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joelmillerisapunk · 2 months

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Moth to a Flame

Firefighter!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 6,877

Summary: During a fire station training session, seasoned firefighter Joel Miller becomes entranced by a volunteer's poise and spirit. When you lose your cherished nanna's ring in the hustle and bustle, Joel seizes the opportunity to return it.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, male masturbation, soft but dom!Joel, light alcohol consumption, f!oral receiving, reader wears a dress.

Notes: Tysm @joelslegalwhre for being the most incredible human and beta 💖 tysm @saradika-graphics for the divider

In the golden embrace of the morning sun, the fire station pulsates with an electric anticipation. The air is thick with the scent of determination and the metallic tang of polished trucks standing at attention. Joel Miller, a firefighter with a decade of scars and stories etched into his soul, feels the familiar rush of adrenaline as he prepares for the day's training session with live volunteers. The heat, the weight of his gear, and the omnipresent smoke are his constants, his companions in a dance with danger that defines his existence. Yet amidst this orchestrated chaos, a new melody captures Joel's attention. You stand there, signing waivers, a vision of delicate strength wrapped in an aura of grace. Your eyes sparkle as bright as the ring on your finger with a blend of trepidation and thrill. There's an undeniable resilience in your gaze, and in this moment, Joel is certain, he yearns to unravel the story behind those eyes.

As you slip into character for the training exercise, your performance is nothing short of mesmerizing. You become the embodiment of someone caught in tragedy's grip, each flinch and strained breath echoing through Joel's heart like a siren's call. The world around him blurs into insignificance; all that remains is you—a beacon amidst smoke and shadows.

Joel watches you intently as you navigate through simulated wreckage with elegance despite your role as an injured victim. Your portrayal is hauntingly authentic; it stirs something within him that goes beyond professional admiration—it touches on something deeply human and profoundly connective. With every second that passes, Joel feels himself being drawn deeper into your orbit, captivated by your enigmatic presence and vibrant spirit that shines even in play-acted despair.

As Joel moves closer to you during these drills designed to hone their skills, he finds himself longing not just for safety but also for connection.

———

As the echoes of the day's training drills dissipate into the quiet corners of the fire station, a stillness settles over the scene. The once vibrant cacophony of shouts and machinery now gives way to a serene hush, as if the very building itself exhales a sigh of relief.

In this newfound calm, Joel's gaze falls upon a glimmering object nestled against the concrete floor. He stoops down, his gloved fingers encircling the small, radiant treasure. It's your ring—the same one you wore when you first walked in, its presence etched in his memory from when you signed those waivers with such care. The ring looks well-traveled, its metal worn smooth by countless days and nights on your finger.

With a sense of purpose, Joel secures the ring in his pocket. He hastens through his post-training routine, shedding the day's sweat and grime under the cleansing spray of the station's shower before gathering his belongings to depart. But there's an unfinished task that weighs on his mind, one that cannot wait until tomorrow.

Approaching Beatrice's desk with a warm smile playing on his lips, he prepares to make his request known. "Beatrice," he begins affectionately, "my favorite admin."

She looks up from her paperwork and returns his smile with one of her own. "Joel Miller," she says with a hint of playfulness in her voice. "What brings you to my corner of chaos today?"

He chuckles lightly at her jest and nods towards her computer screen where he knows she keeps all their records meticulously organized. "Actually," Joel confesses earnestly, "I need your help trackin’ down my victim from today's exercise." He gently takes the ring from the safety of his pocket and holds it up for Beatrice to see. "She dropped somethin’ quite precious during all that commotion.”

"No problem at all, Joel," she chirps, her voice as bright as the sun filtering through the station windows. "Just give me a moment."

"Thank you, darlin’," Joel responds gratefully, his own smile mirroring hers as he waits for the information that will bridge the gap between him and you. The seconds tick by in anticipation, each one carrying the promise of an imminent reunion that stirs his heart more than any fire ever could.

———

As Joel strides toward your neighborhood, the address scribbled on the post-it note seems to pulse with a rhythm that matches his quickening heartbeat. The discovery that you live just a few blocks away from him in this cozy enclave feels like a serendipitous twist of fate. With each step he takes, the anticipation builds within his chest, a fluttering sensation that's both exhilarating and unfamiliar.

The trees lining the sidewalk whisper secrets as he passes, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. He navigates the familiar streets with a newfound sense of purpose, each step bringing him closer to your front door—and to the mystery that is you.

Upon reaching your home, Joel pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. The facade of the house seems to reflect his own nervous energy back at him. He takes a deep breath and ascends the front steps, his heart pounding with an intensity he hasn't felt in years.

With a trembling hand, he reaches out to press the doorbell, but before he can, the door swings open. There you stand, framed by the doorway and bathed in soft afternoon light. Your yellow sundress adorned with white flowers accentuates your silhouette, while an intricate silver chain with two delicate pendant charms rests against your skin—a subtle allure that captivates him instantly.

"Hello?" you inquire cautiously, your expression one of mild confusion—a sign that perhaps you don't remember him as vividly as he remembers you from just hours before at the fire station drill.

"Hey there," Joel begins with an attempt at casualness that belies his racing pulse and slightly unsteady voice. He clears his throat and steadies himself before continuing, "I'm Joel from earlier today—the fire department training session." His hand instinctively lifts to present your ring between two fingers for you to see. "I believe this belongs to you."

Your eyes widen in surprise and relief as recognition dawns on your face—a beautiful tableau of emotions playing across it like sunlight dancing on water's surface. "My nanna's ring!" You exclaim softly while gently accepting it back into your care with delicate fingers poised between reverence and joy at its recovery.

The gratitude shining in your eyes is palpable as they meet his once more over this small but significant reunion of yours with such precious memories attached. Your words of gratitude hang in the air like a sweet melody, and with a gentle tug, you pull Joel into a warm embrace. "Thank you," you say softly against his shoulder, "you have no idea what this ring means to me. I thought it was lost forever."

As the hug comes to an end, you step back, your gaze drifting toward the interior of your home before returning to meet Joel's eyes. There's a sincerity in your voice that's impossible to ignore as you extend an invitation that catches him off guard. "I was just making dinner. Would you like to join me? It's the least I can do after you've returned something so precious."

Joel's hand instinctively moves to the back of his neck, a sign of his nervousness as he contemplates your offer. "Wouldn't wanna impose," he replies hesitantly.

"Not at all," you assure him with a reassuring smile. "It's just spaghetti and meatballs—nothing fancy."

The mention of a home-cooked meal stirs something within Joel. His demanding schedule often leaves him with little time for such simple pleasures, and the prospect of enjoying one now is unexpectedly enticing.

"If it's not too much trouble ma'am."

You catch the slightest wince in Joel's expression as the word "ma'am" slips from his lips, and you can't help but tease him a little. "Please, ma'am makes me sound like some old spinster," you say with a light-hearted laugh. You introduce yourself by name before extending your hand in greeting. You step back, holding the door open, an unspoken invitation for him to cross the threshold into the warmth of your abode.

Joel pauses, a momentary hesitation before he steps inside, his senses are immediately greeted by the intoxicating aroma of home-cooked food that fills every corner of the house. “Smells delicious," he remarks, his voice tinged with anticipation.

"Hope it tastes even better," you reply with a smile, gesturing around you. "Please, make yourself at home. Mi casa es tu casa, or whatever it is."

As you lead him through the foyer, he takes in the cozy living room, a space that feels both personal and welcoming. The walls are adorned with photographs—snapshots of your life, your loved ones, and cherished memories. A stack of books on the coffee table hints at your eclectic tastes, while a vibrant bouquet of fresh flowers adds a touch of elegance and freshness to the room.

You guide Joel to the kitchen, where he takes a seat at the island, a central hub of domestic activity. You head to the refrigerator, pulling out a couple of beers. "Drink?" you ask, holding one out for him.

You watch as Joel's eyes flicker with a hint of surprise, perhaps at the contrast between the expected glass of wine and the down-to-earth beer in your hand. "Didn't take ya for a beer girl," he comments, a playful challenge in his tone.

You let out a small giggle, the sound mingling with the clink of bottles. "My parents are the wine connoisseurs," you explain, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. "I keep beer on hand just to stir the pot. They turn their noses up at it, call it a 'poor man's drink,' but I love the simplicity. No need for fancy glasses or decanting—just open and enjoy." You twist off the cap and take a sip, your expression one of contentment. "It's my little rebellion."

Joel can’t help but smirk as he sips his beer. You lift your drink and take a refreshing sip before you set it gently on the counter. Turning your attention back to the stove, you tend to the sauce, stirring with a practiced hand, the rich aroma filling the kitchen and mingling with the yeasty scent of the beer.

Joel takes a long drink from his beer, the bottle cool against his lips as he watches you move gracefully around the kitchen. He's a sweet man, the kind who would offer the shirt off his back without a second thought. Yet, beneath that kindness lies a deep-seated longing—a desire to find someone like you to make his wife, to be the heart of his home.

As he observes you, his mind begins to weave elaborate fantasies. He imagines himself returning from a grueling day of battling flames, the anticipation building as he envisions you waiting for him in your charming sundress and apron, bent over as you retrieve dinner from the oven. In his mind's eye, you're sans panties, a detail that sends a thrill through him.

His pants begin to stir with this thought, an involuntary twitch that betrays his growing arousal. The fantasy escalates; he sees himself approaching you from behind with his erection straining against the fabric of his jeans. He imagines grabbing your hips and plunging into you with one swift motion, filling you completely as your moans of pleasure echo in his ears. The scenario is tantalizingly vivid, and it fuels the hardening of his cock, which now presses urgently against his denim confines.

The fantasy lingers too long—a delicious torment that has him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He takes another swig of beer in hopes of quelling the fire that burns within him, all while keeping his gaze fixed on you.

You're oblivious to the storm of desire raging across from you as you stir the sauce on the stove and speak over the hum of the fan. Your voice is soft and inviting when you apologize for the noise and offer Joel another beer from the fridge—a gesture so simple yet so full of warmth.

Then it happens; as if by some unspoken cue in this erotic dance between reality and fantasy, you bend down to take out the garlic bread you've prepared. The hem of your sundress lifts just enough for Joel to catch sight of what he's been imagining; no panties—a confirmation that sets his heart racing and sends a jolt straight to his groin.

"Shit..." he murmurs under his breath while subtly trying to adjust himself in an attempt to conceal his burgeoning erection beneath the tablecloth draped over your dining table. "Mind if I use your restroom?" Joel asks hurriedly, striving for normalcy despite feeling anything but normal at this moment.

You turn around with a smile that lights up your face like a sunrise over calm waters—warm and welcoming without even realizing how much more fuel it adds to Joel's fiery imagination. “Of course, just down the hall, first door on the left."

"Thanks," Joel manages to say, his voice betraying a hint of awkwardness as he rises from his chair. He quickly exits the kitchen, his steps hurried as he makes his way toward the sanctuary of the bathroom. The door closes behind him, and in the privacy of this small space, he allows himself to feel the full extent of his arousal.

His hands find the cool wall in front of him, bracing himself as he tries to regain control over his body's reactions. But it's no use; the image of you, the fleeting glimpse of your naked flesh beneath that sundress, has ignited a fire within him that only one thing can quench.

With trembling hands, Joel releases his cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers, letting them fall to the floor. His fingers wrap around his length while his other hand presses against the wall for support. His thumb caresses his balls as he closes his eyes and loses himself in the fantasy of being inside you—your warmth enveloping him completely.

The sensation is overwhelming; with each stroke, he imagines himself thrusting into your wet cunt, feeling your body yield to him as pleasure courses through both of you. His breath hitches as he pictures your inner thighs slick against his hard cock, an image so vivid it feels like reality rather than mere fantasy.

His rhythm quickens; the sound of his heavy breathing fills the room as he chases release—a necessary escape from this fevered dream that has taken hold of him. With a final groan Joel reaches climax, spilling himself onto his hand in hot spurts while images of you dance before his closed eyes.

Once spent and with control regained, Joel cleans up and takes a moment to compose himself before stepping out into the hallway once more.

He reenters the kitchen with cautious steps; taking in every detail anew: how your hair sways gently with each movement; how gracefully you navigate around your own space; how utterly captivating you are without even trying to be so. Like an intoxicating drug coursing through Joel's veins—a potent mix that leaves him craving more.

You pivot gracefully, two plates cradled in your hands, their contents a testament to your culinary prowess. As you sit down beside Joel, he watches you with an intensity that borders on reverence. Every subtle movement of your hair, every shift of your body captivates him utterly. It's as though he's discovered a newfound addiction, one that courses through his veins and leaves him yearning for more—more of your presence, more of this warmth that seems to radiate from you effortlessly.

The scent of garlic wafts through the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread and homemade sauce. It's a comforting symphony of scents that causes Joel's mouth to water in anticipation.

"Hope it's good," you say with a hint of modesty in your voice, "sorry it's nothing more interesting."

Joel shakes his head emphatically after taking his first bite of pasta. "It's perfect," he assures you, his words genuine and heartfelt. "I honestly can't remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal like this. It's delicious—quite the step up from frozen pizza."

Your smile is radiant as you accept his compliment with grace. "Well, honestly," you reply with a light laugh, "I'll be repaying you for a lifetime for finding this ring for me. Come by anytime you're in the neighborhood."

"Funny thing," Joel responds between bites, "I only live a few blocks from here, down on Anderson." This revelation sparks an animated conversation between the two of you—a sharing of stories and dreams that flows as easily as the beer in your bottles. You talk about everything: work and family; friends and interests, and even your favorite bad movies that are so terrible they loop back around to being entertaining again.

After a few hours filled with laughter and learning about each other over drinks the camaraderie between you is palpable as you prepare to introduce Joel to what is perhaps one of the most delightfully awful films ever made—a movie so bad it transcends its own terribleness into something truly special.

"I can't believe you haven't seen it yet! We have to watch it; I'm putting it on right now! It's the best worst movie there ever is or ever will be." Your enthusiasm is infectious; even if Joel has his doubts about such bold claims regarding cinematic quality or lack thereof, he can't help but be drawn into your excitement.

“That's a serious claim, dunno if I believe it." Joel's words carry a playful skepticism as he raises an eyebrow at you, clearly intrigued by your passionate endorsement of the movie.

"Trust me!" You reply with an infectious enthusiasm that lights up your entire face. "You'll never want it to end." Your conviction is unshakeable, and there's a sparkle in your eyes that speaks volumes about the joy you find in sharing this guilty pleasure with someone else.

With a swift, almost eager motion, you spring up from your seat and make your way to the couch, a well-loved blanket clutched in your hands. You turn to look at Joel, patting the spot on the couch next to you with a warm, inviting smile that seems to brighten the entire room.

"I can't in good faith let you leave until you've at least seen this movie," you tell him, your tone half-joking, half-serious. It's a playful challenge, one that Joel readily accepts with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He rises from his chair, crossing the short distance to join you on the couch. As he settles in beside you, the cushions dip under his weight, bringing the two of you closer together. You can't help but smile as you pull the blanket over both of you, a cozy shield against the outside world.

The movie's opening credits roll across the screen, but Joel's attention is divided. He's acutely aware of your presence beside him—the warmth of your body, the soft rhythm of your breathing, and the intoxicating scent of vanilla and coconut that seems to envelop you both. As you snuggle into him, resting your head on his arm, Joel feels a surge of desire tempered by a wave of uncertainty.

His mind races with images of you—bent over, moaning beneath him, your body tightening around him as he imagines himself thrusting deep inside you. The fantasy is so vivid that it takes all his self-control not to act on the impulses that course through him. But then you shift closer to him, nestling into the crook of his arm with a contented sigh that makes his heart skip a beat.

Joel's arm hovers in the air for a moment before he gathers the courage to wrap it around your shoulders. The gesture feels natural yet charged with an electricity that hums just beneath the surface. You respond by snuggling even closer, your arms encircling his torso in a silent embrace that sends shivers down his spine.

This newfound intimacy is both exhilarating and comforting for Joel; it's as if he's found a sanctuary in the warmth of your embrace—a safe haven from the tumultuous desires that wage war within him. His heart rate begins to slow as he holds you gently but firmly against him, savoring the softness of your skin and the trust implicit in this quiet cuddle on the couch.

The thought of kissing you crosses Joel's mind more than once. Your lips look so inviting—soft and sweet like ripe fruit just waiting to be tasted. He imagines what it would be like to close the distance between you two; to feel those lips yield under his own; to explore every single curve and contour with an urgency born from longing and restraint.

But despite this overwhelming temptation, Joel remains cautious—mindful not to scare you away with his crippling desire.

As the movie plays out, Joel's thoughts drift further away from the screen. The plot, the characters, the absurdity of it all—none of it can hold a candle to the vivid fantasies that dance through his mind. The desire that has been simmering beneath the surface since he first walked through your door now threatens to boil over, fueled by every innocent touch and shared laugh under the soft glow of your living room.

His cock twitches with a life of its own, straining against the fabric of his jeans as the images of you flood his senses. He imagines cupping your breasts in his hands, feeling their weight and warmth; tracing the contours of your neck with his tongue before capturing your lips in a searing kiss; teasing your nipples with his teeth until they're as hard as the erection that throbs insistently beneath the blanket.

The need for release is overwhelming, and despite his best efforts to remain still and composed, Joel's arousal is becoming increasingly difficult to conceal. The blanket tented above his groin is a clear indication of his body's betrayal—a beacon signaling his unspoken desire for you.

He holds his breath, praying that you won't shift your hand any lower lest you discover just how much he's struggling to maintain control. But what Joel doesn't realize is that you've already noticed—it would be impossible not to with such an obvious bulge pressing against the fabric that separates skin from skin.

The knowledge that you are aware of his predicament only serves to heighten Joel's arousal. And then, without warning, you move—your hand grazing the top of his thigh before inching higher and higher still until it hovers just below where he needs it most.

Joel gasps as you begin to palm him through the denim barrier. Each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through him. His moan is soft but audible in the quiet room; a testament to how much he craves your touch—how much he craves you.

As you continue to explore the contours of Joel's body with your touch, he feels a shiver run down his spine, a visceral reaction to the electricity that seems to arc between you two. The desire that has been building within him since he first stepped into your home now threatens to consume him entirely. He aches for you—for the taste of your lips, the softness of your skin, the warmth of your embrace. Every moment in your presence only fans the flames of his longing, and he finds himself teetering on the edge of restraint.

Your hand glides over his thigh, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through him. His cock strains against the confines of his jeans, a testament to how much he wants you—how much he needs you. His breath hitches in his throat as he fights to maintain some semblance of control, but it's a battle he's losing quickly.

You see Joel's eyes flutter shut, a silent admission of how deeply your touch affects him. The evidence of his arousal is plain to see beneath the blanket that does little to hide his desire for you. His grip on reality—and perhaps more importantly, on the couch cushions—tightens as he struggles against the tide of yearning that threatens to sweep him away.

But you have no intention of letting this moment pass by unexplored. With deliberate intent, you move your hand higher still until it grazes the head of his cock through the denim that separates you. The sound that escapes from Joel is part sigh, part plea—a clear indication that his control is hanging by a thread.

In one swift motion, Joel captures your wrist, halting your movements and drawing your attention back to him. His eyes are dark with need as they lock onto yours; there's an unspoken question lingering in their depths—a question that hangs between you both like an invisible thread.

You give Joel a small nod, granting him silent permission to explore his desires. Without missing a beat, he leans in, his lips brushing against the tender skin of your neck. He lingers at your pulse point, his gentle suction sending waves of pleasure through you. His hand finds your thigh, caressing it with an up-and-down motion that makes your legs tremble with anticipation.

A soft whimper escapes you, and you bite down on your bottom lip in an effort to stifle the urge to scream out his name. Joel's fingers trace a path under your dress, moving upward with agonizing slowness. His smile broadens as he feels the warmth of your flesh beneath his fingertips.

He carefully lifts your dress off your body, casting it aside in one fluid motion, leaving you completely exposed and naked before him. Standing up, you take his hand and lead him towards the stairs that ascend to your bed. Joel is taken aback by your assertiveness—it's not what he expected from you—but his surprise quickly gives way to desire. All that matters is that he wants you, needs you. So he follows without question as you guide him upstairs to the intimacy of your bedroom.

You walk backward towards the center of the room, drawing Joel along with you. You gaze into his eyes and see pure desire shining back at you—a look that matches the yearning within yourself. In this moment, there's no room for doubt or hesitation; there's only the two of you.

In the dimly lit room, the air is thick with anticipation, each breath you take laced with the scent of desire. Joel stands before you, his silhouette a study in masculine beauty against the soft glow of the room. With a measured pace, he grasps the hem of his shirt, the fabric straining against the defined muscles of his body. As he lifts it over his head, the light dances across his tanned skin, highlighting the rugged contours of his chest and the salt-and-pepper dusting of his happy trail.

The sight of his broad shoulders and the solid expanse of his chest leaves you momentarily breathless. His physique is a canvas of hard work and dedication, each muscle carved from years of physical exertion. The soft dusting of hair trails down his toned stomach, leading your gaze to the waistband of his pants.

With a swift, almost impatient motion, he frees himself from the last of his clothing. His movements are a symphony of strength and grace, and as his pants slide down his powerful thighs, you catch your first glimpse of his manhood. His cock stands proud and erect, a beacon of his arousal, the skin stretched taut and flushed with the heat of his desire.

The sight of him—unabashedly naked and utterly desirable—sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. His cock is a testament to his masculinity; thick, with a defined shape that beckons your touch. A bead of moisture glistens at the tip, a clear sign of his readiness, and you can't help but imagine the warmth of his skin against your palm, the weight of him in your hand.

Joel's cock is a marvel of male anatomy, the veins tracing intricate patterns along its length, pulsing. It's a sight that is both primal and beautiful, the very essence of his maleness on display just for you. The coarse hair at the base only serves to accentuate its impressive girth, and you find yourself drawn to him, eager to explore every inch of his rugged, manly form.

As Joel hovers over you, his gaze rakes over your body with an intensity that sets your skin ablaze. He drinks in the sight of you, his appreciation evident in the hunger that darkens his eyes.

He takes a moment to explore, his rough palms gently cupping the softness of your curves, his thumbs teasing your hardening nipples. The contrast of his rugged hands against your delicate skin sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and a soft moan escapes your lips, encouraging him to continue his sensual exploration.

You feel the weight of his body as he settles between your thighs. The coarse hair of his happy trail brushes against your sensitive skin. With a reverence that makes your heart flutter, he lowers his head, his lips tracing a path from your navel to the soft curve of your breast, his breath hot against your skin.

As Joel lifts himself, the muscles in his arms and shoulders ripple with the movement, casting enticing shadows across his skin. He leans over you once more, his gaze filled with a mix of adoration and unbridled lust. His lips trail a scorching path down your stomach, each kiss a tender promise that sends shivers of anticipation through you.

You arch your back, your body instinctively responding to his touch. Your breath hitches as he reaches the delicate juncture of your thighs, his tongue darting out to taste you. He licks and nips at the sensitive skin along your inner thighs, each touch of his mouth stoking the fire within you.

A smirk plays on Joel's lips as he reaches your clit, a knowing glint in his eyes that tells you he's fully aware of the power he holds over you in this moment. With exquisite tenderness, he flicks his tongue over the engorged bundle of nerves, each lick sending jolts of pleasure radiating through your body. You squirm beneath him, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

His fingers part your folds, exposing you fully to his ministrations. He thrusts his tongue into you, exploring your depths with a hunger that leaves you gasping for air. His movements are deliberate and skilled—circling, probing, and sucking in just the right way to make your clit twitch erratically with need.

Joel's own excitement is palpable; with each moan that escapes your lips, his cock grows impossibly harder. The sight of him so turned on by pleasuring you only adds to the intensity of the moment.

As he continues to suck and flick his tongue around your glistening cunt , you can't help but voice your pleasure loudly, the sound echoing off the walls of the room. You push yourself further up the mattress, seeking friction against his relentless tongue as you chase the elusive wave of your orgasm.

"I'm gonna come," you pant out between ragged breaths, "please don't stop." Your world narrows down to the feeling of his tongue against your clit—a maddening rhythm.

As the words tumble from your lips, Joel's eyes flash with a primal hunger, and he knows that you're on the brink. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue working with a renewed fervor as he hears the desperation in your voice.

"That's it, such a good girl," Joel growls against your sensitive flesh, his voice rough with desire. "You're so fucking beautiful.”

Just as you're about to cum Joel pulls away and Joel's dominance takes center stage. He looms over you. His eyes are dark with desire, and there's a wicked glint in them that promises an escalation of pleasure and intensity.

"You like that, don't ya?" he rasps, his voice thick with lust. "Feelin’ my tongue on your wet cunt, makin’ you squirm and beg." He punctuates each word with a roll of his hips, his cock rubbing against your sensitive flesh in a way that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

"Yes," you admit breathlessly, the admission spilling from your lips without hesitation. You're past the point of being coy or reserved.

He grabs your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head as he leans down to whisper in your ear. "I'm gonna make you scream my name until all your neighbors know exactly who owns this tight little pussy. "You're mine," he asserts, his voice a possessive rumble in your ear. "This little pussy is mine to fuck, mine to pleasure, mine to own.”

The raw intensity of Joel's words sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. His dominance is a potent aphrodisiac, stoking the fire within you to a fever pitch. You're helpless against the onslaught of sensations—the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the feel of his calloused hands restraining your wrists, the heat of his breath against your ear.

"Say it," he commands, his voice a low growl that resonates with authority. "Tell who this pussy belongs to."

"It's yours," you gasp, the words spilling from your lips in a rush of submission. "All yours, Joel."

A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he releases your wrists, only to grip your hips with both hands. He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. The anticipation is almost unbearable; you can feel every ridge and vein of his impressive girth as he teases you with shallow thrusts, barely breaching your opening.

"Please," you beg, your voice laced with desperation. "I need you inside me."

With a grunt of approval, Joel gives in to your pleas, driving his cock into you with one powerful thrust. The sensation of being filled so completely takes your breath away, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you gasping for air. He doesn't give you time to adjust to his size, instead setting a relentless pace that has your body arching off the bed with each forceful stroke.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Your pussy feels like heaven wrapped around my cock baby."

You can't form coherent words anymore; all that escapes your lips are inarticulate cries of pleasure as Joel claims your body with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His hips snap against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room, punctuated by your desperate moans and his low, guttural grunts.

As he continues to fuck you with wild abandon, you can feel the familiar tightening in your core, a sign that your orgasm is imminent. Your inner walls flutter around his cock, gripping him tightly as he plunges in and out of your soaked pussy.

As the intensity of your shared passion builds, Joel's gaze locks onto yours, his eyes dark with desire and command. "Look at me," he orders, his voice a low, insistent growl that cuts through the haze of pleasure clouding your senses. "Wanna see you when you come for me."

Your eyes meet his, and in that moment, something profound passes between you. It's as if he's reaching into the very depths of your soul, claiming not just your body but every part of you.

With each powerful thrust, Joel drives you closer to the edge of ecstasy. The sight of him above you—his muscles straining with exertion, his skin slick with sweat, and his eyes burning into yours—is more than you can bear. You feel yourself teetering on the brink, a prisoner to the exquisite torment that is building within your core.

"That's it," Joel encourages, his voice ragged with need. "Come on, baby. I gotcha."

As you surrender to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, your orgasm takes hold, and you can't help but cry out his name. The sound of it reverberates through the room, a testament to the raw, unfiltered pleasure that Joel has coaxed from your very core.

In the midst of your climax, with your body trembling beneath him, Joel's voice breaks through the fog of ecstasy. "So damn beautiful when you come," he murmurs. "Seein’ you like this, feelin’ you tighten ‘round me—it's the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed."

His praise washes over you, amplifying the intensity of your orgasm. The knowledge that he finds you beautiful in this unguarded moment of pleasure adds a new dimension to the experience—a sense of being cherished and admired that goes beyond the physical.

The combination of his words and the relentless rhythm of his hips proves too much for Joel to withstand. With a final, powerful thrust, he reaches his own peak, his body shuddering as he empties himself inside you. His groans of release mingle with your cries of pleasure, creating a symphony of shared ecstasy that fills the room.

Joel's laughter suddenly fills the room, a warm, hearty sound that wraps around you like a comforting blanket. He pulls you close, his arm a secure band around your waist as he tucks you into his side. You can't help but smile, your heart fluttering in your chest as you press your face against the solid wall of his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat is a soothing counterpoint to your own rapid pulse and heavy breathing.

The reality of tonight's events still feels surreal to you. Here you are, nestled in the sanctuary of your bed, with a man who has managed to ignite a fire within you that you didn't even know existed. The thought flickers through your mind that this is something transient, something that might not be meant to last. But in this moment, none of that matters. All that matters is the connection between you and Joel—a connection that feels as real and as solid as anything you've ever known.

After several moments of comfortable silence, Joel's voice breaks through the quietude of the room. "That was perfect," he says, his words laced with genuine admiration and wonder. You can't help but giggle at his enthusiasm—it mirrors the joy bubbling up inside of you. Turning in his embrace, you find yourself lost in his deep brown eyes—eyes that seem to see right through to your very soul.

Leaning in, he captures your lips in a kiss that is both tender and passionate—a slow, sweet melding that sends shivers down your spine and makes your lips tingle with delight. You part your lips slightly, granting him deeper access as his tongue sweeps against yours in an intimate dance that leaves you breathless and yearning for more.

His hand finds its way into your hair, fingers gently tangling in the strands as he cradles your head with surprising gentleness for someone with such strong hands. Every touch feels electric—each caress igniting sparks beneath your skin until it seems like there's nothing else but this perfect moment suspended in time.

As the kiss comes to a gentle close, Joel pulls back just enough to gaze into your eyes, his own reflecting a mix of satisfaction and reluctance. His attention shifts momentarily to the alarm clock on your nightstand, its glowing digits announcing the arrival of midnight.

"Fuck," he sighs, the word a soft exhalation against your lips. "As much as I'd love to stay here with you, I really gotta head home and try to get a few hours of sleep.”

You offer him a smile that's both understanding and a little wistful, nodding your head in silent agreement. Leaning in, you initiate one last kiss—a sweet, lingering press of your lips against his.

"Guess it's true what they say," you murmur, your voice soft yet teasing, "heroes never rest. Go on, Mr. Fireman, get some sleep. But do me a favor and text me when you get home. I need to know you made it safely and weren't murdered on the way.”

Joel's chuckle is warm and genuine as he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones in a tender farewell. "I wouldn't dream of leavin’ ya worried," he assures you before capturing your lips in one final kiss.

With a reluctant groan, he extricates himself from the tangle of limbs and bedding, rising from the bed. You watch him dress, the moonlight casting shadows across his toned body, and you can't help but appreciate the sight of him—a man who embodies strength, courage, and unexpected tenderness.

Once he's fully clothed, Joel turns to you one last time, his eyes drinking in the sight of you lying there amidst the rumpled sheets. "I'll see you soon, pretty girl," he says, his voice filled with quiet determination. And then, with a final wave, he's gone—leaving you with the lingering scent of his cologne and the memory of his touch to keep you company through the night.

True to his word, your phone buzzes a short while later, the screen lighting up with a message from Joel

Made it home safe and sound. No murderers lurking in the shadows tonight. Sweet dreams, beautiful. I'll be thinking of you.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

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sukunasteeth · 6 months

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Your First Time on Sukuna's Bike

You lost a bet.

That’s ultimately how you ended up here.

"Hey," Sukuna is calling your attention to him, sitting on his motorcycle with a spare helmet outstretched in your direction. "Put it on."

The sun was just starting to set behind him on the horizon, casting him in this warm orange flavored glow that was almost comforting. Almost.

"'Kuna, maybe this is a bad idea." You stay where you are a few feet away, shifting from foot to foot nervously. "Maybe you should go to the meetup by yourself-"

He interrupts you with one call of your name, effectively silencing you. He raises a brow.

"C'mere," He's smirking at you, seeing your unease as a challenge. Like he always did.

"No, totally, I would. It's just-I- " You can't find the words to deny him. They don't come to you anymore. Your heart aims to please him in everything but your body is frozen in fear. Your brain scrambles to produce something- any kind of lie under his lion-like gaze. "I just remembered that Yuji asked me to do something with him-"

"Yuji's with his goth boyfriend." Sukuna rolls his eyes, quickly swapping the helmet to his other hand and leaning across the short distance between you to grasp your wrist instead. He tugs you closer to him, until your shoe is nearly touching the tire of his bike.

He's grinning up at you, with that convincing little squint to his eyes.

"Chicken shit." He accuses.

You gape at him.

"I am not afraid of your little motor bike, okay?"

"Then put the helmet on, Braveheart." He shoves said helmet into your hands and releases it before you can say no to fully grasping its weight. You fumble with it, trying not to let the piece of equipment slip to the asphalt, it felt expensive and heavy with quality, just as a lot of Sukuna's things did.

When you finally have it secured to your chest, safe and sound, you pale at the thought of the next step.

Now, Sukuna was nothing if not a gentleman. You knew that. But, he also was constantly toeing the line of gentleman and... complete and utter vagrant menace. He would come over to your apartment after a meetup like the one the two of you were going to, with wind whipped cheeks and adrenaline clearly glimmering in his eyes. Occasionally, he would even ask you if you had a spare tarp so that he could cover his bike in case the police came around the neighborhood looking for a similar one.

Being in one of his turbo kitted cars was different. If there was an accident, it wasn't just between you, the heavy leather jacket Sukuna had bought you, and the rough merciless asphalt of the street.

You're staring down at the helmet like it's a death sentence when Sukuna calls for your eyes again, his hand coming up to caress the back of your arm with a gentle, coaxing touch. He ushers you until you're within his airspace, creating a timeless bubble where only the two of you exist.

You’re slightly guilty when you look up at him. You hated questioning Sukuna, especially when it came to something like your safety, which he would never put at risk, but you can't help the nerves curdling in your stomach.

His gaze melts into something similar to sympathy, still slightly amused with you.

"Why're you scared?” He wants to know. He knows just which soft and low tone of voice to use on you- to make every secret you have come rushing to the surface, desperate to please him just like the rest of you was.

"Scared? Of a stick with two wheels that can go in between cars that weigh literal tons while riding at a speed of 120 miles per hour? No. No, why would I be scared?"

"120 miles per hour?" He repeats, cocking a brow at you. "And put my little chicken shit in danger? Are you insane?"

You bite your lip.

“Can we go slow?”

Sukuna merely laughs, turning back towards his bike and turning the key to kick start the ignition. The time for conversation was clearly over.

“Put it on.” ~

Sukuna actually does go at a reasonable speed for the majority of the time. You get used to the feeling of the wind gliding over every inch of you, hissing so loudly in your ears that all other sounds become moot. It’s almost like white noise.

Sukuna’s body is warm and sturdy against your front, and you press more of yourself than needed into him, just to be closer. Occasionally he’ll reach down and squeeze your thigh or point something out for you to look at, but otherwise he lets you take in the scenery at an easy pace.

After an hour of riding, you may very well say it was comforting on the bike.

At least, until you get to a long stretch of highway, that is. Empty and wide as it is long. A highway to some rural part of the city you had never been to before.

Sukuna taps your knee, and then reaches up and tightens your hold on his waist. It was a signal.

“Wait-” Even if Sukuna could hear you past the helmets, the unrelenting wind, and the roar of the motorcycle beneath you, he didn’t give you a chance to say much.

The bike climbs speed as your heartbeat climbs in speed and if it weren’t for the helmet, it would be impossible to breathe easy with the wind whisking around you in such a flurry. Your thighs press into Sukuna’s, and you peek over his shoulder at the speedometer to watch it hit 95. It felt so much faster to you. It felt like you were flying.

You can’t help the giggles that escape you as exhilaration plucks them out of you.

Fear had long since revealed itself as excitement to you, and Sukuna could tell in the way you would kick your feet as he revved the engine that you were on the same page now.

By the time the two of you make it to the meetup, you’re buzzing like a ball of electricity. Sukuna parks the bike, kicks the stand out, and immediately turns around to unclasp your helmet first.

You tear it off of you, barely containing yourself long enough for him to remove his own before you're winding your arms around his neck. Giggles are still leaking out of you and into his ear, which is searing cold beneath your lips.

“I told you you’d like it.” He chuckles, leaning backwards into you and forcing you to be the one to keep the both of you upright. You use your free hand to pull on his hood, forcing him back even further until you can press a kiss to his prideful smile.

“That was fun.” You whisper.

“Good.” He whispers back, grabbing his keys from the ignition without moving his head from your grasp. “You’re drivin’ us home.”

#jjk #sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #he's a hooligan #it's what we love about him #my writing

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mydear-corinthian · 5 months

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Protection || Thomas Shelby x reader

Synopsis: You were protecting your son, Charlie when Billy Kimber's men ambushed your shared home. Pairing: Thomas Shelby x reader Warnings: ANGST w/ comfort, reader gets injured, gun violence, mentions of blood, swearing, Grace's being mentioned once - s2 spoiler Notes: Not proofread, grammatical errors, GIF is mine Click here to find the main masterlist. Click here to find the PEAKY BLINDERS masterlist.

As another regular evening took place, a sense of peace descended over Thomas Shelby and his wife's shared home. While Tommy was busy with his business and papers, you found yourself wandering the enormous area of the estate with your young son, Charlie.

Marriage with Tommy wasn't for the faint of heart. You were highly aware of the ongoing danger that accompanied his lifestyle, the circulating threats and enemies that followed your husband's every step. Despite the obvious risks your love for him remained strong. You treasured him not as an infamous gangster, but as the man who made you feel valued, protected, and appreciated.

There was nothing but silence in the huge home; you could hear the clock ticking and the curtains flapping as the breeze shook the cloth. It was a Saturday night, so the maids weren't working, leaving you and Charlie alone. Charlie's eyelids were going drowsy as you cuddled him, softly caressing his back and humming his favorite lullaby. Looking at the clock, you realized how late it was, and Tommy hadn't returned home yet.

You heard the main entrance door open with a loud bang. Although it seemed strange, you assumed Tommy was just returning from a stressful day at work. Charlie woke up from his sleep and let out a loud cry when you heard gunfires as you were ready to leave your shared room. You were so terrified that you thought your legs were paralyzed. Without wasting any time, you grabbed Charlie and put his little body against your shoulder, giving him a tight hug.

With Charlie in one hand, you dashed to the door, locked it almost instantly, and took out the Enfield No. 2 six-bullet handgun that your husband had given you as a birthday present from the nightstand's drawer. You grab the gun and duck into the shared bedroom's bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

The room was filled with the sound of the little Shelby's piercing cries, which seemed to come from every corner. You tried so hard to soothe him, cooing softly, but all it did was make his cries louder and more echoing through the walls. As you tried to calm him, your hands trembled with fear and your fingers stuttering, a sign of your growing terror running down your face. You felt powerless in the face of Charlie's constant tears, and you started to search for a way out of the mess.

You started nervously to pray while holding a child in your arms. Tears were beginning to fall from your eyes and the prayers were mumbling on your lips.

Charlie and you were found by whoever was in your shared room as you heard the door slam. Breathless, you lowered your son onto the empty, shallow bath tub behind you and spoke to him to stop crying. and that you will return quickly. When the toilet door opened, two armed men in a hideous black suit and a top hat appeared; they were Billy Kimber workers.

One of the armed men circled around you and exclaimed, "Aye look, it's Mrs. Shelby," as you aimed your handgun at him, your hands shaking with terror. You've never been skilled with a gun. Tommy giving you a gun like that surprised you. He would not stop stating, "You'll use that in the future."

and perhaps the future was today.

"Suprised a Shelby doesn't know how to use a gun. How about we gift Thomas Shelby the lifeless body of his dear wife?" the man laughed. You raised the gun without thinking, your hand steady from the rush of adrenaline pumping through you, and took aim at the man's skull. The bullet cracked sharply and shot out of the barrel, piercing the air and hitting its target with terrifying accuracy. With a bleak proof to your determination, fortune smiled on you as the bullet hit accurate, plunging into the man's forehead with fatal force and instantly taking his life.

Attempting to fire another shot to the other man, you missed.

Suddenly, you heard a bang go off but paid no mind. Attempting to shoot again, you finally succeded; three bullets all over the now lifeless man's torso. The sight of the lifeless bodies made you feel sick but you chose to ignore it as you dropped your used gun to go and grab Charlie and ask for help. You grabbed your son right away, immediately hugging him and kissed his little forehead.

Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice calling out your name; Tommy.

His voice reaching out for you made you sigh with relief. Your husband ran toward you as your legs found their way to the stairs to return to him. You embraced him, resting your head on his chest and taking in his manly scent as you exhaled. "Oh god, Tommy.."

She took Charlie out of your arms and gave you a minute to rest in Tommy's calming presence in Polly's comforting presence. Tommy's hand gently cradled the back of your head as you leaned into him, seeking solace from the chaos of the moment in his gentle, comforting touch. His voice, a comforting whisper that passed through the chaos, whispered, "You're safe now, love."

He felt a warm wetness on his dark blue vest, making him break the hug to see what it was.

Tommy's eyes widened in fear at what he saw, and he let out a gasp. Once an image of elegance, your immaculate white evening gown now had a scarlet stain of blood creeping across it, the color standing out against the fabric. The room seemed to spin in a dizzying twister, threatening to paralyze you as the color faded from your face, your face was pale and your vision seemed to spin like a twister.

"Did you get shot?" he worriedly asked. Confused by his question, you looked down at your stomach, seeing the color red slowly colonizing your white evening gown.

"I - I um.. Tommy, I feel dizzy.." your fragile legs gave up, his strong arms catched you almost immediately.

Your eyes were starting to drop, your body was slowly getting cold, your muscles giving up.

"T - Tommy, why is so cold..?"

Fuck, he mentally cursed at the sight that met his eyes. It was as if God had judged him once more. Grace - this seemed so familiar. His fingers were shaking with fear and worry, his eyes were beginning to water, and his heart had stopped.

"We need a medic!" Polly shouted.

He tries to calm himself down by caressing the strands of your hair before tucking it behind your ear. "Please, stay." he begged.

His frustration was boiling over and his impatience was burning in the way he spoke. He gave orders for the medics with a strong edge to his voice, desperation and anger infusing each word as he demanded their immediate presence.

"Tommy.." you softly called his name before darkness took you.

Your stomach hurt and your brain throbbed when you woke up. Beside you, you noticed your husband uncomfortably sleeping on the wooden chair. You noticed that the ash tray on the table stand next to you was filled with used cigarettes, indicating that you had been out for a while. You were trying to sit up and Tommy woke up to the sound of your pained moans. His bright blue eyes met yours. Eyebags developed under his eyes as a result of struggling to sleep due to the chance that you wouldn't wake up anymore.

"Easy, love." he said.

In an attempt to prevent him from harming you, he cradled your back so you could lie down peacefully once more—as though you were a piece of glass that would shatter the moment it was touched.

He deeply blames himself for what happened to you. If only he was there that night. If only he went home early, you and Charlie wouldn't be in this situation.

"Where's Charlie?" you asked right away, your eyes looking everywhere in the room to see if your child was there or not.

"He's with Aunt Pol, (y/n). He's safe with her, don't worry."

With both of his hands clasped around yours, he sobbed out loud in front of you, unable to stop himself from crying. He felt responsible, guilty, and like a terrible partner for failing to give you protection.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry.." he cried as he apologized, kissing your hands.

You smiled softly as you placed your right hand on his face for him to look at you.

"It's not your fault, Tommy. The good thing is that me and Charlie are safe." reassuring, you gave him a weak smile.

"I thought I lost you." he exhaled in exhaustion, standing up as he kissed your head.

"I would never leave you, Tommy."

"Please don't."

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinders angst #angst with a happy ending #x reader

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froggoon · 7 months

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I’ll love you in every multiverse I Five Hargreeves x Reader

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚

Post Apocalypse Au! ( Yes Im writing another one )

Pt2 WC: 1,791

Summary: The Umbrella’s can understand jumping through time and all its rules, yeah fuck with the timeline and it’ll fuck you right back. But what happens when a portal opens up in the middle of the academy and outfalls a girl who claims to be Five’s wife from a different universe.

Disclaimer: This takes place after season one if Viktor didn’t blow up the moon. ⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡

The Umbrella Academy had saved the world from its supposed end. The siblings had lounged around the academy slowly letting reality set that they had avoided their demise. It was the next morning when each of them woke up to check their surroundings, making sure that doomsday wasn’t there.

Five went downstairs for his morning coffee when he saw Allison scrolling for flights on her phone and Klaus checking where was the next place he could buy drugs.

“Leaving so soon?” He questioned.

Allison looked up at him although happy to see her brother, guilty because he was right.

“I have to go see my daughter. After everything that has happened I need her now just as much as she needs me.”

Five nodded his head, understanding where she was coming from, although a little irked she wasn’t wasting any time running away.

A loud zap was heard and wind swirled toward the top of the room. A red portal had opened above the living room. The rest of the siblings (Luther, Viktor, Diego) had rushed down to see what the loud noise was. It was deja vu, like when Five had returned for the first time. In the portal, they could see a fight happening. Figures that had looked like them in a place that looked like their home. A woman’s back came close to the portal, they could see she was in combat but stood observing. Another man who they couldn’t identify, rushed forward and pushed the woman through the portal.

A girl who looked to be in her early twenties had fallen through. Her face was covered in soot, her hair black as night, and her eyes closed in pain. She was wearing a navy body suit that clung to her figure, and blood, not her own, stained the fabric.

The Hargreeves gathered around to observe this strange phenomenon trying to assess the danger. They were so used to people being against them, so why would this time be different.

You coughed loudly before sitting up, and each sibling tensed with adrenaline. The girl looked around the room with blazing blue eyes before she landed on the youngest Hargreeves.

“Five?” you questioned.

Everyone turned to look at Five.

Luther spoke up first, “You know her?”

“I have never met her in my life.” Five retorted.

The girl dusted off her suit before standing. “Well if you never met me, you either will meet me or I’m dead in this universe.”

“The names y/n , y/n Hargreeves.”

“I don’t remember our father adopting anyone else,” Diego said. He raised his knives, carefully ready to strike at any move she would make.

“That’s because I wasn’t adopted into this family. Married actually.” And with this, she held up her left hand, a beautiful diamond ring shone in the light with a gold band beneath it. The diamond was embellished with 2 smaller emeralds on the side, perhaps representing her lover’s eyes.

“Married? To who.” Viktor questioned.

“To him.” She looked back at Five.

“Well not to him, an alternate version of him. We met a few years ago and got married, nice seeing the family again,” she nodded her head towards the siblings.

“So what are you saying you guys are married in a different timeline?” Klaus asked.

“No, not a different timeline, a different universe.” She sat down on the couch.

Your brain felt like it was rattling against your skull, and your body ached. You took a minute to think. Fuck, it was going to be difficult to get back to your Earth, and to make things better you had no idea where to start.

“Alright before you all start firing questions at me, someone get me a cup of coffee, black please.” You threw a jacket that hung over the couch on you to hide the state of your clothes. "Allow me," The alternate of your husband said. Five quickly blinked the two of you into the car and began to drive, leaving his brothers and sisters dumbfounded. "So you and I, are married in another multiverse."

"Correct." "You look to be about my age, how come I haven't met you yet here." Surely he would remember someone as beautiful as you. "Well it's as I said, my version here could be dead or you might not have met her yet. That being said although 18 out of the 20 multiverses I have visited, we are together." "And the other two?" "In Earth 216, we are strangers, never have crossed paths, and never will. We simply live our lives with other people." Five's eyebrows furrowed. For some reason even if he didn't know you, he didn't like the idea of you with someone else. "In Earth 894, we were madly in love but our egos destroyed us, and we were never the same since." Five could tell there was more to that story but didn't press any further. "So tell me about us, how did we end up together." "I was Diego's friend first, he and I met in the police force. Diego kinda took me under his wing as I was the youngest graduate out of the academy. Perks of having a high IQ." Five raised his eyebrow at that. "Anyways, he invited me over after your father's funeral. " "Long story short, you fell in love with my charms and I was the only one who could tolerate you. We got married not too long after. It was a small wedding but it's my most precious memory. Our families had gathered together at the church no too far away from here. You cried on our wedding day by the way." Inciting a side glare from Five.

"But...that's where we had some problems." "Do you remember when I fell out of that portal?" Five nodded his head remembering seeing a fight in the alternate dimension. "Well, apparently some of the 43 are not too happy about their powers, nor happy about living among the common people, they believed themselves superior and it became chaos." The two of you arrived at Griddys. Five walked over to the side of your door and opened it for you. "Thank you, darling." You said with a smile. Five's heart spiked at the nickname. He shook his head at the feeling, obviously, it's just what you were used to calling YOUR Five. The two of you sat at the counter and ordered your coffees and sweets. You signed before pulling out a small stack of photos from inside your suit. "This is us and your family." The photo was a picture of you and Five on your wedding day. Five had never looked so happy. Beside him was Luther who he assumed was his best man, next to him was Viktor, Diego, and a man who looked like you. You must have caught his staring, "That's my brother Damien." He nodded and looked beside you. You were wearing a long white dress with intricate lacing, the dress was strapless with a square neckline and had a small slit on the side. Your veil was flipped over your head and flowed down your back. Beside you, was Allison as your maid of honor and two other women who he assumed were your friends. You weren't looking at the camera but at him. The next picture you gave him was a close-up of the two of you. You were the one taking the photo. His alternate self was older and had longer hair and facial hair, but he faced your side kissing your cheek affectionately. "This is my favorite photo of you." You handed him another photograph but this one didn't have you in it. This one was a picture of just Five and in his arms a little girl. She looked like you. Five gulped, a million questions ran through his head. Could this... could this have been his future if he didn't make that stupid jump? You said that not all multiverses are the same, you and him could never meet in this one. But that didn't stop his heart from hurting at the thought of missing out on a life of happiness because of his arrogance. "Before you jump to conclusions, she's not ours. She's my niece that we were babysitting. You just looked so sweet with her. You had always told me you wanted kids before but I wasn't ready." You had looked away sadly. In your home, Five always wanted to settle down and raise a family of his own, but you felt like you weren't ready. Now you regretted not because you weren't sure if you would ever be able to get back home. The two of you sat in silence drinking your coffee, both thinking about the what-ifs. "So...how did you end up here. I've been able to time travel but I've never thought about the possibility of multi-dimensional traveling." "As I said there was a fight between us, your family, and some of the 43. They called themselves the Ascendants. Believe to be the superior race." You took a deep breath before continuing. "The Ascendants had a man who could travel the multiverse with his own power, no special gear or machine need. We had planned to capture him but miscalculated. He was ready for us and he aimed to take out me, his biggest threat."

You took another breath before looking into Five's eyes. "I can warp reality. It is essentially in the name. I can manipulate reality itself, altering the fabric of existence according to my will." "But not without a cost," you continued. "Each time I control something, and the bigger it is, the more of my life force I use." Five sat in silence. This was a lot of information to take in. "So what now. How do I help you get back home." "I have...no clue. You were always the smarter one of the two of us. You were the one who had built the machine, of course before it was destroyed when Viktor took out the house." You sighed. It was going to take a lot of research and time to figure it out. "Well, I'm newly retired and have nothing on my plate so let's start at the library." He hopped off the stool and made his way to the door. "You coming?" He said turning to look at you. You smiled, he was a great man. Even if this Five wasn't your husband you loved him no matter what. You ran up looping your arm in his making your way out of Griddy's. ⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ Pt 2 of this story is out now!

Author's note: I got tons of drafts just full of ideas I've had and never gone through with. I've been rewatching the MCU films and Spiderverse so that was kinda my inspiration for this one. If you like my work check out my other Five stories here! I also always appreciate comments and feedback! It definitely keeps me going. She's my Angel Pt1. Shes my Angel Pt2.

#five x reader #five hargreaves #five hargreeves #the umbrella academy #umbrella acedmy #aidan gallagher #five #five hargreeves x you #five x y/n #five hargreeves x reader #tua #tua x reader #tua fanfic #tua five #five x you #number five #five hagreeves x y/n

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yellydany · 1 month

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WHITE VEILED BEARFROG 🐻‍❄️ 🐠 (Ambystoma Axoqui) Also known as Iztacueyatl Tecuani (white frog beast)

"A majestic white scaled and bear-like creature from the seas. Its now dangerous habitat forced it to seek water ponds and swamps. But make no mistake, this beast in spite of its elegant appearance can tear its prey and foes to shreds- especially during nesting seasons. Its movement can be deceivingly slow but once in a rush of adrenaline they lunge and attack at a swift speed. To further improve its survivability it will often release slimy bubbles (likely mucus) from its body which slow down its enemies through contact or by walking on surfaces in which they bursted, but amongst other abilities they can absorb and release high-pressured water through their mouths (and gills) to blast intruders with. Some of them have even learned to propel themselves like a jet by expelling water, becoming a deadly giant projectile.

They prefer to live surrounded by corals and colorful rocks to blend in and only display aggression when threatened, as they prefer stealth. A bearfrog will create a semi-aquatic nest so that the females then carry a clutch of orange eggs under their bodies until they hatch. The newborn larvae will spend their youth underwater until they develop to venture into land.

This species has become rather scarce because of the water conditions in the land .."

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e1dritchjackal0pe · 8 months

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𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔮𝔲𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰

Summary: Your relationship with Farleigh Start has always precariously walked the line between friends and enemies for years.

But maybe there's something else there, too.

Warnings: 18+ content; MDI. AFAB, Oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex (this is fiction, please use protection in rl), hints at s and d dynamics; brief, barely there choking, outdoor/technically public sex. Sex while under the influence ( takes place during Oliver's party, so drugs for Farleigh and alcohol for the reader). Farleigh being an a*s, but what's new. Reader is American. Heavy denial of feelings in the beginning.

Notes: 14.6 k words. There is an abhorrent lack of Farleigh content on this site, so I thought I'd contribute. Not proofread, divider by @saradika-graphics

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖎𝖎 - 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦𝔦

Honestly, it's a wonder how you always manage to forget the sheer opulence of the Saltburn Estate - even when it wasn't in the throes of a celebration that costs more than your yearly salary. It's like some sort of dream almost. While you're in it the details are all startingly intense. Overbearingly so. Flaunting in front of you with all of its details and sights; like a kaleidoscope. The memories never do the estate any true justice. The soft, rolling lush fields; the crystal blue skies that loom over the tall gray spires. It's all painted behind your eyelids with a haunting clarity. But as soon as you leave - as soon as you wake up - the entire experience never truly feels real. Bits and pieces slip through your fingers. It loses its tangibility somehow and you can't help but wonder if you had imaged the whole thing, even with Felix's number programed into your phone; a physical reminder that Saltburn is indeed a real, tactile place.

But even here tonight, while walking the halls and strolling through the courtyard, it doesn't feel like reality. It seems as though you've stepped into a fever dream, crossed some imaginary threshold and entered some mirroring realm. The air is charged. Electrifying. And you swear you could feel the magnetic net of adrenaline and excitement prickling at your fingertips. A cocktail of emotions amplified by alcohol and drugs and endorphins.

Everywhere you looked there were jovial, writhing bodies. People dancing and laughing. Some full on making out - and others dangerously close to toeing the line of having public sex - and others were having a less enjoyable time by collapsing in exhaustion or blacking out in an inebriated haze. One unfortunate soul had thrown up all over the floor boards of the foyer, and you had just narrowly missed being sprayed by the projectile vomit as you had passed. It was like the Exorcist.

Thank God it hadn't been on one of the Persian rugs.

It was someone's birthday, it seemed. A little impromptu. Not initially planned. Oliver's - at least that's what you believed it was. The same Oliver that Felix had mentioned during one of your phone calls. He had spoken of him fondly, but when Felix had rushed outside this evening to greet you from your taxi and help you gather up your bags, he had seemed less interested and even a little irritated in the mention of his newest companion - or as harsh as it sounds, charity case (he seems to have a new one each summer). And he had been quick to divert your line of questioning, stopping you with a somewhat curt, "he's just a friend from Oxford. That's all." And that was that. You knew not to press him over it.

But your time with Felix was cut short when he was pulled aside by an excited Elspeth, who had spared you a quick glance and a "hello, darling," before eagerly trying to get his advice on the party preparations. Which he didn't seem particularly enthused about being dragged into. And it left you to stand awkwardly on your on in the middle of the foyer, trying to force your bleary eyes open. Jet lagged with your will to live paper thin from only having a rough five hours of sleep to back it up. And for a moment you had feared that you might actually pass out on your feet but luckily Venetia had sought you out and saved you from feeling too awkward amongst the others. Occupying the time by gossiping and interrogating you about your time back in the States. All of which, you had confessed have been rather boring. Filled with exams and dead-end dates and careless flings. And even though the initial arrival always leaves you feeling like a fish out of water, you were thankful to have been invited back over to Saltburn. The sprawling, golden fields and fresh crisp air always a welcome reprieve from the loud, chaotic clamoring and the smog blanketed horizon of Los Angeles.

Even though the wild, scattered throng of sweating bodies that were bumping into you honestly weren't all that different from the clubs you frequent back home. Of course, the sheer show of wealth and splendor that had been rolled out for Oliver was nothing that you had ever seen before with the only thing to rival it (and surpass it, probably) being Felix's very own birthday party that you had been able to take part of a few years back. One that had been themed after a strange but no less entertaining amalgamation of cowboys, space and disco, and the costumes and decorations then had left you in a state of awe, much like tonight.

Everywhere you looked there was something else to gawk at. Glittering lights, a hired contortionist and at one point you had even seen a swan rush past you out on the courtyard - which you had only felt sad and a little angry for.

It was pure, unbridled pandemonium. Noisy and cloying with the scent of perfumes and marijuana and alcohol; and you couldn't escape it. Not even when you had gone outside to take advantage of the dark, balmy summer breeze to cleanse your lungs. And everything had been going well until a drunk man had lunged out of the crowd towards you. Wobbling on his feet with a loud wail akin to a war cry as he aimed a narrow tube directly at you. And you only had a fleeting second to wish that it was one of those party canisters full of tensile when he had set it off with a loud pop! And a large, shimmering cloud of glitter had burst over you like a mist, layering across your hair, and costume and skin like a sheen of sweat. You didn't even have time to yell at him before he was scurrying off into the crowd with a demented cackle, probably on his way to find some other unfortunate person to glitter bomb.

And even worse a quick glance downward had revealed that the drink in your champagne glass had been tainted by a thin coat of sparkling silver. Even if you wanted to be lazy and drink around the floaters, the amount drifting around in the champagne was too much. You probably would have ended up choking on all of it. It was with a defeated sigh that you tossed out the remainder of your drink onto the trampled lawn.

For the first time tonight you're actually thankful that Venetia had chosen to leave you for some tall, dark, and handsome stranger that she had met near the beginning of the party. You hadn't seen her since, but maybe it's a blessing in disguise. You would hate for her to see the state of her dress. It is just glitter, easy to wash off in the grand scheme of things, and too be fair she had said that she didn't even like the garment. It was just some random piece from another one of the Catton's wild parties - themed after Renaissance art and fables, you think. And she had sifted it out from the depths of her closet with little fanfare. "It's just some old thing, " she had told you plainly, even though the dress probably cost more than your monthly rent. Clearly, she wouldn't be distressed over some glitter, but you were still having a hard time fighting the sinking feeling in your gut. It was borrowed. She was letting you wear it. And now it was covered in a dust of silver because some guy decided to be a dick.

It could be worse though. It could have been a glass full of wine that he had dunked on you instead. You suppose you should take your wins where you could get them.

A part of you thinks about returning inside the manor and calling it a night. Taking a much-needed bath to clean off the layer of glitter from your skin and just going to bed. But really, you aren't sure if you'll even be able to manage falling asleep with the sheer volume of the music playing throughout various sections of the house, and the sound of the raucous cheering and laughter. And you could imagine what Venetia or Felix would tell you, to quit being so reclusive and to get out and socialize.

You did fly all the way over here. Planned this trip for a few weeks and made preparations with your job and roommate when Felix had called to invite you over for the summer. It would be a complete waste to turn in for the night and huddle yourself up in your quarters.

And with the fog of alcohol draping over your body you know you should probably put a pause on it for a bit but fuck it, it's a party and you need another drink.

You glance around the courtyard, hoping to spy one of that servants that have been forced to parade platers of alcohol around for the many guests but all you see are the scattered throngs of people dressed in fairy wings, strange animal masks, and plastic swords. Honestly, it never amazes you how many people get invited to these events. Even with all of the family members combined, there's no way they all know every individual here directly. There's probably enough to fill a damn stadium.

In your search your gaze sweeps over the steady bonfires, the temporary lovers grinding against each other and a pair talking amongst themselves - wait. That catches your attention. You feel heat prickling at your chest; irritation rising in some subconscious sort of reaction and as if they have a mind of their own your eyes skitter back over to them to confirm if what you thought you saw was true. And lo and behold, there he is. The bane of your existence. Farleigh Start.

Your eyes flicker across him from his head to his old-fashioned boots. He's holding some sort of mask in one of his hands. A big bulky thing with long protruding ears and an equine shaped face and you have to squint to come to the concussion that it appears to be a donkey.

He seems to be talking to someone. A person that you don't recognize but they both seemed to be engaged in some sort of heated stare off from near a rotating pig on a stick. It looks like he's found another unfortunate victim to prod at and humiliate. Not that it was difficult for Farleigh. He was always eager to find someone to harass and belittle. And the more that someone fought back, the more interested he seems to become. He's been a personal thorn in your side for longer than you'd like to admit.

Of course, you knew he would be here, but that didn't necessarily mean that actually seeing him made it any easier. It had to have close to a year since you've last interacted with him, which had to have been during that awful Christmas party back in the States. Why Graham had invited both of you when he knew that neither of you get along is a mystery. It could have been some lame attempt to get two of his closest friends to finally clear up whatever animosity was between them, but in all actuality it had just made worse. All of the passive aggressive barbs and thinly veiled sneers had nearly reached a boiling point that night when Farleigh wouldn't just leave you alone. Seeming to make it his mission to antagonize you at every turn with childish insults. But as childish as they might have been, they added up over time until you were giving him what he wanted, lashing out in response to his nasty little comments.

And to think at one point you had actually been excited to meet him. As Graham's close friend and roommate, you were interested in getting to know the guy that he couldn't stop gushing about. The one who he had praised nearly nonstop. Farleigh had been nice enough in the beginning. And you even enjoyed his company for a time. His humor had always been a bit snarky, and the jokes he told were usually at another's expense. But he had been - as much as you hate to admit it, fun. And at one point, you had even considered him a friend of sorts. Or at the very least an acquaintance whose company you enjoyed while you both rambled on about nothing and everything, often gossiping about others.

It had all been fine between you. That was until Felix had come down to L.A. to visit. He had gone out with Farleigh and Graham to go and sightseeing, which eventually steered into hopping from club to club as the day wanned into night. And when the invitation had extended to you, your relationship with Farleigh had taken a turn. For whatever reason talking to Felix was easy. But that was just Felix you suppose; always able to make friends with just about anyone in the room. And the closer that the two of you had become, the more strained your association with Farleigh had grown until it was filled with nothing but sardonic remarks and passive hostility. And instead of being a sort of surface level confidant, he gradually became a presence that you detested. And your relationship had gone from a mutual respect and cordial conversations to some sort of strange cat and mouse game. The both of you exchanging snarky jabs in an attempt to see if the other would crack.

You would be lying if you didn't admit that some part of you enjoyed your little spats. And maybe you had hoped that he would be here tonight. Not that you'd ever tell him that. You'd rather trip onto the sharp end of a knife.

Suddenly Farleigh is stepping towards the stranger, shoulders rigid and body pulled taught, seeping with irritation. And he takes ahold of their face, forcing the shorter man to look into his eyes in some sort of intimidation tactic. Farleigh's nearly seething. And his expression is firm with an apparent frustration. You don't think you've seen him so visibly aggravated before. You can't help but wonder what the mystery guy may have done to warrant such a response from him.

And then Farleigh is pulling away, releasing the stranger from his grip with a smug smile. But on him it looks more like a sneer with the way his lips are stretched and showing off his teeth. He's moving towards your direction now, probably intending to head back to the house, and he's yet to notice you. You contemplate leaving. Of slipping back under the cover of the scattered crowd and disappearing before he sees you, but your body doesn't move. Instead, you're stock still. There's some awful feeling in your gut that seems horrendously akin to anticipation; fluttering and soft and nauseating.

You should just leave. You could leave if you'd just move. But it's too late. You swear there's some awful full body reaction that occurs when Farleigh's gaze meets yours and he stops in place to assess you. For a moment it's like you've been sucked into a black hole. It's like time has dilated and shrunk down around you until it's frozen solid and suddenly the lively chaos around you falls quiet, muffling down into an insignificant hum in the background. Recognition flickers in his eyes and something else crosses his face too. Something that you don't quite recognize but regardless, it feels as though the both of you are engaged in some sort of wordless exchange. There's another smile growing on his face. It's mischievous but still much more relaxed and familiar than the previous one that he had worn, and you can't help but return one of your own.

It's then that you're finally able to gain control of your own body, walking backward a few steps before you twist around to slip amongst a gaggle of passing girls with something that is suspiciously close to excitement bubbling in your gut. You briefly use them as cover to get you closer to the house entrance, and they're all too occupied with giggling and gossiping to notice your presence. But you're able to remove yourself from the cluster when one of them drunkenly trips on her skirt, and she saves herself by latching onto the shoulder of one of her friends with a wild laugh. The others all gather around her to jokingly reprimand her as they assist her in righting herself but you're already stepping through the back threshold of the manor, and you're thrown headfirst into the alcohol infused, neon casted mayhem. Party streamers, glow sticks and blaring upbeat music. It's complete madness. You can hardly hear yourself think and trying to work yourself through the tight gaps between people's swaying bodies proves to be a challenge of its own and it's a heavy reminder as to why you had even gone outside in the first place.

The atmosphere is cloying and thick; you feel as though you might actually be able to choke on it like it's a physical thing. As otherworldly and exciting as this party is, it's another experience entirely when you're being elbowed in the ribs by an oblivious drunk girl who isn't aware of her windmilling arms and all the intoxicated men who think that you're trying to feel them up and flirt with them when in reality you're just trying to get by. And for a split second you feel as though you may never make it out of the tumultuous sea of bodies. That you'll be cursed to wander around aimlessly in the wild, dancing masses for eternity. Subjected to the ear shattering music and scent of spilt wine and bourbon and sweat.

But then you hear something that sounds suspiciously like your name. It's distant and damp as though your ears are plugged and for a second you had thought that you imagined it before you hear it again. This time louder and there's no mistake that someone is calling you. It has you pausing for a moment to analyze your surroundings and then you catch sight of someone familiar at the far end of the room and for a moment you think that your eyes might be lying to you with the aid of the dim lighting. The deep, saturated, shifting hues of purple and blue and red tinting the chaotic space doing very little to aid you. But someone is waving their arm up the air for you to spot them better and a long glance confirms that you were right in your assumption. The relief that sweeps across your bones is insurmountable and the glimpse of a hand raised up in the air to beckon over you is even more incentive to press forward. And you have to shoulder past people until you enter a small break in the crowd.

"There you are!" Venetia shouts triumphantly, swaying to the rhythm of the song playing at full blast. "I've been looking all over for you!"

You don't bother refuting her. Of countering that she was the one who had wondered off without any plans to meet up afterwards. Instead, you just move up closer to her, doing your best to match her movements and energy but you're entirely too self-conscious to actually meet her. And you feel the fleeting sense of relief that she has yet to notice all of the glitter covering her dress or doesn't care.

"I had to go outside and get some fresh air, " you confess and even underneath the low lighting you can see the way that she nearly rolls her eyes at you, but even then, there's a well-meaning smile on her face.

"You're at a once in a lifetime party, and you were spending it outside?"

"Just for a minute." But she looks completely unamused by your apparently flimsy defense and suddenly she's grabbing you by the shoulders and leaning towards you like it might seal in her words better.

"Well, you're supposed to be inside. Dancing and partying and getting drunk." She squeezes her hands against your skin. "Seriously, it's like you're allergic to fun."

Okay, a little bit rude. And you try to remind yourself that she's just saying it because she's probably drunk. For the most part, all of the younger Catton's (Farleigh included) have a tendency to be social butterflies and party animals. It was something that you had struggled to keep up with when you had officially become friends with Felix. Luckily, he was typically the most understanding out of all of them, and he was aware enough to take notice when you were burning out. It was something that you had thought that Venetia had come to terms with as well, but every now and again she always makes sure to voice her objections.

And you open your mouth to protest but you hardly get anything out. "That's not tru-"

"And as your friend it's my duty to ensure that you do exactly all of the above!" She pulls away with a smirk that is entirely all too satisfied, and it immediately has the alarm bells inside your head blaring. "And maybe even a bit more."

You don't like that last bit.

"There's someone who I think you'd love to meet!" And you swear you can feel your stomach drop at those words but exasperation bleeds through the discomfort until you're holding back an irritated sigh as she practically gushes some stranger's name. "Reuben!"

And at the call of his name, the guy seems to appear from the darkness and shifting bodies like some sort of spirit. It takes you completely off guard how closely and quickly he moves, and you have to physically keep yourself from flinching back. The entire situation is jarring, and you feel like an insect pinned to a corkboard with how both Venetia and this stranger - Reuben are watching you expectantly. And it takes everything to muster up a smile that you know must look strained and unnatural. "Hi," you greet lamely, but he doesn't seem to be the least bit deterred or put off.

And he is cute, you'll admit. Kind, joyful eyes that you think are hazel but it's honestly impossible to tell in this lighting and there's a dusting of freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. He seems inviting enough if first impressions are anything to go by, but for whatever reason you don't find yourself gravitating towards him or longing for any sort of conversation with him.

"It's nice to meet you!" He returns, loudly projecting to be heard over the stereo system. "Venetia's told me a bit about you."

"Uh-huh, " you nod for him to continue or maybe divulge, but he doesn't. He just stands there silently without removing his gaze and you can't tell if it's because he's just oblivious or if maybe he's just socially awkward, but it has you shuffling on your feet all the same, desperate to move or do anything to make this less weird. And you glance over at Venetia who still has that hopeful expression on her face, doing your best to telegraph your discomfort without tipping Reuben off. And she does seem to notice but she doesn't tell him to leave or direct him somewhere else like you had wanted.

"Reuben said that he's been to America before," she reveals. Apparently trying to salvage this little interaction and cultivate it into something more.

"Oh, really?" You perk up a bit, or at least try to. "Where did you visit?"

"Uh, New York. City, " he clarifies at the end before his demeanor shifts into something a bit sheepish and playful and the gold plastic crown perched atop his head glints in the lights. "It was a bit of a bore, I won't lie. But that was probably because I was there on a business trip and not on holiday, so feel free to put the blame on me."

His attempt at joking does thaw at some of the unpleasant tension that had burdened the air, but even with the initial ice broken there's still just a simple, straightforward uninterest underneath it all. You aren't stupid. It's obvious why Venetia had pressed to introduce him to you, it's obvious why he had agreed. And you don't fault him for trying to get lucky at what might just be the party of the decade (for you at least) but keeping him here and stringing him along is a complete waste of everyone's time. You aren't going to sleep with him. Not tonight or any other night. And then you go to tell him as much, parting your lips to just get to the point and lay all of your cards out on the table but then Venetia is tapping on your shoulder, making you pause to look over at her.

She has this strange, delighted smile on her lips that's even worse than the one she was wearing when she had invited Reuben over. She nods her chin over to your right, watching eyes trained on something or someone. "Your shadow's here."

You nearly break your neck to follow her line of sight and your heart skips a beat when you see Farleigh standing several feet away from a gap in the crowd and you have to wonder just how long he's been standing there for. And you don't know why you suddenly feel as though you've been caught doing something wrong. Why your body flushes and prickles with shame and you feel like cringing. Maybe it's because of the way that he's looking at you. How his eyes dart from you to Reuben like he's assessing something. Most of the emotions flickering across his face are unreadable. But for second you think that you catch glimpses or what might be anger or irritation and worst of all betrayal before it leans into something neutral and flat. And then just as you had, he's turning on his heels and vanishing. But unlike you, he doesn't smile as he leaves. He doesn't walk away with a silent invitation to follow.

And then Venetia is turning to Reuben with a sweet smile and tilting her head. "Alright, you can go now."

He looks just as confused as you do, and he turns to look at you like he's expecting you to jump in to defend him or at the very least offer an explanation, but you don't have one to give. You're just as lost as he is and when you don't speak and tell him to stay, he backs away, spreading his arms out in a sort of silent 'what the fuck?' gesture and vanishes back into the throng of bodies.

"What . . . was that?" You ask, tense with a mutated type of bewilderment and anger.

"I just wanted to see it." She says cryptically and irritatingly, begins to dance in place before finally disclosing on that little comment. "The look on his face."

"What?" You snap.

"Please, the way you two dance around each other is getting dreadfully old. It's boring and tired. I just did something to get the ball rolling."

This in particular isn't new by any means. You had heard it all before from the two Catton siblings. Their vehement insistence that you and Farleigh had some unspoken attraction for the other that you both refused to act or speak on. It had nearly become a joke for the both of them. To prod and poke at you and Farleigh with to their hearts content. It was something that the both of you had learned to accept over time - somewhat - and ignore. But this. This new and entirely strange.

"So, what? You were trying to make him jealous?" Your forehead crinkles as you watch her; incredulous and perplexed.

"Trying?" She echoes amusedly." I succeeded. Did you see the way that he was looking at you? He was practically seething."

You almost scoff. He wouldn't be jealous; he had no reason to be. And you don't know why Venetia's little ruse has pissed you off, or why that strange look on Farleigh's face had made your heart drop, but it did.

"The two of you are so dense that it's honestly as frustrating as it is entertaining," she says with pure exasperation. "I mean, whenever you're here, you're practically fused at the hip. Bickering like cats and dogs like we can't all see the truth." She laughs but it's more of a scoff really. "He speaks about you. All the time. Always whining and complaining about something you've done. But it's different. He practically has hearts in his eyes while does it. And it's exhausting." And then she's backing away from you, leaving you to settle and drown in the disarray of your own thoughts and come to terms with that. Does he really speak about you like that? Surely, there's no way.

"So can the two of you, for all of our sake's, sort whatever mess you've got going on between you and just fuck already? "

And then she's spinning away her heels, sending you a wink over her shoulder and the silver chains wrapping around her body in a delicate draped halter glint and twinkle underneath the lights; showcasing that elaborate weblike shape that they've been constructed in. And she just leaves you. Abandoning you in the middle of the temporary dancefloor while you fight with an upstream of odd emotions. You just standing there while you tussle with the urge to find Farleigh and apologize (apologize for what?) and tell him that it was just some weird joke from Venetia (why does that matter?). You don't know why you feel the need to go and try to repair whatever damage Venetia may have just done. What that said 'damage' may even be, you don't know. And you also don't know why you're suddenly heading off in the direction that Farleigh had disappeared in, scanning the crowd for him with some ugly sense of desperation that you don't want to unpack and analyze. Not even as you yield to it.

You aren't even sure how long you search for; your gaze jumping over every face and person that you see in the hopes that you find him. But the room is packed to say the least, and the odds of you actually stumbling across him must be low. He might not even be in this specific room anymore. And if that's case then you might as well as give up now. The estate is sprawling; if he doesn't want to be found, then he won't be. And you think about giving up. Of turning in for the night and trying to talk to him in the morning when you inevitably see him at the breakfast table.

But then you see him. Only this time there's no double take or reason to reconfirm that it is him, this time you spot him immediately.

He seemed to have shed his doublet at some point, leaving him in his pale undershirt. His mask is gone as well. And it takes your mind a second to realize that he's not alone. That he's pressed against some girl like he might kiss her. There's a smile on his face; inviting and flirtatious and the tips of their noses brush together as they lean in close.

You're an unintended observer. You shouldn't be here watching them in a moment that clearly isn't meant for you but it's as though your feet are glued to the floor. It's like watching a car crash. You don't want to look; you don't want to be here but some awful part of you is making you stay. Your muscles have gone still from something prickling and cold and disarming. You can feel it in your chest too. It's making your lungs seize and for one long, paralyzing moment it's almost like you can't breathe. But you don't have a right to be bothered by this. Farleigh's entitled to have one-night stands or flings or to go on dates with people if he wants to. There's no reason why he can't. And there's no reason why you should be feeling shame and betrayal and hurt right now. Absolutely no reason. You wonder if this is what he had felt just a few moments before while you were standing with Reuben and that odd little side of you hopes that he had.

God, what if Venetia had been right? What if -

Their lips brush together.

They're going to kiss, some hideous part of your brain whispers and even worse your body tenses and coils like it's bracing for some sort of dreadfully anticipated impact. This is it. The moment the car crashes and erupts into burning flames.

But then Farleigh goes still. Pausing as though someone had called his name or he's remembered something. The girl that he's pressed up against leans back with a confused furrow pinched between her eyebrows when he turns his head and his eyes land on you.

Your mouth goes dry, and your tongue seems thick and useless, and you try to swallow around it. Now that you're here you don't even know what to do with yourself. You aren't even sure what you had gone after Farleigh for. You didn't have a plan to begin with; you didn't know what to say. You have to internally curse yourself for following after him and putting yourself in this situation. It's strange and awkward and it takes everything for you to even manage a smile. To try and look casual and pretend that maybe you had just stumbled across them and hadn't intentionally tracked him down. And you lift a hand up in a lax wave while your mind ceaselessly chants for you to leave. To just go.

You can feel Farleigh's gaze searing into you, drilling holes into your head even as the girl that he's with leans towards him and you can't hear over the distance or the music, but she appears to be saying something if the way that her mouth is moving is any indication.

You're quick to turn on your heels and all but nearly speed walk away from the both of them, eager to create as much distance between you and them as possible. You don't feel like you're apart from your body. It's like you're disconnected from it, uncomfortably aware of your limbs and movements as you rush away. And it's like your emotions are stuffing your body full and threatening to tear it at the seams. Emotions that you don't recognize; that you don't want to recognize.

A warmth and pressure suddenly encircles around your wrist, much like a hand would and for a moment you think that you've imaged it. But then you're being pulled back gently by the strength of someone's grip, and it forces you to stop. You know who it is before you turn to look at them. You can smell the burn of tobacco from his cigarette habit on his clothes, and it blended with the delicate musk of his cologne. The woody notes of amber joining along with vanilla and bergamot and cardamom made your mouth water in some horrid Pavlovian response. It was humiliating.

Then your eyes are meeting his; dark and glimmering underneath the flashing, sweeping lights dancing about the room. And for one agonizing moment neither of you say anything. It's like you're both simultaneously drifting away and stuck in place. The energy looming over the both of you is foreign and strange, and Farleigh can feel it too if the blank, unsure expression on his face gives away as much.

And then he's releasing your wrist and you let your arm drop down at your side. He shifts on his feet and the weird tension in his shoulders drop as easily as if it were a piece of clothing and a smirk takes shape on his face. This is the Farleigh that you're more familiar with, with the condescending look in his eyes and a prideful tilt to his head. It puts you at ease. Dulling the nervous butterflies in your gut and allowing you to settle underneath his presence.

"Well, if it isn't Felix's favorite little pet." It's meant to be an insult. Most would read it as such, but for you it brings nothing but relief. It feels like a consolation almost. That whatever these strange little interactions have been they haven't damaged your relationship with Farleigh (what relationship?) and made things odd. He glances around the room and all of the festivities, the swaying crowd and streamers and flowing alcohol. He wrinkles his nose in a way that comes off as falsely apologetic. "Or I guess I should say second favorite now."

"Then it's a good thing that I didn't come here for him," you respond easily enough. Internally thankful that the last remaining remnants of tension in your throat hasn't prohibited your ability to speak. "I just know how thrilled you always are to see me, and so I couldn't possibly bring myself to skip out on the trip."

"Thrilled," he echoes with a scoff. "Is that what you think? Because personally I feel like drowning myself in the pond right about now."

"No one's stopping you, " you quip back easily, finally slipping back into your old dynamic.

His forehead scrunches as he pins you with an incredulous look, tilting his head as he moves in closer towards you. "And leave you here all alone? What would you do without me?"

"Thrive. Live. Experience peace."

"Sounds boring."

But you don't have time to respond. He's leaning back on his feet and stepping away from you while he digs one of his hands into the pocket of his costume's pants. And when he removes his hand, it comes out clutching a packet of cigarettes, which he's quick to ruffle around in. "Come on, I wanna smoke."

You don't ask any questions as he moves, leading you out from the dancefloor and throughout the house. Every so often he glances back over his shoulder like he's reconfirming that you haven't wandered off and left. He guides you up a set of staircases, past the couple planted by the first step who are openly making out and grinding on each other and up into the twisting, changing hallways.

"Where are we going?" You ask, nearly getting shoulder checked by a pair of girls who rush down the corridor in a fit of giggles.

"I told you, " he replies and hardly looks back. " I want to smoke."

You want to press him about. About how suddenly he's unable to smoke inside when you've seen him do at least a thousand times. Even at the breakfast table. He probably does it on the toilet too. It wouldn't be a surprise. You aren't sure how long the two of you walk for, higher up into the highest floors of the house until he's finally stopping and opening a door at the end of the hall. He pauses in the threshold, dipping his head in and looking in like he's checking to see if it's occupied. He could have just knocked. It would have been an unpleasant surprise for the people inside if it actually had been unavailable. But the coast must be clear because he's slipping inside and nodding his head for you to follow after. He shuts the door behind you, closing it with a click and gives you a passing smirk when you shoot him a curious glance.

You follow him into the room, vacant apart from some paintings and a few pieces of furniture - an old office maybe, and he leads you across the floors towards a pair of large glass double doors.

He tugs on one of the handles, swinging it open, revealing what appears to be one of the balconies. He's outside before you. And by the time you slide up beside him he's already leaning against the chiseled stone railing on his elbows and the cigarette perched between his lips is lit and smoldering.

The air outside is still warm, sweet and earthy with the scent of moister in the air, like some distant, unseeable storm is brewing. And you can see so much of the estate from this high up. The frolicking people down below in their costumes and those massive, glowing lotus lamps drifting in the pond. But even with all of the guests down on the courtyard engaging in various kinds of trouble; drinking and shouting and singing amongst themselves, up here their voices can harldy reach you. It sounds like a faint murmur on the soft summer wind. And for maybe the first time tonight you actually feel a sense of calm.

"He's a selfish lover, " Farleigh says randomly, flicking the butt of his cigarette to sprinkle the dead ash onto the far grounds beneath. "And a notoriously fast one too. Eliana Merrick said he busted as soon as he put it in."

He notices the lost look on your face and sighs, twisting around on his feet to lean his back against the railing instead. "Your little boytoy from earlier. Reuben Amory." He spits his name out with something that sounds suspiciously like contempt. Venomous and irritated and he lifts the cigarette up to take another drag. "His father's a friend of the family. To James specifically. That's how he always manages to weasel his way into our parties."

"I guess I dodged a bullet then." You joke, absentmindedly fiddling with one of the elaborate pearl earrings dangling from your ear.

"What? He didn't scratch your itch?"

"No," you shake your head with a light shrug. "He was fine. It's just . . . I don't know, I wasn't interested."

Farleigh snorts, making you glare at him, eyebrows furrowing. "What?"

"Nothing." But his tone is a little sarcastic, and unconvincing and the nasty smile on his lips reveals as much. "He just seemed to fit the bill of your type pretty well. Well-meaning, polite and a little pathetic."

You nearly laugh but it comes out as more of a scoff. "That is not my type."

"Oh, really?" He challenges, moving closer towards you and you can smell his cologne again. The vanilla sticks out the most this time. Delicate and sweet. "What about that guy you used to flirt with at IHop? "

"He was a server. It's literally his job to be nice-"

"And then there was your neighbor back at the apartment. The one across the hall with the abysmal amout of plants. And then who could possibly forget, what was his name? Adrian? Who you dated for all of four weeks."

It has you falling silent, unable to counter his argument even though you have a remark waiting on the tip of your tongue. You've never realized that Farleigh had ever paid that much attention to you and your affairs. It has that syrupy, fuzzy feeling pooling in the center of your chest despite that fact that you're actively telling yourself that it doesn't actually mean anything. It's normal for people to notice things about people that they're forced into proximity with.

"Wow, I never knew you were so interested in my love life, " you say, gripping onto the rough texture of the railing. Stroking your fingers over the soft groves and bumps. "Maybe you should get one of your own."

"But yours is always so entertaining," he snuffs out the cigarette and carelessly drops the butt onto the ground near his feet. "You know, with the way that it always seems to crash and burn."

It probably would have stung to hear if you weren't able to say that you were the one to end all of the relationships that you had been in. That you were always the one to take the first step in severing ties. Even with Adrian you had been the one to sit him down and explain that you just hadn't been able to see it progressing anywhere. The both of you were too different. Your goals and wants in life were polarizing and the only things that had brought you together were superficial at best. You just weren't built to last.

"Please, like yours has ever been any better." But he doesn't look the least bit offended. Instead, there's a satisfied quality to his expression. Your lips purse and something akin to defeat weighs down your shoulders. "Besides, they were all too sweet anyway. A little too nice. They could never keep up. I'd always end up saying something to hurt their feelings on accident and they would think that I meant it and then I'd get the silent treatment."

"Not like us, huh?" Farleigh responds a little softly. And he was right. There was always something about your dynamic with Farleigh that you had never been able to achieve in your relationships. The constant push and pull. The competition of your endless banter and insults. The way that you could be completely bare and unrestrained with your words without putting your standing with him at risk. There was . . . an intimacy in it that couldn't compare with anyone else. You had seen the worst of Farleigh. The sneers and jabs and heated sarcasm. And in turn he had gotten the brunt of your own ire and jokes, but it still didn't change a thing. Neither of you ran from it. Instead, you both seemed to revel in it. To seek it out even. It was a type of security that you had never found with any other friend or lover.

And you don't know what it is, but some invisible element shifts and rises between the both of you. Something that's always been there. Simmering and quiet, building up underneath your every interaction like water boiling on a hot stove.

"No. Not like us," you admit in a near whisper like if you spoke to loudly that it might disrupt whatever magnetic thrum has fallen over you both. So low that he might not have heard you. But then you see something flash in his eyes. Something hungry and eager and he's moving closer until you can feel his body heat pouring over your skin, seeping underneath the delicate fabric of your dress and into your bones.

"I hated all of them," he says it like a confession. Hushed and passionate. And you suppose that it is one. Told in total confidence, with a certain fervor like a sinner tucked away in a confessional booth. "I hated them because they should have been me."

It makes you gasp lowly. And your fingers squeeze around the banister like it might ground you and keep you from floating away. And suddenly Venetia's previous statements are echoing around in your skull; mocking and satisfied. You feel slightly stupid now. Blind. But never in a million years would you have guessed that Farleigh had actually ever been jealous of the men that you had dated. It seems like such a silly concept. Or else it would have in the past, but now here he is confirming the very thing that the two Catton sibling's have been vehemently trying to drill into your head for years. And you like it. God, you actually like it. Some nasty little side of you is completely satisfied and even elated that he's been seething over all of your old flings and exes. It feels good because you've been doing the same thing you suddenly realize. Every time that stinging burn had caught up in your chest at the sight of him curled up with some other person - it hadn't been irritation for Farleigh. It was jealousy. You had actually been jealous.

"Can I tell you something?" You ask.

He just hums, low and soft. You can't even glance away from him. Not even if you wanted to. Not with the way that he's looking at you. His stare is heavy and intense, and it feels like you're being held by the throat, forced to maintain eye contact with your breath steadily being stolen from your lungs. "I wished they were you, too."

It's like something breaks free from you when you say it. It was heavy, oppressive and suffocating and in its absence, it's replaced by a sense of ease and a freedom that makes you want to laugh and maybe even cry. And maybe if you weren't preoccupied with the entirety of your attention zoned in on Farleigh you might would have.

Now he's stepping even closer than before, and now you can actually feel the press of his body against yours. The pressure of it has your lips parting, and you have to angle your head to maintain your shared gaze without breaking it. Then his hand is tucking underneath your chin; the pad of his thumb lifts to brush over you, tracing the shape of your bottom lip with something that feels close to reverence.

"Can I kiss you?"

Something inside of you breaks apart at the question, crumbling and washing away like sand underneath the crashing power of a wave. You nod before you even fully register it, and your body is buzzing with a honeyed heat. And you understand that if you do this then whatever relationship you have with Farleigh is going to fundamentally altered. It will be the point of no return and the consequences, positive or negative, will be unavoidable. Maybe tomorrow things will go sour. Maybe by then you'll be back to hating each other, even worse than before. But you want this. Consequences and all.

"God, yes. Please."

His lips are soft and warm, and they taste sugary and faintly floral with what might have been the flavors of some beverage that he had drank earlier. There's the bite of tobacco on his skin too, sharp and smoky. It's usually something that you had never enjoyed when kissing people in the past, but right now it hardly even registers. You're too busy getting lost in the feel of him. The warmth of his hands framing your face, the way that he shifts you on your feet and nudges you back against the railing of the balcony. Your hands are everywhere that they can reach, stroking down his chest and dipping down to grip his hips, pulling them flush against you like any amount of space left between you might kill you.

He groans into your mouth at the gesture, nipping at you lip before soothing the sting with his tongue. It has heat, liquid and thick building between the cradle of your thighs. And you know that it's just kissing, but you can't help but internally berate yourself, because if the both of you hadn't been so horribly bullheaded you could have been doing this the entire time.

And he pulls away from you all too soon, making an embarrassing whimper bubble up from your throat, but he's hushing you with a soft coo, snickering lightly under his breath when he ducks his head beneath your chin to suck at the skin there. Taking it between his teeth and lips and you can't help to soft, breathless pants that start to leave your chest in response. It's purely possessive and you're sure that he's trying to leave marks there, and you can't find it in yourself to tell him not to. It's like your muscles are melting, going boneless at the sensation of his tongue tasting your skin, licking up the salt from it. You can feel the shape of his smug smile against your throat, and it makes you want to slap him. But instead, you're reaching a hand up to cradle the back of his neck, keeping him close to you.

You're wet already, soaking through your underwear. It's something that you would have been awfully conscious of in the past with another partner, but here and now you can hardly think around the red fog that's beginning to cloud your brain. And then he's shifting, sweeping a hand underneath the silk skirt of your dress to clasp around your thigh so that he could pull it to the side, allowing him to nudge his leg between the both of yours.

"Farleigh," you gasp, and he cruelly grinds his thigh against the heat of you, steadily feeding the pressure thrumming there but not letting it build towards anything more. It's frustrating. Mean. And it has you clawing at his shoulders impatiently.

"Yeah? What is it?" He asks, nipping at the sensitive skin on your ear, making sure to be mindful of your earring. You don't respond at first, unable to with the way that he's still steadily moving his thigh against you. It's simple, but with the way that you're already so pathetically worked up, it feels like agony. "Come on, you can tell me."

And to make it worse, that hand that had been gripped around your leg is now moving further underneath your dress, slipping between the press of your bodies to settle above where you want him. His fingers play with the elastic band of your panties, teasing, implying more. But then he hooks it in the crook of his fingers and pulls, letting it snap back against your skin. The sting is dull, but it has you gasping regardless. You mindlessly reach for his hand that's still underneath your skirt, taking it into your own. And you briefly fear that he'll pull it from your grip. But he allows you to guide him. He removes his head from your neck to look into your eyes, watching your expression when you finally slip his hand underneath your underwear, and you can feel the shocking chill of his signet ring trailing across your heated skin. He takes over from there and you can't help the way that you arch into him when his fingers finally move down to where you need him the most. His face pinches when he spreads you open, and he nearly groans at the feel of you. "Jesus, baby, you're fucking soaking already."

Your eyes flutter from the drag of one of his knuckles brushing over your clit and it's like it's directly connected to every individual nerve in your body, making you squirm and moan raggedly.

"Is this all for me?" He asks, dipping one of his fingers lower, teasingly circling the entrance of your cunt but he doesn't go any further.

"Yes." Your lungs feel tight and your nipples brush against his chest with each breath that you take, doing little to help ease the tension and desire threatening to tear you apart. "Yes, it's 'cause of you. Please, Farleigh. C'mon."

"What's the rush?" He taunts, angling his head to take your bottom lip between his teeth and biting. "The night's still young. "

He rocks his thumb against your clit, smirking at you with pure arrogant satisfaction from the way that you shudder underneath his touch. You know that he's absolutely delighting in the way that you've been practically turned into mush by what is essentially some heavy petting. Especially after all of the years of trying one up each other, you're sure that this is doing wonders for his ego. Like it needs to get any bigger. That little prickle of irritation peeks out from underneath the saccharine haze shrouded over you, and you can't keep it down. "I fucking swear, Farleigh, " you nearly hiss, nudging your hips in the hopes that it'll drag the pressure of his fingers closer. "If you don't do something, I swear I'll-"

"You'll what?" Comes his immediate reply, the low rasp of his voice sounds completely unbothered.

"I'll leave, " you say firmly. Or as firmly as you possibly can with the way that the knuckle of his thumb has begun to rotate around your clit in tight, but soft sweeping brushes. But he doesn't appear to be worried in the slightest. He just grins at you. And shakes his head as he lowers it to nudge his nose against yours.

"No, you won't." He says it so certainly. Like he's omnipresent and has already seen the decided future. Like your fate is already sealed. And he's right as much as it pisses you off to admit it. You won't leave. But you don't want to tell him that and give him the satisfaction. " 'Cause you need me don't you, baby? Need me to make you cum."

You're nodding in agreement before you even realize it, throwing whatever semblance of control that you had right out of the window.

"Yeah? Gonna let me taste you?" Just the words alone nearly makes you keen aloud like some desperate slut, and you just barely swallow the sound down. But he must see it in your eyes. The sheer want and desperation that you feel coursing through your body like a drug. The need possessing you might actually be debilitating and you're back to clawing at his shoulders and arms in an attempt to just do something. To pin your focus on something other than the heavy ache between your legs. And you can just distantly hear yourself chanting a string of 'yes' like a broken record.

He tugs his hand from your underwear, and you can't help but mourn the loss, even when he's lowering himself down on his knees and planting kisses down across the expanse of your body as he goes. But then he's rucking the skirt of your dress up over your hips and tucking his fingers back into your underwear like he's getting ready to pull them down. Instead, he's just staring, and his eyebrows are pinched together almost like he's pained.

"You really are soaked," he says with a sort of awe. A thrum of embarrassment rings through you when you realize that he's probably admiring the noticeable wet spot that has dampened the crotch of your underwear from your arousal. You try to close your legs, mostly out of reflex but the sharp, reprimanding smack on the outside of your thigh that you get in response makes you freeze in place. He glares up at you and you have to reach behind you to grip the railing to keep from collapsing from underneath the intensity smoldering in his gaze.

"Keep them open," is his only warning before he all but rips your panties down your hips. Guiding one of your legs up with a hand for you to step out of them, but he leaves your lace underwear to hang from the high heel on your opposite foot; apparently too impatient to fully remove them. And he barely gives you time to think or breathe before he's taking ahold of you by your waist and swinging both of your thighs over his shoulders.

The feel of his tongue laving over the heat of your pussy in a long, greedy swipe makes you scream, completely uncaring for all of the guests down below. And all some distant, buried part of you can do is hope that you're up too high for anyone to hear you. That no one happens to glance up and see you clutching onto the railing for dear life. There's no build up to it. He's completely unrestrained, apparently having the goal to make you cum as quickly as possible with the way that he's working his mouth on you. Swirling his tongue over the swollen, sensitive nerves of your clit and lapping at the dripping entrance of your cunt like a man possessed.

You mouth drops open with heavy pants, and your hands scramble across the cool chiseled stone for something to ground you and keep you pinned to reality. You can see the glint of your arousal smearing across his lips and cheeks and the look in his eyes is a blend of determination and a dazed kind of contentment, and you can feel him groaning against your pussy, amplifying your pleasure. And if it wasn't for the way that you could barely stop whimpering and crying out, you'd nearly think that he was enjoying this more than you with his pleased hums thrumming throughout your body.

He takes your clit into the cradle of his mouth and sucks, and you think that you actually sob but you feel miles away from your body and also helplessly, deliciously trapped inside of it. "Farleigh, " you keen, humping against his face in a debauched display of hedonism. One of your hands reaches down, gripping onto his hair when your eyes roll back from the hot suction of his mouth.

"You taste so good, baby, " he huffs, lapping at the entrance of your cunt with firm, maddening strokes. "So fucking good."

It's too much. You feel like you're on fire. Like he's pulling you apart with each swipe of his tongue and putting you back together again one agonizing piece at a time. It feels cruel but it's also utter bliss. Your thighs are shaking from how tightly they're seized, clamped around his head in a tight squeeze. But he doesn't seem to be bothered about it, because when you try to be mindful and spread them open, he just takes them into his hold and presses them back up against his ears again like he wants to be suffocated. And the thought of that alone has something sharp and electric zipping through you. You file that little theory away for later.

And that familiar ache is rising up like a high, simmering tide. Building and rushing towards you with a quickness that takes you by surprise and you can feel your entire body winding up and coiling tight in anticipation. He drags you closer to his mouth, scooting you down lower against the railing. You're pretty sure that your back is going to be covered in scratches from the rough texture digging across your skin, but as of right now you couldn't give less of a shit. You let your head loll back on the stone, unable to find the concentration or strength to keep it up yourself. You stare up at the sky sightlessly, just barely taking in the winking glow of the scattered stars above while pure, liquid heaven seeps across your limbs.

That overwhelming looming pleasure is right over you now, just a few good strokes off. And with the way that he's licking and sucking at you with his mouth it won't be long before you're breaking apart for him.

"Farleigh," you whimper, choking around a wanton moan, trying to warn him.

He doesn't give you any verbal indication that he hears you. But the grip on your thigh's tense in response, and he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue before dipping it down inside of you; fucking you with it. You can't help the way you're grinding against him, crying out breathlessly when the point of his nose nudges against that swollen bundle of nerves, urging your orgasm to rush towards you at a breakneck speed that you can't brace for.

"Farleigh!" You nearly shriek this time while that wild, rush of pleasure crashes down on you with the intensity of torrential downpour. It tears through your body in a way that's almost violent, making you twist under the heat of his mouth and the iron grip that he still has secured around your legs like you've been jabbed with an electrical current. You sob through the brunt of it, probably alarming the entirety of the Saltburn Estate of your current position. And even after the most of it has made its way across your body, he doesn't stop lapping at you, determined to make sure that he wrings every ounce of your pleasure out of you. It isn't until you're weakly nudging his head away from your sensitive cunt that he pulls his mouth away, but he occupies it by kissing at the inner stretch of your thighs. He massages your hips gently and the sensation works to help guide you back into your own body and return a sense of coherence to you.

All you can do is just sit there and catch your breath, panting raggedly into the night air. You stare up at the stars with complete disbelief while your brain tries to catch up with the fact that Farleigh had just casually sucked your soul out of your body. Sure, you had heard stories of his sexual prowess from some of his past flings before. Heard all of the people gushing and praising his technique in the bedroom, and you had never not believed them per se, you had just never imagined that he was actually this good.

"You doing alright up there?" He asks and his voice is ragged and a little raspy like he was the one screaming and not you.

"Yeah," you confirm after a brief pause. "Just give me a minute and I'm gonna suck your dick."

You can feel him chuckle against you, playful and more than a little cocky but he's more than earned the right to be. "Take your time."

Thankfully, the strength has begun to come back to your body. And even though your limbs are still a little bit shaky you're more than determined and able to ignore it and push through. You raise your head up look at him, using your arms to shift and lift yourself up. He looks up at you expectedly, eyebrows raising with amusement while he aids you in removing your wobbling legs from his shoulders.

He must notice something in your gaze; desperation, want, determination, because he just moves to lean back on his elbows with a relaxed smirk.

"Right here?" He asks. You just nod wordlessly as you lower yourself down on your knees. You could go inside. You probably should. There wasn't a bed in the room that you had entered the balcony from, but there was a couch. Hell, even the floor in there would probably be more comfortable for the both of you than the harsh rock underneath you right now, but you don't want to wait. Not even with the room being so close. Your knees are going to absolutely hate you tomorrow but as of right now, you can't find it in yourself to care.

He parts his legs for you to settle between them and you're fast to crawl over him while he lifts himself up to kiss you. Your lips connect with teeth and tongue, and you moan into each other's mouths when you reach down to cup the length of him from over his pants. He's hot and heavy, even with the layer of fabric covering him. You're still sensitive from your recent orgasm but when you feel the weight of him against your palm, your pussy flutters and tinge of heat settles in the base of your abdomen.

"Baby please, just take it out, " he whines. His voice is petulant and quivering. On any other night you would have used it as an excuse to tease him, but as of right now, you don't have the heart (or patience) to. The urgency in his tone has you thumbing at the buttons closing his pants, but it doesn't help that they're so small and that its dark. You have to squint underneath the dim moonlight to find them and your fingers slip more than once. But luckily you manage to pop all of them through their opening in the fabric; even with the way that Farleigh impatiently grinds into the air, trying to use your hand and forearm as something to grind his cock against.

It's so desperate and dirty but it's also so fucking hot. Seeing him all laid out and begging has a heavy anticipation fizzling underneath your skin, prompting you to grip at the edge of his pants. He's eagerly lifting his hips up, aiding you as you tug the fabric down, working it around the swell of his ass and his hips. And he audibly groans in relief when his cock springs free from the restraint of his clothes. It's so hard that it looks like must be uncomfortable, and there's a steady stream of precum pouring from the tip and trailing down along a thick, throbbing vein in a pearlescent sheen.

Your mouth waters at the sight, and you have to swallow it in the fear that you might actually drool if you don't. He catches the way you're admiring him, and something smug bleeds into his dazed expression. A reversal from the way that he had outright begged for you earlier. You really want to wipe that look off of his face.

Then you're giving into your basest desires and leaning forward to lick at the head of his cock with long, steady sweeps, scooping up the salt of him into your mouth. He's rewarding you as soon as you touch him, breathing out a strained, "fuck," while his fingers come up to grip your hair, already knocking a few of the fake flowers clipped along your updo free; honeysuckles and pink camellias. He doesn't force your head down, but he doesn't remove his hold either, gently urging you to keep going and you can't help but concede. Stretching your jaw open further to slip him inside your mouth before slowly pulling off of him with a firm suck, lapping at the slit of his cock when you do.

He isn't the biggest you've taken, but he's still thick enough for you to feel a slight strain at the hinges of your jaw, but it doesn't deter you in the slightest. You nod your head down to take him in your throat, making sure to be mindful of your teeth as you go and luckily, you're aided by the lubrication of your saliva. You don't stop until you feel the faintest hint of your gag reflex and even then, you have to push off the thought to just keep going, to let yourself gag on him. You'll save that for some other time. As of right now, you want to be able to savor every little movement and twitch and whimper.

You've just started and it's already so sloppy, wet with the way that your drool smears around your lips and chin, and Farleigh seems to be struggling to keep his hips still, resisting the urge to fuck your mouth. His thighs are tense underneath the palms of your hands, muscles flexing and twitching with frayed restraint and each jerky hitch of his hips is punctuated by airy sighs and moans.

A glance up from your place between his legs has you appreciating the way that his back is already arching. He looks gorgeous like this, all splayed out with the thick of his eyelashes fluttering against the jut of his cheek bones. You've always had the sneaking suspicion that Farleigh would lean a bit on the submissive side in bed. Always overcompensating with his arrogant attitude and sarcasm, but you didn't think that he'd be this sensitive. You aren't sure if it's just because he might have already been so worked up from eating you out, or if he's naturally just responsive, but either way the way that he's acting is doing wonders for your ego. The power that you're getting from seeing him already so pleased and dazed is filling your head full of a syrupy sort of satisfaction.

You pull off of his cock with a pop, delighting in the way that he whimpers in protest. You just hum in response, smirking at him while you nuzzle your nose down the line of his shaft and all of his complaints die out once you take one of his balls into the warm cradle of your tongue, reaching up to grip him in your hand while your mouth is occupied.

He moans raggedly, a string of whispered, "so good, don't stop - please, don't stop." Like you'd ever do that now that you've got him underneath you. And not to sound dramatic, but the sky could split open with brimstone and hellfire and the apocalypse could reign down on Saltburn and you still wouldn't pull away from him. Not when he sounds so sweet. Not while he tastes so good. Salty and earthy across your pallet. And the way that he pants into the balmy night air, already breathless has the heat between the apex of your thighs back with a vengence; burning and wet, and you have to rub them together in an attempt to ease the tension there.

You can't help the way that you moan around him, lightly sucking at the sensitive point between his balls and the base of his cock while you smear your thumb over his slit. You the use the fluid to aid in few more pumps from your hand before you're licking back up his shaft again, swallowing him back down while your hand switches places to fondle his sack and the cry that he lets out in response is heavenly. Urging you to bob you head down on him in a steady rhythm. You try to remember to breathe through your nose but in your fervor, you often find yourself neglecting to take in lungfulls of air and as a result an oxygen deprived haze has begun to fizzle over your head. But you can't bring yourself to be worried over it. It feels good. The fuzzy, drunken buzz stuffing your skull full while you work his cock is stupidly addictive.

He must notice the glazed over look in your eyes because he's smiling at you from around the way that his lips have dropped open to release a bout of heavy pants. He drops the hand that had been clutching your hair to sweep his fingers across your face in a gesture that's way too sweet for a guy who's getting head. And it has something soft and sweet blossoming in your chest when he strokes your cheek with his thumb; it makes you feel delicate and adored even while your chin is smeared with spit and cum and your jaw is starting to ache.

"You're already a little fucked out aren't you?" It's rhetorical, you know, but you find yourself moaning in response regardless. "You look so georgous like this."

Liar. There's absolutely you look even remotely attractive right now. You can feel the prickle of tears threatening to slip past your water line and down your face, and you're sure that your lashes have begun to clamp together from the damp. Your lips are swollen and there's a sheen of sweat glittering on your forehead. You probably look like a wreck but it still has you melting, and you begin to lick and suck at him with even more passion than before.

And it must have felt good for him because his head is rolling back on his shoulders and his elbows nearly collapse, leaving him to drop onto his back with a gutted groan. His eyes roll back, and his thighs seize. His white undershirt has ridden up around his ribs, showing off the stretch of his abdomen and you can see the way that his muscles flex and tense with the same pulse of his hips. He's close and it only has you doubling your efforts with even more vigor, desperate to taste him on your tongue, to feel the heat of him in your mouth and throat. The sound of his gasping has changed in pitch, rising into something that sounds close to a sob.

But then you're being torn off of him without warning and you can't contain your mournful whimper when the weight of him leaves your mouth. Irritation and betrayal flares and you can't keep yourself from glaring at him even while he looks close to wrecked, rambling underneath his breath something that sounds like, "I'm sorry baby, I need to feel you, " as he hauls you onto his lap.

And your scattered brain is still able to grab onto what he wants. You gather up your skirt to settle your knees on either side of his hips and you're quick to grab ahold of his cock to line it up with your entrance. Neither of you have the mental capacity to tease or draw the process out longer than it needs to be, and you're thankful that he had already ate you out earlier, giving you some semblance of prep. And without any fanfare you're sinking down onto his cock, and your pussy flutters around his girth, stretching until he's buried in at the hilt.

The shared groans that you let out are ones of relief and pure bliss. Your body shudders at the fullness nestled within the apex of your thighs and Farleigh impatiently grinds his hips up into yours, rocking his pelvis into your clit with a petulant huff. "Come on baby, ride me, " he urges. "Fucking take it."

You can't find it in yourself to deny him. Or yourself. And he lets you plant your hands onto his chest for support when you lift yourself up with your thighs to begin wildly bouncing on his cock, grinding and swiveling your hips with each downstroke. That thick, heated pleasure is already building up near the base of your spine, and you already know that you aren't going to last long. Not with how worked up you are. And you don't think that he's going to be able to hold off either.

He's watching you with something akin to wonder in his eyes and his lips are snagged between his teeth like he might be trying to quiet himself. Like he's trying to selfishly hide those punched out little moans. And you don't know why he tried to be hushed now after he's been groaning and whimpering this entire time but that petulant expression on his face tells you all you need to know. He's doing it on purpose, the brat. It has you leaning over him to pepper soft kisses over his cheeks, nipping at his chin and jaw sweetly, before you squeeze your pussy around his cock like a vice and you place your hand around the base of his throat. You don't tighten your fingers around it, but let him feel the pressure of your grip, testing the waters to see if your earlier theory had been right.

And his body goes taut underneath you while his hips thrust into you with a harsh twitch. A gutted moan follows closely behind, and he grips onto your thighs like he needs it to ground himself and keep himself present.

"Feel good?" It's admittedly a little condescending but even then, you can't help the softness that bleeds through your tone. He nods his head drunkenly, tilting his head back to bare his throat to you. The way that he's melting underneath the ceaseless roll of your hips and mindlessly fucking into you with deep, heavy thrusts is already driving you towards that tide of heat and ecstasy, and they way that you openly keen reveals as much.

Your knees are already stinging from the harsh stone floor digging into them and your thighs are already burning with exertion from the ruthless pace that you had set. But you have no desire to stop yet. To switch positions or ask him to take over, not with how beautiful and fucked out he looks beneath you.

You're both already messy and incoherent, chasing after your pleasure desperately. The noises coming from the place where your bodies are joined is filthy with the repetitive smack of skin on skin and the crude squelching of your cum echoing off of the rock walls around you. And maybe if your brain wasn't practically mush you might would have had the capacity to care, but you just can't find it within yourself while you watch every minute, rapturous expression flit across Farleigh's face. Not while his plush lips are parted for him to gasp, and his eyes have nearly gone cross.

"Baby, " he whines brokenly. A warning for the way that he's quickly hurdling towards his release from the constant rock of your hips. Yours isn't far off either, simmering and curling within the pit of your abdomen and you can already tell that your orgasm is going to destroy you. It's so close. So, so, so close and you find yourself nodding shakily in response to him.

"I know, I know, " your jaw goes lax at a partially hard thrust from his hips, muscles spasming around the drag of his cock.

"Where - where can I- "

"Inside," you answer, choking on your breath." I'm on the pill - it's safe, you can- "

He cuts you off with a gutted, shredded groan of your name and his entire body seizes up from the power of his orgasm. The warmth of his release spreads throughout your lower stomach and another choppy, wild thrust from Farleigh grinds his pelvis into the tender nerves of your clit. It just sneaks up on you. Sweeping you up and dragging you down before you can even register that it's ravaging your body and making you scream. For a second you completely forget what it means to have a physical body. You don't have hands, or feet, or a mind. You don't have a favorite song and there aren't any bills to pay, or an apartment back home in America, and the chaotic party downstairs doesn't exist. The cold stone floor beneath your knees isn't there. You're just floating. Suspended in a state of bliss and pleasure.

For a moment you just are.

And then your lungs are gasping, filling up with oxygen. Clarity comes back to you in pulses and the feeling in your limbs follows behind. Sensation returns to your toes and fingertips and then your eyes are fluttering open. The first thing you hear is the rapid pulse of a heartbeat and when you breathe the scent of something like vanilla and cigarette smoke nestles within your lungs. It has you rubbing your cheek against the heat of their chest - Farleigh's chest, your brain supplies sluggishly. You don't remember collapsing on top of him but apparently you had.

"God damn," he slurs, prompting an amused, tired laugh from you. For a moment the two of you just lay there, taking the time to return to yourselves and grasp your senses. And with it, reality rises up too. That you're laying here with Farleigh on an open balcony with his cum dripping from between your thighs. And apart from his confession earlier there's some small insecure part of you that's worried that he hadn't fully meant it. That this was just a simple fling. Something to ease the tension that's been brewing between the both of you for the past few years. But you don't get to wallow in your fears for long before he's tapping on your thigh and shuffling up onto his elbows.

You just hum at him questioningly, not yet trusting your voice.

"Need a cigarette," he answers.

That has you moving, lifting yourself from his hips and you both hiss, sensitive and raw when he slips from you. Your knees are tender too, aching and you inelegantly plop yourself on your rump beside Farleigh to give them some relief. And you briefly occupy yourself with your underwear, slipping it back underneath your dress and smoothing out your skirt as best as you can.

He works on slipping his pants and tights back over his hips, digging into his pocket as soon they've been righted for a cigarette and his lighter. You watch him with something nervous in your gut. And you tell yourself that you're being stupid and overdramatic. So, what if this was just a one-time thing? It was an amazing time. And if this turned out to be some random fling then that would just make it even more special, right? And he said that he was jealous of your past exes but that didn't necessarily mean that he had feelings for you. You had been the one to jump to conclusions and assume.

And even if by tomorrow he pretends that this never happened then that would be fine. You'd make do. You'd survive. It won't be the end of the world.

"Do you want to spend the night with me?"

The question tears you from your thoughts. Saves you from them really and pulls your attention onto Farleigh. His eyes are glimmering from the burning embers at the end of his cigarette, laying some strange quality in his gaze bare. But whatever it is looks uncertain and hesitant. And it serves as reminder that this is new territory for him as well. That he's just as unsure as you are. It gives you a little boost of confidence that you aren't alone in your self-induced doubts. It makes you smile; soft and relaxed and you hope that it helps whatever thoughts he may have running around in his own head.

"Sure," you say. "But I want to rewatch House of Wax. "

His face scrunches up in response, but he's already rising up to his feet and holding a hand out for you to take, helping to pull you up on your wobbling feet. "That movie is shit."

"Well, I wouldn't be able to tell with the way that you wouldn't stop talking the last time that we all watched it." You grip onto his forearms while you find your balance, lowly cursing your heels and unsteady ankles. The energy has shifted into place, as easily as breathing; thawing all of the worries and insecurities that had initially clattered around in your brain as though they hadn't been there at all.

"That's because the characters were nothing but cliches and one note, " he scoffs and promptly drops his cigarette on the balcony, snuffing it out by grinding it with his shoe.

"I also need a bath."

A smile curls on his lips, a little teasing. " Want to share?"

You stare at him, a little disbelieving. There's absolutely no way that you could do that again tonight. At least not so soon. You're exhausted, barley holding yourself up as it is and you're still clinging to one of Farleigh's arms for support.

"Really? After that?" You question, eyebrows raising, but you can't keep yourself from trying to joke despite your surprise. "You're terrible."

Farleigh chuckles, guiding you towards the double doors gently, "Oh, don't look at me like that," he says, purely amused. "I wasn't suggesting another round, you're the one with your head in the gutter."

You don't reply. Too caught up in the fuzzy way that it makes you feel; his request to share a bath with you. A small gesture maybe, but it also feels wonderfully domestic and intimate. It has you leaning into his side as you step into the adjacent room, breathing in the scent of his cologne, soaking up the body heat that radiates from his skin. Whatever new chapter between the both of you has opened has still left you two with a lot of unsaid questions and answers. You still don't know what you two are. If there's a label to apply to you both of it was just a one-night stand, but you don't have to get those answers right this second. For now, you can just bask in his company and come morning, once you've both had time to think and adjust you can sit him down and have a conversation. And maybe (hopefully) your relationship will finally become something more.

But as for now, you don't mind spending the night in his room. Of cuddling up underneath the covers of his bed after a nice bath and watching a movie together, even though you know that the duration of it is going to be spent with him criticizing every line of bad dialogue and griping over plot holes, no matter how insignificant they may be.

It sounds like the perfect night, honestly.

But still there is still one burning question that's searing at your brain like a hot coal, and you can't keep yourself from voicing it.

"Do you think anybody heard us?"

And his answer is blunt and honest.

"Oh, yeah, there's no way they didn't."

#farleigh x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh saltburn #farleigh start #farleigh start x you #farleigh start smut #farleigh catton #saltburn #saltburn movie #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn x reader #saltburn x you #oliver quick x reader

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pastryfication · 1 month

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love at first fire | lando norris

part of the love at first . . . series

you’re jolted awake by the shrill scream of the fire alarm, cutting through the silence of the night like a knife. groggy and disoriented, you sit up, heart racing, trying to make sense of the sudden chaos. it takes a moment for the reality to sink in—the alarm is real, and you need to get out.

you fumble in the dark, grabbing the first things within reach: your phone, your keys, a hoodie you pull over your sleep-rumpled hair. the alarm continues its relentless wail as you slip into your shoes, barely managing to shove your feet in as you head for the door.

the hallway is a blur of movement, neighbors rushing out of their apartments, eyes wide with panic and confusion. the air is thick with the scent of smoke, faint but unmistakable, urging you to move faster. you join the stream of people heading for the stairs, your mind racing as fast as your feet.

outside, the cool night air hits you like a splash of water. you’re on the street now, along with the rest of the building’s residents, all of you looking up at the structure that’s been your home, now alive with flashing lights and the distant sound of sirens. the alarm is still blaring, muffled but persistent, a constant reminder of the danger you’ve just escaped.

you’re shivering, partly from the cold, partly from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. you pull your hoodie tighter around yourself, scanning the crowd, searching for familiar faces, but mostly, just trying to calm your racing heart.

and then you see him.

at first, it’s just a face in the crowd, someone standing a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of a jacket, dark hair tousled as if he’d just rolled out of bed. which, you realize, he probably has. his expression mirrors your own—confused, a little dazed, and clearly not expecting to be outside at this hour.

your heart skips a beat. he notices you looking, and for a split second, your eyes meet. you feel a jolt, like a current running through your body, something electric and undeniable. it’s not just recognition, it’s something deeper, something that makes the world tilt on its axis, leaving you momentarily breathless.

he takes a step closer, his eyes still locked on yours, and you realize he’s coming over. your mind races, searching for something to say, but all words seem to have abandoned you, leaving you with nothing but the sound of your own pounding heart.

“crazy night, huh?” he says, his voice warm and tinged with a hint of a smile, as if the situation isn’t entirely unwelcome.

you manage a nod, still struggling to find your voice. “yeah, not exactly how i planned on spending it.”

he chuckles, and the sound comforts you. “same here. didn’t expect to meet anyone at this hour either.”

there’s a pause, the kind that should be awkward but isn’t. instead, it feels like a moment suspended in time, something fragile and precious that neither of you wants to break.

“you live here?” he asks, nodding toward the building behind you.

“yeah,” you say, finally finding your voice. “third floor.”

“me too,” he says, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes you wonder how you never ran into him before. “funny how we’ve probably passed each other a hundred times and never noticed.”

“guess it took a fire alarm to bring us together,” you say, and you can’t help but smile.

he grins back, and for a moment, the world around you fades—the noise, the people, the flashing lights. it’s just the two of you, standing in the middle of the street in the dead of night, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“maybe we should do something less dramatic next time,” he says, his tone light, but his eyes serious.

“i’d like that,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the fire.

you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something familiar about him, something you can’t quite place. but it doesn’t matter, not really. what matters is the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only person in the world, like this is a moment that’s meant to be.

and as the two of you stand there, you start to talk—about the building, about the chaos of the night, about everything and nothing at all. he’s easy to talk to, and you find yourself laughing despite the situation, the tension of the night melting away.

it’s not until the fire trucks arrive, lights flashing and engines rumbling, that you catch a glimpse of something that makes you pause. one of the firefighters does a double-take when he sees him, and then, as if realizing who he is, offers a small, knowing smile.

you glance back at the guy standing next to you, your heart skipping a beat as the pieces start to fall into place. the familiar face, the way he carries himself, the recognition in the firefighter’s eyes—it all clicks.

he catches your expression, a small smile playing on his lips. “you just realized, didn’t you?”

you feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment. “i . . . yeah,” you admit, unable to keep the smile off your face. “you’re lando norris.”

“guilty,” he says with a grin. “but let’s keep it between us, yeah? at least for tonight.”

and just like that, in the middle of the chaos, you realize that something has shifted, something new has begun. it’s not just the fire that’s burning—it’s the start of something between you and lando, something that feels like it was meant to be.

and as you stand there, side by side, lando’s hand slowly reach in down to intertwine with yours, you know that this is a night you’ll never forget. the night everything changed. the night you met him. the night of love at first fire.

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callsigns-haze · 1 month

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Little chaser

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Tyler and Y/n Owens enjoy a cozy movie night, only to be interrupted by their storm-chasing squad, who are shocked to discover Y/n's pregnancy

Warning: Contains themes of pregnancy and unexpected revelations.

Tyler Owens and Y/n had been inseparable since their whirlwind marriage seven years ago. At just eighteen, they had tied the knot, driven by a shared passion for adventure and a love of chasing the formidable storms that danced across the plains. They became well-known in the tornado chasing community, their bond only strengthening as they faced nature's most terrifying phenomena side by side.

Tyler’s squad, consisting of Kate, Javi, Boone, Lilly, Dexter, and Dani, had always adored Y/n. Her keen eye for weather patterns, her fearless attitude, and the calm she exuded even in the most chaotic of chases made her an invaluable member of the team. Yet, for the past two months, Y/n had been conspicuously absent from their adventures. As Tyler joined the crew for another chase, the questions from his teammates became harder to avoid.

"Tyler, where’s Y/n? It’s been weeks since we’ve seen her," Kate, the team's meteorologist, asked with a concerned expression as they gathered around the radar equipment.

"Yeah, she’s usually the first one ready to go," added Javi, the tech expert, adjusting the monitors for the latest storm updates.

"Is everything alright? We miss her energy out there," Boone, the seasoned storm chaser, chimed in, leaning against the van.

Lilly, looked at Tyler with worry. "She’s okay, right? You can tell us if something’s up."

Even Dexter, the quiet yet observant driver and mechanic, nodded in agreement. "We’re just concerned, man. It’s not like her to just vanish."

Dani raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, Ty, it’s not like Y/n to miss out on all the fun. What’s going on?"

Tyler forced a smile, his mind racing for a plausible excuse. "She’s... taking some time off. Needed a break from the constant adrenaline rush, you know?"

The squad exchanged puzzled looks but didn't press further, though their concern was palpable. What Tyler couldn't tell them was the truth he and Y/n had been guarding closely: Y/n was pregnant. The revelation had come as a surprise to both of them, and they had decided to keep it a secret until they were ready to share the news with their friends and family.

Y/n’s absence from the chases was necessary. Tornado chasing, with its inherent dangers and unpredictable conditions, was no place for someone expecting a child. Yet, staying away from the action and the team they considered family had been difficult for both Y/n and Tyler. Their shared passion for storm chasing had always been a cornerstone of their relationship, and this new chapter brought a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

Back at their modest home, Y/n sat on the porch, her hand resting gently on her growing belly. She missed the thrill of the chase, the camaraderie of the team, and most of all, being out there with Tyler. But she knew this was the best decision for their unborn child. Every time she felt a flutter of movement within her, she was reminded of the new adventure awaiting them.

Tyler returned home that evening, exhaustion etched into his features. As soon as he stepped onto the porch, Y/n greeted him with a playful smile. "Took you long enough. Did you get lost without me?"

"Hardly," Tyler replied, grinning as he wrapped his arms around her. "But it wasn't the same. Everyone's missing you."

Y/n laughed softly. "I bet they were all pestering you with questions."

"You have no idea," Tyler said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Kate even threatened to hijack my phone and call you herself."

Y/n giggled, leaning into him. "I miss them too. But I miss you most of all."

"I know, peach," Tyler said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "But we’re doing what’s best for the baby. Soon enough, we’ll tell everyone, and they’ll understand."

Y/n nodded, her eyes reflecting a blend of anticipation and nervousness. "I can't wait to see their faces when they find out."

Tyler knelt down, gently placing his hand on her belly. "Hey there, little one. Your mom and I can't wait to introduce you to the wild world of storm chasing. But for now, we’re keeping you safe and sound."

Y/n smiled, her heart swelling with love. "Our little storm chaser in the making."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the landscape, Tyler and Y/n sat in comfortable silence, holding onto each other and the secret that was growing stronger every day. They knew the coming months would bring challenges, but they were ready to face them together, just as they always had.

"Do you remember the first time we chased a storm together?" Y/n asked, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips.

Tyler chuckled. "How could I forget? You were fearless, diving into the van and shouting directions like you were born to do it."

"And you looked at me like I was crazy," Y/n teased, poking his side.

"I thought you were crazy," Tyler admitted, laughing. "But then I realized I was just as crazy about you."

Y/n and Tyler had decided to unwind with a movie night, something they hadn't done in ages. The living room was cozy, filled with soft lighting and the aroma of popcorn. Y/n sat on the couch, her hand resting gently on her growing belly, while Tyler was fiddling with the remote, trying to find their favourite movie.

"Finally, a quiet night just for us," Tyler said with a smile, settling next to Y/n and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Perfect," Y/n agreed, snuggling closer. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with love and mischief. "You know, you could have let me pick the movie for once."

Tyler laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Hey, I’m just making sure we avoid any sappy rom-coms."

"Sappy rom-coms?" Y/n raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "You loved the last one we watched."

Tyler feigned shock, placing a hand over his heart. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"Oh really?" Y/n teased, poking his side. "I seem to recall someone tearing up during the wedding scene."

"That was a momentary lapse in judgment," Tyler replied, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably as a grin broke through. "Besides, I was just... sympathizing with the groom."

"Sure you were," Y/n said, laughing. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "Admit it, you’re a big softie."

"Only for you," Tyler murmured, his voice dropping to a tender whisper. He gently lifted her chin, his eyes locking with hers. "And soon, for this little one too."

Y/n's heart melted at his words, and she leaned in for a sweet kiss. "We’re going to be a great team, the three of us."

"Absolutely," Tyler agreed, his hand moving to rest on her belly, feeling the gentle flutter of their baby. "I can’t wait for all the adventures we’ll have together."

They shared a comfortable silence, basking in the warmth of their love. Tyler adjusted the blanket around them, making sure Y/n was cozy. "You know, I was thinking," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Maybe we should name the baby after me. Tyler Jr. has a nice ring to it."

Y/n chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Tyler Jr., huh? What if it’s a girl?"

"Tylerina?" he suggested, earning a playful swat from Y/n.

"How about we come up with names that don’t make our child sound like a pasta dish?" she teased, her laughter infectious.

"Fine, fine," Tyler conceded, grinning. "But I get veto power over any weird names."

"Deal," Y/n said, her eyes twinkling with affection. She nuzzled closer, her head resting against his chest as the movie finally began to play. "You know, I’m really glad we’re doing this."

"Me too," Tyler whispered, kissing the top of her head. "I love you, Y/n."

"I love you too, Tyler," she replied, feeling a wave of contentment wash over her. Despite the excitement and challenges ahead, she knew they could face anything together.

As they settled into the movie, their playful banter continued, each teasing comment only strengthening their bond. They were perfectly in sync, a team in every sense, ready to take on the world and the storms it might bring.

Just as they were getting lost in the film, the sound of laughter and familiar voices outside grew louder, followed by a series of knocks on the door. Tyler and Y/n exchanged puzzled looks.

"Are we expecting company?" Y/n asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

"Nope, not at all," Tyler replied, standing up to answer the door.

As he opened the door, he was greeted by the entire squad: Kate, Javi, Boone, Lilly, Dexter, and Dani. They were all grinning widely, carrying snacks and drinks.

"Surprise!" they shouted in unison.

"Hey, Ty! We thought we'd crash your movie night!" Boone said, holding up a bag of chips.

"Yeah, it’s been too long since we all hung out together," Dani added, balancing a tray of cookies.

"Hope you don’t mind," Lilly said, already making her way inside.

Tyler forced a smile, glancing back at Y/n, who was now sitting up straight, her eyes wide with surprise. "Of course not! Come on in."

As the team piled into the living room, they suddenly stopped in their tracks, their eyes widening and jaws dropping when they saw Y/n. Her baby bump was unmistakable, clearly visible beneath her snug-fitting shirt.

"Oh my God," Kate gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes darted from Y/n's belly to her face, searching for confirmation. "Y/n, you’re... pregnant?"

"No way," Javi said, his eyes wide with shock. He stepped closer, almost as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. "How far along are you?"

"Is that...?" Boone trailed off, unable to finish his sentence as he stared at Y/n's belly. His usual confident demeanor was replaced with sheer astonishment.

Lilly’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "Y/n, are you really...?" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Even Dexter, who was usually so composed, looked completely floored. "Wow," he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. "Congratulations!"

Dani was the first to recover, breaking into a wide grin. "You’re pregnant!" Dani exclaimed, clapping their hands together in delight. "That’s amazing news!"

Y/n smiled, her cheeks flushing as she placed a protective hand on her belly. "Surprise."

There was a moment of stunned silence before the room erupted into cheers and excited chatter. The squad rushed forward, enveloping Y/n in a flurry of gentle hugs and congratulations.

"This is incredible!" Kate exclaimed, rushing over to hug Y/n gently. "Congratulations! How far along are you?"

"We had no idea!" Javi said, shaking Tyler’s hand enthusiastically. "You guys kept this under wraps really well."

"Why didn’t you tell us sooner?" Boone asked, grinning from ear to ear as he patted Tyler on the back.

"We wanted to make sure everything was okay before we told everyone," Tyler explained, smiling at his friends. "And we didn’t want to take any risks with Y/n out in the field."

"That makes sense," Lilly said, nodding. She hugged Y/n again, her eyes shining with happiness. "We’re just so happy for you both."

"Thanks, everyone," Y/n said, her eyes glistening with tears of joy. "We’re really excited, and we’re glad to finally share it with you all."

The squad quickly settled back into their usual camaraderie, congratulating Tyler and Y/n and bombarding them with questions about the baby. The room was filled with laughter, hugs, and a sense of overwhelming joy.

"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?" Dani asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Not yet," Y/n replied, smiling. "We’re waiting to be surprised."

As the evening went on, the movie was forgotten, replaced by stories, jokes, and plans for the future. Kate and Javi argued over potential baby names, while Boone and Dexter discussed the best baby gear for future storm chasers. Lilly, ever the caretaker, promised to help with anything they needed.

Tyler and Y/n felt a wave of relief and happiness, knowing that their friends were as thrilled as they were about the new addition to their tornado-chasing family. The sense of community and support was palpable, making the announcement even more special.

"We’ll be there for you every step of the way," Kate said, raising her glass in a toast. "To Tyler, Y/n, and the newest member of our crazy crew!"

"To the Owens family!" the group echoed, raising their glasses high.

Tyler and Y/n exchanged a loving glance, their hearts full. Surrounded by their closest friends, they knew they were ready for whatever storm the future might bring.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #tyler owens fanfic #tyler owens #twisters fanfiction #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens smut #dad!tyler owens

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pearlymel · 1 month

Text

The last time when...

Synopsis : you're an assassin. Your next mission? Get rid of your husband.

Warnings : Sylus × gn! reader, angst angst, death, miscommunication, blood, 1.6k wc.

Notes : if this broke your heart a lil bit, then i will make an apology letter by making a part 2 where they're all a happy family and alive 😓

When was the last time you looked at your husband and thought; how crazy must you have been to be with this as equally crazy man?

Or when was the last time he looked at you and thought; how lucky he was that you were able to tolerate him, to marry him, even.

He knew. And you thought you were able to hide your true occupation just well.

He seemed calm right in front of you while your hands were shaking.

He.. was the target?

Let's take this back to yesterday.

You were pushing your motorbike to its limits as you tore down the dark, winding roads, the sound of gunfire ringing out behind you. Bullets whizzed past you, narrowly missing their mark as you expertly maneuvered the motorcycle to avoid getting hit.

Your heart pounded in your chest as adrenaline rushed through your veins. You could hear the shouts and curses of your pursuers, their voices full of anger and frustration.

Despite the danger and the high-speed chase, you manage to keep your composure and reach for the gun holstered at your waist. With a quick and practiced motion, you whip it out and aim it behind you, training it on your pursuers.

Bullets continue to fly in your direction, but you return fire, hoping to buy yourself some time and discourage them from closing in on you.

You safely escaped, for now.

You were either going to get killed by them or by Sylus if he finds out you put yourself recklessly into danger.

Let alone burrowing his motorbike for this mission.

Stupid organisation, you mutter to yourself as you kick your boots off, the snowy weather certainly wasn't helping with your thoughts either.

You had hoped to leave your old life behind, especially after marrying Sylus. But that was a year ago, and the phone call from your old organization has shattered that illusion of peace. These assholes.

They had one more job for you, a job they think no one can ever successed in, unless it was you.

They didn't even tell you who your target is. Just simply send in you the location instead.

As you push open the door to your shared bedroom, your heart sinks when you see that Sylus is still awake. His eyes are fixed on you, and judging by the expression on his face, he is far from pleased.

His arms are crossed in front of his chest, a stern frown creasing his forehead as he regards you silently, waiting for an explanation.

“i was visiting a friend,” you explain, your grip of steel around the doorknob.

Sylus doesn't seem convinced by your flimsy story. He continues to stare at you, "Visiting a friend," he repeats, sarcastically.

“Mephisto says otherwise.”

That damned crow.

“I'd like it if you stopped stalking me.” You say bitterly. And it's true, his eyes seem to be everywhere, anywhere.

That's why you made sure to quit being an assassin before getting together with him. You wanted a happy, peaceful life as well.

“You're saying it like I'm some sort of creep or stranger.” he drawled, stepping closer to look down at you, and his crimson eyes seem to shine brighter in the dark as he lifts your chin up.

“I'm your husband, i have the right to know why my partner is late.” he squinted his eyes at you before letting go off your chin to turn away.

“Get some rest.” Sylus retreated back to bed. You both didn't speak a word that night, both of your backs facing the other, and you think the weather might have become colder.

—

They have threatened to hurt the people you love most if you don't do this one last mission.

You still feel upset that you didn't clear things up with Sylus last night, you hate fighting with him, but if it has to come down to this, then you'd rather protect him.

You made sure no one would follow you this time, not even Mephisto.

Let's say you did some adjustments on him.

Sorry lil guy.

It's probably not clever to leave your trail of footsteps behind on this particularly heavy snowy day, but they said your target would be here. Right at this time. And this place.

What an odd feeling.

Your body goes taut as you suddenly hear the sound of snow being crushed underfoot. It's a familiar sound that immediately puts you on alert. In a flash, you turn around, your gun gripped tightly and ready to fire.

Sylus.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you recognize the figure emerging from the falling snow.

Shock flood through you, your body instinctively relaxing a fraction as you lower your gun, "Sylus," you exhale breathlessly, the tension in your muscles melting away momentarily.

He observed you with a gaze that felt like it cut deep into your very core. There was no anger in his eyes, no hatred, no rage. Just a quiet resignation. “It's strange,” he says, his voice low, “fate bringing us here like this.”

He wasn't armed. He most likely knew.

Wait, he's.. the target?

He noticed your reaction, but there was no flicker of fear in his eyes. Despite your step back, he continued his approach, slowly and deliberately. His eyes never left you, yet there was not a threat in them, just...resignation...understanding?

Sylus was close, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, so warm in the cold, he reached out and gently brushed the hair that had plastered itself to your face, to reveal your expression of fear.

“step… back.”

“and why should i do that?”

“I'll shoot,” the words slip from your tongue quicker than you could stop yourself from saying it.

He simply lifted one eyebrow at the sight of the gun now pointed at his chest, unperturbed. “Is that how you greet your husband dearest?” he asks, the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth with his head tilted slightly to the side.

He was so infuriatingly calm, like there was nothing to worry about.

His smile only widened, and he lifted his hand to rest it on the gun, his fingers gently tracing the barrel, bringing it closer to him, and you gasp, “but don’t you know how much I love getting under your skin, sweetie?”

“Don't—!” you drawed your hand back when his fingertips played dangerously near the trigger, sending your heart to almost stop. You step back again.

He knew you wouldn’t shoot.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said, his voice dropping the smooth façade once you aim the gun at yourself.

“Put that down, now.” he stepped closer to you, your warnings going through deaf ears before he became impatient, resolving this by using his evol, the energy manipulation red and black strands wrapping around your hand and taking the weapon away from your hold to throw it to the side.

Well, you were certainly no match for him.

“I can explain.” You sounded defeated, a fool. You knew you were going to face the consequences if you don't do something now. “I'm really sorry.”

“do that when we get home—”

Sylusd didn't get to finish what he was about to say, and he didn't freeze either when he heard the familiar sounds of gunshots going off.

Gunshots. Aimed directly at you.

He had no time to look around at the source of danger, everything felt like it wad going in slow motion when be was reaching his arm, his body out to protect you and shield you.

Only to find you on your knees in a blink of an eye, your body limp and falling into the pile of snow.

Sylus shouted your name in fear as he knelt beside you, gathering you gently in his arms, his voice a strangled gasp. He held you close, his eyes wild while his hands palpated your body, searching for the wound.

Two gunshots. Shot right through your chest and stomach.

No, no, no.

Sylus has never felt more scared than he was right now, with your crimson blood seeping quickly, melting down with the snow, even when he was taking off his coat and shirt, all to apply pressure on your wound.

He clutched you, his hands trembling, “stay with me," he pleaded, his voice hoarse. "Please, please stay with me.” His mind raced, frantically thinking of what to do, of why the blood wouldn't stop running down, your eyes so tired and almost dull, oh how he felt so helpless right now.

He clenched his jaw, the unfamiliar tears starting to gather around his eyes.

“You’re not quitting on me,” he muttered, the anger in him rising. “You don’t get to quit on me, damn it. You’re not dying on me. Not today, not anytime soon.”

“So—sorry..”

Your last breath. Sylus’ world came shattering down as your eyes lost their light and your body went still in his arms. There was no breath left, no pulse, just deafening silence and the harsh wind.

Your last words were an apology. Not an ‘i love you’ nor ‘take care’.

He refused to believe it. He refused to accept that you were gone, that your lips would never say his name again, that your hands would never touch his skin again.

”Don’t leave me.”

…

“please?”

…

“Are you really.. going to leave me to be alone again? ”

Sylus only remembers seeing red and white that day. The prettiest angel resting in his arms with their precious blood mixed with the cold embrace of the snow.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace angst #sylus angst

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stillfrownyclownlol · 9 months

Text

Gonna throw up If I can't talk about them-

Bunch of Aiden analysis under the cut because he's just SO OBSESSED CODED AND NOBODY TALKS ABOUT IT 😭 (I will be very weird about it)

The way it's so doomed from the start. He's already so fascinated by her. It's in the little jump he does when she sits in front of him, like a secret they're both in on, like her sitting in front of him is some obscure way of her inviting him into a conversation.

Why is he like this (not positive but not negative either)

He has such a cocktail of personality traits and, most certainly, mental disorders, and his own history that makes it so, when he's in love, that it WILL blow up in his face.

The fact that he's been homeschooled for his entire life- he has no idea. HE DOESNT EVEN KNOW. He doesnt realize that its not normal. of course he doesn't :( His parents obviously leave him alone for long stretches of time and he doesn't seem to mind this. He hasn't had the chance to develop his social skills at all-

It's why he's so, let's be real, creepy. Ash makes it very clear she's not interested and he just keeps worming his way into her life. He plots so that she'll go on the field trip, he follows her around, he goes to her fucking house on the first day. LIKE, HELLO? RED FLAG?

He's having evil thoughts here I swear 💀

And already so quickly after meeting her he makes Ash his priority. He asks to sit next to her, he engages and makes an effort to talk to her. Tries to joke around with her. Gives her a nickname. Touches her. He's so touchy.

And defends her!!! When Tyler gets pissed at Ash, he honestly goes off on him even tho he KNOWS Ash can defend herself- and he's so...dark about it. There's a threat hidden behind his words. He's MAD here, right? Tell me I'm not crazy, please-

He also very clearly has violence on the forefront of his mind 💀 He's the first one to actively attack the phantoms; not to defend himself, not to defend somebody else (well, he pulls Ash out of the way), but for fun. And he's disappointed when they don't scream. He's sadistic, he likes causing pain, it's something he relishes in.

I mean look at how he smiles!!! None of the other kids have such an...active ENJOYMENT in fighting the phantoms, but for Aiden, it's almost like he finds relief in it, some way to vent out his frustrations. He's eager for a fight, for a thrill.

That's how Aiden sustains himself, he pretty much operates under "I'm here for a good time, not a long time." Everything he does gives him a boost of adrenaline, no matter the consequences. He got into a fight? Eh, who cares about all the bruises, at least it got his blood rushing. Broke a bone while doing parkour or smth? Whatever, the way his stomach dropped when he was falling as totally worth it.

It's a very dangerous mentality to live with, obviously. He's an adrenaline junkie. He's an addict. More than anything else, Aiden wants something that makes him feel alive.

And what makes you feel more alive than love?

Like not to minimise or anything but he's known her for like. 2-3 months- and he's already SO scared of losing her. Like I just don't think he would have had this type of reaction with anybody else besides Ben. He would have absolutely lost his shit if Ash 'died'.

He's a straight up love junkie. He's obsessive. Nothing beats the high love can give you. It overrules everything else. If Ash (or whoever he's interested in) feels bad because of smth, he's done with it.

He LIKED dying. He LIKED the adrenaline rush. But he won't do it again. Not because he had some realization that he didn't want to die, that he still wanted to live and do things, but because Ash was upset. Because this, this rush of care from her part, the way she was so scared of him dying that she was shaking, nothing could fill the hole in his heart better than that. And now that he has a taste for it, he won't let go easy. He will keep on living- if it means Ash will be by his side.

Which is a very dangerous position to put her in. Ash already feels responsible for her friends, and she doesn't even know that Aiden has "put" his life in her hands, not that it's her responsibility, because it isn't, but she will certainly feel responsible if Aiden does something FOR her.

Like He's so fucking obsessed and he doesn't even realize it- like look at how he sees her 😭 THE HEAVENLY GLOOOOOOW, LIKE SHES AN ANGEL AND HE THINKS SHE CAN SAVE HIM. BABY SHE CANT, YOU HAVE TO SAVE YOURSELF.

He could spiral so fucking bad. He could do some absolutely heinous things. Because he just doesn't know. He doesn't know how to love truly, yet. For him love really is that rush of adrenaline, the knife carving out his heart, he could be putty in her hands, or her executioner. This love that can be so obsessive, that he NEEDS it to function, like its water, like its the air he breathes. Its a compulsion, a fixation, a longing that burrows into your very soul. Ash doesn't even know what she's getting herself into-

Godddddd, it makes me so sick/ pos, it's SO FUCKING INTERESTINGGGGGG. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.

I literally cannot function around this drawing 🫠

The. The hand. That way he's grabbing her. He's pulling her back. Towards HIM. like "this is mine. And I'm not sharing." And that little fucking look in his eyes, he just looks SO fucking pleased with himself. And Ash looks so...resigned. they're so doomed-coded, i love them so bad.

I don't know how I was supposed to NOT make a killer au, when he's just...like that around her.

Love is a wonderful thing. But love is also cruel, it is vicious, it is possessive and obsessive, and it will leave carnage in its wake.

Romantic love is an obsession. It possesses you. You lose your sense of self. You cannot stop thinking about another human being. -Helen Fisher

#sbg #school bus graveyard #school bus graveyard webtoon #sbg (webtoon)#aiden clark #ashlyn banner #aidlyn #aiden x ashlyn #im gonna scream #rip my teeth out #idk idk #im just mentally ill about them 🫠#tw obsessive behavior

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roanofarcc · 2 months

Text

CHASE IT

pairing. javi rivera x reader

summary. Javi has a problem telling you how he feels until he almost loses you.

warnings. angst with a happy ending! slightly inaccurate meteorological info, a curse word or two, descriptions of injuries, reader gets hurt, love confessions! movie scenes will not be shot-for-shot but as close as I can remember.

word count. 2.5k || masterlist

The car ride to El Reno was tense. A tornado was hurling toward a town full of people and Javi had made the decision to follow Kate, Tyler, and the rest of the wranglers to help instead of staying with Storm Par. And as much as you wanted to tell him it was the right choice, you were too stubborn to. It wasn’t because you didn’t agree; you did. You’d been skeptical of the business since you started working for them but you tried, time and time again, to convince yourself that they were helping people. It wasn’t until seeing Kate’s reaction that you snapped back to reality.

You didn’t say anything to Javi because you were still upset with him. The night before you two had gotten into an argument bigger than you ever had. You’d come to the end of your line. For the past couple of years, you’d been stuck in a confusing limbo with him. One minute you were making out in bars and staying up until the early hours of the morning talking, and the next he treated you like a co-worker. He was up and down, hot and cold. You had no idea where you stood, and you had gotten so tired of waiting around for him to finally commit. You started to think he never would.

But heaven forbid you get flirted with by a good-looking stranger at the diner you’d all stopped at for dinner. Javi refused to make a move and he tipped-toed around an answer when you asked him what the two of you were doing. But he didn’t like someone else making the move he wouldn’t do. It wasn’t fair. All you wanted to was to know how he felt, but he couldn’t seem to give you that. So, you two argued, hot and angry. You still felt the thick tension cloud the car, with the added anxiety of the people directly in the storm’s path.

You both stayed silent the whole ride, not speaking until you arrived in a town that was alive with sirens and dangerous winds. You had spotted Kate, and Javi was quick to throw the truck into park. You both rushed out, only to find a frantic Kate trying to lift a heavy piece of debris that trapped Tyler’s foot. Javi grabbed the closest thing he could find, stuck it under the piece of debris and you all lifted it enough for Tyler to yank his foot free. He didn’t look too badly injured, or maybe his body was pumping enough adrenaline to keep him upright.

“We’ve gotta find shelter!” Kate yelled above the whirling winds. The nearest building that people rushed into was an old-looking movie theater down the road. There didn’t look to be many obvious safe places in the dated downtown, but the storm was moving fast, and staying outside only worsened their chance of survival.

None of you had a chance to take off anywhere before a horrible creaking sound echoed above the wind. You spun around just as the town’s water tower started to make its way to the ground. A string of curses left your lips, tumbling out of your mouth as the water tower crashed to the Earth, releasing the water in a rush. You tried to run, but the water mixed with the flying debris swept all of you up before you could get far.

The current pulled you harshly before it slammed your body against the front of a building. Pain brushed up your side as you groaned, soaked head to toe from the mixture of rain and rushing water that depleted as it continued down the street.

You coughed, feeling like you were still moving. Everything spun around you, whipping around as you sat on the ground trying to grasp your bearings. It wasn’t until Kate appeared at your side and pulled you to your feet did you rip yourself from your daze. There was no time to think about anything other than getting everyone to safety. The sky was turning darker by the minute and the town had already erupted in chaos.

In your wet clothes, you took off after the group, following the mass of people into the movie theater.

The place had no basement, only scared people confused storm chasers. You were suddenly filled with hopelessness, cold and daunting that crept into your gut. It was bad, really bad, and growing worse by the minute. If the tornado hit the theater, there was a good chance not everyone would make it out alive.

You had no idea what to do, but you saw something flicker in Kate’s eyes, something the boys had missed as they watched the storm out of one of the exits, trying to come up with a plan for all of the people inside. She took off running towards the other exit, and you followed her.

You had only just met Kate, but Javi had told you a lot about her from their college days. He trusted her, and from what you’d seen that week so far, so did you. Maybe it was a reckless move, following an almost stranger outside in the middle of a tornado, but you weren’t thinking rationally, only with the mindset that something had to be done and Kate seemed to know what that was.

It wasn’t until she reached Tyler’s truck that you caught her, grabbing her arm before she swung open the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked, breathlessly. “Please, don’t try to stop me.”

You glanced at the incoming storm, the ominous clouds that held so much destruction within its black, swirling form. “I'm going with you.”

She looked like she wanted to ask why, but there was no time. Instead, she nodded and quickly got into the truck as you followed, hopping into the passenger seat.

Javi had told you of Kate’s original study in school; she wanted to stop a tornado. And it looked like she was going to put it to the test again. She raced through a field, hitting every bump, causing your head to nearly hit the roof of the truck each time.

You had been close to a tornado, closer than most people willingly got, but you’d never been inside of one. Nor had you seen a storm quite like that one. The tornado was massive, a wall of sheer force that knocked into the truck with everything it had, knocking the wind right out of you.

Kate was too determined to be paralyzed by the swirling darkness that surrounded you. She slammed down on the buttons on the center console, but nothing was happening.

“It’s not working,” she cried, trying again and again as her panic swelled. You shuttered, hardly hearing her above the roar of the wind. The truck rocked, unsteady, and you weren’t sure how much force it would be able to take. The size of that tornado wasn't like the kind the Wranglers drove into.

You glanced out the rearview window at the barrels on the trailer that were supposed to release their contents, but the lids remained on. Kate gripped the steering wheel hard as the wind beat against the doors, shaking the truck worse and worse by the second. Her hands shook too, trembling as the tornado continued to engulf you, threatening to chew you two right up and spit you out like it was nothing.

You repeated Kate’s actions with the buttons, hitting them with a silent prayer again and again until finally, the lids all popped open, and their contents were sucked up into the storm.

Both of your relief was short-lived as the storm overpowered the rig. The world blurred before your eyes as the truck was flipped. The passenger side window was shattered as you landed upside down; shards of glass sliced through the skin on your face, but the pain wasn’t felt right away. The only thing you felt was the intense drumming of your heart that beat against your ribs.

You’d felt panic before in a storm, a small drop compared to what you felt at that moment. It was hard to breathe with the world seemingly closing in around you. You didn’t want to die, not like that. But it felt inevitable at that moment. The blood rushing to your head, the shattered glass peppering your skin, and the scream of the twister directly over top of you.

Your mind was on fire, but you tried to find an anchor, something to hold your panic still enough to think straight. Javi came to mind subconsciously. You saw him, his sweet smile and dark eyes. The argument you had was far from your mind. Instead, all you saw was the good stuff. Sneaking out of your motel rooms to watch the stars on clear nights during chases. Him laughing at your jokes no matter how terrible. The way he had memorized your drink order and insisted on buying you them at every bar. Despite his inability to just tell you how he felt, Javi had always been the person you were drawn back to. And you didn’t see that stopping. Maybe it would hurt in the long run, and maybe it was just wishful thinking that he wanted anything deeper than what you had. But he was so intertwined in your life. He was the only person you wanted to share things with, the first person who you had cared about so intimately.

You loved him, you realized. You had pretty shit timing.

Or maybe not.

A hand grasped your arm, sending a wave of pain through your shoulder. You gasped, peeling open your eyes you hadn’t even realized were closed. Turning your head, you saw Kate’s glossy eyes staring back at you, wide but focused. She held her hand hovering over your arm; it was red, and you weren't sure if it was her blood or yours.

“We did it,” she whispered, and you realized you could hear her, easily. The roar of the wind was gone. The storm was just…gone. A smile broke out on her lips as she repeated," We did it!”

There was a nasty cut on her face, blood running down the side of it. Your hands fumbled for your seatbelt and harness, undoing them quickly and trying to maneuver your body so you didn’t land on your head in the overturned truck.

“We’ve got to get the hell out of here,” you breathed out. Kate followed your actions. Shards of glass cut up your hands as you crawled out of the busted window, slowly and pained. You clawed at the mud, never having felt so grateful for the feeling of the earth under your fingers.

You only managed to get your upper half out of the truck before someone grabbed your arms. Looking up, you met Javi’s panicked gaze. He held onto your arms tightly, breathing heavily and rain-soaked. He helped you the rest of the way out and pulled you to your feet. The world still spun a little, and you swayed, disoriented. He didn’t let go of you, keeping his hands firmly on your shoulders. It looked like his mouth was moving, but the sudden movement of standing hurt your head.

It took a couple of moments before his voice cut through the pounding in your head. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed thickly, achy and definitely bruised. But you were alive and that was a lot better than you’d thought you be a minute ago. “I-I think so.”

He sighed in relief before his expression shifted into something unreadable. With his hands still on your shoulders, he shook you, gently but enough to get his point across. “What is wrong with you?!” Javi raised his voice too. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have died! Seriously, what-”

You cut him off by shoving him hard enough for him to drop his hold on your shoulders. The revelation you just had slipped back to the back burner and the fight you had the night before stood front and center.

“Are you seriously yelling at me right now?” you bit back.

“Yes!” He threw his hands up in the air as if to say ‘obviously.’ “I thought you died! You can’t do shit like that! You can’t just leave in the middle of a goodman storm and not tell me!”

A scoff fell from your lips. Your whole body throbbed in a dull pain, momentarily overshadowed by the adrenaline pumping through your veins. “Why do you care?” you shouted back; your words were coated in hurt that you’d been too angry to express during your fight the night before. You hadn’t said all that you wanted, but it bubbled to the surface and mixed with the flush of emotions you felt in the middle of the storm for Javi.

He looked offended by your words. “I care because…because you’re you! And if something happened to you I-I…” he trailed off, caught on his words.

You were sure if the wetness on your face was fresh tears, blood seeping from the little cuts, or leftover tears from your near-death experience. Too many things were spiraling around you, even though the storm had stopped.

“You still can’t do it.” Your chest hurt like someone had reached inside and sank their nails into your heart. “You still can’t tell me how you feel.”

Wiping your cheeks, you stumbled backward, on the verge of crying. But before you could walk away, he caught your wrist, spinning you around to face him.

“I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you,” he admitted, blurting out with so much emotion it was dizzying. You were sure you'd never seen him look like that, scared yet brave. “If you died and I never got to tell you…” He took a breath, sliding his hand down your wrist and into your hand. “Tell you that I love you.”

For a moment, you weren’t sure you had heard him right. You blinked, silently staring for a moment. You’d hit your head more than once and everything was still a little off as you came back down from the tornado.

“You what?”

“I love you,” he said, that time without hesitation. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

You smiled, bright and relieved. You hastily grasped the side of his face before pulling him toward you in a sweet but desperate kiss. That kiss was different than it had been before, in the darkened corners of country bars. The kiss was full of pent-up emotions and unsaid words finally spilled.

Pulling apart, you rested your forehead against his, laughing lightly at the absurdity of it all. You still felt like you were spinning.

Someone behind you both cleared their throat and you felt your face get hot at the raised brows of Tyler and Kate. “Sorry,” you said, feeling giddy and still a little woozy.

“Don’t be,” Tyler replied. “That was beautiful.” Kate rolled her eyes and smacked his arm.

“Let’s get out of here,” Kate said before she and Tyler led the way back to town.

You and Javi lingered for a moment longer, your hands intertwined. “I love you too,” you said, earning a toothy grin from him. He slung his arm around your shoulder, careful to avoid the little bumps and scarps you’d accumulated over the course of the storm, and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

#twisters #twisters 2024 #javi twisters #javi twisters x reader #javi x reader #javi x you #anthony ramos #anthony ramos x reader #twisters fanfic #tyler owens #kate carter

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lxndonorris · 5 months

Text

such a tease - Max Verstappen

Y/N x Max Verstappen Theme: Smut (you've been warned) helping Max change after the Chinese GP, appreciating how good he looks in his racing suit and without x word count: 3570+ taglist: @game-set-canet EN: I had to use this picture, it lives rent free, got another for CL and LN planned, if you have any requests for others, let me know. Its my longest yet I think. Hope you like it. We need more body worshipping Max imo.

As you stood in the vibrant atmosphere of the Shanghai International Circuit, your heart raced with anticipation. It wasn't just any other day; it was the Chinese Grand Prix, and Max Verstappen, the love of your life, was poised to dominate the track.

As the lights dimmed and the engines roared to life, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through your veins. With each passing lap, you watched Max weave his magic, his driving prowess on full display for the world to see.

The tension mounted as the race unfolded, but Max remained unfazed, his determination unwavering as he led the others around each corner and each straight. Lap after lap, he danced with danger, his skill and precision leaving you in awe.

And then, as the checkered flag waved in the air, declaring Max the victor, you felt a swell of pride wash over you. You made your way toward the pitwall, just in time to catch him emerging from his Red Bull race car.

Max's energy and excitement were infectious as he cheered loudly before he turned to meet your gaze. In one swift motion, he approached you and the rest of his team, hugging you tightly.

With a radiant smile gracing his features, Max held his throphy aloft on the podium, the golden light of victory illuminating his face. Dressed in his racing suit, adorned with the colors of his team, he looked every bit the champion he is.

As you watched from the stands, your heart overflowed with admiration for the man you loved. His determination, his dedication, and his unwavering pursuit of excellence were on full display for the entire racing world to see. And in that moment, amidst the cheers and the applause, you couldn't help but feel incredibly lucky to be by his side.

While Max soaked in the adulation of the crowd, his eyes found yours in the sea of faces, a silent acknowledgement of your unbreakable bond. And as he raised a hand in salute, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, you knew that this was a moment you would cherish forever.

As the press conference unfolded, you noticed Max's gaze constantly finding yours amidst the sea of flashing cameras and eager reporters. His smirk, subtle yet unmistakable, sent a shiver of excitement down your spine.

With every question fielded, his eyes lingered on yours, and as he spoke, his hand subconsciously drifted to his chest and thighs, a gesture that seemed to amplify his magnetic charm.

Watching him, so effortlessly captivating and utterly beautiful, a rush of adoration swell within you. You knew how he felt right now—the excitement and adrenaline of the race lingering deep inside him, and the desire to share this moment with you and you alone.

For just anyone, this seemed unimportant, but you knew that with every stroke, every little move of his fingertips, he imagined it was you instead.

As the conference drew to a close, Max's gaze met yours once more, and with a knowing smirk, he got up from the sofa. Together, you made your way through the paddock to his motorhome.

Now inside the cozy confines of his motorhome, Max wastes no time grabbing a cold can of Red Bull from the fridge, his go-to source of energy and focus. With a deft twist of his wrist, he cracks open the can, the satisfying hiss of carbonation filling the air.

Taking a long sip of the invigorating drink, Max's expression softens, a look of pure satisfaction crossing his features.

Turning to you, his eyes sparkle with a mix of exhilaration and contentment. Despite the intensity of the race and the demands of the press conference, he still manages to look effortlessly hot in his racing attire, clad in his sleek racing suit and signature cap.

As he stands before you, radiating confidence and charm, his presence fills the room. You let your eyes roam all over him: his racing suit hugs his athletic frame, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to the muted tines of the motorhome's interior. Paired with his cap, adorned with the logo of his team, he looks every bit the part of racing superstar.

With a playful grin, Max extends the can of Red Bull towards you, inviting you to share his post-race ritual with him.

Taking it from him, you marvel at the warmth of his touch, the electricity that seems to crackle between you. And as you take a sip of the Red Bull, you enjoy the cold, refreshing liquid running down your throat.

With an hour until his next interview, you put the can down on the table next to you before turning back to meet Max's gaze right away.

With a confident swagger in his step, Max closes the distance again. One arm wrapped securely around your waist, he pulls you close, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine.

Steadying yourself against him, you can't help but be swept away by the intensity of the moment. His proximity is electrifying; his scent, a mixture of his cologne, sweat, and champagne, fills your senses as he leans closer, his lips grazing against your ear.

"Care to lend a hand?" he whispers, his voice husky with desire. His playful tone sends a surge of heat coursing through you, and you play along, relishing in the teasing banter.

With a playful smirk, you nod in response, your fingers trailing lightly along the contours of his racing suit as you begin to assist him in changing.

The adrenaline from today's race still surges through his veins, and his whole body tenses with the remnats of the high-octane action on the track. Despite the exhaustion that threatened to set in, there is a raw energy emanating from him.

You stroke his chest firmly through his racing suit; every muscle in his body seems to be coiled like a tightly wound spring, ready to unleash its power at a moment's notice. The fabric hugs his frame flawlessly, accentuating his athletic build and adding an air of intensity to his already striking appearance.

His eyes, ablaze with the remnants of the fierce competition, hold a magnetic allure that is impossible to resist. There is a primal energy to him, a wildness that sets your heart racing and your pulse quickening with every passing moment.

As your hands glide across Max's chest, tracing the contours of his racing suit, you feel the tension in his body gradually give way to a sense of relaxation. Enjoying how the sleek fabric feels underneath your fingertips, you stroke him even firmer, causing him to purr happily.

You let your hands run along his waistline as well, feeling his butt filling out the suit fully. Your hands are now freely encompassing all of him, from the small of his back, running along his spine and back around his shoulders, to his firm chest.

"That feels good." His smile widens as he pulls you closer, his grip firm yet gentle on your waist, a clear invitation to continue.

With each stroke, you sense the pleasure building within him, the sensation of your touch heightening the electric connection between you. His racing suit, once a barrier between you, now serves as a conuit for your intimacy, amplifying the intensity of your shared desire.

Max leans, his lips brushing over your neck and your ear, before he lets out a low, guttural moan, giving you goosebumps.

"Mhmm." You shiver as your hands gilde over his thick pecs and right his arms. As your fingers trail along Max's muscular arms, stroking the sinewy contours underneath his suit, he responds with a subtle flex, the muscles beneath his skin rippling with power.

He leans his head back, and with a knowing smile, he invites you to feel the strength of his arms.

As you press your hands against his flexed biceps, you marvel at the firmness of his form, the raw energy simmering just beneath the surface. His muscles tense under your touch, a silent invitation to explore further to revel in the sensation of his strength.

With each flex, you feel a surge of excitement coursing through you, the heat of desire building with every second. Max's body is a canvas of power and grace, a testament to his relentless pursuit of perfection, both on and off track.

And as you continue to stroke him, tracing the contours of his arms with reverence and awe, you can't help but be captivated by the sheer beauty of his physicality.

"Oh, fuck." You speak quietly, watching your fingers run along his arms and back to his chest. As your gaze meets his once more, a knowing smirk plays on his lips, and he lowers his arms just to grab your waist again, securely holding you in place.

"Feels good, huh?" He licks his lips as his gentle fingers run along your waistline.

"Oh, yeah." You respond with a coy smirk forming on your lips, and then you let your hand run up his chest and right to the collar of his slick racing suit.

As you toy with the zipper of his suit, teasing him with the promise of what lies beneath, you can't help but revel in the power of your own arousal. The sight of Max, so strong and commanding yet vulnerable in his desire, stirs something primal within you, igniting a fire that burns with ferocious intensity.

And you tease him with the zipper while looking right into his sparkling eyes. You alternate between gentle caresses and playful tugs, causing a low, deep rumbling in his throat.

The firmness of his form beneath the fabric carries an intoxicating allure, pulling you closer and closer.

As you unzip his suit slowy, teasingly, you reveal the snug white fireproofs underneath, and a low growl escapes his lips, a primal sound of desire and anticipation. With his head leaning back, he surrenders to the sensations, his body tensing beneath your touch.

Sliding your hands inside his suit, you feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric, the firmness of his muscles, even more evident now, inviting your touch.

With each stroke, you apply just the right amount of pressure, eliciting a shiver of pleasure from Max as he arches into your touch. His breaths come in shallow gasps, the rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in the space between you.

And as you continue to stroke him, your movements growing bolder and more confident with each passing second, you feel the arousal within you intensifying as well, matching the intensity of his own desire.

With a shared determination, Max and you work together to remove the upper half of his racing suit, leaving the sleeves hanging down his waist. As the fabric falls away, his muscles are revealed, defined, and taut beneath the thin material of his undergarments.

Each contour is accentuated by the tight fabric, a testament to the physical strength and endurance required of a Formula 1 driver.

Unable to restrain the urge to touch him or feel him, you place both of your hands on his chest again. With every touch, every stroke, Max lets out a low, primal growl of pleasure.

His grip on your waist intensifies as well, as he starts to stroke you in response. This spurs you on, fanning the flames already burning inside your belly, encouraging them to engulf your entire chest with burning desire.

Your hands explore the planes of his chest and the curves of his abdomen. The sensation of his muscles rippling beneath your fingertips only fuels your desire further, each growl serving as a symphony of passion between you.

Running your hands up Max's chest and neck, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your hand, you trace the outline of his lips with your thumb, a teasing question poised on your lips.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" You ask, a playful glint in your eyes.

Max's response is a simple nod, his expression softening as he meets your gaze. The tension that gripped his features now melts away, replaced by a look of pure contentment and desire.

With a mischievous grin, you reach up and remove his cap, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud. His messy hair spills out from beneath, tousled and tousled from the excitement of the race. Running your fingers through his hair, you marvel at the softness, the strands tangling around your fingertips like silk.

Leaning in closer, you caress his cheeks, feeling the stubble beneath your touch. His skin is warm and smooth, in stark contrast to the rough texture of his racing suit.

At the same time, you keep stroking his tummy, tracing the tangible outlines of his abs with your other hand. The look in his eyes, dark with desire, tells you that he is enjoying every moment of the exquisite torture.

You let your hand wander even further down his body, and you gasp once your hand encompasses the desire bulding up inside his racing suit. In response, Max lets out a low sigh and starts to grind his hips against the palm of your hand.

Your eyes meet his, and the two of you smirk knowingly.

With practiced ease, Max slips off his shoes, the tension in the room palpable as he stands before you, his clothes clinging to his form.

As the racing suit falls to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment, your eyes trace the outlines of his body, mesmerized by the sight before you.

Max stands tall and proud, his muscles defined and toned beneath his tight fireproofs. The fabric is hugging his form like a second skin, and unlike the racing suit, it is unable to hide any of his features.

His muscles ripple underneath, his biceps are thick with tension, just like his entire chest and thighs. The unmistakable bulge forming inside his trousers shows the effect all that teasing has on him, and Max isn't even trying to hide it.

Instead, he rubs the palm of his hand across his member while biting his lower lip and watching you closely. Still, you're not done teasing him yet.

Placing your hands back on his firm chest, you continue to stroke Max through his undergarments, eliciting a chorus of enticing sounds from his throat. With each touch, each stroke, the desire threatens to consume you both.

Max responds eagerly to your touch, pulling you closer until there is barely any space between you. His hands, once idle at my sides, now roamed freely, exploring every curve and contour of my body with a fervent hunger.

Feeling his hands on your butt, pulling you flush against him, sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you. The sensation of his touch is all-consuming, setting your skin ablaze with longing and need.

You suddenly can't wait to feel his bare skin under your fingertips. Tugging greedily at his shirt, you expose the hard lines of his abs. Responding to your need, he takes his shirt off in one swift motion, exposing his beautiful, toned chest.

Just like before, you stroke him and play with his hard nipples, just the way he likes it. His skin is so warm, tensed, yet oddly soft. His muscles react to the simplest touch, and you know he's longing for so much more.

Your eyes follow his hand, stroking himself, his chest, abs, and then further down to his member, tenting visibly. Max is letting out low growls, pressing his body against yours while biting his lips.

"Let me take care of that." You smirk and kiss him lovingly before you make your way down his chest. With every stroke, his breathing quickens, and you place kisses all over his chest, down his abs until you're on your knees.

Max runs a hand through his hair and across his face. His entire being is craving a release, to let go of all this pleasure and desire building up inside him.

Teasingly, you trace the outlines of his member with two fingers, causing him to moan quietly. Then, you slip your fingers inside his pants. As you play with the waistband, teasingly tugging at the fabric, Max's reaction is immediate; a low groan escapes his lips as he leans into your touch, his desire palpable against your fingertips.

With each playful tug, his arousal grew, the fabric of his fireproofs stretching against the swell of his desire, its heat radiating through his clothes.

There is no room for restraint or hesitation. Both of you are consumed by the fire of your shared passion.

You pull his pants down and let your hands roam all over his thighs before you focus all of your attention on his dick.

As you take him inside your mouth, your entire body gets just as stiff as he is, and right away, Max lets out multiple low moans, leaning his head back while running a hand through your hair, encouraging you to take it all.

Easily, the two of you adapt to each other's movements, moving in sync with one another to an unseen, unheard rhythm.

Max moves deliberately, soft and gentle, even though he is already on the verge of cumming. All that teasing, paired with the excitement of winning today's race, dominating the entire grid, built up inside him, just waiting for this moment.

It doesn't take long for him to lean his head back even further and let out an exhausted, long moan.

His familiar taste spreads across your tongue, causing you to relish in that moment.

Max runs a hand through your hair as you separate yourself from him. He bends down, placing a hand at your neck, stroking you with his fingertips.

"That felt so good." He moans as he leans in to kiss you gently. Then, he helps you get up and steadies you against his firm frame.

"It was amazing." You lick your lips, savoring the taste still lingering on your tongue.

Max then steps out of his fireproofs, leaving them pooled at his feet. He stands before you, completely exposed, his vulnerability laid bare for you to see.

He touches himself a few times, still feeling that pleasure running through his veins, and you can't help but smile.

As you watch Max get dressed again, your gaze lingers on every movement, captivated by the effortless grace with which he moves.

He starts by slipping into a fresh pair of underwear, the fabric clinging snugly to his form. Max struggles a little with his stiff member, but that just makes the two of you giggle.

"Always the same with you." You tease, but he just shrugs.

"I can't help it." He tilts his head slightly. "That's what you're doing to me."

Rolling your eyes, you can't help but giggle again.

Next, he pulls on a pair of jeans, the denim hugging his legs in all the right places. With each movement, the tension in the room seems to grow again, amplifying the allure of his every gesture.

Finally, Max reaches for his signature Red Bull shirt, the fabric stretching tautly across his firm chest and shoulders. Even though it is a familiar sight, the shirt seems to fit him even more perfectly than usual, accentuating every contour of his muscular frame.

As he smoothes down the fabric, adjusting the shirt just so, you can't help but reach out for his chest once more.

You run a hand over Max's red Bull shirt, feeling the warmth of his body radiating through the fabric. A shiver of excitement exhoes through you.

Your soft strokes elicit another guttural rumble deep from within his throat, and he places his hand on top of yours. The fabric of his shirt stretches and molds to the contours of his body, flattering him perfectly.

His familiar scent envelopes you again, filling the air with an intoxicating aroma that is uniquely his own. It is a scent you know and love—a blend of musk and sweat mixed with the subtle hint of his favorite cologne.

"Do I smell okay?" He asks suddenly, and you just nod.

"Yeah, so good." You smile and lean in to him, kissing him deeply while still stroking his chest through his tight shirt.

As you pick up the discarded clothes from the floor, you can't help but revel in the sensation of Max's racing suit and fireproofs between your fingers. The fabric is so soft yet sturdy.

As the two of you fold the garments neatly, you notice how they still retain the faint scent of Max—a scent that fills you with a sense of comfort and familiarity.

Feeling his arms wrap around you from behind, his touch gentle yet possessive, you melt into his embrace, savoring the warmth of his presence. His hand strokes your tummy with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter, each caress sending waves of pleasure through you.

Turning around to face him, you are greeted by the sight of Max in his signature look, his cap firmly in place, and a playful glint in his eyes. Despite the intensity of the day, he is ready for the next challenge, his confidence unwavering as he prepares for the next interview.

With a smile, you reach up and adjust his cap, making sure it is perfectly aligned. Max grins in response, a silent acknowledgement of your unspoken bond.

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