll amend my life.”

wilbur gasped, mock offence prevalent on his face. “if i fix my face, your life will be better. is that what you just said to me?”

you gazed affectionately across the small kitchen at him. “not at all. my life can’t get any better.” he softened, smiling warmly at you as you opened your mouth again. “which is good, cause your face can’t get any worse.”

wilbur laughed, throwing his head back to rest against the drawer, and you couldn’t help yourself, leaning forward to kiss him open-mouthed, bandaged finger running roughly along his brows. he kissed you back, lacing your fingers with his. his index finger, adorned with william shakespeare hooked around your matching pinkie as he pulled you closer to him, deathly warm against the cold tile beneath you as you relaxed fully for the first time all week.