#it's a leap a lot of us need to take

[virgil-upinthestars]

tolkien, writing a poignant and epic tale about two people overcoming thousands of years of feuding and cultural conditioning to save the world and form a lifelong bond of understanding, respect, and admiration

tumblr users: that's the gayest shit i've ever seen in my life

[hwnglx]

pick a pile - you in your own eyes vs. you in your fs' eyes

welcome lovely reader! let's take a peak into how you view yourself, compared to how your future lover will view you. breathe slowly, take your time and use your intuition to go with the pile that speaks to you the most. remember to take what resonates, and leave what doesn't. 𓆩♡𓆪

°❀⋆.pile 1ೃ࿔*:･

you in your own eyes

you see yourself as someone who isn't very easily impressed or satisfied. you might struggle with chronic pessimism and seeing the brighter side of things sometimes and seem aware of it. you are manifesting a better life for yourself.

you might lack substantial belief and trust in yourself to do well, and see yourself as someone who's more of capable of hoping and wishful thinking, rather than courageously taking the initiative and acting on your desires.

you believe you don't have the needed tools to follow your dreams just yet (financially, mentally or in terms of maturity) you also might be afraid of change; this could result in a habit of just staying in your comfort zone in the end.

you might see yourself as someone who's still too immature and inexperienced. not sure why this came through, but some of you might even think that you just aren't overly smart. (spirit is telling me you're wrong!) you might feel like a late bloomer who's been a little stagnant in their life or slower in your growth compared to others. a lot of comparing yourself to other people here.

i heard “dreamer with a heavy heart” from the song cruel world by faye. perhaps you could connect to that song; it talks about feeling like the world just challenges you continuously, but the dreamer inside of you remaining alive despite the hurt.

you might think that you're quite alone in this world. someone who's just used to being on your own, doing things on your own. you see yourself as a person who tries lighting their own path instead of relying on anyone else.

you see yourself as someone who's constantly wishing to learn from the things that life throws at you, and turning every life lesson into something that helps you grow.

you might experience fomo sometimes; fear of missing out.

it does seem as if you're still trying your best to hold on to this glimmer of hope within you.. you're aware that you're someone who could make it happen, if only they took a leap of faith.

you're very humble, dedicated and eager to learn at heart, so deep down you acknowledge that the potential and desire is there. you just aren't sure how to translate it into reality.

i think you're in the midst of slowly healing from negative experiences, which have had a profound impact on you. you're trying to practice self-forgiveness and letting go of the past, but still might struggle with self-doubts and insecurities.

you in your fs' eyes

your fs will see you as someone resilient with a strong personality, who's had to endure a lot of challenges and conquer many obstacles in their life. this gave you thick skin.

they might look at you as a person who wasn't as easy to get to, because you do have your walls up at first, and people need to prove themselves to you before they can get past them. they look at you as someone who's protective of their own space, and doesn't allow people to access them as easily.

their first impression might consist of seeing you in snappy defensive mode, where you had to stand up for yourself.

they'll think that you're someone independent who challenges the status quo; focused on first and foremost, going after what you set yourself up to, unafraid to stand out and be different. a person who's more interested in following their own rules, instead of joining the crowd or blending in.

your fs looks at you as a person who's determined to build their own financial stability and independence before relying on anyone else to do it.

which is interesting, because i do think this person could be relatively well off and wanting to provide you, but you don't seem very interested in basking in anyone else's money.

they could see you as marriage material quite quickly and think about building a future together, but soon after might realize you're not someone eager to jump into a commitment as such, if you don't feel secure in yourself first.

this has the potential to humble them quite a bit, and awaken the realization that you're someone more self-sufficient; and if anyone feels the desire to be with you, they gotta remain patient and consistent in their efforts.

you seem like a person who can make people work for your attention in order to understand the value of it, which your fs is likely to take notice of and feel even more intrigued by.

it's possible your fs isn't really used to people playing hard to get with them, which is why you might stand out a lot.

°❀⋆.pile 2ೃ࿔*:･

you in your own eyes

you see yourself as artistic, creative, passionate and warm.

you might believe that you're the type of person who's quite sure of what they want in material or financial terms, ready to realize your ambitions and goals in a bold manner; but with a soft spot when it comes to their emotional world.

like you usually have a strong character, but some sappy little things might still get you all sensitive, teary-eyed and emotional. some of you might be a little embarrassed about this too. (don't be, it's very endearing)

i feel like some of you might have fire suns with water moons

you might see yourself as a dreamy person, who's in love with the concept and idea of being in love. someone who often finds themselves seeking romance and everything it entails.

you look at yourself as a person who tries to find beauty in everything they do; just loving to romanticise life and its little things. you might love and identify a lot with art, music, etc.

at the same time, you seem to be aware of how you definitely are not as easy as you appear to be, and for sure find yourself cautious of people trying to take advantage of you.

like i see you as a person who can be willingly delusional sometimes just to beautify life a little bit, but absolutely not as a person who's easily fooled or played with.

it's almost like the more people get to know you, the easier it is for them to spot your more sensitive and soft side. the rest might see more of your more fiery and strong sides, since that's usually how you present yourself to the outside.

it seems like as time went on, you've learnt to be more wary of people's motives and intentions, and understood the importance of cultivating clear boundaries in terms of how closely you connect to others, and how much you let them in.

you can have your outgoing and social moments, but it's likely you've become good at keeping a healthy inner distance to a lot of people you're surrounded by; almost like making them believe they're your friend, when in your eyes they're not really.

you also might see yourself as someone who's not afraid to fight when necessary; a person who will not allow others to step all over them. you'll step over them twice as hard.

i see a lot of this inner fierceness inside of you coming from potential trust issues; not always feeling like everyone has your best interests at heart. you might have been betrayed a few times, which has taught you to be more cautious, and just keeping certain, more personal things to yourself.

you in your fs' eyes

your fs sees you as a vibrant and charismatic person, who has this very radiant and captivating presence to them.

they might feel like the world stops whenever they look at you; you make everyone and everything else feel less important.

their first impression is likely to consist of you being this attractive, charming and confident person, who has an inspiring and intriguing effect on them.

similarly to pile 3, they're likely to look at you as a person who's quite different to them in a variety of ways; whether that's your ethnicity, culture, views, beliefs, lifestyle, upbringing.

your fs sees in you, someone who can pull this spark of energy and motivation out of situations others would feel sad about.

like the type of person who's just eager to gets the spirits up if the mood ever gets too gloomy and negative.

they look at you as a bright and powerful person, who doesn't like dwelling on the past and isn't easily beat down by their losses, but on the contrary, sees them as an opportunity for a new and potentially even better start.

example, they might watch you go through a break up and wonder how much it'd affect you emotionally, just for you to get back up and appear as confident and vibrant as ever.

you're giving a person who has the best break-up glow ups.

like you wanna prove to whoever lost out on you, that it in no way is your loss, but definitely is theirs. it's giving princess diana black revenge dress.

as the connection progresses, it's likely for your fs to see you more and more as someone they'd want to settle down and start a family with.

for my girls out there; your fs might quite literally, want you to be the mother of their children. they're likely to look at you as someone who has great potential to be a mother, because you're so multi-facetted and wellrounded.

in your fs eyes', not only are you a strong, independent and self-sufficient character who's capable of confidently taking charge of situations, but you're also immensely nurturing, caring and kind towards the people dearest to you.

they think that you hold a lot of empathy and genuine love for the special people in your life, and have this natural ability to make them feel understood, and taken care of.

i thought of this moment when justin bieber talked about seeing hailey bieber with a baby and thinking “she is the one.”

also, this keeps coming through; they just think you're beautiful. like.. so so pretty. they might stare at you a lot.

“i could look at you all day and never get sick of the sight.”

°❀⋆.pile 3ೃ࿔*:･

you in your own eyes

you see yourself as a bit of a lone-wolf, someone who doesn't feel understood by many people, and doesn't really feel like they always fit into too many places.

a person who's in continuous search of their true belonging, and their spot where they feel safe and comfortable.

you think of yourself as a deep, reflective and introspective person who seeks profound understanding of yourself and life. you might be aware of how you need alone-time, as well as times of peace and quiet to recharge.

you long to find your own identity and true purpose, outside of what other people want or expect from you.

some of you might even feel the desire to move overseas in hopes that the change of environment could help you step into your power and strength more. there's some feelings of.. feeling like you're not where you should be, and believing that your current environment doesn't serve you. this isn't where you see your best self thriving and blossoming.

some of you might be using your spirituality to manifest a better life, and spend a lot of time on the internet trying to find guidance and ways to manifest your dream life.

you simply do not see yourself as a person, who's okay with just allowing others to take control of what you do, or your life.

you see yourself as a very driven person, who once they set their mind to something, absolutely have to get it done. like tunnel vision, this is what i want and nothing else.

while at the same time, you usually aren't someone who acts on a completely impulsive whim; you try your best to make all your decisions based on logic and reason.

you might recognize yourself as being a fairminded person, who's eager to balance your focus on your goals and your strong determination, with the importance to remain responsible and just in the way you get there.

there might be a struggle in you, between following the path you deem as best for yourself, while also making sure the people around you don't have to suffer because of it.

this dilemma between serving yourself, and serving others.

the dilemma between standing out, and fitting in.

you're strong, pile 3.. i know the road here wasn't easy, but you're persevering and doing an absolutely applaudable job.

you in your fs' eyes

your fs will view you as someone who's quite different to them. a person who's like a breath of fresh air.

they might notice that you hold beliefs different to them, proceed with things differently or approach certain situations differently, and therefore intrigue them majorly.

they'll look at you as a person who can transform them. someone who has the potential to change their life in a significant and impactful manner.

they also could see you as someone quite unpredictable, who always brings something new and fresh to the table.

your fs could be someone with masculine energy, potential earth sign. they're someone who's work-oriented, mature, possibly older than you in age, good with money and has a strong sense of responsibility.

they will see you as a person who's much more in tune with their emotions than them, and has this beautiful sense of empathy, and compassion for the people around them.

a loving person who supports others in a gentle and caring manner, and has a comforting and warm effect on them.

they will like how you bring this new sense of affection into their environment.

you could help them steer their gaze away from work work work, and make them believe in the beauty of love again.

like this person will literally have their fantasies awakened because of you. you will make them believe that soulmates are real, and that they finally found their person in you.

the puzzle piece they didn't know was missing in their lives.

it's almost like “how am i so attracted to pile 3.. when they're so different to me?” you'll quite literally have them wrapped around your finger.

this person might be someone who's usually quite stubborn and stuck in their ways, but something about your unique existence will change that; they'll want to understand someone else's opinions for a change.

they'll truly feel this desire to put themselves into your shoes and look at things from your point of view. you might quite literally teach them what empathy means.

both of you give the vibe of someone more independent, but are likely to change that for each other.

like you will make your fs want to be alone together with someone; that person will be you. and vice versa.

you'll find home in each other.

oh i could go on & on about this pile, the energy is so sweet

even as i started shuffling, i already began going into full on dreamy lovey-dovey 🥰 mode

[websterss]

AT THE END OF THE DAY — JOAQUÍN TORRES

REQUESTS: Joaquín Torres: the reader is his girlfriend. He is always overprotective of you. One day, you're in great danger, and he has to save you with his falcon title rn. After saving you, he holds you the entire time. @tsunchani

WARNING(S): angst, fluff, slight gunshot wound

WORD COUNT: 3,642

PAIRING: Joaquín Torres x fem!Reader

A/N: I've been having a hard time finding my writer's voice again and Emy told me to just take the leap and post my fics. So I hope you guys enjoy the story.

MASTERLIST

"How'd you even manage to sit us front row?" Sam questioned as he watched Joaquín walk down the white house's halls with ease and familiarity.

"Her..." Joaquín's grin grew as you spotted him coming your way. You dismissed the agent you were discussing a report with and made your way over to him and Sam. Sam was stunned into silence as he watched the interaction between you two fall into place.

"Hermosa." Beautiful. Joaquín muttered softly with a chuckle as he pulled you into a quick kiss. Your faint giggle makes his heart flood with warmth.

Oh. Her.

Sam mouthed as he looked away from the public display of affection.

"Ya mero terminas?" Are you almost finished? Joaquín asks you.

"Yeah, I just need to give a quick debrief then I'm all yours. Oh, which reminds me..." You hold your finger up as you pickpocket two clearance badges. Two red lanyards now dangled before Joaquín as he grabs them from you. "You'll be needing these if you even want to think about sitting in for the president's presentation."

"Sweet!" Joaquín ha-ha's as you place it over his neck and then extended one out to Sam who was waiting to be finally introduced.

Your smile fades as your eyes widen with realization. "Oh my god-"

"Mi amor, you don't need to-" My love.

"Holy shit it's...I mean you're Captain America!" You look over at Joaquín for reassurance. The nod he gives you only further sends you into fangirl mode. "It's Captain America Joaquín..."

"Most people just call me Sam, sweetheart." Sam chuckled as he extended his hand out to shake yours.

"I'm a huge fan. Thank you...for your service I mean, and to this country and saving the world." You cringe at yourself. Joaquín bit back a smile as he looked between you two. “That– sounded a whole lot better in my head.”

"Sam this is my fiancé, Y/n. She has level 10 clearance and the President's not second but most requested personnel. And can kick my ass any given day." You furrow your brows at him, smacking him on the chest with the suck of your teeth.

"Hi..." You grow timid under Sam's gaze. "Y/n." You gesture to yourself.

"You have a fiancé man?" Sam looks over to Joaquín with an incredulous gaze.

Joaquín hums and lifts your hand to display the ring he proposed with. You grin and point with your finger at your ring.

"Look at you, man!" Sam's gaze flickers between your two grinning faces. If golden retriever and innocence were a person the two of you embodied it perfectly. "I can see it." Sam nodded to himself as he walked ahead of you two.

Your brows furrowed in question as you watched him walk off. "See what?"

"I don’t know. I’ll ask him about it later. I’ll see you there okay.” Cupped your face and sighed into the kiss he planted on you again. Your shoulders fell as you melted into the kiss. You raised your hand and gently cupped his cheek's right side. Though any passerby could distinguish the rate at which the kiss was leading, you took the initiative and pushed him away, placing your hand on his chest gently. He huffed with a huge grin as you swiped your thumb gently across his lower lip. Trying to rid him of your lipstick. More so the obvious smeared coat of your lipstick on him. You laughed as you continued to rub it off, even grossing him out by licking your thumb lightly.

“Hold on I missed a spot!”

“Mi amor, esta bien. Just leave it. Let them know who I belong to.” My love, it’s okay. He cheekily bit back a laugh.

“Who is rubbing off on you, trouble? Oh my god. Go get out of here before you're late,” You shake your head in disbelief. "or I'll beat you up."

“Bossy,” Joaquín mutters to himself. You feign a step forward your fist feigned, raised up like you’ll sock his shoulder. He laughs as your imitation tactic, pretending to flinch as he laughs at you, walking then to where Sam is hovering, lingering against the wall as he watches you two. The two idiots, happily in love. He couldn’t fight the grin that made its way onto his face.

“Te quiero!” I love you. Joaquín calls after you. You grin and look back over your shoulder.

“Muchisimo!” So much. You exclaim. The click of your heels fades with that of your turned back. You made a left at the end of the hall and then you were out of his sight. Joaquín couldn’t help the swell of his heart soaring. He grins down at his shoes and then looks up timidly at Sam. He rolls his eyes at the chagrin and cheeky smirk he receives.

“So when you said you weren’t wanting to look for a relationship-“

“-I was referring to no longer needing to look.” Joaquín clarified, pocketing his hands. “Cause I got her…”

“And here I was like a jackass trying to set you up. I’m sorry man.”

“It’s all good. We laughed about it the other day.” Joaquín gestured over his shoulder.

“So it’s that serious huh…you happy?” Sam slapped him across his left shoulder. Still asking even though he had a whole show of your love and affection towards one another.

Joaquín squinted at the question. His grin widened. “Was the ring not enough evidence?” He teases. “I can call her back here if you want. I’ll even dip her this time!”

“No, no need. Damn…I’m happy for you Joaquín.” Sam clasped his shoulder. “You know doing this sort of thing for so long. It gets lonely after a while. Hell, even I’ll admit it. When you’re too far into the job, into the crime-fighting and saving, you forget about the one thing you’re dying to go after…”

“What’s that?”

“Love, my man. And you hit the jackpot. You hold on to her as long as you can alright. I know with the jobs you both do there’s bound to be a few bumps in the road but hold on to that. Cause in the end that’s the only thing that’s gonna matter.”

“She’s my everything. Mi todo.”

“Yeah? Alright kid, hold onto your todo and don’t let go. Come one we gotta go greet Mr. P-R-E-S-I-D-E-N-T.” Sam spelled out with a smirk. A bit of a swagger in his step. Joaquín’s laugh broke out as he fell in step with Sam

-

Sam had clocked all the closest exists as soon as he and Joaquín had sat down with Isaiah. He also had noticed the subtle flickering gazes you spared Joaquín long ways from the other side of the room. Your head slightly tilted to the right to meet his gaze every once and a while. You radiated a sweet grin as you switched your surveillance back onto the President.

Everything had been going great until Isaiah stood up. You watched as he flung one of your agents against the curtains. He pulled out a gun and aimed it at the glass the President was inside.

You hurried forward raising your hand to your ear to call for backup when you clocked another man reach for his belt. "He's got a gun!" You yelled and slammed your weight into his side. A shot rang as soon as your bodies collided. Then panic in the room escalated as everyone began to run and try to leave through the exits. The glass above the President had shattered causing him to duck and shield his head.

Joaquín's fight mode kicked in the second the first shot rang out. He set his eyes out for you, keeping low as he started making his way through the panic of people.

“Y/n!” When he found you, you and the man who shot the gun were staring off, each of your heads turning to the flung weapon on the carpet. You lunged for it first. “Y/n!”

Joaquín had followed after you, but he flinched back when another shot rang out. You and the man both froze. Joaquín stood behind you not knowing whether you had been the one hit. But when the man knelt in front of you toppled over, he felt his shoulders fall in relief.

When the man fell, Joaquín rushed over to you. He pulled you back and wrapped his free arm around your waist as his other hand came up to your face to inspect you.

"You okay? You okay?" He muttered as he gently cupped your chin and turned you so you were facing him. It took you a second to register it was him. You nodded in response. You glanced over his shoulder watching in horror as Isaiah threw another agent.

"I-Isaiah?" You gasped, you looked around watching another one of your men escort the President out of there. It was pure chaos. His heart was still racing. He pressed his head to yours quickly before having you both stand up. He looked around the room, eyes falling to Sam. Their eyes met in a silent conversation.

"Get her out of here!" Sam ordered. "Both of you!"

"Let's go." Joaquín didn't hesitate to grab your hand, pulling you through the sea of people. He pushed and shoved his way through the crowd, his gaze set on an exit.

When he finally broke free of the throng of people, he stayed low and kept you close. You hadn't seen his counter-surveillance kick in since the Flag Smashers, ensuring your safety and his at all costs. However, your resistance against his grip on your hand made it difficult to keep moving forward. He looked down at your interlocked hands and could register your hesitance to continue with him. "I could see your gears turning, what?"

You looked back from where you came from, then looked back to his gaze. "I'm secret service Joaquín-"

His free hand came up to grasp your chin as he lifted your gaze to his. His jaw was locked as he stared you down, not wanting to hear what you were about to say. "No-"

"I got my orders the same as you do." You defended.

"I don't care about orders." Joaquín shook his head as his grip on your chin tightened. "Your job isn't more important than your safety."

"It's the President of the United States!"

"And it's you. There are a lot more people who can protect the President. He'll be fine. Trust me." The sound of distant gunshots made Joaquín's grip on you tighten.

You closed your eyes. Knowing he'd argue with you until you subjected him to the couch for the night. He never knew when to stop prioritizing you over the world. You loved and hated him for it.

"Just listen to me." His grip on your chin eased as his thumb brushed your cheek. "Por favor, mi amor." Please, my love. He knew he was using the right words that pulled on your heartstrings. "Just think about it but not right now 'cause we got to go-" He had looked up in time to see a geared personnel aim their gun right at the two of you. It unsettled him that he had grabbed your waist, tugging you closer as he dropped and rolled the both of you to the ground. Your scream hit his ears as the shot hit the spot where you were previously standing.

"Oh my god!" You screech as you both scramble up on your feet.

The two of you started booking it when shots were fired in your direction again. You were both running low toward the exit when one last shot hit your arm and stopped you in your tracks. You cried out as you grabbed at your shoulder as you fell, but it was enough for you to be vulnerable. Joaquín turned around when he heard your wince and the sound of you collapsing. His blood ran cold as you fell to your knees. "No! Hey no, you're okay. Come on!"

"S-So that's what that- f-feels like, good to know. What the fuck!" You moaned out in pain as Joaquín helped you to your feet again.

"That's good you're still cracking wise on me. Always a good sign." He tried to keep you calm to keep you focused. His heart rate had spiked and he felt his own blood boiling as he watched your wound bleed. His only thought was getting you as far away from danger as possible so he could tend to your arm as soon as you were safe.

"Shut the hell up, Joaquín." You gritted your teeth. He finally saw the front doors come into view once you rounded another corner.

He knew your tone too well to know not to comment back, but he chuckled to himself as you neared the exit. "Just trying to keep you in good spirits, sweetheart." His grip on your waist tightened protectively as he started pushing you forward faster. "Almost there, I got you-"

"Stop right there! Hands up!" You and Joaquín froze as the S.W.A.T team pointed the ends of their guns at you.

Your heart dropped as the team came into view, and the moment he felt your body stiffen, his jaw clenched. A silent curse passed his mind as his right hand went up slowly and he took a step forward to block you from the threat. "Don't shoot. Captain Joaquín Torres, Sam Wilson's second in command, sir. Y/n Y/l/n, secret service. She needs medical attention." He gestured to himself then at you.

"Joaquín, it's a shoulder wound…" You scoff quietly at him.

"They don't know that," He whispered back to you, his right hand remained raised in the air.

The captain's eyes narrowed as he observed your body language with a hint of suspicion. Then his gaze flickered down lower to your shoulder. There was a growing stain of blood staining the sleeve of your blazer. "We got a medic on site. You can be examined there." The captain informed. "Let them through!"

"Thank you," Joaquín said in passing as he curled your arm around his shoulder once more.

The two of you passed the armed men swiftly. Once you were past them, Joaquín picked up his pace a little more as he hurried you outside. He could see the mentioned medic site and caught the attention of a first responder by raising two fingers in the air swiftly. He walked over to a bed and set you down on it, slowly uncurling your good arm from around him.

"Injury?" The woman came forward, inserting blue gloves over her hands.

"Upper arm. A gunshot wound, she's been hit in the shoulder." Joaquín answered, stepping back as the EMT gently pulled your blazer back to reveal the extent of the gunshot wound. You winced as the fabric was pulled against your wound.

"The bullet will need to be removed. What's your pain like?"

“On a scale of one to ten: like I want to punch him." You groan as you grit your teeth, feeling her poke and prod around the wound.

"That's not rare." She smiled at you trying to ease the tension you were holding. "Most patients in your current situation say they want to strangle someone so I'd say you're gonna be alright."

You hum in response, but you still keep your eyes locked on somewhere else. "Is there any way you can check her head for a concussion-" You both look back to Joaquín. "She's not usually the joke-cracking type." Joaquín teased.

You roll your eyes as you look back to the medical. "Ignore him. He's overprotective of my well-being."

She laughs at the banter between the two of you as she moves to clean up the wound area and apply some numbing solution to the surrounding area. The moment the antiseptic wipe comes into contact with your skin, your shoulders tense from the sting. The medic notices your reaction. She then proceeded to pull out forceps, then turned to you. "I'm sorry, but this is probably going to hurt."

"Well, how much worse can it get?" You wince and turn to look at Joaquín. He walked up to the bed and pressed a kiss to your temple, his hand reaching for your right hand instantly.

He bit back a laugh as he smirked at you, but his concern was obvious. His hand twitched as if it had a subconscious desire to pull you in closer. The medic then began to prod the bullet wound, causing you to gasp and wince.

"I promise it'll be over soon…" She tried to comfort you. "This is the worst part."

"I thought getting shot was the worst part?"

She chuckled, "That's a given." While you focused your mind on something else to try and ease the pain, she continued to poke and prod around the wound. She found her mark and then pulled out the bullet swiftly. The pain lasted for a few more seconds because of her fast work, but after that, you began to feel a numbing tingling sensation. "There we go." She nodded.

"You did good, mi amor," Joaquín reassured you as he gripped your hand again. "That wasn't so bad.”

You took deep breaths as your heart rate calmed back down. You managed a smile as you looked up at him. The medic then started to disinfect the wound and bandage it up to stop it from bleeding.

“Yeah cause a gunshot wound is nothing compared to having your orbital broken.” You lean in his chest.

“Broken orbital.” The medic questions.

“Long story.” You brush it off.

“You’re good to go. Take these,” She hands you some painkillers. “Get some rest, and make sure to keep changing the dressings to reduce the chance of infection.”

“Will do, thanks for everything.” Your face shows your gracious smile.

“Take care you two.” She dips her chin in goodbye before rushing over to another patient.

“Well that was fun.” Joaquín quips as he walk over to stand in front of you. His grin widening as he brushes back some baby hairs.

“Our best date yet.” You chuckle.

"Mm, I think I prefer the one where we skip work tomorrow and lay in bed all day." He wrapped his arms around you gently, pulling you just a little closer to him. "Besides, I thought you loved a bit of adventure in our life," He teased as he ran his nose along the side of your cheek.

"Yes but you know not like this, Joaquín." You sighed into his touch.

He took a few deep breaths to calm his heart, not wanting to admit that seeing you injured had terrified him, and he was trying to play it cool. He just had to keep reminding himself you were alright.

"I can hear you spiraling." You breathe out a faint laugh

"Not spiraling. I'm totally fine, and-" He fumbled over his words as he met your gaze again. He pressed his forehead against yours, taking deep breaths to steady himself. "I'm spiraling cause you scared the hell out of me."

"I never mean to. You know that. It comes with our jobs, Joaquín. Our lives are constantly on the line."

"Yeah, I know that." He sighed as his hands moved to rest on your waist. "Doesn't make it any easier though…"

"I don't think it ever will."

"No, I suppose it won't…" His thumbs idly rubbed back and forth along your waist, and the silence that settled between you grew thick.

"You can't save us from everything…" You lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek.

He hummed and closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment longer than necessary before he pulled back. Despite being comforted by your touch, he couldn't shake off the fear that had settled in his chest.

"Can I ask you something?"

He hesitated for a moment, not sure if he wanted to voice his worries. But ultimately, he decided it was better to get it off his chest.

He took a deep breath, "Do you ever consider… quitting? All of it?" He asked cautiously, not wanting to upset you.

"No, though somethings I imagine what a life of peace looks like. Though I wouldn't want to start that reality without you. Until we're both ready for that cliche of white picket fence life. You don't want to give that up right now though, I can see how much you love the thrill and adventure, so neither do I."

His expression softened, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. He knew you knew him so well, which made him love you even more.

"You're right, I don't want to give it up right now." He admitted. "But the idea of a quiet life does sound nice, especially if it means spending more time with you without worrying that something could happen to you every second." He murmured as his hands shifted to rest on your hips. "But it is just a job at the end of the day."

"One you love." You teased.

"Oh, I do love it…" Joaquín smirked as he dipped his head to press a kiss to the soft skin of your neck. His gaze shifted to look at your bandaged shoulder, a faint frown appearing on his face just for a moment. He lifted his hand slowly and gently brushed his fingers along the edges of the bandage, careful not to cause any pain to your wound.

"But…" He whispered, his breath hot against your skin, "I love you more, mi amor." He added as he pressed a sweet kiss to your skin once more.

[cyber333angel]

getting drunk and only wanting logan but he doesn’t want to take advantage of you so he just lets you grind urself on him until you cum and fall asleep. jerking off in the bathroom to contain himself.. 😋

you had left the house at around 8pm to go catch up with your friends at a bar, giving logan a kiss goodbye and giving him your location of where you where going. he wasn’t too worried about you going out, he knew you knew how to handle yourself from all the things he taught you and with you gone he had a little time to do chores around the house. by the time he was done, he was sitting next to the fireplace with some old book he found, getting a call from you at 12 am. “lo-logan! baby im done with the girls can you come pick me up-up?” you hiccuped, clearly drunk and logan chuckled hearing you slur your words like that. “yes sweetheart im on my way.”

when he arrived to the bar you leaped into his arms, smiling ear to ear as logan helped you walk to the car. the car ride home consisted of him asking how the get together went and what he did to keep himself occupied. it wasn’t until you got to the house that you started to get whiney and huffy for him. logan sat in front of you as he started to take off your heels, feeling your eyes stare at him intently. “what is it baby, hmm?” you just sighed smiling down at him, “need your help lo..” he twists his head a bit as he sets your shoes to the side, taking a hand and caressing your cheek with it. and all of a sudden you start pulling your panties down as logan watches you, he was used to this, you being younger with a lot of stamina and always wanting a piece of him anytime anywhere. but tonight he couldn’t do that, he didn’t want to take advantage of you in your drunken state. “nope, none of that we’re gonna go take a shower and go to bed bubs c’mon.” you whined, trying to let go of the hand that was leading you to the bathroom, “no but m’sticky logan..want you to make me feel good!” he knows not to give into your pleads, pinching at his temple he tries to make a decision. “fuck..come here.” saying this he takes your hand leading you to the living room, sitting down and making you straddle his thigh. he hold your hands as you listen to what he tells you, “im not putting it in today alright? your just gonna have to be patient till tomorrow, but I won’t stop you from taking what you want so go on.” logan says as he lays back on the couch, your slick already covering part of his thigh. you know what he wants you to do so you start rocking back and forth, balancing your hand on his bicep. “hngh..” you groan, having to settle for his thigh when what you actually want is right in front of you is torture— but this feel good too. “there you fucking go baby, use me.” and you move your hands to interlock with his, holding one of his hands as you bounce on him chasing your climax. “good girl just like that.. you gonna cum soon sweetheart?” he questions and you nod furiously, tears falling down your eyes from the intense pleasure as you feel an orgasm coming on. “m’gonna come daddy, mm fuck!” you cry as you rub your clit over his thigh a few more times. messy cunt covering the meat of his thigh, logan turns you over a bit. “lemme see this pretty little pussy.. jesus christ bub..” logan feels his dick jump just at the sight of your cunt, it takes everything in him to not just fuck you good right then and there. your pussy messy all over with cum as you twitch out of breath, you lean into him for a hug and logan grips your waist. “up we go.” he says as lifts you up, walking into your shared bathroom. he cleans you up in the shower, picks out some of your pjs to at your too tired to pick out and lays you onto the bed. as soon as your head hits the bed your knocked out, giving logan a chuckle as he kisses your forehead. “ill be right back baby.” he says in a whisper, walking to the bathroom. the whole time logan cleaned you up he couldn’t get that sight of your out of his head, trying not to worry about the boner in his pants and trying to just get you to bed quickly. but he was still hard so he decided to just relief himself in the bathroom, using your little scene from tonight to help. unbuckling his pants logans bulge is prominent through his boxers, a wet patch in the middle of it. he pulls it out and already he can feel himself about to cum, sliding his rough hand back and forth on the shaft he grunts, “shit..” he pictures you riding his thigh, holding his hand for balance and that goddamn sight of your cunt all messed up. panting he speeds up the pace, jerking himself off —the claws even peaking out a bit as he cums. “f-fuck fuck fuck..” white ropes spewing all over the sink, he feels a little guilty for some reason but brushes it off as he wipes off the sink, washing his hands he gets back into bed with you hugging you tightly.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ pranking the prankster

synopsis: james potter is always the one pulling pranks, but this time, you decide it's his turn to be on the receiving end. all it takes is one simple request—asking him to leave while you change—to send him into a full-blown panic. you weren’t expecting him to be this easy to mess with, but watching him spiral? absolutely worth it content warnings: lots of fluff, james being a nervous mess, you successfully pranking the prankster author's note: hey everyone! so, this is my very first one-shot, and I’m both excited and a little nervous to share it with you all. if you enjoyed it (or if you just want to boost my confidence), reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated ‹𝟹

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 1,188

James Potter was not used to being on edge. He was James Potter, for Merlin’s sake—the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, the master of charm, the king of cool. But as he sat on the edge of your bed, nervously tapping his fingers on his knee, James was anything but cool. He was sweating bullets, his usually confident demeanor reduced to a nervous wreck.

The reason for his sudden bout of anxiety? You, his girlfriend, had just asked him to leave the room because you needed to change.

"It’ll be just a minute," you had said, flashing him a quick smile before turning your back on him and rummaging through your wardrobe.

James had blinked, momentarily frozen. "Uh, right, of course," he stammered, getting up slowly as if he was moving through treacle. His heart pounded against his ribs, the confidence he was known for completely evaporating. Had he done something wrong? Had he upset you somehow?

He hesitated at the door, looking back at you, but your back was still turned to him. "You okay, love?" he asked tentatively.

You hummed a noncommittal reply, still facing the wardrobe. The sound sent a fresh wave of panic through James. You didn’t sound angry exactly, but there was something off. And that was enough to make him spiral.

For James, your relationship had always been easy—fun, light-hearted, and filled with laughter. You were his best friend, his partner in crime, and his confidante. But now, as he stood awkwardly at the door, he felt like a first-year who had just been scolded by Professor McGonagall.

His mind raced, trying to recall if he had said something that might have upset you. He had been with Sirius earlier, and they had been joking around, but he was sure he hadn’t said anything that could have made you mad. Right?

James scratched the back of his neck, lingering by the door. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

You finally turned around, your expression unreadable. “Yes, Jamie, everything’s fine,” you said, your tone just a tad too casual. “I just need a minute to change.”

James bit his lip, unsure whether to believe you. It wasn’t like you to be so…distant. Usually, you were teasing him, throwing his clothes at him when you wanted him to leave, laughing at his silly jokes, or playfully shoving him away when he was being too clingy. But this? This felt different. But you had called him Jamie. Godric, women were confusing.

Reluctantly, James nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He leaned against the wall in the hallway, running a hand through his messy hair. He had never felt so confused in his life. What had he done? Was this some sort of test? Was he supposed to figure it out on his own?

James groaned, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. “Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself, raking his hands through his hair again.

A few minutes later, the door opened, and you peeked your head out. “Jamie?” you called softly.

James scrambled to his feet, his heart leaping into his throat. “Yeah?”

You smiled at him—an innocent, sweet smile that made his stomach twist into knots. “You can come back in now.”

James hesitated for a moment, searching your face for any sign of anger or annoyance. But all he saw was that same smile. Slowly, he stepped back into the room, feeling like he was walking into a trap.

You were sitting on the bed, your legs crossed, looking as if nothing had happened. James stood awkwardly by the door, unsure of what to do or say. Should he apologize? But for what? He still didn’t know what he had done wrong.

You tilted your head, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Why do you look so nervous, James?”

James blinked, trying to keep his voice steady. “I—I just… Did I do something to upset you?”

You frowned, as if the thought had never crossed your mind. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

James shifted on his feet, his eyes darting around the room. “Well, you just asked me to leave so you could change and didn’t seem very… I don’t know, happy?”

You blinked at him, your expression blank for a moment, before a slow smile spread across your face. “Jamie, I wasn’t mad. I just needed to change.”

James stared at you, his brain struggling to process your words. “So… you’re not upset with me?”

You shook your head, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “No, darling. I’m not upset.”

James let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, relief flooding through him. But then, confusion quickly followed. “Wait, why did you need me to leave then? I’ve seen you naked before, you know.”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter any longer. It bubbled out of you, filling the room with its warmth. “Jamie, it was a prank!”

James froze, his eyes widening as he stared at you. “A… prank?”

You nodded, still laughing. “Yes! I wanted to see how you’d react.”

James gaped at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You… pranked me?”

You nodded again, wiping away the tears that had gathered in your eyes from laughing so hard. “Yes, and it was priceless! You should have seen your face!”

James continued to stare at you, his brain still struggling to catch up. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face, and he started to laugh too. “You little minx!”

You grinned back at him, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “I had to, Jamie. You and Siri are always pranking everyone else. It was time you got a taste of your own medicine.”

James chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you got me with that.”

You shrugged, still smiling. “It wasn’t that hard, really. You’re kind of predictable.”

James raised an eyebrow, his grin turning into a smirk. “Oh, am I?”

You nodded, still smiling up at him. “Yep. I knew you’d be all confused and worried, and that you’d think you’d done something wrong.”

James shook his head, still smiling. “Well, you got me good, love.”

You reached out and took his hand, pulling him down to sit beside you on the bed. “Don’t worry, Jamie. I’ll make it up to you.”

James raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Oh, really? And how do you plan on doing that?”

You grinned, leaning in close to him. “Well, how about this?” you whispered before pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss.

James hummed in approval, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer. “That’s a good start,” he murmured against your lips.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes still twinkling with mischief. “And maybe I’ll let you see me naked later too,” you teased.

James groaned, his grip tightening around you. “You’re killing me, love.”

You giggled, pressing another quick kiss to his lips. “That’s the idea.”

James chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re lucky I love you.”

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[ceilidho]

soap developing an unhealthy attachment to his therapist post his brush with death after being shot at point blank range. he was reluctant to see a therapist at first because he didn't like what it said about him that he was being more or less strong armed into seeing a shrink (like no one trusts him anymore; they don't think his head's on straight since being shot), but as time goes on, he grows to cherish the relationship he's cultivated with his therapist because,

well,

she understands him. she listens to him. where everyone else seems to want him to just hurry up and get better (the nightmares, the mid-sentence brain fog, the erratic mood swings, the silent brooding when he can't find the words, aphasia on the tip of his tongue, the constant, constant headaches and auditory hallucinations that he can't seem to kick), she doesn't put any pressure on him to heal right away. she works with him and his medical team; gives him the space to process what happened to him, and has a seemingly bottomless wealth of patience for him.

he can talk for hours in her presence. it's a shame their time together is limited to an hour and a half every week. the dulcet sound of her voice is such a comfort to him. it's a shame she politely but firmly rejects his advances when he finally asks her out, tells him that it wouldn't even be appropriate for them to be friends outside of his sessions. that it would in some way hinder his healing journey. which pisses him off because Soap has progressed in leaps and bounds since those early days when he used to stumble over his words sitting on the couch across from her, head in his hands when the language felt beyond his grasp, a fine tremor still running through his hands that he's since managed to contain,

and

his head is throbbing again. a sharp pain above his eye that pulsates like a drum in his head and -

he thinks about her constantly. in and out of sessions. she's a frequent topic of conversation when the brass finally lets him back out in the field, Makarov finally dealt with (resting six feet deep in an unmarked grave). he ignores the looks oscillating between concern and worry that Price gives him. ignores the way Ghost barks at him to quit bothering the bird in the tight skirt and fuck someone that won't get him discharged. ignores the way Gaz pulls him to the side to ask if maybe he needs to see another therapist, y'know, mate...get some distance.

they act like this is something new. an abberation and not his very nature. like he hasn't always been the type to lock onto a scent like a hunting dog. a sniper by training. he sits and he watches and he waits; waits for the right moment that he alone knows.

it comes to him on an inauspicious day, when he's leaving the training facilities and spots his sweet thing rummaging around in the boot of her car, her ass beckoning him forward like a siren's call. now, now, now, the little itch in his head says, the voice that knows when the time is right. it's a sense acquired through conscious and unconscious observation, letting it all filter into his frontal cortex until he knows without knowing that the parking lot is empty apart from the two of them and the men at the base gates half a mile away.

it would take nothing for him to come up behind her and push her into the boot. nothing to wrestle the purse from her hands and slam the trunk shut. nothing to drive off base with a flick of his fingers to the guards that hardly ever bother to question him before he leaves (though they know what car he actually drives), made complacent by familiarity.

and he knows that it's wrong, knows that there's a line that he shouldn't cross, that choices have consequences, but,

his mouth salivates when her hips twitch, the urge to take settling over him. surely they'd forgive him one indiscretion.

[shepherds-of-haven]

The End of an Era, and the Road Ahead

Hi everybody, the recent news about Dashingdon shutting down feels like it's a bittersweet turning point for many in the ChoiceScript community. Before Don stepped up and took things into his own hands, volunteering his own money, manpower, and time to create and maintain the site, there was no good way for people to host ChoiceScript demos and games in one place: I think the previous solution had been different Dropbox links (which was eventually nuked by security changes in how they hosted files) and possibly separate Neocities sites? Without the Dashingdon site, none of us would have had such an incredible space to gather, share and explore and experience games together, or--for some--even feel motivated to write a ChoiceScript game in the first place, not without an easy and intuitive way of sharing it with others in a playable format. The Dashingdon site significantly lowered the barrier of entry for anyone wanting to make or play or share games; more than that, it was a place of memories, creativity, and connection, and I fully believe that it served as a vital backbone of the ChoiceScript community for many years. A lot of that community relies on the efforts of volunteers--including the creator of CSIDE and the moderators on the forums--and, as with them, I can only thank Don wholeheartedly for his generosity and his 10 years of tireless, selfless, and often thankless work. The fact that a lot of people didn't even know he was a volunteer shows his altruism!

However, all of that work could have only fallen on the shoulders of one person for so long. It's a sad loss to see, though, and I'm very sorry to everyone mourning the loss of the community space, old or inactive WIPs, and save files that will be lost when Dashingdon goes dark at the end of the month. I do wish that there could be an official, stable, company-supported place for authors to host their games in one place, but at least there are alternatives for people to migrate to! (Thank you too to @hpowellsmith and everyone in the community who's taken it upon themselves to spread the news and try to make this transition as smooth as possible for everyone surprised by this announcement. And thank you to the volunteer who's taken up the banner at cogdemos.ink!) I don't know if cogdemos.ink has a page set up to help defray costs, but Dashingdon himself has a ko-fi if you want to leave a tip or thanks for his years of service to the community!

To that end, I want to reassure you all that Shepherds of Haven is safe and isn't going anywhere, and that this change won't affect the game's future. The news has, however, sped up my announcement of something I've been working on for a long time: transitioning away from ChoiceScript and moving Shepherds of Haven to Twine.

Granted, this wasn't how I originally planned on sharing this news. Patrons have known about this move since I decided on it, but I'm a dogged perfectionist, possibly to a fault. I wanted everything to be absolutely polished before unveiling the Twine build, but this unexpected news has been the nudge I needed to take the leap sooner. It's always been my habit to polish my work to an extreme degree: I will rewrite entire novels five, seven, however many times it takes before I send it to my agent or editor... or even before I show it to my own fiance! I still haven't let him read Shepherds, or the novel that I've been talking to him about since 2019, because it "isn't ready" yet, not in my own mind. A common refrain I've always heard from career associates is that my work is "unusually impeccable" by the time it hits their desk. When I do share something, it's usually done. But if I'm learning anything as I grow as a writer, it's that progress matters over perfection. The sudden closure of Dashingdon has made me realize that no one moment will ever feel perfect--and that’s okay. I have to accept that things will never be as perfect as I want to make them before I let them out into the world. Instead of holding myself to an impossible standard, I’m embracing this opportunity to push forward and bring you something I'm truly proud of. (However nerve-wracking that may be!) So, instead of reuploading the ChoiceScript demo somewhere else, only to take it down again later, my efforts are going to shift entirely to getting the Twine version ready for release. It’s a huge task, but it ensures I’ll have complete control over Shepherds of Haven and its future. If I drop everything and focus entirely on this for the next several weeks, my best estimate is that it will take 3-5 weeks of full-time work to make that final push and finally get everything caught up and ready.

Why Twine? There were a lot of reasons behind my decision to move. The biggest of all was that, as the game's wordcount grew, so too did my creative vision for it, and I found myself longing for a version of ShoH that could be just as visually rich and mechanically engaging as I was imagining. Codex entries, interactive maps, infinite saves that can be downloaded directly to your device! Moving to Twine removes the limitations of ChoiceScript's simpler engine, and allows me to honor the game's creative potential and deliver on it in a way that feels true to the journey we've shared so far. It's also a platform that offers greater flexibility and independence for both me and the game: I've put so much work into this project that I'd prefer for its success to rest more in my hands, even if that means taking on the monumental task of publishing it myself, rather than anyone else's.

So. Both the public demo and the alpha build will be released in Twine as soon as I can make that happen. The majority of the work's already done--I just need to get the alpha build caught up with some lingering day off interludes and Chapters 8.5 and 9, and I need to address a queue of lingering quality-of-life questions and tweaks. I want to also note that, while there are very exciting additions to unveil, everything foundational to ShoH remains exactly the same. The story, text, and original functions have been ported in their entirety to Twine, outside of basic edits and refinements that would have happened in the normal course of revision, anyway. I have even taken pains to implement a visual "classic" setting that will replicate the font, colors, and general simplified look of the original version, if players want to use that instead. :) But otherwise, this thing is stuffed to the gills with awesome new features. Custom music soundtrack! Clickable maps! Actual trading card collectibles! Stunning new art! Revamped codex and store and inventory systems! Helpful tutorials and autosave points! Important quality of life improvements, like being able to select pronouns separately from gender and change them any time! This doesn't even touch the surface of it, but needless to say, I think we're going to have a lot of fun. Thank you all for your patience, encouragement, and support so far, and please give me some time to get my ducks in a row. A new version of Shepherds of Haven will be ready for you to play soon!

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

im not sure what it ia, but i LOVE the little remora. i love it i love it i lvoe it

it makes me insane id love to groom ghosts scales, and everyone elses scales. i want to clean soap up, even if he see's poor ol remora as a toy to play with, i just wanna scrub them all up!

(i love this already. i love mer's)

the more shark mer Ghost pushes you away the more you wanna take care of him so so bad <3

you find yourself pouting a lot at Ghost’s surly attitude, darting up and down his big scarred body, as he tries to nap. tries to, but can’t.

it has nothing to do with you. he has these bouts of insomnia. but they make his temper real short.

regardless! you insist he needs to let you groom him. it’s been days. you get twitchy when he makes you skip your daily grooming with him. the rituals. the rituals are intricate.

“i’m trying to rest, you little pest,” he growls. "come back later. or not at all."

you tell him (tartly) that he said that yesterday and the day before.

“i meant it then and i mean it now. go away before i decide to chase you off.”

like he would. he hardly exists during the day as anything but a grumpy seafloor log. you swear you’ve seen bottom-feeders start nibbling on him he’s so inert.

(nibbling on him is your job.)

you settle down on the sand next to him on your stomach. you don't touch him yet, but he's just within reach. you stare at his pale, scarred sharkshin with bright eyes, practically vibrating in place.

he can feel your eyes on him. worse—he can feel the impatient flicking of your tail fin agitating the water as you stare at him. how can such a small creature be so terribly full of want, he wonders. your anxious energy is like too much salt in his gills.

“i will bite you," he warns. “i’m not in the mood.”

rationally, you know he doesn't like to be touched sometimes, no matter how you insist he'll feel better once he's clean. and still your anxious mind won't calm down until you're absolutely sure you've made yourself useful.

you lay your palms on the silt, fingers inching silently closer to him.

he growls, low and dangerous. the one that means he’s run out of patience and is about to make good on his threats.

you jolt and flatten yourself against the sand in instinctive submission. you’re not a threat, see? you’re harmless. you’re basically just a little piece of seaweed, c’mon.

your instant compliance does nothing to calm him. if anything, the sight of your immediate surrender drives him to double down.

he grabs you by the by the nape of your neck and lifts you up to eye level. “i warned you not to touch me.”

your stupid little heart leaps because all his attention is on you now. you want to wrap your hands around his eagerly, want to reach out and touch his chest. but you can only get close enough to skim his chest with your clawtips.

the sensation only makes him tense.

you quickly bring your hands in and wring them, trying to stop being a bother. "please can i—"

he glares down at you, teeth bared. “no,” he snaps. cold, firm, immediate.

but the more he tries to repel you, the more desperately you want to please him. to get back into his good graces. you feel every bit the creature full of anxiety and neuroses he thinks you are--always trying to figure out how to feel useful and stay on the other mers' good side.

he can see that in your eyes—the desperate need to be useful. it’s what he hates most about you. he can't stand how compliant you are at this moment. how desperate. how eager you are to please even after he's been nothing but cruel to you.

he squeezes you. your body thrums nervously in his grip.

“you little parasite. what part of ‘don’t touch me’ is so hard for you to understand?”

all of it. you stare up at him with big, blank eyes.

“you can't get the simplest instructions through your thick skull, can you?"

you shake your head (kind of, best you can) in his grip as a shameless display of agreement. he’s right, you’re stupid. so stupid.

Ghost scowls. eager, willing to degrade yourself at the smallest fucking thing.

"don't tell me you're getting off on this.”

okay! you won’t.

at that, you see the look in his eye shift from anger to something more devious. your response is so quick and willing that he can't help but smirk.

of course. of course you’d comply. no matter how hard he pushes, how cruel he is, you simply ask for worse. you're a little masochist. a nuisance. worse, you’re his nuisance. you insist on being around him, on seeking him out every bloody day.

he tolerates your presence. that's more than anyone else gets. and you take the precious little patience he gives you and wear it threadbare??

he can’t abide that. he can’t let your audacity go unchecked.

"look at you," he hisses. "eager to debase yourself at the first sign of anger. don't you think that's just pathetic?"

you nod enthusiastically.

mindless creature. willing to let him treat you any way he wants if it means attention. pitiful.

"say it," he growls.

you do. you happily tell him you’re pathetic.

“that you are. finally, something sensible out of that pretty mouth.”

you’re wired—fucking blitzed at the mere implication of good girl in his tone.

“and you're my little parasite. mine to do with as i please."

your whole body wants to curl in delight, your tail twisting like an eel in the sand below you as he eases you onto your back.

his eyes rake over you. you are the picture of obedience and submission, all pinned down and ready.

“look at you,” he rasps. “so desperate to please me. you’d do anything i tell you right now, yeah?”

yes. yes. anything.

he leans in and puts his mouth to your ear. "then let me sleep."

then he’s gone.

you lay in the sand in blank, sexually charged confusion.

by the time you slap your tail into the sand to twist yourself up into the water, half-flustered and hot-tempered, you see the ends of Ghost’s chewed-up tailfins disappear into his favorite dark cave.

before you can give chase, the familiar shape of Soap passes overhead, and he's chuckling as he dives down to you.

Soap’s grin widens as he watches your face cycle through frustration, confusion, and irritation.

you can’t believe Ghost would do that to you.

“of course he’d do it,” Soap says. he saw the whole thing.

you bluster and he coos a little teasing sympathy at you, ushering you up into his arms instead. poor wee cuttlefish, he calls you. lays it on thick because he knows you're looking for a place to expend all that pent up energy now.

he whisks you away somewhere more private so you can tend to him instead. groom him all you want. tell him your troubles. maybe let him make good use of your compliant nature. he tells you it’s a good way to make Ghost jealous.

meanwhile, Ghost is finally able to snooze contentedly, dreaming of you, maybe. he does owe you a little thanks for that small catharsis you gave him.

...

more mer au / more Ghost / masterlist tag

[aceyalonso]

mirror, mirror on the wall - GEORGE RUSSELL

pairing : boyfriend!george russell x fem!reader kinktober day 10 - mirror sex

summary : ever since y/n and george started spending some weekends on the boat, she has always wondered why he needed to have a mirror on the wall and on the ceiling of the bedroom

warnings/notes : short smau at the end, swearing, smut, switch!reader & switch!george, established relationship, smut (with A LOT of plot), unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!), handjob, cum play (ish?), creampie, multiple orgasms, oral (m!receiving), slight body worship, praise kink, begging, use of "good boy/girl"

word count : 4.3k

a/n : i need this man SO BAD

main masterlist | kinktober masterlist

Y/n and George spent the day on his small yacht, the warm sun beating down on the deck as the gentle waves lapped against the hull. The salty sea breeze tousled Y/n's hair, and she could feel the sun's heat on her skin, making her feel alive and invigorated.

George stood at the helm, his tanned muscles glistening with sweat as he expertly navigated the yacht through the crystal-clear waters. His blue eyes sparkled with excitement as he glanced over at Y/n, who was lounging on a plush deck chair, a fruity cocktail in hand.

"Isn't this just perfect?" George asked, his deep voice carrying over the sound of the wind and the water. "Just you, me, and the open sea."

Y/n smiled, taking a sip of her drink before responding. "It's amazing, George. I can't think of a better way to spend a day off."

He grinned mischievously as he approached Y/n, his wet swim trunks clinging to his muscular thighs. He knelt beside her deck chair, his eyes roaming over her sun-kissed skin before settling on her face. "I think it's time we get a little closer," he said, his voice low and seductive.

Without warning, George lunged forward, pressing his dripping-wet body on top of Y/n. She let out a surprised squeal, her hands instinctively pushing against his chest. "George! You're soaking wet!" she exclaimed, laughing playfully. "I'm trying to get a tan here, and you're ruining it!"

George chuckled, his breath hot against her ear. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I interrupt your tanning session?" he teased, his lips brushing against her neck. "I just couldn't resist getting a little closer to you."

Y/n giggled, her fingers tangling in George's damp hair as they playfully wrestled on the deck. She managed to push him off her, but he quickly regained his balance, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Oh, you want to play, do you?" he growled, grabbing her wrists and pinning her arms above her head.

"Hey, no fair!" Y/n cried out, squirming beneath him. "Let me go!"

George smirked, his grip on her wrists tightening as he leaned in close. "I don't think so," he whispered, his lips hovering just inches from hers. "I think it's time we take this to the water."

With a sudden burst of strength, George released Y/n's wrists and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her off the deck chair. She let out a surprised yelp as he carried her to the edge of the yacht, the cool sea breeze whipping through her hair.

"George, wait!" she called out, her heart pounding in her chest. "What are you doing?"

He didn't hesitate, his strong arms wrapped tightly around Y/n as he leaped from the yacht into the crystal-clear waters below. They hit the water with a splash, and Y/n's scream quickly turned into laughter as the cool sea enveloped them.

As they surfaced, George kept a firm hold on Y/n, his hands gripping her waist as they tread water together. "There, isn't this better?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/n splashed water at George, her eyes narrowing playfully as she asked, "Are you crazy? What if I couldn't swim?"

George grinned, his hands still firmly gripping her waist. "Oh, I'm sure you can swim just fine," he teased, his voice dripping with confidence. "But even if you couldn't, I've got you. I'll never let you go."

He pulled her closer, their bodies pressing together in the cool water. Y/n couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement as she looked into his eyes, the sun reflecting off the waves around them. "You're such a show-off," she said, her voice breathless. "But I guess I can't blame you for wanting to impress me."

They swam together, their bodies moving in sync as they cut through the water. Y/n marveled at the way George's muscles rippled beneath his skin, his powerful strokes propelling them both forward. She felt a sense of freedom and exhilaration, the saltwater invigorating her senses as they played in the waves.

As they swam, George suddenly stopped, turning to face Y/n with a mischievous grin. "Race you back to the yacht!" he challenged, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Y/n laughed, her competitive spirit ignited. "You're on!" she exclaimed, pushing off from him and striking out for the boat.

They raced through the water, their laughter echoing across the surface as they splashed and kicked, determined to reach the yacht first. In the end, it was a photo finish, with both of them arriving at the ladder at the same time, breathless and grinning from ear to ear.

As they climbed back onto the yacht, George reached up and grabbed Y/n's hands, helping her onto the deck. Once they were both standing, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her effortlessly, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

"I think you've had enough sun for today," George murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "Let's get you out of this wet swimsuit and into something more comfortable."

Y/n shivered, her body responding to his touch as he carried her towards the cabin. "I don't know," she teased, her fingers playing with his damp hair. "I kind of like the way you look in those wet swim trunks."

George chuckled, his eyes darkening with desire as he kicked open the cabin door. "Oh, I'm sure you'll like what's underneath even more," he said, his voice low and seductive.

He carried Y/n into the small bathroom, setting her down gently on the edge of the bathtub. He turned on the faucet, letting the warm water fill the tub as steam began to rise, filling the room with a soothing, relaxing scent.

Once the tub was full, they both slipped into the water, sighing contentedly as the warmth enveloped their bodies. George pulled Y/n close, her back pressed against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, his hands resting on her stomach.

They sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the gentle lapping of the water and their soft breathing. Y/n closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of George's skin against hers, his strong arms holding her securely.

"This is perfect," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the water. "Just you and me, no distractions, no worries."

George pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his lips lingering on her damp skin. "I couldn't agree more," he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her stomach. "I never want this moment to end."

Y/n's curiosity piqued as she thought about the mirrors in the master bedroom. "You know, I've always wondered why there are mirrors on the ceiling in the master bedroom," she mused, her head resting on George's shoulder. "And why only in that room, since there's already a mirror on the wall."

He chuckled, his fingers still tracing patterns on her stomach. "Ah, that's an interesting question," he said, his voice taking on a playful tone. "I guess the previous owner had some unique tastes when it came to decorating."

George's hands slowly moved up Y/n's body, his fingers dancing along her ribs before cupping her breasts. She let out a soft gasp, her nipples hardening under his touch. He leaned in, his lips finding hers in a passionate kiss, their tongues intertwining as they explored each other's mouths.

Y/n's hands roamed over George's chest, her fingers tracing the defined muscles before moving lower, teasing the waistband of his swim trunks. He groaned into the kiss, his hips pressing forward, seeking more of her touch.

She stood up from the bathtub, water cascading down her body as she reached for her bikini. She quickly removed the wet fabric, revealing her smooth, sun-kissed skin. George watched, his eyes darkening with desire as she slipped into his oversized shirt and a pair of short shorts that left little to the imagination.

"I really want to have sex," Y/n said, her voice low and sultry as she ran her hands through her damp hair. "But I need to cook first. I'm starving."

George groaned, his arousal evident as he watched her walk away, the shirt barely covering her assets. He knew he'd have to wait, but the anticipation only made him want her more.

In the kitchen, Y/n busied herself with preparing a meal, her movements graceful and sensual. George followed her, leaning against the counter as he watched her work. The sight of her in his clothes, the way the fabric clung to her curves, was driving him wild.

As Y/n cooked, George couldn't take his eyes off her. The way she moved, the way her hips swayed as she stirred the pot, was hypnotizing. He felt his desire growing, his body aching to touch her.

Y/n turned around, catching George's heated gaze. She smirked, knowing exactly the effect she was having on him. "You know," she said, her voice teasing, "I think I might have a little surprise for you later."

George's eyebrows raised, his interest piqued. "Oh, is that so?" he asked, his voice low and husky. "And what might that be?"

Y/n just smiled, turning back to the stove. "You'll see," she said, her tone playful and mysterious.

She set the food on the small table, the oversized shirt riding up as she bent over, revealing her barely covered ass. George couldn't help but stare, his mouth watering at the sight. He knew he had to control himself, but it was proving to be a challenge.

As they sat down to eat, George found it difficult to focus on the food. His eyes kept wandering to Y/n, taking in every curve and contour of her body. The way the shirt clung to her chest, the way her shorts hugged her hips, it was all too much for him to handle.

"You're staring," Y/n said, her voice playful as she caught him in the act. "Is there something stuck in my teeth?"

George shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "No, nothing like that," he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. "I just can't help but admire the view."

Y/n suddenly stood up and tied her hair into a messy bun. The action caused the shirt to ride up even further, revealing more of her toned stomach and the tantalizing curve of her hips.

George's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight before him. He could feel his heart racing, his body responding to the visual feast in front of him.

She sat back down, her eyes locked with George's. She could see the desire burning in his gaze, and it only fueled her own arousal. "Eat up," she said, her voice low and seductive. "You'll need your energy for later."

As they started eating, some of the sauce from Y/n's food began to drip onto her fingers. Without thinking, she brought her fingers to her mouth, licking the sauce off in a slow, deliberate motion. The action was unintentional, but the effect was undeniable.

George watched, transfixed, as her tongue darted out, swirling around her fingers. He could feel his desire growing, his body aching to touch her. The way she licked her fingers, the way her lips glistened with the sauce, it was all too much for him to handle.

"You know," he said, his voice low and husky, "I think I'm done eating."

Y/n looked at George, confusion evident on her face. "Didn't you like the food?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

George shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. "No, the food was perfect," he said, his voice filled with longing. "It's just that... I need you."

His words were spoken with a submissive tone, a plea for her to understand his desires. Y/n's eyes widened, realization dawning on her. She could see the desperation in his gaze, the way his body trembled with want.

"Oh, I see," she said, her voice soft and understanding. "Well, I suppose we could finish this later."

With that, she stood up, her hand reaching out to take George's. She led him to the bedroom, her heart pounding with anticipation. As they entered the room, she turned to face him, her eyes filled with desire.

"Show me what you need," she whispered, her fingers trailing down his chest. "I'm here for you."

George guided Y/n's hand down to his crotch, his hardness evident through the fabric of his swim trunks. "I need you so badly," he breathed, his voice filled with longing. "Please, touch me."

Y/n's fingers brushed against his length, and she could feel him twitch beneath her touch. She could sense his desperation, his desire for her to take control. Slowly, she slipped her hand inside his trunks, her fingers wrapping around his hardness.

"Like this?" she asked, her voice low and seductive. She began to stroke him, her movements slow and deliberate, teasing him with her touch.

George groaned, his head falling back as he savored the sensation of her hand on his most intimate part. "Yes," he gasped, his hips bucking into her touch. "Just like that."

Y/n's eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked up at George, her hand still stroking his hardness. "You know," she said, her voice filled with excitement, "maybe we should put those mirrors on the ceiling to use."

She guided him towards the bed, pushing him down onto the mattress. "Lie back," she instructed, her tone commanding. "I want you to watch yourself as I please you."

George complied, his eyes locked on Y/n as she positioned herself between his legs. He could see his reflection in the mirror above, his chest heaving with anticipation.

"Look at yourself," Y/n said, her voice low and seductive. "Watch as I make you feel good."

Y/n's hand continued to stroke George's sensitive cock, her movements slow and deliberate. She could feel him throbbing beneath her touch, his body responding to her every caress. In the mirror above, she could see his reflection, his eyes dark with desire, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "Do you like watching yourself? Do you like seeing how much you want me?"

George nodded, his eyes never leaving the mirror. He could see every twitch, every shudder of his body as Y/n pleasured him. It was a sight he would never forget, the way she controlled him, the way she brought him to the brink of ecstasy.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," Y/n promised, her voice filled with desire. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

Y/n's hand continued to stroke George's cock, her movements growing faster and more intense. She could feel him getting closer to the edge, his body tensing beneath her touch.

"You're doing so well," she praised, her voice low and encouraging. "Such a good boy, letting me take control."

George's eyes remained fixed on the mirror, watching as his body responded to Y/n's ministrations. He could feel the pleasure building inside him, his hips bucking into her hand as she stroked him.

Y/n laughed as George continued to thrust into her hand, his body desperate for release. She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his forehead, her lips lingering on his skin.

"You're so eager," she teased, her voice filled with affection. "I love how responsive you are to my touch."

George groaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored the sensation of her hand on his cock and her lips on his forehead. He could feel the pleasure building inside him, his body trembling with anticipation.

"I'm so close," he gasped, his voice strained with desire. "Please, don't stop."

Y/n's hand moved faster, her grip tightening around George's cock as she brought him closer to the edge. "I don't know," she said, her voice filled with mischief. "I kind of like seeing you like this, so desperate and needy."

George whimpered, his body shaking with the effort of holding back his orgasm. He could feel the pleasure coursing through him, his cock throbbing in Y/n's hand.

"Please," he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need to cum."

Y/n smiled, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Alright," she said, her voice softening. "Cum for me, George. Let go."

George's body tensed, his muscles clenching as he felt the wave of pleasure wash over him. With a low moan, he came, his seed spilling over his stomach and abdomen. Y/n watched, her hand still stroking him through his orgasm, prolonging his ecstasy.

As the last spurts of his release subsided, George collapsed back onto the bed, his chest heaving with exertion. Y/n released his cock, her hand moving to caress his thigh, her touch gentle and soothing.

Y/n began kissing George's abdomen, her tongue lapping up the remnants of his release. She could taste the saltiness of his skin, the musky scent of his arousal filling her senses. As she cleaned him up, she felt his hand run through her hair, his fingers tangling in the strands.

"You look gorgeous like that," George murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "I want you to be a good girl and suck my cock, okay?"

Y/n's eyes widened at George's command, a thrill of excitement running through her. She loved it when he took control, when he demanded her submission. Without hesitation, she positioned herself between his legs, her hands gripping his thighs as she took his cock into her mouth.

George groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair as she began to suck him. He could feel her tongue swirling around his shaft, her lips sealing tightly around him as she worked her way down.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice deep and authoritative. "Take it all, just like that."

Y/n obeyed, relaxing her throat as she took him deeper, her nose brushing against his lower abdomen. She could feel him throbbing in her mouth, his cock growing harder with each passing second.

George's grip on Y/n's hair tightened, his hips thrusting upwards as she continued to suck him. He could feel the pleasure building inside him, his body responding to her actions.

"Fuck, that feels amazing," he groaned, his voice strained with desire. "You're such a good girl, taking my cock so well."

Y/n moaned around him, the vibrations sending shivers of pleasure through his body. She loved the way he talked to her, the way he praised her for her efforts. It only fueled her desire to please him, to bring him to the brink of ecstasy.

As she bobbed her head up and down, her tongue swirling around his shaft, George could feel his orgasm approaching. His body tensed, his muscles clenching as he fought to hold back his release.

"I'm going to cum," he warned, his voice barely above a whisper. "Swallow it all, just like a good girl."

George pulled Y/n up, his hands gripping her hips as he positioned her in front of the mirror on the wall. He sat upright, his back against the pillows, as he spread her legs, slowly pushing her shorts off her legs. Her back was pressed against his chest, and he could feel her body trembling with anticipation.

"You did so well," he praised, his voice low and husky. "I'm so proud of you for taking my cock like that."

Y/n blushed, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. She could see the desire burning in his gaze, the way his hands roamed over her body as he admired her reflection.

George's hands trailed down Y/n's body, his fingers ghosting over her clit, teasing her with light, feather-like touches. She gasped, her hips bucking slightly as she sought more of his touch.

"You're so responsive," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "I love how your body reacts to my touch."

Y/n's eyes fluttered closed, her head falling back against his shoulder as she savored the sensation of his fingers on her most sensitive area. She could feel the heat building inside her, her body aching for more.

"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I need more."

George's hands trailed down Y/n's body, his fingers ghosting over her clit, teasing her with light, feather-like touches. She gasped, her hips bucking slightly as she sought more of his touch.

"You're so responsive," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "I love how your body reacts to my touch."

Y/n's eyes fluttered closed, her head falling back against his shoulder as she savored the sensation of his fingers on her most sensitive area. She could feel the heat building inside her, her body aching for more.

"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I need more."

He placed a soft kiss on Y/n's shoulder, his fingers slowly dipping into her wet heat. She moaned, her body arching into his touch as he began to move his fingers in and out, his thumb circling her clit.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his voice filled with desire. "I can feel you squeezing my fingers. Relax, baby."

Y/n's breath hitched, her hips moving in rhythm with his fingers. She could feel the pleasure building inside her, her body trembling with anticipation.

"I'm going to make you cum," George promised, his voice low and seductive. "And you're going to watch yourself in the mirror as it happens."

George continued to finger Y/n, his movements growing faster and more intense. Just as she was about to reach her peak, he abruptly stopped, his fingers slipping out of her heat.

"I want you to cum on my cock," he said, his voice filled with desire. "Not on my fingers."

Y/n whimpered, her body aching for release. She could feel the frustration building inside her, her hips bucking against his hand as she sought more of his touch.

"Please," she begged, her voice strained with need. "I need you inside me."

George positioned himself behind Y/n, his cock pressing against her entrance. He could feel her heat, the way her body craved his touch. With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed into her, his cock stretching her walls as he filled her completely.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, his voice filled with pleasure. "You feel so good."

Y/n moaned, her head falling back against his shoulder as she savored the sensation of his cock inside her. She could feel every inch of him, the way he throbbed within her depths.

"Move," she pleaded, her voice desperate. "Please, I need you to move."

George complied, his hips beginning to thrust in a steady rhythm. He watched as Y/n's reflection in the mirror mirrored his movements, her body arching and undulating with each stroke of his cock.

"Look at yourself," George commanded, his voice low and husky. "So gorgeous, taking my cock like this."

Y/n's eyes met his in the mirror, her gaze filled with desire and lust. She could see the way her body moved, the way her skin glistened with sweat as George thrust into her. It was a sight she would never forget, the way he controlled her.

"I'm so close," she gasped, her body trembling with anticipation. "Don't stop, please."

George's hand moved to Y/n's chin, gently guiding her gaze back to their reflection in the mirror. He wanted her to see herself, to witness the raw passion and desire that radiated from her body as he pleasured her.

"Watch," he insisted, his voice firm yet tender. "Watch as I make you cum."

Y/n's moans grew louder, her body arching into his touch as he continued to thrust into her. She could feel the pleasure building inside her, her body tensing as she neared her climax.

"I'm going to cum," she warned, her voice strained with need. "Don't stop, please."

George's grip on her hips tightened, his thrusts becoming more forceful and intense. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her body trembling with the impending release.

His body tensed, his muscles clenching as he felt his orgasm approaching. With a low groan, he came inside Y/n, his seed filling her as he continued to thrust into her.

"Fuck, you're so amazing," he groaned, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "You take my cock so well, so perfectly."

Y/n's body convulsed, her own orgasm hitting her with a force that left her breathless. She could feel George's warmth inside her, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into her depths.

As their climaxes subsided, George wrapped his arms around Y/n, holding her close as they both caught their breath. He pressed soft kisses to her neck and shoulder, his hands roaming over her body in a gentle, soothing manner.

"That was incredible," he murmured, his voice filled with awe and admiration. "I love you so much."

George pulled Y/n close, his lips brushing against her temple as he whispered, "Do you want to go again?"

She shook her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I'm too tired," she admitted, her voice filled with contentment. "But that was amazing."

George chuckled, his hands continuing to roam over her body as he peppered her with kisses. He kissed her temple, her shoulder, her jawline, and every other inch of skin he could reach.

"Okay, my love," he said, his voice low and tender. "Let's rest for a while. I've got you."

y/n.l/n

liked by george_russell, francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux and 10,824 others y/n.l/n sunny skies and butterflies ☀️ tagged george_russell

alexandrasaintmleux so this is why you said no to saturday brunch? :( ↳ y/n.l/n i'm sorry babes, he took me hostage 😔😔😔 ↳ george_russell I DID NOT???

george_russell Who is that gorgeous man on the last slide? 🤔 ↳ y/n.l/n idk but i'd let him hit ↳ george_russell You already did

francisca.cgomes can you fight?? george_russell ↳ george_russell Yes. Now leave me and MY girlfriend alone ↳ francisca.cgomes last time i recall her ignoring YOU so she could go to ME. ↳ y/n.l/n ladies, ladies, calm down there's enough of me to go around ↳ george_russell Absolutely not. I'm not letting this woman take you away from me.

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[unclewaynemunson]

“I need to tell you something.”

Shitfuckno. Eddie doesn't even know why he's still surprised. This is how it always goes, after all. He should probably just give up and stop dating altogether – again.

Steve looks at him exactly as ominously as the words I need to tell you something require. Perfect Steve. Funny Steve. Sweet Steve. Sexy Steve. Steve, who Eddie had genuinely believed to be different.

Eddie sighs, barely suppressing a dark chuckle while he turns away from that perfect face. He doesn't want to look at Steve when he'll tell him the undoubtedly messed-up shit he's about to spill.

“Lemme guess, you're married?” That was what the last guy he dated told him, seven months after they got to know each other. It can't be much worse than that, can it?

Steve grabs Eddie's hand, causing him to involuntarily jerk up his head and meet his eyes.

“How did you know?”

Jesus H. Christ. Not again.

Eddie roughly pulls his hand out of Steve's grip and laughs a joyless laugh.

“Apparently I'm a good guesser.”

He stands up from the park bench the two of them had been sharing. “Well, Steve, this has been a blast. You should go back to your wife, or husband – don't tell me, I don't even wanna know – and I should um, get going. Maybe tell the next person right away what they'll be getting themselves into. Would save them a lot of wasted time, just in case cheating and going around other people's backs isn't really their thing, y'know.”

“Eddie, wait, let me explain!”

Eddie picks up his pace, but Steve, stubborn as he is, easily keeps up with him.

“I'm really not interested, man.”

“It's not – I'm not cheating on her!”

“Okay, so you have an open marriage, good for you. Still the kind of information you could've shared with me, say, three months ago, don't you think?”

“She's a lesbian.”

And that makes Eddie freeze on the spot. It takes Steve two steps before he realizes Eddie has stopped moving; he walks backwards until he's standing right in front of Eddie.

“She's my best friend,” he says, immediately using Eddie's stunned silence to his advantage. “Robin, my roommate – I told you all about her. We wanted to buy a house together and that turned out to be very complicated when you're not... Well, when you're not romantically involved. So we got married. For the, um, practical reasons. We never – we're like siblings. I love her like a sister. But she's also my wife. Platonically.”

It takes a few seconds until Steve's words sink in. Then, Eddie leaps forward and basically collapses into Steve's arms, needing to hold onto him to prevent himself from crashing to the ground.

Steve's arms are warm, strong, and as safe as ever.

“Eddie, are you okay?” Steve asks softly. His lips brush against Eddie's ear while he speaks, and worry colors his voice.

Perfect Steve. Too-good-to-be-true Steve.

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” is the only thing Eddie manages to say.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” Steve says. “It's just – I've gotten some, um... Less than ideal reactions, in the past, whenever I told this when I was seeing someone. So I thought it'd be better to wait until things were getting serious.” He sighs, tangling his fingers in Eddie's hair. “I didn't wanna scare you off. Are we – are you okay?”

Eddie nods. He lifts his head from where it's resting against Steve's shoulder and raises his hands to squeeze them around Steve's face.

“We're okay,” he says. “And I'm sorry I didn't want to listen to you. I–” He stops; he can't find the words right away. It's still difficult to talk about those things; to let himself be vulnerable. But Steve has been honest with him, so it's only fair to return the favor.

“I've been hurt, Steve,” he confesses. “More than once. I've had some really shitty experiences with dudes not being honest with me. I thought that that was what was happening again, and I couldn't – I couldn't go through that again. Especially not with you.”

“Jesus, Eddie, I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay,” Eddie rushes to say, pulling Steve even closer towards him. “I trust you.” And as soon as these words leave his mouth, he knows it's the truth.

“I do want to be absolutely clear about one thing, though,” Steve says.

Eddie leans back in Steve's arms to give him an expectant look.

“Robin is my wife. I'm not planning on that to change anytime soon. We've been through a lot together. She's been the most important person in my life for years. We own a house and a dog together, and I love her more than anything. I like you a lot, and I promise you I'm all-in with you, but... Robin is still my number one. And that's not gonna change overnight. I need you to be okay with that.”

Eddie swallows. He looks into Steve's eyes. All he sees is a man who is honest, who loves his friends deeply, and who refuses to make any compromises when it comes to love – whether it be the platonic or the romantic kind.

It doesn't scare Eddie off; it only makes him fonder of Steve.

He smiles, glances around to check if they're alone, and presses a quick kiss against Steve's lips.

“I think I can live with that,” he says. “As long as I'm the only one who gets to do this.” He closes his eyes and lets his lips meet Steve's again.

The sigh that Steve breathes into their tentative kiss is one filled with relief.

[fallenprophets]

◦⭐︎・love lost

Ekko x reader

Summary: once a Firelight and Ekko's partner, you are now a mercenary, dragging yourself through jobs to make enough money to pay for food. After one too many drinks, you take a job you can't handle, and get hurt. It's no shocker who comes to your rescue.

Set at undefined time, no use of Y/N, gender neutral reader

Warnings: gore (not too bad but be mindful), swearing, mentions of death/welcoming death. 3.2 K words (oops), not proofread as always

A/N: icl guys this is one of the longer fics I've written, and definitely the angstiest one. Again, for my best friend, @sahxrii (go check out her recs, they're SO good) who I do everything for, lets be honest.

You have always prided yourself for knowing your limits; stopping when you need to stop, being reasonable about your own abilities. This has kept you out of quite a lot of trouble- avoiding fights you could not have won, not provoking people who were clearly able to whoop your ass. 

This, however, is very different, and not a common occurrence. 

First of all, you might be a little drunk- you’ve just had to numb the sting of your day with a drink, just a small one, in a tiny grimy bar run by a tall man with bright orange skin. Second of all, you’re running on two hours of sleep and painkillers (the painkillers are slowly wearing off, to make matters worse). 

And lastly, you’re in a really bad fucking mood. 

So, when your handler slides you a note with a name and address written in ugly red letters, you think fuck it, and take the job. You should’ve known this was stupid- you should’ve done what the sober, not exhausted version of yourself would have done. But instead, you accept with a bleary nod, because, to be frank, all you want at that moment is to break something. 

So you take the note, drain your drink, and leave the bar, shrugging on your worn coat. Adrenaline is already starting to buzz beneath your skin, your knuckles tingling softly in anticipation. You had never been this excited about violence when you were younger- in fact, people might have described you as gentle, even. But now, with all the things you have witnessed, all the people you’ve lost, hitting people brought a kind of release you could find nowhere else. 

Besides, there’s no one who remembers you as that gentle person left, anyway, so who are you disappointing? Yourself? You chuckle drily into the cold air, thick with gas. 

You stop in front of the building, your hands tucked into your pockets. It is big, red, and ugly (like the ink the name had been written in, you thought), bright colourful light shining from the broken windows. A Zaunite haunt, typical for a wannabe drug lord- the kind of man you were often hired to beat up or kill. You kick into the dirt at your feet, take a deep breath. You have hardly sobered up on the walk here, so your vision is still somewhat blurry, everything swimming around you like you’re underwater. 

Broken memories of swimming in an underground lake with him flitter through your mind, and you dismiss them, muttering a curse between your teeth. You roll your shoulders and make your way inside, striding in like you own the goddamn place. 

“You can’t be here,” a goon dressed all in black calls from the top of badly painted stairs. You look at him, an ugly grin splitting your face. 

“Kick me out, then,” you say, your heart already beginning to beat a little faster. 

Before you know, goons are coming at you from the sides, cracking their knuckles. The twat at the top of the stairs sneers down at you, his teeth oily and black. 

“You don’t wanna do this,” a woman on your left growls. She’s twice as big as you, her arms covered in bright red, winding tattoos. 

“I think I do,” you answer, raising your hands, which are already curled into fists. 

She lunges first, and you catch her with a right hook in the jaw. She hardly falters, but you drive your knee into her stomach. Now, she stumbles, and you leap up, narrowly avoiding an attack from another goon. You grab goon number one- the woman- and smash your forehead into her face. Her nose explodes, red and white flying all over you as she falls backwards. You spin and grab the nearest object- a stool- and bring it smack into the second goon’s middle. He collapses, and you walk over to him, drop the stool on his head. He stops moving. 

You turn to the giant of a woman, who is standing and looking at you with pure, unadulterated hatred. Her face is broken into bits, blood and spit dribbling down her chin. “Come on, then,” you say, cracking your already sore knuckles. 

She throws herself at you, twice as angry as before. You dodge, but she catches you in the shoulder. Excruciating pain shoots through you, and you realise too late that she has wicked little claw-like contraptions on her fingers. She comes at you again, slashing wildly. You jump out of the way, once again catching a claw in the face. It slices open your left cheek; pain explodes all through the area, but you grin. A challenge- you’ve always liked that. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a child’s voice screams at you to stop, to leave, to give up. The goon from the top of the stairs is gone. You falter when you notice this- he must be warning his boss, who is your target. You double your efforts, lunging at the woman. You manage to punch her in the stomach, but your second hit, aimed at her throat, is knocked out of the way as she drives her claws into your wrist. You scream, not really in pain but in sheer shock at the sharp metal slivers protruding from your skin. 

“Should’ve left,” she sneers into your face. You spit into the bloody mess that was her nose and wrench your arm back, kicking her, hard, in the sternum. She stumbled backwards and you pull your weapon- a machete, sheathed against your back- out, spinning it around. She assesses you for a moment, with what you realise now are robotic eyes. 

Oh. 

Oh, fuck. 

You are not fighting a person, you’re fighting a robot. Or something that’s half half- the blood spilling from her face gives you the idea that she might be made of flesh and bones, but those eyes- you’ve seen them before. She’s assessing your fight patterns, and she’s going to win. 

You duck out of the way of another attack, but she manages to graze your neck with her claws. You slash wildly with your machete, to no avail- she avoids each blow easily, and the ones that do hit, she ignores happily. 

Finally, one of your attacks hits- you aim the blow upwards, and the machete carves straight through her face. Blood, huge quantities of the stuff, gushes all over you, bone shattering under the power of your blow. You yank the machete out, momentarily stunned as she stumbles to her knees, eyes fizzing out. 

“Fuck,” you pant, stumbling backwards, “fuck you.” 

Your victory is short lived. More goons are coming down the stairs, armed to the teeth. You raise your weapon, ready to fight them all if it kills you, when you feel something strange. Your shirt has been sliced open- cold hair breezes around your stomach. You look down, and are somewhat horrified to find blood; your own blood. 

All at once, you feel nausea hit. You stumble to your knees, gasping for air. She got you- you feel the pain shooting through now. She managed to sink her dirty claws into your stomach as if you were made of mist and gas. 

Everything flickers in front of you as the last few days finally hit. You’re in so much pain, it’s almost incredible- had you been an author, you would have liked to write about this one day. It’s like your insides have been ripped out (they kind of have, you suppose) and set on fire, stomped on, pissed on- you almost laugh at the thought as your head hits the ground. 

You can’t remember when you fell. 

Your vision goes dark, flickering in and out. You see the goons approach you, pick you up unceremoniously. You are outside your body, floating somewhere beyond, watching through your eyes as they drag you outside. It is raining- you wish you could feel the raindrops on your face, one last time. 

You laughed, holding out a hand. It had been a while since you had experienced rain- in the Firelights hideout, you are protected by the huge leaves of the tree; and the Firelights hideout has everything (and everyone) you could wish for, so why would you ever go outside? 

But, after hearing you sigh softly and murmur something about the only thing you miss about your old home being the rain, Ekko made it his mission to bring it back. As soon as it rained again, he took you by the arm, promising a wonderful surprise. He offered to blindfold you, but you kindly refused when you saw that he intended to take you up the tree. You had climbed together, him guiding you gently upwards; and as you’d ascended, you had heard a beautiful, soft patter; a sound that made your heart beat speed up and your throat close. Finally, you had reached the top, and he had lifted the leaves to reveal a little area above the canopy, partly shielded from the rain with a makeshift structure made of leaves and cloth. 

Now, you sat in this structure, your side flush against his, a hand held out to the pouring rain.  

“Do you like it?” He asked softly, looking at you. 

“Do I like it?” You cried, almost incredulous. “Yes, Ekko, I love it!” You turned to him, grinning so widely it almost hurt. “Thank you,” you added after a moment. “Thank you so much, Ekko.” He smiled too, and you took his face in your hands and kissed him, and Gods knew you’d never been happier. 

You’re lying in an alleyway. It’s like you can physically feel the blood leaking from you, your life draining from the gash in your stomach and the holes in your arm. The goons have left, convinced you are dead- why didn’t they check your pulse, stupid bastards? 

It has stopped raining, but you’re soaked to the bone, lying there in the dark. Someone has stolen your jacket and your machete. 

You groaned as you lifted the jacket up to the light. A bright fabric, the colour of the sunset, now stained with dark greenish grey goo. You should have known that wearing your favourite jacket down into the mines was a stupid idea, but you’d done it anyway. 

“Stupid,” you mumbled to yourself, dropping the jacket into a heap on the floor. You wondered briefly if it was salvageable, but deep down knew it wasn’t. You’d have to find a new one, which would be nowhere near as nice. 

Someone knocked on your door, and a soft voice spoke your name. 

“Come in,” you called, still staring sadly at your jacket. 

Ekko stepped inside, his presence like warm sunlight. Despite the grief caused by the ruined jacket, you smile, turning to him instantly relaxing as he wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“I hear your jacket got ruined,” he said softly. 

“Yeah,” you muttered in response. “Upsetting.” He laughed. “I have something for you.” You pulled away, moving your hands to his biceps and looking at him. “What, Ekko?” You already knew what he was going to show you, but it warmed your heart all the same. 

“It’s not exactly the same colour,” he said apologetically, “but-“ 

You put a hand over his mouth, beaming. “I don’t care,” you said. 

He smiled back at you, releasing you to pull something out of his bag. It was neatly folded, but he held it out to you. You shook it out, and found a jacket, almost identical to the one that you had just ruined; it was a slightly lighter shade of orange, and the pattern on the back was a tree instead of the flowers you’d had on your last one. 

“You’re insane,” you said, in awe. You put the jacket on- it was a little too big, but who gave a shit? It was your jacket, gifted to you by your boy. 

You blink back into consciousness, and almost screamed. The pain coursing through you is like nothing you’d ever imagined; like being electrocuted and burned and drowned all at the same time. Despite the gaping hole in you, you want to curl up, to shield yourself from the wet and cold and pain. 

“Please,” you whimper into the ground, “please, no.” 

It’s not that you don’t want to die. In fact, you welcome death- you see it as a release more than anything else, from the bullshit life you lead. But dying here, like this- 

You start to cry, and you gag and retch as tears spill mercilessly. 

You are about to give in- you have given in- when a bright light seems to fill your vision. It is green and orange and yellow and pink and warm and fills everything around you. For a moment you think you’ve died, and this is some kind deity welcoming you into the next life, whispering I forgive you don’t worry as it carries you away. But no, the truth is much harsher than that. 

A face hovers into your field of vision, and warm hands tug your shirt upwards. You want to protest, but your throat is dry from all the retching and sobbing you’ve been doing. A cloth presses down into the wound in your stomach and you howl, eyes rolling back in your head as the pain grabs you by the throat and fucking throttles you. 

“Stop,” you manage to whimper. “Why- why are you doing this?” Your voice is hoarse, you’re crying again as you try to shut out the pain. 

You hear shouting- words like help and home and quick- and black out again. 

When you come to, you are no longer lying wet and dying in an alleyway miles from home (where even is home anymore? It’s just you, and that orange jacket, which you don’t even have anymore). 

Your surroundings slowly swim into focus (swimming, your brain sings, swimming in an underwater cave, hands on your waist, kisses all over). You are lying down, mercifully dry and warm. Pain pumps through you in waves, mostly coming from your wrist and your stomach. You wonder, again, if this is some afterlife- if so, it is far less cruel than your parents described. 

But then, you turn your head, and pain sears through you. 

But that is not what makes you cry. 

He lifts his head instantly as he hears your quiet sobs, and he’s at your side, a hand carefully gripping yours (he’s avoiding the bloody bandage wrapped around your wrist, you realise), the other gently brushing soft fingers over your bruised face. “It’s okay,” he says, even though you think he doesn’t mean it. It’s not okay- you ran away, got yourself beat up, almost killed, and he’s had to rescue you. Of course it’s not okay.

“Ekko,” you whimper. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, stroking your hair away from his face. Instinctively, you curl away, wanting to hide your injury from him. He shakes his head, his eyes brimming with tears (or maybe you’re delusional, because who would cry over you?) 

“I-“ Your words are lost in a pathetic sob, and you turn your face away from him. 

“Don’t,” he says. A pause. “How are you feeling?” 

You croak out what should’ve been fuck but instead comes out as a bad imitation . You would’ve laughed, in any other situation. 

“What happened?” His voice is so soft, so kind, it makes you want to rip your eyeballs out and stuff them into your ears. 

You shake your head. You don’t want him to know what you’ve been up to since you left the Firelights. 

He lets go of your hand, and for a moment you think he’s leaving you. It wouldn’t surprise you, to be honest. But no, he doesn’t leave you. Instead, he leans over, inspects the bandages wrapped around your midsection. Your mind instantly flashes to him prodding it, digging his fingers into your wound and calling you names. You wouldn’t blame him. 

“You’re an idiot,” he says finally, still glaring at your bandaged stomach. 

“Excuse me?” That is the first full statement you manage to force past your shredded throat. 

“You’re an idiot,” he repeats with just as much gusto. “I mean, how could you just go and do this?” He gestures at your injuries. 

“I didn’t-“ 

“What, think? Yeah, I can tell.” His face is partly obscured, so you can’t tell what face he’s making. 

“I-“ 

“You’re so stupid. I mean, did you really think you could survive taking on all of the goons in that building?” He snorts to himself. “At least tell me the pay was worth it.” 

You’re somewhat incredulous. All the time you’ve known Ekko, he’s never been this outright mean to you. 

“What-“ you sputter, unable to find the words. 

“Did you not think for a moment that you might get killed?” He puts extra emphasis on the word killed, and it’s like a punch in the gut. When he turns his gaze onto you, you think you’d prefer to have the goons rip you apart than see him look at you like this ever again. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage to say through a fresh tightening in your throat. Your eyes sting and you’re about to turn away when you see his expression. 

He’s smiling. 

“What?” You almost choke out. “What is it?” 

His smile is the softest thing you’ve ever seen. It’s the sunlight, shining through the leaves of the tree; it’s the rain gently pattering on the roof of your childhood home. It’s the smell of old books and wood. 

It’s so painfully home. 

Your eyes sting, and you turn your face away from him, swallowing the bile rising in your throat. He still smiles at you like that, after everything you’ve done. 

He takes your hand again, his other beginning to gently trace patterns on the bandage on your stomach. It’s such a soft, kind gesture. He used to do that, you remember with a pang, when you two would lie in bed together: draw little patterns on your back with his fingers, when he thought you were asleep. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and for the first time, you wholeheartedly believe him. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, because those are the only words your throat will allow out. “I am.” 

“I know,” he murmurs. He hesitates, then leans forwards, kissing your forehead gently. “Just…” he trails off, his gaze now focused back on your bruised face. “Don’t do that again.” 

You promise him. Not with words, but with the feeling in your chest, the loosening of your lungs and throat as you watch him watch you. You promise him with the way your knuckles have stopped aching for more skin to break, with the way your eyes water again. 

You promise him with all that you have, because that is the least you can do for him. 

“I love you,” you mumble, almost sheepishly. 

“I love you too,” he answers; there is no hesitation, no layered but only if… behind the words. He says it back with the same confidence he gives orders, the words more of a declaration than softly spoken pretty things. 

“I’m sorry,” you add, after a few moments of just watching him breathe. 

“I love you,” is his answer. 

You shut your eyes, and he squeezes your hand. 

[heart-eyed-love]

Pet Names

Summary | Eddie is getting used to having someone new around getting your attention

Contains | Fem!Reader, Established Relationship, Cursing, Talks of sex, Pet names

Word Count | 1.1k

The sun was peeking through the window, and Eddie could feel your warmth behind him. He had woken up about 15 minutes ago, and he was just lying there, peacefully, as he awaited for you to wake up.

Then a soft mutter of, “Hi, Baby boy…” and he doesn’t think he’s ever snapped his head back faster. You weren’t one to really use pet names, but you’d use the occasional, Ed’s. He on the other hand would call you pet names more times than not, the most frequent being - babe. There were even times when he saw you cringe at a specific name and he would note them in the back of his head, making sure to reuse them again just to tease you.

So hearing your soft morning voice, whisper such a thing, had him more than excited. Soft smile on his face at the sweet words.

Only his face sours when he realizes the words weren’t for him. They were for the cat that was now laying at your side. He let out a scoff.

About a week ago, the two of you had been sitting out on the couch in front of your shared trailer. Lounging together as you read your book and Eddie was writing something in his journal, when a small meowing can be heard next to you. You are the first to notice the small tabby cat that stands in front of the couch.

“Hi…” Eddie takes notice of the higher pitch in your voice and looks up from his journal, seeing you leaning down to pet the small animal in front of the two of you. You look up to him with big eyes as you pet the cat, and it then leaps up onto the couch, right next to you.

“Eddie…” You say excitedly as you scratch the cat’s neck causing it to close its eyes in contentment.

“You know, that thing probably has fleas or something, right?”

You shoot him a glare, “You don’t need to ruin the moment… look at him…” You say sweetly as you look back to the small cat.

Eddie can already tell what the look in your eye is. He already knows what you’ll inevitably ask him, and Fuck No he doesn’t want a cat.

“Y/n, No.” He says as sternly as he can when it comes to you.

You furrow your brows slightly, and a frown tugs on your lips as you place your hand on his leg, “But Eddie… He needs a home…” Why did you do that? Why did you always have to do that shit when he said no, it made the process a lot harder for him.

But it made the process a lot easier for you.

Cause as you made dinner in the kitchen, Eddie sat at the end of the couch, glaring at the other side where the freshly washed cat was now sitting. He was actually surprised at how well the cat acted when you were bathing him, he thought he was gonna have to end up taking you to the hospital for rabies so some shit.

But no, you must just have some magic touch to you or something. Well, obviously you do, apparently you use it on him everyday, he just didn’t know it also applied to cats.

And that’s how the week had been going, you and this new cat, that you had decided to name Roane, were attached at the hip. That little shit would follow you around everywhere. He had to kick him out of the room a couple times cause he kept sneaking in when Eddie was trying to get some alone time with you, if you know what he means. He was not about to let this cat sit in the corner and stare at his bare ass as he ruins you.

So yes, this cat getting special treatment from you was gonna pull a scoff from him. He stares at the creature that’s now curling up on your chest. “Sorry, didn’t know you were awake…” You say softly as you look over at him all sleepy, messy hair, eyes half lidded and you look beautiful. But he has to resist your charm. He’s upset at the both of you.

“Didn’t know you were awake either… until I heard you sweet talking this little shit.”

You gasp in mock offense, grabbing the kitty’s head, giving it a small kiss on the forehead before saying, “Do not call our son a little shit! He’s precious and he just wants to spend time with us…”

He glares at the cat, “You call him ‘baby boy’, he’s the first one to get your kisses in the morning, and he gets to curl up on your chest in the morning… he’s a little shit.”

Smirking as you remove your hand from the cat, moving it over to your boy's messy hair and your scratch at his scalp, “I’m so sorry, Baby boy…” You coo teasingly, “I wasn’t aware there was a one sided feud going on between you two…”

“It’s not one sided. He knows exactly what he’s doing.” Eddie watches as you pull the cat from your chest and you begin lifting it over to his, “What are you doing?” But soon the cat is shifting so he can comfortably lay on his chest instead.

“He just wants some love from his dad…” You smile over at the scene in front of you. Eddie glares at you, before staring down at the lump on his chest, “Pet him, Eddie.” You say more sternly, and he’s rolling his eyes as he brings his hand up to the cat’s body to give it some light scratches.

And he’s purring like a motorboat.

“Damn, he doesn’t even purr that loud with me…” You say with a soft giggle. Eddie has to hold a small smirk when the cat nuzzles into his chest more as he continues to run his hand over his fur.

But only because you told him too! Not because it’s the softest fur he’s ever felt…

“Okay, but i’ll have you know if you are gonna be calling him pet names then you’ll have to do the same for me… I was fine with you not doing it before but now that I've got a taste of that life I can't let it go…”

You groan and roll your eyes playfully. “Yeah? Whatever you want, Sweet Cheeks.”

He glares over at you, “I’m serious, Y/n. When I get home from work you better run up to me and say some shit like ‘Oh Baby, I missed you so much.’ Got it?”

“Yeah. Got it, Baby…”

[katsu28]

summer's golden haze - chapter six

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: a love confession, a PR scandal, and an explanation (5.2k)

a/n: don’t hate me for this folks 😅 things are going to be fine with our favorite couple, don’t worry! (or are they??? guess you’ll just have to read and see mwahaha)

previous chapter | masterlist

Somehow Lando convinces you to stay the night with him after spending a little quiet time together at his place once the jet lands, instead of going home like you’d originally planned. You won’t go into detail, but it involved little talking and a lot more kissing. 

He lets you shower off the nightclub musk first, and only when you’ve made yourself comfy in his bed can you shoot a text to your friends. 

You: staying at lando’s tonight. no need to wait up for me, he’ll drop me off at ours in the morning

Samira: ouuu get it girl 

Maren: be safe wear protection etc etc 

You: GOD no not like that you perverts

Camille: sure 👍🏼

Camille: is he reading over your shoulder? WE’RE ONTO YOU NORRIS. 

You: i hate you guys ❤️

Maren: why are u still texting us go spend time with ur man 

“Everything good?” 

Lando’s toweling his hair dry as he walks into the room, wearing only a pair of shorts. He’s a bit sunburnt on his chest and shoulders from today, but he’s still got that aftersun glow about him as he makes his way over to you. He collapses dramatically beside you on the mattress, wasting no time in sprawling into your space with a content sigh. 

“Yep, fine. The girls say hi and goodnight,” You say airily, putting aside your phone. Lando lets out a noncommittal hum, too busy with making himself comfortable next to you to form a response. In the end, he finally settles with an arm thrown across your thighs, face pressed into your side snugly. 

Your fingers trace the dip of his spine gently, coming up to brush over his reddened skin. “You’re all burnt, Lando.”  

“Sun cream is for wimps,” He mumbles, words muffled. “I’m tough.” 

“You might rethink that when your skin starts to peel.” 

“Did you have fun?” He asks, changing the subject in favor of aiming a hopeful smile up at you. 

“I did. I still can’t believe you’re friends with Martin Garrix, though.” 

Lando chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re still hung up on that?” 

“Uh, yeah! Normal people usually don't know world famous musicians!” 

“Guess I’m not normal then, am I?” 

“No, you’re not,” You hum, pushing his damp curls away from his forehead. His face screws into an overdramatically offended look that makes you giggle. “You’re not normal, you’re better.” 

“Good save, that,” He mumbles, face morphing into what has to be the most fond, heart-melting, doe eyed expression you’ve ever been looked at with.

What you say next seems to fall out of your mouth before you realize just what you’re doing. All you know is he’s gazing at you like you’re holding up the moon and the stars, and suddenly it feels like exactly the moment to say what you’re thinking. 

“I think I’m in love with you too.” 

Funnily enough, Lando’s eyes widen the same way Max’s did when he’d accidentally told you. “What?”

“I love you too,” You say, though a little more unsure this time. There’s a key difference between your first and second confessions, but saying it out loud the first time only solidified what, deep down, you think you’ve already known. 

You love Lando. You’re in love with Lando, and you want him to know. 

Only now he’s staring at you like you’ve just told him some deep dark secret that he wasn’t supposed to know, which definitely isn’t the response you thought you’d get from him, and it makes your brain kick into overdrive. 

Max had seemed entirely genuine at the time, but maybe he was just messing with you. Maybe your entire relationship with Lando was some sort of a prank, or god forbid, a fucking bet. The thought had crossed your mind at the beginning, but you’d shoved it aside because Lando was so charming and so painfully your type that you were willing to take the leap. 

Less than two weeks. It took less than two weeks to fall in love with the boy in front of you, less than two weeks for you to put your heart into his hands and pray that he wouldn’t break it. The heart that he’d already wormed his way into and made his home.

It’s definitely fast, you’re fully aware of the fact. At the beginning, you weren’t expecting to get into anything serious. Telling yourself you’d let things play out, let whatever was to happen happen, prepared to leave any and all thoughts of Lando behind if things didn’t work out. 

You didn’t actually think you’d end up in love with him, and for some reason, it scares you more than you could’ve ever imagined. There’s something terrifying about falling in love, but something even worse than it was him not feeling the same. 

“How did you—” He stops mid-sentence, looking so utterly floored you’ve figured it out that you forget any and all previous doubts of Lando not sharing your feelings. “Have I been that obvious?” 

“Max let it slip.” 

He lets out a groan, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily before opening them again. “Max couldn’t keep his mouth shut if his life depended on it, the twat.”

“Y’know, he said the same thing,” You giggle quietly. 

“Because it’s true! His big mouth has been getting me into trouble since the day we met.” 

“Do you think falling in love with me is trouble?” 

“No! God, no, absolutely not,” Lando insists, shaking his head. In one fell swoop, he manages to shift the both of you so you’re on top of him now, sitting on his thighs with a leg on either side of him. His hands travel up from your waist to cup your face in his palms reassuringly. “The opposite, really. I think you’re the best thing to ever happen to me. I just…I wanted to tell you on my own terms. Had it all planned out too.” 

“Oh yeah?” You hum, hooking your fingers over his biceps. “What'd you have planned?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He teases, grinning from ear to ear. You make a pleading noise from the back of your throat, but he just shakes his head, zipping his lips with an imaginary key and pretending to hold it high above his head. 

You play along, going to reach up for it, but Lando leans forward, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. It’s a total distraction move, and it works. You forget all about what his plans could’ve been, the thoughts quelled by his mouth on yours, kissing you sweetly. 

Your hands slide over the broadness of his shoulders without thinking, fingertips pressing into lean muscle to keep yourself upright. 

“Ow, fuck—” He hisses, pulling away from you with a wince. Thinking you’ve hurt him, your eyes go wide. “Sunburn,” He explains hastily. 

You scramble off of him. “I am so sorry!”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m fine, let’s just—” He leans in for another kiss, but the moment is over now. 

You snuggle into his side, splaying a hand over his chest. Your fingers immediately go to toy with his necklace. “What will things be like when your break ends, when we have to go back to our separate lives?” 

If your question catches him off guard, he doesn’t show it. He just sighs like he’s been thinking about the same thing, rubbing a hand down your arm. “Honestly? I’m not sure. Tried not to think of it much, really.” 

“It’s coming soon.” Your voice is almost a whisper, like saying it as soft as you can would make the day you have to leave each other never come. “Too soon.”

“Too soon,” He echoes sadly. “Do you—I mean, would you want to go public?” 

The first answer that pops into your head is no. 

No, you don’t want to make your relationship known to the public. Lando is a celebrity, and within that territory comes many things you aren’t comfortable with sharing. And it might be selfish of you for the thought to even cross your mind, but part of you doesn’t want to share Lando with the world. 

You’ve gotten used to your peaceful little bubble the last few weeks, and once he returns to racing, that bubble will be popped. It might only be a matter of time before people start to figure things out, and you’re not ready for that. Until you part ways, you don’t even want to think about it. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Lando murmurs, drawing you out of your spiraling thoughts. His hand is on your face again, cradling your cheek tenderly, thumb rubbing over your cheek. “We’ll keep things under wraps. I’ve got no problems with that.” 

“You don’t?” 

“You sound surprised.” 

“I’m not,” You say immediately. You must not sound very convincing, because Lando tilts his head in question. “I mean—maybe I am? I just thought you’d want to, y’know, go out and stuff. Press events and races, like the other drivers’ partners.” 

“You’ve been looking?” He sighs, but not unkindly. More like an oh, I wish you hadn’t kind of way. 

“Yeah. A little.” You feel a little embarrassed admitting it, but you just wanted to know what might be expected of you as Lando’s girlfriend. 

In doing so, however, all you’ve done is hurt your own feelings. In your hours long deep dive about Formula 1 WAGs, as you’ve come to learn they’re called, there seem to be some commonalities.

They’re all brilliant, accomplished women. Some of them are models, some athletes, some businesswomen. Everything about them seems pristine and polished, always perfect. From their makeup, to their clothes, even their posture is perfect. You, on the other hand, you’re nothing like them. You’re not a model, you’re not as accomplished or as brilliant, and yeah, most of the time you slouch when you sit. 

You’re just…you. 

And for some reason, Lando likes you. Loves you. That should be enough for you, and you hate that it isn’t. 

You hate that at the very back of your brain, the thought that you’re not good enough for him digs its way into your self conscience, burrowing deep into the pit of your stomach. It has its claws in you, and it isn’t letting go any time soon. You’re not sure it ever will. 

“You’re spiraling again, baby,” Lando chides lightly, bringing you back to the present moment once more. You meet his gaze again, thinking you’ll find pity, but seeing nothing but adoration. He bumps your chin with his knuckles lightly. “I love you. Not who you think you should be.” 

Your heart swells so big you’re certain it might burst out of your chest. Lando knew exactly what you needed to hear in this moment of self doubt and didn’t hesitate to tell you. 

You smile at him, leaning forward to press your lips against his with all the love and affection you can muster, because words aren’t enough to explain just how lucky you are to have found someone like him. 

Lando sighs against your mouth, having no hesitation in swinging himself to hover over you. 

You let him nudge you back gently against the pillows, knees falling apart easily to accommodate the thigh he slots between them, and it has him pushing in even closer, chasing the breath right out of your chest with the way he’s kissing you. 

Safe to say, sleep does not take you until a long while later, not until you're both wearing a lot less clothes, tangled in each other’s embrace, fighting to keep your eyes open. Lando tells you he loves you one more time before you drift off for good, a whisper pressed against your temple in the darkened room. 

You’ll sleep well tonight with the ease of knowing that there is no question of how Lando feels about you, about your relationship. Everything is perfect. 

-------

“No, that’s bullshit. I’m not doing that. I don’t care if that’s what they want, I’m not doing it.” 

Lando’s hushed voice is what wakes you up, quiet but still sharp. Firm. 

Light from the bathroom pours in one beam through the cracked door on the other side of the room, piercing the darkness of early morning. You can see him pacing back and forth too, phone pressed to his ear, and it piques your concern. Whoever is on the other side of the line has obviously said something to get him heated. 

Work again, maybe? 

“Is everything okay?” You yawn, squinting at him through the sleep in your eyes as he shuffles back into the bedroom after the call ends.  

“Sorry for waking you,” He says stiffly. You pull yourself into an upright position.

“S’okay. What’s wrong?” Lando just tosses his phone into the mess of clothes in his bag on the chair. You’ll take that as a no, everything is not okay, and yes, something is wrong. “Lando.” 

He sits at the edge of the bed, facing away from you, elbows braced on his knees. You scoot towards him, smoothing a gentle hand over his back as your chin presses into his shoulder, his skin still warm under your fingers. You’re not sure what's wrong, but whatever it is, you’re there for him. 

“There’s pictures of us from the other night, at the club, and the beach. People took pictures of us together and now they’re all over social media.” 

Your heart sinks. “Oh. That’s not great, is it?” 

“No. Not really.” 

“Was that your PR officer calling?” You ask. Lando nods. “What did they say?” 

“Best to not go online today. And turn off your notifications too, because they’ll find you fast. Honestly, just turn off your phone.” He stands abruptly from the bed, away from you, pacing and muttering and raking his hands through his hair. You can almost see the cogs in his brain spinning from where you are.

This is foreign territory to you. You haven’t the slightest idea on how to deal with a situation like this one. You’re not even sure Lando fully does, given the way he’s acting right now. 

Still, it feels…violating. Having photos taken of you without your knowledge or consent, then having those photos spread around like they’re some sort of gossip. Even more so because you’ve felt safe around Lando up until this moment. 

Now he’s telling you to stay offline, to turn off your phone because strangers on the Internet will find you. You don’t even want to know what’ll happen when they do. 

“Will you slow down for a minute, please?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. He doesn’t answer, just continues in his back and forth actions. “Can we talk about this, or have you gotten everything about our relationship figured out on your own already?” 

It’s a bit petty, a little bratty of you. Of course he hasn’t gotten much of anything figured out—he’s only just been made aware of the situation that had likely progressed overnight. It isn’t something he should be having to deal with on his summer break, but he does. 

He stops in his tracks, stares at you blankly, and for a second, you think he’ll sit down and listen to you. But then he’s on the move again, rifling through his bag for something. “I think I should take you home.” 

You let out a sharp exhale, raising a skeptical brow. “Are you serious right now?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be? This isn’t a joke, this is my image we’re talking about.” He procures a wrinkled shirt from the depths of his bag, wasting no time in pulling it over his head. 

That leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You’re very aware that you have no idea what it’s like for him, no idea what it’s like to have your every move be so up for public speculation. That being said, you do know how a biting jab like that makes you feel. 

“Your image!” You chuckle wryly. “Oh, I’m so sorry, you’re right. You need to keep up your image, my bad.” 

There goes the tic in his jaw again. He’s still not making eye contact with you either, which irks you to no end. “Let me find my keys, I’ll drive you home.” 

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just take an Uber. Wouldn’t want to put your image at risk any more than I already have.” You throw the blankets off yourself, going to find your clothes yourself. 

Lando lets out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat. He’s probably just as ticked off as you are, but you're not really thinking of that right now. “C’mon, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll drive you home, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. He’s being all pissy like this and he still has the nerve to call you that. You fight to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at the nickname. You’re still getting used to it. Right now, you have a love hate relationship with it. 

“Fine.” 

That’s the last word said by either of you until you're almost back to your place. By this point, you've cooled down considerably. You’ve gathered your thoughts enough to realize you were being a little bitchy about the situation. He’s frustrated, you're frustrated, but it's not either of your faults. 

The car pulls to a stop and the doors unlock automatically, so technically you could just let yourself out without saying anything at all. You almost do, but you don't want to leave things the way they are with Lando right now. 

“I love you,” You say softly, carefully watching him for a reaction. 

The clench in his jaw softens almost imperceptibly, but the crease between his brows, the set of his shoulders, the laser focus he's got on something off in the distance, those still remain. 

It’s an entire world away from the way his face had lit up brighter than the sun when you said the exact same three words to him for the first time, just last night. “Text me when you get back so I know you're home safe?” 

“Yeah, sure.” His voice is clipped, void of any emotion. He doesn't want to talk. That you can see loud and clear. 

Still, you try again. “I’m sorry about the photos, Lan.” 

“Not your fault.” 

It’s not your fault either, you want to say. You want to look him in the eyes and tell him everything will be okay, that things will work out in the end. You don't—you can’t—because he’s angled himself away from you. 

Tears burn at the edges of your eyes and you think you can feel your heart crack a little bit, but you will yourself to get out of the car before he can see them fall. The last thing you need is to add to whatever is going on inside his head right now. 

Yeah, maybe you’d been a little combative with him at first, but at the end of everything, you love him now. You still want to figure things out together. But judging by the way he won’t even look you in the eye right now, it isn’t what he wants. 

How could you go from basking in the light of newfound love to barely being able to get a word out of him, with just one phone call? A phone call about you, your relationship with Lando, one where you don’t even know what was said. 

You hear him pull away as soon as you shut the door behind you. 

Is it bad that a small part of you is glad he waited for you to get inside? It means he still cares about you enough to make sure you’re in safely, even though he might be upset with you. 

Then you’re hit with the fact that he is upset with you, and that sliver of hope vanishes. 

You sink down onto the cold tile of the entryway, back against the door. Everything was so good and now it’s all going to shit, and you hate to think about how you’ve messed things up. 

“Tell us everything and don’t leave a single detail—” Maren’s gleeful shout dies in her throat the second she comes barreling around the corner and sees you on the floor with your head in your hands. 

She’s quick to call for the other two, rushing to your side in a second and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

“I’m gonna kill him. Do I need to kill him?” Samira sounds beyond angry. You’ve only ever seen her this angry a few times, all of which you were glad to have never been the source of. 

Camille hushes Samira’s threats, kneeling by your other side. “What happened?” 

“Too much,” You mumble, half muffled by the sleeve of your jumper. Lando’s jumper. You want to rip it off and chuck it in the bin, but it’s the same one he’d been wearing the first night you spent together—soft and well loved, smelling like his cologne. Instead, your hands clench into fists around the worn cotton, squeezing the material tight between your fingers. 

You eventually find your way to the couch, where you remain until nightfall nears, a half empty bottle of wine sitting open on the coffee table in front of you while your comfort show plays quietly on the television. Realistically, you should be getting ready to go for a night out on the town, but you’re all in your pajamas, curled up against each other nicely. 

You’d managed to tell them what was going on through tears that had stopped a while ago, but the thought of Lando putting up walls to keep you out of the situation still burns bright in your mind. 

The doorbell rings suddenly and you wrinkle your nose, confused. 

Camille untangles herself from the pile, squeezing your hand gently. “I’ll get it! It’s probably our food.” You didn’t even know she’d ordered dinner, but you won't complain. All this wallowing in your hurt feelings has really spurred an appetite. 

But then Maren and Samira leave for the door too and you're alone on the couch, even more confused. 

“Don’t get mad at us, okay?” 

Your mouth pulls into a confused frown at your friends who’ve just reappeared, but then you see Lando step into the room. He looks disheveled and just like you were hoping he’s been feeling—guilty. 

Your eyes flick to the girls. You don’t feel betrayed, but rather the thought of them reaching out to Lando brings you a surge of love. 

They’ve always known what you need, even if you don’t know it yourself. 

“You two need to talk things out, so we’ll be in the kitchen. But if you make her cry again and I’ll kick your pretty rich boy ass, I swear to—” The rest of Samira’s threat is cut off by the other two pulling her out of sight. 

That just leaves you and Lando, staring at each other, expressions unreadable. He steps forward, hesitant feet bringing him to the edge of the couch, where he perches awkwardly. 

“Hey,” He says meekly, shoving his hands into the big pocket of his jumper. You can’t bring yourself to greet him back. “You weren’t answering any of my texts or calls.” 

He looks like he wants to reach out for you but refrains himself from doing so. You’re partly glad he does, because if he did, you’re not sure you could’ve stopped yourself from burying yourself in his arms. 

Instead, you stare at him blankly. “You told me to turn off my notifications.” 

Lando sucks in a breath through his teeth, head bobbing slightly. “I did say that, didn’t I?” 

“You shut me out, Lando. You wouldn’t even tell me what was happening,” You grit out. You’re hurt, to say the least. You hope he knows that. “Don’t you think I have the right to know what’s going on?” 

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry,” He insists, almost pleading. “I didn’t mean to shut down like that. I guess I’m just used to doing these kinds of things on my own, y’know? Usually when my name trends on social media, it’s something I’ve done. Something I’ve got to deal with the aftermath of. But now, this time…” 

“This time, there’s me,” You finish, frowning.

“Yeah. It isn’t just my life I have to think of, it’s yours too. Having your every move watched and judged by people who don’t know you is the last thing I want for you to have to go through. I can handle it because it comes with the job, but you shouldn’t have to. It isn’t fair to you.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“Isn’t it? We’re in this situation because of me. Because of who I am.” 

“You didn't ask for this. Like you said, it comes with the job, no matter what you do.”

“Yeah, but I—”

“Lando, I’m not mad that the photos got leaked, I was hurt because you just took me home and left me here without telling me what was going on,” You say. Your voice only wavers the tiniest bit, and you fight it even more. “It felt like you didn't want me to have any input on our relationship, and that's not what a relationship is supposed to be like. At least, not one that I want to be in. I would hope you’d feel the same way.” 

“I do. Baby, I do feel the same way. I love you, and I should’ve said it back in the car, I know. And I was angry this morning, but not at you, and I should’ve made that clear too. I was upset and I made some rash decisions, and I’m so sorry,” He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. When he opens them again, there's pain swirling within them. “I just wanted something to be just mine for once. I wanted our relationship, I wanted you to be that something, because in my life, everything is public. Even if I’d rather it not be, somehow it always ends up out there for the whole world to see, and I don’t want that for us. I know you don’t want that. I don’t ever want you to feel like you're giving up anything to be with me. That being said, I understand if you want to call things off.” 

He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but the pure sense of defeat in his tone makes your guarded posture finally soften.

Despite how things were left this morning, the thought of calling things off with Lando had never even crossed your mind. The fact that he thinks it was enough to make you want to break up with him has every ounce of frustration you have towards him leaving your body. 

“I don’t,” You say firmly. His head flies up, gaze snapping to yours, a mixture of relief and confusion. “I don’t wanna break up, Lan.”

“Thank god, ‘cause I don’t either.” Finally, he reaches a hand out towards you, and you feel okay enough to crawl over and curl into his side. He immediately presses a smattering of kisses against the side of your head that makes your stomach feel all fuzzy again. “I hate that your privacy was stripped away so soon.” 

“Honestly? Part of me knew something like this might happen,” You admit, pulling his arm around you snugly. “I’ve made my peace with it.” 

“You have?” 

You shoot him a tiny frown paired with a sharp exhale. “Well, obviously it’s not great, but it was bound to happen at some point, right?” 

“So you’re cool with it?” 

“I’m not ready to make it publicly official, if that's what you're asking. But I’m…not as upset as I thought I’d be.” You shrug, humming thoughtfully. “Can I ask what your team said on the phone?” 

Lando lets a mirthless scoff escape from the back of his throat. It stings less now that you know he's not upset with you for asking about it. “They wanted me to say you were just some random girl. That you were a fan, or something, and that I didn’t know you.” 

“Well, that seems a little excessive.” 

“Yeah, I know, I said the same thing! Nobody with half a brain would believe it either. I mean, just look at us.” He digs his phone out of his pocket, scrolling around until he finds what he’s looking for and flipping it around for you to look at. 

Turns out you’d been right on the nose about someone recognizing Lando at the club. The photo is grainy and a little blurry, but you can tell it's him cozied up behind you even though his head is tipped down. There’s no mistaking that messy head of curls. 

Then there’s the one at the beach, of the two of you holding hands as you walk along the shore with your heels dangling from Lando’s fingers. There’s a video too—Lando brushing your hair away from your face before leaning in to kiss you gently. 

It’s still an invasion of privacy, definitely, but there's something romantic about it. Like, at least it's nothing bad. It’s just an outwards expression of your love. You might not be quite ready to share that love with the world just yet, but one day, you might.

“Y’know, if you ignore the whole gossip mill of it all, the pictures are actually kinda cute.” 

“Ha! You think so?” 

“Sure do. My boobs look great in the club one.”

Lando draws his lower lip between his teeth, shamelessly zooming in on the specific photo. “Mm, yeah they do, huh?” 

You scoff, digging your elbow into his stomach lightly. “Stop that!” 

“What? You said it, I’m just agreeing!” He protests, holding his hands up in surrender. Then he tilts his head hopefully. “We’re okay now? I’m forgiven for being a big stupid idiot?” He asks, tilting his head hopefully. You chuckle, nodding, and he beams. “Mint! Love you.” 

“I love you too, you big stupid idiot.” 

"Fuck, I love hearing you say that."

"What, big stupid idiot?" You tease, dodging the decorative pillow Lando swings your way.

"Funny. The first part, obviously. Say it again for me?"

"I love you, Lan," You say again, looking directly at him.

The giddy smile that curves his lips and makes his whole face brighten is worth everything to you. You'd tell Lando you love him every single day if it'd make him happy.

“Am I allowed to ask you all to come over? Max is fetching Pietra from the airport and she wants to meet you all so badly, I don’t think I’ll be allowed back in the house if I don’t bring you back with me,” He says, smile turning sheepish. “D’you think the girls are gonna try to kill me?”

“Uh, I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure? It’s a yes or no answer, baby.” 

“I’m ninety percent sure you’ll be fine.” 

“Ninety?” 

“Eighty five.” 

“That’s so much worse.” 

When you inevitably do make it back to Lando’s villa, Max and Pietra have just arrived home too, still outside as Lando pulls up right next to their car. 

Max folds you into a hug once you’re in range, pausing briefly to say quietly into your ear, “I knew you’d work things out. I’d have kicked his ass if he didn’t.”

You squeeze his shoulder gratefully, because you know he’d had something to do with getting Lando to make things right. 

Pietra and Lando bicker kind of like siblings, but even then you can tell they're close. He introduces her to all of you, and she instantly melds in so seamlessly with you and your girls it feels like you’ve been friends for ages, chattering away about what Max has told her about your adventures in Greece so far.

Finally, things really are all perfect in your little world. 

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[hairmetal666]

Steve has this bar he loves in Chicago. It's a little bit dive-y, a little bit dirty, but it's quiet. A good place for when he needs to clear his head.

Only, tonight, the place is packed. Music pounding from the jukebox, no space at the bar, patrons at the dartboard and pool table. In three years he's never seen it like this.

He has a second to wonder what's going on before he sees exactly who is going on, and for him to catch Steve looking.

"Stevie!" Eddie Munson cries. He leaps from the bar top, the people below scrambling away from the stomp of his big black boots.

He hasn't seen Eddie in years. Can't actually remember the last time. Max and Lucas's wedding? Robin and Nancy's baby shower?

Steve considers booking it out of there, escaping in the crush of the crowd. By the time he has the thought, though, Eddie's already pulling him into a hug.

He's excited to see his friend. He is! Really. He loves Eddie. But that's kind of the problem.

Steve fell in love and Eddie left town.

Well, maybe it wasn't so dramatic as all that. It wasn't until six months after they packed the last box in the back of Eddie's van that Steve could name his feelings for what they were. And by then, Corroded Coffin were building buzz and Eddie had a huge whole life outside of the people he saved the world with.

Over the years, as Eddie's fame grew, he came around less and now they hardly see each other. They still talk from time to time, Steve still buys all the band's records, and Eddie's still close with all the kids, Nancy and Robin too.

Eddie releases him, those big eyes bright, a pure and genuine smile stretching his face. Steve's stomach twists, heart skipping a beat.

"Gotta be honest with you, man. Never expected to see Steve Harrington in a place like this."

Steve snorts. "There's lots of place I go you wouldn't expect."

Eddie's smile wobbles, Steve thinks. It's gone in a blink, though, and Eddie laughs. "I'm sure you do, sweetheart. Have time for a drink with me?"

Eddie navigates to the bar, returns with two beers in hand. He presses his palm to the small of Steve's back, directing him to the single empty table in the corner as far from the jukebox as possible.

"How's life treating you, Stevie?" Eddie asks after a sip. "Nance told me the store is doing really well."

"It's good, yeah. Finally turning a profit. Wasn't sure about Dustin having us add a game section, but he was right. It's really taken off."

"Oh, he told me," Eddie smirks.

Steve rolls his eyes. "I'm sure that he did. He hasn't let me hear the end of it."

"That tone," Eddie says, voice soft.

"What brings you to Chicago?" He asks to hide the way all the fucking love he feels for this man is bleeding out of him.

"Not really supposed to be," he laughs. "Flight got diverted to O'Hare, can't get another one until tomorrow. Have to make it to LA in time to play a show."

They both know Eddie loves it; the rush, the adrenaline, that comes with performing, to making it to shows at the very last minute. It's how they got here in the first place.

"Working on new music?"

Eddie leans back, dimples popping with the pleased lift of his lips. "Oh, Harrington, you don't even know what we have in store." He leans over the table and launches into tales of rehearsals and writing. Steve drinks his beer and can't take his eyes off his friend, Eddie the sun Steve orbits around, helpless to his gravitational pull.

"So, Stevie," Eddie says, once there's no more to tell about music. "You seeing anyone?"

Steve hides his cringe with a chuckle. Picks up his beer to buy time and finds it empty. "Not anyone of note."

"C'mon, how is that possible? You're easily the hottest guy in this place."

He grimaces. "That's a low bar."

"Oooh, still bitchy after all these years." Eddie snickers, takes a swig from his bottle.

"Shut-up."

"Seems like it's been a while since you dated."

"You interrogating my love life now, Munson?"

"No, not at all. Just curious."

"Okay, who are you dating? Still that guy from People?"

"Gossip," Eddie frowns.

"Anyone else you got your eye on?"

"No one new," Eddie says. He stares at Steve hard for a second, like he wants to dig into his brain, like it holds the answer to all life's question.

"There is someone, then." Steve tries to ignore the jealousy licking down his spine. Eddie isn't his and never will be.

Eddie picks at the label on his now empty beer. "Not--not really." He licks his lips, leaning over the table again. "Is there a reason you don't seem to date anymore, man? It's just--you wouldn't hurt for options, right?"

Steve freezes, trying to figure out a way to answer that won't end up breaking his own heart. "Ah, it's--you know, things got busy with opening the store and everything. Stopped being a priority."

"Are you lonely?"

"Are you?" He snaps before he can stop himself. "Sorry, I'm--sorry."

"Yeah, man. I'm lonely as hell." Eddie answers as though Steve didn't give him an out.

"I--you ever have someone where the timing is always wrong?"

"Think it's a hazard of my profession. Who's yours?"

"What?" Steve clunks his bottle too hard against the table.

"The one that got away?"

"It's--it--I--it doesn't matter."

Eddie's smile is all jagged edges. "Nancy?"

"God, no. Nance and I are good with being friends. No lingering feelings there. Who's yours?"

"Ahh," Eddie sits back a little, eyes glittering with an emotion Steve can't place. "The best boy I ever met. Can't get over him, can't forget him. I think they guys are going to start banning my 'pathetic gay yearning songs'. Gareth's words."

Something in Steve's chest crumbles to dust. There's someone. Has always been someone. Of course. Eddie is beautiful and hot and charismatic and fucking famous. And Steve is--just a guy who runs a struggling bookstore with a couple of his best friends.

"That's--I'm sorry it didn't work out." He's trying to stop his voice from breaking, from giving Eddie any hint of what he's feeling, just knows he has to get out. "Listen, man, thanks for the beer. Great to catch up. You should hit up Robin and Nancy the next time you're in town. I gotta get going."

"Wait, Steve--"

"See you around."

He doesn't wait. He pushes through the people, and races out the door, into the crisp Chicago fall air. He squeezes his eyes closed, practices his breathing exercises, tries to relax the clench of his teeth, ease the screaming in his lungs.

Three steps away from the building is as far as he gets before he hears, "Steve, please wait." A hand catches his hip, holding him in place.

"Eddie, I don't--"

"It's you," Eddie says. His face is pale, stricken. "You're the one who got away, Steve."

"What?"

"I've never been able to work up the nerve to confess. I've been trying for years, but. Too afraid of losing you to tell the truth."

"Years?" Steve's brain is trying to wrap around what's happening. That Eddie has feelings for him? That he's the source of the pathetic gay yearning?

"God, since 1986, at least."

Steve doesn't know what to say; what to do. He's been waiting for this moment so long, and his brain goes on pause.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same," Eddie rambles. "Hell, I'd be surprised if you did, but--"

"You're mine too," the words tumble out.

"What?"

"You're the one who got away. For me. You're mine."

"Steve," Eddie breathes. "Is this--are you serious?"

"Pathetic gay yearning and all."

Eddie's laugh is a bright spot in the darkness, relief and happiness mixed with the hope of what's next.

Steve can't help but giggle. "We're so dumb," he says.

Eddie looks at him with a raised eyebrow before bursting into giggles of his own. "So dumb, Steve, oh my god."

"It's been a decade!"

"Fuck," Eddie cackles.

They collapse against each other, chests heaving with their mirth. As they catch their breath, Steve nuzzles against Eddie's neck, relishing the closeness. It's easy for him to change the angle so their lips meet in a kiss frantic with ten years of longing.

"Your place or mine?" Eddie asks once they part.

Steve laughs. "You think I'm that easy, Munson?"

"Oh, Steve," Eddie smirks. "I know it."

"Asshole." Steve presses a kiss to his jaw. "How many songs did you write about me?"

Eddie smiles so hard his dimples pop. "All of them, baby. Every single one."

Steve rests their foreheads together, body fizzing like freshly uncorked champagne, "Take me home, Ed."

[whisperofwonder]

100% inspired by this art

Ushijima Wakatoshi x reader - 1.6k words

This was certainly the last thing you'd expected when you decided to take your nephew to see the Adlers for his birthday.

part 2 is here

Ushijima has gotten used to this over the years. The meet-and-greets with the fans are just another part of being a professional volleyball player. He appreciates the support, and while the hours spent signing autographs and interacting with fans of the team can become tedious, he knows they're all part of the reason he gets to be here.

On this particular afternoon, the event is held directly after a match. He tries not to let on just how much he's running on autopilot right now, signing one glossy photo after another and giving a polite greeting to every fan who approaches him. He's just thinking of going home afterwards, having a meal and going over some clips from the match before crawling into bed. He has an early workout scheduled for tomorrow.

He's drawn out of his thoughts by a tug on the hem of his shorts, and looks down to see a little boy wearing an oversized jersey with his number on it. A huge smile is growing on his face now that Ushijima has finally seen him. "Oh, hello," He says, crouching down. He's gotten used to the younger fans, too. He's learned that they're much less intimidated by him, so much larger up close, when he gets down to their level.

"I'm gonna be a spiker just like you!" The boy announces proudly. Ushijima isn't great with ages, but he would suppose he's around 5 or 6.

"Is that right?" Ushijima can't help but soften. "It's a lot of hard work, but it's a lot of fun, too."

"I know!" The boy is nodding enthusiastically. "Your spikes today were amazing! Can I have a picture?" He gestures to the stack of photos Ushijima has been signing. Ushijima is just about to nod and stand up to reach for his marker when a voice cuts in.

"Kaito? Kaito!" You rush up, resting a hand on the little boy's shoulder - Kaito. "I told you to wait just a minute," You scold him breathlessly, "You know better than to run off like that." The little boy is suddenly studying the toes of his shoes, but Ushijima looks up at you. Your expression is still a little frantic, but it's softening with relief now.

"I'm sorry," Ushijima says after a beat of silence.

"Oh, no, it's not your fault at all. Kaito just needs to learn to be patient, is all." You say, exasperated. "He's just too excited," You offer a smile, and Ushijima feels a strange small leap in his chest. He must still be a little wired from the match.

"Is this your son?" He asks conversationally, finally drawing to his feet as he reaches for a photo and marker.

You're looking up at him, now at his full height, a little wide-eyed. "No," You say quickly, "My nephew. He's a little obsessed with the Adlers, and I got him the tickets for today's match for his birthday." You pause, looking down at Kaito. "You're his favorite player. He was really excited to see you play."

"Ah," Ushijima scribbles his signature across the photo and hands it to the boy. "Well, thank you for your support, Kaito. And happy birthday."

Kaito looks down at the photo with stars in his eyes. You're smiling softly at him, and Ushijima catches himself watching your face. "What do you say, Kaito?" You finally prod.

"Thank you," He intones dutifully, too distracted by his prize to look away.

"Would you like one, too?" Ushijima directs at you, marker posed over another photo.

"Oh!" You pause, "I'm not really - but - sure," You say haltingly. "Sorry," You add with a soft, nervous chuckle.

"Of course," He says, a slight smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he signs the photo. As he hands it to you, your fingers brush his ever so slightly, and he inexplicably finds himself wishing he could draw this moment out a little longer.

"Wait a moment," He say abruptly. A look of surprise crosses your face, but you nod, reaching down to take Kaito's hand. After a quick trip back to the main table, he returns with a small envelope. "Here," He presents it to you, "I thought," He pauses, "I thought maybe you and Kaito might like to come back for the big match next month. It's tickets," He adds as you accept the envelope.

"Oh, thank you so much! You didn't have to do this." You clutch the envelope and his signed photo carefully. "You're very kind, Ushijima-san," You smile sweetly.

"Don't worry about it," He insists with a shake of his head. He briefly considers getting you and Kaito a whole season pass, if it will earn him another smile like that one.

You look down at Kaito. "Isn't that nice? Ushijima-san gave us tickets to come to another match! Now you really need to thank him." You glance back at Ushijima, and that strange feeling in his chest is back.

"Thank you!" Kaito throws his arms around Ushijima's legs before you can react.

"I'm so sorry," You tug Kaito back. "That might have been a little too much thanks," You say lightly, with an apologetic quirk of your lips.

"He's fine," He waves it off. "I hope you can make it." He really, really does.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

You're once again queueing for the Adlers' meet-and-greet. Kaito is excited to meet Ushijima again, and you really do need to thank him for the gift of the tickets. That's all it is, you tell yourself, despite your conversations with your sister.

After you'd rehashed the entire interaction, she'd insisted that he must have liked you. There was no other possible explanation in her mind. She's always been a little bit of a romantic, though. The problem with her logic is that he is a tall, handsome, professional athlete. You're just you.

She encouraged you to go talk to him again regardless. After all, he'd seemed so calm, down to earth, and earnest. You're just doing this for Kaito, though.

As you get closer to the players, you can't help but catch sight of him. He happens to glance in your direction, and the bright stadium lighting tricks you into seeing a shift in his expression. By the time you reach him, Kaito is practically vibrating.

"Hello, Kaito," He greets as you approach, crouching down to talk with him just like he had last time. You can't help thinking what a sweet gesture it is. You're a bit surprised he'd even remembered your nephew's name, what with all the fans he must meet, but Kaito is tickled by the special attention.

Finally, he draws to his feet. "I have a different picture this time," He tells Kaito, "Would you like another one?" Kaito nods quickly. A slight smile plays on his lips, and he reaches for a photo, finally meeting your eyes for the first time.

"Hello," He says again, more softly. "It's nice to see you again. I'm glad you could come."

"Oh, thank you," You feel your cheeks heating up - you're just as bad as Kaito. "It was a really exciting match. I don't follow volleyball much," You admit, "But I just might be turning into a fan."

"I'm glad to hear it," He says, completely focused on you now that Kaito is admiring his freshly signed and personalized photo. "I won't ask if you need another photo," He says with the quietest chuckle, and you duck your head, embarrassed. You think of the signed photo from last time, tucked in your nightstand drawer. Somehow, you find yourself opening it almost every night.

"But I do have another question for you," He says, gaze suddenly not meeting yours. "I'm sorry that it's so abrupt. I don't even know your name," He says, almost shyly, if that's a word you can even attribute to him.

You supply it, and he nods before repeating it, smile pulling at his lips. "I was wondering if you might like to go out sometime. For coffee. Or dinner." His gaze is piercing now, and you feel your lips part in surprise.

"Oh," Is all you can say at first, before your lips move on their own. "Yes. I - I'd like that."

"Good," He says, abruptly turning away, "Then I do have something for you." He hands it to you. "Let me know when you're free."

You look down at a scrap of paper with his name printed on it - not signed - followed by a phone number. "I will," You say softly, looking back up at him and trying to hold back the giddy smile growing on your face. You're surprised to find he's smiling too, wide and genuine.

Kaito is watching this play out with wide eyes, gaze traveling between the two of you. He tugs on your hand uncertainly. "Oh!" You suddenly remember exactly where you are. "I'm so sorry, I think we must be holding up the line." Ushijima doesn't look as though he cares.

"We really should get going," You continue. "But I'll talk to you soon, Ushijima-san," You promise boldly, lifting your hand in a wave.

"Talk to you soon," He echoes, returning the wave and keeping his gaze on you for just a beat before he turns back to the next person in line. Kaito is bursting with questions, but you won't be answering a single one until you get outside.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

As time passes, Kaito begins to think he must be the luckiest boy ever. After all, no one else that he knows has had their favorite volleyball player in the world become their uncle.

[mxstellatayte]

pretty please: chapter one.

pretty please masterlist.

chapter one warnings: lewis lowkey being a sugar daddy, (sex spoilers after this,) legal use of alcohol, consensual sex!!!, lewis is really good at dirty talking lol, lewis has a big dick haha, oral sex (m and f receiving,) multiple orgasms (f receiving,) belly bulge, praise (m and f receiving,) lewis hamilton aftercare king

chapter one word count: 5.3k (3k words of porn tho don't worry)

taglist: @pear-1206 @vivi-81 @irishmanwhore

join my taglist here!

you made me an offer i can't refuse

thursday, 23 may, 2019

you push out a shaky breath, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in your outfit one last time before stepping out of your hotel room. today is the day you've been both dreading and looking forward to for the past two weeks- the day you interview the one and only lewis hamilton at the monaco grand prix media day.

when you'd been offered the opportunity for a one-on-one interview with one of the most iconic faces in both the fashion and motorsports world, you thought you were dreaming. turns out that the journalist who had originally been assigned to the project had a family emergency and needed time off of work, so the chance to lead the project was yours and yours alone. of course, once you realized that you were not dreaming, you accepted. despite your preparation, you're still terrified. you have ten questions at the ready in your small notebook that you've read over and attempted to memorize approximately twelve times each hour for the past three days, but the practice does nothing to soothe your anxiety.

"fuck it," you say to yourself, inspecting your makeup one last time before slipping your feet into your signature shoes- platform high top converse. once on the streets of monaco, you hail a cab to take you to the circuit, your black and purple media badge secure in your purse. your stomach is twisting with anxiety the whole way there, and when you pay the driver and step out of the cab, it only increases tenfold.

you're about to interview lewis hamilton. no big deal.

yeah.

not a big deal at all.

the next hour and a half is a whirlwind of meeting with lewis' manager to getting your questions checked over to getting a tour of the media center to seeing the recording booth where you're going to be interviewing the driver. it's a nice room, but it's separate from the rest of the media areas, so you assume it's likely not normally for recording podcasts.

"how long do i have before the interview?" you ask, turning to lewis' pr manager.

"about twenty minutes, but lewis is going to be here in ten for soundcheck. make yourself comfortable for now, can i get you anything? water, tea, coffee?"

"a cup of tea would be lovely, thank you." you smile and nod, sitting down inside the booth on the plush couch. in a feeble attempt to quell your nerves, you take your mini notebook out of your bag and go over the questions for the umpteenth time today, but the words on the page blur together as you try to squish down the stirring in your stomach.

"here's the tea for you," someone says, and you're expecting it to be the manager you'd spoken to, but when you look up, you're met with an unfairly beautiful face. oh. okay. this is happening. you're casually accepting a cup of tea from five-time world champion lewis hamilton. the man you're about to interview.

no big deal.

the interview goes by without any hiccups, and, before you know it, your hour in the booth is up, and you say your on-camera goodbyes before they stop recording. as you're about to leave, though, lewis gently touches your upper arm and asks to speak to you for a moment-

only if you don't have something to rush to, of course- and your heart leaps into your throat. had you said something wrong or hit a sensitive nerve with one of your questions?

"i want to thank you. not a lot of reporters are able to ask questions beyond the simple 'how do you plan on winning this weekend' and 'what changes are you going to make based on mistakes made at the previous race,' so i applaud you. your questions were really different from what i was expecting, and your interview style is really unique. i enjoyed talking to you." he extends his hand and you shake it firmly, your chest feeling like it might just explode with pride.

"thank you, mr. hamilton. i'm incredibly grateful for the opportunity to speak with you, and i'm looking forward to any i may have in the future." the driver beams, and you can't help but notice the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. it's annoyingly pretty.

"i won't have any of this 'mr. hamilton' nonsense. call me lewis. after talking to you for an hour, i can tell that you're very knowledgeable when it comes to both motor sports and fashion, which is really impressive. and i look forward to speaking with you in the future, too." the two of you chat for a few more minutes before he's summoned once more, and you bid your goodbyes.

a few minutes later, as you're trying to calm down your heart rate so that you can maintain some small semblance of composure before returning to the outside world, one of your long-time friends from college approaches you from behind, and, in her standard fashion, scares the shit out of you.

"boo."

you shriek, your previous efforts to stabilize your heart rate now entirely in vain. "christ, amelia! do you have to sneak up on me everywhere?"

"absolutely. i also have something to tell you something." your eyebrows furrow as she almost instantly moves on from the fact that she nearly scared you half to death mere seconds ago, but you almost fully pass away by choking on your saliva two seconds later. "you've got it really down bad for him, and you're not subtle about it. at all."

after you're done recovering from yet another near-death experience, you punch her left arm. hard. "you are so lucky i don't have a weapon right now." amelia laughs, her head thrown back and her shoulders bouncing with delight.

"awe, come on." she smiles at you, her eyes glittering in their signature way, signaling that she's about to drag you into a potentially messy and new situation. "you know that the rules state very clearly that there's a zero-tolerance policy for physical or verbal harassment."

i got it bad for you, so baby

thursday, 28 november, 2019.

it's your third time interviewing lewis in the 2019 season, and since you first spoke to him at the monaco grand prix, things have changed for both of you. following the success of your interview with him at the monaco grand prix and the article you wrote to go along with it, you'd been promoted from your previous position as fashion field journalist to the lofty title of fashion and sports researcher and journalist. as soon as lewis hears the news, he's sure to congratulate you, this time at one of the biggest spectacles in motorsports: the abu dhabi grand prix. you can't help but beam with pride when he mentions your new title, thanking him again for his time, and remembering to call him by his first name despite how strange it feels.

"i should be congratulating you on something, as well, six-time world champion," you grin, happy as your friendly banter with lewis seems to fall into place. your first time meeting him, you were so terrified of saying something wrong that you didn't let yourself really let go and show your personality. the second time, in mexico, you were able to relax a little bit more and even crack a few jokes. today, you're all smiles and even got breakfast with him before the scheduled meeting time. one anxiety you'd voiced was that the same paparazzi that you've worked with in the past don't take photos of you with the driver and sell them to the media, which would undoubtedly start a pr disaster for both of you.

"if you'd rather have breakfast in the paddock, i can have that set up," he'd offered, and, once again, who would you be to decline such a kind offer?

so here you find yourself, enjoying an expertly brewed italian iced coffee and two perfectly crumbly strawberry scones, sitting across from the reigning world champion of motorsport.

you know, standard thursdays.

"one thing i don't think i've mentioned before," lewis begins, setting down his cup of tea, "is how much i admire that you try to find the human behind the driver."

your eyebrows furrow. "i don't think i follow."

"i now realize my wording is really weird. let me fix that." you laugh, taking another bite of your scone. "you don't exclusively ask questions about driving. you dig into our hobbies and interests outside of the paddock. in my experience, the way you balance questions for both motorsports and fashion is fascinating."

"it's all part of the job. i wouldn't be where i am without interesting questions, would i?" lewis smiles, shaking his head.

"i doubt it, but you are pretty damn smart. i bet you'd find a way to make it here one way or another."

"i'm flattered."

the conversation continues easily as the two of you finish your breakfast, then, as you begin to prepare yourself to stand and leave, he stops you. "actually, there's one last thing i wanted to do before we went on camera."

your head tilts in confusion as you set your signature lipstick back in your bag, a deep red balm that you've used since you started working at vogue. it's become your trademark product, and almost everyone in the office knows exactly which one you use. "do i need to be worried, lewis?"

"no, not at all! it's this," he says, and your eyebrows rise in complete and utter shock when he pulls out a small box wrapped in white paper and a crimson bow wrapped around it all. "i wanted to get you a gift as a way of saying thank you for all the curveball questions you've thrown at me this year." your hands shake as you take the box from him, and you already know exactly which brand it is. cartier. sure, you've written pieces about their timeless looks and elegant aesthetics, and owning a piece of their jewelry has always been a dream of yours, but it's always been just that: a dream.

"lewis, i can't accept this. i- i'm honestly at a loss for words. seriously, no." you can't help but flush at how he's looking at you, those annoyingly beautiful eyes of his and the stupidly perfect crow's feet that only show up when he really smiles- when he smiles the way he is now. gods, amelia was right. you really are down bad for the driver.

"please, just open it up. if you don't like it, i'll take it back and you can choose something you prefer." he nudges the box towards you once more, and the crisp wax seal that sits on top of the paper is incredibly enticing.

"are you serious?" a part of you wants to think that this is some sick joke, that there's cameras on you and it's all going up on one of those prank channels on youtube. a much, much bigger part of you believes lewis, though. that is the part of you that takes the box between your shaking hands, carefully pops open the wax seal, nimbly unties the beautiful ribbon, and gently unfolds the pure white paper. when you finally open the box, you gasp, tears threatening to well in your eyes. "lewis..."

"do you like it?" his voice sounds anxious and hopeful, and you can't help but realize how much thought he'd put into this gift. when you'd invited him into your office to review some photos that were to go into an article in the next vogue issue a few months prior, he'd seen the vision board on your wall and asked about it. bashfully, you had explained to him that it was a silly idea you had when you graduated from uni with your friends- each of you made one, cutting and pasting photos from pinterest, magazines, newspapers, and anything you could find, assembling your dreams in a mishmash of colors and ideas. one of your dreams on the board had been to own this exact necklace- the cartier juste un clou necklace in white gold. the fourteen diamonds set in the precious metal glitter back at you, and you can't help but smile.

"i love it, lewis. thank you so much." he visibly relaxes, his shoulders loosening and the crease between his eyebrows disappearing.

"i'm glad. here, turn around. let me put it on you?" you happily oblige, lifting your hair out of the way after you stand so that he can fasten the delicate clasp over your spine.

it's safe to say that both his and your fans noticed the necklace hanging between your collarbones, sitting just below the star necklace you wear daily on top of your dark grey high-collared shirt. you try your best not to look at the comments on the videos of your interviews, but amelia had shown you one that day after the unedited interview went up online.

"are they dating or something? i can't get over how lewis looks at her."

sunday, 1 december, 2019

after the race, lewis crossing the line not only in p1, more than 16 seconds ahead of the rest of the grid, but with the fastest lap, as well, you're sure to congratulate him on your social media accounts and in person in the pit lane. "lewis!" his head turns at the sound of your voice, and he sees you moving as quickly as you can down the pit lane, neon green paddock pass hanging from your neck alongside the black and purple media pass. your signature converse and light wash jeans complete your outfit, and his heart swells with joy when he sees that you're still wearing the necklace he gave you.

"hey! i'm glad they let you down here after the race. i was a bit worried i'd have to wring a security guard's neck to get you down here."

"aw, you'd do that for little old me?"

"i'd do just about anything for the most interesting reporter in the paddock," he replies, ever so cocky and so annoyingly pretty. seriously, was he a saint or something in his past life? it feels painfully unfair that he was blessed with such perfect looks and charm. it makes your stomach twist with a flirty giddiness you haven't felt since you were a teenager. it's exciting. "are you coming to the after party?"

"i don't know if i'll be able to. i have a lot to do in the next few days and i honestly don't know if i'm going to be able to take a break on the plane back to london. i'll probably be sitting in my seat going over notes and writing up an article or answering an obscene amount of emails."

"please? just one night? i'll buy your drinks." he bats his eyes at you, and it really shouldn't make you fold as easily as it does, but here you are, sitting in his mercedes and driving to a probably very heinously overpriced club.

a girl needs to be a passenger princess every now and then, right?

when you arrive at the club, you have to force your lips to stay closed so that your jaw doesn't drop in shock and awe. paparazzi swarm you as soon as you step out of the car and lewis hands the keys to the valet, and for a moment, you're convinced this is some sort of sick and twisted fever dream as microphones are shoved in your direction and cameras flash quickly enough to make you glad you don't have photosensitive epilepsy. when lewis' hand rests on the small of your back and he smiles brightly at you, though, you're reassured that this is very much real.

"after you." you smile back at him, your own anxiety lessening just a tiny bit now that you know that he's right there by you.

pretty please, come on over and ruin my life

how did you end up here?

you'll blame it on the alcohol.

either way, lewis' lips feel amazing on yours, and you waddle slightly as he backs you up to the bed in his extravagant hotel room. "need this off," he mutters, hands searching under your shirt and gripping at your waist. your brain is a foggy mess of lust, alcohol, and a lot more lust, and as quickly as you can, you pull back from the kiss (much to lewis' dismay,) tug your shirt out of your waistband and yank it over your head, tossing it somewhere to your right. almost immediately, strong arms wrap back around your torso and you're caged in, and every single one of your senses is flooded with lewis, lewis, lewis. his skin is hot underneath where your hands lay, your right on his cheek and your left clutching the side of his neck as if letting go would result in falling off the face of the earth.

his kisses are messy, desperate, and wet. his tongue glides along your own and you moan wantonly, the noise only further spurring on his efforts. as you lay back against the bed, lewis kisses his way down your chest (when did your bra come off?), lavishing each of your breasts with his tongue and hands. one hand works over your flesh, kneading and pinching while his tongue licks over your right nipple, gently biting and sucking and smirking when you moan once again, switching to the other side. "lewis, oh my god-" you interrupt yourself with an embarrassingly loud whine, your back arching as deft fingers pop open the button on your jeans, unzip the fly, and slip into your panties.

"fuck, darling, so wet for me already," lewis groans, his head buried into your neck as he bites gently at the sensitive skin there. "i'm gonna have to get a taste before i fuck you."

"yes, oh my god, please," you whine, the mere thought of the driver between your thighs making another rush of butterflies flood your lower tummy. you almost laugh when you realize that you still have your converse on and he's struggling with the laces, so you lift yourself up off of the bed and shoo his hands away, instead expertly undoing the white laces in less than ten seconds and kicking them off your feet, leaning back onto your elbows as they hit the ground with a muffled thump. "you are way too overdressed."

sure, you've seen photos of lewis shirtless before, but it doesn't compare to seeing it in person and up close, and...

fuck.

he's beautiful.

"that's not fair."

"what?" lewis laughs, crawling back over you after you both pull your pants off and toss them to the side, and your breath briefly catches in your throat as the scent of his cologne overwhelms your senses.

"you aren't allowed to be nice and hot. it doesn't work like that." lewis laughs, leaning down to press another kiss to your lips that intoxicates you more than any of the high proof alcohols you've drank in the past few hours.

"well, i guess i'm a rule breaker, then." he shuffles you up the bed so that your head rests on the plush pillows, sighing in relief when you think he's finally going to fuck you, but you gasp when he slides his way back down to your thighs, pulls them apart with his hands, and settles between them. "fuck."

"lewis, please. need you."

"what do you need, baby?" he teases as his hands begin stroking up and down your thighs. you're about to respond, but you cut yourself off with a cry when his fingers gently stroke up your panty-covered slit, the sensitivity making your back arch and your hands grip the sheets tightly.

"fucking hell, i... i need you to eat me out."

"i thought you'd never ask." his fingers tug at the waistband of your panties and you lift your hips slightly, just enough for him to slide them off of your legs and add them to the growing pile of clothing on the floor. without wasting a second, he dives into your cunt, tongue dragging along your slit from your entrance all the way up to your clit, and you both moan in unison. his hands grab at the meat of your ass, pulling your hips closer to his face, and you yelp, but it's quickly cut off with another moan as lewis' tongue prods at your entrance, hot and insistent.

"mmgh, lewis, fuck, so good." you barely have any control over your own mouth as lewis eats you out, his tongue expertly lapping up every part of your cunt as if it's the best meal he's ever tasted. he quickly figures out what makes you twitch and moan and focuses on that, his nose bumping against your clit as his jaw hinges open and he swallows you whole. his hands tightly grip your ass, the pads of his fingers digging into the skin and definitely leaving some form of marks to appear later in the night, but that's the least of your concerns when you have the world champion of motorsport between your legs. the moans that tumble past your lips echo off of the bare walls of the lavish hotel room, but not a single noise you make is embellished in the slightest- he's just making you feel that good. the coil in your tummy builds and builds, but your brain has been reduced to mush from pleasure, so you have to resort to scrabbling your hands at whatever you can grab, your fingers ultimately tugging at his neat braids. lewis thankfully gets the hint and only increases his efforts, his left hand moving from your ass to gently push two fingers into your entrance, and, when he curls them upwards, perfectly hitting your g-spot, you nearly sob, your orgasm hitting you a lot sooner than you had anticipated. "oh, lewis, don't stop, please. feels so good, baby, fuck."

lewis helps you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm, pulling his fingers out of you and pressing a tender kiss to your hipbone before climbing back up to you and connecting your lips in yet another messy kiss, and you groan when you can taste your cum on his tongue. when lewis' boxer-covered erection grinds against your sensitive clit, your mouth falls open in a gasp, letting him take the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth and run against yours. when you kiss him, it feels like you've stepped through the gates of heaven and you're kissing an angel. you suck greedily on lewis' tongue and he moans in response, making you smile into the kiss.

lewis pulls back momentarily and you pout, but the sight before you is absolutely beautiful. his skin glows with a thin sheen of sweat and his lips and chin are covered in a mix of your cum and spit. it's gorgeous. "are you okay with this?"

"more than okay," you grin, leaning up to peck his lips quickly. "it's fantastic."

"in that case, i'd love to fuck you properly..." at his words and the feeling of his lips ghosting down the side of your neck, pressing feather-light kisses along the sensitive skin, you shiver, your hands coming to rest on the sides of his torso. "if you'll have me, of course."

"please do." with another smile, lewis pushes himself up and off the bed, returning promptly with a condom in his hand. you bite your lip and watch eagerly as he pulls down his boxers, and...

fuck.

you're fucked.

"seriously, lewis? are you kidding?" your head falls back with an exasperated laugh, your shoulders shaking as you realize: of course he's big. if he's nice and attractive, then it's almost a guarantee that he's going to have a big dick. "you really just have it all, don't you?" the mattress dips, and you raise your head again, looking back at him as he crawls towards you, almost catlike in his motions.

"i could say the same for you. beautiful, kind, intelligent, an absolutely killer ass..." you scoff and roll your eyes, trying to come up with a cocky response, but your brain short circuits when you feel lewis begin to push the head of his cock into you. "oh, fuck."

"lewis, oh my god," you keen, your hands reaching up and finding purchase on his broad shoulders for stability. his left hand holds your waist while his right grips at your hip, the tightness of his hold almost painful... almost.

"baby, you're so tight. taking me so well. 's like you were made for me." you're pretty sure the words spilling from lewis' mouth are just mindless, sex-brain-induced babbles, but either way, it makes your pussy throb around him, and you both groan in pleasure when his hips finally meet yours. he looks down at you and almost chokes- you look absolutely stunning. your eyes are screwed shut, your lips parted as breathy moans sneak their way past them, and your hair is splayed around your head like a halo.

when you finally manage to pry your eyes open and steady your breathing, lewis is gazing down at you, and you can't help but pull him down for yet another kiss. how many times have you kissed him tonight?

not enough, you decide.

between soft and slow kisses, you breathe out the words that lewis has been praying you'll say: "you can move, lew." when he does, slowly pulling out most of the way before pushing back in, the drag of his cock against your walls makes you shudder, your nails digging into his shoulders and undoubtedly leaving crescent-moon shaped divots in the skin. "oh... oh, fuck, baby."

"you like that, baby? you like having my cock inside of you?"

all you can muster in response is a meek "mhmm," but that isn't enough for him. he grabs your face, forcing you to look at him, and halts his steady thrusts, making you whine.

"use your words. i know you can- you showed me this morning."

"yes!" you sob. "yes, i love feeling you fill me up. i love it, lewis. it feels so good. feels perfect."

"there you go. i knew you could do it." his words make you moan even louder as he resumes his thrusts, this time at a much faster pace. "fuck, look at that. taking me so well... i can even see it. gimme your hand, baby. feel it yourself." he places your left hand low on your stomach, just between your hipbones, and... oh.

oh.

you can feel his dick filling you up under your hand.

"lewis, oh my god!" your moans only increase in volume with his own when he presses down onto the bulge in your tummy with his hand, changing how deeply you feel him, and it sends you hurtling towards your second orgasm of the night embarrassingly fast. "fuck, fuck, lewis, don't stop. feels so good, baby, just like that, yes!" your own hand sneaks around his wrist and rubs circles around your clit, which makes you clench around him, which in turn throws you into your orgasm. "lewis, 'm cumming, 'm cumming, ah!"

"just like that, baby, cum for me. so perfect. so, so perfect." lewis talks and fucks you through your orgasm, his own fingers taking over when yours falter on your clit. when the end of your orgasm trails off, you try to catch your breath, but when your post-orgasmic clarity dawns on you, you realize that lewis didn't cum.

"oh, fuck, lewis... let me suck you off. you didn't cum."

"are you sure? i'm-" he cuts himself off with a grunt, his hips stuttering as he slows his thrusts so as to not hurt you in your oversensitive state, but when you nod, your bottom lip pinched seductively between your teeth, he gives in. "alright, yeah. yeah." he pulls out of you and you roll over, shuffling your way down the bed until you're settled between his legs, your arms resting on his upper thighs.

"you're so pretty, lewis. so, so pretty." if it was a bit brighter in the room, you would've seen the way lewis' mouth ticks open and his dick twitches at your praise, but the singular bedside lamp is barely enough to light the room. instead of noticing, you gently peel the condom off of his cock and toss it in the trash can underneath the bedside table, then settle back between lewis' legs and let a fat drop of saliva leak onto his cock.

"fuck, if you keep saying things like that i'm not gonna last long," lewis groans, his head thrown back into the pillows.

"oh, you don't want to hear me call you pretty? you don't want me to say that you're one of the most beautiful people i've ever laid eyes on, and that i've waited months to be here just to tell you that?" your hand begins lazily stroking his hard cock as you continue rambling shamelessly, your mind a sex-addled haze that you have nearly no control over. after watching in awe as a pearly bead of precum swells at the head of lewis' cock, you decide that enough is enough and that you have to taste him. your tongue falls out of your mouth, the flat of it brushing up the bottom of his dick until you reach the tip, and then you secure your lips around it, and fuck, if having the taste of lewis' cum on your tongue isn't enough to make your eyes flutter shut for a moment, you don't know what is.

lewis' hand finds itself in your hair, pulling gently as you begin to bob your head along the length of his dick, and you can't help but feel pride bloom in your chest when his hips begin bucking up to meet your mouth and hand, shoving the tip so far back you swear the back of your throat might be slightly bruised in the morning. you moan shamelessly as he does so, letting him fuck your mouth as he pleases until he cums, warm ropes of sticky fluid filling your mouth as he spills into you. pulling off, you swallow part of his load and clean what little remains off of his softening cock with gentle kitten licks, smiling faintly as he whimpers quietly at the oversensitivity. after crawling up to the head of the bed and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, lewis' eyes search yours before dipping down to your mouth. you're a bit confused as his left hand comes up to your face, thinking he's going to kiss you again, but instead, his thumb swipes against the corner of your mouth and pries past your lips, a silent order that you obey willingly. you'd missed one tiny drop of his cum on your cheek. his thumb pops out of your mouth momentarily and you collapse down next to him, the exhaustion of the jam-packed day finally catching up to you.

"i'm gonna go grab a towel to clean you up, yeah?" you nod sleepily, a quiet hum escaping your body. "you're staying here tonight. i won't stand for letting you out of my bed for the next twelve hours." this time, if a question mark could be a sound, that's the noise you make. lewis understands you, though. "we'll take my jet. don't worry about your fight." another content sound from you.

by the time lewis returns to the bed, warm damp washcloth in hand, you're asleep, and he can't help but tuck the strands of hair out of your face after he cleans up your swollen cunt and tucks you into the soft bedding, joining you shortly thereafter.

yeah.

he's fucked.