#if you need me i will be in a corner looking at photos of blue flowers and sobbing profusely

[gpcwsl]

Alessia Russo x Reader

- Written in silver -

WC: 909

MasterList

Warnings: short?

Song: You belong to me - Taylor Swift

My bday was yesterday, thought I could write a fiction for ‘Readers��� bday. Hope you enjoy!

The crisp March air nipped at your cheeks as you made your way into the Arsenal training facility, excitement bubbling in your chest. Not just for the match ahead but for the entire day itself—it was your birthday. You had already been bombarded with messages from family and friends, but the real celebration would be at the game. Arsenal had a late afternoon kick-off at 17:30, and you couldn’t think of a better way to spend your special day than playing the sport you loved.

Stepping inside, you were greeted by the familiar buzz of the team preparing for the pre-match meeting. You exchanged quick greetings, laughing at Lotte’s attempt to juggle an orange as you made your way to your usual seat—right next to Alessia Russo.

“Happy birthday, trouble,” Alessia greeted with a grin, her blue eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Thanks, Less,” you replied, dropping into your seat with a content sigh.

Alessia had been your best friend since she joined the club, always by your side whether you needed a partner for extra training or just someone to binge-watch terrible reality TV with. If there was one person who made every day brighter, it was her.

Before you could say anything more, Rénne Slegers stepped to the front, signaling for the team to settle. The room quieted as the pre-match meeting began, everyone focused on the tactical slides displaying Arsenal’s game plan. But then, out of nowhere, the screen changed.

A blown-up, truly awful photo of you filled the projector screen.

Groaning, you immediately recognized it—it was a candid from training where you were mid-sprint, mouth slightly open, looking anything but flattering. A chorus of laughter filled the room as you buried your face in your hands.

“Who did this?” you demanded, already suspecting the usual culprits.

Before anyone could answer, the entire team burst into song.

“Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday to you…”

Your face grew warm as all eyes were on you, the embarrassment creeping in. Unable to handle the attention, you turned to the only place that felt safe—Alessia. Without thinking, you leaned into her, letting your forehead rest against her shoulder in an attempt to hide away.

She chuckled softly, the sound sending warmth through your chest, and gently patted your back. “Aww, come on, it’s cute. You should be honored.”

“Less, I will actually fight you,” you muttered, which only made her laugh harder.

The singing finally came to an end, and the meeting resumed, but Alessia didn’t move away. Instead, her arm rested lightly behind you, fingertips grazing your back in a way that felt��� different. Not that you had time to dwell on it—there was still a match to win.

Finally, after an intense 90 minutes, Arsenal clinched a narrow 4-3 victory. It wasn’t the prettiest win, but it was a win nonetheless. The team celebrated on the pitch, exhausted but elated, before heading back to the changing room.

As you were toweling off, Alessia caught your eye and tilted her head toward the exit. Curious, you followed her out, away from the noise of the post-match chatter.

“Alright, what’s up?” you asked as she led you into a quieter corner.

Alessia shifted slightly, suddenly looking… nervous. It was rare to see her like this—she was usually so confident, so sure of herself. But now, she was fidgeting, her hands tucked behind her back.

“I, uh… I got you something,” she admitted.

You raised a brow. “Less, you already got me a win, what more could I want?”

She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Just—here.”

From behind her, she pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box. The navy blue wrapping paper was smooth, tied with a silver ribbon.

You took it hesitantly, glancing up at her before carefully untying the bow. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, a thin chain with a single charm hanging from it—a small football, engraved with your initials and hers intertwined.

Your breath hitched slightly. “Less… this is—this is beautiful.”

She shrugged, but you could see the hope in her eyes. “I wanted to get you something special. Something that—” she hesitated, before continuing, “—means something.”

Your fingers traced over the charm, heart pounding just a little too fast. “I love it,” you said sincerely, looking up at her. “Thank you.”

Alessia let out a breath, as if she had been holding it in. “Good. I—I was hoping you’d like it.”

You took a step closer, unable to stop the soft smile forming on your lips. “You’re my best friend, you know that?”

For a moment, something flickered across her expression—something deeper, something unsaid. But then she grinned, her usual playful self returning.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Now, let’s get back before they start thinking we’ve run off together.”

You laughed, slipping the bracelet onto your wrist, where it fit perfectly.

As you walked back to the team, you couldn’t help but wonder—was this really just a birthday gift? Or was there something more behind the way Alessia was looking at you?

Maybe, just maybe, you’d find out soon.

[bee-calm]

Then; Natsume Reiko. Then; this fierce, unexplainable urge to earn the right of knowing her. To look her in the eye and say if I win this duel then you’ll tell me why you’re alone, to throw that stone and succeed.

cried over reiko and souko, finished the fic I’ve been working on for almost three years, cried a bit more. please enjoy!

[esyra]

After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.

Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.

Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.

By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.

When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.

Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.

Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.

Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.

For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.

Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.

That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!

So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.

People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.

Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."

They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.

Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[kvroomi]

it's 9 o'clock in the evening when atsumu barges into your bathroom while you're taking off your makeup

“hey, babe, yer phone’s charged, right?”

his voice breaks through the quiet hum of your evening, pulling your attention away from the bottle of moisturiser you'd been trying to open for the past 5 minutes. you glance up to find him leaning in the doorway. his black dress pants and light blue button-up are long gone, now replaced with a large white t-shirt and his obnoxious 'world's best setter' boxers that he must've left in the dresser you bought for him when he started staying over more often.

“yeah, why?” you ask, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

he holds up his phone with an exaggerated sigh, the screen dark. “mine’s dead." he sighs and you look at him confused.

"i was gonna call ‘samu—messaged me somethin’ about the shop. think he forgot to order noodles or… or whatever. can i borrow yours for a sec?”

you furrow your eyebrows, skepticism creeping in. atsumu wasn’t exactly known for prioritizing osamu’s last-minute “emergencies” unless they directly concerned him. “can’t you just use the landline?”

“the landline?” he places a hand on his chest in mock offense.

“what am i, a fossil?" you turn your gaze back to the mirror with a roll of your eyes.

"c’mon, babe, it’ll only take a minute. please?”

you stare at him and he stares back, the two of you locking eyes in a silent standoff. atsumu, for all his dramatics, was never great at hiding when he was up to something.

alas, as much as you wanted to pry, you also didn’t have the energy to argue over something so trivial when it was so late into the day.

“okay,” you breathe out, followed by a long sigh as you hand your phone over.

“just don’t mess with anything.” your eyes narrow threateningly.

“mess with things? me?” he shakes his head around, feigning shock. “never. yer phone’s in the safest hands imaginable.”

that already should’ve been your second red flag—though before you can even question him, he's got his back turned halfway out the door yelling “thanks, babe! yer the best!” over his shoulder.

a brief fifteen minutes have passed, which you only vaguely realise in the haze of beginning your book. you're comfortably tucked into the corner of the couch when he strolls into the living room. plopping your phone onto the cushions beside you and pressing a quick, warm kiss to the top of your head—he pokes your cheek.

“yer a lifesaver,” he says with a grin, flopping down beside you. “what would i do without ya?”

you offer him a glance, “what did osamu need?”

“huh?” you notice his grin falter. it's a split millisecond, but he's quick to cover it with a casual wave of his hand. “oh, somethin’ about… rice.”

you squint at him, trying to read his face. “i thought you said noodles earlier?”

“rice, noodles—same difference,” he says, getting up and walking over to the fridge to pull it open. “food stuff... y’know how he is.”

you let out a hum, satisfied with his answer. and just like that, the moment passes. your attention is drawn back to your book while atsumu rifles through leftovers.

it isn't until later that night when you're climbing into bed and reaching for your phone to set your alarm that you notice. the screen lights up, and instead of your usual photo of cherry blossoms, you're greeted by him—a photo of atsumu.

and it's not just any photo of atsumu, though. this one was pure chaos.

his entire face filled the frame, nose slightly scrunched, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, and his golden-brown eyes wide with faux innocence. his lips were puckered in an over-the-top kissy face. across the bottom of the image in bright, white text were the words: “miss me yet, babe? ;)”

your jaw drops.

“what the—?” you're immediately sitting up and unlocking your phone, going straight into your photo gallery. what you find only makes your disbelief grow, (and maybe your heart too, out of fondness).

the first photo was relatively tame: a selfie of atsumu sprawled out on the couch with his head sitting in his hand with a cheeky and flirty smile. of course, you think.

the second was him in the doorway of the living room with his finger pressed to his lips in a "shh" gesture while you sat on the couch, engrossed in your book.

and then things get progressively more ridiculous, (assuming that's even possible).

there's a close-up of atsumu holding up your favorite snack with an inflated, brash grin, almost as if he was offering it to you. the caption reads: “this one's for you, babe."

another captured him perched on your desk chair, holding your pencil like it was a quill. his nose is scrunched again, an attempt to portray his concentration as he pretends to scribble something brilliant.

it's the final photo that stops you in your tracks.

it's atsumu stood on the balcony, wrapped in your favorite blanket like a superhero while his arm stretched dramatically toward the sky. the caption read: “protector of this household and defender of snacks ;)”

you stare at the screen in silence, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. quite frankly, you couldn't tell whether you wanted to laugh or cry.

atsumu was many things: he was ridiculous, he was almost always over the top, and he was also occasionally the most infuriating person you’d ever met. but, there was one thing for certain—he was undeniably, wholeheartedly yours.

many people don't understand him the way you do. atsumu hadn’t just messed with your phone for the sake of it—he’d left you a trail of love notes that were neatly tucked behind each photo’s absurdity. it was his way of saying "i’m here, even when i’m not," without actually saying the words verbally.

and it worked.

you didn’t text him right away. instead, you curled under the blankets, scrolling through the photos again and again. your heart swelled with every outlandish caption, every childish expression, every trace of him.

eventually, you couldn’t help yourself.

you: you’re a menace.

his reply was almost instant: atsumu: a menace with a pretty face, though. miss ya, babe x

you beamed, your thumb hovering over the lock screen settings, conflicted between whether or not you should switch back the photo. though how could you? not when you already knew tomorrow would bring another excuse for him to check your phone again, just to see if you’d kept it.

so you decide to leave it—his face on your lock screen as a proud display of the world’s most unconventional love letter.

KVROOMI © 2024, DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[mickyschumacher]

[I THINK HE KNOWS!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: a fake and curated date in italy on valentine's day is no one's idea of fun except a publicist’s. but all it does is take a walk around monza to know the difference between what's real and what's fake.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, poor humour, fake dating trope, reader is a graduate uni student, lando being a dream boyfriend, kinda suggestive at the end, mentions of horrible fans and privacy invaded, me knowing nothing about italy let alone lombardy at the end as well.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: lando norris x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.3k

𝐀/𝐍: third fic of my series! i really loved writing this one! fake dating is always such a hit or miss to write about but in this case, it was a lot easier. hope you enjoyed it!♡︎ // as usual, poorly proofread

𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Life’s a funny thing really. Full of mistakes leaving you wondering how you ever got there.  

And as you sat on a bench, looking over at the view of Lake Como in Lombardy, Italy, with ‘hidden’ paparazzi down the street, you began wondering the exact same thing.  

“How long do you think they’ll be here?” You queried, turning your body to face Lando.  

Lando tilted his head, resting his cheek in his hand as he leaned on the top of the bench. His blue eyes briefly raked over you and then where the paparazzi hid. He looked over at his watch. “Give or take twenty minutes. They’ll probably be hungry for actual food soon.”  

You withheld your sigh. How did you get here? Time sure had flown as seven months ago you were just a graduating university student with loan after loan on her shoulders. The very student who still decided to have a sweet treat after handing in her assignment and headed to your favourite cafe. The very student who bumped into Lando Norris and had her bracelet snag on the sleeve of his jacket, landing you in a compromising position as you tried to take it out.  

The very student who woke up the next day with her entire privacy invaded as ‘fans’ hunted you online and seemingly decided not only were you Lando’s girlfriend but the ‘perfect match’. 

That was you.  

Mere hours later, you had Lando’s publicist and underlings knocking at your door with a comprehensive contract and a promise to pay your student loans and pay you. You didn’t think it would last this long. Three months tops... surely. 

So, you signed it. A contract declaring that you were fake dating Lando Norris.  

They said it would help Lando’s image. And help it did. Lando had never looked better to his sponsors. Apparently dating a university graduate makes you look more polished and mature, enough to at least secure a dozen contracts. Most fans seemed to love you. Even the driver’s had taken a liking to you.  

But to you, Lando, and a handful of selectively picked people, this was all fake.  

Every decision was carefully made. The matching jewellery, what he said, what you posted, where you met, the hugs, the arms around the waist, the staring, the kisses... 

And six months later, here you were. On a curated date with the Lando Norris at Lake Como on Valentine’s Day – the third day of your trip. You had both compromised, agreeing to each make a list of things so do in Lombardy, two of which had to be a couple’s activity for the sake of it.  

You had completed most of both of your lists. A visit to Teatro Alla Scala, an opera theatre (your idea, obviously). A guided tour Villa Del Balbianello because Lando needed to see some more real-life scenes of Star Wars (mostly ended up taking photos of you the entire time). An agreed night out from the both of you to Navigli to consume ‘local food.’  

Lando, who desperately wanted to have walk around Lake Como, was sorely disappointed when he spotted the paparazzi hiding around the corner. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, watching your fingers trail the cracks in the wooden bench.  

“It’s okay,” you assured. “It’ll be over soon anyways.” 

Lando knew you were talking about the paparazzi. But he couldn’t help but think about your relationship with him.  

That day at the cafe... the only reason people thought you two were in a relationship wasn’t just because you were barely a centimetre apart trying to remove your bracelet but in all the photos people had captured, Lando was staring at you like it was love at first sight.  

And before he knew it, everything had gone down. The fans, his publicist, the media... it was a shitshow. And then you showed up two days later having signed a contract to be his fake girlfriend.  

Lando hated it. Fuck, he hated it so much. He hated that he dragged you into this. He hated that every moment with you was planned. And he especially hated that he couldn’t like you openly. Not with you thinking it was fake.  

Lando looked down back at his watch. He sighed, leg beginning to shake out of impatience. 

You raised a brow. Naturally, you put a hand on his arm. “Lando... is everything okay?” 

Lando flickered his eyes to your hand and back to your face. He moved his arm from your grasp, grabbing your hand instead. “Come on. We’re leaving,” he stated.  

Your eyes widened as he stood up, bringing you up with him. “W-What? Lan–we’re supposed to leave in thirty minutes,” you murmured quietly, leaving only him to hear your voice.  

“I don’t care,” he started, increasing his walking pace. “Whatever you do... just hold on to me, okay?” 

You furrowed your brows. “Lando, what are-” 

Abruptly Lando paused in his steps. He turned to you, blue eyes staring hard back at you. “Do you trust me?” 

“I–” 

“Do you trust me? Yes, or no?” He repeated softly. 

You gulped nervously, unable to look away from him. “Yes.” 

A look of relief washed over his face as he nodded. “Good. Then hold on. And don’t let go.” 

“Lando, I still don’t get what you–MEAN!” You yelped as Lando began running in no particular direction. You tightened your grasp on his hand while your legs struggled to catch up to him. The problems of having an athlete boyfriend.  

The wind felt serene. The sun was oddly warm despite it being the winter season. It was as though spring was trying to come a little early. All the early architecture you had seen on the way here was beginning to blur into one uniform colour. You weren’t sure where you were going or why but all you knew was that you were going way too fast.  

“Lando! I swear to God, if you get us killed–” 

“You said you trusted me,” Lando yelled back, cautiously looking over his shoulder. He could see the paparazzi struggling to follow the both of you.  

You panted, pushing your legs to keep up. “I do! Breaking into a sprint all of a sudden with no idea in mind, however, begs a slightly different answer.” 

Lando couldn’t help but laugh over the air and God, did you love it. You had heard of people saying that a laugh could so like music to one’s ears. You never understood it. It was a laugh. A reaction. How could it be musical? But in that moment, you understood. It wasn’t just the laugh. It required the context, the smile, the thought... and only then did it become an orchestrated musical masterpiece.  

Another yelp left your mouth as Lando pulled you to the side, situating yourselves in an empty shaded alleyway. You rested your back as comfortably as you could against the stone while Lando stood in front of you, hand still wrapped around yours.  

You both waited quietly. Turning your head slightly, you could see a small flock of black clothed paparazzi walk by, all ushering and yelling, mystified to how you both had disappeared.  

“Okay,” you swallowed hard, turning back to Lando. “I think they’re...” You seem to have lost your ability to speak as you found Lando staring at you. It had been a common occurrence within the past few months and it never got any easier. “They’re gone,” you confirmed, chest heaving.  

“You should probably start joining me on my workouts,” he mumbled, eyes flickering over you again, absorbing the sight of the thin sheet of sweat across your skin.  

You narrowed your eyes, moving your hand from his grasp to hit him with the side of your bag. A groan fell from his lips. “Ow!” He yelled, making you clasp a hand over his mouth. Your head darted to the side, checking whether anyone heard him.  

“What was that for?” He queried after you removed your hand from his mouth.  

“For being an asshole. And for making me run. Which reminds me... why did you make us run?” You queried with a more than unhappy tone.  

Lando grinned. “We still have one thing on your list to do.” 

You furrowed your brows. “I didn’t add anything else.” 

Lando’s hand rummaged through the pocket of his shorts, taking out a familiar piece of paper – the very one you had written all your activities on. And right at the bottom was an activity you thought you tore off.  

Your eyes widened, hand darting out to grab the piece of paper but Lando was too quick. “Nuh-uh,” he tutted, holding the paper close to him. “I’m getting this framed.” 

You skin burned at his words. You clearly remembered what you wrote.  

Walk the Monza track with Lando (and preferably some gelato). 

“I was supposed to take that off,” you mumbled.  

Lando frowned. “You don’t want to do it? Or did you not want to do it with me?” 

You blinked blankly at Lando. “Are you stupid? Did you read the same thing I did? Obviously with you. I just... we’ll probably get mobbed so it’s a stupid idea.” 

Lando understood what you meant. Visiting in Italy for two days now had proven to be incredibly difficult with a fan asking for a photo every other minute. He was appreciative that you were so understanding but he felt awful. 

“Yeah... I mean it would be crazy if you had a boyfriend who could rent out the entire track for a couple of hours,” Lando yawned, stretching his arms nonchalantly.  

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see your mouth fall open. “Lando... you didn’t.” 

Lando rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand once again. “I did. Now come on. We’re going to be late!”  

━━━━━━━━━━━ 

You blinked blankly once you arrived to the empty Monza track. You had preoccupied yourself in the car ride here, pointing out all the interesting things you were seeing as Lando drove to the track. You were going to fall asleep if you hadn’t arrived there any earlier. But now that you were... you didn’t think your eyes could get any wider.  

“Is that a...” You turned to Lando with twinkling eyes.  

“Just go pick your flavour,” he narrowed his eyes.  

A squeal fell from your lips and before you knew it, you were hugging Lando tightly. You could feel his arms wrap around your waist, happily accepting your hug. “Thank you,” you murmured next to his ear.  

Lando smiled calmly despite his heart beat pounding in his ears. He was sure he could stay like this forever if he could. “You’re welcome. I... It’s so much less than what you deserve, but it’s all I could think to do given the... circumstances.”  

You stared at the pavement of the track heavily, Lando’s words swirling around your head. Right... the circumstances. You cleared your throat, pulling away from him even though you could’ve sworn you felt him tighten his grasp momentarily.  

“Come on. Pick your flavour or I’m just going to get you all chocolate,” you called out, waking over to the gelato cart he had hired. 

Lando sighed, briefly making a disgusted expression. He followed after you with a small smile. Despite the wind, he could still smell you on him.  

You greeted the cart owner, excitedly eyeing all the gelato flavours. There were so many to choose from... how were you ever going to pick? “Can I get...” 

“She’ll get mango, chocolate, raspberry, and lemon in a cup,” Lando finished, hovering behind you.  

You gaped, snapping your head to Lando. “How did you know?” 

“Better question is,” Lando started, resting his mouth right above your shoulder and near your ear, “why wouldn’t I?” 

You shivered at his words, cheeks burning at the small grin playing on his lips. “I’m not sharing any of mine,” you muttered, moving your eyes to the gelato.  

Lando pouted teasingly. “Please,” he sung, tilting his head so you could see him blink his eyes rapidly. 

You gulped, taking a step away before you succumbed to his wishes. “I think I’m going to throw up.” 

Lando gasped. “So rude!” 

You chuckled taking the cup of gelato while thanking the owner. Lando narrowed his eyes at you, ordering his own combination of pistachio, melon, and orange.  

You made a face at his cup as he walked towards you. “There is something so wrong with you.” 

Lando rolled his eyes, nudging you forwards to the entrance of the track. “Just be quiet and walk.” 

━━━━━━━━━━━ 

You and Lando walked comfortably at your own pace around the track, eating your gelato while he explained parts of the track or its history.  

“I’m not gonna lie,” you started, finishing your spoonful of raspberry, “Curva Parabolica makes me feel sick. Every time it came on the TV, I thought I was going to throw up.” 

Lando raised a brow, resting his spoon in his cup. “I thought you didn’t watch them?” 

It was always Lando’s assumption you didn’t watch the races. Even when you came to them, if there was a camera, you’d flash a smile, otherwise there was no other reason to be there. You were at the podiums because you had to be, not because you wanted to be. 

You snorted, looking at him incredulously. “Of course, I watch them. Why wouldn’t I? You’re freaking racing! I’m always so proud of you, no matter where or how you finish. You don’t see me next your mum and dad, cheering you on at the end of the race?” 

Of course he did. You were the first person he would look for at a race. And if you weren’t there, he’d look at the camera in hopes you were watching. And all this time... you had been.  

Lando’s mouth dried. “I just thought...” 

You looked at his face and you could read his mind. “You thought it was fake.” 

He blinked, regret washing over his face. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it,” he apologised.  

You took a spoonful of your mango gelato and eyeing his mournful expression. “It’s okay. If there’s one thing you should know, my proudness and happiness for you isn’t fake. Even if this whole thing is.” 

And there it was again. The bitter reminder that this entire relationship was fake. That perhaps the only real thing in your relationship was how you met.  

But this was real. 

This – the track, the gelato, the conversation – this was real.  

Lando sucked in a sharp breath, moving his eyes to the rest of the track as he ate large soon of his melon gelato. He exhaled slowly, trying to remember where he was once again. “Okay... pop quiz! Who was Variante Ascari named after?” 

You cleared your throat, pulling on a thoughtful expression. “Um Al.. Alberto Ascari? The Italian driver, right?” 

“Thank God someone’s been paying attention,” he joked as you neared the named turn.  

You rolled your eyes. “I should thank Fewtrell for that one. Remember that stream he made us join?” 

“Yeah,” Lando laughed softly, all the memories hitting him at once. It was really sweet of Max actually. It was a time when some ‘fans’ were being particularly awful to you. Saying you were using Lando for fame because you barely knew anything about the sport.  

Max then created a poorly made quiz about Formula 1 and got you and Lando to join. Max and Lando pretended not to know much so you were all in the same boat. And any time the right answer was mention, Lando would occasionally squeeze your leg to give you a clue. The stream was flooded with some of the kindest comments, telling you to ignore everyone else and just focus on your health and your relationship with Lando.  

It was one of the moments where you realised how good of a friend Max was. Lando was lucky to have someone who cared for him that much.  

Lando looked down at his cup and let out a dramatic sigh. 

You didn’t even need to bat an eye towards. “I told you I'm not sharing,” you reminded, quickening your pace.  

It didn’t take long for him to catch up. “Please, please. I can see you have like two spoons of mango and lemon. Come on. Sharing is caring.” 

“No–Lando! Stop following me!”  

All of a sudden, you and Lando were running again. But this time, you weren’t worried about some paparazzi or the destination. It was just you and Lando.  

“No offense, but you are not outrunning me,” Lando called out from behind you, running with what you were pretty sure was a smug grin. 

You huffed, trying to push your legs further but you could feel him hovering. You came to an abrupt halt. “You’re right. I can’t outrun you,” you smiled, turning to him. “But I can out-eat you.” 

Lando’s grin dropped as you combined the two flavours of gelato and plopped them in your mouth. He stood there, dumbfounded while you happily ate the rest.  

You replicated his smug grin from earlier and poked your tongue out. “All finished. Sorry,” you shrugged with no sound of an apology hidden in your voice.  

Lando swallowed hard, eyes fixated on your mouth. A step closer to you, his body was pressed on yours. His hand travelled up your neck, the other hand resting on your waist to pull you closer.  

You inhaled slowly, hairs on your body standing straight. You tried meeting his eyes but all you could see was him focus on your lips. Instinctively, your hand fell to his arm around your waist, fastening yourself to him.  

“I... I think I can still taste it,” he said, voice hoarse and dry. He wasn’t sure if he could even recognise himself. 

“Lando... I–we're not on the clock,” you whispered, unwilling to untangle yourself from his grasp.  

“I don’t care.” 

In the blink of an eye, Lando’s lips were smashed against yours and fuck, his lips were soft and pillowy as usual. Your stomach churned upon feeling Lando pushing you closer to him, if that were possible. His fingers were cold against your skin, creeping under the hem of your shirt to rub tingling circles onto your skin.  

A breathy gasp fell from your lips while goosebumps littered your skin. Lando took advantage of this, groaning against your lips as he darted his tongue to explore your mouth. He could feel himself press into you, rubbing his hard-on against you.  

You think now would be an appropriate time to self-implode. You had all the signs. Burning skin, dizziness, and the lost ability to breathe. 

Lando almost buckled under your touch as your fingers scoured his taut torso, lingering dangerously close to his v-line. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasped, pulling away to rest his forehead on yours. His hands had found themselves holding yours, preventing you from undoing him any further. His chest heaved, rising up and down while he stared at your swollen lips and moved his eyes to meet yours.  

“I want this to be real,” he pleaded, moving your hand to his face. “Please.” 

“Lando,” you started but he didn’t want to hear it.  

He shook his head. “I think I’m falling in love with you. I think I have been since we first met,” he sighed out, collecting himself. “I don’t want to do this when it’s fake. I want to be with you because what I feel is real. Because you drive me crazy and I can’t imagine a future without you.” 

You blinked, feeling his hand trail over yours as you caressed his face. Your heart raced loudly in your ears. How were you supposed to respond to that? “I...” 

“Please say something. Anything,” he begged, blue eyes heavily staring down at you. 

“As long as you promise to walk with me on every track. Oh, and get me gelato.” 

Lando let out the biggest sigh of relief, almost collapsing against your hand. His head dipped down, pressing his lips against you once again, taking you into a long kiss. He sighed, pulling away.  

His arms fell around your waist as he grinned at you. “I promise.” 

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 

[nomie-11]

Last Call Home

masterlist! | read part 2 here!

synopsis: you had promised years ago that when Vi went to university, you would stay back and take care of Powder and tuition until she graduated. You just didn't understand the toll it would take on yourself.

pairings: vi x reader, powder is lowkey reader's adoptive daughter

“Hey, it’s Vi. Just wanted to call and let you know that I love you and I miss you, and I know I promised I’d be home for the weekend, but Cait needed me for a lab her and Jayce were working on. I promise I’ll come visit you and Pow soon. Happy Valentine's Day, baby.”

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, February 14th, 11:36 p.m.

—————————

Working at The Last Drop wasn’t where you had seen yourself in the long run. When your senior year homeroom teacher had asked you where you wanted to be in the next five years, you would have said university, maybe a job in a field you fell in love with, an apartment with Vi that has a balcony and a nice view.

Not living in the same city in the same dingy apartment since graduation, no college degree and a stagnant job at a bar no one came too unless college was on break. 

But that was you, at the ripe age of twenty two. 

Trudging home after a long shift at the bar, but you had work to get done, things to do before tomorrow. Laundry, bills, maybe dinner if there was enough in the fridge for Powder to eat for the next three days until you got paid and could go food shopping. 

The door to your apartment pushed open with a soft click, the scent of the cheap countertop cleaner you bought immediately assaulting your nose. 

“Hey,” Powder said, not looking up from her seat on the floor by the coffee table. She was doing the art assignment her (ridiculously expensive) therapist had told her to do. 

“Hey baby,” you said, forcing a smile onto your face as you kicked off your work boots and sat heavily onto the couch. “How was school?”

She glanced up at you, her soft, violet blue eyes giving you a one over before she answered. 

“It was good,” she nodded. 

You nodded back, draping an arm over your eyes as you stared up at the ceiling. It was unfair to Powder, and you knew it, but ever since her and Vi’s dad had keeled over and died of a heart attack four years ago, and Vi left for school the year after, you were all she had left. 

“Good.”

————————————

“Fuck, I totally forgot that tomorrow is Powder’s art showcase. I know I promised I’d be back home for it, but finals are next week and I really need to study. Just… send me photos of it, ok? I just want to see her. She’s getting so big. I’m sorry again, Y/n. I miss you.”

——phone call from Vi to Y/n, March 4th, 1:47 p.m.

———————————

Mornings started early. You never had time to make Powder's lunch when you got home from work, so you woke up before dawn to make her breakfast and something somewhat nutritious to eat. The last time you actually had enough money to take her to a family doctor, the only comment they had was that you must have been starving her with how underweight she was. 

You hated the implication, hated yourself more for not being able to prove them wrong. Powder deserved better. You didn’t even bother with breakfast for yourself anymore—not since the last time you stepped on the scale and realized your clothes were fitting tighter than they used to. Some days you told yourself it was just muscle from hauling kegs and scrubbing down the bar; other days you knew better, people aren’t meant to live off of cheap frozen meals and energy drinks. 

You shoved a granola bar and an overripe apple into Powder’s bag, watching her from the corner of your eye as she meticulously folded her art supplies into a second-hand tote you had re-sewn more time than you can count. Her hands moved with care, but there was a tension in her shoulders that weighed too heavy for a thirteen year old. She wasn’t even your sister, you were her sister's girlfriend by relationship, but she might as well have been your daughter at this point. 

She caught you looking, and her soft frown deepened. 

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” she murmured. 

“Doing what?” You asked, tying the handles of her lunch bag into a bow as casually as you could. 

“Pretending everything’s okay.” Powder’s words were quiet, but they struck you like a fist. 

You didn’t answer, just slid her bag over the counter to her and kissed the top of her hair. “Have a good day at school, baby,” you whispered, even as the lump in your throat threatened to consume you. 

——————————

“I finally booked train tickets for May, so I’ll be home for two weeks before I have to go on that research trip. Maybe we can plan a day, just me, you, and Powder? We can go to that art museum she loves—tickets are free for under eighteen, I’m sure we can still pass as high schoolers. Sound good? School is really kicking my ass. I just want to come home.”

——phone call from Vi to Y/n, April 24th, 11:23 a.m.

—————

A part of you wasn’t ready to see Vi. 

It wasn’t anger or resentment—not entirely. It was something deeper, heavier. A dull ache that grew each time her name lit up your phone, her voice brimming with excuses that always sounded too reasonable to argue with. You hated how your heart still jumped at the sound of her voice, how it softened just a little each time that she said she missed you. You hated that a part of you believed her. 

You glanced at Powder’s latest painting propped up against the wall by the coffee table. It was a tangled mess of blues and reds, dark shadows streaking through what looked like broken glass. It was beautiful, haunting even, but it wasn’t a pre-teen’s painting. It was too raw, too heavy. 

Powder was supposed to be excited about Vi’s visit. She’d circled the date on the calendar in her favorite bright pink pen, but now you weren’t so sure. She didn’t talk about her sister much anymore, and when she did, it was only in passing. 

The sound of her footsteps pulled you out of your thoughts. She wandered into the living room, still in her pajamas, her hair a long mess waiting for you to braid it carefully. “Is she really coming this time?” 

You sighed, unsure how to answer. “She says she is. She booked the tickets.”

Powder sat on the couch, curling into herself as she hugged a pillow to her chest. “She always says that.”

You didn’t have the heart to argue. She was right. 

—————

“I’m on the train now! Can’t wait to see you. I know I’ve been gone too long, but I’m gonna make it up to you and Pow. I swear. I brought her those paint sets she’s been wanting. Love you.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 5th, 3:13 p.m.

—————

You heard her before you saw her—the creak of the apartment door, her familiar laugh as she stumbled inside carrying her overstuffed duffle bag. Powder froze beside you on the couch, her pencil hovering mid-stroke over her sketchbook. 

“Hey! I’m home!” Vi’s voice was warm, teasing, like she hadn’t been gone for months. 

You stood slowly, your heart pounding in your chest as Vi rounded the corner, her eyes lighting up when they met yours. “There’s my girl,” she said softly, dropping her bag and pulling you into her arms. She smelled the same—like leather and lavender, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke that lingered from the months before she quit. You wanted to melt into her, but something held you back. 

Powder didn’t move from the couch. She stared at Vi, her face unreadable. “You’re late,” she said quietly. 

Vi’s smile faltered. “I know, Pow. I’m sorry. The train—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Powder stood, brushing past her sister without another word and disappearing into her room. 

Vi’s shoulders sagged. “She hates me, doesn’t she?” 

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t know how to trust you anymore.” 

Vi winced, her hands finding your waist as she looked at you with familiar, guilty eyes. “Do you still trust me?” 

Your throat tightened. You wanted to say yes, wanted to believe it was true. But trust wasn’t built on promise—it was built on presence. “I don’t know,” you whispered. 

And for the first time since you met her twelve years ago, Vi didn’t have a comeback. 

—————

“Pow’s still mad, isn’t she? I don’t blame her, but it sucks. I’m trying, Y/n. I swear I’m trying. I just… didn’t think everything would be so different. Anyway, tomorrow’s our museum day, right? I’ve been looking forward to it all week. I want it to be perfect. I’ll make it up to the both of you, I promise.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 7th, 9:42 p.m.

—————

The museum was quieter than usual, the midday crowd sparse except for a few families and a group of art students sketching by a massive installation in the lobby. Powder walked a few steps ahead of you and Vi, her eyes scanning the walls, taking in every piece like she was cataloging them in her mind. 

Vi tried to catch up with her, her usual playful energy bubbling to the surface. “Hey, Pow, wait up!”

Powder didn’t slow down. She stopped in front of a painting—abstract, full of swirling colors and chaotic lines. “This one’s new,” she said, her voice distant. 

Vi stepped closer, her gaze flickering between Powder and the painting. “It’s cool. What do you think it’s about?” 

Powder shrugged, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Maybe it’s about someone trying to fix something, but they keep messing it up instead.” 

Vi flinched, but you placed a gentle hand on her arm before she could respond. “It’s beautiful, Pow,” you said softly. 

Powder glanced at you, her expression softening just a little. “Yeah. I guess.” 

Vi stayed quiet after that, no attempts to joke or lighten the mood. You could tell she felt out of place, like a guest in her little sister and her girlfriend’s lives. 

Lunch was better—Powder perked up when she was able to order a large side of fries instead of splitting a small with you, and Vi managed to coax a small smile out of her when the three of you went out for ice cream after, and Vi shelled out the extra twenty five cents for rainbow sprinkles on top. But the weight between them lingered, a silent reminder that some things couldn’t be fixed in a single day. 

—————

“Hey, it’s me. Just wanted to say I’ll wait up for you tonight, okay? I know you’ve been working late, but I want to spend some time with you. Maybe we can talk. Love you, Y/n.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 9th, 7:12 p.m.

—————

You came home long past midnight, your body aching from another double shift. The sound of the TV murmuring in the background greeted you as you pushed the door open, and there was Vi, sprawled out on the ouch, half-asleep but still waiting for you. 

“Hey,” she mumbled, sitting up as you dropped your bag and kicked off your worn shoes. “You look exhausted.” 

“I am,” you said simply, your voice flat. 

Vi frowned, her eyes scanning you more closely now. She took in the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders slumped, the stains on your work uniform no amount of scrubbing could get out, the strain on the clothes you couldn’t afford to replace. Her gaze drifted to the pile of unopened bills on the kitchen counter, the worn-out sneakers by the door, the way Powder’s bedroom light was still on because she refused to sleep unless she was sure you were home. 

“Y/n…” Vi started, her voice low and uncertain. 

“What?” you asked, dropping heavily onto the couch beside her. 

“I didn’t realize…” She gestured vaguely around the apartment. “All of this. How much you’re doing. For Pow, for—everything.” 

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “What did you think I was doing while you were at school, Vi? Sitting around waiting for you to come back?”

Her face fell, guilt washing over her. “No, I just—”

“You didn’t notice,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “Because you weren’t here.” 

Vi looked away, her jaw tight. “I’m here now.” 

“Yeah,” you said bitterly. “For two weeks. And then you’re gone again, off to some research trip or lab or whatever else is more important than being home for Powder’s fourteenth birthday and her next art showcase and all of her other achievements.” 

Silence settled between you, heavy and suffocating. Vi reached for your hand, her touch tentative. “I know I’ve screwed up,” she said quietly. “And I know I can’t fix it in two weeks, but I want to try. Please, Y/n, let me try.” 

You wanted to believe her, but the exhaustion in your bones made it hard to hope. Pulling your hand away as you stood, you couldn't bear to look at her. “I’m going to bed.” 

Vi stayed on the couch long after you disappeared into the bedroom, the weight of her absence these past years settling over her like a heavy blanket. For the first time, she truly saw the cracks in the life she’d left behind—and the toll they’d taken on the people who’d given her the means to leave. 

—————

“Hey, Cait. It’s me. Look, I’ve been thinking, and I know it’s a big ask, but… is that offer for the spare apartment still on the table? It’s just—things here are worse than I thought. Y/n is working herself to death, and Powder’s not doing great. I want to bring them to Piltover. They deserve better than this. 

I swear, I’ll make it work. I’ll get a part-time job, and once we graduate, I’ll pay you back for everything. I just need to know if it’s okay, if you’re okay with it. They’re—well, they’re  my everything, Cait. I can’t keep leaving them like this. Let me know, okay? Thanks. For everything.” 

—phone call from Vi to Caitlyn Kiramman, May 9th, 11:37 p.m.

—————

The restaurant wasn’t fancy by Piltover standards, but it was leagues above the dingy diners you frequented when you had enough saved up to get Powder a vanilla milkshake and a burger. The dim lighting made the worn wooden tables look almost elegant, and the scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling garlic filled the air. Powder’s eyes were wide as she took it all in, her sketchbook clenched tightly in her hands like she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Vi had insisted on treating the two of you, though you weren’t sure where she’d gotten the money. “A friend helped out,” she’d said with a sheepish grin, waving off your questions. 

The meal was nice—better than nice, really. Powder had polished off a plate of pasta bigger than her head, and Vi hadn’t stopped smiling since you walked in. But when the plates were cleared and the check paid, Vi leaned forward, her expression turning serious. 

“I need to talk to you both about something,” she said, her voice steady but soft. 

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Powder, who was busy doodling on a napkin. “What’s going on?” 

Vi took a deep breath. “I want you both to come to Piltover with me.” 

Your stomach dropped. “What?” 

“I talked to Caitlyn,” Vi continued, her gaze fixed on yours. “She has a spare apartment, and she said we can stay there. Rent-free. She’s even willing to cover Powder’s school and therapy until I can get a good enough job to take care of it myself. And you can enroll in community college until I graduate and transfer to Piltover University. A fresh start for the both of you.” 

Your head was spinning. “Vi, that’s… that’s huge. We can’t just pack up and leave. What about Powder’s school? She can’t handle transferring in the middle of the year. Finding a new therapist she trusts? My job?”

“I know it’s a lot,” Vi said quickly, her hand reaching for yours. “But Caitlyn’s family is crazy rich, and she said she can help with everything. We’ll find Powder a new school with a great art program, a new therapist to help with her BPD, whatever she needs. And you won’t have to work like this anymore, Y/n. You can focus on what you want to do, not just surviving.” 

Powder looked up from her drawing, her eyes wide. “You want us to move to Piltover?” 

“Yeah, Pow,” Vi said gently. “I know it’s scary, but I think it would be really good for you. For us.” 

You pulled your hands back, shaking your head. “This is too much, Vi. What if it doesn’t work out? What if we can’t—”

“It will work,” VI interrupted, her voice firm but pleading. “I’ll make sure of it. I’m not asking you to trust Caitlyn or her family. Just trust me. I’ve got you.” 

Silence hung between you, heavy with unspoken fears. Powder’s gaze flickered between the two of you, her expression uncertain but curious with the hope of a future you wished you could provide but would never be able to afford on your own. 

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need time to think about it.” 

“Take all the time you need,” Vi said, her tone softening. “But just… think about it, okay? You can’t keep up like this.” 

You nodded, but the weight of the decision settled in your chest like a stone. Vi’s words made sense, but they didn’t erase the fear gnawing at you. This might have been miserable, but this was home. 

—————

“Do you think Powder will hate me for leaving again? I don’t want to go.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 15th, 2:54 p.m.

—————

The train station was as dreary as you remembered it being the first time Vi left. The cold concreted floors and harsh fluorescent lights did nothing to make the moment any easier. Powder clung to Vi’s waist like her life depended on it, her sobs muffled against the soft leather of her sister’s favorite jacket. 

“Hey, Pow,” Vi said softly, brushing a hand through her hair. “You’ve gotta let go, okay? I promise I’ll come back. You’ll see me again soon.” 

Powder shook her head, her tears soaking into Vi’s clothes. “Please, Violet! I don’t want you to go!” she choked out, calling her older sister by her full name. 

You stood a few steps away, arms crossed tightly over your chest, trying to keep it together. But when Vi turned to you, her eyes shining with unshed tears, your resolve cracked.

“You’ll take care of her, right?” Vi asked, her voice breaking just a little. 

“Always,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. 

Vi stepped forward and pulled you into a tight hug, Powder squeezed between the two of you. “I love you,” she murmured against your lips. “Both of you.” 

“I love you too,” you said, your voice barely audible as you buried your face in her shoulder. 

The train whistle blew, loud and piercing, signaling the last boarding call. Vi pulled back reluctantly, kneeling to press a kiss to Powder’s forehead, and then standing to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’ll call as soon as I get back to my apartment,” she promised, her voice trembling. 

Powder reached for her again, but you gently pried her hands away, lifting her up as if she was still the nine year old girl watching her sister leave for the first time. She wrapped herself around like she had when she was younger, her legs around your waist and her arms clinging to your neck as if letting go would make everything fall apart. 

Vi hesitated on the platform, her eyes fixed on the two of you until the last second. Then she turned and boarded the train, disappearing through the doors. 

You and Powder stood there as the train pulled away, her sobs shaking against your chest. Watching Vi go felt like losing her all over again, and you couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down your cheeks. 

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered as you held her tight against your chest as if she was a backpack you had strapped to your front. “We’ll be okay. Let’s go home.” 

But even as you said it, you weren’t sure if you believed it. 

The walk back to the apartment was long and heavy, Powder’s weight in your arms a reminder of how young she still was despite everything she’d been through. Her sobs quieted eventually, but she didn’t let go, her face buried against your neck like she was trying to hide from the world. 

When you finally made it home, the apartment felt emptier than it ever had before. 

—————

“Hey, Vi. It’s Y/n. I know you’re probably in a lab right now, but I just dropped off Powder at school. I quit my job on an impulse last night, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I can’t do this anymore. I miss you, and I just— I think we’ll do it. I think we’ll move to Piltover.” 

—phone call from Y/n to Vi, June 1st, 8:02 a.m.

Read part 2 here!

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[baronessvonglitter]

Bad Santa

sleazy mall Santa!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Word count: 2.3K

Summary: Frantically seeking relief during the Christmas rush, the Santa at your local mall is the last person you'd expect to help.. and the only one who can.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Reader is a hot and horny mess and wears a short skirt. Mall Santa is a perv, but he's your perv. Semi-public masturbation (f). Squirting. Cockwarming. Semi-public sex. Infidelity. Unprotected piv. Oral (m & f receiving). Analingus (f receiving). Possibly illegal use of a candy cane. Creampie. Come swallowing. Santa Joel is a menace and a sleaze but that's what we all need, right?

Author's Note: one of the first things I learned about @strang3lov3 is that we share a deep love for Bad Santa (and Billy Bob in general) so this is written in her honor. Bug, I hope you enjoy Santa Joel, and don't forget to leave out some cigs and whiskey for him on Xmas Eve. (And the latest edition of Hustler. He's an old-school magazine man.)

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You're home on Christmas break from college and all you want to do is fuck the boyfriend you left behind and have been faithful to for four long, painful months. But the only thing on Derek's mind is doing last minute Christmas shopping.

The mall on Christmas Eve is the last circle of hell.

Derek guides you through the crowd. "Sleigh Ride" plays over the speakers, tinny, bright and cheery. You hate it. You're impatient. You're horny. You need to find a way to get him alone, even just a fingerbang would suffice. For now.

You pass by the huge Christmas tree in the center where the mall Santa waits with bored-looking elves. There's no line, which is surprising given it's the last day for photo ops.

Santa watches as you pass, cheap plastic beard hanging off, revealing gray scruff, his red suit wrinkled and stained. You track his gaze roving over your figure, fully concentrating on the jiggle of your ass under the short skirt you'd picked out in the hopes of getting a quickie.

"God damn," you hear him mutter. "Merry Christmas, babygirl." he calls out.

You glance back and see him pull the beard down, wiggling his tongue at you in a lewd manner.

Fucking sleaze. But your pussy is wet and throbbing, and this is the first bit of attention you've had all day. You respond by stuffing your tongue in your cheek and making a blow job motion. Santa licks his lips and subtly palms his cock over his fluffy red pants.

Derek, oblivious, is walking you towards a department store.

"Mommy said she'd like a new bathrobe for Christmas," he says, bringing you past the awful perfume and makeup counters. You heard right.. Mommy. What the fuck?

"Didn't you already buy her a foot massager?" you ask, barely hiding your disinterest, looking around for a corner where you can blow him.

"She said she wants the robe instead," he says, diligently checking each one on the rack. Pink, green, blue, they're all in ugly prints and you wonder how little he must think of his mom to actually buy her a bathrobe instead of something nice.

But the bigger problem is your aching cunt.

"Derek, come on, just pick one out," you beg him, whispering in his ear, giving his lobe a little bite.

"Calm down, we're in public," he chides you over nervous laughter.

"So? That makes it more exciting." Closer to him as the clothing rack hides you, you cup his crotch, disappointed to find he isn't even remotely hard. Not a problem. You know exactly how to get him started.

"Let's go to the dressing room," you tell him before he can remove your hand. "I'll let you do whatever you want, please, I just need you now.."

"Get a hold of yourself," he whispers harshly, finally pulling your hand from him.

"Derek, what the fuck?" you whisper back. "Your horny girlfriend wants you to fuck her in a semi-public place and you're limp as a fucking noodle. Don't you want to at least watch me get off?"

You're not even allowing him time to think about it, leading him to the men's dressing room, where you're less likely to set off an alarm than the women's. You step into the first stall and push him against the wall, caging him in with your arms.

"Sweetheart, what the hell?"

"Fuck me," you tell him. "Jesus, Derek, I'm pussy on a plate right now." You lift your leg, rubbing against him, but only the fly of his jeans provides any feeling. "And you can't even get hard??"

"You're coming on a little strong," he says faintly, as if he's being cornered by a feral animal. And in a way he is.

You lean back on the little dressing room seat, hiking up your skirt. "At least eat me out, for Christ's sake," you whine, fingers dipping into your dripping-over cunt.

"Darling! You're acting like a crazy person," he says, shielding his eyes as you desperately finger yourself.

"You're such a pussy," you grunt out, breath hitching as you fuck yourself on two, then three fingers.

"You're not wearing any panties??" he says too loud, but you're past caring who hears, or if anyone even walks in. You'll gratefully fuck the store manager and the security guard who'll probably come to haul you away.

Derek keeps his gaze averted as you continue shamelessly fucking your hand, reaching inside your dress to twist your nipple. "Derek.. fuck.. you just gonna stand there and be useless?" You shove a fourth finger in your snatch, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your boyfriend is deeply afraid as he risks a peek from between his hands covering his face. "You look possessed! You have to stop or someone's going to hear you!"

"Baby, please, put your cock in my mouth," you beg, still working yourself into a frenzy. "Jizz on my face, anything, please!" You're on the floor now, riding your own fingers, your other hand madly strumming at your clit like a perverted version of air guitar.

There's a knock at the dressing room door, to which you answer "Go away, we're fucking" Then you come, squirting all over the bathrobe Derek was going to gift his dear mommy.

"You're lucky that guy didn't turn us into the police," Derek says, tight-lipped as he leads you back towards the center of the mall. "Got it all out of your system?" He's leaving the store embarrassed and minus any gifts.

"Yes," you sigh in exasperation, though it's a bald-faced lie. The need is growing again and you're just a slave to it. Your hands itch to go up your skirt again, to relieve the tension before it becomes unbearable.

And there he is, right where you left him before. Fucking Santa Claus. Like he's been waiting for you this whole time.

"Let's take a picture," you pull on Derek's hand. "Please? End the day on a good note?" You do your best to look contrite but all you're thinking about is sitting on that sleazy man's lap, maybe getting felt up. It'd be fucking amazing to have someone touch you besides your own fingers.

Before he can even protest you're practically skipping past the velvet rope and traipsing up the candy-cane lined walk to the big green chair where Santa sits. His eyes already on you, he pats his lap, tongue peeking out between his lips.

Derek follows after, but is stopped by one of the elves, who tells him he has to pay in advance for a photo.

"And what's your name?" Santa murmurs, discreetly adjusting himself as you seat yourself on his lap. "Does it matter?" you ask, subtly lifting the back of your skirt as he pulls his thick hard cock. "Guess not," he chuckles low and deep, then hisses as your slick tight cunt envelops him.

"My fucking god," he says lowly, doing all he can to keep from thrusting up into you as your boyfriend comes up, all smiles as he watches you get cozy with Santa. He makes as if to sit on Santa's other thigh. "Not you," Santa grunts, his hands on your waist as you clench and throb around him. Derek holds a smile and stands to the side opposite you.

This, this is what you needed. His cock isn't even all the way in, the way you pulse around him pushes him out a little until his hands grab your waist, as if to pose you for the camera, and pushes you down, bottoming out within your sopping wet cunt.

"Gonna leave a mess on me," he murmurs. "Already got my lap soaked. And the suit's a fuckin' rental."

His breath smells like cigarettes and cheap booze and it's only making you want him more. "Fuck, I needed this.."

"You been a good girl this year?"

"Not at all."

He leans in and whispers: "Good girls get presents. Bad girls like you get to sit on Santa's fat cock." He shifts his lap up a little, jutting up into you and you bite your lip to barely suppress a moan.

Your picture is being taken with Santa but you could give a shit. Cockwarming him while he's whispering filth in your ear is the most fun you've ever had.

"Does baby girl want a candy cane?" he asks when it's time for you to go. Derek goes to pay, leaving you alone with Santa again. "We have some more in the elf cottage, You gonna come get one? Gotta earn it first.." His gloved finger traces your arm. "C'mon, ditch the wanker."

The elf cottage is a sparse room for the Santa's Wonderland employees to take their breaks, and right now it's filled with the sounds of flesh slapping on flesh, your moans muffled by the fluffy red hat he put there to quiet you as he bends you over the folding table and rams his holly jolly dick into your stretched needy cunt.

"That's it, baby, fuckin' take it. Let Santa stuff your tight lil' stocking," he grunts.

You moan around the red fluff of his hastily discarded hat, throat burning with all your pent-up screams. Christ, you've never had anyone so disgusting, so eager, so perfect to satisfy this itch that you've been unable to scratch yourself.

And lord, his cock is the most filling thing you'll ever have. You already know he's going to leave you gaping for the next few days.

He watches the ripples of your ass as you throw it back on him, taking his entire fucking shaft so that with each thrust his balls thwack against your inner thighs. "Tight and wet.. lil' bitch in heat, ain't ya?" he teases, circling his hips so you feel him against every square inch of your aching snatch. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, finally spitting out the stupid hat.

"Fuck me Santa, fuck me Santa, fuck me Santa," you chant in broken moans, pushing your hips back, demanding it hard and fast, which he gives even as you come, clamping down all around him in a vise grip.

"Jesus," he growls, pulling out and kneeling behind you. He purses his lips to your dripping cunt, wiggling his tongue against your folds before licking a wide stripe upwards, teasing your asshole with his tongue. You practically shove your ass against his face, his gloved hands spreading your cheeks to get better access.

Grabbing a candy cane from a basket on the table you unwrap it with your teeth and hand it to him. It's thick and hard, and Santa knows just what to do with it. Feasting on both your holes, he takes the candy cane and watches it disappear into your glistening pussy. Hearing your gasp encourages him to keep going, fucking you as his tongue keeps rimming your ass, delving into tease you.

There's a knocking at the makeshift cottage door, then a moment of silence and a "God damn it, Joel, not again!" from the other side. "Fucker's always doing something," the person, most likely one of the elves at the cash register, mumbles and walks off.

He's back inside you, sliding the candy cane between your lips, moving it in and out just as he moves in and out, keeping you spread open so he fill you with every inch. "Babygirl likes havin' somethin' to suck on, don't she?" he mutters, pumping steadily into you. "Gotta be a good girl and tell me where ya want it."

"Inside me," you beg, and he moves double time, hands on your shoulders as he ruts up against you, slamming every inch until you cry out again, knees buckling as you come hard and Santa Joel follows soon after, his jizz painting your insides in warm sticky ropes.

"Lick me clean, baby," he murmurs, and you immediately go to your knees, taking him deep into your mouth, your jaw aching as the tip of him hits the back of your throat. When you gag he keeps you there, your mouth filling with saliva until it spills out from your lips, mixed with his cum. You bob your head on his length, eyes watering as you look up at him, your cunt still throbbing as you start to leak him on the floor.

"Fuuuuck yes," he growls, hand on your head, teeth sinking into his lower lip as you suck him off, and it's a Christmas miracle he's hard again, and he's about to come. He holds your head still and facefucks you, your hands cupping his ass to stop him from going too shallow-- you need to be deepthroated for once in your life.

Santa Joel lets out another curse as he uses you to come, spurting his Christmas magic down your throat. "There's a good girl. Babygirl's thirsty for what Santa's got, huh?" he teases as you greedily swallow every bitter, salty drop.

Clothes are straightened before you leave the little elf cottage, but the look of satisfaction is plain on your face as you suck on the candy cane that you'd been fucked with only moments before. Santa Joel puts his hat back on his head and shuffles over to the helper elves. "I'm goin' out for another smoke break," he tells them.

The head elf puts her hands on her hips. "Joel, you're not allowed to take ten smoke breaks an hour!" But by then he's already on the way out, both middle fingers in the air to salute her.

Derek joins you, looking puzzled as he studies the holiday photo -- there's something off about the face you're making in it. "Did Santa give you that candy cane?"

Grinning, you slurp up the sweet peppermint that still has traces of your own flavor on it. "And then some."

dividers by @saradika 👑

Tagging those who showed interest: @clawdee @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @myownwholewildworld

@penascigarette @hoelaris

[greengoblinswifey]

Guilty Pleasure—Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader

summary— rafe’s obsession with you finally boils over after a night of teasing and intense sexual tension, that leads to you ending up in rafe’s bed and having both of you crave more.

warnings— obsessive!rafe, oral(f!receiving), tit job/titty fucking, tit worship, biting/marking, unprotected sex, praise kink.

a/n— i love women so much that photo turned me on…i need help. more.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

You sat in front of your mirror, adding the finishing touches to your look. The outfit you chose was a perfect mix of bold and carefree, just like you. The fitted black tank top clung to your figure, revealing a hint of your leopard-print bra underneath, adding an effortless edge. You paired it with denim shorts that showcased your legs, the fabric frayed just enough to make it clear you didn’t care too much but still made a statement.

After adjusting your curls and applying a final coat of lipgloss, you gave yourself a once over in the mirror. The way your brown skin glowed against the mix of textures and fabrics was stunning, and you knew you were ready to turn heads, whether you wanted to or not. You weren’t dressing for anyone but yourself, though you had a feeling someone would be watching closely tonight.

When you walked into Topper’s party, the air practically shifted. Conversations paused as your presence commanded the room, even Ruthie’s fake smile faltered for a moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Rafe Cameron, leaning against the bar with his drink in hand, his eyes locked on you like a predator who just found its prey.

You weaved through the crowd with practiced ease, offering nods and tight-lipped smiles to the other Kooks, ignoring the stares that followed you.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Ruthie’s voice rang out as she spotted you near the drinks table. Her tone carried the same false sweetness that always made you bristle. Topper stood beside her, grinning like he’d accomplished something just by getting you here. You suspected he’d been in cahoots with a certain someone which is why he invited you.

You rolled your eyes subtly. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you replied dryly, pouring yourself a drink.

It wasn’t long before you felt eyes on you, more intense than the usual glances. Turning your head slightly, your gaze landed on Rafe leaning against the staircase railing, his sharp features illuminated by the glow of string lights. He didn’t bother to look away when you caught him staring. If anything, his smirk deepened.

Rafe wasn’t subtle—he never was. Whether it was at the country club, the beach, or now here, his gaze followed you like you were the only thing worth seeing in all of Kildare. It annoyed you. No, it infuriated you. But you’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing.

“The fuck are you looking at?” you snapped, locking eyes with him.

He pushed off the railing and walked toward you, his steps deliberate. “You, obviously,” he said, his tone low and teasing, a challenge glinting in his blue eyes. He stopped too close, leaning in just slightly as though daring you to shove him away.

“Stop being weird, Rafe,” you muttered, turning back to your drink, trying to ignore the way his presence seemed to make the air shift.

“Can’t help it when you’re around,” he replied smoothly. His eyes lingered on your bra before drifting down to your shorts. “You wear that for me?”

Your head snapped up, lips parting in indignation. “You’re delusional,” you shot back, but you felt heat creep up your neck. He always knew how to get under your skin.

“That’s not a no,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower as he smirked.

Before you could respond, Ruthie’s shrill laughter interrupted the moment, breaking whatever tension had begun to build. You took the opportunity to walk away, leaving Rafe standing there. You couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on you, tracking your every step like a predator with its prey.

Music thumped from the speakers, and the crowd ebbed and flowed around you as you navigated your way through Topper’s obnoxiously large beach house after dancing for a bit. You barely had time to grab a drink before you felt his presence again—Rafe, leaning casually against the wall like he owned the place.

“Thank you for gracing me with your presence,” he drawled, his eyes shamelessly dragging down your figure.

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your drink as you turned away. “Don’t start, Rafe.”

“What?” he asked, smirking as he pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “I’m just saying. You look good, that’s all. Better than good, actually.”

“Wow, thanks for the groundbreaking observation,” you shot back, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “Can I go now?”

But Rafe wasn’t deterred. He trailed after you like a persistent shadow, his charm cranked up to full force. “You know,” he said, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours, “you’re the only girl in Figure 8 who doesn’t throw herself at me. That’s different. I like different.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully. “Maybe that’s because I don’t have time for spoiled rich boys with control issues,” you said sweetly, though your words carried a sharp tone.

Rafe’s grin widened, unbothered by your jab. His eyes flickered down to your chest, where your tank top dipped just enough to reveal the leopard-print bra and your tits underneath. “You really don’t, huh?” he murmured, his gaze lingering far too long.

“Rafe,” you warned, crossing your arms over your chest. “My face is up here.”

“Oh, I know,” he said smoothly, his blue eyes finally meeting yours again. “But can you blame me?”

You laughed, though it wasn’t out of amusement. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re gorgeous,” he countered, leaning in just enough for his voice to drop to a low tone. “So what do you say? Let me take you somewhere quieter. Just to talk.”

You gave him a skeptical look, the corners of your mouth twitching as you fought back a smile. “Talk? That’s rich coming from you.”

“Cross my heart,” he said, placing a hand over his chest in mock sincerity. “No funny business. Unless you want there to be.”

You sighed, glancing around the crowded room. He wasn’t going to let up, and you were tired of his relentless staring. “Fine,” you relented, setting your drink down on the nearest table. “But only to shut you up.”

Rafe’s smirk deepened, and without wasting a second, he led you out of the house and toward his truck parked just outside. The air between you was thick with unspoken words as he opened the door for you, his hand brushing yours as you climbed in.

By the time you reached his place, you were questioning why you’d agreed to come. But the way Rafe looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, left you curious enough to stay.

As you both walked into the house, Rafe led you through the dimly lit living room and into the kitchen, but your patience was already wearing thin. You turned to him, crossing your arms. “So, what was it you wanted to talk about, Cameron?”

He leaned against the counter, his signature smirk tugging at his lips. “We could talk down here, but,” He let his voice trail off, the implication hanging in the air before he added, “It’s more comfortable upstairs. In my room.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “Boy, do not play with me.”

“I’m not,” he said, “I mean, I’m just saying, the bed’s a lot comfier than these barstools.”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes but followed him up the stairs anyway, telling yourself it was just easier to humor him than to argue. His hand brushed against your lower back, lingering as it slowly slid lower. You shot him a warning look over your shoulder, but he just raised a brow, clearly unbothered.

Once in his room, he shut the door with a quiet click and locked it, making your stomach twist in a mix of irritation and anticipation. You sat on the edge of his bed, taking in the space—simple, yet distinctly his. Your gaze landed back on him, standing there with that freshly buzzed head, his jawline sharp, and a needy glint in his blue eyes. He wasn’t even subtle about it, his eyes dropped to your chest almost immediately, the intensity of his stare making heat rise to your cheeks.

“What?” you snapped, though your tone lacked any real bite.

“You know exactly what,” he said, stepping closer, his smirk turning downright sinful. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, the room seemed to still. The sexual tension between you was thick, suffocating even, until it snapped entirely.

One second, his eyes were on yours, the next, his lips crashed into yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol coursing through your veins or the fact that this had been a long time coming—or maybe both, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed him back with just as much ferocity, your hands tangling in the fabric of his shirt as he pressed you down onto the bed.

Rafe hovered over you, his lips devouring yours as his hands roamed freely, sliding up your waist and cupping your tits. A low moan rumbled in your throat when his hands squeezed, and he pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “Pretty fucking moans.”

“Shut up, before I change my mind,” you muttered breathlessly, though your voice betrayed how affected you were.

His lips curved into a grin as he nipped at your jawline. “You won’t,” he said confidently, trailing kisses down your neck and chest. Each touch sent sparks coursing through your body, and by the time he reached your waist, your resolve was hanging by a thread.

He hooked his fingers into your belt, tugging you forward slightly as he unbuckled it and slid it free. “Thought you just wanted to talk,” he teased, his voice low and teasing as he worked your shorts down your legs. His eyes burned into you, taking in every inch of your shamelessly wet pussy.

“Shut up,” you said again, but there was no venom behind it. If anything, your voice was laced with a shaky sort of anticipation.

His mouth found your pussy with a ferocity that made you gasp, your body reacting almost instinctively. He was smug, of course—his low chuckle vibrating against you as you arched off the bed, unable to suppress the moans spilling from your lips. His hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you in place even as your legs wrapped around his head.

“Be a good girl,” he murmured against your pussy, his voice dark and commanding. “Cum for me.”

You couldn’t believe it—the audacity of Rafe Cameron, and yet, your body responded before your mind could catch up. Your fingers clutched at the sheets, your head tipping back as you did exactly what he told you to. The room was filled with muffled moans and the sound of his name falling from your lips as you came on his tongue, the feeling leaving you breathless.

Rafe leaned back up, capturing your lips in a deep kiss, his hands roaming your sides. You couldn’t help but grind against him, a desperate rhythm that betrayed how much you wanted him, even if you tried to hold back. He pulled away with a teasing smirk, his voice low and gravelly, “Aw, baby, I thought you just agreed to talk.”

You rolled your eyes, your annoyance barely hiding the heat in your cheeks. “Rafe, just shut up,” you muttered, pulling him back down for another kiss. His chuckle rumbled against your lips, but he didn’t resist, matching your passion.

As your hips pressed against his, you felt the solid evidence of his desire, his hard cock, and it only spurred you on. He finally broke away, his lips brushing against your jaw as he whispered, “You’re driving me crazy.” Sitting up, he tugged his shirt over his head, his toned chest and abs on full display. Then, with deliberate slowness, he removed his pants and boxers, revealing himself fully.

Your breath hitched slightly at the sight, and his smug grin returned. “See how hard I am for you?” he murmured, stroking himself lazily as his gaze traveled over your body. His confidence was annoying, but you couldn’t deny how captivating he looked. He had the package to match too.

Climbing back onto the bed, he hovered over you, his knees on either side of you. “Take off that little top and that sexy bra,” he instructed, his voice dropping an octave. “You’ve been teasing me all night in that hot outfit.”

You hesitated for a moment, savoring the way his eyes pleaded with yours despite his usual cocky demeanor. Then, you slowly lifted your top over your head and unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the side. Rafe let out a sharp breath, his eyes widening as he took you in.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, leaning back slightly to admire you. “The famous tits everyone talks about—but I’m the only one lucky enough to see them like this.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes again. “It’s gonna be your first and last time,” you shot back, though your voice lacked any real bite.

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss the curve of your neck. “We’ll see about that,” he teased before whispering against your skin, “Now, hold those tits together for me, baby.”

You hesitated briefly, your hands moving to frame your chest, and he let out a deep, appreciative sigh. “God, you’re so perfect,” he murmured, his gaze fixed intently as he shifted closer.

He leaned down, positioning himself between your tits, his breath hitching as his movements became slow and deliberate. “You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this,” he admitted, his voice husky and raw.

His eyes flickered to yours, and you saw something unguarded there, something almost vulnerable beneath his confident smirk. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and seeing you like this, it’s unreal.”

You couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh, your teasing side showing despite the heat in the room. “You’ve got one chance, Cameron,” you said softly.

He let out a low chuckle, leaning down to kiss the curve of your neck, his lips warm and lingering. “One chance is all I need,” he whispered against your skin, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

He started moving his cock between your tits, going back and forth as he let out breathy whimpers. You couldn’t deny how hot he sounded and how fucking sext it was to have him titty fuck you.

“Fucking hell, your tits are perfect,” he moaned, bucking his hips between them.

“I know, that’s why they’re always on display,” you laughed.

You darted your tongue out, each time he thrusted forward, you got a taste of his leaking tip, the pre cum smearing all over you. He lulled his head back, gasping as the sensation of your tongue and between your tits became almost overwhelming.

You spat on the tip and he took the opportunity to smear it all over you, getting your chest a tad bit sloppy.

“You should see how hot you look right now, all f’me,” he smirked.

As he thrusted, you held your tits together even tighter, gliding it up and down his thick cock. The action coupled with your tongue licking his tip had his head spinning, and he knew his ego was going to be bruised for coming quick. Then again, it was with you, anyone would cum quick too.

“S-shit baby, that’s so fucking hot, holy fuck, m’ gonna cum,” he whimpered, frantically, “I— I can’t fucking hold it.”

You began gliding against him faster, feeling how he throbbed and twitched in anticipation. “Cum all over my tits, I know you want to,” you teased, a seductive edge in your voice.

“Ahh— holy shit, oh God,” Rafe moaned, looking down at you as his cum spurted from his cock. You opened your mouth, catching some of his load as the rest coated your tits leaving them a sloppy mess.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he panted, staring intently as you swallowed his cum and your tongue darted out to lick what was on your chest, “that was even better than any head I’ve ever gotten.”

“It’s me, not a surprise,” you said in a cocky tone.

By now he was aching for you, you hoped he didn’t notice how badly you were aching for him too. You couldn’t believe in a million years you’d be desperate for Rafe Cameron to shove his dick inside you.

“I’m still so fucking hard baby, gotta let me fuck you,” he urged.

“Shut up Rafe, I don’t gotta let you do anything,” you murmured, rolling your eyes, “now sit on the fucking bed.”

If you were going to let Rafe fuck you, it would be on your terms. You would be the one fucking him. Just this one time. Well just enough to have him craving more when you’re finished.

He eagerly did as instructed, positioning himself against the headboard, his cock leaking and standing at attention. With a dick that big no wonder he acted the way he did. Straddling him, you sucked on his neck leaving dark red marks so he’d have a few days to reflect on what happened between you.

“Please sit, baby, I need that pussy,” he whined.

“Beg me,” you retorted.

He looked up at you, eyes filled with need and disbelief, “You know me sweetheart, I don’t fucking beg.”

You let out an unamused laugh and sat on his thigh instead of his cock, your arousal smearing him. “Well, I guess you won’t get to be inside me, I knew you weren’t worth my time.”

“W-wait, no, please baby. Please let me fuck you, I’ve never needed anyone this bad. I need to be inside you, I’m fucking obsessed with you,” he whined, frantically.

Having Rafe Cameron of all people plead to be inside you was more than what you bargained for tonight and you were enjoying every minute of it.

Slowly, you sank down onto him, the sensation beyond anything you’d ever felt. His cock hit all the right places inside you and filled you to the brim. Though you tried to hold back, you couldn’t help the soft moans that left your lips.

“Fuck,” you moaned, shakily.

The faint glow from the bedside lamp casted warm shadows across Rafe's features as you slammed yourself up and down his cock. His hands found their way to your waist, gripping firmly as you rode him with purpose.

“Yeah? Feels good doesn’t it,” Rafe said, his tone cocky.

You responded with a bite to his shoulder, sinking your teeth in as you began bouncing faster. His head tipped back, giving you more access as you left your teeth mark on his neck.

“Fuck baby, that feels so good,” he moaned. He didn’t strike you as the type to enjoy being marked but you were into it.

“God, I’ve always loved watching this ass,” he murmured, his hands sliding over it. “Now I finally get to feel it bouncing on dick.”

Rolling your eyes at his words, you leaned forward, capturing his lips in a deep kiss to silence him. The intensity of the moment enveloped you both. You felt the stretch and fullness, every inch of him, while the rhythm of your movements sent waves of heat through your body.

Rafe’s blue eyes locked on yours, his gaze glassy and overwhelmed. “You wanna cum for me baby? Cum all over this cock,” he whispered, his voice ragged.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as your breaths quickened, your orgasm building until it erupted, leaving you trembling in his arms. He moaned low in his throat, gripping your hips as he followed your lead, his movements growing more erratic.

“Can I— Can I cum inside you?” he asked, breathlessly. You narrowed your eyes, your lips curling into a smirk. “In your dreams,” you teased, sliding off him before he came.

Rafe didn’t miss a beat. He positioned himself over you as you lay back, watching him with a mix of curiosity and satisfaction. His breaths were shallow, his body taut, and he released with a guttural moan, his cum spreading across your tits as he lost himself.

Still catching his breath, Rafe collapsed beside you, running a hand through his buzzed hair. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” he admitted.

“Glad to help,” you replied, slipping off the bed to grab your clothes. But before you could get far, his hand gently tugged at yours. “No, stay,” he said, his blue eyes looking up at you with a vulnerability that caught you off guard.

For a moment, you hesitated. But the way he looked at you—soft, almost pleading—made you stop. Just this once, you told yourself. Climbing back into the bed, you let Rafe pull you into his arms. His fingers lightly grazed your skin, his hand resting on your waist before sliding up to rest on your tits.

“Didn’t think you were the cuddling type,” you teased, your voice light.

He smirked, burying his face into your neck. “I’m not.”

The warmth of his body against yours felt unexpectedly comforting, and as his breathing evened out, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was a moment you’d remember longer than you intended and if it wasn’t the last time.

[lazysoulwriter]

kindergarten queen - pedro pascal.

It was just another chaotic yet wonderful day at the kindergarten. She had spent the afternoon painting with the kids, which meant her dress was now decorated with tiny, colorful handprints, and there was definitely blue paint in her hair. To top it all off, one of her students had placed a pink princess tiara on her head, insisting that she looked "just like a real queen." Who was she to argue with that kind of logic?

By the time the final bell rang, she was exhausted but happy, making sure all the little ones were safely picked up by their parents. She barely noticed the sleek car pulling up to the curb until she heard a familiar voice call her name.

Pedro.

She turned, her heart immediately doing that ridiculous fluttering thing it always did whenever she saw him. There he was, leaning against his car, wearing that effortlessly cool look he always had—white t-shirt, silver chain, that lazy half-smile that made her knees weak. But as soon as he got a good look at her, his expression changed.

“Oh. My. God.” His mouth fell open, and for a second, she panicked, glancing down at herself. “What? Do I have something on my—oh, right. The paint.”

Pedro let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head as he walked toward her. “No, it’s not just the paint,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners as he took her in. “It’s the whole look. The tiara? The little handprints? The sheer dedication? I think I just fell in love with you all over again.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were burning. “You say that like you didn’t already love me.”

“Oh, I did,” he said, placing his hands on her waist, completely ignoring the fact that he was now probably getting paint on himself too. “But this? Seeing you like this? Jesus, I don’t know if my heart can take it.”

She laughed, playfully shoving his chest. “Okay, Romeo. Let’s go before you start reciting poetry.”

Pedro dramatically clutched his chest. “You wound me.” Then, as she turned toward his car, he quickly reached up, adjusting the tiny pink tiara on her head. “No, but really. You’re actually the cutest human being on the planet.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, but the way her face heated up gave her away.

As they got into the car, Pedro leaned over and kissed her cheek, his lips lingering just a little longer than necessary. “For the record,” he murmured, “I’m never getting over this. Ever.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “If you mention the tiara even once after today—”

“I’m buying you a whole collection,” he interrupted, grinning as he started the car. “Different colors. Maybe one for every day of the week.”

She groaned, hiding her face in her hands as he laughed, the kind of deep, warm laugh that made her stomach flip.

Before driving off, Pedro pulled out his phone, aiming the camera at her. “Wait, wait—don’t move. I need to capture this masterpiece.”

She gasped. “Pedro, no—”

Click. Too late. He grinned, admiring the photo. “This is going to be my new favorite picture of you.”

And as they drove off, Pedro kept sneaking glances at her, looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Because to him, she absolutely was.

[endless-ineffabilities]

my man of the year

Ewan Mitchell x girlfriend!reader

a/n: just a little something for the Ewan girlies, because in this GQ party, we are all fam 💙

main masterlist

You attend the GQ Men of the Year 2024 party with your boyfriend.

You watch in admiration as Davey makes the final tweaks to Ewan's outfit for the event—a suit tailored to perfection, its velvet material snug against his lean form. A classic piece, but sporting some eccentricities that have become essential in the Mitchell-Sutton style partnership.

The velvet suit, not in the usual black or blue, also has a textured high notch and lapels, making him look like some kind of an 80s-flick vampire.

Your gaze sweeps from his polished shoes up to his face, finding that he's watching you in the reflection as he stands in front of the mirror.

He tries turning around to see you better, causing Davey's hand to fall from his shoulder as he was pinning something in place. "Ewan, mate. Save the ogling for later, yeah? Let me finish this first."

Ewan sighs dramatically, like a kid who's been asked to stand in the corner. "Okay."

You giggle softly, shaking your head at the scene. "Ewan, listen to Davey now."

You share a look with Davey, knowing smiles on your lips. Ewan, am I right?

"I just want to look at my girlfriend," Ewan complains.

"Look at me?" you question. "Look at you, handsome! You're my man of the year, every damn year."

"C'mere, babe."

"Ewan, don't move until Davey—."

"I won't move. But come here and give me a kiss."

"Fine." You get up from your comfortable position on the seat. Might as well oblige your boyfriend, the GQ honouree. Just the thought of it makes you so giddy with pride.

Rising onto your tiptoes, you rest your chin gently on his shoulder, batting your eyelashes as he leans his head against yours.

"There's my girl," he purrs, wrapping his free arm around your waist and Davey works on the sleeve on the other.

Then he kisses you, mindful to stay perfectly still. Only his lips move, pillowy as they caress yours. You would have to reapply your lipstick after this.

When he cheekily snakes his tongue out, you pull back, giving him an incredulous shake of your head. "Stand down, handsome."

"Oh, don't worry about me, sweetheart," Davey reassures you. "Maybe we should let Ewan have his way. Poor guy looks like he's about to explode."

You all share a laugh.

A minute later, he's all ready. Davey snaps photos of him alone, then shifts to capture the two of you together. He even manages a few that feel like classic prom poses, with Ewan's arms around you from behind.

The rest of the night is a blur of lights and glamour, and the warmth of Ewan's hand on your back quells your nerves as you step onto the red carpet.

The cameras are everywhere, a sea of flashes and shouting for you to, look here, look here!

Ewan keeps you close the entire time, steering you through it all. You can feel that he's anxious too but he's a steady presence by your side. He used to need a crutch like cigarettes or gum to deal with the chaos of such public events, but when you're with him, the noise is silenced.

It's just you and him against the world.

When his arm tightens around you, you jokingly remark, "Didn't peg you for the clingy type, babe."

He glances down, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "Just making sure you don't run off with some other dashing celebrity."

An idea pops up in your head. He makes it all too easy. You let out a shaky gasp, "Wait, is that Pedro Pascal over there?"

"Where?" he asks sharply, distracted.

"By the big GQ sign. Don't make it obvious, though!" you whisper, as if you're entirely serious.

He squints, scanning the sea of people coming through the red carpet, until he realizes… there's no Pedro. Not yet, at least.

He turns to you with a playful glare, his mouth twitching with the hint of a smile. "You think you're funny, don't you, baby?"

You give your best wide-eyed, innocent look. "Who, me?"

"You're asking for it," he whispers close to your ear so the cameras don't catch it.

You only laugh as he pulls you closer, giving your waist another possessive squeeze.

"And what exactly are you gonna do about it?" you ask.

"Guess you'll have to find out after we're done here."

When he kisses you, you both know that the resulting pictures are going to flood the gossip sites, fan pages, and everything in between as soon as the next day. But neither of you care.

He makes sure that there's no mistaking who he came with that night.

And you would never tire of showing everyone just who your boyfriend is. You could scream it from the rooftops.

He doesn't need GQ to tell him he's one of the honourees of the year.

All he needs is you by his side to feel like he's truly won.

[navybrat817]

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

credit here

Look at him!

Handsome and Beautiful

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to look good for you. He also wants dessert.

Word Count: Over 700

Warnings: Established relationship, slight insecurities, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes and he's a simp for you (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: In the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky scowled at this reflection in the mirror as he studied himself. He couldn't seem to get his hair quite right no matter how much he tousled it. He also wasn't sure when he got wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, but age and general stress would do that. Since when did he care so much about his appearance? He hadn't since the 40's.

Until you came along.

“Hey there, handsome,” you smiled from the bathroom doorway. “Looking good.”

A touch of heat went through his cheeks from your compliment. “Why aren't you dressed yet, beautiful?”

“I need your help putting on my dress,” you said all too innocently as you strolled into the room in just your bra and underwear, the color matching the shade of his suit jacket.

Bucky cursed under his breath when he took in the sight of you. “That's what you need my help with?” He questioned. He knew exactly what you needed help with. You'd tell him you have a few minutes before you had to leave and urge him to take off his suit jacket, roll up his sleeves, move your underwear aside, and take what he wanted from you. He wouldn't just take from you. He'd give and give. "My naughty wife.”

“I'll always need your help, my equally naughty husband,” you smiled, kissing him on the cheek and moving a few strands of his hair. Now he looked perfect. All he needed was your touch. “And don't think I didn't notice you deflecting my compliment.”

“I didn't deflect,” he argued. He sure as hell did. Maybe he could consider himself handsome by some standards, but you were a goddess. Some higher being smiled upon you the day you were born and knew you'd be a gift to the world. His world.

“You did and I demand a photo as payment,” you said, crossing your arms when he scoffed. He wasn't one for taking selfies or whatever the hell people called them. “Please, Mr. Barnes? For me?” You added in a softer tone, looking into his blue eyes in the mirror.

He couldn't resist you if he tried.

“Fine, Mrs. Barnes. For you,” he said, sighing as he took out his phone. Putting a hand on his hip, he held up the phone to take the picture you so demanded. “And you were right. This looks better without the tie.”

“I know best,” you teased, cringing slightly when he snapped the picture. “Oh, Bucky…”

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately when he showed you the image. Did you not find him attractive? “You said this was a good color on me.”

“It is. You really do look handsome,” you assured him, making him breathe easier. “But, my god, when are you going to get a case for your phone?”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling. Oh, maybe that was why he had wrinkles around his eyes now. Because of how much you made him laugh and smile. “When I find one I like,” he replied, knowing how much it drove you crazy that he didn’t have a protective case on his phone.

“We have already had to replace your phone twice,” you reminded him as he snaked an arm around you and pulled you against him. “No, don’t you dare distract me. If we have to get you another phone, I-”

“But you said you needed help getting your dress on,” he pointed out, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your fingers gripped the lapel of his jacket as his lips lingered, making him smile. “Don’t you want my help?”

“I do,” you whispered, whimpering when he kissed the other corner and gripped your hip. It was sounds like the ones you made that made him appreciate his super soldier senses. “But-”

“Or maybe we can focus on me fucking you in front of the mirror instead,” he smirked, wondering how wet your panties were now. “C'mon. We have a few minutes before dinner. Let's have dessert first,” he said, finally bringing his lips to yours and snapping a photo when you melted into the kiss.

Maybe he wasn’t a fan of selfies overall, but he’d take as many as you asked him to and would continue to create many happy memories with you.

We still need a breeding fic with these two. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[ab4eva]

‘The Three of Us’

-

Fully co-authored with: @therealslimshakespeare

Thanks to: My incomparable co-author & sweetheart Marina, for being willing to follow this rabbit hole with me and explore this little trio! And for the gorgeous mood board and vibes, I’m obsessed. And to Ashley, for being the best damn cheerleader we could ask for. ♥️

Warnings: All the sex, 18+ only

Word count: 8k

-

Sometimes in Hollywood, magic happens behind the scenes - in a dark corner of Bar Lubitsch or a little poolside bungalow at the Chateau Marmont. Things that are only whispered about in certain circles or sent to Deuxmoi with the stipulation of “anon please.” The blurry flash of a hand, littered with telltale rings, on her Instagram story. The paparazzi photos of a drunken night out before the three of them disappeared into the balmy Los Angeles evening. The fandom set ablaze by rumors as they combed over every sign, every possibility, every look that they took for god’s honest truth. A myth in the making, never confirmed, never denied.

When a ballsy journalist had the gumption to ask Callum about the rumors some months down the road, he just grinned his Cheshire smile and shook his head, the slightest blush hinting at the corners of his already ruddy cheeks.

“Nah, mate, can’t believe everyfing you read in Hollywood, can ya.” A statement, no trace of question in his ice blue eyes as he licked his cherry lips and stared the journalist down, daring them to dig deeper. His heart may have started pounding a little too hard but only he knew that. Nothing belied the steely gaze he turned on the journalist - not a flex in his jaw or a slight blink or the whisper of a breath. Needless to say, that journalist had no desire to go toe-to-toe with all six feet two inches of Chelsea’s finest lad. They let the subject drop, though the air had already been sucked out of the tiny interview room. Callum noted with suppressed glee the way the journalist shifted in their seat uncomfortably, trying to regain the upper hand.

Serves ya right, ya wanker, floated through Cal’s head and it took all his energy to focus his thoughts on the next question being asked of him. Now that the taboo subject had been brought up, he couldn’t keep his mind from drifting back towards that fateful night, like the breach in a ship’s hull the memories flooded in. The soft give of her flesh beneath his fingers as he dug them into her hips, needing her closer, closer. The salty taste of Austin’s skin on his tongue as he dragged it slowly across his friend’s collarbone, the streak of wetness left behind shimmering in the moonlight. The mingled sighs and shared breaths, overpowering and heady in that dark little bungalow. That was the night he couldn’t get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. It didn’t matter how many books he read or women he kissed or bloody hikes he took in Runyon Canyon, he was always going back to the night when everything changed.

-

“Didn’t I see you at the Luchino Visconti retrospective a couple nights ago? At the Academy?” The very definition of tall, dark and handsome has just walked in the room, smiling down at you and waiting expectantly for your answer. This is Callum Turner, the new client you’re working with for Masters of the Air press (alongside Austin Butler, your regular client and current boyfriend-adjacent…guy. It’s casual, you’re both keeping it casual. For now.).

“Oh! Were you there? Wasn’t it amazing?” you gush, a little flustered.

“It’s kind of rare to meet another Visconti fan. You must be one of the good ones.” He grins at you, all warmth and puppy dog eagerness. A kindred spirit, an instant connection. You would be very charmed by him, if you weren’t already attached to someone else. Who are you kidding, you’re charmed by him anyway. Talking with him comes easily, and the time flies by as you style his hair, moisturize his skin, add a bit of concealer here and there. He’s funny, sweet, intelligent. Austin has told you a bit about him, about his friend who helped him during one of the most confusing times of his life. But this - this is more than you were expecting. He’s more than you were expecting. And you’re pretty sure he’s flirting with you. When he asks you out for a drink later, you’re absolutely certain. It is with no small amount of regret that you turn him down.

-

The first time you noticed something akin to a spark between the man you’d casually been dating and his co-star was during press interviews for their new television series, Masters of the Air. As Austin and Callum’s groomer and makeup artist, you were allowed a seat at the back of the room, near the video monitors, ready to jump into action if one of Austin’s curls needed to be twisted back into place or if Callum’s nose got too shiny and needed a bit of powder. You glanced up from your phone to see the two of them leaned so close together their shoulders touched, just barely. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Callum’s mouth looked as if it might graze the shell of Austin’s ear, a smirk playing at the edges, as his dark, curly head bent conspiratorially towards his friend’s blonde one. Silly boys, you thought, smiling to yourself as you watched them. You’d seen that look on Austin’s face before…it was almost one of… adoration.

Without warning your mind flashed back to last night, Austin gazing up at you through your thighs, a look of devotion on his face, his sandy hair ruffled and his eyes slightly dazed. The very same look that he’s now turned on Callum… Nah… You laughed at yourself quietly and shook your head to clear your thoughts, silently scolding yourself. You’d been reading too many spicy novels recently and clearly your imagination was running wild. It made sense that he and Callum were close. Austin had been lost as a newborn calf without a mother after Elvis had wrapped and Masters of the Air had started filming. A brotherhood, that’s what Austin had called it. And Callum had been his right hand man. And that’s all, you were sure. Pretty sure.

-

Bar Lubitsch is dim and noisy, crowded with cast and crew of Masters for an impromptu celebration while so many of them are in town. Austin hasn’t been here in years, always remembered it being a good time. He wants to show you and Callum a good time, after all the hard work you three have been putting in for press the past couple of weeks. That was two hours and three drinks ago, and you watch them now from your perch at the bar and how much they feed each other’s souls, like displaced brothers, reunited after years apart. The evening is starting to shift and blur, so many drinks and people and noise and singing. You never knew Callum loved to sing so much, until he was singing karaoke at the top of his lungs and the whole bar was gathered around the little stage in the back room, jumping to the beat while he sang the most risqué lyrics right to Austin, like they were the only two people in the room:

Even when the cold comes crashing through

I'm putting all my bets on you

I hope they never understand us

I put my heart inside your palms

My home in your arms

Now we know nothing matters

Nothing matters

And you can hold me like he held her

And I will fuck you like nothing matters

You’re not sure you’ll ever be over Callum pinching Austin’s cheeks, channeling his inner Egan, and singing right at him with drunken gusto while Austin is too tipsy to remember not to bask in it and it’s probably the cutest, and hottest, thing you’ve ever seen. It’s only afterwards that you start to feel a tiny flicker of jealousy. There’s something between them, a connection that time and distance hasn’t untethered. Later, you drag Austin into one of the faded velvet booths, snuggling up to him as he pulls you into a one-armed embrace, kissing your temple with glassy eyes and a crooked smile. His heady mix of sweat and cologne mingle, along with the alcohol, and suddenly you’re lightheaded. Not to mention the fact that his soft lips have seemed to have move, with lightning speed, from your temple to your neck. You gently push him away, and he gives you a questioning look but you need to see his face when you ask him this.

“Hey…what’s going on with Callum? Because, it’s clearly something? And whatever it is, it’s ok, really it is…but…I do have eyes, Austin,” you blurt out, biting your lip. You see a dozen different emotions cross his features, like a movie playing out in real time - surprise, guilt, defensiveness, longing, acceptance. His face goes all red and he leans his head back, his tan throat open and inviting, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down as he swallows thickly. It takes everything in you not to kiss him right this second.

“It’s…complicated. Kind of,” he sighs as he stares up at the ceiling and you can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it and that’s answer enough for you. You don’t push him further as you quietly turn his mouth to yours and make him forget anything and everyone but you.

-

“Come on Aus, it’ll be just like old times,” Cal goads drunkenly, placing a proprietary hand on Austin’s belly, his words laden with meaning and a hint of pleading. It’s not like he’s missed Austin or anything…not like that. Not that he’d admit anyway, hell no. Couldn’t two dudes have a consensual thing and not be weird about it? It must be liquid courage that made him suggest it aloud. That and the fact Austin keeps looking at him like he hung the damn moon.

“Swear you’ll shut up? If I say yes, will you just…chill?” Austin’s eyes are trained on you and it takes everything in him to play it cool, keep a calm head. Cal’s hand is still on Austin’s stomach and he starts to pet him, just above the belt and it makes Austin lurch in sudden need. He licks his lips, they’re suddenly parched, and swallows hard. He hears Cal snicker softly in his ear.

“Now, see, as I recall, you wouldn’t stop asking me to keep sayin’ shit last time.” Callum’s voice floats above the music, scratchy from gin and karaoke, hot breath tickling the shell of Austin’s ear. His hand moves to squeeze Austin’s neck, and if Austin didn’t know any better he’d swear it was a subconscious power move, Callum trying to literally bend Austin to his will. There’s an all too familiar twitch down Austin’s pant leg, and oh god he wishes- he thought, he was so sure, he was past that phase of responding like one of Pavlov’s dogs to Callum’s adoration and teasing.

Maybe it’s just the notion, his suggestion. That’s what’s suddenly making Austin’s blood feel hot and his eyes hazy, it’s the idea of her…and him! But mostly her, just her, and sharing her and- None of that explains the way he wants to bend to that firm hand squeezing in drunken cajoling at the base of his neck, makes him want to knock noses and yank at the stupid collar of Callum’s sweater until there’s collarbones to see and a draft under the wool. This is winter in Los Angeles, heating inside is state of the art, there’s no reason for such coziness and it’s making the man sweat and all Austin can think of from the smell is memories of an English summer, worn out and floating in his own body, biting down on Callum’s upper arm, tangy, sweaty flesh to keep an awfully strange escapade quiet.

That does it. What is he even thinking? He must’ve drank more than he realized but then, oh god, there Cal goes, throwing his hands up in defeat, shrugging his shoulders like a kid caught trying to push his luck. The arm around his shoulder is suddenly gone, and he’d give anything to have it back again. He shakes his head - he really must’ve had too much to drink. It was making him melancholy and sobering him up fast. Funny how alcohol will do that to you.

“Scouts honor, Butler, I’ll-I’ll-I’ll,” he seems to search the ceiling in drunken concentration for the correct wording most likely to open the doors to the kingdom, “I’ll be- it’ll be: HER, YOU and a um, uh mannequin. How ‘bout that, mate? Good enough for ya? You’d probably like that, wouldn’t ya? Ya little freak!” He lands a playful right hook to Austin’s jaw, hard knuckles digging into soft cheeks.

The usually inflammatory epithet of ‘freak’, coming as it does from a man begging for a threesome with himself and his girl, is nothing short of rabidly complementary. Callum’s shit-eating, triumphant grin could light up the whole damn room in this moment. He knows he’s got Austin right where he wants him and starts to count down silently in his head - three…two…

Austin finds himself grinning, a warning, measured thing but a condoning of the sentiment all the same.

“One,” Cal says out loud, his arm going back around Austin’s shoulders, squeezing so hard Austin winces a little. It’s a reflective motion then, done almost without thinking, when Austin slaps Callum’s thigh, not realizing there’s a boner bent down that trouser leg. A wounded hiss leaves Callum’s lips as he caves in on himself a little bit and Austin freezes, his face turning crimson and he feels another twitch down his own trousers.

“Steady on mate,” Callum coughs, shaking a leg, trying to discreetly readjust. “And I thought I was the eager beaver here.” Austin wants to wipe that smirk right off Callum’s smug little face but the moment their eyes meet they can’t help but start to laugh. Giggles, really, which turn into loud guffaws that has the whole bar turning to see what the commotion is about.

Your head whips around at the sound you’ve grown to know well over the past few weeks, the loud and boisterous laughter of two friends who seem forget that anyone else exists when they’re together. You spot them, huddled close as they always seem to be, and shake your head. A grin tugs at your lips and threatens to spill out the feelings fluttering around in your chest, no your stomach, no…somewhere else, lower. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about the two of them…together. Sometimes you’re with them, sometimes you’re not, in these little fantasies of yours. You catch yourself biting your lip and staring at them a little too longingly. You wonder what they’re saying now, both of them look flustered and awkward, just slightly. You can actually feel the tension rolling off of them in waves from where you stand across the bar.

Austin chooses that moment to look up and catch your eye. There’s a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there earlier and what is that look on his face? You’ve never seen it before…shy and almost…guilty? He looks just like a little boy who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Your eyes question him across the dim bar, an unspoken tether ties you together wherever you are, and uncertainty about the deal he’s just struck with Callum comes creeping in. What has gotten into him? He’s just agreed to share you, with another man. And not just any man, one he has a rather interesting history with. The thought of Callum touching you, kissing you, fucking you…suddenly he’s stone cold sober and beginning to regret letting Cal sway his decision. Because there sure as hell won’t be any take backs, not with Callum. He’s like a dog with a bone once he gets what he wants.

-

“Dude no, there’s chemical flavoring in there, that shit’s bad for you and it’ll give her irritation!” Austin looks slightly perturbed, not for the first time this evening. He sways slightly under the florecent lights of the drugstore, the constant buzzing adding to the pounding in his head.

“What if it’s not intended to go on her? Hmm? Thought of that Butler?” Callum murmurs under his breath, his eyes focused solely on the lube he’s holding, a pink blush creeping up his neck to his ears. Has a blush under drugstore fluorescents ever looked so lovely? And Austin hasn’t stopped biting that lower lip since you walked into this place. It hasn’t stopped him from grinning, though, his excitement bubbling through in little ticks and tells, the nervous turning over of the vaseline jar in his large hands.

“You haven’t even bought me dinner Cal, just straight to the flavored lube,” Austin bemoans, faking offense. “’Sides, she’s already sweet enough, aren’t you baby? I’ve had my fair share of licks,” Austin’s shoulder bumps yours as he sends you a smoldering look, his eyes flickering down your body briefly before his cheeks turn a slight rosy color you can see blooming up from his chest through his open shirt collar.

“Austin!” you hiss, slapping his arm playfully and hiding your face in his neck, embarrassed.

“Leave it to you two twig Bettie’s and we’d be down to nothin’ but socks and coconut oil,” Cal snarks, not at all inaccurately.

“I don’t remember you minding coconut oil last time,” Austin says under his breath, clearly meant for Callum’s ears only, but you manage to catch it, and your heart starts to pound at the implied meaning.

“Mmm, and it was bitter so - mojito,” Callum says decidedly, leaving no room for argument. Austin smiles at you, lifting his shoulder in a shrug and rolling his eyes heavenward. You giggle nervously, wondering for the first time just what you’re getting yourself into.

“I saw that! Listen mate, feel free to shut me up at any time. This would do nicely, ya reckon?” Callum lifts a silk sleeping mask with one, long finger and swings it around seductively, waggling his eyebrows up and down comically. You laugh and the butterflies making a home in your ribcage start to settle down again.

-

The whimpers emanating from between your parted lips take you by surprise and you promptly shut your mouth, unexpectedly embarrassed to be mewling so wantonly. You bite your lip as it becomes harder and harder to hold them in with every slow thrust of Austin’s velvety cock filling you, his swollen tip hitting just the right spot, and every flick of Callum’s tongue as he laves at your tender little clit with vigor. You feel Austin tense slightly beneath you as Cal swirls his tongue down to your opening to lap at where you and Austin join, sloppy and wet. A soft moan floats past your left ear, Austin’s hot breath sending a shiver through you, and it seems to invigorate Callum as he doubles down on his efforts to have his tongue cover as much surface area as possible. He chuckles and it jolts through you as your back arches, your fingers finding his dark curls and yanking him closer, demanding something you aren’t even aware of. He understands what you need even if you don’t and as his lips close around your sensitive bud you can no longer keep quiet, keening softly. You practically buck off of Austin’s lap and his arm tightens around your waist to keep you in place. The harder Callum sucks, the more Austin starts to whine - you’ve gotten so tight around him he can hardly thrust.

“Oh fuck, what’re you doing? Cal…what…” you slur as you pull at his hair, trying to dislodge him from your clit. You feel him grin against your heat as he slowly slips two fingers in you, resting them alongside Austin’s length. You hiss at the stretch and Austin starts to pick up his pace again. Your head is too hazy with pleasure to register fully what is happening as Callum gently slides another finger in next to the first two. His mouth works your clit, sucking and pulling, harder then soft again.

“More…more more more,” you beg hoarsely. You feel as if you might fly away and the only thing anchoring you to earth are these two men and their hands and their mouths on your body. Callum cocks an eyebrow at you and his eyes shift to Austin. You feel him nod, barely, and then another burning stretch as Cal slips his pinkie in next to his other fingers. It drives you insane and you feel yourself clenching and coming, harder than you can ever remember. You stop breathing for a moment, your mind going numb with rapture as you come apart at the seams.

“Oh fuck,” Austin whispers, biting your shoulder, his hand absentmindedly palming your breasts, pinching your hardened nipple. “Come on baby, I know you’ve got more, give us another one. Cal, can’t thrust with you in there…give me some room, huh?”

Callum let’s go of your clit with a wet pop and gently slides his fingers out. His nose and chin are shiny with your juices, even his eyebrows look a little damp and he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Go on then, Butler, show us what you got.” He stands, knees popping as he does. From up here he can see your faces clearly, yours and Austin’s. He watches, rapt, as Austin nuzzles your neck, nipping at your earlobe as he speeds up his thrusts, toying with your nipples mercilessly. Your eyes flutter closed and your head drops back onto his shoulder. Callum shakes his head, dazed and pussy drunk - why was he on his knees so long?? He coulda been watching this the whole time? But he knows why- fresh, homegrown pussy. And he means to have his fill. He can’t take being on the sidelines, watching Austin move in and out of you at a punishing pace, having all the fun. One of Callum’s massive palms descends onto your clit, slapping and rubbing cruelly, back and forth, faster and faster. And then you’re gushing everywhere, all over Callum’s hand and Austin’s cock and the bed, soaking everything.

“Come on then girl, give us all you’ve got,” Cal encourages, his raspy voice driven to the point of hoarseness. He grabs his painfully hard, throbbing cock and roughly starts to slap your clit. You gasp, jerking in Austin’s arms as you fall apart again. And then Callum gets a thought, because his dick is doing most of the thinking just now, and it’s been sadly neglected thus far. He’s just had four fingers in you and now you’re literally flinging droplets with each swipe, it’s a goddamn swamp down there it’s so wet. He slows his slaps and starts to rub soft circles against your clit, stopping every once in a while to try your entrance gently, just to see. You moan breathlessly and his heart speeds up as he looks at Austin questioningly.

“I recognize that gleam in your eye, Turner…spit it out,” Austin says in a slightly strangled voice.

“Think you can take us both, angel? At the same time?” Callum directs his question to you, ignoring Austin.

You can’t take your poor abused clit getting ground on anymore, it’s just too intense, anything to give it a break. You nod your head so fast he thinks it might fly off. Your trembling little hand reaches down with disjointed begs of “Put it in baby, put it, please Cal, it’s burning.”

Your sloppy wet pussy hole visibly clenches with a tiny space of room left each time Austin digs in. Callum drunkenly wonders if they should have a medical professional on standby for this sorta shit, like it’s gotta be a crime to wedge two boys into a girl, especially when Butler’s packing like that. But your whine suggests you need it and he’d really like to not be left out. FOMO -that’s what he’ll blame when he’s driving the ambulance or else coming down from the craziest high he’s ever had with a pool of cum drying on his belly.

Austin goes still as a statue under you and drags your sweaty hair across to the other shoulder so he can really see your face and ask, “You sure? Baby, talk to me, you really wanna try?” His hand gently grips your chin, forcing you to focus on his eyes, his question.

“I’ll die if I don’t have you both,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper, but Austin still looks concerned and slightly perturbed. Is the girl he knows even in there? But you want something, you want this and he’ll be dammed if he doesn’t give you anything you want that’s within his power to give. And if there’s one thing he loves about you it’s your love of a challenge. He bites his cheek, trying not to blow his load over your sweet determination.

“Ok ok.” Austin takes a deep, steadying breath, kissing your wet temple and gives Callum a very familiar look of admonishment and also trust in his good intentions. “Careful, man, really careful,” he instructs as Callum nods his silent assent.

“No safe words, just if somebody says stop we stop, ok?” Austin’s starting to pant, as he can feel the poofy mushroom head of Cal’s cock brushing his sack at your entrance. “Anybody who says stop,” he clarifies, half thinking he might be the first to wimp out and do it.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” Cal actually looks sober as fuck except for the sheen of sweat that always seems to come with his pints and somehow the eye contact he makes lights a fire in Austin’s belly.

“I might say no,” you squeak, “I won’t mean it though, just a heads up. I’ll say stop- if I need to stop.”

“No?” Cal laughs nervously. “That might make me feel a little…bad,” he admits, still rubbing maddening circles around where Austin’s been practically cockwarming you for ages.

“Stop getting all existential and give her what she wants, man,” Austin rebuts.

“It’ll make me feel bad if she says no,” Cal blurts, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“Then I’ll do it.” Austin’s voice is rough in your ear and your nipples harden into peaks as he gently pulls out of you and pats the bed. “Tell Cal to lay his big ass self down.”

You giggle as Callum dives onto the bed, bouncing for a moment until he settles, turning over onto his back, head propped on a lazy forearm. He pats his meaty thighs and you roll your eyes but can’t deny the flip flop your stomach does at the thought of those thighs and what a nice cradle they’ll make while you’re railed within an inch of you’re life. And then you’re hovering over him, Cal kneading your hip encouragingly while running an admiring hand up and down your spine, like you’re a skittish horse in need of calming. You hesitate, momentarily unsure, but Austin nods at you reassuringly from the foot of the bed and ever the gentleman, gives you his hands to hold as you sink slowly down on Callum. Though his gentlemanly hands are gripping yours tightly, his eyes are glued to your pussy taking every inch of uncut Brit cock that he’s maybe gagged on once.

“Earth to Butler!” comes from behind you because Austin’s zoned out a little and it’s been a hot minute and you’re somewhat situated now.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, uh, ok, ok…”

Cal snickers before crunching up behind you, his chest hot against your back as he wraps his arms around you. “You feel lovely, darlin’, wanna lay back wif’ me? Don’t mind him, he’s lost it. Always goes a bit soft in the head around a pretty pussy or my cock.”

It’s a lot from this position and laying back against Callum’s chest is intense. You feel like he’s fully in your belly and it stretches your womb over him. He feels different…his isn’t as wet as Austin’s little water fountain but it throbs more noticeably, sending little shocks of pleasure through you. Cal pets your belly soothingly and spreads your pussy lips for Austin to really get a look at. You whine and squirm, realizing again the want for more. Those fingers dabbling at your entrance, threatening to push inside you once more and that’s when Austin breaks, recalling that’s what he and his cock are here for.

“Yeah, ok, ok, present and accounted for. Move your hand,” he murmurs, swiping Cal’s hand away. He thumbs at you himself for a bit, just to be sure and to watch as Cal loses his cool facade for a second when you clench tightly around him.

“Still sure about this, baby?” He asks one more time as he’s pressing at the ring and the burn has you bracing. You feel Cal’s hand move from your waist to your thigh, behind your knee, cupping it and dragging it wide, spreading you apart before you’ve even said your piece. The vote of confidence does you good and you take a deep breath, nodding once, decisively.

“Then put me in, angel,” Austin tells you, fat cockhead already snagged in but there’s a little ripple in his hard cock from the resistance of the tight space. Steeling yourself, you reach down and wrap your fingers around him, tugging him closer and slowly feeding his thickness into you alongside Cal’s, who starts thrashing his head and moaning at the drag like he’s the one getting breached.

“Good girl, good girl, please more…know you can take more.” Cal’s begging for cock by proxy and it alters your brain somehow. Austin’s too, he puts his hips into the effort and soon he’s gotten past the muscles at your command and into the threshold where you can’t manage to push him out if you tried. It makes you panic a little, but Cal is softly shushing in your ear, a distracting thumb stroking behind your knee, other freckled hand mauling a tit and begging you to take more cock so he can get friction.

“She can take it, come on, Austin,” he vouches for you, a little self promotion as you can’t even form words right now. Somewhere about six inches in your vocabulary consists of yelped little “fuck’s”and whimpering “I cant’s”.

Austin caresses your cheek, commanding you to look at him, his blue eyes focused in on yours, “That’s it baby, just a little more. You’re doing so good for us… such a good girl.”

Callum grab’s Austin’s shoulder and brings him fully deeper, which is all well and good when Austin kisses your forehead and insists raggedly, “You are doing it, baby.”

When he finally pushes in that last little bit, you lose any control you thought you had, instantly coming from the stretch and threatening to push Austin out. But he presses nothing less than his full weight on you, keeping you in place and himself snug inside next to Callum. You gasp for air and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, clinging to him. Austin tries to remember to breathe and promptly forgets how when he makes eye contact with Callum for the first time since being balls deep.

“Are you -is that you…twitching?”

“Woulda thought you’d remember that,” Callum smirks. “Coulda sworn I recall you saying something about it jumping like a live wire in your hand?”

“Christ, well it feels different all…snuggled up next to mine,” Austin grits out, coloring slightly.

After a moment or two, when breath has been regained and a few laughs shared and some semblance of sanity restored in right spaces, Cal starts to pepper every inch of your neck and cheeks in kisses. Now that he’s not so desperate he’s become utterly grateful for you, for this. The kisses turn into sloppy, wet groans in your ear as Austin begins to move and Cal’s hand is gripping your jaw, his eyes locked on Austin, your legs thrown wide over his thighs, spread to the max and he’s a perfect recliner. He throws his other arm across your chest in a loving armbar, holding you still on top of him, “So Butler can get a rhythm, baby.”

Austin looms above you both, finding his pace, measured and steady. His beautiful face is flushed full of awe and there’s a heat in his gaze you’ve never seen before. He puts his hand on Callum’s shoulder for leverage, long fingers digging into freckled flesh and Cal promptly lays a little smooch on Austin’s forearm with a cheeky grin. Austin’s eyes shift and change, become a deeper blue and an expression you can’t read flits across his face as he jabs a particularly hard thrust into you. Callum starts to whimper and squirm when he realizes Austin’s thrusts are rubbing him too well, and it's not just you who’s getting their spot hit - that spot being his foreskin being drug back and forth in maddening little drags.

“Y’all like that? Feel good?” Austin growls lowly, rhythmic thrusts pushing you and Callum deeper into the fluffy white sheets, both of your whimpers combining until you can’t tell who they belong to. Austin groans and drives in harder, his white knuckles gripping Callum’s shoulder hard, while he reserves his tenderest touch for you, rubbing his thumb back and forth across your cheek.

“You’re…enjoying this…” you manage to moan between thrusts. His face splits into a grin as he pushes all the way in, pausing for a moment to kiss you hard, all tongues and teeth and desperation.

“Oh, fuck mate, that’s so good. Oh my god,” Callum babbles. “Right there, fuck, right there. You feel so good.”

“Which one, baby girl? Me or her?” Austin smirks.

For once, Callum has no witty response except the heavy panting in your ear. He squeezes your waist harder and his fingernails indent your hip and it gives you something else to focus on while you catch your breath, a tiny escape from the mind-blowing ecstasy you feel and the slight alarm bells ringing in your head. You can feel Callum somehow expanding and growing inside of you, even bigger than he was before. Austin’s eyes go wide and a look of panic crosses his face - his perfect pink mouth forms a perfect “o”.

“Oh shit, what…why is everything so fucking tight again…what is happening,” Austin groans breathlessly, his mouth set in a determined line, teeth ground together so hard you worry momentarily he might break a tooth. He tightens his grip on Callum’s shoulder and Cal’s massive hand encircles Austin’s delicate wrist, knuckles white as he holds on for dear life.

“Faster…faster,” Cal begs, again and again. “Sorry no, mate it’s, it’s fuckin’ happenin’…oh fuck.” His head cranes forward and you can feel his belly and hips flexing beneath you as he tenses over and over, letting out a hoarse sort of howl as he comes. His warmth fills you and it shakes something loose in your head, your own stomach starting to clench as you grab a handful of Austin’s golden hair, urging him on. Callum’s hands are all over you, petting you everywhere as he starts to come down.

“S’ok I came in ya? Yeah? Good, ‘cause I did,” he whispers hoarsely with a remorseful little laugh, back to babbling to you now that Austin’s got him there. He wipes the sweaty hair from your forehead, tucking a piece of it behind your ear and kisses your neck, whispering encouraging words, “That’s it, babe, give us another one.”

Cal’s bitten off little whimpers spur you on, as his soft cock is trapped in there too, getting pummeled. He’s trying to focus on you, with little pets and murmurs of encouragement but you feel his jaw clench as he grits his teeth, taking the pounding Austin is giving the both of you.

“Got me feelin’ like a proper woman, squealin’ n’ shit, Aus.”

You feel another orgasm build and shake through you, one of the many countless times you’ve fallen apart tonight, but this one stands out. It would bring you to your knees if you were unlucky enough to be standing at this moment. You’re sure it has something to do with knowing you’re satisfying two men at once, Callum having found his release and Austin being close to his. You can tell he’s on the verge by the little signs you’ve grown to recognize over the course of your relationship. The way his forehead creases in between his brows - you’ve kissed it away a dozen times in the heat of the moment. The way his pulse beats on the side of his neck, his vein there popping out and becoming more prominent. The short little huffs of breath he inhales, in quick succession - one, two, three, bam, bam, bam, like three shots straight to your heart. It’s your turn to take care of him, the last one standing after he made sure you and Cal got yours.

“Your turn, baby,” you whisper, pulling his forehead down to meet yours, thumbing at the hollows of his cheeks as he begins to tremble and his thrusts turn sloppy. He kisses you again, sucking on your tongue before moving to latch onto your neck. Cal wraps a hand around Austin’s throat, pushing his head back and squeezing just enough for his eyes to widen and his mouth to pop open. His blue eyes darken and you think he’s going to put his mouth on you again, but he bypasses you and goes straight for Callum’s collarbone, his perfect, white teeth sinking into Callum’s lovely English skin and biting down, hard. Cal yelps but doesn’t let go of Austin’s neck, and that’s when you feel it, your belly filled with warmth again as Austin pulses and twitches inside you, a stuttered moan muffled into the crook of Callum’s shoulder. He collapses on top of you and Callum, completely and utterly spent, the three of you breathing heavily and unable to move for a few moments. You squirm a tiny bit, trying to take a deep breath with one man plastered to your front and another to your back.

Austin gets the hint and lifts himself back up on shaky arms, slipping out of you with a squelch. You gasp one final time, at the sudden loss of him, and a cold emptiness is left where he once filled you to the brim, almost to breaking. The coldness is replaced quickly by a gushing warmth spilling out of you. You feel Callum suck in a breath, his broad chest expanding beneath you, his right arm still wrapped tightly around your chest.

“Christ, it’s running down my balls,” he wheezes out, taking another shuddering breath.

Austin braces himself against the headboard and slowly disentangles himself, flopping limply beside you on the bed. He looks at you and Cal still entwined, his eyes moving from both of your faces flushed with heat, down to Callum’s arm still tightly wrapped around you, one large, meaty hand gripping your breast, his middle finger absentmindedly pressing the sensitive bud of your nipple down. Austin sucks in breath after breath, and his eyes travel lower, to your legs still splayed wide over Callum’s sturdy thighs, his softening cock still nestled deep inside you, the spend of both men slowly dripping out of you. A sudden flash of possessiveness roars through him - for you, for Callum. For the sacred thing he has with both of you. His face goes numb and his ears start to ring. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

“What is it, Aus?” you whisper, stretching out a hand to him. He looks forlorn, alone on the other side of the bed, his vulnerable face a mix of emotions crashing together all at once, lost and unsure, the gravity of everything settling on his shoulders like a blanket.

“Come back to us.” Your fingertips barely reach to brush his bronzed chest, the little blonde hairs soft against your skin. “Please.”

He lets out a breath you didn’t realize he was holding and crawls back over, wrapping his arms around you both and collapsing on top of you again. You’re hilariously squished in the middle of a bear hug now, both men squeezing with all their might, a strange show of masculinity to mask true feelings.

“I can’t breathe….” you manage between giggles. Callum lets out a soft chuckle in your ear, his breath warm against your cheek as his arm shifts beneath you. He digs his fingers into Austin’s armpit and wiggles them around none too gently. Austin bucks against you and squeaks out an uncharacteristically high laugh, trying to squirm out of Cal’s grasp, but it’s too strong and Austin’s body feels like jelly just now.

“Hey! Hey hey, no fair…you know I hate… being… tickled…” Austin grunts out, trying desperately to writhe out of this strange embrace.

-

Bright, cheerful sunshine spills onto the hotel room floor and across the bed, where it has no right to be at this ungodly hour. It shines in unabashedly, through drapes you forgot to close properly in all of your horny desperation. A little sliver of verdant green Hollywood hills is the only signal from the outside world. In here, somewhere between sleeping and waking, in that hazy early morning dreamland, you register Austin tucked up close behind you, his knees pushing the backs of yours and his warm, heavy arm slung over your waist. This is how you wake up every morning and you scoot your bottom back, into the cradle of his hips, momentarily unaware of the pulverization of your insides. But scenes from last night play out like a clip reel inside your head almost as soon as you’re conscious. You squeeze your eyes tight, refusing to give the sun its due. You stretch your legs gingerly, wiggling your toes against Austin’s, and take stock of things. There’s the obvious ache between your legs - more of a throbbing fire, if the truth is to be told. Your nipples seem to remember the previous evening’s activities as well because they immediately harden and stand at attention. And you can’t feel them yet but you’re pretty sure you have a few bruises, too. Ah well, you think as you yawn lazily, that’s what makeup is for.

You blink one eye open (it’s so bright in here!) and the first thing you encounter is a massive arm right next to your nose, tiny, golden hairs glinting in the sunlight. The second thing you see is Cal, on his belly and sans sheets or clothes, his lush and muscular bottom swelling above the white duvet beneath him. His adorable face is pressed into the pillow next to yours, dark curls swirling across his forehead and day’s worth of stubble dots his jaw. He feels your eyes on him, he’s only been snoozing for a bit, waiting for you two to wake up. He cracks one bright, blue eye open and stares back at you a moment. He senses a rush of what he feels everytime he sees you but this time it’s magnified by endearment and gratitude. Then, his face lights up, still smushed into the pillow and a massive, squinty grin splits his face. Your heart gives a funny little leap inside your chest and you find that your fingers are caressing his cheek softly, of their own volition and you resist the urge to kiss the little freckle under his mouth. He grabs your hand and kisses your fingertips, holding them to his warm lips as he smiles. And suddenly, any worry about things being weird has evaporated, as has any possibility of him being a third wheel. He just belongs.

“Hey! Quit making goo-goo eyes at my girl.” Austin’s gravelly morning voice rumbles from behind you playfully, and quick as lightning the arm still draped around your waist reaches over and smacks Callum’s ass, hard. The slap echoes around the room and you see the pale flesh of his bottom bounce and reverberate with the force of it. Cal, and his red, pillow creased face, jolts forward, yelling and jerking in the sheets, which in turn rubs his raw cock. This causes a chain reaction of events which results in him immediately pulling a sore muscle and flopping back down on the bed, moaning and rubbing his reddening backside.

“No fair, bruv,” he groans into the pillow. “That was too fuckin’ close to my balls.”

Austin chuckles and swats your ass gently for good measure. Slowly, everyone starts to shift and stir. First there are whines about soreness and muscles. Then about how sticky it all is. Then about who’s gonna order room service - but more pressingly, who’s gonna walk to the mini bar and grab a water. And then there’s an argument about who’s voice is less hoarse to call for the food - this ends up being you, hilariously. Then there’s moaning arguments about who is intact enough to wobble to the door and tip the server. In between massive amounts of doting and fretting over you, obviously. The boys are ever attentive, fluffing your pillows and making sure you’re comfortable while they feed you omelets and sausage and pancakes until your energy is restored. Over breakfast in bed, the arguments continue about who’s more bruised up - there’s a nasty bite mark on Cal’s collarbone but the fingerprints around Austin’s neck are a fair rival. There’s a panicked and very male discussion about emergency rooms when you admit you can barely move. But you manage to convince them that a nice, hot soak in the tub would do you wonders right about now. So Austin goes to draw you a bath while Callum helps you out of bed, wrapping a protective arm around your waist, and guiding you to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later you’re starting to feel somewhat restored and a little more like yourself. The boys take turns showering, getting ready for the screening event later today. They go about it quietly though, almost reverently, leaving you to relax in peace. You turn the hot water on again, you’ve soaked so long it’s turning tepid but you’re not ready to relinquish this luxury. You ask Austin to bring you your makeup kit, eying the marks on both of them that need covering up. First Austin, then Callum, one after the other they kneel beside the tub in only their dress pants, chest and feet still bare. There are bruises and hickies and bite marks on clavicles and necks and wrists. Poor Callum, with his delicate, reactionary British skin has what looks like beard burn over half his chest and up the side of his throat. You turn sideways in the fancy clawfoot bathtub, gingerly dabbing concealer here and there, doing the best you can to cover up any evidence of last night's revels. Austin sits patiently, a towel underneath his knees to buffer the hard tile floor, and watches you with his kind, enigmatic ocean eyes. They’re distracting, those eyes, as they watch your face, every blink and every smile.

“What is it, Aus? Something on your mind?” you finally murmur, unable to take such naked contemplation any longer.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” He smooths the hair back from your forehead, rubbing a silky piece between his fingers. “I’m so lucky.”

Callum slouches against the doorway and lets out a quiet hum. “I think you mean we’re lucky, mate. The three of us.”

-

The Three of Us: Brat Behavior (part 2)

The Three of Us - Masterlist

-

Tagging some Austin & Callum lovers I know: @jelliedonut @crazymadpassionatelove @elvisabutler @slowsweetlove @stylespresleyhearted @steph-speaks @blurredcolour @pearlparty

[solarmorrigan]

Well, Hello, Sailor

written for @steddiemicrofic | prompt: ‘pin’ | wc: 388 | rated: T | cw: slightly racy photos?

“Oh my god,” Eddie gasps.

“Oh my god,” Steve echoes, groaning.

Eddie hadn’t meant to drop the box, but it was heavy; it had been a rescue from the back of Steve’s closet as they moved his stuff out of his old apartment (preparing to move into their new one, together), and it had been full of forgotten papers and old magazines and – photos.

The stash had spilled out in front of Eddie like it had been waiting for him, full-color and glossy and glorious.

There’s Steve posed front and center, on his knees and looking back over his shoulder at the camera. He’s wearing a little pair of navy blue shorts and a little red ascot and precious little else. The shorts are indecently high-cut, hugging his ass like they were made for it, but it’s the sailor hat settled jauntily on top of his head that really makes it for Eddie. Steve’s eyes are wide and sweet, as if he’s been caught by surprise, with his lips parted in that inviting way that haunts Eddie’s dreams, even though he can technically see it any time he likes now.

He’s the very picture of a perfect little pin-up boy.

“Oh my god,” Eddie says again, unable to get much else out.

“It was– uh, for a magazine,” Steve stutters out. “I forgot I even had copies of that shoot.”

“Uh huh.” Eddie nods, still staring, mesmerized, at the pictures in his hands.

“It was during college, after my dad cut me off. I needed another job, and this paid, like, surprisingly well, and–”

“It damn well better have,” Eddie says, finally smirking up at Steve. “I bet they made bank off of you, baby.”

Steve pauses, blinking. “You’re not– upset?”

“Why would I be upset?” Eddie asks; honestly, he’ll only be upset if Steve tries to pry the photos away from him before he’s had a chance to thoroughly inspect them.

“Just– some people have gotten… jealous, I guess?” Steve shrugs, glancing away.

“Other people can look if they want.” Eddie leans over to press a reassuring kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “I know I’m the only one who gets you live and in person.”

Slowly, Steve smiles. “Well. If you like the sailor shoot, I bet you’ll love some of the others.”

“Others?”

[na0koz]

Love your toxic/stalker Jinx but like.. what would happen if she got caught? By anyone (Like Vi, Vander, etc) but also/or reader

toxic!jinx masterlist

now i think vi has always known in the back of her mind that maybe jinx loves you a bit too much. but at the same time she didn’t really register all the photos of you on her wall, your name paired with hers written on every surface even her skin, the amount of time she spends out of the house since meeting you.

like vi knows about you, you’re the only thing jinx talks about. she knows jinx, and knows very well that she’s obsessive but she’s never been obsessed to this extent. it concerns vi slightly so she decides to take a look in jinx’s room.

the photos are obvious, they’re literally plastered over her walls. she then notices a corner with a pile of stuff in it, above it is your name in a heart carved into the wall. vi carefully starts to pick apart the pile, finding the nail polish jinx stole from you, the clothes, everything else she pinched from your apartment.

this freaks vi out slightly so she keeps looking around. on her bedside table there is the piece of metal that jinx fashioned a key to unlock your apartment with. the distinct key-shaped cutout, paired with an open notebook listing everywhere you’ve been and everyone you’ve spoken to basically every day in the last 6 months that tells vi everything she needs to know.

when jinx comes home that day, vi is sitting on the couch. unusual for her, she’s generally in her room blasting rock music and wallowing in her sadness over some blue-haired girl. jinx stands opposite the couch, wondering what the look on vi’s face is for.

“are you stalking that girl you’re always talking about?”

jinx freezes. she has no idea what to say.

vi sighs. “you can’t do that, jinx. besides, aren’t you dating?”

jinx looks at the carpet under her feet. “no… i haven’t.. asked her,” she whispers. she cannot believe that she’s been caught. is vi gonna force her to leave you alone? she can’t deal with that, and jinx starts to panic.

vi is close to anger now, “are you kidding? what the hell is wrong with you?! does she know?”

“of course she doesn’t know.”

they argue back and forth for a bit, mainly vi yelling at jinx and jinx cautiously whispering a response, as if you were on the other side of the door listening.

after that, jinx stays in her room for a couple of days with the door locked. every time vi comes knocking, she either stays silent or starts screaming at her to fuck off. her phone is dead and she has no plans of charging it, despite the fact she knows you’ve probably texted and called her multiple times.

instead, she just stares at the photos she has of you, from before the two of you met.

to be honest though, she just goes back to her usual acts after she gets over herself.

-

if reader found out on the other hand, i had to think pretty hard about what would happen.

i don’t think reader would fully find out what she was doing, but just something surface level. like not the full extremes of jinx’s obsession.

one day, you and jinx had a sleepover and it was the next morning. jinx was laying on your stomach fiddling with the waistband of your shorts when you ask her the question she has dreaded for months.

“have you been following me?”

her hands freeze, eyes widened staring ahead of her. she breathes out a laugh.

“what?”

“have you been following me around?”

“n-.. no? what do you mean?” her voice trembles slightly. she was so fucked.

“i keep seeing you in random places at the same time i’m there,” you talk with an unwavering tone. you need her to know you’re serious about this.

“that’s not me. it could just be someone else with blue hair? i’m not the only person in the world with it,” jinx feigns a small laugh. she’s not sure why.

“no, it’s definitely you jinx. i see your face every time, just watching me from a distance.”

she curls herself into an even tighter ball on your bed. she has literally no idea what to do in the situation.

you stare at her for a bit, noticing her trembling fingers still holding the hem of your pyjamas. you decide you should try and get her to talk, to explain herself.

“i’m not gonna be mad. i just need you to tell me if you have been following me or not.” you’re 98% sure she has been, but maybe it was a coincidence, like the couple of times when you ran into her in public.

more silence follows. a few minutes later, she finally speaks up.

“maybe i have a few times. i just.. worry about you. it’s only ‘cus i love you. i’m just checking you’re okay.” she honestly sounds like she’s about to burst into tears.

“you can just text me and ask how i’m doing, jinx.”

you feel a tear wet your pyjama shirt. this is is honestly not how you thought she’d take it.

“no.. no you don’t get it. i have to see that you’re okay with my own eyes.”

the two of you go back and forth for a while, jinx trying to justify her actions and you shutting her down every time. her arguments have a lot of holes in them.

after a brief pause, you try to reach a conclusion.

“can you just stop following me around, then? it’s scary.”

scary. there is nothing jinx hates more than the idea of you being scared of her.

“i’ll stop,” she breathes. maybe she will for a bit but.. she’ll find a way to keep doing it.

“okay. thank you,” you reply with a sigh, placing your hand on her back to try and comfort her. she had created a significant wet patch on your shirt now, from the involuntary tears falling while she refused to get up from her spot on your stomach.

“i’m sorry i’m so sorry i’m so sorry. i love you,” jinx chants.

you tell her it’s fine.

you’re stuck with her.

[latenightdaydreams]

Cowboy!König x Farmer (fem pov)

MDNI🔞

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, mention of death (widow), p in v, spanking, oral

2.3k word count

Set in 1890's America

🤠

.

.

It has been exactly four months and seventeen days since your husband, Henry, passed away. The two of you decided to leave your dull city life for the excitement of the untouched wilderness. Everything had been going perfectly. In only five years the both of you were able to build a beautiful home, a big barn with animals to fill it, and enough crops to feed yourselves and sell. Success to the point of needing to hire extra hands. It was the American dream.

It’s just you and a failing farm. The work just continues to pile up and you never seem to be able to catch a break. With no other options, you set off into town looking for help. You hang fliers in the local stores and on street posts, hoping someone reliable will respond. All you can do is wait.

Only just two days later while you’re outside feeding your chickens, you see a black draft horse approaching. You place the bucket of feed on the floor, wipe your hands off on your blue jeans, and adjust your cream-colored button-down shirt before walking towards him. As you approach you notice that underneath the cowboy hat is an odd t-shirt like mask covering his face.

“I hope you’re not here to cause trouble.” You rest your hand on the pistol resting on your hip as you continue to approach him.

“Nein, no trouble, Fräulein."

His thick Austrian accent takes you by surprise. Your eyes look over his body as he gets off of his horse, taking note of how massive this man is. He looks down at you with his pale blue eyes squinting from a smile.

“I’m König,” he holds his hand out to you, “I saw your fliers in town.”

“I’m, y/n. Have you worked on a farm before?” You weakly shake his hand, your body so exhausted from hours of work and no rest.

“I grew up on one in Austria.”

You cross your arms keeping your defenses up as you two speak. There are so many questions running through your mind about his mask, but you decide to not ask. Never in your life did you think a 6’10 giant would be the one to show up.

“Well, as the post states; I can’t pay much but I can offer food and a room to compensate.”

The fact that you can’t afford to pay the standard rate to a farm hand makes you feel ashamed. There used to be three workers and now it’s only you. You can feel the heat in your face begin to build as you wait for him to reject your offer. Without him, you might not be able to keep the farm past this coming harvesting season.

“That sounds like a good deal to me, Fräulein.”

A small smile cracks at the corner of your lips as he agrees. There is a wave of relief that washes over your body. The possibility of getting the farm back to its glory days lingers in the back of your mind.

“Come with me, I’ll give you a tour.”

You turn and start with showing him the farm land before walking inside the home. It’s a two-story farmhouse, well taken care of by your husband. On the walls there are two photos; one of you and your late husband and the other of your parents. You notice König eyeing them, but he doesn’t ask about it.

Up the stairs and around to the left is the spare room. It was supposed to be a nursery, but those hopes of a family died with your husband. In the corner is a single bed and a wardrobe on the wall. It’s not a must, but it’s all you could afford.

“Here is where you’ll be sleeping.” Your eyes follow König as he walks past. His muscles are so big the ripple though the tight blue shirt he’s wearing. His thighs would be so nice to sit on. Henry was a skinny little man. You didn’t know men could be this big. “There are some house rules. No parties, no drinking yourself dumb, and please clean up after yourself.”

König places his small bag on the bed; clearly, he travels light. He nods as he looks around and then his eyes land back on you. The beautiful shade of light blue is only accentuated by the black mask covering his face.

“Ja, I promise to follow the rules. When do I start?”

“You can help me now. All of the animals are fed, but the stalls need to be cleaned out.”

“I’m on it.” König says as he walks past you. You get a whiff of his musky smell from his travels. Deep inside you feel wrong but, on the surface, you can’t help but to be aroused by the man.

You wait a moment before going outside to tend to the crops. Right now, you just need to remain focused on the farm and Henry’s vision. There is no time for men in this life.

You march down the stairs and head to the barn to grab your tools. Once you enter the door you see König with the pitchfork shoveling the animal manure, just as you asked of him. Except his shirt is now off and resting over one of the hooks on the wall. His body is glistening with sweat as his muscles flex with each movement. Trying to not get caught staring, you turn and grab what you need quickly and leave. The sound of your heart beat echoes in your ears, what is wrong with you?

The day passes until the sun begins to set. You’ve noticed that König took the liberty to go around the barn and fix things that have been broken for a while. His work ethic only makes you feel even worse for not being able to pay him more.

A few days pass, the both of you have slowly begun to build a routine. It has been nice to have him around the house, the chores no longer seem unmanageable. There hasn’t been much conversation, but you steal glances of his body everyday when he’s outside.

Today as you’re bent over planting seeds, you feel a warm hand rest on your lower back. You can feel a tingle crash over your body as you stand and turn to him. Your bodies are so close that you can feel the heat radiating from him. All you want to do is rub your hand down his chest and feel his sweat on your body.

“I can finish up; you should go inside and rest.” His eyes flicker back and forth between yours causing your heart to flutter.

“No, it’s okay—”

“Bitte meine Liebe, let me finish.”

You nod slowly. His hand drifts from your back to the curve of your rear before dropping off. The look he gives you melts you completely. Thanking him once more, you walk forward and towards the house. You turn back to look at König and see his eyes following your hips before he continues working.

As you turn the corner, you realize that you forgot your jacket in the barn. You walk back and see it lying next to König’s shirt. With your jacket in hand, you look around before grabbing his shirt. Bringing it up to your face, you take a deep breath in, savoring his scent.

“Liebling, I thought I told you to get some rest.”

König’s voice causes you to jump, accidently dropping his shirt on the ground before turning around to face him. You can’t seem to find the right words to attempt to talk yourself out of this situation; it’s embarrassing.

“I’m so sorry, I know this must look—”

“Like you were smelling my shirt.” König says with a certain cheerful tone in his voice.

All you can do is nod, you’ve been caught; the thought of him quitting makes your heart drop. Words escape you; how does one apologize for this? You pick his shirt back up and hand it to him.

“I’m sorry.” You repeat in a meek tone.

König looks at you for a while before slowly approaching you. His massive hand ups the side of your face and tilts your head back for you to look directly into his eyes. A chill travels over your body.

“That’s…very naughty of you.” His voice is almost a whisper as his other arm wraps around the side of you, pressing you against his chest.

You look up with wide eyes at his response; it isn’t what you were expecting at all. Before you can say anything, his hand squeezes your soft plump ass through your jeans. He gently grinds his hips up against you, making sure you feel how aroused you make him.

“You are simply stunning, Liebling.” König growls in your ear, goosebumps travel all over.

Both of his hands move down to unbutton your shirt, every button felt like it was taking an eternity to undo. The way he looks at your bare breasts like a hungry beast causes your pussy to tingle, a rush of desire pulsing throughout your body. He gently pulls his cowboy hat off and places it on the wooden stable behind you, pulling off his mask as well.

You see a long and deep scar that travels down the right side of his face. It isn’t a turn off for you, he’s still a handsome man. With one hand you reach up and caress the right side of his face gently, König presses his face into your hand as he relishes your touch.

He leans down and wraps his lips around one of your nipples while he unbuttons your jeans. The feeling of his wet tongue swirling around your nipple causes you to let out a soft moan. Your fingers comb back his messy blonde hair as you watch him with closed eyes enjoy your body.

The fabric of your jeans brush along your legs as he pulls them down off of your body along with your underwear. His large hands caress your legs from your calves up to your thighs. He pulls away to look at your full body; your eyes drop to his hands to see his erection straining against his jeans. Your eyes follow as he stands up, towering over your much smaller frame as his hands undo his pants. In this moment you didn’t feel like a widower or even the stress of the farm. It’s just you and König.

A tiny yelp leaves you as he lifts you up and holds you in his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist while he walks with you to the barn wall. His lips crash into yours in a passionate kiss. You pull him to you, deepening the kiss. He tastes strongly of tobacco and smells like sweat from working in the hot sun all day.

König pulls away from the kiss, leaving your lips wet and craving more of him. His eyes look hazy, drunk at this moment. Then you see the head of his cock press against your sopping wet pussy. His once pale blue eyes are now blackened by his pupils.

With one harsh thrust, König shoves himself inside of you. A loud moan leaves your lips as your face scrunches with pleasure. König is such a strong man that he so effortlessly holds you and moves you down on to his cock to meet his thrust.

“Y/n.” He huffs your name.

No words can even be formed as your body experiences new heights of pleasure you’ve never felt before. His cock is monstrous, bullying itself inside of you. Your short finger nails dig into and drag across his pale skin, reddened from the blistering August sun.

Animalistic groans leave König as the most pathetic mewls leave yours. His body leans against yours as he presses you harder against the barn wall, his hips bucking up rapidly like a man in heat. You feel a way of electricity as his tongue licks across the side of your neck. He covers your pulse point with his lips and begins to lightly suck.

Beads of sweat begin to drip on your body, both of you growing increasingly slippery. He gently puts you down, but quickly grabs you by the back of your neck and walks you over to a stack of hay. Not being too rough, he bends you over the stack and presses your face into the hay.

You form goosebumps across your body as he gently caresses down to your hips, grasping them firmly. His pace continues, but you feel his heavy balls slapping against your swollen clit. Your eyes flutter back as one hand reaches behind you to push his chest.

“Too much.” You whimper.

König doesn’t listen, grabbing your arms and folding it behind your back instead. He reaches for your other arm to also hold it that way, one of his hands wrapping around both of your wrist to keep them together. Your ass ripples with every merciless thrust only bringing you closer to orgasm.

You can feel your pussy clenching around his cock, a low moan leaving him in response. This is just too much. The strong build up of ecstasy radiates from deep inside of your core throughout your whole body. In response to this sensation you tremble, König’s name being the only thing you can say as you cry for him over and over again.

“Can I—” König begins to ask, but before he finishes his sentence you can feel his cock begin to pulse deep inside. His heavy body leans forward and rest on you, pressing you more into the hay. He gives your marked neck soft kisses as your body takes every single drop of his cum.