#it's exaggerated but it gets the point across

[wrotebymii]

MAYBE ITS ME? … | Date Everything x gn!reader

Summary: After leaving your house because you can’t handle being hated in your very own home, Sam talks with you while your house becomes quiet…

Warning: minimal angst, honestly it’s a little fluffy with you and Sam. The objects are miserable now. There will be a part three and four!!

PART ONE | MASTERLIST | READ ME

Sam has been the most understanding friend what felt like your only friend she tries her hardest to bring you out of your slump and rationalize while simultaneously making fun of you as to why your relationships within your home have a burning hate for you.

She’s pointing fun yet logical, allowing you to rant about what you did and where you possibly went wrong with each. She sat across from you, leaned forward with her elbows on her knees in full concentration. You were sat back practically melting into the furniture that didn’t despise you, moving a hand around to exaggerate your speech with the other stuffing your face with food like you haven’t eaten in weeks. Lowkey, you haven’t.

“When I talked to Hoove, being nice and supportive while telling him not to work too hard—I thought I was being sweet ya’know—“ You stuff your face and swallow.

“—but apparently NOT?? He got angry with me, when I tried backtracking and apologize which crazy by the way he said he HATED ME?!” You shout, you can feel your face heat in anger at the thought before tears well up.

“Or how I tried to speak with Daisuke—“

“Who’s that one?”

“Oh my tableware, he’s like tall about yay-high with black hair a portion of it in a bun with like dishware themed robes…I heard from others in rhe kitchen that he’s into taking things seriously” You explain with a wave of the hand.

“I actually…heh I thought that we’d get along, he likes taking care of the dishes and even tries to fix them if they crack due to me but that’s not the point I too like fixing things, I want to fix things…but I guess unlike him or fake it till you make it like Tony…I just make it worse…”

“I…I just wanted to be friends or the I don’t know? Date? The whole reason of the damn glasses.” You mutter, you push the snacks away and use a napkin to clean yourself.

Dating them, any of them wasn’t the main goal. Sure it’s interesting but realizing the things around your home have their own lives in the house was so cool!

Being a hermit, a homebody it felt like a this was a way to help you as well, to get better with being social and maybe let you learn that the outside wasn’t so scary and not everything was out to get you.

But, you messed it up—perhaps you tried too hard, pushed too much, didn’t push enough, didn’t flirt when needed to, too flirty for some, or didn’t have enough specs for the correct dialogue and it came out lame. Now, you’re both miserable in the house and out of it.

Sam was trying, really was. As you spoke she’d occasionally glance around her apartment as if the ranting was making her paranoid about her house. Sighing she runs her hand down her face. She should’ve said something about the weird black stuff in that bathroom, maybe it was the fumes getting to you, but she shook her head.

“What else happened?…”

“The breaking point?”

“Yeah, what made you take off the glasses?”She asks, you groan, slumping back and wiping away a few stray tears as you remembered.

“I was going to the Breaker Box Club, ‘cause Eddie and Volt were still nice-ish from our previous conversations—I hadn’t talked to them in a bit by then cause I was trying to salvage whatever was going on between Harper the hamper and Dirk dirty clothes. I wanted to catch up and help Eddie with some of his work like last time.” You shift in your seat uncomfortably.

“When I entered it was packed, I was happy for them that their business was getting bigger but I knew it was gonna be a lot to take on so I went to find one of them to offer help…”

“…you try and help a lot…”

“I do, it’s…the only thing I can give to them—“ you stop yourself, continuing the story of the night prior.

“But, I knew I wasn’t welcomed. Everyone avoided me, whispering around like I was back in school. Again, Volt saw me. I remember waving at him as he walked over way too quickly. We talked as he pushed me along the way I came from, when I noticed I was confused and…worried I lost another person again…” You take in a deep breath.

“I did…the gossip around the club didn’t go unnoticed by the owners he wanted to get rid of me so it didn’t disturb the customers. I tried talking to him saying that I wasn’t a bad…person…” You don’t sound convinced yourself by that statement.

“He wasn’t having it, his…skin almost turned this light blue? His hand gripped my arm to drag my away from the prying eyes, it hurt…not to make him anymore mad I let him, throw me out…” Voice trailing off, Sam looks stunned, like this was the most juiciest soap opera ever.

“You got kicked out of your own break box—“

“YES, I GOT KICK OUT” you yelled but not at Sam, yelling at the absurd thought of being thrown out of your own break box.

“Crazy…” She elongates the ‘zy’ in the word, unsure how to handle the rest of this.

“Do you think there’s a way to start over with them? All of them I mean?”

The sun was setting, making the silence seem light and comforting. You’re tired, and don’t know where to tread next, so many ideas run in your mind that you—wait…

There might be a very dubious way to get your life back to normal. The thought felt terrible, too personal and guilty, but you don’t seem to have any other option. At least not right now. So, you’ll pin the idea with Keith in the back of your mind. And let it fester or wilt as you and Sam brainstorm together.

Back at the house.

The ones that cheered for your leave are quiet, basking in the dullness of the house. Sure they can talk to one another but…that’s uneventful. The house is missing apart of itself the part of you. The human part. The fragile, unpredictable, unproductive, and lonely ways of you has gone missed.

But everyone refuses to say it out loud. They’re all still bitter and angry with how you treated them—wait…why exactly are they all mad? Some can’t remember but feel justified, although, looking back they just remember you trying. No.

No. You hurt them. They think…

…

…

Okay—well they aren’t sure…not anymore.

The lights are off because there’s no need to see, the sinks and baths don’t run because there’s no one to draw it for, the wall creaks and settles sadly, coffee pot remains unused along with the beauty products, television, books, sofa, stove—all of it. All of them are…completely bored?

Maybe, making your life inconvenienced and almost down right harassed in your day to day life after you stopped interacting with them wasn’t the right way to express their anger. A day turned to four then a week then two weeks.

Dorian can feel the worry in every room about when you’ll return, he huffs. Bedroom Dorian stands still, looking up at the ceiling then down to the floor, watching Florence quickly scramble around her time book with all the new complaints and meetings for Celia.

He reluctantly…steps forward. Away from his position to stand right in front of the poor woman. He rather be doing his job, the thing he thinks so highly of. However, he too is miserable more miserable than laundry room closet Dorian because what is his purpose now that the one who he open and closes for…is gone?

But he’s convinced himself that speaking with Celia will help.

Or so he hopes.

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[loafysainz]

KICKING MY MAN OUT WHILE IM CHANGING | F1 DRIVER EDITION

F1 Driver x Fem!reader

lil bit 18+

insp by tiktok video (I forgot to save the vid 😭)

● Carlos Sainz

It was a slow Sunday morning in Madrid, the kind where the sunlight spilled gently through the curtains and the scent of coffee drifted through the apartment like a warm hug. You had a lunch reservation in just under an hour with both your families, his parents, your parents, a table too long for a normal day, but just right for a semi-formal “yes we’re married and still very much in love” celebration.

You were in the bedroom, standing in front of the wardrobe in a robe, biting your lip as you tried to choose between the two dresses laid out on the bed. Carlos was sitting behind you on the edge of the mattress, shirtless, hair still damp from his shower, scrolling on his phone, occasionally glancing up to shamelessly ogle you.

He wasn't even pretending to be subtle about it.

“You’ve been staring at me for five minutes, you creep,” you teased, looking at him through the mirror.

He didn’t even deny it. “I’m admiring my wife,” he said nonchalantly, eyes locked on yours, smirk tugging at his lips.

You turned with a half-playful glare, pointing a manicured finger at the door. “Out. I need to change.”

Carlos blinked. “Why?”

“Because I’m changing. Go.”

“But I’ve seen you naked like... a million times,” he said, setting his phone down and raising an eyebrow. “You literally sat on my lap naked this morning...”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand. “Different energy. This is the ‘trying to look hot in front of your mother’ kind of change. I need silence. Focus.”

Carlos groaned dramatically and fell back on the bed like you’d just broken his heart. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Carlos,” you warned, trying not to laugh. “Go.”

“I just want to sit here and support you emotionally while you change clothes.”

“You want to see my butt.”

“…Can’t it be both?”

You rolled your eyes, walking over and tugging his arm to get him up. He made himself extra heavy on purpose, flopping like a child resisting bedtime.

“Don’t make me call your mom and tell her you’re being a menace.”

He sat up with a gasp, clutching his chest. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“You’re evil,” he said with a grin. “Sexy and evil.”

“Out,” you said again, opening the door for him.

Carlos stood, towering over you just a little, and leaned in close like he was going to kiss you—but instead, he kissed the tip of your nose. “You’re really kicking me out?” he asked, lower lip slightly out in an exaggerated pout.

“I’ll call you back in when I’m done.”

“Can I peek?”

“No.”

He walked toward the hallway, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. “I’m just saying... if I hear a thump, I will come running in. What if you trip and fall? Or your zipper gets stuck and you need my strong husband arms?”

You laughed. “You’re unbelievable.”

Carlos paused in the doorway, smirking as he said, “You love me.”

You closed the door with a click. “Too much.”

He shouted through the door seconds later, “You know I’m standing here until you call me back, right?! I’m not going far. I’m gonna lean on this wall dramatically like I’m in a telenovela!”

You could hear him slide down the wall and sit outside the door with a little groan. “Mi amor... estoy perdido sin ti...” (My love....I am lost without you)

“Carlos, shut up!”

“I’ll shut up when you let me back in!”

___

● Lewis Hamilton

You stood by the closet in your robe, eyes darting between two dresses as you weighed the pros and cons in your head. Meanwhile, Lewis was comfortably sprawled across the bed, shirt half-buttoned, barefoot, casually scrolling on his phone and humming under his breath.

You glanced at him. “Baby… can you step out for a minute?”

Lewis blinked, then looked up from his phone slowly, lips parting. “Huh?”

“I need to change.”

He blinked again. “Change like… outfit change? In front of me? Your husband?”

You gave him a pointed look. “Yes. So... out.”

Lewis sat up, absolutely scandalized. “You’re kicking me out of our own bedroom? This is betrayal in its purest form.”

You laughed. “I just need like… five minutes to get dressed in peace.”

He placed a hand on his chest like you’d stabbed him. “You don’t want an audience? A little hype squad energy?”

“Absolutely not. You make it worse. You do that thing where you just stare and smirk.”

Lewis looked offended. “I do not smirk. I admire. That’s called love, darling.”

You walked over and tugged at his hand. “Come on, Sir Seven-Time World Champion, off you go.”

He got up dramatically, sighing the whole way like a Shakespearean prince banished from his kingdom. “This is so sad. I used to be allowed to see things.”

You laughed, pushing him gently toward the door. “Go sit on the couch. I’ll call you when I’m decent.”

At the threshold, he paused, turning back to flash you that signature Lewis grin. “Just so you know… I’ll be out here sulking. Alone. Cold. Emotionally bruised.

You raised an eyebrow.

He added in a mock-whimper, “...probably in need of cuddles later to recover.”

You rolled your eyes, closing the door in his face. Through it, you heard:

“You’re lucky I love you, woman!”

And then, quieter.

“Five minutes. Tops. Or I’m sneaking back in.”

___

● Lando Norris

Lando was sprawled on your shared bed like a starfish, head dangling upside down off the side, phone held above his face. He was wearing your pink silk robe because he said it was "comfy" and refused to give it back. The sleeves were way too short for him, and one side kept slipping off his shoulder, but he proudly claimed it was “his now” and walked around the house like he was in a fashion ad.

You held up your dress and glanced at him. “Lando, can you get out for a sec? I need to change.”

He didn’t even move. Not a twitch. “Why? I’ve literally seen every part of you. Including that one time you fell getting out of the shower and cried over a stubbed toe.”

You narrowed your eyes, but he continued like he was on stage. “I was traumatized, you know. You wailed like it was the end of the world. I still hear that scream in my dreams.”

“Lando.”

“But whyyy?” he whined like a sulky kid, flipping onto his stomach and hugging your pillow like it held the answers to the universe. “You’re my wife. Your boobs are basically my emotional support system. They calm me.”

You raised your voice a little. “Lando!”

He let out a guttural groan as if you’d just told him he was banned from racing forever. With the world’s most exaggerated sigh, he rolled onto the floor and lay flat on the carpet, dramatically clutching his heart like you’d just ripped it out.

“Wow,” he gasped. “First you steal my robe, now you steal my right to exist in my own bedroom. Is this what marriage is? Is this what I signed up for? Lies? Betrayal? Nudity I’m not allowed to witness?”

You were trying so hard not to laugh as he rolled over and stared at the ceiling like a broken man.

Then he started crawling toward the door like he was dying in a war movie, dragging himself an inch at a time. “Fine,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded. “I’ll just go suffer. Alone. Unloved. Cast aside like yesterday’s socks.”

He reached the doorframe and leaned his head against it as if it pained him to leave you behind.

“And cold,” he added, sniffling. “Because someone stole my silky warm robe.”

At the door, he peeked back over his shoulder with the saddest puppy eyes imaginable. “But if your dress has one of those slits, just know I’ll be trying to unzip it with my eyes all night.”

You tossed a scrunchie at him, which he caught with a smug little grin, clearly proud of himself.

And then he closed the door slowly, still clinging to the drama of the moment like an Oscar-worthy actor. As he disappeared into the hallway, his voice echoed theatrically:

“This is marriage abuse!”

Then after the pause:

“I hope you trip over your shoe. Just a little. Not like... hospital trip. Just... mild embarrassment.”

You laughed so hard, you had to sit down, still holding the dress, as Lando’s muffled voice kept drifting through the hallway walls like a very sassy ghost.

___

● Charles Leclerc

Charles was buttoning his crisp white shirt, humming something in French under his breath, when you stood with your gown in hand.

“Can you leave for a sec, love? I want to change.”

He paused mid-button. “Wait… leave? Why?”

“I just wanna change in peace.”

He tilted his head, confused. “But I always help you with your zipper. Or your heels. Or picking your earrings.”

You smiled. “I know. I just want to try the full reveal this time.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then slowly lowered his hands from his buttons like you’d just told him you were moving to another continent.

“But…” he said, stepping closer, already forming a dramatic argument in his head, “what if you trip on the fabric and fall? What if the zipper gets stuck? What if you choose those earrings I don’t like—”

You raised an eyebrow, and he stopped, giving you a helpless little shrug like a boy being told to leave his favorite toy behind. “I’m just saying,” he mumbled, “it feels illegal to kick your fiancé out of the room. I am the fiancé. I come with backstage privileges.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, but his pout only deepened.

He tried again. “But I always see you first. I love seeing you first. I—I live for that moment when you do the twirl and say, ‘What do you think?’ and I stand there like an idiot with my jaw on the floor.”

“Exactly,” you teased. “Let’s give your jaw a reason to actually drop.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then sighed dramatically, flopping back a little like his soul had just left his body. “Okay… but I don’t like the idea of someone else helping you. Is your sister here? Or is it that makeup artist who flirts too much?”

“Charles.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll wait outside. But just know… if the dress is too pretty, I might not let you leave the house.”

As he walked out, he lingered in the doorway like a sad little ghost, still watching you with narrowed eyes.

“You sure you don’t need me to zip it? Or buckle your shoes? Or emotionally support you through a wardrobe crisis?”

You giggled, shaking your head, and he finally exhaled in surrender.

Then, just as he stepped into the hallway, he glanced back over his shoulder, voice quieter, more serious this time. “Tu es à moi, d’accord? ”(You’re mine, okay?)

You laughed. “Always.”

He grinned softly, but before the door clicked shut, he peeked one last time and added, “Even if the dress makes you look like a goddess, you still belong to me. Surtout si tu ressembles à une déesse.” (Especially if you look like a goddess.)

And then came his final mutter from behind the door:

“Unfair. So unfair. My fiancée is too beautiful and now I’m banished like a criminal.”

___

● Max Verstappen

Max was fixing his watch by the window when you spoke.

“Max, can you go outside for a bit? I need to change.”

He turned slowly, staring at you like you’d just asked him to retire mid-season. Brows slightly furrowed, jaw tensing like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“What for?”

“I want to change privately.”

He blinked, stunned. “We share a bed every night. I’ve literally helped you wax your legs.”

You shot him a look. “That was one time and you screamed more than I did.”

He narrowed his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to grin. “Yeah, well, that was trauma. I wasn’t mentally prepared.”

You pointed toward the door. “Out, Max.”

He sighed, muttering in Dutch as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Fine. Whatever. But you’re being weird.”

As he dragged his feet toward the door, he paused dramatically in the doorway. “Don’t wear anything uncomfortable. I’m not carrying you when your heels start hurting.”

He stood there a second longer, glancing over his shoulder, voice dropping with that familiar edge he used when he was both annoyed and extremely curious. “You always kick me out when it’s the sexy dress. Unbelievable.”

And then quieter, under his breath, as if you couldn’t hear, but you definitely did: “Like I haven’t seen it all. I live for the sexy dress.”

You rolled your eyes.

But Max wasn't done. He leaned back into the room, gripping the doorframe with one hand, tilting his head with that cocky little smirk. “You know, I could close my eyes. Be a gentleman. Just sit quietly on the bed while you change. I won’t even peek. Promise.”

He was definitely going to peek.

“Max.”

“What? I’m offering compromise!”

You crossed your arms, unmoved.

He groaned. “You are so mean to me.”

Another dramatic step backward. “Imagine kicking out your own boyfriend, your big strong boyfriend, who just wants to help you zip up your dress and maybe kiss your shoulder once or twice—"

“Out, Max!”

He held his hands up in surrender but grinned like a devil. “Fine. But just know—if I hear even one click from a high heel, I’m kicking the door down.”

He opened the door halfway, then peeked back again, lower voice now rougher, playful. “Actually... if it is the sexy dress, I’m canceling our reservation. We’re staying in.”

“MAX.”

He finally stepped out, but not before adding, “This is emotional damage, by the way. Deep wounds. I hope you feel guilty.”

The door closed with a thud. But you could still hear him outside, loudly muttering in Dutch, followed by a sigh that sounded way too dramatic to be real.

___

● George Russell

George was standing by the mirror, sleeves rolled just past his forearms, tie undone, shirt still open at the collar. The kind of man who looked like a daydream without even trying. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at his reflection as you stepped in with your dress folded over your arm.

He turned instantly when he heard the soft rustle of fabric. Eyes dragging down, then back up to your face.

“What’s that?” he asked, already suspicious.

You smirked. “My dress. I’m changing.”

George tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable, voice velvet-smooth. “In here?”

“In our room?” you teased. “Yes. But… can you step out for a second?”

He blinked. Once. Slowly.

Then,

“I’m sorry,” he said flatly. “Did you just ask me to leave our bedroom so you can undress in peace?”

You nodded innocently.

George looked absolutely offended.

“Have you lost your mind?” he whispered dramatically, stepping forward like he was about to deliver a dramatic monologue. “I have personally unzipped every dress you’ve worn in the last twelve months. I’ve seen you wrapped in towels, tangled in sheets, standing half-naked demanding to know where your lip liner went.”

You shrugged, amused. “Yeah, well… I want to do a surprise reveal.”

“A surprise reveal,” he repeated like you’d just told him you were joining RedBull. “I live in a constant state of being emotionally unprepared for your beauty. There is no surprise. Every day is a bloody reveal.”

He stared at you a moment longer, jaw clenched, eyes dark. Then he let out a long, suffering sigh, tossing his phone on the bed like he was being banished from the palace.

“Fine,” he muttered, walking slowly toward the door. “I’ll just... go. Into exile. Like some forgotten prince. I hope your dress is worth the heartbreak.”

You rolled your eyes. “George.”

He turned around just before stepping out, his voice low and dangerous. “Just so you know,” he said, eyes locked on you, “if I’m not the one helping you zip it up… I will be the one unzipping it later. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”

Your breath hitched, but you held your ground.

He lingered one more beat, then groaned under his breath like he physically couldn’t believe you were doing this to him.

As he opened the door, he tossed one last look over his shoulder. “You’ve seen me cry watching a dog food commercial, and you’re telling me I can’t watch you put on a dress?”

Then, more petulantly:

“I kissed you while you were wearing a face mask that smelled like seaweed, and you want privacy now?”

“Out,” you laughed.

He stepped into the hall, but not without drama. You heard his voice from the other side, full of dramatic agony:

“Your makeup brushes are judging me. Your Dyson airwrap just called me pathetic.”

Then, quieter.

“God help me if this dress has a slit.”

___

● Oscar Piastri

You held the hanger in one hand, your gown draped over your arm, and stared at your husband, who was currently lounging across the edge of your shared bed in nothing but sweatpants, scrolling his phone like he wasn’t the single most dangerous man in the room.

“Oscar,” you said slowly, cautiously. “Can you step out for a second?”

He didn’t even glance up. “Why?”

“I need to change.”

Now he looked up.

Deadpan. Sharp. Amused.

“We’re married,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow, his tone far too casual. “I’ve seen you change. You’ve changed in front of me a hundred times. Hell, I’ve *undressed* you more times than I can count.”

“Yes. And every time, you turn into a menace.” You narrowed your eyes, gesturing toward the door. “So out.”

Oscar’s lips curled, like he knew exactly where this was going. He set his phone down on the nightstand and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze lazily trailing down your body, even though you were still in your robe.

“You mean to tell me…” he started, that teasing lilt in his voice, “…that if I sit right here, quietly, not even moving a muscle, you still want me to leave?”

You folded your arms. “Yes.”

He tilted his head. “What if I turn around and cover my eyes?”

“You’ll peek.”

“Will not.”

“You always do.”

Oscar smiled slowly, like you’d just proved his point. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so hot, then.”

You threw a pillow at him. “Oscar.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughed, catching it easily, standing with a stretch that very unfairly showed off his toned torso. “But for the record, I’m protesting this. Morally. Emotionally. Physically.”

“I’m giving you thirty seconds.”

He walked toward you, stopping just inches from where you stood, gown still clutched in your hands. You could feel the heat from his skin, the way his eyes dropped for a millisecond to the hint of bare collarbone visible beneath your robe.

“And what if I decide not to leave?” he murmured, voice lower now, eyes darkening the way they always did when he was two seconds from chaos. “What if I sit back down and wait until that dress comes off instead?”

You stared at him, heat crawling up your neck. “Then you won’t see the dress at all. I’ll change in the bathroom and lock you out.”

He groaned dramatically, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Cruel woman.”

You laughed, trying to push him away gently. “Out, Piastri.”

But he didn’t budge, instead, he dropped a kiss just under your ear, warm and slow, like he knew exactly how weak that spot was.

“You know I’m not just being wild for fun,” he murmured. “It’s this robe. It’s illegal. You in it? Criminal. You expecting me to be sane? Impossible.”

“I need to change, Osc.”

“Five more minutes,” he pleaded, lips brushing your jaw now. “Just five.”

You shoved him lightly. “You’ll turn five into twenty-five and we’ll be late.”

He sighed, dramatically again, pulling back with a cheeky grin. “Fine. But just know, the second that dress is on, I’m coming back in and you’re doing a full spin. Slowly. With commentary.”

You gave him a look. “Out.”

Oscar kissed your cheek, your nose, your forehead, and finally, with a groan of defeat, dragged himself toward the door like it physically pained him to leave.

As he stepped out, he turned, walking backward, grinning. “Just yell when you're ready. Or don’t. I’ll sense it. Instinct.”

You slammed the door in his face.

From outside, his muffled voice called, “Still hot, by the way!”

You smiled to yourself, heart full, face flushed, gown pressed to your chest like it might burn from the heat in your body. Married to Oscar Piastri, and he still looked at you like he’d never get enough.

And yeah, you’d need a full five minutes of peace.

Because when that door opened again… chaos was coming.

END

HELLOOOOOOOO I AM BACK YALLL. HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT. 🩷

[milla-frenchy]

The ambassador can wait

477 words | Javier Peña x Steve Murphy | ao3 | masterlist Summary: the tension between the two DEA agents reaches its peak Warnings: 18+ mdni. oral, cum eating, allusion to anal

a/n: thank you for the inspo fic, @sp00kymulderr , smooches to my baby @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing me 😘💕 dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏 Happy pride 🌈

All the tension between them, which had been already simmering for weeks, exploded when Steve slammed Javi against the embassy hallway wall, his fists clenching on the other man's suit jacket. Peña’s fiery gaze slid to Steve's lips, his usually brown eyes turning dark. The mutual aggression morphed into something else, carnal and urgent, and Javi ran his tongue over his lower lip before pointing at the men's restrooms. 

“Didn’t know you were into men, Murphy.” Javi’s tone was playful and full of confidence, as he pushed Steve against the wall after locking the door behind them.

“I’m not,” he growled. Peña unzipped Murphy’s pants and freed his cock, his stiffness contradicting his words.

“You’re not? Guess you’re just into me, then,” Javi smirked, and it could have pissed Steve off, on another day, in another place, but not here, not  now, when Javi was already stroking his shaft, his cocky face inches from his.

“Thought so.” The dark-haired agent got down on his knees, his stare as smug as usual, pulled down the other man’s pants lower to free a pair of balls that hung heavy against Steve’s thighs. “Fuck me,” Javi breathed, for once at a loss for words.

“Think you can take it?” Murphy asked, making Javi roll his eyes with an exaggerated sigh.

Steve's hand tightened on the back of Javi's neck as he spat on his reddened, dripping tip before taking it into his mouth, sucking on it. He rounded his lips to welcome the thick cock, let his throat get used to it inch by inch, until he was able to take it fully into his mouth.

“Shit, Javi, wait… oh fuck, easy, man…”

Javi's muffled chuckle vibrated around Steve's cock, buried deep in his throat.

“Damn, you're such an asshole.”

Javi pulled away and licked his length, teasing the blond man, their eyes locked.

“We don't have much time anyway, stop whining,” Javi smirked, a strand of his hair falling across his forehead, just above his cheeky stare. He stroked Steve’s length twice before taking it back into his mouth. His head was bobbing up and down and Steve felt his balls tighten.

“Shit,” he murmured, holding Javi tighter and pushing his hips forward, now fucking Javi’s throat, leading the pace. His orgasm was building fast, and he spat “finally shutting you up,” before shooting his cum into Javi’s mouth. He held him in place, his pubic hair tangling with his partner’s mustache, draining his balls in long spurts of cum.

After Steve released him, Javi stood up and palmed his cock over the pants. He unzipped them and spat into his hand, the sparkle in his eyes shining brighter when Steve's gaze fell on his thickness.

“Fuck it, the Ambassador can wait. Hold on to the sink, eyes in the mirror. Wanna see your face while I’m fucking you.”

Javi P masterlist

Thank you for reading 🙏 Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️ Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates

more Stavier: some Javi x Steve action - The hounds of hell series, written with @aurorawritestoescape The interruption (Javi x Steve x you) and Conversation pit (Connie x f!reader facing Steve x Javi) @toxicanonymity

mmf threesome: Taste in men (Javi and Joel are bi)

@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary

npt (some moots who might like it ❤️)  @sawymredfox @baronessvonglitter @604to647 @tateypots @schnarfer @bergamote-catsandbooks @magpiepills @for-a-longlongtime @gutter-noise @perotovar

[lucysarah1875]

Mounting Spring Ch.13 Spoilers!

The early morning grass shimmered like silver under the pale rays of sunrise. Dew clung to the long green blades, slipping down as each step pressed them to the ground. The steady march of boots moved across the open field with unwavering purpose — yet they didn’t belong to the peaceful scene. The heavy combat soles crushed the tender spring grass without hesitation. In contrast, the little red Mary Janes beside them felt almost like an apology. Like a kiss.

Despite the early hour, the formation was already moving. Whatever sweet, quiet moments they had shared before were long gone — replaced by the steady rhythm of preparation, orders, and the low rumble of horses.

Two playful taps landed on Levi's shoulder from behind, interrupting him as he sorted folded maps and supply lists, ensuring nothing was left behind.

“What?” Levi asked, only half-turning, his eyes still scanning the papers in his hands.

Her entire demeanor had shifted since earlier. Now her cheeks were pink, her eyes wide and uncertain. Lips pressed together, swaying ever so slightly on her heels, she asked with exaggerated politeness, “I was wondering…” She hesitated, glancing around at the sea of soldiers and horses, her voice dropping with the weight of propriety. “When… do we stop for… you know… ladies' rooms?”

It took him a second to process the request. Levi's expression barely shifted, but his eyes narrowed with mild disbelief. His hand lifted, the papers pointing vaguely toward the endless stretch of forest and fields that surrounded them. “The world’s yours,” he said flatly. “Literally.”

Her expression soured instantly. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke,” Levi deadpanned.

Her shoulders stiffened. “You want me to… go in there?” she gestured vaguely toward the woods like they might swallow her whole.

“But— I can’t— that's…” She looked around as if a hidden outhouse might materialize behind a tree. “I thought… surely… we’re stopping at some— civilized place.”

“Do you realise that a few years ago the expeditions outside the walls were to re-take land? There's no civilised place” Levi cut in, his voice as flat as the plains. “We’ll be outside the Walls for three weeks.”

Her face twisted in quiet horror. “That’s… unsanitary. There’s bugs. And animals. And…” she hesitated, lowering her voice with all the dramatics of a noble-born omega, “What if someone sees?”

Levi exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “We’re ten hours outside the Walls. Trust me, sweetheart, nobody’s hiding behind those trees with a pair of binoculars waiting for a show.”

She pouted. “I’ll wait.”

“You won’t.”

“I can.”

Levi tucked the papers into his saddlebag and turned to her fully now, arms crossing, the usual blunt edge to his tone sharpening. “I give you a day, and I am being generous.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He let the silence linger, his eyes trailing over her defiant little stance — the pristine shoes, the dress, the delicate scowl that didn't quite belong out here. Finally, he clicked his tongue. With some resignation mixed with caring, he said softly . “Want me to send another girl with you? If you’re so scared of being seen.”

Her eyes widened in mortification. “Absolutely not!”

"Want me to go with you?"

The sheer scandalized gasp that left her mouth made a few nearby soldiers glance their way. “Levi!” she hissed, cheeks burning red now. “I am not— that’s—! That’s inappropriate!”

“Then I don't know what you want from me,” Levi replied simply, turning back.

She huffed, arms crossing stubbornly again.

“You should go.” It was more than just a suggestion, “Last thing I need is you getting an infection out here. You end up needing antibiotics in the middle of nowhere,"

"Forget it!"

Levi’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close enough to betray mild amusement as he turned back toward the horses. “City girls,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

[galacticgoldfishart]

haha social media presence, what's that?

[welcometogrouchland]

I miss them so bad (Dick and Damian)

[bacchuschucklefuck]

LIVING for your ponytail Yugi he’s so cute 😭💖

thank u! i hold dear in my heart the way yuugi is like a little plushie that wants nothing more than to die a noble death

[emberflit-alley-herald]

Well now we have to know what would've happened to jayces poor leg had he not showered

You know how I am missing an arm?

[satanfemme]

kink has really widened my view of what I consider "sex" and nothing makes that more obvious than when I see takes like "someone using a vibrator on you isn't sex". like 1. what is it then? and 2. getting called a good boy can be sex if you want it to be.

[princesmitty]

jhl staring wistfully at translator justin...... new jhl yaoi just dropped 😭

[canichangemyblogname]

Other 9-1-1 Fans: I hope Buck & Tommy get married in season 8. 😍

Me, familiar with Tim Minear’s writing: We’re in for three seasons and at least two breakups before those men go on their second date. 🚬

[pionas]

i hate this trend of having songs under two minutes because i feel like, in a production standpoint, these songs don't end having a proper resolve or development and it seems there's no proper dynamic and that's why when it ends you have this sensation it shouldn't be over because there should have been something more

[witchmd13]

people take gilmore girls way too seriously sometimes oh my god

[hurricanek8art]

...I think I just dozed for like 14 hours straight. I'm still tired but I don't feel as tired, which is kinda nice I guess? I dunno. After the last few days I've had I'll take what I can get, honestly.

Kept waking up because Sylvie wanted to sleep literally on top of me and would not be persuaded otherwise. 🤣🙃

[lillybean730]

Extreme social anxiety + a strange aura that provokes strangers to start talking to me = hell

[wild-magics]

Another fire broke out in SoCal and now my grandparents are breathing in a lot of smoke and ash.