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impeakcharacterdesign · 1 year ago

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Just the Tip

— Thomas Hewitt x Fem!Reader —

MDNI!!!

Summary: It’s the 1960s and Luda Mae frowns upon premarital sex like any good Christian woman. You and Tommy are young, hot, and in love but the only problem is that Tommy was raised to wait until marriage and never lets you two go any further than kissing and some groping.

But the devil lives in the hot Texan sun and even God takes a break from the summer heat.

Notes: this is super short, just pure smut, self indulgent I’m obsessed with big boy Tommy 😭😭😭 i swear I’m working on part 2 of my sister Sinclair fic but Tommy has me in a choke hold and I needed an outlet.

No TW that I can think of other than bad smut and maybe ??? Coercion??? Cause Tommy wants to be a good boy and stop before y’all go too far but you flash him and then he’s absolutely 100% in. A bit of religious stuff, period typical sexism but vaguely. Let me know if I should add anything else and I’ll get right on it. Reader isn’t ever referred to using “she/her” pronouns but is described as having breasts and does have female genitalia so I tagged it fem reader to be safe

Enjoy!!!

The early morning sun burned, chasing away what little cool air remained of the night before. While the barn shaded you from the unforgiving sun and hid you from disapproving eyes — or lecherous in the case of the older men of the family — it also trapped in the heat your two bodies gave off.

Thomas pressed his open mouth to your own, tongue swiping over your teeth eager to taste you. Your hands gripped his dark hair, ruining any half-effort attempt he had made earlier in the day to smooth down his unruly hair. He held you in his arms, body pressed tightly against him in an attempt to get as close as possible, his large frame hiding you even further from prying eyes than the shadowed corners of the old barn. The kiss was deep and hungry and served as a brief respite from Luda Maes ever watching eyes. While she had been fine with you living with the family before you and Tommy were married, she forbade you from sharing a room or being intimate, a rule she absolutely refused to budge on and one that Uncle Charlie took a strange glee in ribbing you about. But much like the Texan heat, the heated looks you gave each other were unavoidable and only grew hotter as the summer days went on. Luda Mae wanted to wait until the following spring to make your union official but at the rate the town was drying up, there wouldn't even be a priest to officiate the ceremony, much less any guest to attend. You highly doubted anyone outside of the family would want to witness your union anyway but still, Luda Mae didn't want the few who would to get wise and start counting months.

These stolen moments in the barn were as good as you could get — and by god were they good.

Tommy’s large hands groped at your breasts, pawing roughy at your nipples through the worn fabric of your old dress. It wasn’t long before you found yourself in the familiar position of being sprawled out on the barn floor, coarse hay a discomfort you had long learned to endure for the sake of pleasure.

You desperately thrust your sex up onto his growing bulge, whining when he groaned and pinned your hips with his own, preventing you from getting your desired stimulation. “Please Tommy,” you beg, lips separating, “We don’t have to do too much, I just wanna touch you.” You press open-mouthed kisses to his neck, pulling softly at the flesh with your teeth and tongue dragging across the bites to taste the salt on his skin. Your hands eagerly worked to untuck his faded green shirt and wrap around him, roaming the vast expanse of his back. His whole body shuddered in your arms, an attempt to hold back from eating you whole.

You know Thomas will put an end to your romp soon, the tense lines of his shoulders and the way he shuts his eyes a sign that he's reaching his limit, that if you two don't stop now you won't be able to stop — but that’s exactly what you want.

You're tired of holding back, of this constant edging you have to endure when you’re in his presence and it gets harder every day. Just yesterday afternoon, Uncle Charlie sprayed Tommy with the hose, telling him that he was filthy and needed to get out of those clothes before he went inside. Watching as he undressed by the back door so that you could put his clothes on the line to dry had nearly given you a heatstroke — and if Charlie’s leering grin was any clue, you swear he did it on purpose in an attempt to rile you up. You ran off before you sinned right there in the yard, the memory of Thomas's shirt clinging to his arms, his chest glistening with water had kept you company well into the night.

So before Tommy puts a stop to your roll in the hay you make your move. You lift your dress up past your breast and expose yourself to him, you can see his breath stutter in his chest, this was quickly becoming the farthest you two had ever gone.

“Just watch me, Tommy, watch me,” you say breathlessly.

And he does, he sits on his haunches like a predator, his engorged cock straining against his pants and imagining just a taste has your tongue darting out to wet your lips, his gaze fixated on the movement.

Sliding your panties off your legs, your fingers dip briefly into your wet hole, gathering slick to rub onto your clit. At the very first touch, you let out a shuddering breath and you watch as his shoulders heave.

You begin rubbing your clit at an intense pace already turned on from the earlier heavy petting, not once breaking eye contact with Thomas as you do. With each moan you muffle you see his eyes grow darker with desire breathing with his mouth open as though he could taste your scent in the air. When he finally lets his cock spring free you let out your loudest moan yet. It’s better than you ever thought. His cock is thick and heavy, drooping slightly under its own weight but still undeniably firm. It curves slightly and you imagine that if it was inside you it would scrape against your walls in a way you've never been able to do with just your fingers.

Thomas grips his cock firmly and gives it a few tugs, eyes alternating between hungrily drinking in the sight of your blissed-out expression and your dripping pussy. You buck your hips, desperate to press your clit against your fingers and Thomas jerks his length even faster, rubbing his tip and spreading his precum on his hand.

God, you wished it was you that was touching him.

Thomas settles onto his knees and after a brief hesitation begins to shuffle closer to you. The sight of him crawling to you on his knees with his dripping length in hand made your pussy clench around nothing and you let out a whimper. You remove your fingers from your clit, feeling the heat radiating from his cock as he settles on top of you, legs spreading around his waist, your hips slightly raised and resting on his thighs.

The tip hesitantly pressed against your clit and your moan fills the small space before you can suppress it. This was better than you were hoping and it felt as though you were pressing against the boundaries the lord had set for you. Tommy’s eyes find yours looking for reassurance, asking without words, “Do you think this is okay?”

You find enough comprehension in your lust-addled brain to come up with a coherent answer, “It should be fine, I think,” you stammer out, “I mean, it’s not like — not like you’re putting it in so, it should be fine.”

You’re not overly familiar with the word of God outside of Sunday services and Luda Mae’s lectures, both of which you were forced to attend and spent tuning out in favor of watching the sweat build on Tommy’s brow while he worked through the window.

You think that if God could feel the weight of Thomas like you did, feel the heat like you could, you think he’d forgive the sin of your act.

It seems like that was all the reassurance that Thomas needed because no sooner than the words fumbled their way out of your mouth that he begins to drag the length of his cock against your slit.

God, if this is what hell was supposed to be like, burning and full of decadence, then perhaps you didn’t mind being a sinner.

The way he ruts against you is euphoric. Heavy breaths escape you both and you can’t help the words that spill from your lips.

“God, Tommy, I wish you would put it inside me,” you whine out “‘wanna feel your fat cock in my pussy, wanna get filled,” you might as well be begging at this point, and Tommy's increases his pace to the point that you think he wants the same thing, that he’s desperate to thrust into you rather than against you and —

And then the tip of his cock catches on your entrance and you both stop breathing.

“Maybe — Maybe it doesn’t count.” You stammer out, “It didn’t go in and it’s just the tip, and I don’t think that the tip counts” With the slightest twitch of his hips the tip of his cock has slipped inside.

"It's - it's just the tip it's fine” Your words sound empty even to you but the reassurance is all Tommy needs to push forward and let the head of his cock slide into your welcoming heat

His soul nearly leaves his body when he feels your raw pussy on the head of his cock. He jerks his length furiously and your fingers begin to move against your clit again, eager to meet your high with Thomas.

But it’s not enough. He was right there, right there just one push of his hips he’d be right where you needed him

“Please Tommy” Canting your hips slightly so the tip begins to dig deeper into you, you begin to plead once more, “wanna feel you fill me up, wanna remember the shape of your cock please”

Thomas feels years of control break at your words and with one swing of his hips, he bottoms out instantly. You feel like you've been punched in the gut as the air rushes out of you and you let out a sound like a wounded animal. Tommy stays still deep inside you, shaking and heaving, absolutely drunk on the feeling of your soaked walls clenching vigorously around his length.

You feel full in a way you've never thought possible. His length throbs, its girth stretching you in a way that burns.

When he finally starts thrusting, you’re not ready. He’s like a man possessed, solely focused on the feel of you around him, your skin pressed against his, his blood pounding in his ears.

“Wait— Tommy, ah, slow — slow down, oh god!” You can’t hold back your moans and he can’t stop, both fully engrossed in the feel of each other with no control over your own lust. Thomas crashes his lips onto yours in a halfhearted attempt to keep down your moans, it’s sloppy, clashing teeth and drooling tongues, spit escaping your lips, unlike any you’ve shared before.

This is completely different from what you’ve imagined your first time together would be like. It’s not your wedding night, you're laying on the dirty barn floor and there’s absolutely nothing gentle about the way Tommy is ravaging you. Your pussy is sopping wet and with every thrust, it lets out an embarrassing squelch, your juices and Tommy’s pre-cum leak down your ass and make a sticky mess in his dark pubes.

He doesn’t stop even as your walls spasm around him, cumming on his cock and digging your nails into his strong back. He works you through your orgasm even as your mouth clumsily forms the words to beg for him to slow down or to give you a moment. It’s too much, the sensations completely overloading your brain and all you can do is hold on tightly to him, lost in the ecstasy of your release.

Thomas lets out a deep, guttural groan as he cums, hips stuttering as he bullies his fat cock into the deepest part of your sex, filling you to the brim and your vision goes white.

Boneless, neither one of you makes a move to separate from the other, so thoroughly satisfied and content to lie where you are holding each other, Thomas’s softening cocking slipping out of you and spilling his release onto the ground.

His weight on you is comforting, you gently press kisses to his face and bask in the way his heavy breaths caress your sweaty skin.

“I love you.” You whisper into the shell of his ear and he squeezes you against him, repeating the words in his garbled voice the best he could. Your love is just for the two of you, no one else had a place in your world, no one else had the right to peak in on your affection or gawk at your differences.

This moment in time was just for the two of you.

“Thomas! Where the hell are ya, boy!”

Well, until Uncle Charlie’s voice brought you back down to reality.

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sonofarathorn · 2 months ago

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dog tags [l.h]

Pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader Word Count: 800 words Warnings: Smut (18+). Unprotected Sex. Little dialogue. A/N: Here's a little drabble I've been thinking about since I saw Deadpool & Wolverine. It's my first attempt at writing in like a whole year. Please go easy on me. Dedicated to @eupheme for inspiring me to write again.

You love these moments, so few and far between. When the world melts away, and it’s just you and Logan. Sharing space. Sharing love.

That gentle, sinful dance. The slick slide of skin. Dewey breaths and twin moans. The quiet squeak of the bed frame, keeping time with Logan’s deep thrusts.

He’s wrapped himself completely around you, pressing his entire weight onto your body. It’s like he’s trying to burrow his way into you. Leave the imprint of himself upon your very soul. You’re trapped between the soft mattress and his solid body, completely vulnerable to him. As he is to you. Baring his soul before you. Letting you take what you want as he willingly offers you everything he has.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Logan groans into your ear. His teeth brush the shell, sending shivers down your spine.

You thread your fingers in the damp hair at the nape of his neck. Tugging those strands when he thrusts deeper, finding that mind-numbing spot. “Feel so good, baby.”

He shudders at the praise. Shoulders tightening in determination. To make you feel good. To unravel you.

Logan’s nose bumps yours clumsily as he presses a sloppy kiss to your lips. Filthy and sweet. His tongue slides into your open mouth, greedily tasting the saccharine moans that leave your throat. He fills you with his own pleasured noises. Deep and tangy. Bourbon and honey. Aged to perfection for a special occasion as this.

Your hands slide the length of his broad shoulders, tangling in the metal chain that dangles from his neck. You pull him impossibly closer, fusing your bodies. He surges over you like a wave, pulling you deeper and deeper into the riptide of your pleasure.

Logan hitches your leg around his hips and swallows your cry of his name. When your head tips back, overwhelmed by the heady sensation building within you, he watches. Watches the slack of your jaw, your kiss-swollen lips forming the letters of silent pleas. Watches the furrow of your brow, that flash of desperation in your eyes.

Logan brushes his thumb over the swell of your lips. Your teeth catch the pad of it, tongue swirling out to soothe the sting.

He groans, half-lidded eyes drooping more. The languid rock of his hips jerking for a moment. That knot in his stomach threatening to come loose. But he knows you're close to that edge. Can hear it in those sweet high-pitched moans, feel it in the needy undulations of your hips as you seek release. He won’t come yet, not without you.

Logan draws his thumb from your mouth and fits it into the space where your bodies meet. You gasp at the slick pressure against your clit. The expert circles he presses pushing you further, driving you higher. His free hand grabs yours, pressing your palm into the pillow.

The sweet gesture, the connection adds to the intensity of the feelings swirling around you. For the longest time sex with Logan was primal, desire-based. The only goal was getting to the end, that blissful orgasm. Not that you minded, you had needs to. But lately…well things had changed. Tender touches replaced bruising force. Fiery, biting kisses turned languid. Still intense, just different.

“Gonna make me cum, Logan,” you whisper, eyes still locked on his. “‘M close.”

“I know,” he says.

The thumb on your clit picks up speed and the heat in your belly grows. Logan crowds your space, bending you nearly in half. The movement has his dog tags dangling in your face, bumping against your chin with every forward thrust.

A wicked thought fills your head. The desire fogging your brain. On his next forward push, you suck the tags into your mouth. The effect is two-fold. The cool metal on your tongue tastes of sweat. It keeps your mouth busy and forces Logan to remain close.

You can feel his breath on your face, hear that warped groan, for a split second before he’s kissing you. Cool metal mixing with the uninhibited warmth of desire.

It pushes you over the edge. You come with a choke groan, and Logan’s not far behind you. He kisses your chin, forehead falling against yours as he empties himself inside you.

The afterglow has always been your favorite. Your body limp and floating through the syrupy sensation of pleasure. Senses dialed up to ten as you slowly come down. Logan lies limp on top of you, fighting to regain control of his breathing. He’ll never admit this, but he’s a cuddler. Seeking that warmth, the connection that’s eluded him for so long. Softness he’s never allowed himself to have. Softness he doesn’t think he deserves.

You were the first to offer it to him in such a long time, and he’s long since stopped running from it. Maybe that’s why he keeps coming back. Giving you little pieces of himself each time.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #the woverine #james logan howlett #rion writes

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dotster001 · 2 years ago

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For Tuna

Summary:Grim does some interviews to find the perfect sugar dad for him you gn!reader x all boys in one way or another.

A/N:I haven't unpacked my tag list yet, so hopefully this is everyone!

Part Two Part Three choose your ending...

"Grim, we can't afford the bougie tuna. Put it back."

You'd missed it before when you were loading your basket at Sam's shop, but Grim had snuck in the expensive tuna. Now you were at the counter, trying to hide your embarrassment as you told Grim to put it back. Sam gave you a sympathetic smile, but still. You didn't need to add his pity to your plate of worries.

"Prefect, don't worry about it. I can take care of it."

You jumped. You hadn't realized Ruggie had lined up behind you with his own basket full of stuff.

"Yeah! Let Ruggie-"

"I couldn't do that, Ruggie, but thanks for the offer."

Ruggie grinned, "oh please, it's on Leona. He said I could get whatever I want as long as I come back with his energy drinks."

You made an unconvinced face, and Ruggie gave a playful wink.

"Trust me, your tuna won't even make a dent in his wallet. I could pay for your entire load, and still be able to pay off my student loans. In fact," he slapped down Leona's wallet, "Sam, add Y/N's groceries to mine, I'll take care of it."

Before you could protest further, Sam was ringing you both up.

And then Grim got an idea. A terribly, wonderful, awful idea.

"There, all settled. Plus now you can afford to fix your windows this month, or…." He looked at the cash in your hand, "well you can fix one window at least. And don't feel too bad for Leona. Eat the rich and what not," Ruggie patted your back comfortingly then left with his groceries.

"C'mon Grimmy, let's go," you said with a heavy sigh.

"Actually, I have something to do, Henchhuman. You go on home, I'll see ya later."

"Okay, but if you need me…."

"I'll be okay! Geeze you get so anxious without the great Grim. It's embarrassing."

You rolled your eyes and left. You would be so proud of him once he had finished though. He was excited already.

Heartslaybul Dorm….

"Mr. Rosehearts. Thank you for meeting with me."

Grim primly took out his pen and began to scribble on a clipboard.

"I didn't meet with you. You barged into my office," Riddle said, his arms crossed along his chest.

"I think you will find this meeting beneficial. It pertains to Y/N L/N."

Riddle relaxed a little, and raised a single curious eyebrow.

"You see, It has come to my attention, that Y/N and I do not have the funds to live comfortably. In fact, Y/N is practically starving to death! It has also come to my attention that you harbor some feelings for the prefect, and are in possession of a great deal of funds. Now," Grim dramatically looked up at Riddle, who's face was a shade of dark red. "How do you intend to provide for Y/N?"

Riddle opened his mouth, and Grim prepared himself for the worst, but…

"Wait, Y/N's on the market?!?!!"

Grim turned over his shoulder just in time to see Cater run in, tea tray in hand.

"He's only taking applications from rich people."

"Not a concern, housewarden!" Cater cleared his throat. "Hi, I'm Cater Diamond, and my dad is a banker."

"Oh!" Grim made a note on his paper. Riddle stood up abruptly.

"You only talk to your family on holidays, I wouldn't call that a solid source of income-"

"Yes but I'm a people pleaser, so I'll probably follow in his footsteps. So I will also have a banker's salary."

Riddle turned to Grim in a panic.

"I'm going to be a doctor!"

"Oh!" Scribble scribble.

"Oh please!" Cater rolled his eyes before conspiratorially leaning into Grim. "We both know Riddle. He'll work long shifts, day in and day out, and he'll never come home. Meaning poor Y/N will be trapped in a lonely loveless marriage. Meanwhile, I'll work my nine to five, and be home in time to gift you tuna, and keep Y/N warm at night."

"You think Grim cares about that?" Riddle shoved Cater out of the way. "I'll make time for Y/N. Plus my salary will provide double the tuna for you."

"What's all the yelling about?" Trey entered the room, followed by Ace and Deuce.

"Don't look at them, those three are poor as fuck. I mean a baker? Blech, disgusting," Cater apologetically smiled at Trey. "No offense."

"What?" Trey said, feeling more confused than he ever had been.

Grim clicked his pen closed.

"Thank you for your time. I have more interviews to conduct, but I will be in contact if you get through to the second round."

He scampered out of the room as Riddle and Cater nodded after him.

Savannaclaw Dorm….

Grim sat at the foot of Leona's bed as he tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"How can I provide for Y/N, huh? You mean the little demonstration Ruggie gave this morning wasn't enough?"

Grim tapped the pen impatiently against the clipboard.

"Mr. Kingscholar, it is important that you participate fully, or I will remove you from the list entirely."

Leona groaned.

"I receive a….certain amount of, shall we say, an allowance."

"And how much can I expect from that? I have a lot of people to interview. Please don't waste my time."

Leona looked over at Ruggie, who was folding laundry, then gestured Grim closer, before whispering a number into his ear.

Grim gasped, then hastily scribbled something onto his clipboard.

"We will be in contact with you when the second round of interviews begins." Grim stood up and hopped off the bed.

"Ruggie," Leona snapped, "Ensure my future relative makes it out of here safely. Let no one stop you."

Ruggie nodded in understanding as he escorted a proud looking Grim out.

Once they were halfway through the dorm, Ruggie began to speak.

"Leona has promised me a job with an excellent salary once I graduate. Just sayin."

"Won't he just take back the job if he finds out you're competing with him?"

Ruggie rolled his eyes, "Nevermind."

Jack left his room, and noticed the two of them, and began to walk towards them.

"Jack will make you get a job if you pick him," Ruggie whispered hastily. Grim hissed and sprinted the rest of the way out of the dorm.

"What's wrong with Grim?" Jack asked.

"Shi hi hi who knows?"

As Grim made his way to his second location, he was picked up by the scruff of his neck.

"Hey! What's the big idea?!?!?"

"Aw little sealie you're so cute!"

Grim stiffened.

"Fu fu fu," Jade laughed next to him. "our boss would like to have a word with you."

Grim gulped.

Octavinelle Dorm….

"Thank you for agreeing to see me," Azul said smugly.

"I didn't. Your scary twins picked me up and dragged me here."

"You see," Azul pushed his glasses up his nose, expertly ignoring Grim, "We got word that you were interviewing potential candidates for Y/N's future husband. I prepared some charts for you."

Azul pulled out several charts. Grim understood exactly zero of them. But he nodded thoughtfully and pretended to make a note on his clipboard.

"As you can see, my income is projected to continually go up until retirement. Plus my assets will continue to be of value, and my investments will be bringing in money for many years to come. I can safely say, money is no object. Plus, I am an excellent cook. You will never have to eat poor person's tuna ever again."

Grim made a real note this time just as the twins roughly turned his chair around.

"Now that Azul has had his turn, we would like to give our pitch," Jade said with an eerie grin.

"You see, our parents run a certain…. organization," Floyd and Jade shared a grin before turning to Grim again. "Jade and I are the sole inheritors of this empire when they pass. Just keep that in mind."

"Also, people who oppose this organization have a tendency to, shall we say, disappear."

Grim shivered as he made a skull and crossbones picture on his clipboard.

"Awesome. Great. I'll be taking Grim now…."

"Sea Snake!" Floyd shouted, wrapping his arms around Jamil, who had silently snuck into the room.

"Let go," Jamil hissed, wriggling away from Floyd. "Give me the cat."

"Aw, but we were playing with him…."

"It's alright Floyd. I think the three of us have made our point quite clear," Jade hummed, before the octotrio shared a laugh.

Jamil rolled his eyes before carefully picking up Grim.

Scarabia Dorm….

"Look, Kalim isn't going to brag for himself so I thought I'd bring you here and remind you that this entire dorm was funded by his family. And he will be inheriting said funds."

Grim nodded and made a note.

"What about you? I mean, I already know you aren't getting picked cause, well, " Grim pointedly looked him up and down. "But the other broke losers have tried to participate."

Jamil leaned down and gave a dark smile.

"I don't need money to win over Y/N," eyes flashing red as he spoke.

"Monsieur Fuzzball!"

Grim and Jamil both groaned. It only took two seconds for him to be scooped up by the hunter.

"Non, non, do not struggle. I only wish to prove myself as a proper caretaker!"

Pomefiore Dorm…

Grim had never been so pampered, well fed, and relaxed in his entire life. Rook had provided snacks galore, given Grim the full on spa treatment, brushed out his fur, and was now massaging his sore kitty back.

"Monsieur Fuzzball, doesn't this feel wonderful?"

Grim nodded as Rook continued his massage.

"Just think, you could have this everyday!"

Grim groaned happily as Rook hit a tough knot.

Suddenly, Rook's voice was directly in his ear.

"All you have to do is give me the Trickster."

In that moment, Grim knew he would sell you for this life without a second thought.

But before he could do that…

"For heaven's sake I told you to find Epel, not this rodent!"

Rook immediately stopped the massage, to turn to his Queen.

"Roi du poison! I was simply-"

"Spare me," Vil snapped, before handing a struggling Epel over to Rook. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, gracefully handing it to Grim between two fingers.

"I believe you are aware of my financial situation, but should you have questions, you can reach my manager on that card."

Then he left the room with a flourish, and the lingering scent of apple blossoms.

"You know I am willing to share the trickster with you," Rook whispered to Vil in the hallway.

"Ew," Epel groaned.

"As if I'd ever share," Vil smirked.

Outside the Ignihyde Dorm…

Ortho stood next to the tablet, holding Grin up so he could see what it said.

"So as you can see from my bank account," Idia's voice said from the tablet, "Money is not and never will be an issue."

"It all looks good," Grim muttered as he made a note, "but I have to say it's a red flag that you couldn't come here in person…"

"Hey! Big brother is just busy with his experiment!"

"Yeah, exactly, thank you Ortho, for being the only one who appreciates genius. In fact this conversation is over. If he doesn't get it, then that's his loss. Ditch the noob, Ortho!" And the tablet floated back into the dorm.

Ortho gently set Grim down. "Look, big brother gets nervous around the prefect, that's all. But I think they'd make a great couple."

He gently patted Grim's head, then floated back in. Grim sighed, made a note about how Idia was a package deal, then continued to the final dorm.

Diasomnia Dorm…

"Small kitten, I am to be king of a country. Not only that, but I have spent centuries curating my hoard. Our nest will be always warm, and my perfect child of man will want for nothing," Malleus finished with a smug grin, as he leaned back in his throne. Then he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Now you three can make your offers, or whatever."

"Me next! Me next!" Lilia said, cradling Grim like a baby. "I'm not as young as I look, and am on the best of terms with the queen and future king. I also have a great fortune built up! Kay, who's next?"

Silver timidly raised his hand.

"I just want to say, what about what Y/N wants? What if Y/N doesn't like any of us? What if Y/N doesn't even want to get married in the end? Or maybe they'll be just as happy with or without money?"

There was a long pause. Then…

"Silver's father is loaded and will do anything to see his children married and happy!"

"Fa-Lilia!" Silver hid his face in his hands in embarrassment.

"Same with Sebek. And his dad's a dentist!"

For once Sebek had nothing to say.

"Excellent, this looks very promising for you four," Grim nodded scribbling his final notes, "Now to-"

"GRIM!"

Uh oh. He turned around and saw you storming in.

"Child of man!"

"Save it Mal Mal! I'm here for my rat," You scooped up Grim, placing him under your arm as you left the room.

"When will we hear about the second round of interviews?" Lilia giggled.

You answered by flipping them the middle finger without looking back.

The Hallway….

"What the hell, Grim? I'm not for sale!"

"I'm not selling you! I'm just trying to get you provided for!"

"Please! This is about tuna and you know it!"

"Who even told you?"

"Jack called me about an-"

"Ah! Prefect!"

You and Grim groaned as you heard Crowley call to you both.

"Yes, headmage?" You asked through gritted teeth. You turned and saw Crewel was with him….wearing a bigger coat than normal.

"That coat looks so soft," Grim muttered.

"Yeah," you whispered back. "Wait, headmage, what do you need?"

"I heard your current allowance is no longer sufficient," he gently traced your jawline, settling below your chin, tapping up against it thoughtfully. "How does a little extra sound?"

You nodded dumbly.

"Good good, I'm too generous, I know," he hummed and walked off.

Before Crewel followed him, he smirked and patted the top of your head.

"Good pup."

He stalked off. You stood frozen for a moment. Grim smirked up at you.

"You know, they look like they…."

"You keep that thought to yourself, Grim."

....

Tag list-@shytastemakerthing @stygianoir @leonia0 @lleoll @eccedentesiast-sapphic

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beomiracles · 2 months ago

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can I request a strength/breeding kink with older bf!soobin with afab!reader for kinktober? feel free to decide on the age gap !! I love your works!! thank you !! ><

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

DAY 2 : CHOI SOOBIN + BREEDING KINK — “You’re so perfect. Got such a pretty pussy, just waitin’ to be bred”, he huffs, cock twitching deep inside of you.

A breeding kink is an intense sexual attraction to the idea of getting pregnant or impregnating someone.

pairings older bf!soobin x fem!reader warnings heavy breeding kink, creampies, overstimulation (both f. and m.), age gap, "mommy" used to describe reader as pregnant, talks of starting a family and whatnot, manhandling/strength kink + bulge kink.

#serene adds ✎ .. oulala day two :> this one was sm fun to write !! as always let me know if i missed any tags !!

EVENT POST

Your limbs ache and burn, exhausted from the way they had been groped at and squeezed as your boyfriend manhandled you into position after position, thick cock using your spent cunt as he spills load after load into you. — When Soobin came home from work that evening, a small frown etched onto his face as he tore his blazer off, you already had a small idea about where this night was headed. But for this long?

Through lidded eyes you peer up at your boyfriend, sweat clung to his naked torso, making his dark hair stick to both his neck and forehead. Despite that, Soobin looks far from content, his jaw visibly clenching as his gaze trains on the way his hard cock pushed inside your pliant little cunt. — “Come on baby, one more, just one more.” He practically pleads, though not even bothering to hear your reply as he snaps his hips against yours, causing the bed to squeak as you moan out into the bedroom.

“Too much..” You gasp, nails tearing at his biceps as your head lulls back, completely docile in his grasp as his strong arms keep you against his chest. Soobin shakes his head, a small huff passing his lips as he grips you firmer. “You can do it, know you can..” He murmurs, his words cut off by a sharp groan as he feels you clench around him, orgasming for what you could only guess to be the fifth time that night.

The way you cry out into the dark room only seems to spur him on further as he watches your arousal slide down his cock, making him twitch inside your far too overstimulated cunt. “Need to make sure..”, he grunts, jaw slacking as he feels his own high approaching. — “Need to make sure you have my baby… S’important.” He breathes, lips grazing your neck, his teeth sink into your supple skin when he releases inside of you; hot cum spurting from his cock as he continues to fuck himself through his climax.

You knew that your boyfriend was eager to start a family, to make you pregnant. You couldn’t fault him, being well over 8 years your senior and entering his mid-thirties; it was all but understandable that he’d want kids, and who were you to deny him? — He remains inside of you, big arms loosening their grip around you as he lets you settle back against the covers. You wince as he shifts above you, his thick cock still nestled between your legs making your sore cunt ache.

His breath is warm against your neck as he buries his face in the crook of it, making sure to uphold most of his bodyweight as he lays on top of you. The soft caress of his large hand on your stomach makes you shiver and Soobin hums in contentment. “Wan’ get you pregnant so bad”, he mumbles, his voice muffled against the skin of your neck. “Yeah?” You croak, fingers splayed in his damp hair and you feel him exhale. “I do”, he says, his voice filled with determination. “Bet you’d look gorgeous stuffed full with my baby.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you consider his words. The thought of having a bunch of little mini-Soobins running around the house, it made your heart swell. — “I think I’d like that too.” Your quiet whisper is loud enough only for him to catch, but when he does, you immediately feel his semi-hard cock twitch as he lifts his head to peer up at you. “Yeah?” He counters to which you nod, watching as his eyes visibly darken with desire.

It takes about half a second for him to flip you around, making you yelp, completely unprepared for his quick course of action as he has you straddle him. His cock, now fully hard inside of you, makes you let out a moan of surprise as his hips jerk up, large hands on your waist keeping you firmly in place. “Fuck, you’d be the prettiest mommy”, he groans, eyes focusing on the way your tits bounced with every thrust of his, already imagining them plump and filled to the brim with milk.

“And I’ll take good care of you and our, -f-fuck-, our baby.” His words make your head spin and you feebly nod, whining in agreement as your nails rake across his large chest. — “You’re so perfect. Got such a pretty pussy, just waitin’ to be bred”, he huffs, cock twitching deep inside of you. Too lost to even register half of his words, you let your head fall forward as your arms struggle to keep you upright. — Your boyfriend’s hands are all over your body, touching and caressing your soft stomach as he feels the faint bulge of himself, instantly hardening further at the discovery.

He makes sure to finish as deep inside of you as possible, fingers trailing down your back soothingly as he helps you calm down from your own high with soft words of praise. — With a loud exhale, you fall forward as he catches you, propping you on top of his chest. And with your eyes closed, you find yourself relaxing in his strong arms.

You think you might be on the very verge of entering a comfortable slumber when you suddenly feel Soobin shift beneath you, hard cock sliding against your abused clit as he draws a quiet whimper from you. His voice is soft, a mere whisper against the shell of your ear as he says:

“One more, just to be sure.”

kinktober taglist (send an ask to be added) — @sweetpotatogyu @aduh0308 @joieouioui @inkigayocamman @bambammtori @hkplushier @gyusoulz @eliluvsjjunie @velvetmoonlght @izzyy-stuff @hwanghyunjinismybae @lunathewritingcat @ninitorih

#binnie’s dreams #beomiracles ₊˚⊹ ᰔ #soobin smut #txt smut #soobin hard hours #soobin hard thoughts #soobin x you #soobin x reader #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt x reader #txt x you #soobin imagines #txt imagines #choi soobin smut #choi soobin hard hours #txt fanfic #beomiracles kinktober 2024

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dancinglikebutterflywings · 26 days ago

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Chosen Appa | Wooyoung

- Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Single-mom!Reader.

- Requested by: no one

- Requests: Open for now. Please read my requesting guidelines before requesting.

- Warnings: single mum, hints at readers ex-husband being a cheater and an overall douchebag, best friends to lovers.

- Word Count: 1,205

- Taglist: Open. Send an ask or fill out the Tag List Form.

Wooyoung Masterlist | ATEEZ Masterlist

Walking back into her small living room, Y/N is met with silence. The babbling sounds of her 15-month-old baby girl, who usually keeps herself entertained with her toys in her play pen while Y/N does the housework, has gone quiet. Assuming her little one might have fallen asleep, she peeks into the playpen only to discover that her daughter is missing.

Panic sets in as Y/N searches every corner of the apartment, trying to convince that her baby isn’t capable of climbing out on her own yet. Her eyes dart to the entrance, where she notices the stroller and the diaper bag are missing. Relief washes over her and is quickly replaced with annoyance as she picks up the phone and calls the only person brave and sneaky enough to kidnap her baby in broad daylight.

He quickly answers but before he can start his yapping, Y/N yells at him. “Yah! Jung Wooyoung! You better bring my baby back right now.”

“No,” he says defiantly. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately with finding a new job, the divorce and your soon to be ex-husband being a total asshole. She’s coming with me to the studio while you have a few hours to yourself," he insists. "Don’t worry; she’ll be safe and sound. You know everyone here loves her.”

Y/N can almost hear the smirk in his voice, and it only fuels her irritation further. “You can’t just take her without asking me first! What if something happens? What if she gets scared?”

“Y/N,” he interrupts, his voice firm yet gentle, “You know I won't let anything happen to her. I protect her as if she's my own."

"Fine, but if you pull a stunt like this again, you'll never see her again," she warns her best friend. "You got that? I'll make Yeonjun her godfather. You’ll be no one to her."

"You really trust Yeonjun with Hannie?" he asks, skeptically.

"He wouldn't kidnap her without me knowing," she defends their mutual friend.

Wooyoung chuckles on the other end of the call, the sound brings some comfort to her. “You know, I think you’re just jealous because I didn’t kidnap you for the day too. Stop with the housework and enjoy this time to yourself. Take a walk, go get some lunch, do a little shopping.”

Y/N sighs, her shoulders slumping as she leans against the kitchen counter. The weight of her responsibilities presses down on her. Never did she think she would be jobless, almost divorced and a single mother. But four months ago, everything came crashing down. Her husband’s mistress turned up at their door, crying and pregnant. She left, losing her job in the process, and moved in with her mother who’s been helping support her and Hannie while she finds a new job so she can get an apartment. But finding a job was proving harder than she expected. She’s seriously considering the job her mum offered her at the small restaurant she owns.

Y/N feels a twinge of guilt for wanting a moment to herself. “I know, but she’s my baby. I can’t help but worry.”

“Worrying is part of being a mother, but you also need to take care of yourself,” Wooyoung replies, his voice softening.

Y/N bites her lip, contemplating his words. He’s right, of course. The past few months have been a whirlwind of stress, and she hasn’t had a moment to breathe. “Okay, but I want updates and photos. Text me every hour, or I swear I’ll come down to that studio and take her back myself.”

"I promise to send you plenty of pictures," he assures her. "Hannie, say see you later, eomma," he adds, moving the phone closer to Hannie.

Hannie babbles into the phone until a clear word breaks through. "Appa!"

Y/N’s eyes widen with shock. Hannie just said her first word. Her heart swells with a mix of pride and disbelief. “Did she just say ‘Appa’?” Y/N asks, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she’s afraid to break the special moment.

"I've been trying to get her to say eomma," Wooyoung admits after putting his phone on speaker, disbelief and pride in his voice also. He quickly ends the call and calls her back on video call.

She quickly answers and the first thing to pop up on her phone screen is her little girl, her bright eyes sparkling with innocence and joy as she looks past the phone at wooyoung. She’s always imagined the day her daughter would speak her first word, and now it was directed at someone else. Someone that wants nothing to do with her. The reality of her situation hits her like a wave, and she feels a lump form in her throat.

“Appa,” Hannie keeps saying, her tiny voice filled with joy as she looks up at Wooyoung, her little hands reaching out wanting him to pick her up. "Look, Hannie, it's eomma," Wooyoung says, turning the phone to show Hannie her mother on the screen. For a brief moment, she captures the baby's attention, and Y/N can see the flicker of recognition in her daughter’s eyes. "Can you say eomma?" he playfully encourages, trying to elicit another word from his goddaughter.

Hannie giggles, her focus shifting back to him, her laughter like music that fills the room. "Appa!" she exclaims again.

"I think she's calling you Appa," Y/N says, the realization dawning on her. When she thinks about it, Wooyoung has present in Hannie's life more than her own father. Especially since Y/N and her ex-husband ended their relationship. Hannie's father hasn't had anything to do with her since.

"Me?" he asks surprised, turning the phone camera back to him. "Why would she call me Appa?" he questions not really thinking about it.

"Maybe she sees me as a father figure," Y/N tries to convince herself, but deep down, she knows that Hannie is forming connections, and Wooyoung is a significant part of her life.

"I mean, I’ve been around a lot since you and—" He stops himself, the mention of her ex-husband hanging in the air.

Y/N swallows hard, the lump in her throat growing. "You have been," she admits, her voice growing softer as she thinks about it. "You’ve been a great, Wooyoung. I don’t know what I would do without you."

He smiles, but it’s tinged with something more serious. "I just want to be there for both of you. You know that, right? You and Hannie mean the world to me."

"And you mean the world to us," she replies with a warm smile, her heart swelling with affection. In that moment, she realizes that there could be something more between her, her daughter and her best friend. Wooyoung has stepped into a role that neither of them expected, but it feels right.

"I don't think this is a conversation that should be spoken about over the phone," he says after a moment of silence. "I'll bring Hannie home now and we can talk more."

She nods, a small smile playing on her lips and ends the call. She rushes around the room, picking up toys and putting away the play pen. anticipating Wooyoung and Hannie's return home.

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy, modify and/or repost anywhere.

@staytiny2000 - @treehouse-mouse - @katzline - @alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea

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@catzachvsvt - @ateez-atiny380 - @reayahnadeem24

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lxndonorris · 3 months ago

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a special day in maranello - Charles Leclerc

Y/N x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smut Charles shows off his special black Monza suit x word count: 4880+ taglist: @game-set-canet @pitstopreality-f1 if you dont want to be tagged, or you want to be tagged, just let me know! requests are open for x-reader or ships :) EN: Went a little further than expected, but I hope you'll enjoy this"

It is the week of the Monza Grand Prix, one of the most anticipated weekends of the year, not just for the Tifosi but for the entire motorsport world.

The atmosphere is electric, with fans flocking to the region to witness Ferrari in action on home soil. But before the chaos of Monza can begin, there is an important stop to make at Maranello.

The Ferrari headquarter in Maranello is a place Charles and you have come to love. But this visit is different. This time, it isn't just about the preparations or meetings. There is something special planned, something that has been kept under wraps until now.

Charles invited you to join him for a photoshoot, something that is supposed to be "special." That's all he would say about it. No details, no hints, just that mischievous smile of his that both excites and unnerves you.

You are used to surprises with Charles, but this one has you feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

You arrived at Maranello in the early afternoon, the sun casting a golden glow over the landscape. Ferrari reserved a private room for you, a place where you could prepare for the shoot in peace.

The room is simple yet elegant, with a large window that offers a stunning view at the headquarters. Inside, there are racks of clothing, a few chairs, and a full-length mirror on one side. The gear is neatly arranged, but the most striking piece of equipment is a large, black privacy screen that stands in the corner.

Charles leads you into the room with his hand gently placed on the small of your back.

"This is it," he says with a grin. "Our little secret hideaway for the day."

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm, but you are also burning with curiosity.

"So, what's this all about? You've been so mysterious lately."

He chuckles softly, his green eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You'll see soon enough. But first, I need to get ready."

You watch as he walks over to the privacy screen, picking up a neatly folded set of clothing on the way.

You're really not going to tell me anything, are you?" You ask, crossing your arms with a playful pout.

"Nope," he replies with a wink, disappearing behind the screen. "But don't worry, you won't be disappointed."

You take a seat in one of the chairs, your eyes glued to the screen. Even though you can't see him, you can hear everything—the rustle of fabric, the soft hum of his voice as he starts to change—it all adds to the anticipation.

"So," Charles begins, his voice light and teasing, "you're probably wondering what I'm putting on first."

"Obviously," you reply, trying to sound casual even though your heart is racing.

He chuckles again, the sound warm and inviting.

"Well, first comes the Nomex. You know, the fire-resistant underwear. It's essential for safety, but it's also surprisingly comfortable. Here, let me show you."

'He's putting on a racing suit', is the first thing that comes to your mind, making your heart race faster. You love seeing him in his red suit, but this visit means only one thing: a special suit for Monza.

And, of course, he isn't going to show you right away. Instead, he describes the feel of the fabric as he slides on the shirt and pants, his tone almost sensual as he runs his hands along his chest.

"It's soft, like a second skin," he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. "It fits snugly, molding to every curve. You'd be surprised how something so thin can make you feel so safe."

You swallow hard, your imagination running wild.

"I bet it looks good on you."

"You'll have to wait and see," he teases, and you can practically hear the smile in his voice.

Next, there is a pause, followed by the sound of a zipper being pulled.

"Now, the racing suit," he announces, his tone turning playful again. "This is the real deal. It's custom made, fits like a glove, and when you put it on, you know you're ready for anything."

You lean forward in your chair, straining to hear every word.

"And how does it feel?"

Charles lets out a satisfied sigh, clearly enjoying himself.

"It feels powerful. When I zip it up, it's like I'm putting on armor. It's tight, but in a good way. Every movement feels controlled, precise. It's a part of me, and when I'm in the car, there is nothing else like it."

You bite your lip, trying to maintain some sembience of composure.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little," he admits, laughing softly. "But I'm also enjoying teasing you. It's fun seeing you squirm."

"Charles!" You exclaim, unable to hide the smile in your voice.

"All right, all right," he says, his tone turning a bit more serious. "I think it's time for the big reveal. Are you ready?"

Your heart skips a beat.

"Yes."

"Good," he replies. "I'm going to count down from five, and when I get to one, I'll step out. But I want you to promise me something."

"What's that?" you ask, intrigued.

"Promise me that whatever you see, you'll give me an honest reaction. No holding back."

You nod, even though he can't see you.

"I promise."

"Okay, here we go," he says, and you can hear the excitement in his voice.

"Five."

"Four."

"Three."

"Two."

"One."

And then he steps out from behind the screen.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He is dressed in a black racing suit, but this isn't just any suit. It is sleek, form-fitting, and accentuates every line of his body. The material shimmers slightly under the light, giving it an almost otherworldly quality. Yellow accents trace the contours of the suit, adding a bold, striking contrast that makes the entire outfit pop.

But it isn't just the suit that takes your breath away. It is the way he carries himself, the confidence in his posture, the way he stands there with a slight smirk on his lips, knowing exactly the effect he has on you.

"So," he says, his voice low and velvety, "what do you think?"

Charles strikes a pose, his body angled in a way that showcases every contour of the racing suit. The black and yellow fabric clings to him perfectly, accentuating the sleek lines of his physique. His confidence is palpable, and the way he presents himself is nothing short of magnetic.

He holds the pose for a moment, his stance strong and assertive, his chest puffs out slightly as he tilts his head to the side. The suit gleams under the studio lights, the yellow accents highlighting the definition of his muscles and the tailored fit around his waist.

Then, with a fluid, almost theatrical movement, Charles begins to spin slowly. His movements are graceful and deliberate, allowing every angle of the suit to be seen.

As he turns, the black fabric shifts and ripples, the yellow highlights catching the light and creating a stunning contrast. He spins with a kind of effortless elegance, each turn revealing a new aspect of the suit. and his physique.

The way he moves is mesmerizing.

His broad shoulders, narrow waist, and powerful legs are on full display, each turn emphasizing the perfect fit of the racing suit. His smile is confident, and his eyes sparkle with a mix of pride and playful satisfaction.

It's clear he enjoys the attention, relishing the chance to show off how well the suit complemented his body.

As he completes another spin and faces you once more, he strikes another pose, his body perfectly angled to highlight the sleek lines of the suit.

His gaze meets yours, a hint of challenge in his eyes, as if daring you not to be completely captivated.

For a moment, you can't speak.

You can only stare at him, taking in every detail.

Finally, you find your voice.

"You look.... phenomenal."

His smirk widens into a full-blown smile."

"You really think so?"

"Yes. I really do." You say, taking another look at him, all of him.

He looks absolutely stunning, almost unreal in his black and yellow racing suit. But it isn't just the suit that makes him so captivating.

His tousled hair, with that perfect, 'just out of bed' look, the slight stubble along his jawline, his soft, inviting lips, and those pretty green eyes—they all come together to create a sight that is simply irresistible.

As he walks toward you, his movements are slow and deliberate, almost like a predator closing in on his prey.

His hands roam along his suit as if he can't resist touching the fabric himself. He runs them down his arms, across his chest, over his sides, and then down his abdomen, his fingers tracing the lines of his body.

You watch, completely entranced, as he licks his lips absentmindedly, his gaze locked onto yours.

There is an electric tension in the air, a palpable pull that you can't ignore.

Your body moves on its own, your hand reaching out, fingertips grazing the fabric of the suit. The material feels incredible under your touch—smooth, almost like silk, but with a strength that is unmistakable.

Your fingers roam over his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric, and you can't help but marvel at how good it feels.

Charles smiles, clearly pleased with your reaction.

"You like it?" he asks, his voice low and intimate, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

You nod, still running your fingers over his chest, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

"I do. It feels amazing."

He grins, a flash of pride lighting up his eyes.

"It's like carbon fiber. Ferrari put a lot of thought into it."

"You can tell," you reply, your fingers still exploring the suit, tracing the yellow accents that highlight his lean physique. "It looks good on you."

Charles's smile widens, and he leans in a little closer.

"I'm glad you think so. But you know, I could get used to hearing that a bit more."

You meet his gaze, and the playful challenge in his eyes sends a thrill through you.

"Oh, really?"

"Really," he murmurs, his voice husky. "I think I deserve a few more compliments, don't you?"

You can't help but smile at his playful arrogance, but you are more than happy to indulge him.

"You look incredible, Charles. The suit fits you perfectly, and the way it shows off your body... it's almost unfair."

He hums softly in response, clearly enjoining every word.

"Go on," he encouraged, his tone teasing.

"You've got that effortlessly sexy look going on," you continue, your voice soft but sincere.

"Your hair, that stubble, those eyes... you're practically irresistible. And the way you wear this suit, like it's just an extension of you—it's like you are made for this."

Charles lets out a soft chuckle, his gaze locked onto yours, his eyes darkening slightly with desire.

"I love it when you talk like that," he admits, his voice low and rough around the edges.

You smile, feeling a surge of warmth in your chest.

"I love making you feel good."

"You do," he replies, his tone filled with a mix of affection and hunger.

He reaches up, cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine.

"You always do."

For a moment, you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside of the room fading away.

Charles leans in, closing the distance between you, his lips bruhsing against yours in a kiss that is both soft and intense.

The sensation of his lips, warm and inviting, sends a spark of electricity through your body, and you melt into him, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders.

As the kiss deepens, his hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, the fabric of his suit is cool and smooth against your skin. There is something about the way he holds you, the way he kisses you, that makes you feel like you are the only thing that matters to him in that moment.

Then you notice the distinct, alluring scent of his cologne surrounding him. It is a rich, sphisticated fragrance, subtly blending with the fresh scent of the racing suit. The aroma is warm and comforting, with hints of cedarwood and a touch of citrus that lingers in the air, creating an intoxicating combination that is uniquely Charles.

The scent envelopes you as you get closer, creating a sensory experience that is both soothing and exhilarating. It's like being wrapped in a cloud of his presence, and you feel the warmth of his body through the fabric, the scent adding another layer of intimacy to the moment.

Charles seems to notice your reaction.

His eyes soften with a mix of amusement and affection as he looks down at you.

"You like my cologne?" he asks, his voice low and slightly teasing.

You smile up at him, letting your fingers run down his chest again, savoring the feeling of the fabric and the scent that seems to blend perfectly with him.

"I do," you admit, your voice soft. "It's like an extra layer of you."

He chuckles softly, clearly pleased with your response.

Charles leans in closer, his eyes smoldering with a mix of affection and desire.

"Fuck, I'm getting so hard," he whispers, his voice carrying a hint of that familiar confidence.

You meet his gaze, a slow smile spreading across your lips.

"I can see that," you reply, your voice soft but laced with playfulness.

Your eyes begin their slow journey over him, taking in every detail once more.

The way the black racing suit hugs his body accentuates every muscle, every curve, in a way that is striking yet sensual. The suit seems almost to pulse with his energy.

His muscles are taut and defined, the fabric of his suit now straining slightly under the pressure, emphasizing the hard lines of his physique.

Charles grins, a pleased smile stretching across his lips.

"This feels so good."

You reach out slowly, your fingers grazing the surface of his suit, tracing a path along his chest, feeling the subtle shift of his muscles as you move your hand down his sides and across his abdomen.

Your touch is light but deliberate, savoring the warmth and firmness of his body.

Charles sighs contentedly, his eyes closing briefly as he enjoys the sensation of your fingers through his suit. His breath hitches slightly when your fingers trace the letters of his name along his waistline, the fabric stretching slightly as you move.

The intimacy of the moment, the way his body responded to your touch, makes your heart race.

Encouraged by his reaction, your fingers wander lower, exploring the contours of his body with newfound confidence.

You feel the tension in his muscles, the way the suit accentuates every movement. Each touch is met with a soft sigh or a subtle shift, and it is clear that he is thoroughly enjoying the attention.

Charles's hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer as you continue your exploration. The sensation of his body under your fingers, the way the suit clings and shifts, creates an intoxicating mix of excitement and intimacy.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" You murmur, your fingers tracing along his hips, feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath the fabric.

His eyes flutter open, his gaze locked onto yours with desire.

"Absolutely," he says softly. "It feels amazing. But it's even better because you're the one doing this."

You smile, leaning in slightly, your fingers continuing their journey.

"I'm glad I can make you feel this way."

He lets out a low, contented hum, almost a purr, his grip on your waist tightening as he revels in the closeness.

Your fingers trace a little lower, savoring the way his body responds to your touch. The suit seems almost to come alive under your fingers, amplifying every sensation, every movement.

His reaction, the way his breath hitches and his body tenses, makes you feel like you are exploring a private, cherished part of him.

"Does this feel good?" You ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"More than you can imagine," Charles replies, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how... good I feel right now."

Each sigh, each shift of his body, makes the moment feel even more special.

As you gently stroke his abdomen, Charles's eyes close again, his breathing deepening as he savors the sensation. He leans into your touch, his expression one of pure contentment. It is clear that this moment, this connection, is something he cherishes as much as you do.

The air between you crackles with anticipation as your hand slowly finds the zipper of his suit. His eyes dart open and follow your movements intently, every breath between you heavy with expectation.

You hesitate for just a moment, letting the tension build before you begin to slowly pull the zipper down.

As the zipper descends, the black fabric parts to reveal the Nomex underneath, hugging his body like a second skin.

The slightly damp fabric is smooth, taut, and incredibly form-fitting, showing off every muscle, every contour of his athletic physique. The red fabric contrasted sharply with his skin, making the sight even more captivating.

Charles sighs softly, the sound full of both relief and pleasure, his chest rising and falling as he exhales deeply. You can't help but marvel at the sight before you—the tight Nomex accentuating his lean muscles, the way it clings to him, leaving little to the imagination.

Your heart races as you take it all in, your fingers itching to touch him, to feel the heat of his body beneath the fabric.

However, before you can make another move, Charles slips out of the upper half of his racing suit, letting the top half fall to his waist, revealing his torso.

Through the thin Nomex, you can see every line of his chest, the muscles of his abdomen flexing slightly as he moves. The material is so thin, so close to his skin, that it is almost as if nothing is there at all. It is an invitation you can't resist.

You reach out, your fingers trembling slightly with the intensity of the moment, and place your hand on his chest.

The Nomex feels cool to the touch, but underneath, his skin is warm and firm. You feel his muscles shift under your fingertips, flexing subtly as he responds to your touch.

All of him is intoxicating—the power, the strength, all right there under your hand.

Charles lets out a low, pleased hum, clearly enjoying the way you are exploring him.

His hand slides to your waist again, pulling you closer until your bodies are almost touching. His other hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

His lips hover just above yours, his breath warm and sweet against your mouth. He is so close that you feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, sense the way his chest expands and contracts with each inhale.

"How do I look?`" he asks, his voice a deep, husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

You are breathless, completely caught up in the moment, on him.

Your eyes roam over his face, his hair still tousled, his stubble giving him a rugged, irresistible edge, his green eyes dark with desire.

And his body, clad in the tight Nomex, is a sight that leaves you utterly speechless.

"Amazing," you finally manage to whisper, your voice barely audible as you lean into him, your heart racing.

That is all he needed to hear.

Charles closes the small gap between you, his lips capturing yours in an intense kiss. The moment your lips meet, it's like everything else fades away—the room, the world outside—all of it ceases to exist. There is only him, only this.

His kiss is full of passion, but there is also something gentle, something reverent about the way he holds you, as if you are the most precious thing in the world to him.

His hands on your waist tighten, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the heat of his body through his shirt; the hard lines of his muscles press against you.

You melt into him, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, then down his chest, feeling the way his body reacts to your touch. His muscles tense firmly under your fingers, the sensation sending a rush of heat through you.

The kiss deepens, and you respond eagerly, your hands exploring every inch of him, reveling in the feel of his strong, powerful body under the thin fabric.

"Mhmm," he moans into your mouth as his hands move to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your head slightly, deepening the kiss even further.

You feel his breath quickening, matching the rapid beat of your own heart.

When you finally break apart, you are both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other's, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted, a small, satisfied smile playing on his face.

"You have no idea how much I want you," he whispers, his voice rough and his accent coming through more.

You smile, your heart swelling with desire.

"I think I do," you whisper back, your fingers still tracing the lines of his chest.

He opens his eyes then, looking at you with such intensity that it makes your knees weak.

That's when you feel the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against your waist. A shiver runs through you at the sensation, and you can't resist the urge to tease him, a playful smile curving your lips.

"Well, someone's enjoying themselves," you murmur, your voice light and teasing as you raise an eyebrow at him.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound deep and rich.

"Can you blame me?" He replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Look at what I've got in front of me."

His playful response only makes you bolder; your hands begin their slow descent down his body, fingers tracing over the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, feeling the way his breath hitches slightly as you move lower.

The closer you get to his waist, the more you can feel the tension building in him, the anticipation.

As your hands continue to roam, Charles lets out a soft, involuntary moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat.

You let your fingers dip lower, stroking him through the racing suit, feeling the heat of his arousal against your hand.

Charles bites down on his lower lip, his eyes darkening with desire as he gazes down at you. The way he looks at you, the way he responds to your touch only fuel the fire inside you.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice strained, though still laced with that playful edge. "You're going to drive me insane."

You smile up at him, continuing to tease, enjoying every moment of his reaction.

"Isn't that the point?"

Charles let out a low, appreciative laugh, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.

His breathing quickened as he let out another low sigh.

"I'm really close," he admits, his voice strained with desire and frustration. The evidence of his arousal presses firmly against you, growing more intense as your fingers continue to stroke him through the suit.

The fabric stretches, forming a visible tent, yet the black fabric is slightly hiding it. Still, you feel the warmth of his arousal growing, and you notice the fabric growing damp with his pre-cum. His breath hitches, and his eyes plead with you, showing just how close he is to the edge.

You look up at him; your expression a mixture of playful defiance and genuine affection.

"You can't ruin the suit yet," you tease softly, though the warmth in your tone reveals just how much you are enjoying this.

Charles's eyes widen slightly with frustration, his hands gripping your waist tighter as he tries to steady himself.

"I'm just so close," he says, his voice a desperate whisper, his body trembling as he fights to hold on.

You keep your touch light and teasing, drawing out the moment as much as you can.

"Patience," you murmur, your voice a gentle caress against his ear.

"The suit's not going anywhere. And neither are we."

Charles's grip on you tightens even more, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

"You're really driving me crazy," he whimpers, a soft groan escaping his lips as he struggles to keep his composure.

You smile at him, your fingers continuing their slow, teasing caress.

"That's the idea, I told you," you whisper, your voice full of playful affection. "But I promise, we'll have our time. Just a little longer."

The tension is almost unbearable, the heat of the moment making it clear how much you both want to give in to your desires. His eyes are dark with need, his body presses firmly against yours as he fights to maintain control.

"I'll be patient," he says finally, though his voice is thick with desire. "But only if you promise me that we'll finish this soon."

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips."You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"I promise."

With a final, lingering kiss, Charles reluctantly steps back, his arousal still evident but his composure regained.

As Charles adjusts his suit in preparation for the photoshoot, his movements are deliberate and confident; his hands glide over the fabric, smoothing it out and ensuring everything is in place.

Yet, there is a clear focus on specific areas—his chest, his abdomen, his thighs, and the prominet bulge that is still slightly damp.

With a mixture of frustration and need, his hands linger on his chest, his fingers tracing the defined muscles beneath the Nomex. He then moved to his abdomen, his touch firm and almost possessive, as if trying to regain control over his body's reaction.

His gaze drops to the growing bulge at his waistline, and he sighs, his breath catching slightly as he feels the evidence of his arousal.

"Barely held on there," he murmurs, his voice thick with both relief and frustration as he glances at you, his expression a blend of desire and amusement.

You can't help but tease him, a playful smile spreading across your lips.

"I can tell," you reply. "Looks like you're having a hard time keeping it together."

Charles's eyes sparkle with a mix of annoyance and amusement as he meets your gaze.

"You're really pushing your luck," he says, though there is an undeniable edge of affection in his tone.

"You make it so easy," you tease, reaching out to gently brush your fingers against the damp spot on his suit, feeling the warmth of his arousal through the fabric. The contact makes him shiver, his breath hitching again.

He gives a soft, almost helpless laugh, shaking his head.

"You're impossible," he says, though there is no real reproach in his voice. "But you're right. It's all your fault."

You lean in closer, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Charles's lips twitch into a reluctant smile, his eyes dark with desire once more.

With one last, lingering look, he adjusts his suit one final time, making sure everything is perfectly in place before you have to leave for the photoshoot.

His movements are more controlled now, though the lingering evidence of his earlier arousal is still apparent.

With a final glance in your direction, he reaches for his black ferrari cap on the nearby table. He flips it in his hand for a moment, as if considering something before sliding it onto his head, the bill casting a shadow over his eyes, giving him an air of confident mystery.

He turns to the mirror, his eyes roaming over his reflection. Slowly, he licks his lips, his gaze focused on the way the cap and the racing suit completed the look.

You watch him for a moment, the way he studies himself, clearly satisfied with how everything came together. Unable to resist, you smile and ask.

"Are you satisfied with what you see?"

Charles chuckles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

"I think I am," he replies, his tone playful but with a hint if genuine appreciation for the way he looks.

He takes another moment to admire himself, running his fingers through his stubble and along his jawline, before letting his gaze linger on the way the suit fit his form, especially around the waist, before turning to dace you fully.

"You know," he adds, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, " I think I might even like it more with you standing next to me."

You blush slightly at his words, a soft laugh, escaping you as you shake your head.

"Always the charmer;" you tease, though you can't deny the thrill that runs through you at his compliment.

"Only for you," he murmurs, his eyes softening as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face, the gesture tender and full of affection.

With a final look in the mirror, Charles takes a deep breath, the playful edge returning to his expression as he turns to you.

"Alright," he says, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Let's go show them what this suit can do."

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 smut

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whismizxal · 6 months ago

Text

show me off dr3

── in which daniel ricciardo loves showing off his greek girlfriend.

── warning: google translated greek, some spelling and grammar mistakes, relationships, kind of suggestive? anything else I missed please let me know xx

f1 drivers. navigation.

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danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 645,922,192 others

danielricciardo be jealous or should I say να ζηλεύεις γιατί είναι ΤΟ ΚΟΡΙΤΣΙ ΜΟΥ. (be jealous because she’s my girl)

tagged; yourusername

view 11,221 comments

username absolute beauty

username I am very jealous

username pls their so cute

username he loveessss showing off the greek she taught him

yourusername duolingo lessons payed off

⤷ danielricciardo you were a better teacher

⤷ duolingo I see how it is.

⤷ danielricciardo she gave me private lessons mate, what can I say?

⤷ username DAMN OUTING HER LIKE THAT

⤷ yourusername you’re sleeping on the couch

⤷ danielricciardo wait I am sorry please baby

username he calls her baby 🤭🤭

⤷ username so do many couples in the world, what about it?

username you forgot to add a comma after the say.

⤷ username aren’t you just a ray of sunshine

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DANIEL AND Y/N WERE IN LOVE.

there was no doubt about it.

the way their eyes glow when the other is mentioned or walks into a room is something that is out of a disney film. the quick glances of adoration they give each other are constantly caught on camera proving their love for each other further more.

the way he looked at her when she was talking made it seem like she hung the moon and the stars, and there wasn’t a soul who could get daniel to tear his eyes away from the girl he loved calling a goddess.

“daniel, you listening?” she asked softly, looking at him a smile which told him she had caught him staring at her.

“can’t lie baby, I wasn’t.” he responded sheepishly but never taking his eyes off her. “you’re just so beautiful.” he muttered as he went closer to her and stroked her cheek.

“how’s the greek going?” she asked with a soft smile as she looked into his eyes with complete affection.

“I think it’s going quite well. wanna hear me speak?” he spoke excitedly, a huge grin on his face as he asked the question.

“of course I do.” she replied, her smile matching his.

“εισαι η αγαπη της ζωης μου.” he says with a accent, a proud smile on his face. (you are the love of my life)

y/n laughed softly as blush crept on her face at his words. she reached up to kiss his cheek. “κι εσύ είσαι δικός μου.” she spoke sweetly. (and you are mine.)

“wait what does that mean?” he asked a little panicked as he goes on his phone to search it up, forcing a laugh out of her.

“I love you so much.” she tells him, grabbing his face to look at her.

he dropped his phone and kissed her with a smile, lifting her off her feet as they laughed into the kiss. “I love you too.” he says against her lips.

“I know, you love to show me off on instagram.” she giggled, running her fingers through his hair.

“can you blame me?” he responded, picking her up as she wrapped her legs around his waist, moving his hands to be under her thighs to hold her. “you’re so fucking beautiful and I need to make sure everyone knows it.” he says, kissing her cheek as she blushed.

“thank you for leaning greek. you don’t understand how much i appreciate it.” she whispers to him, leaning her forehead against his as she runs her fingers through his hair.

“of course love, got make sure your family can understand my vows.” he smiles smugly as he walks towards the sofa still holding her in his arms as he sits down.

“been waiting three years for you to ask.” she joked as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“don’t worry, I’ll ask soon. just don’t want you to be expecting it.” he said, kissing her head when he saw her cheeks turn red.

they both sat in a comfortable silence as daniel rested his head on y/n’s, stroking her thigh as he smiled at the thought of the engagement ring he bought two weeks ago that was hiding in one of his socks at the back of his drawer.

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danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 239,821,292 others

danielricciardo some more future wife appreciation

tagged; yourusername

view 10,922 comments

yourusername show me off 🤭🤭

⤷ danielricciardo course 🤭

⤷ username he’s in love in love

username looked at my bf and sighed cause why can’t he show me off like this

⤷ username cause if he did then people might try and take you away from him.

⤷ username omg thank you ☺️

⤷ username call me 😉

username future wife this, future wife that, make it present wife!

⤷ yourusername that’s what I am saying. I wanna be called his wife not his girlfriend 😔

⤷ danielricciardo all in due time baby

username yourusername if he gets you to wear a really nice dress and get your nails done, there’s a 95% chance he’s gonna propose

⤷ yourusername 🤭🤭 oml thank youuuu

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yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, carlossainz55, and 282,627,911 others

yourusername HE PROPOSED IN GREEK. I AM GONNA BE HIS WIFEEEEEEEE 🪿🪿

tagged; danielricciardo

view 12,945 comments

username FINALLYY

username WHY DID SHE USE A DUCK EMOJI

⤷ yourusername they remind me of daniel.

⤷ username how so 💀

⤷ yourusername I am not permitted to talk about it

username so happy for you guys!

username in greek!! THATS ROMANCE

carlossainz55 finally did it I see

⤷ landonorris at least he no longer will say she’s his future wife, but just his wife

an; this is kinda of bad so I might end up re-writing this in the near future.

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rememberwren · 5 months ago

Text

A Dichotomy of Thought || 5

Johnny recovers slowly.

Fifteen minutes? Simon messages you. A flare going up in the darkness, an SOS signal even if you don’t know the accuracy of the analogy. But he doesn’t hear back from you that day. Maybe what little luck he had left that wasn’t bad luck has run out. Maybe you realized that you had no real reason to be guilty, that Soap had stepped out in front of your car on purpose. You didn’t owe them anything.

Simon wishes he could swallow that flare back up, eat it whole, let it burn him alive, but he can’t. Johnny needs him.

Ever since the seizure, it’s been one bad pain day after another. The seizure itself was rough on his body, but so was how hard Soap fought afterwards, dealing himself damage that he didn’t even have the processing yet to tally up.

Like clockwork he’s requiring those little green pills, choking them down on empty stomachs. Simon even has to break out what’s left of the sublingual morphine which they hadn’t used since Johnny first came home from inpatient rehabilitation. Only then will Johnny manage to fall into fitful sleeps wracked with nightmares and phantom pains from his missing arm. He cancels all therapy that week, hoping Johnny will return to his baseline soon. Hoping for the days he used to wish away.

It’s hell on earth. Simon lays in bed beside him, ready to wake him from another nightmare, going on three days without sleep and he wishes that he had been the one in the helicopter instead. Wishes that it had killed him, since he can’t ever wish death on Johnny. Not ever. Not even when his boy begs for it.

His phone buzzes, and it’s you: I’m free in twenty. Still need me?

Badly. Simon can’t remember the last time he showered. All he wants is fifteen minutes to scrub himself clean and feel human again. All he says though is: Yeah.

You appear just past twenty minutes later wearing a diner uniform. It’s cute: tight pants that hug your thighs and hips, a white button-down blouse tucked in, demarcation where your name tag used to rest.

Simon opens the door and ushers you in, somber-faced, like a pallbearer at a funeral. He goes to the bedroom door and glances in to make sure Johnny is out—there should be no waking him for the next two hours, but if there is one thing Simon has learned, it’s that God Laughs.

“He asleep?” you whisper, lingering a healthy distance away.

“Out like a light. I just need fifteen minutes in the shower.”

“I’ll watch him,” you whisper. Then you add: “I looked it up, by the way. What a seizure looks like. Just in case.”

Simon’s stomach drops between his knees. It takes him several heartbeats to realize that he isn’t nauseous out of any fear response, but out of sheer fucking gratitude. The feeling cuts through the fog in his mind like a knife through butter, and he feels like he sees you for the first time: your hair back away from your face, your healing bruises (and the new one on your chin), the embarrassed desperation in your eyes. You’ve latched on to Johnny too, he can tell, likely by some misguided guilt from almost hitting him with your car. But it’s there. He has a feeling that if Johnny were to take a dive off the balcony, he’d be taking you with him.

You are completely unhinged. Borderline mad, even. Exactly what Johnny needs to keep him alive.

“Fifteen minutes,” says Simon again before slipping into the bathroom, clean clothes tucked under his arm. When he resurfaces, only 11 minutes have passed. The military taught him everything he could need to know about thorough but expeditious showers.

You are sitting at the dining table, having chosen the seat that gives you the best vantage point of Johnny’s sleeping figure in the next room through the doorway. Simon expected to find you on your phone, scrolling away, but it is nowhere in sight. You have sat perfectly still, watching Johnny. It would almost be eerie if he didn’t appreciate it so goddamn much.

“We need to talk about this arrangement,” you say, clasping your hands together. You’re shaking.

“You want out.”

“What? No!” You both glance toward the bedroom, but Johnny snores on, in the throes of morphine-fueled dreams. When you speak again, it is quieter: “I don’t mind helping, but I can only check my phone at certain times of the day.”

This is the part where Simon asks why. But the question sticks to the back of his tongue like something unsavory. A more important question: can he afford to care why beyond what it means for him and for Johnny? The bottom line is that there will be long stretches of time where you’re unavailable. He can live with that. He’s been living with it, hasn’t he?

“I’ll only ever need you when he’s asleep. If he knew I was letting you watch over him, he’d blow his top. I mean that literally.” Simon stands. “You want tea?”

“Tea?” You blink at him like the word does not compute. “Yes, please. Thank you, I mean.”

“Just tea, don’t get worked up over it,” he mutters, going to put the kettle on. He needs a minute to fucking think.

This goes against everything he was ever taught. The foundation of his personality is self-reliance, and it has been since he was a boy, since he learned that he couldn’t rely on adults for anything resembling stability. Asking for help feels like tossing up the white flag, like admitting he’s in too deep and he can’t take it anymore. It feels like failing Johnny.

But there’s construction going on inside him. Those pillars of his personality are being torn down, and in their place something more important is being formed: a shrine to the only person who’s ever loved him that wasn’t his mother. If it’s good for Johnny, Simon must do it, even if it feels strange, even if it goes against all the strategies that have kept him alive in the past.

When he brings tea back to the table, you try to drink it right away, scalding your tongue.

“Slow,” Simon says. He didn’t even get the chance to offer you any milk or sugar.

Face warm as the tea, you drink slower, tongue likely numb. The silence between you grows, adds up, and he catches you more than once looking toward the digital clock inlaid on the stove, like you are nervous and counting down the moments until you can escape. Like Simon frightens you. Fifteen minutes pass and more. You drain your cup.

“I should go,” you say at length.

“Alright.”

“Thank you for the tea.”

“Don’t thank me.”

You just nod and slip out of the apartment, quietly shutting the door behind you. Simon sits there for a long time after you’re gone, thinking over the arrangement. Thinking over you.

You’re in trouble. He just can’t decide if he can afford to take on any more trouble right now.

His tea has cooled by the time Johnny stirs in the other room, calling out for more pills.

It does get easier. Tooth and nail they fight for every peaceful moment until they are able to string two of those moments together, and then two becomes three. Johnny is back to his old self—often angry, still pained, but with glimmers of the man Simon used to know shining beneath it all like diamonds under dirt.

Therapy starts again, and so do Johnny’s tasks.

The tasks aren’t therapy. They’re Johnny’s idea: each few days he picks a task that he used to be able to do before the accident and commits himself to relearning it.

Today that tasks is unlocking the front door. He stands with his forehead against the oak, knowing Simon is somewhere on the other side, having heard him turn the deadbolt.

The door has three locks. There is the handle which is the only one the apartment building originally supplied them with. There is the sliding lock, which Simon had installed on day two in the new apartment. It is only ever locked at night when both of them are home, and it is easy enough for Johnny to guide the wide end into the slot. Then there is the deadbolt, also installed by Simon, and easily the trickiest lock of all. Usually it requires the strength of two hands to unlock comfortably—but Soap’s down a hand and short on patience.

“Jesus, get me in this apartment. Amen,” he mutters.

The key shakes in his hand as he guides it to the lock. It takes some fumbling, but he gets it after just a few moments. Then he must twist while pulling outward at the same time. It uses muscles in his arms that have grown weak with disuse. The key catches for a moment but then slides out of the lock uselessly. He pulled too hard; he did not twist hard enough.

It’s a delicate balance, one he had perfected without even trying months ago when they moved in. Now it seems like a cruel and unusual punishment. If he can’t get this fucking door open, he’ll sleep out here, undeserving of his own bed. In his mind, the voice of encouragement does not sound so much like the calm soothing tones of Andy—his physical rehabilitation therapist—but instead the borderline abusive dialect of his superiors during his time in the military, the ones who had only ever cared about results and not much about the bodies getting those results.

Footsteps come from the open elevator, and Johnny casts an irritated glance only to see that it is you. You are dressed for exercise, clingy clothes with running shoes and a baggy top thrown on over everything, drooping off of one of your shoulders. At the sight of you, Johnny remembers the lengths you went to to help him light his cigarette and his heart throbs with fondness, some of his anger evaporating like fog burnt off by the morning sun.

“Afternoon, lass.”

“Hi, Johnny,” you murmur, voice near a whisper as you cast a glance toward your own door. Maybe you are thinking about running from him. “Are you having trouble?”

Johnny’s good mood dissipates. “No,” he lies. “Yes. I don’t fucking know.”

“Can I help?”

“No,” he snaps. “I have to do this myself.”

“Where’s Simon?”

“Inside.”

“He’s locked you out?”

“Aye.”

Your face changes. He knows you so little that it takes a moment for him to identify the expression for what it is: apoplectic rage. Your hands have clenched into fists at your sides, brows drawn low over your eyes as you glare a hole through the door. You reach out and take Johnny’s hand. He’s so fucking surprised that he drops the damn key.

“Johnny,” you say. “You can tell me. Are you in trouble?”

“What sort o’ trouble?”

“Simon. Is he good to you?”

“Bastard eats my cereal and leaves the empty box behind, but aye, he’s good to me. Better than good. What’s all this about, hen? Simon locking me out? I only asked him to, that’s all—let’s me practice with the key, so I can open it on my own again,” says Johnny, stroking his thumb along your knuckles.

You let go of him like you’ve been burned, face mortified. “Oh, God. I’m sorry Johnny. I misunderstood. Let me just—”

You bend down and retrieve the key, handing it to him. You can barely look him in the eye as you mumble a goodbye and rush past him into your own apartment, shutting the door solidly behind you.

Johnny stares after you for a long moment, key held limply in his hand, mind far from the door. At last, he puts the key back into the lock.

Twist, pull.

#ghoap x reader #dichotomy of thought

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