#light show amsterdam

[micheltaanman-blog]

Frankrijk- Bordeaux - Magisch licht theater- waanzin

Frankrijk- Bordeaux – Magisch licht theater- waanzin

[purpurussy]

aw man idk why I assumed weed was legal/decriminalized in Belgium the same way it is in the Netherlands :( I wanted to get high after the show dsfghjkl guess I'll just have to cope with whatever they decide to put us through with alcohol only

[dumbbitchgalore]

Sex Worker!Reader who works in a brothel in Amsterdam that John regularly visits when he’s in the area.

When Price is in town, you make sure to free up your schedule cause this man books you in for days on end and pays you by the hour and absolutely hates it when you say that you’ll give him a discount.

He takes you around the city, shows you places outside of the red light district. Places you’ve seemingly forgotten from all the years that you’ve worked in a brothel.

And for some reason with John these places look even brighter than they did in your childhood. A familiar sense of warmth and comfort spreads within you before lust consumes you wholly when you find yourself cock-drunk underneath him.

Your time with John always been shorten than it really was. At first it was a business transaction, providing pleasure for money. But now it was beginning to feel different, mimicking a false sense of domestic bliss.

Were you beginning to fall for your client?

[uniquexusposts]

Her Driver, His Boss - C. Leclerc

Summary: After the Dutch Grand Prix, Verstappen invites his friends over to a bar in Amsterdam. Y/n, the new team principal of Ferrari, and Charles are attending the party and grow closer to each other durning the night.

Max Verstappen private: Are you almost there yet?

Y/n privé: Almost! Just getting out of the metro

When she heard the announcer say they've arrived at 'De Pijp' she stood up and waited for the metro to stop. Along with some F1 fans, who just came back from Zandvoort, she stepped out of the metro and took the escalator upstairs. She checked out with her debit card and walked out of the metro station. Luckily for Y/n, the fans didn't seem to recognize her. She was the team principal of Ferrari after all. While walking towards the bar where she was supposed to meet with Max, she looked around and took in the typical architecture of Amsterdam.

After a short walk, she saw the bar and made her way to the entrance. A man stood next to the door and he eyed her up and down. A slightly uncomfortable feeling washed over her and she tried to shake off the feeling. He had a drink in his hand and a cigarette in his other hand.

"Y/n?" he said.

"Yes?" she answered, slightly unsure. She didn't know how to respond correctly.

"Great, come on in," he told her and he laughed. "I just had to make sure that you aren't a fan."

Y/n smiled as well. This man was probably a bouncer that Max had hired to ensure no fans would disturb his night out after the race. She opened the door and stepped into a hallway and after opening the next door, she was welcomed with the music and the chatter from the people inside. Before she had the time to properly look around, a piercing scream filled her ears.

"Y/n!"

Many people looked at the entrance, to see Y/n looking like she wished the ground would swallow her up. Charles was one of those people who looked at her, the shout by Max' engineer, and Y/n's former colleague, GP pulled him out of his conversation with Pierre Gasly. He recognised his team principal and turned his head back to Pierre to finish his sentence. However, the image of Y/n in a dress, made him forget all the words and he had to look back at her.

There she stood, smiling widely and pointing at GP. She rolled her eyes, took off her blazer and made her way to him. Charles' eyes kept following her. This was the first time he saw her in a dress. The dress hugged her curves perfectly. The light green colour fitted her skin tone and her light coloured hair - which was now in a loose braid which resulted in an exposed neck. She had never looked like this before.

Pierre looked besides Charles and followed his eye sight to see who took Charles' attention. A smirk grew on Pierre's lips when he saw her. He looked back at Charles; a soft look glazed in his eyes. "Hello," Pierre said and punched Charles' shoulder.

"What the fuck," Charles mumbled and he glanced at Pierre.

"Are you going to finish your story or what?" Pierre grinned.

Charles rolled his eyes and punched Pierre back, he tried to remember the conversation they just had, so that he could continue the conversation.

On the other side of the room, Y/n had finally found her friend Max and they were having a gin and tonic together. The whole place was crowded with drivers, colleagues and other people who were important to Max. Y/n had to raise her voice at Max to make herself heard.

"Where did you find all these people?" Y/n asked with a smile on her face.

"Oh, most of them are paid actors," Max casually said and he took a sip of his cocktail.

Y/n shook her head. "Who is the most expensive?"

"You."

"When can I expect the payment?"

"You receive my love; that's enough," he replied. He wrapped his arm around Y/n's neck, bringing her closer to him, and kissed her cheek.

A laugh rolled over her lips and right at that moment, a photo was made of them. Gemma stepped towards the two friends and showed the picture on her phone.

"This is so cute!" Y/n yelled enthusiastically and looked at Max.

The corners of Max' mouth were about to curl up, but he straightened his face on purpose. "I've seen cuter photos of us before," he said and walked away, welcoming the next guest. While he walked away, he looked over his shoulder and smirked at Y/n and Gemma.

Gemma's jaw dropped and looked in disbelief at Y/n.

Y/n squeezed her eyebrows together and looked at Gemma while bursting into laughter. "What a fucking dickhead," she laughed.

"I..." Gemma looked perplexed. Y/n figured out that Gemma already had a few drinks in. "A huge dickhead, jeez man." She put her phone away and hugged Y/n tightly. "Where is your juichcape?"

"My what?"

"Juichcape? That orange cape with a lion on it? That thing you wore today before the race?"

"Ooo, yeah, Ferrari took it from me, party poopers," Y/n playfully smiled.

Gemma frowned. "That is ridiculous. I hope you will get it back and wear it at Monza."

A laugh rolled over Y/n's lips. "We will see."

As the evening progressed, the atmosphere in the bar grew livelier with each passing moment. Y/n found herself caught up in the whirlwind of conversations, laughter and the occasional clinking of glasses. At the beginning, she stayed with the same group; GP, Gemma and Max, who had a pitstop at the group every now and then. Later on, she bumped into familiar faces from the grid, moved through the crowd, exchanged greetings and engaged in light-hearted conversations. For a moment, she had forgotten that she was a team principal; she was just Y/n.

Y/n walked past the bar and kitchen to the toilets. There was peace - as far as possible. The banter was in the distance. Y/n washed her hands and looked in the mirror, the baby hairs around her skin started the curl up, to her annoyance. A sigh left her mouth and she tried to smoothen the hairs, but she realised it wouldn't do anything to her hair since water would only make it worse and without any product it wouldn't do anything. But whatever, she thought, she didn't have to look at it.

Her eyes shot up in the mirror when someone walked behind her. "Oh, hey," she smiled and turned around.

Charles stopped walking and looked over his shoulder. "Hey," he smiled.

"I didn't know you were here," she mentioned.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Small bar, but so many people."

Y/n chuckled and agreed with him. Charles stepped into the men's bathroom. Y/n turned back to the mirror and took a deep breath: 'I didn't know you were here', an enthusiastic move. Disappointedly, she put on some tinted lip balm and was about to go back when Charles stepped out of the bathroom.

"Max surely knows how to throw a party," Charles said and washed his hands. "Is it a party?" He looked at Y/n.

"It's a party, but I get what you mean," she replied. When someone said a party, she would think of a birthday party, but this was a casual party in a local, modern, typical bar in Amsterdam. "I like this bar, it's so typical Amsterdam." They weren't in an old brown bar, but more the modern version of it. If she remembered it correctly, it used to be a brewery.

He nodded and dried his hands. "It is surely different from Monaco," he agreed. "How do they do it in Denmark?"

"Monaco is fancy, huh?" A playful smile played on her lips. Charles rolled his eyes. "Copenhagen has the same vibes, but I like it more there." They walked back to the bar. "Have you ever been to Denmark?"

They were welcomed by a lot of noise again; people who were talking, laughing and some music.

"Do you have something to drink?" Charles asked, almost raising his voice. He didn't wait for an answer. "What do you want?"

Y/n read the menu above the bar. "I will take a Radler." Charles nodded and went to the bar to order a Radler for Y/n and a glass of white wine for himself. "Thanks," she smiled when Charles handed her the beer with lemonade. They moved through the people towards the back of the space.

"Sante," Charles said.

"Skål," Y/n said and clinked her glass against his.

He took a sip. "But I have never been to Denmark. I've been to Finland, though."

A chuckle left her mouth. "Yeah, but that's not Denmark. It's far from Denmark." She took another sip from her beer. "I've never been to Monaco, but I've been to France," she cheekily said and winked.

"But you have bee- oh, come on, Y/n. Don't be ridiculous."

"Don't call out the wrong counties."

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by shared jokes and teasing. Even though they shared their love for racing, they didn't talk about it. They were interested in each other. Being in an unfamiliar, non motorsport area - besides being surrounded by people of motorsport, gave them the shot to get to know each other on a different level. Unnoticeably, Charles stepped closer to Y/n to hear her more properly. The music became louder, which caused everyone to raise their voice to make themselves understandable. Y/n leaned in to him when she shared her words and to listen to her words. Her arm touched his arm and he sometimes felt an electric shock through their arms. Y/n looked down when she felt her cheeks heating up, because she realised what was happening. She bit her lip and placed a lost piece of hair behind her ear.

"Hello."

Y/n looked up and Kevin Magnussen, her Danish friend on the grid, was standing in front of her and Charles. The shy look on her face changed to a confused, but surprised look. "Hej."

"I'm gonna steal her from you," Kevin informed Charles while smiling. His eyes shot from Charles to Y/n, who couldn't hide her blushes, Y/n followed Kevin to the bar, where they both ordered sparkling water. "How much did you drink?"

Y/n squinted her eyes and leaned against the bar. "Gin & Tonic and a Radler beer. Why? You? How did you even get here? Since when are you friends with Max?"

"Only a beer," he replied. "And Max invited Nico and Nico took me with him. Anyway, you're going to Denmark next week, right?"

"You know, Kevin, your conversation skills turned into detective skills," she mentioned. A smile curved on her lips. "But yes, after Monza."

"Do you have a free evering that week?" Before he let her say anything, he accepted her feedback by turning his question into a conversation. "Because next month is my birthday and you are busy so I was thinking of going out for dinner with Louise, some friends, and you to celebrate it ahead."

"Yes, that sounds amazing," she said. "Of course, I will be there."

A happy smile came on Kevin's face. "For how long will you be home?"

"The entire week, I'm working from home," she shared. "I have a few meetings in Copenhagen, management wise, a media training and a masterclass for students of the uni."

He nodded impressed. "Ready to leave it all behind for a week?"

"No, but if they fuck it up, they fuck it up," she shrugged. They both laughed. "I'm still working from home, though."

As Y/n and Kevin continued their conversation at the bar, Charles watched them from a distance, a twinge of jealousy tugging at his heart. He knew Kevin had a wife and children, and he knew that he was just friends with Y/n and that she knew his wife as well. But he couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the interruption, wishing he could have more time alone with Y/n. Despite his initial jealousy, Charles felt happy for Y/n that she had a good friendship with Kevin. It was always a nice feeling to have someone in the same world that came from the same country. He had always been on her side.

The night was nearing, and many people decided to leave and the bar was about to close in twenty minutes. Just like Y/n and Charles, who happened to stay in the same hotel, so they decided to leave together - well, Charles insisted on leaving together since he didn't feel comfortable with Y/n walking back to the hotel on her own.

Y/n grabbed her blazer from the rack and was about to put it on, but a familiar tune entered her ear. She looked into the crowd, finding Gemma. Gemma looked up from her phone, looking for Y/n. A smile grew on Y/n's face and she looked at Charles, who raised his eyebrows by her glance. "Hold on," she said to Charles and pushed her blazer and purse into his hands. She made her way back into the crowd.

"I am unwritten. Can't read my mind," Gemma sang dramatically, singing along with Natasha Bedingfield's 90s hit song Unwritten.

A laugh left Y/n's mouth. "I'm undefined. I'm just beginning. The pen's in my hand. Ending unplanned," she sang along.

Gemma's eyes lit up as Y/n joined the duet. The surrounding crowd turned to watch as the two friends lost themselves in the moment, their laughter filling the air as they sang. As they reached the chorus, Gemma threw her arm around Y/n's shoulder and they began to jump.

"Feel the rain on your skin. No one else can feel it for you. Only you can let it in. No one else, no one else. Can speak the words on your lips. Drench yourself in words unspoken. Live your life. with arms wide open. Today is where your book begins. The rest is still unwritten."

For a brief moment, everything else faded away as they revelled in the simple pleasure of music and friendship. It was a happy moment for them, but it even made the others in the bar happy. The two women were enjoying life and the moment. And as the song came to an end, they hugged tightly, their smiles reflecting the pure happiness.

On the side, close to the exit, Charles was watching the two women. He adored Y/n's spontaneity and her happiness. With a smile on his face, he leant against a table and waited for her. During the song, his eyes scanned the people around them; Max was grinning and silently singing along, Kevin was sitting at the bar and was also singing along and many more people enjoyed the song. It was just a happy moment.

With a big smile on her face, Y/n walked back to Charles. "Sorry, I just needed to do that with Gemma," she said.

Charles held the blazer behind Y/n so he could help her with putting the blazer on. "No worries, enjoy the moment."

"Happiest three minutes of the night," she breathed.

They made eye contact with Max and he waved at them. Y/n waved at Kevin as well. Before the song came on, they said goodbye to everyone, so their wave was just a final goodbye for now. They stepped outside, facing the chill but stuffy weather. Charles put his hands in his pockets and got surprised when Y/n hooked her arm in his.

"I wish I had a bike right now," Y/n mentioned when she was looking at one of the twenty bikes in the street. "My feet are killing me."

He looked down at her feet; she was wearing heels, low heels. They looked comfortable to him. "I can book an Uber," he offered.

"Meh, that's not necessary," she replied. "As long as we do not get recognised, we can just walk." She looked around. "It's funny how some countries are bicycle counties and others are not."

"It's so weird to look around and see at least one bike here."

"I believe there are more bikes in The Netherlands than people."

Charles smirked, the random facts Y/n shared was precious. "How is that even possible?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "So... Are there more wheels or doors?"

He let go of her because there was an obstacle on the pavement. However, he hooked his fingers into hers and walked in front of her. "When seeing all these bikes... Wheels. What do you think?"

"Definitely wheels," she answered. "I don't know why, but wheels." When they could walk next to each other, Charles made sure Y/n was walking on the inside of him. Neither one of them let go of the other's hand. "Did you enjoy this evening?"

He nodded. "I did. You?"

"Good. And I did too. I enjoyed how casual it was, no fancy dancy talk, just casual talk," she replied.

"But Max and gin & tonics..."

Y/n stopped walking and did the move: Max was holding his hands in the air and his index fingers were pointed to the top, and then he would move them up and down. Charles did the same and they both started to laugh. "Such a dad move," she laughed.

Charles clapped his hands and couldn't stop laughing at the impression. "That is a classic Max move," he laughed.

"It's just sweet," she commented and smiled. However, it quickly faded away when she felt the irritated sensation around her feet. Those sandal heels looked cute, it was simple, elegant, chic, but a feet killer. They were mid heeled, not even that high, but that didn't matter. "You know what," she said and looked at Charles.

"Hmm, what?" Charles said, waiting for a serious answer since she had a stern look on her face.

"I am gonna take off these heels because I can't do this anymore," she revealed and grabbed Charles' arm for support. She took off her heels.

"Y/n, stop," he advised her sternly. "Don't do that."

"What? It's so fucking painful."

"Don't go barefoot, that's fucking disgusting."

"I would rather have dirty feet than painful feet."

"What about glass? Or... cigarettes. They will end up in your feet and then I have to bring you to the hospital for treatment," he told her and raised his eyebrows.

Y/n thought about it and nodded. "Uh, no. That will not happen," she convincingly smiled and stepped away from him, resuming her way to the hotel.

"Y/n," Charles warned her and wrapped his hand around her wrist. He pulled her back to him. He would not let her stubbornness get the best of her.

"Charles," Y/n copied his tone and stood in front of him, she was not amused.

Y/n's lips were set in a stubborn line while Charles wore a disapproving expression.

"You don't know what could be on the ground," he said, his grip on her wrist firm but gentle. "Let me call an Uber."

"The hotel is literally there," she replied and pointed at a building a kilometre away. She knew he was right, but calling an Uber for a short ride was not necessary. And many people lived barefoot. So what could happen to her? "I'll be careful."

Charles studied her for a moment, his gaze softening when he recognised the stubborn streak in her eyes. He knew he couldn't force her to do anything she didn't want to, but he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable either.

Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, each refusing to back down. They just stood there, somewhere in Amsterdam, grumbling about heels and the pavement. They were centimetres apart from each other. Charles felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, the feeling became stronger after the incident in Silverstone. Y/n's gaze softened as she scanned his face, she could see the concern etched in his features, the worry lines that creased his forehead and she couldn't help but feel a flutter of warmth in her chest.

Charles closed the remaining distance between them, his hand reaching up to her cheekbone. He stroked a piece of hair behind her ear and looked at her lips briefly. When he looked back into her eyes, he saw a sparkle. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a sweet kiss.

Time stood still as they savoured the sweetness of the moment. Y/n's heart fluttered in her chest as she melted into his touch, the sensation sending shivers down her spine. Her hands tenderly touched his chest. The kiss was soft, yet filled with desire, longing and a sense of belonging.

When they pulled away, Y/n leaned her forehead against his, their breaths mingling in the night air. Her heart was racing. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, sending more shivers down her spine.

"Let me take you to the hotel," Charles whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of their hearts. "I don't want you to get hurt."

She lifted her head, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. "How?"

"Here, hold this," he said and handed over the purse he had been holding. "And jump on my back."

"Charles," she giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he smiled and turned around.

Y/n jumped on his back and wrapped one of her arms carefully around his neck. Charles put his hands around her legs and started to walk to the hotel. "You smell nice," she whispered. She wanted to make a comment about how men's cologne would stay on them for days and women's perfume for a second, but knew it was better to keep her mouth shut.

"Thank you," he softly chuckled. As he was walking, he felt a sense of peace wash over him, a feeling of contentment settling in his mind and heart.

As Charles carried Y/n on his back through the streets of Amsterdam, a sense of warmth enveloped them, cocooning them in their own little world. Y/n rested her head against his shoulder, her heart filled with gratitude for his caring gesture. She could feel the steady rhythm of his footsteps beneath her, each step bringing them closer to the hotel.

The hotel staff didn't look up when they entered the hotel. Charles made his way to the lift and Y/n pressed the button, calling the lift. There was silence between them when they stepped into the lift and made their way to the right floor. Charles walked to Y/n's room after she told him which number she had.

Charles gently lowered Y/n to her feet. Their eyes met and in that fleeting moment, a silent understanding passed between them. They shared a smile.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the hotel.

Charles smiled, his eyes reflecting the warmth of his heart. "Anytime," he replied softly. "Sleep well," he said, knowing it was the right decision to leave for now.

"Good night, Charles," she smiled satisfied and opened her room door. Before stepping inside, she turned around and quickly pecked his lips. Then, she entered her room and closed the door behind her.

When she walked to the bathroom, a smile was resting on her face. What a man could do... Y/n looked at herself in the mirror, she looked so stupid for smiling this big. What he could do... A soft giggle left her mouth and she shook her head.

What Charles could make her feel like... Wrong.

Y/n straightened her face and stared at herself. What she just did was wrong, very wrong. It shouldn't have happened. It was disgusting. Tears filled her eyes, she was disappointed in herself.

She was his boss.

He was her driver.

"Fuck."

Read the full story here.

[larriescompass]

ways to dispel gay rumors, according to louis tomlinson and harry styles:

1. write a love song, and include the place where you and your enemy lived together.

2. constantly walk away from your at the time girlfriend of nine years.

3. struggle to hold hands with and kiss your at the time girlfriend of several years.

4. repeatedly say ‘no’ when asked if you and your girlfriend are engaged.

5. but do say, ‘it’s confidential, but we’re already engaged,’ when asked when you are gonna propose to your best mate.

6. say you have a crush on your best mate, and that you’ve discussed it and say that it’s mutual.

7. when asked if the rumor is true, smile fondly and say yes.

8. when your best mate is talking about finding someone they would want to date, cough really obviously and loudly.

9. choose to play a song on your tour, where the first word has major involvement with the rumor.

10. when asked about the rumor, turn into a horse.

11. deny the rumor while emphasizing the word ‘obviously’ and MAKE SURE to be very sarcastic.

12. dress up rainbow bears on stage that represent gay artists.

13. dress up said rainbow bears in wedding outfits on stage with a picture positioned in front of it of a man named larry, while signing the photo with the words “love, larry.”

14. when you see something involving the rumor, give it a thumbs up!

15. get matching tattoos.

16. go to amsterdam with your wonderful girlfriend at the time, then come back and write a song where the first line is, “i went to amsterdam without you,”

17. having to adjust your pants because your best mate’s shirt popped open.

18. when your “mate” asks to give you a blowjob, respond with “i’d love it, if you’d just wait.”

19. when asked about your favorite traits in a female, say “not that important” about the person being a female.

20. look depressed whenever someone mentions your child.

21. cover a song where the main objective of the song is to be the girl just so you could be with the guy.

22. get a tattoo that you know people will link to the person involving the rumor.

23. dress up as queer idols for halloween.

24. go to gay bars.

25. bring your girlfriends to gay bars.

26. cook a meal for your girlfriend even though you didn’t even know her when you cooked it, and she was vegan at that time.

27. make a dopey fonding face while you’re staring at your best mate.

28. sexually tease each other on stage.

29. while your best mate is hyping himself up and says while referring to himself, “that’s just sex on legs,” agree and say, “yeah it is,” while giving him love eyes.

30. at your solo concert, point to a replica of the rainbow bear in the crowd that you and your best mate dressed up on stage.

31. change the lyrics of your song from “i love it” to “i love him.”

32. you must wear a vintage umbro t shirt that is very rare, and make sure to have your best mate show up wearing the same vintage rare umbro shirt just a few months later.

33. go completely MIA while your best mate has his off season, and pop back up in public when he goes back on tour.

34. host your own festival and have an artist with a song named “you’re not harry styles” perform during it.

35. consistently use colored lights that are heavily associated with the rumor during your concerts.

36. use art of your “totally platonic” friend’s tattoo for the spotify background of one of your songs.

37. do a photoshoot with clothes from a gay clothing brand that dates back to the fifties.

38. go to the same euros game and make sure to be seen in the same room together.

39. bite your best mate’s back after you deny the gay rumors.

40. look at your best mate and sing “i’m in love with lou, and all his little things” in a totally normal and platonic way.

[nayedoll]

sweet coffee

joost klein x reader

summary : joost shows up at your apartment drunk two months after your breakup.

genre: fluff

rpf ahead, do not read if uncomfortable !!!

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You checked the time, unable to fall asleep after god knows how long you had been trying for. The clock read 4:01 A.M, the bright light emitting from it overwhelming your eyes. You sighed as you stared at the ceiling, accepting your fate for yet another night.

You had never been one to suffer from insomnia, the sudden lack of sleep getting to you and ruining every aspect of your daily life. You tried to convince yourself that it was the work stress but deep down you knew that the real reason behind your sleep problems was your recent breakup with your boyfriend of three years.

You and Joost had met at the coffee shop that you worked at as a struggling student during your university years. Absolutely mesmerized by you, Joost would come by everyday and order the same coffee; a cappuccino latte. It didn’t take long before you both fell in love with each other, helping one another heal from the struggles of the past.

But what started as a sweet relationship ended in the most bitter way you could have imagined. When Joost was picked to represent his country in Eurovision, you knew that he wouldn’t spend as much time with you anymore due to the hard preparation for such a big contest, something that you respected.

However, with time you felt him distancing himself from you more and more, calling you once every few days and giving dry replies. You tried to stay patient so as not to stress him out even more but him going on tour immediately after the contest ended was the last straw for you. After multiple days of nonstop arguing and crying, you finally made the hard decision to break up with him one day before his flight to Canada for a festival there.

Two months later, you were now sitting at the floor of your apartment with the windows wide open as you let the chilly summer night breeze clear your mind. You grabbed your phone and scrolled through your old texts with Joost. The last conversation you’d had with him was the morning after you told him to end things.

may 27, 8:06 A.M

you left your hoodie here.

it’s ok u can keep it.

oh ok. thanks

Seen

You took a deep breath as you realized you were wearing the same hoodie right now, softly playing with the fabric to feel some kind of comfort. Seeing things from a different perspective now made you think about how stupid it had been of you to end a three year relationship just like that.

The guilt overtook your thoughts as you felt tears swelling up in your eyes. The sudden loud banging on your door made you flinch in fear, quickly wiping away any tears with the sleeves of your -or his-hoodie. You got up slowly to check who it was, carefully looking through the peep hole.

Your heart stopped at the distorted sight of Joost outside of your apartment door. You quickly opened the door and his face lit up at your presence.

“Mijn liefste,” he exclaimed and you pulled him into your apartment by his hand in a hurry before any of your neighbors could come out and realize where all the noise was coming from.

Closing the door, he immediately quieted down as he hugged you tightly. You reluctantly hugged him back, feeling how sweaty he was. He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, obviously having come back from a night out.

“What are you doing here?” you asked and tried to pull back but he didn’t let you.

“I missed you,” he mumbled, his voice as sweet as ever.

“I didn’t know you were in Amsterdam. Aren’t you on tour?”

He tried to answer your question but gave up halfway, giving you an idea of just how drunk he was. You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at the sight, reminiscing all the times you’d seen Joost in similar circumstances in the past. He finally let go of you and you grabbed his hand, caressing it.

“Let’s take care of this first,” you laughed and he nodded as you tried your best to keep him from falling with Joost being way taller than you. After some minutes of struggling, you finally managed to walk him to the bathroom and left him alone to take a shower.

Meanwhile you made your way to the kitchen to make him some food, in hopes to sober him up a little. Finally having some time to your thoughts, you smiled to yourself as you recalled him calling you liefste earlier, a word you had grown accustomed to hearing while dating him along with other pet names.

He shortly came out of the shower already looking a lot more sober and collected. He smiled at you as you passed him the food, the two of you holding eye contact for a moment longer. Your eyes trailed to his body and you noticed he was only wearing a towel, growing worried that he might catch a cold.

“Hold on,” you hurried into the bedroom that you once shared, searching for any of his clothes. Luckily you came across some baggy boxers you’d stolen from him a while back, finally returning them to Joost.

He thanked you, though he was still topless. You got the idea to pass him the hoodie you were wearing, since it was his to begin with. As you took the hoodie off without a second thought, you were left with nothing than a bralette on top, making Joost glance to the floor to hide his smirk. You playfully slapped him on the shoulder before putting the hoodie on him, your eyes meeting again under the warm kitchen light, at a closer proximity.

It was evident in your eyes that you had so much to say to each other but didn’t even know where to start. He briefly looked down at your lips and you would have kissed him right then and there if it wasn’t for the fact that he looked exhausted.

“You should get some sleep,” you advised him as you stepped away. He looked away from you mumbling something in agreement.

He lied down on the couch and you recalled memories from the past when he’d carry you to the couch after getting back home together as his soft lips littered your face and body with small, gentle kisses.

“Sorry for waking you up earlier,” he said, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“It’s okay, not that I was asleep anyway,” you reassured him. Joost made a curious face at your last words.

“How so?”

“I don’t know, I just haven’t been sleeping very well for some time after we…” you trailed off and he nodded apologetically. Things went silent for a few seconds, leaving you both to your thoughts.

“Come here,” Joost whispered, you looked over as he patted the empty space next to him. You smiled and slowly lied down with him as he rested his hand atop your waist. He turned to face you, your faces now inches away from each other.

This time you couldn’t avoid it. You kissed him, reluctantly at first but with more confidence as you felt him kiss you back. It was a sweet and slow kiss, mirroring the unconditional love between you both.

He pulled away, your breaths shallow from the length of the kiss.

“I love you so much,” he said quietly as his fingers caressed your face and lips.

“I love you too,” you whispered. You felt yourself drifting off to sleep, Joost’s soft pants and the distant sound of the passing cars lulling you to sleep. The last thing you remember is the feeling of Joost wrapping his arm around you to pull you closer.

-

The bright morning sun woke you up, finding yourself still in Joost’s arms. You reached for your phone to check the time, the gesture making Joost wake up as well.

“Goedenmorgen,” he said in a raspy voice, placing a peck on your lips.

“Good morning,” you replied and got up from the couch, lightly stretching your arms to feel more awake.

“What time is it?” Joost asked, rubbing his eyes from the sleep.

“9:34 A.M”

He nodded, following you to the kitchen where the warm sunlight was emitting from the window. He sat on the chair, staring at you making breakfast.

“What?” you laughed noticing his smile and intense stare.

“You’re beautiful,” he responded, you turned around to hide the blush forming in your cheeks. His compliments felt like the warm rays of sunshine against your back as your face beamed with a smile.

“What coffee do you want?” you asked, voice still raspy from the sleep.

“Een cappuccino latte, please”

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Do You Wanna Touch Me?

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) Pairing: Marcus Pike x Sex Worker Female Reader Words Count: 4,200 Summary: After getting his heart broken, Marcus Pike takes an assignment in Amsterdam. What started as an exploration of the red light district turns into choosing you, the most beautiful art he's ever seen. Warnings: sex work, erotic dancing, hand job, masturbation, fingering, oral (m receiving), reader wears makeup and a dress, marcus tries to escape his heartbreak, van gogh mentions, reader is college aged, dieter bravo exists in this universe

A/N: This was written for @baronessvonglitter's Fuck-tober birthday celebration. I was assigned Marcus Pike and "Do You Wanna Touch Me" by Joan Jett. Happy birthday Adriana!!! 💕

Here are the songs I refer to in the fic: “Do You Wanna Touch Me” by Joan Jett “Bed Chem” by Sabrina Carpenter “Streets” by Doja Cat “God Is A Woman” by Ariana Grande “Cinema” by Harry Styles “The Night Me and Your Mama Met” by Childish Gambino Masterlist

---

Marcus doesn’t do things like this. He’s a good man, a good son, a good brother, a good friend, and most of all, a good agent. And yet, he still walks down the cobblestone street that’s bathed in red lights.

LIVE SEX SHOW  SEX TOYS SEX PALACE HIGH TIMES

What in the world is he doing here? Curiosity, loneliness, being so fucking horny he can’t focus on the case ahead. You’re a good man he tells himself as he ventures deeper into the crimson alleys, the shadow of shame following closely behind him.  

“Hey handsome. Today’s your lucky day.” A blonde man winks, handing him a gilded envelope. “You’re invited to Galerij.” 

Marcus blinks down at the golden envelope, looking up to find the blonde stranger already gone from his sight. He opens the envelope, revealing a simple invitation with gold embossed text. 

Galerij, Amsterdam’s hottest art pieces. €400

He’s a damn FBI agent, and yet he’s too intrigued and desperate for a distraction to say no. He should know better, his badge weighs heavily in his pocket. He plugs the address into his phone with a sigh and makes the quick walk to the address listed, silently atoning for his sins as he passes the Oude Kerk church. He doesn’t dare make eye contact with any of the police officers situated, they might sense his shame. 

“You’ve arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice intones. He looks up at the plain brick row home that stands out amongst the surrounding buildings covered in neon lights with windows full of girls in different levels of undress. 

A small gold sign hangs above the unassuming black door. GALERIJ

He inhales deeply and pushes the door open. A bell jingles. Inside, an older looking woman with slicked-back blonde hair and a sharp black suit sits behind a desk. 

“Nederlands or English?” she asks, her tone clipped.

“English,” he answers, his throat tight. “Please.”

“Invitation?”

“Oh, uh, here,” he hands her the invitation. 

Without any more acknowledgment, she gestures to a black leather chair near an intricately carved golden door. “Please take a seat.”

A bit of trepidation blooms within him as he sits down, but when he looks around, he realizes that this isn’t some seedy back-alley brothel. It can’t be that bad if the walls are covered in mahogany and the floor is marble. 

The woman makes a quick phone call, speaking in a hushed voice. His palms grow sweaty. What the hell is he doing? This was supposed to be a quick exploration of something that’s always fascinated him… legal vices. Yet now, he's gripping the armrests as the same stern woman brings over a clipboard and card machine. 

“Cash or charge?” 

“Oh, cash?” he replies quickly, fumbling for his wallet. There’s no way he’s going to use a credit card around here, too many chances of his secret adventure getting revealed on a statement. 

“400 euros.” 

He opens his wallet and unfolds his money. 100, what are you doing? 200, what are you doing? 300, Marcus, seriously, what are you doing? 350, no seriously what are you doing? 400, damn, you’re really doing it. 

Stern woman takes the money and hands him a gold pin with a simple G etched onto it. She hits a small gold bell on her desk, a singular ring sharply echoes across the small room. 

He pins the pin to his chest, reminding him of all the times he used to pin the old Met Museum badge to his lapel when he was a young college student in New York. This is so much more different than that, he reminds himself. 

The golden door opens after a moment. 

A beautiful older woman in a dark burgundy skirt and matching jacket walks out with a smile lifting her dark red lips. 

“Welcome to Galerij. I am Maud, the curator.” she greets, offering her hand. “What would you like us to call you here?”

He rises and shakes her hand. 

Can’t do Marcus, can’t do Pike, can’t do Agent. He thinks of that one actor everyone tells him he looks like. “Uh–Bravo.” 

“Very well, Bravo,” she opens the door, moving aside allowing him to walk through. “Welcome to Galerij.”

He steps into a stark white room. The floor is shiny concrete, a singular white table with two white wishbone chairs sit in the middle of the room, a stark contrast to the entrance room on the other side of the wall. Not exactly what he was expecting. The agent in him can’t help but think this would be a perfect place to kill somebody. 

Maud motions for him to sit across from her. “Here you will make your decision on what piece you’d like. Gay or straight?”

He sits down, her question is a reminder as to why he’s really here. “Straight,” he answers, his nerves beginning to creep around him. 

She nods. “All of our pieces are tested, clean, and practice safe sex. Your piece will tell you what they will and won’t do once you make your choice. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” 

“You will have twenty minutes, your time will start once you enter your gallery. A bell will ring every five minutes, your final bell will ring twice symbolizing your last five minutes. Do not be late. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Of course no photos or recordings. We ask you to not even have your phone out. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” 

“Are you ready?” she asks with a smile on her face.

“I am,” he answers. His heart is pounding. 

She nods and presses a button, a shrill buzz echoes through the room. A hidden door opens and a large muscle and tattoo clad man with buzzed black hair and a nose ring walks out carrying a red velvet-covered book. He hands it to Maud, before standing behind her like a silent guardian.

His heart races faster than he ever thought it could when she  opens the book and pushes it towards him. 

GALERIJ with the day's date is stamped on the thick page. 

His fingers tremble as he flips to the first page revealing a photo of an olive skinned and brown haired woman clad in dark blue lingerie with delicate yellow stars embroidered all over it lying on top of swirled silky blue sheets. She’s absolutely stunning.

“This is The Starry Night.”

He nods, turning the page. 

A pale skinned, petite woman with shockingly white blonde hair wears a light blue bra and lace panties while laying atop white flower petals. She’s just as beautiful as the first woman. 

“This is Almond Blossom.” 

He turns the page. 

A dark skinned, dark haired woman sits against a yellow wall wearing two sunflower blooms over her ample chest. Her smile is wide, just like her eyes lined with bright gold glitter. She’s gorgeous 

“This is Sunflowers.”

They all look like they just walked off the runway, all beautiful and alluring. He wonders what–or who–the next piece will be. He smiles to himself when he realizes they’re all named after Van Gogh. Of course he’d find himself in an art themed brothel… he just can’t escape work. 

“Before you see my fourth piece, please know she’s a little different. You cannot touch her, only watch. Don’t let that sway your decision, she is our most popular piece.” 

He braces himself as he turns the page. 

He loses his breath when he sees you. There you are, sitting cross-legged against the same color wall as Sunflowers. He can just see a glimpse of your nipples under your sheer indigo bra. Your green lined eyes leer at the camera. He thanks all the stars in Starry Night for his chance to even get a look at you. He’s lost in time at how your skin glows against the golden wall. 

“Wow,” he breathes out. 

“I believe you made your decision,” Maud says with a knowing smile. “This is Irises.” 

“Yes,” Marcus swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “Irises please.”

She nods and closes the book. “Pieter, let Irises know.”

“Okay Bravo,” Maud says with a smile and stands. “Pieter will come and get you when Irises is ready. Please do enjoy my gallery.” 

“Thank you Maud,” he says, wiping his sweaty hands against the fabric of his jeans. 

The fading sound of Maud and Pieter’s steps and a door closing leaves him all alone in the sparse room.

He hopes he looks good enough for you. His dark blue jeans are presentable enough, his plain gray v neck is clean, he thanks himself for spritzing himself with a dash of cologne before leaving his hotel. He knows he paid the equivalent of close to $450 for you to like him, but he still wants to impress you. 

He checks his watch, five minutes have passed. He’s too afraid to bring his phone out, so he just stares forward, nervously tapping his foot.

This wasn’t his plan at all, he was just going to explore and sightsee, nothing more. No drugs, no sex, just curiosity. 

The door opens. Pieter appears. 

“Irises is ready,” he announces, his accent thick. “Follow me.”

He tentatively trails Pieter through the door walking down a hallway lined with doors. Ornate golden frames hang with Van Gogh pieces in each one. They reach the door with Irises hung next to it.

“Twenty minutes,” Pieter says flatly, opening the door. “Sit in the chair. Do not touch. You watch.”

Marcus nods, his heart slamming against his chest. His knees almost buckle as he steps inside the room. 

It’s dark, save for a single spotlight shining down on a small stage, a lone purple velvet high back chair sits waiting for him in the middle of it. His shaky legs take him up the three steps before he lowers into it, hands clenching the wide armrests, trying to control his breathing. 

He shouldn't be here–-he knows that. It’s too late for regrets now.

The click-clack of your heels echoes through the room when you step onto the stage. He’s too nervous to turn his head to see you. His body tenses, anticipation coiling all of his muscles tight. When you finally step in front of him, he has to remind himself to breathe.

You’re beautiful, the light catches on the sheer fabric of your dress. He can just make out the curves of your body, naked under light lavender chiffon. Your eyes are lined with deep purple eyeliner, ending into a cat eye at the corners. Your ruby red lips curl up into a knowing smile, almost as if you can see his desire for you. 

Four thousand miles away from home and he’s just found the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. His cock begins to thicken, the shame of his paid for voyeurism adventure dissolving from his mind. You’re finer than any masterpiece he’s ever had to investigate. 

“Hi Bravo,” you purr, your voice smooth and teasing, “Do you wanna touch me?” 

He nods and coughs nervously. “Y-yes. But, I can’t.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips. “Good boy.” 

His back tightens, a wave of heat flows down his spine and settles in his lap. For too long he’s disallowed himself from feeling this type of pleasure. Too busy, too sad, too heartbroken. What led him here feels like a blur. An exchange of glances, a subtle wink, an invitation. The black door, €400 out of his wallet, a white room, an open red velvet book, the long hallway, Irises. He allows himself to enjoy the experience just as you send him a wink.

You’re like his own little gallery show standing in front of him. A piece of art he doesn’t just want to see–but memorize.

—

You’ve only been doing this for a few months now. It really is the perfect side hustle to support yourself while finishing your art degree. You’ve been enamored with Van Gogh’s art since you were a child, a lifelong dream realized when you were accepted into the student exchange program at the University of Amsterdam. You made it possible, and now, working two nights a week in between coursework, you're making more than most of your friends earn in an entire week. Of course, only a select few know what you really mean when you say you work at a very exclusive gallery.

It’s a good job. Maud takes good care of you, vetting those who enter her establishment with her keen client recruiters on the streets. Pieter is always a buzz away, though you’ve never felt danger. Everyone needs an escape, some just agree to pay a premium for it. They call it the oldest profession for a reason. 

Bravo. He’s your last customer tonight, and they sure did save the best for last. You watched him approach on the security camera, a smile formed when you noticed how much he resembled your favorite actor, you had plans for him. His wide shoulders, broad body, thin beard, and perfect head of hair almost made you think it was him, if it wasn’t for his eyes flickering around the room nervously. There’s no way Dieter Bravo would be anxious in this type of situation. 

You press play on the stereo. A quick drumbeat starts, your steps keep tempo with it as you come back to stand in front of your client.

Turning around and bending over, your hips dance to the beat of the song as your hands roam along your curves, lifting your dress to give him a peek of your thighs and ass. A low groan rumbles behind you.

“Do you like what you see?” you ask, slowly turning to face him, moving your hands up and down your body.

“Y-yes,” he stammers, his nervous eyes wide and plush lips parted. 

Those same nervous eyes watch as you bunch the fabric of your dress up and take it off, tossing it aside. He eyes you, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes exploring all of you like you’re a painting hanging in a gallery. 

You cup your breasts, feeling the velvety warmth of your skin beneath your fingers as the purple of your nail polish brushes against your hardened nipples. Slowly you tilt your head down and let a trail of spit fall to one nipple. 

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask, pinching and pulling the sensitive peaks of your nipples. “Mmph–mmhmm,” he groans, nervously shuffling in his seat. 

Bending forward and placing your hands on his knees gives him the perfect view of your breasts. A long sigh comes from him, his eyes planted on your tits. You like what you’re doing to him, you never start your dances off this close to a client, but you can’t resist him.

When your hands trail up to his thick thighs, the bulge of his pants makes your mouth water, tempting you to move towards it. Not yet.

Leaning closer, you nuzzle against the warmth of his neck. He smells delicious… like eucalyptus and maple syrup. His quickening breaths puff out against your hair. You taste his skin with your tongue, licking your way up to his ear.

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask along with the song.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters. 

Pulling away, you wink before turning your back to him and delicately sit atop his lap. Sinking down against his broad chest, the heat radiating off him burns hot against your back. The song changes just as you feel the poke of his erection against your ass.

A poppy beat soundtracks your movements as you grind yourself against the heft of him, falling back, placing your head against his wide chest. Reaching back, your hands tangle in his soft hair, humming sweetly along to the sound, letting a few lyrics slip out of your mouth.

“I bet you we’d really have good bed chem”

Your client follows directions very well, staying perfectly still, gripping the armrests so hard the golden skin around his knuckles turn white. You rub yourself against the rough fabric of his jeans, getting off on the quiet whimpers he leaves in your ear. 

RING. The fifteen minute bell rings.

“And I bet it’s even better than in my head”

You rise off his lap and bend over clasping your hands around your ankles, giving him the perfect view of your ass and dripping core. The song fades out, a deeper, sultrier drumbeat begins. 

“Like you, like you, ooh, I found it hard to find someone like you” 

Your body gently sways along to the slow, sultry beat, and when you flip your head back to glance at him, he lets a low groan out. Placing your hands on the floor, you walk them out ahead of you before you’re on all fours, spreading your legs wide to show him even more of your glistening pussy. 

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask, settling on your stomach, snaking a hand between your wide spread legs. 

“Y-yes,” he huffs. 

“I know you do Bravo,” you tilt your hips up hovering them above the ground, “let me show you how I like it.”

Your middle finger enters your soaked entrance as your thumb gently dusts light circles against your clit. Your hips move in beat to the heavy rhythm of the song. 

“Oh god,” he pants, when you stick another finger in, the chair creaking underneath his tensity. 

RING. The ten minute bell rings.

Choreography, that’s the business term for what you’re doing. It’s all timed out, you hear these songs at least ten times every work day. Though you never sit on your clients as close as you did with Bravo, you never taste their skin like you did with Bravo. He deserves more than the same memorized steps, something better than the repetition you offer all of the others. 

The song changes, signaling you to start your new routine, you ignore the cue, rolling onto your back, arching slightly, your eyes meet his. His hands remain clamped on to the armrests, fingers digging into the velvet. He’s trembling with restraint, beads of sweat glistening on his skin. His erection swells, the tight fabric of his pants tenting. 

“Do you wanna touch me Bravo?”

“I do,” he whines, the lines of his neck straining as his head thuds against the back of the chair. 

“Okay, okay baby,” you sit up, turning to crawl towards him. Your eyes don’t leave his. 

“And I can be all the things you told me not to be

When you try to come for me, I keep on flourishing”

Kneeling on your knees in front of him, you unlock one of his clutched hands, moving it to the soft skin of your breast. 

“N-no touching I thought,” he stammers, his hand laying flat against your skin.

“I make my own rules, it’s okay Bravo,” you allow, grabbing his other hand and placing it on you.

He groans when he cups your breasts in his hands. You watch the tendons of his strong hand tense and release as he cups your breasts and massages them in his hold. He’s mesmerized by his movements, like he can’t believe you’re allowing him to touch you. 

Your hand teases its way up his leg to the warmth of the apex of his thighs before gripping him, thick and hard underneath the constraints of his jeans. 

“Oh fuck,” he growls. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so beautiful.”

His words of adoration fall out of his mouth, eyes still locked on your tits covered by his hands. 

You unbuckle his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans as the choir sings God is a woman. 

The song changes.

“You got, you got the cinema”

Your eyes light at the sight of his cock, standing tall and thick, precum leaking from the engorged tip. It’s just as beautiful and wide as the rest of your client. 

Bravo lets out a garbled groan when you wrap your hand around his length, slowly pumping him along to the song. Up, down, up, down, the sexy beat soundtracking your movements. 

RING. RING. The five minute bell rings. Your client doesn’t seem to heed the warning, only focusing on his thumbs swiping back and forth against the peaks of your nipples and your hand stroking the smooth silk of his cock.

“Touch me Bravo,” you rise, lifting a foot up on the armrest, keeping hold of his pulsing dick in your hand. “Give me two of your fingers.” 

His eyes gaze down to your dripping cunt, watching himself as his hand sweeps down your body before parting your folds. 

You got, you got the cinema

You got, you got the cinema

Your hips undulate to the tempo of the song as he sticks two of his long, thick fingers into your heat. 

“God damn,” he mutters incredulously, “you’re so wet.”

The song changes. 

A steady and slow funky guitar plays along with a soulful choir. It’s soft and romantic, exactly what you like to close down your shows with. You’ve never ended a show like this, your hand wrapped around your client’s wide cock, and your pussy clenching around two of his thick fingers. His thumb begins sweeping back and forth against your clit, he may have found himself at a brothel in Amsterdam, but your client has done this before. Perfect movements, perfect angle, you stare down in reverie at the focus he holds, watching himself touch you. His adoration of your body heats your core, lighting an orgasm just as beautiful as the song that plays. 

“Fuck baby,” you pant, “I’m gonna cum.”

He blinks up to you, brown eyes staring intensely into yours when you bite your lip and send a gush of wet against his fingers. Your legs turn shaky, as your clit pulses against his thumb that blesses your sensitive bub with just the right amount of pressure. Moving his hand from between your thighs, he holds it up, marveling at the sight of your juices shining against his skin. You send him a smile as your leg drops to the floor, the rest of your body following, kneeling in front of him. He still stares at his hand, watching the strings of your orgasm stretch across his widely spread fingers. 

“Smear it on your cock for me,” you say, planting both hands on his thighs. 

He groans and nods before rubbing the remnants of your orgasm on his shaft. He shouts an indistinguishable sound when you lick a line up to his tip, tasting yourself and the salty tang of his precum. Your lips envelop the fat tip of him, sucking and slobbering your way down the thick length of him. 

The song ends, the playlist repeats. The same quick drumbeat of the first song plays loudly. 

You suck him to the beat, flicking your tongue against his tip with each “YEAH!” of the song.

RING. RING. RING. The final bells ring, signaling that your client should have left by now.

Bravo locks up. Your mouth unclasps from his cock.

“It’s okay,” you assure, “we have a word for–”

A heavy knock lands against the door. 

“Driehoek (triangle) Pieter! I’m good in here, thanks!”

Three rapid knocks–softer now–signal Pieter’s departure.

“You guys really have it all fig–oh god,” he moans, when you take his cock back into your mouth.  

His strong legs shake against your body as your cheeks hollow, taking him into your mouth faster and harder, his hips thrusting up to meet your mouth. Drool leaks out of the sides of your mouth, your eyes stare up at him blinking back tears as he reaches the back of your throat. You don’t know if he’s ever allowed himself this much freedom, it feels like you’ve unlocked something deep within him with the way he’s snarling and grunting “Irises” over and over.

“G-gonna–yeah–yeah–cum,” he gasps, hips stuttering and chair creaking as he spills into your accepting mouth. 

Bravo, client. Bravo.

—

He can’t believe he just did that. He just–he–he just– came in the mouth of a complete stranger–nay–a prostitute. You told him you’ve never done something like that with a client as you tossed him a towel… and the funny thing is he actually believes you. 

You shuffle back into the see through lilac dress as he zips his jeans back up. You really are the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, even if your purple eyeliner is now streaked from the tears that sprung in your eyes from gagging on his cock. Wow, that did just happen. 

You leave a kiss against his cheek and open the door for him. Pieter escorts him out the back entrance with a knowing smile. 

He walks back to his hotel, a new man with a clearer mind. Marcus really doesn’t feel the shame he expected he would. He knows a fine piece of art, and you just might be the finest he’s ever seen. 

[soupforsoup]

Some behind the scenes tidbits I feel normal about (classic who edition):

- apparently every story Matthew Waterhouse's hairstylist would say they were going to trim his hair and never did, resulting in all the variations from crusader triangle to fuck ass bob to shaggy mullet

-Peter Davison was unaware he was many people's sexual awakening in his dressing gown in black orchid

-Colin baker was mistaken for a runner by another actor in arc of infinity and asked to go fetch a coffee (which he did)

-he would also walk around making chicken noises on the set of arc of infinity (until he was told to stop)

-Matthew didn't know adric died in part four of earthshock until he read Peter's script whilst shooting, and was apparently more upset over the fact he was being killed off rather than just leaving

-a lot of the doctor who movie was filmed in the same building as the X-files

-Janet Fielding was told she was good casting for doctor who because she "looked slightly alien"

-Deborah Watling and Frazer Hines used to joke that she left the show because she got pregnant, as she left almost nine months after arriving

-Sylvester Mccoy once couldn't find a filming location until after the doctor who fans, who had been waiting there for an hour

-Paul Mcgann thought all the doctors companions were their kids

-Peter and Sarah Sutton had to stop Janet from accidentally prostituting herself in the red light district

-Sylvester once played the spoons on a guy that tried to menace him

-Paul had to wear a wig because he was casted with the long hair you see in the movie but cut it all off for another role a couple months before they started filming

-Janet called Matthew "matte-finish" and "boom-boom waterhouse" whilst filming earthshock

-the cast bought a prop gun for arc of infinity from a sex shop in amsterdam

(Just to stress I obviously don't know the validity of these I just sourced them from interviews and commentaries!! Please don't come for me if these aren't accurate! These are just some funny things I've heard and if anyone else knows any random facts or stories feel free to reblog/share!!)

[seeingivy]

slut!

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

--

“just so you know, the dining hall closes at seven.” 

you look up to find a short girl – dirty blonde hair braided at her sides with an awkward smile on her face – as you shoot her an apologetic smile. 

“right, cornelia. sorry, i’m almost done, i’ll just be out.” 

cornelia works morning shifts in the dining hall. 

you tend to frequent the place at odd hours – particularly getting cravings when it’s closed – and she’s always sweet enough to oblige you with whatever they have left over. 

you have a sneaking hunch it’s because she saw utahime be over-exceedingly harsh with you on the first day of training. you’re thankful for it nonetheless. 

“just…finish up by seven. i’ll be out of here by then to go home.” she responds, words laced in her thick dutch accent. 

you shoot her a grateful smile, looking down at the mess of rice and chicken that you’ve demolished into oblivion with your fork, and wonder if it’s still edible. you mindlessly reach for your phone, scrolling through the litter of texts on the screen. 

in amsterdam gymnasts 2024 

[shoko]: there’s a party on the first floor if you guys are down 

[nobara]: do yk think that girl we saw on the train will be there? 

[yuuji]: BRO literally has green hair. she’d be hard to miss 

[nobara]: stfu 

[utahime]: We’re training early tomorrow. Don’t be irresponsible. 

knowing yuuji and nobara, they had probably already schemed their way to the party. out of everyone on the mixed teams, you could tell that they were enjoying themselves the most – sitting with the spanish water polo players in the dining hall, scrolling on hinge to find people in the olympic village, and attending every party they could. 

you were happy for them. at least they were enjoying themselves. the mindless mantra that was ringing through your head was stopping all your attempts to enjoy the three weeks you were spending here. 

if you put your head down and give an honest effort, things will work out for you.

that’s how it’s always been and always how it was going to be – sitting at the back of the class, answering the questions in your head. being sought for your work and your work alone – you had to be outstanding just to be noticed, because you weren’t going to mention it otherwise. 

working hard in silence until it was pointed out, hustling and grinding until you couldn’t anymore, just so that someone would, on an odd chance, remember you and push you forward. 

and it worked. it worked most of the time and got you far enough. but at the end of the day, it was always the same result. 

you got drowned out. you get drowned out like you always do but it doesn’t sting any less. 

by a loud, boisterous voice – an emboldened sense of confidence that you don’t have, one that utahime does – and three words that sent all of your efforts down the drain.

if only you were brave enough to talk. emboldened enough to boast – to show off, to embellish, to call attention to yourself – but, you weren’t. it just wasn’t something you could bring yourself to do. 

it was just another day. 

“are you okay?” 

you look up from the plate – you’re positive the fork must have left scratches in the porcelain – to find the source of the voice, light glowing around his frame and head blocking the glow of the dingy light bulbs in the ghost town that is the dining hall. 

you know those eyes. satoru gojo. 

you immediately reach up, wiping away the leftover wetness on your face, and feeling the burning of your cheeks underneath your fingertips as you gesture for him to take the seat across from you.  

satoru gives you a lopsided smile – blue eyes filled with kindness or pity that’s just masked very well – as he slides his legs over the bench. you can smell the faintest hint of chlorine, his hair still matted and damp from the pool. 

“yeah. yeah, i’m good. how’d she…how’d she let you in?” you respond, noting the shake in your voice, as you try to change the subject. 

satoru gojo is a seven time olympic medalist – the pride and joy of team usa at the amsterdam olympics. six foot five, easy on the eyes, and an absolute menace in the swimming pool. coupled with an irritatingly charming personality and the grit of a professional – he’s one of the few athletes that’s taken seriously on the team. 

he was the flag bearer at the opening ceremony. you’ve seen him at meets here and there, exchanged pleasantries, over the past few years. 

not that he would remember that. 

“she likes me.” he responds. 

you snort. 

“of course she does. who doesn’t?” you mutter. 

you look up, feeling the leftover heat and tension from the crying still simmering behind your cheeks, as he shoots you a glimmering smile. 

the mere thought of it – smiling so freely, that he looks so joyful or that really, this entire experience must culminate into everything that he has wanted and worked towards – sends an aching pang through your chest. 

“you know who i am?” he asks. 

“satoru gojo. small town college student turned gold olympic medalist. everyone’s heard the story. they don’t pick just anyone to be the flag bearer, you know?” you repeat, attempting to mimic the monotone voices of the news reports you’ve heard hundreds of times. 

he clicks his tongue in his cheek, giving you a sly smile as he leans forward on his forearms, his face only inches from yours. it’s at this moment that you realize that he’s tall, obscenely tall even, because he’s able to reach over the length of the table while still sitting down – hovering in your space entirely. 

“and we’ve…we’ve met before.” 

“i know.” 

you pause. 

“you do?” 

“are you shocked that i can remember conversations i have with people?” 

“um. no, i guess not. you’re just a really big deal and all, figured you talk to everyone.” you respond. 

“bold coming from you, y/n l/n. rookie gymnast with only three years of training under her belt overperforms in the olympic trials and makes it to the final team roster.” he responds, mimicking the same tone of your voice. 

hearing the words, the premise, sends the tears running straight back to your eyes, as you try your best to swallow them down by staring down at the mottled mix of food. you give him a noncommittal hum in response, which you’re positive that he clocks immediately as he leans forward, his calloused hand on yours as he squeezes. 

“hey really. are you okay?” he whispers. 

you look up, warm and hot tears spilling out of your eyes at this point, as he squeezes your hand again, tilting his head to the side as he waits for an explanation. you sigh, biting at the side of your already demolished lip, as you look back up at him. 

your voice wobbles when you finally muster a response. 

“you caught me at a really bad time. i don’t actually do this whole thing.” you respond. 

satoru smiles. 

“what thing?” 

“crying in front of strangers. and…and telling random people my business.” 

satoru gives you an airy laugh, before squeezing your hand again. 

“i’ll take your word for it. it’ll be a one time thing.” he murmurs. 

you study his eyes – examining and analyzing for any sense of patronization in his eyes and tone – but you don’t find any. 

if anything, he just looks curious. 

“do you ever feel like all of your hard work has amounted to nothing?” you whisper. 

satoru gives you a confused look, eyes expectant as he waits for a proper explanation. and you’re not sure what it is – why you give it to him knowing his reputation, that sweet talking and charming was just part of his human nature – but in the late hours of the night, when he walks you back to your room, you reason that it was just the circumstances. 

that he was in the wrong place at the right time. 

“you…you’ve struggled your entire life with your body. sometimes you almost feel like you’re at war with it and…and it’s frustrating feeling like you don’t have control. that you can pass out on a whim, that you’ll be on top of the world one day and at the bottom the next, and that there’s nothing you can do to remedy it.” 

you sigh. 

“you decide that you want to put in the work. that you’re going to push the limits, even if it seems impossible, because you’re not going to let this thing – this nervousness, the anxiousness tie you down. i spent a whole year training, figuring out how to do this thing. the second year, i qualified for the olympic trials and i choked. i took the loss so seriously, trained so hard that i actually made it here, and now that i am, i can’t even try for real because i’m being undermined by someone else.” you state. 

“undermined by someone else?” he asks. 

“utahime iori. she’s a four time medalist, the senior on the team. she’s been to the olympics twice. she told masamichi, our coach, that…that i got nervous on the floor routine that i’ve been preparing for the final and that they should just pull it to prevent a point loss. she thinks that she should just compete on the floor as well.” you state. 

satoru gives you a frown. 

“did you? choke i mean?” 

“it was a bad day. i was all in my head and i couldn’t…i couldn’t bring myself to do some of the twists. i could do it the next three days and…and i’ll be ready to do it by the time we compete.” you state. 

satoru smiles. 

“of course you will. so what’s got you down?” he asks. 

“that masamichi believed her. he’s trying to get me to change the floor routine to one that i did before. easier, it’s more safe, but it’s also less points.” 

satoru hums in response. 

“it’s just frustrating that i put in so much work to get here, that everyone knows i did and that i had put in so much hard work, and all it took was one person who’s louder than me to drown me out. that all the effort they’ve seen was easily discredited because someone else said so. that…that my work wasn’t able to stand out on it’s own and it almost never is. i’ve never been one to speak up and that’s always my downfall.” 

you drop the fork against the plate, deciding that you’ve assaulted the chicken enough. 

“so, no. i’m not okay. i cried so hard that the people let me stay here in the dining hall after it closed just because she felt bad for me. she even brought this cookie over while i was sobbing and then walked away.” you respond, holding it up in between the two of you. 

you’re not a natural. and no matter how hard you try, you won’t ever make it to the top. it was in your fingertips and now it’s miles away, like you’re at the starting line but your feet are glued to the start. 

because the time is running out, because you won’t get this opportunity again, and this is all that you’ll amount to. 

“i’m just sad. i’ll get over it, deep down i know i will, because…because i know things happen for a reason, but it just…feels hard to find one right now.” 

satoru takes the cookie from your hands, nimble fingers quickly undoing the packaging and splitting the cookie in half. he takes the bigger half, placing it in your hand, as he gestures for you to eat it. 

you give him an irritated glare, taking a bite out as you swallow it down your dry throat. 

“i mean, you get to be here before everyone else eats the cookies. and you don’t even have to get up to grab them, they actually deliver them to your seat all special.” satoru states. 

you sigh. 

“i can’t wait to tell the news when they ask me how i’m coping with not winning a medal that the cookies are great and life is good regardless.” you respond, voice coated in bitterness. 

satoru slides the other way on the bench, now leaning his elbows and his torso against the table, his head leaned all the way back and eyes pinched shut. you immediately wince, noting the harshness of your words when he was just trying to be nice, as you sigh. 

“sorry. i know you’re trying to be nice. and it’s a great cookie! i’m just frustrated. i just hate thinking that –” 

“i do feel like all my hard work has amounted to nothing.” satoru responds. 

you pause. 

“what?” you ask. 

“you asked me, at the start, if i ever felt like all of my work amounted to nothing. the answer is yes. i do feel like all of my hard work has amounted to nothing.” he answers, the tone in his voice steady. 

you look down at the cookie, lifting to take another bite, as you ponder over the thought. 

but he had everything. other teams – they were scared to see him coming. hopefully pining over the silver because they already knew that the gold was his, that there was no point in even hoping when they were competing against the best of the best. 

“really?” 

“mhm.” 

“you’re telling me the satoru gojo doesn’t feel like he’s amounted to anything? you have seven gold medals. they’re literally scared to see you coming.” 

satoru laughs. 

“you really think they’re scared?” he jokes. 

you roll your eyes. 

“i sat with the canadian swimmer the other day at breakfast. they were over there debating who was going to get the silver, because they saw no point in even vying for the gold when they were competing against you.” you respond. 

satoru’s face is painted in a satisfied grin. 

“amounted to nothing? you’re literally at the top of your game.” 

“i guess. if that’s what mattered. if i still liked swimming.” 

you pause. 

“you…you don’t like swimming?” 

he smiles.

“not anymore. losing passion for the one thing that you’re good at can….cause it’s own type of meltdown. especially when there’s fifty people asking you how you're going to top yourself next time.”  

satoru twists around on the bench, giving you a smile, as he leans forward. 

“count yourself lucky, y/n. you’ve got a reason to move forward and prove yourself. the drive. something to push you forward.” 

he pauses, taking a beat, before responding. 

“things are entirely bleak when you have nothing to work towards.” he responds. 

satoru gives you a smile, before pushing off the bench – fingers messing through his damp hair – before shooting you a smile over his shoulder. 

“cornelia will get mad. it’s ten minutes to seven.” he murmurs. 

you give him a noncommittal nod, pondering over his words, as you watch him walk away – the letters of his last name brightly stitched to the back of his jacket. 

“hey. gojo?” you ask. 

he turns around, eyes expectant as he waits for an answer. 

“just because you don’t have something to work towards now doesn’t mean you won’t have something later.” 

there’s an awkward pause – mainly because he doesn’t respond – and you give him a shrug back. 

“satoru.” he states. 

“what?” 

“you can call me satoru.” 

--

“she was at the party.” nobara states. 

you look up from the bowl, noting the darkness around nobara and yuuji’s eyes, as you roll your eyes. you relish the fifteen minutes of peace you’ll get before utahime comes down to berate the two of them and most likely loop the rest of you in with it in the process. 

“did you even talk to her, cupid?” you joke. 

nobara kicks you under the table, as the group of you snicker under your breaths. 

“we made very prolonged eye contact. you wouldn’t get it.” nobara responds. 

“they were eye fucking each other. i felt like i was interrupting something.” yuuji adds. 

it’s right at that moment that nobara and yuuji stop talking, eyes wide, as you give them a confused look. yuuji lightly waves his eyes to the left and you follow – only to see someone standing at the side of the table. 

he’s decently tall, spiky black hair and solemn blue eyes. you note the embroidery on his jacket – megumi fushiguro, team usa, javelin throwing – and give him a smile. 

you look back at nobara and yuuji, the two of them looking awkwardly back down at their plates.and decide to take one for the team and extend your hand out to him. 

“hello. i’m y/n l/n.” 

he places his hand in yours – you can’t help but notice how sweaty it is and silently wonder how he throws javelins with that slip – as you give him a polite smile. 

“megumi fushiguro. i’m from new york. i uh…throw javelins.” 

“cool. we’re with team japan. we all do gymnastics. these are my friends nobara and yuuji. nobara does all of the gymnastic rhythmic events and yuuji does specials with rings and the pommel horse.” you add. 

megumi gives you a smile, before awkwardly running his hand across his neck before looking at yuuji. you note that whatever yuuji was talking about between nobara and the girl with the green hair is exactly what’s happening now – the eye contact the two of them were sharing so intense that you felt like you were interrupting something. 

“right. um, it’s nice to meet you. well, we met last night but i’m not sure if you remembered since you…had a lot to drink.” 

it’s swelteringly awkward – so awkward because yuuji’s so starstruck? or surprised that he doesn’t give him a response and instead just stares at him straight on. you kick him under the table, jostling him under the table, to talk. 

“i love you.” yuuji responds. 

you watch as megumi’s eyes widen, you and nobara shooting each other a look before attempting damage control. 

“he doesn’t mean that! why would he love you? you don’t even know each other!” nobara responds. 

“i mean, not to say that he won’t ever love you. maybe in the future! you’re probably a great guy!” you respond. 

“he’s like repressed or something, i swear he’s normal when you get to know him.” nobara adds. 

“but not in a weird way! we all get a little nervous here and there, right?” 

“you know meets make people really nervous. he actually doesn’t even know english so..so that’s why he didn’t respond.” 

you kick nobara under the table. 

“he knows english. obviously! how else would you guys talk to each other?” you respond, trying to give a hint to nobara. 

you and nobara pause, cheeks warm from the second hand embarrassment, as megumi nods at the three of you – unable to parse if you’re all part of some circus show or having an aneurysm – and smiles awkwardly. 

“right. i’ll see you around, yuuji. it was uh…nice to meet you, y/n.” 

“you too.”  

the second he walks away, the three of you start shouting at each other. 

“who the fuck was that?” you ask. 

“i’m repressed? why would you say that, nobara?” yuuji responds, head in his hands as he pulls at the pink strands. 

“because you fucking are. why were you staring at him like a deer in headlights? you had no problem putting your whole fucking tongue down his throat last night.” nobara responds. 

you gasp. 

“you kissed that guy last night?” you whisper. 

“yes! it was so fucking good, i literally didn’t even sleep last night out of pure excitement.” yuuji responds back, a hint of a giggle on his lips. 

the three of you silence at the sound of utahime’s tray smacking next to yours on the table, the three of you adjusting your posture – nobara and yuuji rubbing at their tired eyes – as you drop the conversation completely. 

“well, don’t stop on my accord.” she states. 

“good morning, utahime.” nobara responds, shooting you a pinched look. 

she sighs, hands aggressive with the knife on her plate as she slams it down against the porcelain. 

“just so you know, this is our one day to slack off since we’re touring the city. nobara, your beam is still sloppy. and y/n, i told you to start working on the other floor routine. i’ll let your shenanigans slide for today, but you both really need to stop fraternizing with other athletes and focus on what we’re really doing here.” 

“we’re not fraternizing with other athletes.” nobara states. 

utahime rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, as she gives the two of you an accusatory look. 

“so the girl with the green hair three tables down is just staring bullets into the back of your head for no reason, kugisaki?” 

nobara’s cheeks go pink as she turns around – the girl immediately ducking her head down, embarrassed by being caught – as nobara turns back around and shakes her head. you can tell that utahime’s satisfied from her hunch being correct, as she turns her accusatory eyes towards  you. 

“and don’t even get me started on you.” 

“i’m not fraternizing with other athletes.” 

“right. satoru gojo’s sudden love for gymnastics just came out of nowhere, y/n.” she deadpans. 

you feel your throat dry. 

“what?” 

“you haven’t seen the tweets?” 

you shake your head, reaching for your phone in your pocket, as you slide open to the app. you note that there’s an obscene amount of notifications in your inbox but two that stand out particularly. 

@satorugojo followed you! 

@satorugojo retweeted your post. 

you click on the notification to find the video of you at the finals – doing your original floor routine. 

@satorugojo: every shred of patriotism coming back to my body as i watch the olympic gymnastics team…. 

you laugh at the tweet, cheeks warm from the acknowledgement – especially from someone with as many followers as him – as you immediately put your phone down and look back at utamime. 

“i’d watch out for him if i were you.” utahime states. 

“sorry, what?” 

“he knows how to get around. focus on your floor routine and less on slutting yourself out. we all know what we’re here for and let’s remember that.” 

her comment leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

--

“y/n, can you come here?” nobara asks. 

you and yuuji shoot a lazy look over your shoulders to see her standing at the door, rolling your eyes. 

“it’s your turn to pay for room service, bitch. don’t look at me.” you respond. 

nobara turns around properly, eyes shooting bullets into your forehead, as she gives you an awkwardly peachy smile. 

“y/n. i really think you’ll want to take this one.” she responds, her tone urgent. 

you reach for the closest object to you, one of yuuji’s shoes on the ground, and lazily throw it in her direction. 

“my bank account is doing just fine, actually. i think i’m good.” you respond. 

nobara turns around, raising her finger in the air gesturing for a pause, before picking up the show and throwing it right back at you with full force. she’s quick to walk over, yanking your arms up from the bed, as you rub the sore spot on your forehead. 

“get the fuck up. satoru fucking gojo is at the door asking for you.” she whispers. 

you shoot her an apologetic smile, yanking your jacket off from the hook on the door and pulling it on, as you walk over to the doorway to find satoru standing there, hands politely in his pockets as he gives you a smile. 

“good evening, rookie. how are you?” he asks. 

you pause. 

“i’m um…good, gojo. how are you?” you ask. 

“satoru.” he insists. 

you shake your head. 

“right. satoru. uh, to what do i owe the pleasure? at nine forty-five in the evening? at my dorm….?” 

he smiles. 

“i have an in with the people at the gym the same way i do with cornelia at the dining hall. do you want to come and keep me company?” he asks. 

you pause – hearing utahime’s words about slutting yourself out rattle in your head – as you give him an awkward smile. 

“right, i would love to go but –” 

it’s right at that moment that you feel two pairs of warm hands on your arms as nobara and yuuji rush to your side. 

“she’s right, she would love to go! which is why she’s going!” yuuji responds. 

satoru flickers his eyes in between the two of them, before looking back at you. you shoot him an apologetic smile, but not before the two of them keep talking. 

“she loves to go out with guys.” nobara adds. 

you elbow her in the side. 

“i mean, not other guys! just you. she hasn’t talked to anyone in four years.” yuuji adds, tapping you lovingly on the head. 

“but she’s not like decrepit or anything. she’s in her prime, trust us. she’s got a great ass.” nobara affirms. 

satoru flickers his eyes in between the two of them, before looking back at you. you shoot him an apologetic smile, but not before the two of them keep talking. 

“she loves swimming. knows everything about it.” nobara responds. 

“i mean, not everything. she doesn’t even know how to swim!” 

satoru’s eyes widen. 

“you don’t know how to swim?” he asks, eyes wide in shock – and what you pander is amusement. 

you sigh. 

“i’m scared of the water.” 

“well, now you have to come with me. swimming is a necessary survival skill, rookie. i can’t have you dying on me now.” 

satoru shoots you a boyish grin – one that you can tell excites nobara and yuuji, who you’re assuming are probably starstruck at this point – as they squeeze down on your arms and push you out of the door. the two of them give you bright smiles as they push you out of the door, leaving you and satoru alone in the hallway. 

you shoot him an awkward smile, as he reaches forward, twisting one of your pigtail braids in his hands. 

“they seem fun.” he jokes. 

you groan. 

“that’s an interesting word for it.” you respond. 

“who threw the shoe?” he asks. 

you pause. he leans forward, thumbs soft on your forehead as he rubs at the spot. 

“oh. nobara. but i threw it first so, it’s only fair.” you respond. 

“naturally.” he jokes. 

--

there’s a frigid chill in the gym as satoru opens the door for you, gesturing for you to enter the pool deck first, as he follows behind. the girl at the top of the stands shoots him a polite smile before leaving – which leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

who is she? is that who he has an in with at the gym? is that how he gets in with all of these girls – like cordelia and her – and most of all, now you? 

though you’re not really sure what you’d have to offer that he’d really want. 

“hey. you okay?” he asks. 

“hm?” 

“i was talking. you didn’t respond.” he states. 

you widen your eyes. 

“oh god, i’m sorry. was just in my head, thinking about the uneven practice i did this morning.” 

satoru walks all the way to the front of the aquamarine pool, plopping down as he pulls his shirt over his head, and dips his legs into the pool. you follow suit, discarding your shoes at your side, the two of you sitting shoulder to shoulder with your knees brushing as you swing your legs in the cold water. 

“what happened?” 

“nothing. i kind of face planted during the warm-up.” you state. 

“did you get hurt?” 

“just a little bit of carpet burn from the floor.” 

you lift the sleeve of your jacket up to show him the red marks on your forearm to which he leans forward, fingers featherlike as he brushes against the raised skin. he looks up at you, blue eyes peering into yours, that make you endlessly nervous before the thought comes to you. 

how many times has he used that move on someone else?

you immediately jerk your hand back, pulling your sleeve up as you shoot him a polite smile. he gives you a strange look, eyes focused back down on the water as he reaches forward and feels the temperature with his hand. 

“ready to go in?” he asks. 

you give him a nervous nod, as he jumps down into the pool, and you pull your shirt over your head. satoru’s waiting, eyes expectant as you look down at the water, at the ten feet depth, before looking back at him with nervousness jittering in your stomach. 

“don’t you think i should start with a smaller pool?” you ask. 

he shakes his head. 

“i’ve got you. i won’t let anything happen.” 

“you can’t just…drag me out if something happens.” 

satoru rolls his eyes. 

“you don’t do your research, do you?” he asks. 

“hm?” 

“small town college student turned gold olympic medalist. did you ever wonder how that even happened?” he asks, repeating your words from yesterday. 

“oh, no. how?” you ask. 

satoru smiles. 

“i got scouted at my job. as a lifeguard. trust me, i’m more than equipped to help you if something happens to you.” 

you sigh, eyeing the depth of the water, before looking back down at him. 

“okay, just. just…don’t let me go, okay? i’m not joking when i say i don’t know how to swim.” 

he gives you an encouraging smile, as you dip down into the pool, immediately feeling the weight of the water as the panic surges through you. you immediately reach forward, looping your arms around his neck and leaning forward against him, your grip death like. 

you can feel his hands on your waist, his grasp firm, as he leans back, his tone quiet as he talks. 

“relax.” 

“no, no. i should probably get out. this is really deep, satoru.” 

“y/n.”

“it’s dragging me down.” you state. 

“nothing’s dragging you down. i’m right here with you, rookie.” he whispers. 

“satoru.” 

“y/n.” 

“i can’t die before i go to the olympics!” you shout. 

satoru takes a beat, before giving you a full laugh. 

“you’re not going to die before you go to the olympics. you’re already here.” 

you groan, pressing your forehead against his bare collarbone as you feel the tenseness wrack all over your body, before one of his wet hands comes across your cheek, pulling you back with you flesh against his chest. 

“hey. this really won’t work unless you listen to me, okay?” he whispers. 

“okay. okay, okay. just…just…i’m being serious. please don’t let me go until i’m ready. this entire thing will blow up in your pretty face if you do.” 

satoru grins, pinching at the side of your cheek, as you glare at him. 

“this entire thing?” he asks. 

you want to bite your tongue. 

“you know. swimming.” 

“right. swimming.” he repeats. 

he hums in response, but you can tell that he doesn’t believe it. satoru drops his hand from your face, hands on your waist as he looks back up at you. 

“let go of me.” he responds. 

“no.” 

“y/n.”

“satoru, no.” 

“as much as i like you holding on to me the way you are, you won’t be able to swim if you don’t let go.” 

you sigh. 

“you’re going to paddle your feet back and forth like i am. when you let go, do the same thing with your arms, it’ll give you more control.” 

you look down at your feet, before satoru’s hand is at the bottom of your chin, guiding your gaze back up at him. 

“it’s not rocket science. don’t overthink it. it helps to keep your mind on something else.” he responds. 

you give him a nod as you start mimicking his motions, your legs heavy as lead, as you try to get yourself to do it. 

“uh. what do you think about? when you swim?” you ask. 

“porn.” he states. 

“what?” 

he lets out a boyish laugh and you feel your cheeks burn as you lift one of your hands to lightly smack at his shoulder. 

“that wasn’t funny.” you state. 

“it was a little funny.” he defends. 

“you were about to live up to your reputation there.” you state. 

satoru pauses, narrowed eyes, before he talks again. 

“my reputation?” he asks. 

you pause, regretting your last words, as you look up at him, shooting an apologetic smile as you try to backtrack. 

“i didn’t mean…you know a lot of people talk and i don’t mean to offend you when i say…” 

satoru smiles. 

“so that’s why you’re being weird.”

“i’m not being weird.” 

“can i say one thing before you continue?” he murmurs. 

you sink into the embarrassment, giving him a quiet nod. 

“if she says things about you that aren’t true, would you really expect her to be entirely truthful when she talks about everyone else too?” satoru asks. 

you groan – noting satoru’s sweet smile as he clocks you understand what he’s saying – and knot your hands back together behind his neck. 

“hey. i’m really sorry, satoru. i just thought that –” 

he smiles, reaching forward to cup the side of your face again. 

“no wonder you were glaring at that girl up there. i can promise you, the only reason that i get late night access to the gym is because my coach arranged it for me. i don’t even know her name.” 

you groan. 

“oh fuck, this is so embarrassing.” 

he laughs. 

“don’t worry, rookie. i’m flattered you’re so worried about it. but i’m not going anywhere.” he whispers. 

“you’re not?” 

he shakes his head. 

“i told you i wouldn’t let go.” he states. 

“i was talking about swimming.” you mumble. 

“and i wasn’t.” 

you smile at him – one that he fully returns back. 

he finally closes the space between two of you when he drops you back off at your dorm – matching pair of chlorine soaked hair – his skin still damp from the water. 

nobara and yuuji watch it through the peephole, their excited chatter behind the door pulling the two of you apart. 

--

almost fourteen days later – of you and satoru biking through amsterdam, you teaching him how to balance on a beam, and warm kisses later – you’re filled with nervousness at the thought of the floor routine. 

you can hear his voice in his head right there with yours. that you’ve got this. that you can’t overthink.  

there’s a tense energy in the air the morning of the final. you and nobara head down to the gym early, a very sleepy yuuji in tow for moral support, as you start drilling through your stretches. 

you note that yuuji’s not offering his moral support alone, the awkward encounter you had a week prior shockingly coming off as endearing to megumi, who sits at his side with a coffee in his hand. 

you can’t help but shake the feeling that the other teams are staring as you and nobara run through your warmups, the jittery feeling in your stomach accumulating as you chalk up your hands. 

you have to focus. it helps to think about something else. you’ve done this routine hundreds of times – just let the muscles take over. 

“you’re going to do the original floor routine. we’ll bet on it for the teams, but we’ll scale back for the all around at the end of the week if it’s lower than the trials.” masamichi states. 

you give him a non-committal nod, eyeing the bars as you walk up to the podium, jumping up as you feel for the swing of the equipment. you can see the australian gymnasts swinging through the air out of your peripheral vision, the chatter of the people talking around filling your ears as you try to focus. 

“no, i don’t think she’s coming.” 

“the seam of the uniform is kind of fraying at the end, i might try to change it.” 

“i’m just hoping to qualify for next time, when i have more time to train.” 

“i heard her and gojo do it in the pool. like all the time.” 

you miss the handle on the last swing, falling face first into the floor, the group of them turning around at the loud sound. you note that there’s a small sense of relief on their face from the mishap, as you lift off the floor, dusting the chalk off of your hands. 

you can feel your throat dry as you make your way over to the bench, where nobara is sitting, your mind swirling with anger. she gives you a squeeze on the shoulder in support and you note that yuuji tells you to shake it off from his place in the stands. 

“they’re saying that satoru and i did it in the pool last night.” you note, miserably. 

“dude. they talk. they’re trying to put you off your game. we’re not even talking about this right now. focus on the bars.” nobara responds. 

you sigh, looking back at the group of them as they fly on the beams, and feel the acid rise up in your throat. 

you knew that people talked. you knew that it was natural – to comment on what it was that they were seeing in the dining halls and the hallways – but it didn't make it any less fair. 

“fuck them.” she states. 

“i know, i’m just saying…” 

“who said it?” nobara asks. 

you pause, before pointing it out to her.

“she’s just jealous. you do know she’s been in interviews saying that the person she wants to meet the most is gojo, right?” 

you pause. 

“dude, everyone wants him. that’s not your fault. they might be slut shaming you now, but they would kill to be in your spot.” she responds. 

you pause, looking at the burn on the front of your shin. 

“if he doesn’t care what they say, why do you? if you see it through, all the shit they’re saying might not even matter if he’s actually worth your time. he’s happily ignoring all of it, for you, because he actually likes you. he wouldn’t be sitting there in the stands if he wasn’t.” she responds. 

“sitting in the stands?” you ask. 

nobara points toward the left, where you see satoru and three of his teammates sitting in the chairs, in the middle of the conversation. satoru gives you a wave now that you’ve looked over and you can’t help but walk over – noting the bright smile on his face as he starts walking over. 

you didn’t realize he’d be here this early. 

satoru leans over the railing, his hair dry for once as you look up at him. he reaches forward, fingers soft on your forehead, as he smiles. 

“hi rookie.” 

“what are you doing here?” you ask. 

“big gymnastics fan.” 

you give him an accusatory look. 

“did you watch me eat shit just now?” you ask. 

“any carpet burn?” 

“the trainer will wrap it when she comes in.” you state. 

he gives you a nod, reaching forward to cup the side of your face, before smiling. 

“don’t overthink it.” 

“i’m not.” 

satoru narrows his eyes at you. 

“give me a smile.” 

“satoru. don’t be patronizing.” 

he groans. you note that he gets more theatrical the closer you get to him. you find if funny. 

“god forbid, this pretty, sweet girl smiles at me. god forbid i would want to see that.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“oh wait! i’ve got something to take your mind off of it.” he adds. 

satoru gives you a smile, before leaning back on the railing, and unzipping the white windbreaker that he has on. you can’t help but immediately laugh, heart burning at the absolutely corny shirt that he’s wearing with your face on it. 

“oh my god.” 

“figured if they’re gonna talk, i might as well get all dressed up and give them something to look at, right?” 

“how did you even do that?” you ask. 

“maki knows a guy. had to show everyone i’m serious and rep the team.” he responds, gesturing over his shoulder. 

you shoot a non-committal glance over, shooting a smile to the girl – the girl with the green hair that you’ve been talking about ever since you’ve gotten here – before you widen your eyes and pull satoru down by his wrist. 

“you know the girl with the green hair?” 

“uh, yeah. she’s part of one of the volleyball teams. met her at the opening ceremony. she’s a lesbian before you say anything rude.” 

“idiot. i know she’s a lesbian. or well, i didn’t know that, i had a hunch. not that i assume things about people, i’m just saying that –” 

“you’re rambling.” he states. 

“maki is the girl that nobara eye fucks.” you whisper. 

you watch as satoru clocks what you’re saying, his eyes going past your shoulder to where nobara is sitting, before he turns around and gives maki a glance. 

“yeah, i’ll talk to her.” he states. 

you pause. 

“really?” 

“yeah, yeah. worry about it after, alright?” he responds. 

you can’t help but laugh, leaning forward as you press your hands to his cheeks, and close the distance between you two. satoru gives you another kiss on the cheek before you run off to share the news with nobara. 

--

the floor final is the very last and the way the last names work out, you’re the last person up to attend. nobara wobbles on her beam and utahime misses a few points for a bad landing – meaning that your score needs to be higher than it’s ever been to get it in good shape for the team. 

you all wait in silence, satoru’s hand over the railing in yours, his chin on the crown of your head, as you wait for the new score to be reflected on the screen. 

utahime challenged the floor score that they gave you. because if she counted her numbers right, your score should have been 0.3 points higher – meaning that your team would be in range to medal as first. 

the problem? challenging the score can get you more points. or dock them all together. you could easily go from a silver medal to nothing at all. utahime makes the executive decision to bet on it. 

satoru leans down, nose pressed against your hair as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“she really challenged the score for you?” he asks. 

“we are a team after all.” you mumble. 

satoru nods, hands soft on your shoulder as he squeezes the tense spots. 

“how much longer?” he asks. 

satoru brings his hands down the railing, thumbs rubbing into the softness of your cheek as you watch the announcer walk up to the microphone, cardstock note in his hand as he reads off the note from the judges. 

“i can’t listen.” you state, placing your hands over your ears, the sound half muffled and mixed with the cheers in the crowd as they start jumping behind you, nearly shaking the floor you’re standing on as you look back at satoru, blue eyes wide. 

satoru leans forward, arms harsh as he hugs you hard, nearly panting in your ear as you pull back, knotting your hands behind his neck. 

“what?” 

“you won a fucking gold medal, dumbass. what do you mean what?” he breathes, hands shaking with anticipation as he leans forward, closing the distance between you. 

you can barely process the thought as he pulls back, tucking his face into your neck, and wrapping his arms around you as yuuji wraps the flag around your shoulders, the group of them jumping in the stands. 

“wait, i…” 

“go get your fucking medal. come back later, nobara’s waiting.” 

you can feel your legs shaking, warm tears in your eyes as nobara gestures for you to join her, hand extended out as you step off the platform. 

you won the medal.

you take three steps off before running straight back up, pressing your lips to satoru’s one more time, before joining nobara on the podium. and you can’t help but beam at satoru right across the way and note the way he has his hand pressed to his heart. 

--

satoru gojo wins five medals at the end of the week – all of which are gold – and notes that his secret to success is having a reinvigorated sense of drive in the sport. 

that teaching someone the basics reminds him of why he fell in love with it in the first place. 

you’re the only one who knows that he’s not talking about the swimming. 

--

an: please be nice im rusty

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @torureadz @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga

[bunnywritesjunk]

My King

Series summary: Your parents signed you up for an Alpha Omega Match company when you were eighteen. It took years for them to find your match, but you meet the giant austrian man. Will he be a good partner?

Chapter summary: You are settling in to living in a new country. Your Alpha wants to show you how important you are to him.

Pairing: König x Fem Reader

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Never use this abbreviation without the slashes it is an indigenous slur) 18+ MDNI (no others for this chapter)

Word count: 3.4k

Genre: Mostly Fluff a little angst here and there.

A/n: Oh my GOD. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I can't believe the amount of love this fic is getting. I just had to write another chapter for you guys asap. I have a taglist so comment if you'd like to join it.

Previous Chapter

Chapter Two:

You sigh as you take in the barren state of your room. All that was left was boxes and your suitcases. Your mom is going to send the rest of your belongings after you arrive in Amsterdam. You were sad to leave your childhood home and your parents but, excited to see what the future holds. Especially now that you have a very sweet Alpha taking care of you. As much as you hate to admit it, your inner Omega has longed for this day. You still couldn't shake the nerves of moving to a completely different country. The AOMO assisted you with your visa which was easy to get approved for. Countries were more lenient with citizenship when it came to obtaining a mate. You haven't seen König in about a week. He went back to Amsterdam to prepare for your arrival. A knock sounded at your door before it opened. 

“You ready?” Your Dad asked, moving to grab your suitcases for you. 

“Yeah.” You followed him out of the room.

Your Mother was standing near the door, her eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill. You went over and hugged her. 

“My baby girl, moving out. I'm gonna miss you.” 

“I'll come visit, don't worry.”

“You better.” Your dad called an Uber to get to the airport.

The drive was silent besides the quiet radio in the background. The airport was busy. This was your first time flying by yourself, you took a deep breath to calm your nerves. You gave your mother and father one last hug before to went to check your bags. Your mother shed a tear and adjusted your protection collar again, urging you to be safe. You bid them goodbye and headed to check your bags and go through security. Once you made it to your gate your phone vibrated. You didn't recognize the number. 

'Hello liebe, It is König. Kara has given me your number.'

'I am not used to texting, I text no one. Are you at the plane?'

Your heart jumped with excitement hearing from him. 

'Hi König, I am at my gate. It boards in about an hour I think.'

'Wonderful, I will be waiting for you when you arrive.' 

'See you then.'

You suppressed a squeal as you put your phone away. Your inner Omega was getting a little out of hand with her feelings about him. You felt like a middle schooler with a crush. You distracted yourself by using the bathroom and buying some expensive airport snacks to tide you over on the ride. It was a seven-hour overnight flight set to arrive at eleven am Netherlands time. Once you boarded the plane you got comfortable for the long flight. You brought a blanket from home and a neck pillow. Kara set you up with a window seat. As you took off you silently said goodbye to the big city and hello to your new future. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke as the lights of the plane cabin turned on. The flight attendants told everyone to prepare for landing. You gathered your things and gazed out your window. The city was lush, the leaves were turning slightly as fall rolled in. Your heart pounded against your chest with excitement, your Omega desperately wanted to see König. You still had to go through customs and baggage claim. 

König wasn't much better. Throughout the week he had distracted himself by cleaning and buying things for your arrival, but that did little to quell the Alpha in him. He brought new bedding for your nest. He didn't know what kind you'd like so he got a little bit of everything. Fluffy faux fur blankets, cooling quilts, silk sheets, you name it. He also started putting aside t-shirts he has worn in case you wanted them for your nest. His apartment had two bedrooms, one of which he never used. It had a bed and that was about it. Although he desperately wanted you to sleep in his bed, he knew Omegas needed their space to nest and feel at home. He furnished the room with a desk, nightstand, dresser, and TV. He would leave the decorating up to you as that has never been his strong suit. He waited outside of baggage claim tapping his foot anxiously. He had arrived entirely too early but couldn't stand to sit in his apartment any longer. 

Customs went by smoothly. You scanned the conveyor belts for your luggage. The longer the wait was the more your heart pounded. You were starting to sweat making your scent waft to the people around you. You moved to a corner with fewer people to avoid the annoyed looks people would give you. Your luggage finally made its round in the rotunda and you snatched it as fast as you could. You walked outside to the pickup area the sun blinding you for a moment as you looked around. You inhaled deeply trying to pinpoint König's scent. The faint smell of bread and cinnamon entered your nose through the breeze. You looked to the left seeing a familiar mop of hair behind a black SUV. He was too tall not to be the Alpha you were looking for. You walked up to him his back turned to you. 

“König.” You said happily. 

He turned to you surprised. “You're here.”

König was trying to contain his excitement. His inner alpha pressured him to pick you up, to hold you. As if reading his mind, you hugged him. He wrapped his arms around you, dwarfing you. He bent down resting his nose in your hair, savoring your scent. You looked up at him keeping your arms around his waist. He had his black surgical mask on. 

“I'm so happy to see you.”

“I spent every day thinking of you liebe.” 

He reluctantly released the embrace and opened the passenger side door for you. You sat in the car and watched him load your luggage into the trunk. He slid into the driver's seat glancing at you before pulling off onto the road. His scent sweetened the longer he was in your presence. 

“How was the flight?” He asked.

“It was easy, I just slept.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat.” 

König reached behind your seat to the back and grabbed a white paper bag. He handed it to you all without taking his eyes off the road. Inside was a croissant and a peach Danish. 

“Oh thank you König. You really know the way to woo me.” You chuckled taking a bite of the Danish. 

He responded with 'hmm' and a content smile. The ride was about thirty minutes. You gazed out the window taking in the sights of your new city. Many people rode bikes and there were endless cafes. König parallel parked onto a quiet residential block. You got out of the car taking in your surroundings. The houses were all unique in color and style. Only one person was walking down the street. König unloaded your bags and put them on the sidewalk. You went to grab them but he shooed your hands away. He locked the car and started walking. The house he led you to was a brick home with a few steps leading to the foyer. He opened the door and let you walk inside first before carrying your bags in with ease. You walked up the two flights of stairs. 

“The door is open.” König said from behind you. 

The second door came into view and you opened the door for him. He sets your bags down and closes the door behind him. The apartment was furnished but bland. Not much decor or color. It was obvious he doesn't spend much time here as it did not look lived in. 

“Come.” He said leading you down the small hallway.

 He opened the first door, it was the bathroom. Quite large for an apartment bathroom, you were excited to use the tub. He then lead you to the second door it was a nice furnished bedroom there were a lot of shopping bags near the bed. 

“This is your room. I brought nesting material for you but, I was not sure what you liked.” 

You walked in. The natural light of the morning flooded into the room through the large windows. The building was high enough that you had a decent view of the neighborhood. 

“König, you didn't have to buy all these for me.” 

“Nonsense.” 

You smiled. “Thank you, Alpha.” 

König's heart thumped against his chest. He didn't expect you to use his title so soon, but he was over the moon.

“You're welcome Omega.” He purred.

Your Omega preened at the title. Although the situation was new, you felt safe and cared for. You started opening some of the bedding to assess them for your new nest. There was a large dark blue comforter with matching silk sheets. You knew you should focus on unpacking but the temptation to build your nest was too high. König watched you from the door with adoration. He was proud of himself for making his Omega feel happy and safe. He brought your luggage into your room to unpack whenever you were ready. 

You were completely engrossed in your nest you didn't realize König was watching you. You took off your shoes and jacket and started arranging the sheets first to have a silky base. Then you used the quilts as a border before you could arrange it properly your phone started ringing, taking you out of the daze you were in. You reached for your phone in your jacket pocket. It was your mom. 

“Mom it's so early there you didn't have to call now.” 

“I know sweetie I just was paranoid. Did you arrive safe?” 

“I did, I'm at König's now.” 

“Oh, great ok that's all I was worried about. I'm gonna head back to sleep. I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too Mom”

You hung up the phone and looked around at the mess of packaging on the floor. You were debating whether you should continue making your nest or clean your mess up. Sensing your internal struggle König spoke. 

“Let's unpack Schatz.”

“Oh, right.” 

You unzipped your suitcases and started sorting things into the dresser and closet. You instructed König to put your toiletries in the bathroom and put your clothes in certain drawers. He was happy to help, spending time with his Omega was the most important thing to him. König was given a little over three months' leave to settle with his Omega. After Christmas, he had to go back on missions. The thought made his heart ache. He shook off the negative feelings before she could pick up on anything, not wanting her to worry. König picked up the packaging placing it in one of the shopping bags. He went to the kitchen to throw it away. 

Now that he was here he did not know what to do. Does he give her space? Should he take her out? König wants to spend as much time as possible with her, but he did not want to be overbearing. Before he could overthink, he heard you calling him. Walking into your room he saw you kneeling on the bed. 

“Take off your shoes and come I want to test something.” You said. 

He obliged, taking his shoes off. You waved him over to your unfinished nest. He stepped up to you hesitantly not wanting to cross any boundaries with your nest. You grabbed his hand and made him lie down. König stiffened not wanting to ruin anything. He has never been invited into an Omega's nest before. You started arranging your nesting materials around him. Once you got a good sense of how many blankets you needed for both of you to be comfy, you released him. He sat up carefully trying not to disturb anything that you arranged. He was honored that you'd feel comfortable just being in the room while you created your space. 

While making your nest you noticed how barren the room was. You wanted it to be warm and cozy. You looked up at König. 

“Let's go shopping, Alpha. Can we?” 

“Sure, liebe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

König was surprised you had so much energy after your night of travel. You took in the scenery of the local shops. You slipped your hand into Konigs and led him into a home decor shop. König let himself be dragged around as you browsed. Every shop they went into you picked up small things. A wall mirror, a pretty tapestry, a cute frog statue, you had to have it. One of the shops you walked into sold Omega protection collars. You sighed.

“I wouldn't mind wearing mine as much if it looked better.” 

The shop made custom-fit metal collars. There was a beautiful gold metal collar with a dangle charm in the center. It came down to a point near the clavicle. Contrary to your basic black leather one. 

“Would you like this one?” König asked. 

“Oh, no it's expensive.” 

You moved to walk out of the shop but you felt a hand on your waist stop you. König pulled you back to him gently and waved over the sales associate. 

“Can she try this one on?” The worker nodded and took the collar out of the case. 

You removed your collar with the key you kept in your wallet and let the worker place the gold one on you. You looked in the mirror and smiled. It complimented you in the best way, simple yet elegant. The worker explained that they do custom fittings that take a few days to make but it's worth it. You removed the collar and handed it back. 

“She would like to get fitted.” König said suddenly. 

“What? No König really it's too much.”

“Just in case.”

“In case what?” 

He didn't answer. The worker did a few measurements around your neck and the size and placement of your scent glands, writing them down on a form. After they were done they bid the both of you goodbye and looked forward to your order. 

“I don't think I'm gonna get it.” You told König.

“It's too much...” You added

“That's ok.” He said. 

He placed his arm around your waist as you walked, holding your shopping bags in the other hand. You had a feeling he was planning something but you let it go for the time being. 

By the time you got home, it was getting dark. König placed your shopping bags into your room. You yawned. 

“You should sleep liebe, you've had a busy day.” König said. 

“Yeah, I'll head to bed early so I can finish my nest.” You stretched your back and walked to your room. König followed behind you heading to his room. He grabbed your wrist spinning you back toward him. His other hand caressed your cheek while leaning down to your level. He pulled down his mask revealing his plump lips.

“Goodnight Omega.” He kissed your cheek. 

König felt it was only right to return the kiss you gave him before. He let the kiss linger for a few seconds before pulling away. Heat crept from your neck to your cheeks. König walked to his room smiling to himself. You leaned against your door, heart racing. You opened the door, your inner Omega was reeling from your Alpha's attention. Your alpha? You were completely smitten by the giant Apex. You closed the door, changed into pajamas, and jumped into your nest. You sighed into the pillows, fantasizing about your Alpha. You began adjusting your nest to your liking. It ended up taking you an hour to make it perfect, keeping in mind the space for König. You'd never made a nest with someone else in mind but it was nice. You got cozy and let sleep take over. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Light entered your room slowly waking you. You looked at your phone, it was 6:04 am. You sat up and stretched, happy that you beat the jetlag. Wondering if König was awake, you quietly stepped out of your room and down the hallway to his room. You knocked gently. König was a light sleeper. He heard your small footsteps before you knocked and went to open the door. He looked down at your face still flushed with sleep. 

“Good morning.” You said, absentmindedly rubbing your eyes. 

König purred deeply. You looked so cute in your PJs he wanted to pull you into his bed., for more than just cuddling. He leaned down and kissed your forehead. 

“Morning Schatz.” He guided you down the hallway to the kitchen. 

“I can make us pancakes for breakfast.” You suggested.

“Sounds wonderful.” 

König watched you flit around the kitchen. The kitchen was barely used because of his job, so it was nice seeing it get used. Your head snapped to the alpha when you realized he was watching you. 

“Go sit, I'll bring it to you.” 

König nodded and sat on the couch. He turned on the TV as he waited and listened to the kitchen utensils clanging in the background. A few minutes later you emerged with a plate for him topped with syrup. He took the plate and looked at the food quizzically. 

“What's wrong?” you asked. 

“These...are pancakes?” He analyzed the fluffy discs.

“Yeah, are pancakes different here?” He nodded.

“I'll try them.” He carved out a bite with his fork. You watched him intensely. 

“How is it?” 

“...Sweet, but good.” He said. 

You smiled and went to get yourself a plate. You plopped down next to him on the couch and you took a bite. You watched the random movie he put on as you ate, feeling perfectly content with your Alpha.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, you were on the couch typing away on your laptop working on your next chapter. König was struggling to find something to do with himself. He wanted to give you space to write, but desperately wanted to spend time with you. He understood that your job was time sensitive. He was lucky to have you here at all. You heard König pacing behind you causing you to lose your concentration. You got up and went to your room. You rummaged through your suitcase, finding a copy of your fantasy novel. You walked up to König and handed him the book before returning to your spot on the couch. He appeared next to you on the couch glancing over the blurb. 

“I thought I had to buy a copy?” He said. 

“Well, you need something to do.” You chuckled. 

You two fell into a comfortable silence with König's mind now occupied. After a while, you glanced at the Alpha. He was engrossed in the pages well into the starting plot. 

“How is it so far?” 

“So good Schatz. I have not read a novel in a long time, I like it.”

“I'm glad.”

König bent the corner of the page he was on and closed the book. You nearly felt your heart jumped out of your chest.

“Ah! König!!!” You grabbed the book and attempted to straighten the corner out.

“This is a book sin!” You exclaimed.

“Oh? But I have no bookmark.” He gave you an amused look. 

“Ok just ask for one I have many!” You pouted.

“The book isn't hurt.”

“How do you know?” 

König laughed. It was so genuine and hearty that you almost forgot what you were upset about. You turned away and set the book page-side down. König's laughter died down and he looked at you. 

“You're adorable, Schatz.”

“Hmph.” You said. 

König reached around cupping your cheek. You turned to him. It was surprising to see his face a couple of inches away from yours. His eyes were soft as they gazed into yours, he looked down at your lips before capturing yours in a chaste kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed, leaning into the kiss. Your bottom lip slotted in between his in the most delicious way. He pulled away, resting his forehead on yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again. One of his hands slithered around your waist pulling you flush against his torso. The other hand firmly gripped the side of your jaw. 

Your heart pounded so loud you swear he could hear it.

König smiled against your lips. He finally had his Omega. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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@that-fangirl-1106 @itsryuken @y2katsuki

[strawberrysainz]

before i fall apart. lando norris

“ a night out in amsterdam, and you slept with an f1 driver. the morning brings little comfort. ”

lando norris x reader

a warning — mildly filthy, so 18+!!!! minors dni. crude language. mentions of food. alcohol consumption.

You felt blissful when you woke up.

And to your surprise, you knew who was lying in your bed next to you.

That sounds awful; you weren’t a regular participant of a one night stand - you were surprised to even have had one - but Lando Norris was fast asleep in the comfy duvet you had had since you were thirteen and you were sharing the same pillow in the sort of cramped double bed and he was shirtless and he looked really cute.

💋☕️💌🎱

The night before had been a bit of a blur. You were a student in Amsterdam, sharing a flat with two of your fellow honours degree friends. You weren’t sure how you’d ended up at a Martin Garrix show on a Saturday night but there you were, a bit drunk from pre-drinks but suddenly the music hit a bit different and your confidence was flowing.

Lando had casually started a conversation about something or other in the crowd with you and you felt yourself gravitate toward him. The stupid grin on his face, but especially that look in his eyes. It made you weak.

It had turned into him buying you a drink and you were listening to him show off about racing or some shit but you didn’t care because you were a bit horny and a bit lonely. Uni was tough; you were far from home and romantic opportunities tended to stay for only a small while. You hated one night stands because your love for the tiny things in a relationship was far more than just sex.

But fuck, it was Lando Norris. Who could pass up on that?

You remembered blinking a lot and smiling and he was so attractive. The way he was smirking and he was brushing his lips against your ear when you couldn’t hear had you feverish.

You had gone in for the kiss first, and by God he had reciprocated, wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing you messily. It was fiery and it lit you up from the inside, and you couldn’t let him go.

It had progressed to you stumbling outside and he didn’t want to go back to his hotel but you just hopped on the tram, somehow managing to get him on because the sort of nice driver knew him and soon enough it was only a five minute walk back to your place.

The whole time you had felt so alive, heated up, and he was kissing you at every moment he got and you were giggling and he was smiling sweetly into your eyes and his facial hair was tickling you and you were imagining it between your legs.

Fumbling for your keys in your cross body bag, he had grabbed your chin and kissed you gently. Tugging on his hair, he moaned a little, and you were suddenly so alert. Fiddling with the lock you were in, and you threw your bag somewhere and led him to your room, the moonlight lighting your way.

From then on you had been a clumsy, passionate mix of bodies, and on his thigh you had come undone and your face was in his neck and you were probably moaning so loud but who gave a fuck.

Then his fingers had found you again, you cried out from the overstimulation but it all felt so deliciously good. Then you had bent down to have him in your mouth, and after a minute or two his hips had stuttered and you were swallowing it while his hands grasped your hair, tugging.

Then you had sunk down on him, both gasping erratically, jerky motions making you both lost for words.

Five minutes later you had laid down on your bed, and he had kissed your cheek, and you both fell asleep, exhausted and a bit sober.

💋☕️💌🎱

Now he was waking up, the sun shining on his face, and you stretched as if you had just done so too. His hand found your hip and brought you closer while you stilled.

“Hi,” you whispered, and he murmured in sleepy return, stretching.

Then his eyes opened and he studied you in the morning light, ultraviolet.

“Hi,” he said gruffly, sleep masking his voice, and you shivered. A smirk decorated his face as he squeezed your hip.

He stared out at your room, your desk, the posters. “Are we still in Amsterdam?” He said, half joking, half serious, and you nodded with a snort.

Ten minutes later you had gotten up, getting dressed in some other clothes, permanently blushing because you felt him watching.

By the grace of God your flatmates weren’t around. “Tea? Coffee?” You had called from the kitchen, and he had shouted coffee.

💋☕️💌🎱

He was watching you flit about the kitchen, making breakfast bagels, and you had turned on football so you could check the Premier League scores while he chuckled and the sound of the pundits yapping on about Arsenal was the soundtrack to your Sunday morning.

“Sports mad?” He asked, and you had nodded, laughing. “Football, tennis, … F1. Haven’t got an athletic bone in my body but I love it all,” you smiled.

He nodded then, a bit of an awkward silence followed when he realised that you knew who he was.

Then he had found his phone, scrolling through TikTok when you pushed a plate in front of him, joining him on a bar stool.

“I’ve probably got to go after this. Got a flight to catch.” He nodded to himself firmly, and you nodded gently.

“Are you based in Amsterdam then go home to England on your holidays?” He asked, and you nodded. “I’ve got a part-time for a company that I will pick up a full-time with after I finish my honours though, so I’ll be here for the foreseeable future.” You shrugged, and he nodded.

He ate then, and you stared at your TV with an ache in your chest.

💋☕️💌🎱

Twenty minutes later you were standing outside your front door while he stood in front of you, awkward.

“Last night was nice. Thank you.” You said, and he had some sort of strange, fond expression on his face before he kissed you again.

You kissed him back longingly, and he pulled away when his hand started to move from your waist to your back, pulling you closer.

“Come see me in Monaco,” he said suddenly.

“I’m studying, I’m working…” you said, eyes widening. “It doesn’t work like that.”

He stared up at the ceiling.

“Have my number,” you said then, and typed it in his phone. “We’ll work it out.”

And when he walked away you were sure that you… could.

💋☕️💌🎱

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💋☕️💌🎱

as always, let me know what you thought my lovelies ❤️‍🔥

masterlist

[elsweetheart]

crystal champagne glasses — bodyguard!abby au

synopsis: when reader, the millionaires daughter can’t help but misbehave — Abby the no nonsense bodyguard is hired to live in the mansion.

♪ every man gets his wish — lana del rey (unreleased) ♪

cw: fem reader, mentions of money / money problems, overprotective parents, mentions of loss of a parent (not reader), daddy issues lol, sprinkle of mommy issues too, alcohol and drinking, tiny mention of being sick, reader working out mentions, brat tamer abby lol, size kink, reader cries and gets humiliated and angry a lot lol, degradation, masturbation, strap on sex, think that’s it?

an: i had so much fun writing this! this is the quickest i’ve ever written a fic, i think because i’ve been excited to write this one and planning it for ages! now, if you don’t like my writing please click off now. no one is forcing you to read my fics. to all the people who have been excited for this fic, ily and i hope you enjoy it! as always, minors + ageless blogs do not interact with this or any posts / fics of mine. you will be blocked! ♡

You weren’t a princess. You were not a princess. You wished you were, shit — maybe your parents would actually care about you. Unfortunately though, there was no royalty behind your name. Just two millionaire parents who would apparently rather be anywhere else but at home with you.

You had your own hobbies, friends, a life — back at home. But of course, if you had so much as wanted to leave the mansion to partake in such activities, such as socialising (God forbid!) you’d need an escort, a driver, secret security officers stalking you, creeping out all of your friends and more. After a while it just became… not worth it. So you stopped showing up, stopped hanging out with people — and understandably, your invite to meeting up with friends started to get supposedly lost in the post. Things get lonely fast.

Bitterness was hardly the word for it. You understood your circumstances and if you were anything it wasn’t ungrateful. Your father only wanted you to be safe, hence the dozens of hired body guards in and out (But you’ll get back to that in a moment, of course.) Your friends just assumed you didn’t wanna hang out anymore, hence the missed invites. You had only started misbehaving out of bitterne— no, not bitter. Pissed off. Rightfully.

You always felt dread when you saw the answer machine light up red with a new message from the only person who had the number — your father. Where on Earth could he be calling from this time? Perhaps lounging by the pool in Greece or dining at a rooftop garden in Dubai — experiencing the world and bravely taking a moment out of his incredibly busy day to drop you a patronising and vaguely threatening voicemail. Atleast he spoke to you, unlike your mother who’d much rather pretend you didn’t exist because, and you quote, the stress of your misbehaviour ‘gave her wrinkles.’ Your manicured finger hovered over the button before pressing down, huffing out your nose as you stared out at the morning fog over the grassy hills of your land.

‘Good morning darling, dad calling again. You keep missing my calls, which I assume is on purpose so I’m leaving you a message anyways. I’m currently in Amsterdam with your mother and I just caught wind of Malakai the bodyguard quitting ‘suddenly and abruptly’ according to one of the maids. I’ve told you once and I will tell you again, if you don’t stop harassing the guards and forcing them to quit you will be in serious trouble. I mean cut off completely, sent off to work in the city with no more than a shitty little apartment and no money. So, I have decided to give you one last chance. I’ve purchased a bodyguard to live in with you starting Sunday morning so you’re going to have to fend for yourself until then. I searched high and low for this one, apparently they specialise in poorly behaved brats like yourself — so I’m hoping if anything that will whip you into shape. You’ve been through five bodyguards this year and it’s February. I’m serious about my threats. Step a foot out of line and you’re done, your mother and I are deadly serious. I will be calling the new hire at the end of next week to check in on your behaviour. Do not let us down darling, you will regret it. Okay, that’s all. See you when I see you.’

You smile.

Oh, how sometimes things just worked out. A life of your own, with normality and struggle and freedom — no watchful eye breathing down your neck and no lack of purpose weighing down on you. Your father had presented you with the easiest task, piss off the new hire so that you’d be set free. A task you’d grown to perfect, having done so time and time again.

The crackle of wheels on the gravel path leading up to the mansion awakens you on the Sunday morning. You want to grumble, having gotten literally no sleep. You see, you were terribly afraid of the dark — and you couldn’t sleep without your guard having light the fire in the fireplace of your bedroom (The one use you found for the hired help.) You had no idea how to light it and didn’t trust yourself not to burn the house down — so you went without. Hence the awful nights sleep. Where were you? Yes, curious. Rudely awakened and curious.

Your short nightie does nothing to combat the cool morning chill as you get up from the bed, letting your bed covers slide off your body as you traipse over to your window. A black Range Rover, they’re all the same. All the same angry men that drive the same angry car, with the same angry build and the same angry face. You scoff at the memory of your fathers threat on the voice message, stating that this guard was to be anything you weren’t used to before. You knew it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle.

Except, you were caught off guard when the door opens. You watch a woman climb out the car, despite the vehicles spacious design she still seemed to unfold like she was inflatable as she climbed out — almost seeming too big for even a car like that. She was built, strong arms and chest, tree trunk thighs and veiny hands. You narrow your eyes at the black sunglasses perched on the bridge of her jagged nose, taking them off as she looks around with a serious expression. She was attractive, you’d admit — but in a way that made you cross. That stupid skin tight black t-shirt and black cargos and thick weighty belt around her waist told you everything you needed to know about her. The militant type, she was going to try and intimidate you with her seriousness. You smirk, seeing this as a challenge. She has no idea what she’s up against.

You rush down the spiral stairs at the sound of her lugging her bags inside. She flicks her braid over her shoulder to glance at you standing there analytically as she does so, biceps bulging as she lifts the heavy black cases into the centre of your foyer stood beneath the chandelier. She looked much too harsh for somewhere delicate like this.

“I take it you aren’t going to introduce yourself.” She speaks after a moment of sorting her bags, closing the front door to signify she was done bringing her things inside. You cling to the tall bannister, toeing the cold pristine marble floor, eyeing her and her things as if each bag had a bomb inside. She stands up to her full height, atleast breaching the 6ft margin and you squint, watching her stretch her arms to relieve herself from the weight of the bags. “Off to a great start already.” She retorts as you ignore her, her long legs stepping over a black duffle bag on the floor toward you.

“Why are your bags so heavy?” You ask quietly, less curious and more judgemental. Who did she think she was moving in here with all that stuff? She takes a long inhale, accenting the muscle in her chest as she places her hands on her hips. Her reply is calm and unbothered.

“I brought my weights with me, and lots of other things I need to stay in my condition. Do you have a name?” Her voice is velvety and more feminine than you expected. Your stomach gets hot and prickly at the sound.

“You know my name. I can bet anything my father told you everything about me infact.” You jut your chin up stubbornly. It’s her turn to analyse now, tilting her head a little to the side as she leans on her hip, eyeing you once over and then again.

“Yeah. Your dad was kind enough to tell me all about you and how you treated your past bodyguards. But when you first meet someone, you introduce yourself. So introduce yourself.” There is a slight bite to your tone and your eyes flutter a bit. You’re used to men being agitated with you, infact you thrive off it— but you’ve never had a woman guard before. Something about the harsh tone hurt you just that little more. Shit, maybe you just had mommy issues.

You mutter your name, eyes laser focused on her clinging to the last shred of dignity you had — but when she gives you a curt nod and an equally quiet ‘There you go’ it perishes in the wind like a dying leaf crumbling away for winter. She turns, looking around at her bags before reaching over for the smallest one. “I’m Abby. As you probably guessed, I’m your new bodyguard.” She walks over to you and holds out the bag. You look at her and then at the bag, and then back at her.

“What am I supposed to do with this, Abby?” You cross your arms with a raised brow.

“You’re gonna carry it to my new room for me. I’m a guest in your home.” She raises her eyebrows, waving the bag infront of you signally for you to take it.

You stare at her in disbelief, before laughing bitterly. “You’re right. You’re a guest in my home. So I’m not carrying shit.” You spin on your heel to stomp up the stairs, but she cuts you off by speaking calmly yet firmly.

“Then you can sleep in the dark.”

You turn back around slowly, wearing a frown that creases your brow. How did she know about that?

“I spoke to some previous guards of yours. Said you were terrified of the dark and needed a fire lit in your room every night. Y’wanna sleep in dark? Or you wanna help me carry my bags?”

You stare her down for a moment, weighing out your options. She’d already dominated the conversation by getting your name out of you so easily, and now she was winning again. However, you were exhausted just from one night of restlessly pacing with your light on — too afraid to turn it off and go to sleep. You needed your sleep. That being said, you scowl and snatch the bag from her hand, the leather of it slapping against your leg as you carry it up the spiral stairs.

“Atta girl.”

You clench your jaw.

The week begins, and as do your antics. Abby wasn’t easily wound up, but that only made you want to go ten times harder. She was a bodyguard, not a babysitter — but she was starting to feel like her duties were beginning to cross wires. She knew your game, knew you were aiming for something — she could see the determination in your eyes everytime you’d sass her back. So, she’d play you back. Not give into what you want.

Her first real duty came on a Wednesday when she was lounging in the living room watching some God awful 2000s police chase show, and in came you — tottering on little heels and a skirt so short and tight she could tell the colour of your thong beneath. Not that she was looking, of course.

She leant her arm on the back of the couch, eyes flitting over you as you rummage for the keys that you were sure had been left by the maid on the coffee table. “Going somewhere?” It comes out nearly as a scoff, smirk etched onto her face and it makes you roll your eyes.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Out with my friends. The ones that still talk to me.” You’re distracted, pulling your small handbag back up onto your shoulder when it slides off, free hand feeling around in a decorative bowl for the key set. Abby stares at you for a moment, which — okay, is a little indulgent. She wasn’t being a creep, she could just appreciate that you looked good. Before you could turn to throw a glare her way she was muttering an ‘alright’ and heaving her heavy, toned body up to stand and stretch.

You turn and look at her questioningly and she stops to return your gaze. “What? You think I’m just living here with you for fun? C’mon, if you wanna go let’s go.” She nods towards the door, but stops after a few steps when she hears you snicker.

“No thanks. I’m a big girl.”

She crosses her arms and the smirk that makes you wanna throw darts at her stupid face returns. “That right? You think daddy just hired me to hang out around the house, then?”

You stare at her, pursing your lips before exhaling through your nose wordlessly — walking towards the door in defeat. You just wanted to go out, it had been so long. You’re sure you could just ignore Abby.

She follows behind you, now swinging her car keys round her finger — so smug. “How were you planning on getting to the club? You live in the middle of nowhere.”

“Uber.”

It’s her turn to snicker, opening the front door for you and standing aside as you walk through. “Yeah. Okay. C’mon.”

Screw her. Because now, for some reason she was in your head.

Maybe you just had a few… weaknesses. You always liked your girls on the masc side, on the buff side — but that was a given. Who isn’t attracted to that, right? However, watching hot girls drive was something else, and Abby was being that something else. You know— hand on the back of your seat when she reverses, bicep bulging when she grips the wheel of her sleek car, the lights of the night time traffic illuminating the way her top lip curled upwards a little and bottom lip pouted. You felt a little relief, knowing it was one hundred percent the wine talking. The wine you’d probably drank a little too much of whilst you were getting ready, playing your music and singing along loudly just hoping it was annoying Abby (It wasn’t, she didn’t even hear.)

Ignoring her would start after the car journey you decided.

And you did, for the most part. Abby gave you your space, sitting a few seats away from your group whilst you had your fun — headache inducing squeals and brain numbing chatter over loud music and strong cocktails not quite interesting the blonde. She was driving, and working — so she couldn’t drink, just sat there all night bored out of her mind. She probably should have been monitoring how many drinks you’d had over the night, because soon you were stumbling off your seat to go and dance— and Abby’s hands were itching to pull your skirt down just a little, the hem climbing up to the swell where your thighs meet your ass. She sits back, just watching. She was here to protect you, not be your personal wardrobe malfunction manager — so that’s what she’d do. Sit back and protect.

God, did you always dance like this when you went out?

She felt her fist twitch on the table at the sight of your hips swirling, but she knew that was just a natural gay reaction. She should probably order you a glass of water, so you could sober up and tone down the sluttyness but she figured she’d let you have your fun for now— you may have been too far gone. Abby wished she was holding a beer or something whilst she stared across at the way you were grinding your ass into your friends crotch, the two of you giggling like idiots all hazy eyed from the liquor.

After a while you amble over to her, everything bouncing and spilling out but you clearly don’t give a fuck. Your guard is caught off guard when you come close, alcohol having decimated any concept of personal space as you lean over to speak to her where she’s sat, bent over with your hands splayed on her black jean clad thighs.

She tries to be subtle in the way she eyes you, her tongue peeping between her lips and eyes widening momentarily at the perfect shot of down your top. “I can’t hear you.” She yells over the music. You come closer and nearly topple onto her completely, Abby’s hands by nature resting on the back of your thighs as you now grip her shoulders. Briefly, she wonders if at a glance anyone thinks the two of you are a couple. She shakes it off ‘cos… you’re still a brat. Hot or not.

“I said, can I go to the bathroom or are you gonna follow me?” You pull back to make sure she’s seeing you attempt to pointedly raise an eyebrow at her, something you would have perfected usually if you were sober.

“Take a friend.” She nods to your most sober looking buddy and you shrug happily, pushing off her and grabbing your toilet partner and rushing off. She was kind of glad you were gonna be out of her sight for a moment, needing to cool off.

She wasn’t sure what happened after that. Abby was getting bored and tired, dropping the ball a little bit — and you must have been sneaking drinks from your friends when she wasn’t looking — because suddenly you were way too drunk, barely able to stand. Enough was enough when she watched you stumble over to the bar, heading to assumably get yourself another drink. Abby followed you, gently taking your arm and turning you around.

“Hey, no more. You’re blacked out.”

Your face screws up into this adorable little pout for a moment before the rage kicks in, brow creasing and fists clenching by your side.

“C’n dooo what I waant. Dompt tell meee what to do.” You thud her in the centre of her chest with your finger, slurring enough to the point where Abby was confident the bartender wouldn’t have served you anyway.

“No. Finish up, you need to go home.” She was stern, and as expected — this garnered the worst possible response, baring your teeth like a dog and digging your heels into the ground like you were about to pounce on her. You exploded into noise.

“Nnno! Fuck you you stupid securererty guard I can’t wait to get rid of youn’d be independent this is such buuullshi—” Your rampage was cut short by Abby sighing, squatting, and throwing you over her shoulder. Her free hand came up without thought, tugging your skirt down to not expose you to the world. You thrashed and yelled for a good ten seconds before giving in completely — by standers and your friends laughing as Abby marched you to the exit. You were asleep by the time she reached the car, and briefly woke up when she’d carried you to bed to demand her to light the fire place. The fear of the dark must have ran incredibly deep, interesting — she noted.

Abby thought that maybe you’d appreciate her cutting your drinks off and halting any further plans to embarrass yourself that night— but she came to learn that if she thought you were bad usually, you with a hangover was ten times worse. If waking up to the sounds of your loud upchuck wasn’t bad enough, you were a whiny, angry bitch relentlessly all day.

“I’m not your servant you know. Stop asking me to do things for you.” Abby walked in with a glass of water and Tylenol upon request, being met with a loud groan instead of a ‘thank you’.

“Do you have to fucking yell everything?” You complain, ironically — louder than her.

She was tired by the end of the day, beginning to wonder if the pay was enough to tolerate your brattiness. Abby had gained a reputation for dealing with difficult clients, perhaps diva-esque or ill-mannered, but often it wasn’t anything a stern talking to couldn’t fix, often intimidated by her height and build enough to shut them up after a few quips. You were effortlessly becoming one of, if not the most difficult and tiresome clients to crack, but she was determined. If Abby was anything, she wasn’t a quitter — which is why when your father called to check in on you, she told him you’d been good as gold, which earned her a glare from you when you’d overheard the whole thing on the way to the bathroom.

You were back to your regular level of shitty behaviour the next day, less whiny and more sarcastic and bitchy which she could tolerate. However, after a month had gone by Abby was finding the irritation harder and harder to control— especially since you had developed an ever so charming habit of putting on your headphones every single time Abby tried to tell you to do something or talk to you in general.

“Like I told you, I’m a bodyguard — not a babysitter. Stop leaving your—” She bounded into the room, stopping when she saw you look her in the eye and pull your headphones over your head, pressing play on your screen to start your music. Abby stares for a few seconds, taking a breath, telling herself to walk away. Be a bodyguard and nothing else. She ignores this, wound up— and moves to stand in front of you, clicking her fingers. Cheekily, you point to your headphones — mouthing a faux-apologetic ‘sorry!’. The blonde scoffs, wondering why she’s entertaining this in the first place and reaches up to yank the headphones off your head, but freezes at your sudden wide eyed yelp.

“Don’t touch me I’ll tell my dad and you’ll get fired!” It’s rambled out, fast and premeditated — like you’d thought of it already and had been waiting to put it to use. Abby glances down at your alight screen, noting the music as paused and wonders if you were ever playing music or was just doing this to bother her. She lowers her hand, because — well, she’s not an asshole — instead turning her palm upwards in gesture to hand them over.

“Headphones. Give them to me.”

“No.”

“Give them to me or I’m not lighting the fire in your room tonight.” She stares you down and you sulk, shoulders dropping and brows furrowing in devastation. Abby would have felt bad if you weren’t such a menace.

You stroppily yank the headphones off your head and hand them over, muttering profanities furiously under your breath as you turn away from her, sprawled on the couch. Your guard nods, disappearing to put them away before leaving you be — heading to the kitchen to make her afternoon smoothie. The sound of her chopping fruit sparked rage in you all over again at how at home she had made herself, and after a minute you were storming in again— bare feet slapping the cold tiles.

“Back for more?” Abby is calm now, content as she focuses on slicing into a banana.

“You can’t threaten me with my fears you know, that’s emotional and psychological abuse. You’re taking advantage of my fears to be in control like — like a coward. Trust me I studied psychology out of a book, I know my stuff.” You stand beside her ranting as she raises her eyebrows with a calm smile, nodding as she listens and finishes up chopping her fruit, beginning to load them into the— your blender.

“Oh? Smart girl then huh?” She teases and you huff, jutting your chin in the air confidently with an ‘mhm’ before hoisting yourself up onto the kitchen island counter, deciding to stick around for a while to pester her.

“Very. You could probably learn a thing or two from me.”

Abby twists her body half around in amusement, a mocking expression of being impressed adorning her attractive face. She closes the lid to the blender, keeping one hand on it as she speaks.

“‘That so? Go ahead, tell me what possibly I could learn from you, smart girl.”

Ignoring how ‘smart girl’ made you feel in your underwear, you only a manage a “Well first of all—” before she’s turned the blender on, the loud whirring masking any sound coming from you despite your attempts to yell over it for a few seconds. She nods teasingly, as if she was listening to what you were saying and you huff, giving up. You were usually a master in being annoying, but Abby was giving you a run for your money.

You hop back off the counter, muttering a ‘Big blonde stupid asshole.’ as you storm out the room and Abby lets go of the blend button, snickering to herself and yelling out a non committal ‘I heard that!’ after you.

The following day she had taken you to buy groceries after you’d complained that you’d wanted to do it yourself — Abby, following you around as you loaded up your cart, every so often remembering your duty to annoy her and hitting her with something along the lines of ‘I want my headphones back.’ which would be met with a disinterested ‘Tough luck.’ on her end. You couldn’t believe that she’d been living in your home for one month and you still hadn’t gotten under her skin. Perhaps that’s why the next day you’d let your guard down.

It was the first sunny day of March, the grassy hills in which the mansion sat on still harbouring that frosty bite to the air from winter — but pink blossoms had began to spring on the bushes and trees and the sky was blue, which instantly lifted your mood just that little bit.

You were curled by the large window that morning, still in your pyjamas and holding a mug beneath your chin, gazing out at the bright grass. When Abby had entered the room, she was surprised to hear you gently comment that “The weathers nice today.” — a rare sentence that wasn’t defying or insulting her. Abby looked over to you, noting your peaceful demeanour and deciding to carefully toe the line.

“Do you wanna… go outside today?” She suggested, something the two of them could possibly do together. She almost grimaced, waiting for you to curse her out like usual but instead you paused quietly for a few seconds before responding.

“I can introduce you to the horses.” With that, you hopped off the window seat and disappeared to get dressed. When you returned, your hair was in tidier condition and you wore a dress made for summer with only a thick knit cardigan over the top. She itched to tell you it was still way too cold to dress like that, but figured she didn’t wanna aggravate you before you’ve even made it out the door. Today was the day Abby would get through to you.

You were quieter than usual, assumably worn out and in higher spirits due to the sunshine. You’d received the horses as a gift on your sixteenth birthday — but due to the cold weather and outright depression you hardly rode them anymore, instead making sure they lived a healthy and luxurious life on your land and fed the best foods by their handler (mainly out of guilt.) Abby could tell you’d regret your outfit choice as the two of you walked along the pathway through the lush greenery outside, pulling your cardigan tighter around your body, head tilted as you watched the birds fly over the pond.

“What are your horses names?” She conversed lightly, stuffing her large hands into the pockets of her black bomber jacket.

“Cinnamon and blondie.” You answer quietly, before speaking up a few moments later. “Don’t judge the lack of creativity I was sixteen when I picked the names out.”

The pair of you reach the barn and she huffs a quiet chuckle out her nose, watching you pick up a brush as you approached the brown and blonde horses. “Hey, I think those names are perfectly fitting.”

She wasn’t sure why she wanted you to like her so badly all of a sudden. She partially thought it was because if you did you’d make her life and her job easier — but… no, it was more personal than that. You’d deprived her of seeing your pretty smile so much that she felt almost awestruck at the sight of your peaceful and joyful expression as you gently combed Cinnamons mane. She caught herself smiling as she watched.

The two of you talked. Like actually talked without hurling insults or rolling eyes. You sat on the hay, watching as she fed Blondie a carrot. Abby’s teeth were always so white and perfect, perfecting an already perfect smile. Perhaps you were in a good mood, because the thought of calling her perfect didn’t quite irritate you as much as it usually would.

“Have you even ridden a horse?” You’re still bashful about making regular conversation as you pluck at the hay from the bale you sit on.

“Nah.” She shucks off her jacket, the air in the barn balmier and muggier than the outside. It’s hard to not let your eyes flicker down to her strong arms, so you don’t deny yourself.

“Not even as a little girl?” You question and she chuckles a little.

“I didn’t have horse money.” There’s a pitch of longing behind her tone and you tilt your head, wondering about her upbringing. She senses your inquisition and glances up at you as she continues to stroke the horse. “I didn’t have much money for pretty much my whole life. It was actually why I got into the bodyguard industry. Good pay.” She shrugs one shoulder like it was nothing.

“Did you get to go to public school? Like in the city?” You lean forward with your elbows on your knees, chin balanced on your palms in intrigue. The way you said it sparked some amusement in her, ‘get to go to public school’. Like to you it was some sort of luxury.

“Yep. Got the bus everyday too.” Her eyebrow twitches up with a smirk, turning to walk towards you with her jacket in her hand. Whilst she expects you to pick up on her playful tone and perhaps roll your eyes, you continue to stare up at her in awe— an air of innocent curiosity around you that made her suddenly fight the urge to run a thumb over your cheek. She stood over you, placing her jacket by your side and you preened a little at how big she looked above you like that. Part of you felt mad at yourself for having developed a crush, knowing it was interfering with your plans — but you were touch starved. Really touch starved, so you allowed yourself a little yearning for your strict but not so strict bodyguard.

You clear your throat before speaking quietly. “You’re so lucky.”

At this, she scoffs, dropping down to sit beside you. Your skin felt a little warmer when her thigh pressed up next to yours.

“I wouldn’t say that. Would have traded lives with you in a heartbeat.”

You turn to her with a frown. “My life was boring. I didn’t get to do sneaky, crazy teenager things. I went to a small private school and had my small group of friends there and… we couldn’t do anything without dumb bodyguards riding my coattail. The only time we got privacy was in the girls bathroom, and even then if we took too long they’d come knocking.” You complain, pushing your shoe into the gravel.

“Oh, I see. So you didn’t get to be a bratty teenager so you’re making up for lost years now.” She spoke it with a smile, but assumes she took it too far as along came your infamous eye roll, shuffling away from her on the seat as the irritation snuck back in.

“I am not a brat.”

“And I’m not your bodyguard.” She challenges gently with a smile, nudging her knee against yours. You look at her with a stubborn pout and her smile doesn’t falter. “You’re not really a brat. I can bet you’re a sweet girl that just wants attention so you’re acting out.” Didn’t your father say she was supposed to be tough? Please. You say nothing. Your heart races in your chest but you’re too stubborn to say a word. Maybe you’d let your guard down too much. Roll your eyes again, that’ll do it.

After a moment you look away, not because you were still mad but more so because you were flustered. Sweet girl rung around your head like church bells.

“I know you wanna get rid of me.” She begins and you tense up a little. Way to ruin a nice morning.

“And?”

“I know why. You think you wanna be independent and get away from your parents. You have this… idea of living on your own in the city. Am I right?”

You’re prideful, facing away from her with your chin up. “You’re not wrong.”

She sighs out a little chuckle, shaking her head as she leans forward with her elbows resting on her thighs, head turned towards your profile. “You don’t want that life. Trust me. I’ve lived it and it’s hard.”

“Whats hard is having no freedom, no social life, being followed constantly because no one trusts you to make sensible adult decisions.” You snap at her, turning to look her in the eye.

“So you talk to your dad, try and see eye to eye. Not just… pack up and move out like you’re running away to the circus.” She reasons, like it’s just that simple. Her eyes dart across your face as she sees the rage build, infuriated by the assumption that your father was at all the type to negotiate.

“Theres no just talking to my father, Abby. This is it. This is my life unless I get out of here. I can’t live this way forever.” You raise your voice a little, frustrated at her lack of understanding. “I don’t know what your parents are like, but I’m sure you wouldn’t get it.”

She smiles in that way that people smile when they’re mad or upset, tilting her head down to look at her hands for a moment as she inhaled, shaking her head with a speechless chuckle when she exhaled. “I never knew my mom, and my dad died when I was sixteen. I don’t have the luxury of arguing with my dad like you do. Sorry.” She sarks and your face drops, which sparks a little guilt in that secretly soft heart of hers — because truthfully there was no way you could have known, and she could tell by your face you were immediately mortified. You stumble for words after a moment.

“Look. I can’t forgive my father for practically imprisoning me. We… we have a complicated relationship and I think we always will. He says he cares and then does nothing but ruin my life. But… he’s still my dad. No one should ever have to go through losing their father, especially not at that age. I’m… I’m sorry Abby. I can’t imagine what that’s like.” You speak quietly and she listens, an unreadable expression on her face as she does so. When you finish, her eyebrows flicker up ever so slightly.

“Huh.” She breathes, quietly.

“What?” You furrow your brows, sympathetic expression lingering.

“So you are capable of basic empathy. I had no idea.” She let’s a smile slip and your face drops into one of deadpan.

“Bye.” You go to stand up but she laughs and grips your arm, her strong but somewhat affectionate hand not allowing you to leave her side. You sigh with an irritated pout, facing away from her again. When her chuckles die down, she speaks again, her hand staying wrapped around the flesh of your arm.

“So what’s your plan then. You inevitably get me fired, you move into the city by yourself and then what. Where are you gonna work? You won’t be able to afford living in an apartment by yourself so who are you gonna live with?” She fires at you, realising she’s still gripping your arm and letting her fingers trail down a little before leaving your skin all together. You hate how it leaves goosebumps in her wake.

“I’ll use my family name to get me a job somewhere. As for roommates I’m not too sure, I suppose I’ll have to start looking online.” You smirk, glancing at her out the corner of your eye. “Perhaps I’ll just find a girlfriend first who will let me move in with her.”

The mention of a girlfriend makes heat prickle behind Abby’s ears. She had a sixth sense for these kind of things, most of the time able to tell when someone preferred the company of the same sex — mainly down to her own preferences, and she could tell almost immediately with you. However, it was always pleasurable to get the confirmation that she was infact, once again correct.

“Oh yeah? You think anyone else is gonna put up with that princess attitude but me? You better start working on your game.” She jests, and the mention of her tolerating your princess ways caused you to bite down a little on your bottom lip.

“What, you’re saying you’re not charmed by me?” You joke back for once, turning to face her to bat your eyelashes. She chuckles softly, eyes lingering on you for a moment too long before looking away and pushing herself up to stand by pressing her hands into her knees with a quiet grunt.

“Can’t say the insults and tantrums did it for me. Good luck to you though.” She allows a smirk to flit back onto her pouty lips before she thrusts a hand out, allowing you to take it so she could help you up, once again proving to you both that she was actually more than happy to tolerate that princess attitude she speaks of so poorly.

By the next day, your head is back in the game. All this talk of moving out set you straight, and whilst bonding with Abby in the barn certainly set you multiple steps back — you were back to your old self in no time, dead set on getting her to budge so that you could be free’d from your fathers watchful eye.

You eye your search bar on Google, sprawled on your front on your bed with your laptop open infront of you, having just typed ‘Roommates for sale backspace Roommates in the city friendly and not weird’. As you scrolled through the unhelpful results, your door opened — Abby standing in your doorway.

“Jesus do you ever fucking knock?” You curse, glaring up at where she stands in the doorway wearing her usual tight black tshirt and thick belted cargos and boots.

“Good to see you’re back to your usual self.” She sarks with a dramatic eye roll as she leans on her hip, refocusing (which took an extra second because you’re just wearing a little skirt and top today and lying on your front is making her think things.) “I’ve gotta go get my car serviced so I’m dropping it off at the garage thirty minutes away. You think you can survive an hour without me here?”

You’re not looking at her, continuing to scroll as you wave her off with just a distracted mumble causing her to shake her head and tsk followed by a chuckle as she pushes off her feet, disappearing down the hallway. “I won’t be too long. Stay out of trouble, smart girl.” She calls to you, before you eventually heard the sound of the front door shutting and then her car rumbling around the fountain infront of the entrance and out of the large iron gates. Finally, some peace and quiet.

However, after around thirty-five minutes, you had to admit you’d grown bored. You were home alone, and the room-mate search was coming to just about nothing so you had given up all together for the time being. You flop onto your back on the bed, huffing. Where you’d usually get up with the boredom and go to bother Abby until she argues back — you couldn’t. So, you figured you’d turn to the next best thing, listening to music whilst you do a light work out.

You didn’t like working out when Abby was home, because — as if she were a moth to a flame, she couldn’t help herself from interjecting and gym-rat-splaining everything you’re doing wrong and how to improve. The last time she walked in on you doing pilates, you nearly chucked a weight at her head because she started dishing out unwarranted advice. You knew she did it just to bother you, wearing that shit eating grin on her face when she’d lift a bicep and flex it, stating that it was ‘living proof that you should listen to me.’

You thought also that maybe a workout would help burn off some of the… frustration you woke up with. Perhaps it was the tension ridden barn conversation the two of you shared yesterday, a reminder of your starvation for touch, maybe you just had a load of tempting dreams that you weren’t remembering — but you woke up with your cunt aching and hungry to be filled. You figured this was the real reason behind your bad mood returning with such a vigour, and you couldn’t get yourself off, not wanting to give Abby the satisfaction of walking in (without knocking, no doubt) on you with your legs splayed out and fingers deep inside your wanting hole, probably accidentally moaning her name— or whatever. You couldn’t say the thought of doing so didn’t make things worse though.

When you rolled off the bed and onto your feet, you took a moment to collect yourself at the frustration of remembering that Abby still had your God-damn headphones somewhere, having stashed it away due to you using it as a prop to taunt her. You cursed her out, and then cursed yourself out for getting your beloved headphones confiscated before sighing. If Abby wanted to invade your privacy by not knocking, and taking away your personal items — you could invade her privacy by going into her room and searching for them. Perhaps you could even return them before she was back.

It seemed like a sound plan, so you padded down the hallway until you were met with the door to the guest bedroom where she had been residing. You push the door open, for some reason your stomach twisting in excitement at the small thrill of being sneaky— something you rarely got to experience. The room was clean and tidy, and smelt like her. You push further into the room, looking around and spotting a few of the black shiny duffel bags she’d brought along with her — the rest of her things assumably packed away into the closets. You kneel, unzipping the first.

Your hand sticks inside, rustling about only to be met with metal plated weights and an exercise mat. You huff, zipping it back up and trying the next one. You spot them instantly inside, but tsk when you struggle to pull them out — the headband portion of the listening device tangled with something else. You pull them both out, pulling them apart as you do so and gasp when you realise what you’re holding. A strap on. A harness with a dildo attached.

You drop it, nearly falling onto your back like a spider had just leapt out at you— your eyes widening. Placing your headphones aside slowly, you lift it again — observing it. Why on Earth did she have that with her? Your heart jumped slightly in jealousy, wondering if she was planning on bringing someone over and using it on them. Was she fucking someone, just a few doors down from you? In a moment of sick depravity and curiosity, you slowly bring the shaft beneath your nose— inhaling to smell if there were any… remnants of usage, or at best cleaning products to signify it had been used and cleaned. Your face feels hot in shame as you do so, and it just smells like new plastic. It looked new too. You pull it back, looking at it. It hadn’t been used at all.

“God, Abby.” You whisper as you turn it side to side, harness tickling your leg as you grip the girth of it. It was black and shiny like everything else she owned, roughly 7 inches with veins and thick— just as you expected from the broad bodyguard. There were balls attached too, and you run your fingertips over them gently, lightly pressing down to feel it’s texture. As you do so, translucent white liquid gathers at the tip of the dildo, a small trail of it running down the side of the shaft obscenely. You gasp lightly again as your cunt clenches hard without warning. A breeding strap, now you had only ever seen those in porn videos from your phone screen late at night with a hand down your pyjama shorts.

You’d been fucked with a strap before, of course. You’d had been allowed romantic relationships in the past, and your parents of all things were surprisingly cool with the gay thing. Of course, your father had to background check them first and practically set up play dates with their family (Undoubtably another wealthy family) However, the times you’d experienced with them were all short lived, fumbly and overall incompatible. It was clear that you and your past two partners were there purely to experience some sort of relief from their sexual frustration — which resulted in just rolling around the bed whilst your parents dined together downstairs, them gliding their smaller strap in your tight pussy as you clumsily rut against eachother. The experiences were somewhat fun and naive, but you never got to cum or experience real pleasure and satisfaction.

Oh but Abby, you could tell she had to have experience. She had been out there in the world, seasoned and a few years older than you — and when you look like that, with that kind of body, there was no way she wasn’t having girls in and out her apartment door like some kind of cock carousel.

You felt your wet folds pulsing with need to be touched, and you bit your lip — wondering how much time you had as it seemed to have majorly escaped you. The idea of fucking yourself with your bodyguards strap without her knowing had you wetter than you cared to admit from just your own daydreams in your bed, and you’d decided fuck it, consider it pay back for putting a dent in your plans.

You were squatted on the ground still, but now your skirt and panties were draped messily on the sleek wooden flooring by your side — excitedly holding the strap by the dildo wearing just a tight little crop top and nothing else like you were Winnie the fucking Pooh. It was humiliating in the way that made you reach down, checking and confirming that your slick had gathered across your lower region— pent up and built up from the past few hours of general frustration.

You had no idea how that beast was meant to fit inside of you, but you’d grown desperate — eagerly pulling it downwards and hovering over it, smearing the pearly liquid from the tip around in your slick as the harness clattered against the floor. You let out a sigh, only to realise you were trembling from the adrenaline of doing something you shouldn’t. Biting back an excited grin, you push in slightly — the stretch making you wince, brows furrowing. You let out a harsh breath, whispering ‘Fuck’ to yourself as you do so, just the tip stretching you beyond what you’ve ever taken before. You balance on the flats of your feet, toes curling against the ground and eyes squeezing shut as you try and push in further, the thickness making you quietly cry out, unable to take it properly.

Tears sprung to your eyes, half at the stretch and half in frustration at the inability to fit it inside of you. “C’mon, please.” You whine quietly to no one, walls spasming around the plastic, which now was slick with your arousal dripping down it. You were beyond turned on, to the point where you were starting to feel a little pathetic. You tried to ease up, reaching down to rub your clit to help you along as you take a deep breath, mind trying to ease itself — visions of Abby touching you instead of your own hand, moaning quietly and frustratedly at the thought of her strapping you.

You try and push it deeper, and it seems like your walls are about to let up — but the door flies open and so do your eyes. Your world comes crumbling down in humiliation, your ears ringing and face burning hot; Abby stands before you, eyes wide and jaw slack with pink cheeks.

Your first thought is to pull the dildo out, and the size of it makes you let out a quiet pained whine as you do so. She’s frozen, and the rage takes over you. It’s the most comfortable emotion in a situation like this.

“I told you to knock!” You yell, grabbing your skirt and throwing the dildo to the ground.

“This— this is my room!” Her voice is high and defensive, still processing what she just saw as everything happened so quickly. You pull your skirt up and grab your panties off the floor and to make the embarrassment worse — you burst into tears before you’ve made it out the door, storming past her and slamming the door to your room. The final blow was realising you’d left the headphones behind.

Abby watches you until you’re out of sight before turning her head slowly back to the strap on laying abandoned on the floor, a single drip of what looks like your arousal beside it. Jesus, she thinks, letting out a long sigh and running her hand over her face as she enters the room fully — letting the door shut behind her. She slowly lowers herself into a squat, thick thighs bulging in her cargos as she inspects the scene. Abby lifts the harness, before grabbing the dildo by the suction end and sucking in a hitched breath at how you’d soaked it only a little way down. Your poor pussy, she thinks as her lower region warms guiltily at the imagery now the shock had worn off. “Was a good attempt.” She mutters to herself, tossing the dildo onto her bed and sighing, standing up and stroking beneath her chin in thought. She worries, wonders what you must have thought about her seeing that she’d brought a strap on into your home. You must’ve thought she was some kind of perv, right? How was she supposed to bring you back from this?

As you lay face down on your bed, crying embarrassed tears for an hour straight— you wonder if it would have been less embarrassing if Abby had followed you into your room rather than leaving you to storm off on your own. She probably didn’t want to see you, or speak to you for the matter of fact. You sit up, wiping your cheeks furiously — if that were the case, you had the right to be mad at her. It was her fault, she took your headphones which spiralled into this whole thing. Was it better to let things fizzle out and be awkward? You couldn’t think of anything worse, so you finally rose to your feet again, cleaning up your appearance with your jaw clenched before storming back down the hallway. You were going to finish this, and make her leave for good.

You didn’t bother to knock, because when did she bother? You pushed the door open so hard it bang loudly against the wall, and Abby turned around from her dresser — going through some envelopes, totally unphased.

“I’m taking my headphones!” You practically holler, an accusatory finger pointed right at her. She places the envelope aside as she leans against the dresser crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows.

“Okay.”

“And my father will be receiving a call! Yes, I will call him and tell him that you’re rude, you push boundaries, and you don’t ever fucking knock on any door!” You raise your voice even louder, counting off your fingers as she stares at you.

“Again, this is my room and I didn’t know you were in here.” She explains slowly like you were stupid, which only enrages you more.

“This is my house!” You shriek, waving your hands and she pushes off the dresser, stepping towards you.

“Is it?” She frowns. “Do you even pay any rent?”

You falter for just a second, but it’s enough for her to see and nearly smile, which only builds your emotion. “This is my families house. On your very first day here you said that you were a guest in my house, so act like one. My. House.” You step closer to meet her in the centre of the room, eyes boring up into hers as she watched you, unimpressed, tongue in her cheek.

She couldn’t lie, you were hot when you were mad. Infuriating, sure. But hot. Hot in the way where she wanted to shut you up, make you cum until you weren’t fighting back — just babbling aimlessly, frown fully melted from your face. Fuck you until you learnt a lesson. The thought made her stand up a little straighter.

“Yeah?” She tilts her head daringly, and enraged you step up closer, bodies nearly touching just so you could yell in her face.

“My. Hou—” You go to repeat yourself for emphasis but you’re cut off by the feeling of her hand gripping your cheeks, smushing them. When she speaks, it’s calm and menacing. You stare up at her wide eyed.

“You’re not gonna talk to me like that. You’re embarrassed, sweet girl — and I feel for you, but don’t you ever yell in my face like that. You understand me?” She tilts her head further, eyes on you. You’re humiliated, knees knocking into eachother at her calling you sweet girl whilst berating you and you frown, still panting — all hot faced and furious. She uses your cheeks to make you nod and you groan. “Good. If you wanna talk about what happened, let’s talk. But before you come up here and start accusing me of shit, remember that you came in here searching, and you found that,” she turns your face so that you were looking at the strap on laying on the bed. She stays facing you, eyes browsing the side of your face now. Your eyes widen a little at the sight, the memory of using it replaying in your head. “And you decided to use it without asking me.” She steps back a little, eyeing you (not even bothering to hide the hunger anymore). “Okay. Say your piece.” She gestures with her hand and you collect yourself, pulling in a shaky breath.

You admit, the confidence from your tone had vanished. “I was just trying to look for my headphones. I wanted to work out.” You explain and she nods, encouraging you to go on. “You… you brought that into this house, why?” You point at the toy on the bed, the embarrassment starting to slip through again in your pathetic tone of voice.

“Its not your business what I bring with me in my own bag.” Her velvety voice was quick to answer and your brow creased, running out of reasons to shift the blame onto her.

“Well… you can’t bring things like that here it’s — it’s inappropriate.” You internally curse yourself out for stuttering.

“You didn’t seem to have any complaints an hour ago when you were trying to stuff it inside yourself.” She shrugs like she just couldn’t help it from leaving her mouth and in your embarrassment you turn to leave again, walking towards the door. She follows and reaches over your head and shuts it in front of you before you can, grabbing your arm and turning you around so that your back was pressed to it now as she looms over you. “What? Am I wrong?”

“Abby.” You go to complain, but it comes out as a weak whisper.

“Is that why you did it? Maybe you were trying to get caught so you’d have a reason to get all mad and go batshit crazy on me, huh? Still going ahead with that bullshit plan of yours to send me packing?” Abby theorises and you lower your gaze, head tilted towards the ground as you thought. It wasn’t that, you weren’t brave enough. You were genuinely just being disgusting and horny and got yourself caught — which to you was all the more shameful. She knocks your chin up with her knuckle, making you look up at her again. “Or maybe you wanted to get caught so you could be punished. Is that what you wanted? ‘That why you been such a fucking brat?”

“Not a brat.” You huff, though you couldn’t deny it any further than that.

“You know what a brat is? Girls like you,” She poked a finger into your chest. “Who wanna be put in their place so they act out. I’m starting to think that’s just what you need.”

You try and push off the door but she’s blocking you to do so, bodies too close. “Do you really think I’d come in here and yell at you just because I wanna get spanked or whatever?” You bite back, proud of the comeback until she roughly spins you around by the hips so your cheek was pressed to the wooden door, back a little arched. She takes a fist of your skirt and yanks it up, holding it to your lower back making you gasp — fully exposing your bare rear. She chuckles and you wanna die.

“I dunno, didn’t even bother putting on a new pair of panties before coming up in here. Seems to me like you knew what you were doing. Lost the bass in your voice too, smart girl. Where’d all that anger go?” Her hand is gentle when it cups your ass, feeling the meat of it in her hand. You could not believe this was happening. You were mortified. Soaked, but mortified.

You try to fight back with your words, but it’s coming out in little huffs and embarrassed pants at the feeling of her grabbing your ass. “I’m— m’gonna tell — gonna tell on—”

“You’re gonna tell on me?” She snickered. “Are you gonna tell the full story? What you were doing on the floor when I walked in?” She purs in your ear and you can hear her smiling. She’s sick.

You say nothing, because if you’re being honest you’re giving up on your resolve— the feeling of her hands on you just melting your anger away like ice. “No I didn’t think so.”

She gives your ass a light slap, just enough to jiggle it and make you whimper at the suddenness before turning you back around, eyes glancing between yours seriously. “You wanna know what I think?”

You sigh and nod, not trusting your voice at this point.

She gently takes you by the arm and walks you over to the foot of the bed, picking up the strap and holding it. “I think you need to clean my strap for me.”

The way she says it makes you feel hot and bothered, and you go to reach for it to shamefully disappear and wash it in the sink but she holds it out of your reach, raising her eyebrows playfully as she stares you down for a moment. “Not like that.”

She brings the strap down, stepping into the leg holes of the harness before pulling it up and adjusting it to fit her by the hoops at the hip. You watch, trembling — the sight of her standing there with a huge cock something you had only dreamt of, making you squeeze your thighs together. You hated yourself for how weak willed you’d become.

“You can clean it up that smart mouth of yours.” She smiles simply before placing both hands on your shoulders and pushing you down slowly to the ground. She sits too on the edge of the bed, spreading her thighs wide to accommodate to you between them. She wanted you to suck her off? Now that was just degrading. You pursed your lips, trying and failing to ignore the rush of slick seeping from you.

“Abby. Come on.” You whisper and she looks at you for a moment, making you shrink where you were kneeled before leaning forward, gently grasping your chin again, her face millimetres from yours.

“It’s the least you can do.” She threatens before leaning back on her hands, nodding towards her cock. She nearly folds and leans forward to kiss you when she sees the big, sweet, doe eyes you give her — so far removed from your usual glare. If she knew that all she had to do was dom the good girl out of you, her previous month would have been a lot easier.

You gingerly grip the shaft with your hand, bringing your face towards it. God, it smells like you still— to think that only an hour ago you were on the ground trying to shove it inside yourself. Your brows furrow as you kitten lick the top, before suckling on the top with a low moan in your throat gaining confidence. “Good girl.” She praises as you push down a little, sucking harder to the point where you can taste the breeding liquid. You’re not quite sure if it’s meant to be consumed but you don’t care, you don’t care about anything at this point.

You wanna push down further, but you’re struck with a thought and pull off her with a pop— glaring up at her with some of your leftover brattiness.

“What’s that face for?” She hums. You struggle to find your words.

“You… We’re…” You huff, sulkily and she watches the glimmer of longing pass over your face. “You’re making me suck you off and you haven’t even kissed me.” You finally get it out and she smirks, but not totally in a mean way — more so adoringly. Smushing your cheeks again with her hand, she pulls your face in, meeting you in the middle as her cock brushes against your chest as her lips meet yours. It’s a hard, wet, sloppy kiss with your cheeks smushed but it’ll do, and when she pulls off you with a loud smack she roughly rubs her thumb beneath your pouty bottom lip to remove the residual saliva. “Now get back to work.”

She holds back a giggle at the sight of your own pleased smile as you go back down, licking up the sides and cleaning off the plastic — groaning at the residual taste of you clinging to it. This was cruel, wicked even — and you were enjoying it.

“Thats it. Knew I’d be able to find better use for that mouth. Must be tired from running it so much.” Her voice is gentle despite the degradation and it fills your brain with a hazy, muddled fog — not sure how to feel anymore. You pull up for air after taking as much as you can, and as soon as your lips wrap around the dick again, Abby can’t help herself from pressing her hand down on the back of your head gently, muttering a “‘Can do better than that, pretty.” as you gag around her. This seemed to be the first straw in what broke the camels back.

It had dawned on you, half way through sucking her off that after this she was likely just to throw you out on your ass, back to your room to take care of yourself. Getting you on your knees infront of her was her way of winning once and for all, and this was only one last humiliation to shut you up completely. You hadn’t realised you were in your head until Abby was pulling her strap out your mouth, tilting your chin up to her as she leant forward once more. “Hey. Where’d you go just now?”

You try and break away, trying to catch her tip in your mouth again, jaw a little agape and tongue peeping out but she grips your chin more firmly, shaking you a little. “Hey. Look at me.”

“S’nothing Abby. Just lemme—”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You swallow thickly, shaking your head.

“Then what?”

You suck in a deep breath. “Are you gonna chuck me out after this? Are you… are you only doing this to embarrass me?” She stares at you in perplexity as she watched your mouth turn down, emotions catching up with you as you squeeze your eyes shut — two fat tears sliding down your tears.

“Hey, no.” She’s still a little confused, but she wipes your tears away with the back of her hand anyway. She sighs, pulling you up by the arm and sitting you on her thigh. “Okay. Maybe this kind of thing isn’t for you. That’s okay.”

You wipe your nose, a little calmer and clearer headed now. “I was enjoying it. I think I just… I feel like no one cares about me. It just caught up with me that’s all. We can get back to it.” You go to stand up off her but she holds you tighter, making you look at her.

“I care about you. I stupidly, really care about you.” She speaks sincerely, and you stare at her analytically before realising that she actually truly means it. Abby cares about you.

She pulls you in gently this time, lips locking against yours. It’s not mean, or sarky, or trying to tease you — it’s a real meaningful kiss and you just melt. All that anger, all that competitiveness just melts off you like ice cream on a hot and hazy day. You wrap your arms around her neck, letting her lick into your mouth and dominate your tongue with her own, pulling it in and sucking on it making you shift on her thigh and whimper. You think about grinding down on her thick, cargo covered thighs and how good that might feel after a month of staring at them — but before you can, she’s easing you to lay on your back on the bed.

“Can show you how much I care about you. Maybe we can start over, how’s that sound?” She whispers into the space below your ear, pressing a wet kiss there and you let out a shaky huff, nodding. “Gonna need your words though. That’s how this works, sweet girl.”

“Please show me.”

“Like that, good job.”

Her hands look large, but they feel even larger — especially when they’re beside eachother, running up beneath your top— fingertips brushing over your hard nipples as she tests the waters, smiling against your skin when your back arches up into her, a sensitive whine quietly passing your lips. She slowly drags up your top, pushing herself down your body to pepper kisses down the centre of your chest, letting out a quiet groan of her own when she grips your tit with her hand, massaging the plush flesh. “M—outh” You choke out in a pleasured haze and she chuckles, eyebrows jumping up in amusement as she adjusts her position.

“Should have known you’d know exactly what you want.” She teases before flattening her tongue over the bud of your nipple, pulling back to blow cold air on it to harden it making you wince sensitively. The smile barely leaves her when she dips down, wrapping her pouty pink lips around the bud and sucking, soothing her tongue over it and digging her teeth in ever so slightly, letting them scrape over your nipple when she pulls away. “Fuck, so pretty.” She grits her teeth, reaching up and grabbing it in her hand again letting it jiggle beneath her palm.

You buck your hips again, which directs her attention to your lower regions — forcing her to depart from your breast to continue her journey down your body. She sits up, both hands encasing your waist, rubbing thumbs into your lower ribs gently. “Anyone ever eat your pussy?”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the bold question and your eyes flutter open, not quite remembering when you closed them. “No.”

She grins, like that was just the answer she was after and climbs back down— kissing your stomach and then flipping your skirt up so she could kiss your pubic mound. You shiver, a little insecure but filled with desire more than anything as her hands slide up between your legs. “Open these up for me.” She whispers, and her hot breath wafts over your needing cunt when she reveals it, pulling back to look at it.

You feel your chest and face get hot as she stares— dark eyed and hungry straight at your most private area. “So fucking pretty.” She whispers, thumbs sliding either side of your fat lips and pulling them apart, her brows furrowing. “You always get this wet? Jesus.”

You don’t answer, because you don’t quite have the guts to tell her that you don’t remember the last time someone had aroused you this much, to the point where it’s taken over your body and brain entirely.

She leans in, and you expect her tongue to dart out first — but she spits, directly on your clit making you jolt with a whimper, then chasing it up with the flat of her tongue as her thick arms wrap around your thighs, jaw practically unhinging as she starts eating you like her life depends on it.

You moan, loudly and with less shame as time passes now, grinding your hips up into her face — which she matches by pinning them back down to the bed, only pulling away to briefly grab a cushion from the bed and slot it beneath your hips to elevate you slightly — so fast and expertly you barely realise she’s done it before she’s back to mouthing at your crotch.

“Feels so good!” You whine and she chuckles against you, the vibration of which sends shockwaves through to your stomach. “Need you to fuck me.” You mutter, more to yourself but she acknowledges it anyway, the hands that were massaging your hips sliding between your thighs.

“If you want to take my cock I’m gonna need to prep you. You saw yourself, s’never gonna fit with how tight you are right now.”

With this new information, you feel her finger tips sliding through your soaked folds gently as she suckles on your clit relentlessly. You whine, trying your best not to clamp down when she slides in her finger, and then another. You were in heaven, panting up to the ceiling as she fingerfucks you, l your hand sliding down to encase itself in her golden hair — glowing from the sunset streaming in through the window.

She moans as she tastes you, brows furrowed and eyes clamped shut like she could feel every movement of her tongue herself. “Gonna give you one more okay? Need to stretch you— still so fucking tight.” She speaks against you and all you can do is nod, in fact at that point you’d probably let her do anything she wanted to you. It was such a relief to drop the act, to just relax and let her take care of you.

A third finger prods at your entrance and you wince as she slowly slides it in, looking up at you to watch your expression — brows pinching and eye twitching at the feeling, walls wrapping tightly round her thick fingers. “There you go, pretty girl. Took that like a champ.” She kisses your hip bone before getting back to work, slowly and experimentally fucking her three fingers in and out, curling them up to grind against your upper gummy inner wall.

“Feel like I’m gonna cum, Abby it’s — it’s so much.” You shake, toes curled so hard they’d gone white and she hums kindly against you, pulling off your clit again with a loud spitty pop.

“I know baby, I know. Let it out.” She whispers, rushed and syrupy like she was too on the precipice of a moan. She moves her tongue in quick successions around your clit as you start to buck and ride against her fingers, a clammy sound matching this — your wetness creating music against her knuckles as you fuck against them. “Cum, smart girl, cum.”

You do, and you’re so full it’s like there’s nowhere for the cum to go — and therefore you feel like you might explode, suddenly letting out loud cries and whines as you shake and jerk on the bed, only to be held down by Abby’s strong arms. She moans too, because you’re dripping down her wrists and her chin — seeming to have a never ending quantity of cum as she laps it up. You taste exactly how she thought you would.

You can’t even tell she’s stopped because your legs are still violently shaking for a minute, coming down from your orgasm felt like it would never end— but you were grounded by the feeling of Abby’s lips on your cheek, sliding her hands under your back to hold you. “I know, it’s okay. Good job.” She cooes into your hair, silencing your nonsensical babbles. She doesn’t push you to move onto the next thing, just stroking your skin and pressing her lips to your skin until you were calm.

Abby feels tugging down below, and looks down between your bodies to see your hand wrapped around her shaft, tugging towards you as your legs fall open again limply. She winces like she can feel it, and she swears she can when you lazily run your thumb over the tip that had drizzled some of the pearlescent liquid out from all the movement. She watches you play with the spillage between your fingers, before bringing it to your puffy cunt, spreading it through your folds and whimpering at the sensitivity.

“Shit, babe.” She sighs out, the room feeling suddenly much warmer. “You wanna continue?”

“Mhm. Was prepping to take you, remember?” You brush the loose strand from her braid hanging over her cheek out of her face. The gesture is intimate, like two lovers who have been together for a while. You almost feel embarrassed again but she turns her cheek and kisses your palm.

She nestles the pads of her fingers into your folds again, sliding around in your arousal and you sigh out at the sensitivity, the urge to be filled returning from its brief satisfaction. “Well you’re definitely wet enough.” She smirks in disbelief, and you can’t believe that there was a time where you would have rolled your eyes at such comments — now only doe eyed and lip bitten as your legs fall open wider. Her fingers are replaced by her strap, sliding up and down — collecting your wetness along it, a whimper leaving you when the tip nudges against your swollen clit.

“Think you’re ready for me?” She asks and before she’s even finished the sentence you moan out a quick and desperate ‘yes!’ making her laugh, keeling into herself with her chin to her chest for a moment. She looks cute and you want to kiss her again. In due time, you think. “How long has it been since you last got fucked?” She continues sliding her strap up and down. Abby secretly thinks she’s stalling, because she wants this closeness to last.

You shake your head breathlessly, trying to clear the fog in order to answer her simple question. Why was she asking questions at a time like this?

“Like — nine months maybe a year?” You answer and she nods, understandingly.

“It’s no wonder you’re so tight. This is gonna be quite a squeeze, yeah?” She looks you deep in your eyes, like she did every time she wanted you to really listen.

“I know, s’okay.” You breathe, and at this she takes your hand in her larger one.

“S’gonna be big. You can squeeze my hand if you want. Deep breath in.” She instructs and you slowly inhale as she pushes in, your hand squeezing hers as you clench around her thick length.

The “Fuck” you let out in a breathy groan is obscene and borderline pornagraphic, which makes Abby fight the urge to bottom out completely and shove her cock inside you fully all at once, but she’s patient, her breath hitching as she reassures you.

“I know, I know.” is all she can say as she pushes in further.

“W—wait.” You tense up a little and she freezes with no hesitation, letting you adjust to the stretch as she drops kisses onto your jaw until you were ready. This happened a couple of times, and she’d oblige to your wishes each time you halt her until she was fully seated inside you.

You felt like the air had been punched out of you, Abby was so deep. “Hows that?” She whispers.

“So big.” You mewl.

“Taking it so well. See, we got it all in the end.” She praises, quiet and gleeful watching you blissed out beneath her.

“Y’not getting paid enough for this, he’s not paying you enough to deal with me.” You babble into her shoulder in regards to her deal with your father, legs trembling around her hips.

“You kidding me? He’s paying me to fuck his daughters pretty pussy, think I’ll be okay.” She scoffs into your neck, sucking wet kisses into the skin there, hips still not moving as you adjust.

“S’not why he’s paying you.” Your nose turns up and she chuckles before lifting her face to hover right above yours, lips occasionally brushing. She begins to move her hips and you both gasp at the feeling.

“How about… instead of arguing with me… you shut up and take my fucking strap.” She whispers temptingly and you go limp again, apart from your hips which twitch against her movements letting her grind her strap in and out of you slowly.

“Oh my god!” You cry, letting go of her hand to wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her into you to connect your lips. She lets you whimper against her and suck on her bottom lip whilst she concentrates on finding that angle. She knows she’s struck gold when your legs jerk around her before your heels dig into her ass.

“Faster please Abby, please faster!” You sound deranged, at the point she wanted you all along — cockdrunk and desperate without a care in the world. She clenches around nothing at the thought of just keeping you this dumb all the time.

She speeds up on command, hips smacking against you now as she pulls away to watch the way your tits bounce beneath her. “Oh baby, you’re fucking taking it.” She pants, impressed at how quickly you’ve allowed her to really go in on you. She reaches between you to rub your clit and you squeal, tears springing to your eyes. “Yeah? Want me to rub it? S’it that good, pretty girl?”

“Yes! Please! I— I can’t Abby it’s too — Abby please I wanna— need to cum!” Your hands are curled into her t-shirt adorably which only makes her go harder, practically punching the sounds out of you like a squeaky toy each time she thrusts. You feel yourself teetering over the edge once more, abused pussy relentlessly sucking her in with obscene wet noises attached. Before you can release, your hand reaches down to cup the balls of the strap. “Want it inside, please Ab— please want it inside me—” You ramble and she catches on, and as you tense up, letting out a pained whine as you cum, she slides her hand on top of yours, pressing down to empty the cum lube inside you. The feeling of the warm liquid spurting against your cervix makes you shake, sobbing uncontrollably suddenly as you ride it out.

“There you go, good fucking girl. You like that don’t you? Fuck, letting me breed you like this the first time we fuck? You dirty fucking girl. Such a pretty fucking girl.” She’s babbling too, unravelled by the beauty that was you cumming the way you did. She knew she was good at fucking, but to make someone cry like that was driving her insane.

You’re floating when she pulls out, the two of you breathless and fucked out. Effortlessly, she pushes her hands under your arms and drags you further up the bed until you’re laying against the pillow and she drops down besides you, pulling you into her chest, t-shirt slightly damp with sweat. You listen to her heart thundering in her chest, and it lulls you into a sleepy and relaxed zone, pulling your thigh up over her hip with her help, her thumb stroking the crease where your ass and thigh connects.

“Did so good. The sounds you make are so pretty.” She whispers like she was trying to lull you to sleep. You shift, breath stammering in your throat and nearly choking you when your used pussy glides over her shaft— the veins and ridges catching against your clit making your hips jerk on her, unable to stop yourself from slowly and feverishly rubbing down on her as you breathe heavily in the quiet room.

“Want more, sweet girl?” She cooes, hand running down the back of your head to cup it lovingly.

“Too sore.” It comes out muffled into her t-shirt, aimlessly rocking your hips.

“That’s alright. Just keep… keep doing this.” She relaxes into the bed, kissing your forehead and letting you please yourself, grinding into the mixture of your juices and the fake cum soaking the both of your lower halves. It was messy and bordering on gross, but made your needy clit throb all the more. You were truly insatiable. Had it really been that long?

She sighed in pleasure at the feeling of you grinding against her, the position making her harness press deliciously into her own clit, pleasing you both. Perhaps she too could get off from this.

The sun had gone in, and the room had grown dark. But this time, you weren’t afraid — infact the growing inkiness of the sky was the last thing on your mind— safe, warm and dumb in Abby’s strong arms.

Maybe you’d let her stick around.

[mistydeyes]

141 boys and your oddly specific hobby

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summary: Most people have hobbies like drawing or bird watching, however, yours are more unique. Regardless of your odd interests, the 141 still loves you, their quirky significant other!

pairing: 141 x gn!Reader

warnings: swearing

a/n: By popular vote, this won so please enjoy :)

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Price - matchbook collecting

When you first met Price, it was when you both dipped your hands into the matchbook jar. The jar sat at the host stand of a dive bar and you both happened to go for it at the same time. Although, you two had different motives. Him, because he forgot his lighter, and you, because you wanted to add something else to your collection. He wouldn’t pass up on a pretty face who he presumed also smoked, so he invited you for a light. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you were just a collector so you joined him outside.

What started as a quick smoke ended up being two hours of witty conversation. As your pleasantries turned into various topics and ramblings, you were glad you finished the cigar quickly, trying to emulate the mature man’s actions. He vaguely talked about his occupation, a high-ranking military man, and you talked about your non-comparable, boring civilian life. However as the late night hours slowly approached, you wrote your number on his matchbook and thanked him for the cigar and friendly chat.

On your next date, you revealed your odd hobby to Price. “I’ve been collecting them as a child. It’s like collecting snow globes from different destinations but much easier to display and transport,” you said as you both leisurely sipped your drinks. “And to think I thought you were out for a smoke, good thing I left my lighter that day, Love” he replied and gave you a subtle wink. You eventually showed him pictures of your growing collection, recounting where each one was from and showing him some of your favorites.

Soon everywhere he went, Price noticed the unique matchbooks. It started with pocketing a matchbox while he was in Amsterdam and grew slowly. Soon he would start a collection of his own, bringing them home to you with a story of where they each came from. After what seemed like 30 matchbooks in Price's collection, the 141 took notice. “Captain, you some pyromaniac or something,” Soap joked. “Just for my partner, weird collection of there’s” Price responded and no one questioned him further. Although, he still keeps the matchbook that has your number on it in his collection.

Soap - soap making

“You’re never gonna believe me, but I make soap as a side business.” Soap thought it was a joke at first, something to make him laugh when you first met. But when he entered your flat, he was shocked at how honest you were. Your walls were filled with shelves lined with every scent known to man along with hundreds of designed soaps. It smelled like a Lush store when he walked in and he marveled at your creations.

You watched him bask in the glory of the soap for a moment as you laughed heartily. "I told you so," you said as he went about sniffing each one and examining them. You organized them by scent and interrupted him as he approached the floral section. "Having fun there, Johnny?" you asked and he looked up at you as he held one of your rose-scented creations in his hand. "Can't believe this," he said and you smiled as he continued. Eventually, after he had smelt every single bar, you took him into a room where you were working on some new items for your fall collection.

"You have more!" he gasped and went to examine the bars of soap in their molds. "My Autumn collection," you said proudly, "here come smell this one." You led him to a table that housed an orange-hued soap slab with leaves delicately placed throughout the hardened bar. He held the slab in one hand and placed it up to his nose. His eyes lit up as a mix of cinnamon, nutmeg, and pumpkin filled his nostrils. "Smells like a pie," he joked and you showed him various others.

For his return from deployment, you had a surprise. You had spent weeks perfecting this formula and finally were satisfied. As you walked to his flat, you gently tugged on the striped ribbon that tied the parcel together. When he opened the door, he noticed the box in your hands and ushered you in. He excitedly tugged the ribbon off the box and opened it. He gasped when he saw two bars in the colors of the Scottish flag lying on a pile of recycled confetti. "What's this?" he asked and you motioned for him to turn the bars over and smell them. As his calloused hands turned the soft bar over, he noticed the packaging said "The Scotsman." He smiled widely as he placed them both up to his nose, taking in the smells of rain and pine. You swear you could see him tear up when he said, "Reminds me of my own home."

After this, he insisted you mass produce these bars of soap for his friends. You sheepishly did so and when you presented it to the other 141, Gaz loudly remarked, "He's finally done it, Soap is now a bar of soap." 

Gaz - raising butterflies

He had heard about people having pets—even raising chickens but never butterflies. Your house was a sanctuary, filled with small enclosures of cocoons along with various flowers for your butterflies to suck nectar from. When he entered your house, it was like that scene where Alice first sees all the flowers in Wonderland. He felt like a child, seeing all the gorgeous wings floating around the room. He saw a delicately monarch land on a peony and approached it quietly.

"Here hold out your finger like this," you said and showed him how to stand gently and hold out his pointer finger. As he followed your actions, the butterfly gently landed on him. He looked in awe at the insect and you stealthily took a picture of him. The rest of the afternoon, you described to him what flowers butterflies like best and the lengthy process of tending to them before they reached metamorphosis.

Whenever Gaz was on deployment, he would always visit to relax in the butterfly sanctuary. He loved watching as you tended to the flowers and gently fed the butterflies sugar water. Even when he was on a mission, he would be sure to ask about some of his favorite butterflies, even going so far as to name them. "How's my girl, Cressia, doing?" he asked over FaceTime as you walked to find the Great spangled fritillary amongst the zinnias. "Here she is!" you exclaimed and pointed the camera at Cressia, a gorgeous butterfly with golden yellow wings. You could hear someone snicker in the background but Kyle didn't care as he continued to take screenshot after screenshot.

For your first anniversary, Kyle was unfortunately deployed and couldn't celebrate with you. This didn't stop him from showering you with gifts. As you sat in the conservatory, you could hear the doorbell ring. You emerged to find the postman holding two boxes for you, one smaller than the other. You took them inside as you delicately opened up the larger package. Inside, was a note describing the care for 23 painted butterflies along with rows of small cocoons. You smiled as you read the instructions and went to place the new members into their homes. After you got them settled, you opened the small box to reveal a necklace with a small butterfly charm carved from a pearl. A note inside read, "Happy anniversary, now you can carry a butterfly with you anywhere you go."

Ghost - bookbinding

When you first invited Simon over he was quick to notice your many bookshelves all lined with books of the same aesthetic. He knew some of these were Penguin clothbound Classics but was certain they hadn't bound The Hunger Games in their unique cover. As he held The Harry Potter novels and My Year of Rest and Relaxation in his hands, he silently contemplated if he had missed a few years and these were published classics. You came into the library with two glasses and laughed at his bewildered gaze. "You discovered my little hobby, Simon," you joked and offered him a glass. As he sipped on The Paper Plane cocktail, you recounted how you would spend your free time rebinding books that didn't match your aesthetic. "It took me a while but having a matching library like this one is worth it," you said and waved your arm to the rows of books, all with a unifying factor.

As you entered into a long-term relationship, it was clear Simon loved your hobby and indulged in it. Every time he visited, he insisted on bringing you the few books he owned to create Penguin Classic-like covers. From military manuals to a vintage copy of The Art of War, you quickly rebound them and presented him with his new book. He even told you that some of his colleagues had complimented your handiwork. You always blushed in response, citing your eye for design as the cause of all the madness.

Eventually, Simon gifted you with the paperback Penguin Classics. You opened the door to see him carrying a pile of books in his arms. You quickly ushered him to the library where he set them all down on your vintage leather couch. "For the person, that has everything," he said and you went to examine all of the books. He had seemingly bought out the whole collection as you marveled at each of the covers. "Each one of them has an art piece on it," he said and you began to notice the trend. You gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek as you held Wuthering Heights in your hand. He quickly snatched it out of your hands before you could even start to rip off the cover. "Keep these, I know you have a theme going on but it doesn't hurt to have some variety," he said and gave you back the book as you stared up at him.

Now whenever someone comes to visit you, they always notice the black-bound books on display. Although they do stick out, you love recounting the story of how your significant other bought you some of the most prized objects in your collection.

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #15 - FINALE

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: All things end.

Word count: 3,400

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous]

Traveling through Strange’s inter-dimensional portal is a different experience from going through one of Miguel’s. It’s less of a laser light show and more of a psychedelic drug trip.

Shapes and patterns warps in front of you, and the strength of gravity seems to press in against you from all sides as you fall upwards through an endless space.

You lose track of time. You don’t know how long you’ve been in here. It could be hours or seconds, but you can't tell the difference. Then it stops.

There is a gentle light ahead of you, and as you pass through it, the soft warmth of it trickles away. Then you find yourself standing in a familiar vast and empty space once again.

Staring into the far distance, the only thing you see is the blank whiteness ahead of you, just as jarring and endless as last time.

You clutch onto the pink-gemmed amulet hanging from your neck, gifted to you by Strange. A magical artifact that’s meant to help you keep your physical form in this space so you don’t fade away like you did last time.

Everything is static here, stale. There’s no air flow, no sense of temperature. The environment is neither hot nor cold against your skin, but somehow you feel an ever-present chill seeping into your bones.

Taking a deep breath, you start to walk forward.

You're shivering with each step you take. There's no sound under your step. No shadows cast under the soles of your feet.

"Boss lady,” Lyla pipes up, her hologram avatar hovering over your shoulders. “I really don't like this. Let's go back home, Beyoncé is holding a concert in Amsterdam! I got us front row seat tickets."

It's a valiant attempt, Miguel really did a great job coding her, but you’re not going back without him. Ignoring Lyla, you continue on your path.

There’s no sign of Miguel anywhere. It's all infinite whiteness as far as the eye can see, with no signs of an end.

The last two times you were here, you didn’t have a chance to gain an understanding of how big this space is. For all you know it could be as vast and endless as the universe itself. What if you’re stuck wandering in this place for an eternity and still never find Miguel?

You walk on, eyes roaming the space, and a dull ache starts to form behind them from staring at the glaring brightness.

There! Off to your left, you finally spot… something.

Your heart leaps in your chest as you clock a disruption in the blank whiteness. A tiny disruption. Or maybe it’s just far away? The emptiness of this place is hell on your depth perception. You veer in that direction, squinting as you approach, until you’re finally close enough to make out what it is.

In the middle of the vast nothingness, there is a tiny ball of crumpled up yellowish paper floating at knee height.

Huh?

Isn't this a complete void where nothing exists or can exist? Why is there trash here?

You squat down hunching over your knees until the little paper ball is eye level and inspect it closer.

The color and thickness of the paper is familiar. It looks like a post-it note that’s been folded in half, tiny, uneven triangles sticking out at each of the four corners.

How weird.

Crumpled as it is, you can see now that the crooked folds and creases aren't all random. Looking closely, there seems to have been a failed attempt of trying to fold them in a sequence but lacking the proper hand to eye dexterity to do it properly.

Wait, is this…? It must be.

You recognize it now. It’s one of your unfortunate attempts at an origami frog from when you were killing time with Miguel at your work. But what is it doing here of all places?

Tentatively reaching out, you poke at the piece of paper. To your surprise there’s resistance.

That's... odd.

There's nothing else here. Nothing holding it.

Just the failed paper frog suspended in thin air.

You try again, grabbing a corner of the paper this time, but the results are the same. It stubbornly refuses to move. When you tug, it jerks back, away from you.

Squinting your eyes, you lean closer and carefully observe the space in front of you.

Now when you’re paying close attention, you can just about make out a vague, almost invisible outline.

It’s barely there, and you can only tell because the blank whiteness in front of you seems to warp slightly with the smallest tremor of a movement.

Whatever this is, it really doesn’t want you to take your piece of trash back from it.

You frown in annoyance. This doesn't make sense. Why would your poor deformed paper frog even be here? The only people who even had anything to do with the stupid thing are you and–

"Miguel?"

The movement stills at your voice.

When you don't look away, it seems spooked by your gaze, shirking at the attention. The thing shifts in its shape, shrinking down like it's trying to make itself smaller.

You try to move closer, and the obscure translucent form moves away from you, gliding seamlessly into the empty space.

Without a shape it takes you a few moments before you register its movement and what it's trying to do. It's moving fast, as if it's trying to flee from you.

Because it is. Shit!

You run after it, guided by the vague hazy contour against the nothingness that surrounds you. Even without legs, this shapeless thing is moving fast.

"Stop!" you shout, "Stop, stop, please stop! It's me!"

You leap forward, grabbing at the empty outline in front of you, and to your surprise find purchase on the nothingness under your grip.

"Miguel, stop running!" you shout.

It does. He does.

There is something there now, a semi-invisible mass, slightly more opaque than it was a second ago.

You open your mouth to speak, but you don't know what to say. Don't even know for certain that this is Miguel or not.

But you hope it is. Have to believe it is. You’re too desperate to overthink it, and you spout the first thing that comes into your head.

"Come back, Miguel. Come back, and I'll take you back to that cheap Chinese diner you liked so much. We can get all the food you want, all of it deep fried! I'll even share the egg tarts this time."

You think you see something shift before you. It could just be your imagination, but the tiniest speck of color seems to emerge from within the translucent mass.

Somehow, whatever you’re doing must be working, and you quickly try to think of what else you can say that will tempt him to come back.

Food. Maybe more about food will work? It worked for you, after all.

"The Reese buttercups in our other apartment are all expired, but I think they'd still be okay to eat, and– and– And I'll make you cookies if you come back! Blue spiderman ones that match your suit."

The speck of color pops, fading into thin air, your fingers sinking further into the nothingness of his form, and a spike of panic stabs through your chest.

Why isn’t it working!? Was it not the food that made him react after all? You don’t know what else to try.

That first time you were here, Miguel was able to bring you back to yourself with the intimate details he knew from the other lifetime you two had shared. Maybe you can do the same.

"Your name is Miguel O'hara," you start, "and- and-" And then you have to stop, not sure of what else to say. "And your eyes are red... for some reason. And you have fangs! Fangs that can deliver some kind of fucking paralysis venom, which is completely ridiculous by the way!"

Nothing happens. There’s no change save for that the form underneath you squirms and tries to get away from your grip.

"And... and..."

Shit. This is getting you nowhere.

Unlike Miguel, you haven't had the front seat experience of living a lifetime together with him. There's only so much you know about him. Because that man is more secretive than a CIA agent.

You bite down on your lip in frustration.

"Goddamnit, Miguel! I barely know anything about you because you never tell me shit!"

The shape underneath you stops wiggling underneath you.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you gather yourself, then you reopen them again, staring up at the upper part of the half-invisible shape like he's standing in front of you.

There's no point in trying to beat Miguel at a game of knowledge. You will never win. You never got to learn or memorize every personal and intimate detail about the man and his life. But there's one thing that you know beyond any doubt.

"I miss you," you tell him.

Strokes of soft colors streaks through the translucent mass at your words. A gentle blossoming spreads and you can see the opaque material reform inch by inch, until it vaguely resembles the silhouette of a body.

"I can’t even eat without you around, which has never happened to me before. I’ve been able to eat through food poisoning. But now the cupcakes from Gladis remind me of you and how you're not here, and they taste like cardboard."

He feels firmer somehow, more solid, and there’s even the faintest trace of warmth under your fingertips. Hope flutters in your chest at the change, and you tighten your grip on him.

“I miss you. More than I ever thought it could be possible to miss someone."

You can faintly make out limbs and shoulders, and the outline of a head.

"I miss falling asleep next to you. It's too quiet without your snoring, and the bed is too big without you there."

The body grows taller, and you can see the familiar tan of his skin now, the line of his jaw and the sharp angle of his nose re-materializing before your eyes.

"I miss watching you eat three dozen tacos in one sitting, scaring the tables around us. I miss having you with me and getting to talk to you, or even just sitting next to you doing nothing.”

You lean up towards him, raised on the tip of your toes, until you're up against him. “I just want you to be here with me. Please come back," you whisper into him.

Then he's there. Right in front of you, large and firm and warm as he towers above you, forehead pressed against yours, in your arms.

He’s here. Miguel is here.

His hair is a soft tousled mess. Eyes warm and hazy as he slowly blinks them open like he's just woken up from a hibernation while he gazes down on your face in an intimate silence.

It doesn’t last for very long. His gaze sharpens, blinking in rapid succession as confusion bleeds into his face. You can see the exact moment that consciousness and awareness fully return to him. Because he steps back from you, red eyes burning with an angry determination.

"What are you doing here?" he snarls at you.

Because of course he does. Of course anger is his first reaction at seeing you here.

"You can't be here," he says.

You don't even get a word in before Miguel reaches for your wrist.

"Lyla!" he barks out, and there’s a ping on your arm in response.

"Lyla, stand down," you command, smacking your palm over the face of the dial before the hologram can pop up. You already know that the next words out of his mouth will be a command to whisk you away again if you let him speak.

His lips twist into a frustrated snarl. Eyes glowing with that red fury that you recognize by now as the beginnings of an anger tantrum.

“Why don't you get it? I need to do this," he seethes, gesturing at the void, "I have to disappear. For your sake! It's my fault. I'm the reason you keep dying. I’m killing you!”

“That’s not true! You saved me! You caught me when I fell off the Chrysler building—twice!—and–”

“That doesn’t matter!” he snarls, rounding on you, “Don’t you understand!? You’re still going to die! If I'm with you, you die.”

There’s a moment of resounding silence, and you watch as the anger bleeds away from Miguel’s face, leaving something else in its place.

Something like grief.

“I can’t– I can’t do that again,” he says quietly, and he looks so sad that it damn near breaks your heart.

“Miguel…”

You don’t know what to say in the face of such raw and obvious grief. Until… suddenly, you do.

“Whether you're here or not, I could still die, Miguel."

Your words seem to hit him like a blow, and he flinches back, his eyes going round and liquid, open mouth quivering for a moment before it pulls right into a hard downturned line.

"Even if you were gone, there still wouldn’t be any guarantees," you say.

You brush your hand alongside his, trying to hold his hand in yours but he draws it away.

"You could save me by erasing yourself from existence and tomorrow a bus driver that isn't paying attention might hit me and I'd die anyhow," you continue, and he flinches visibly. "You can't control these things, and I would rather be with you and take the chance and be happy until it happens."

His hand balls up in agitation at his side. "I– I just don't want you to die again," he says, helplessness bleeding through every syllable of his words.

Your heart aches at his obvious pain. All you want, all you've ever wanted is to make that pain a little bit smaller. You step forward closing the distance between you, and he doesn't back away or move from you this time.

“Everybody dies. Regardless of what happens here I will too someday. But you’ve given me extra time. You did that. You saved me, again and again. And I’m so happy that you did. That I got to have that time with you. To share donuts with you in bed, or fold post-its frogs in the office."

His eyes close tightly, and he gives a slight shake of his head, grief and denial warring in his features. “None of that matters if you don’t survive,” he says quietly.

“You say it doesn’t matter, but it does, Miguel. Those moments matter to me. And even if we die here in this stupid video game loading screen, or if we make it out of here, but something else gets me, it will still matter to me.”

There's no telling if your grand speech is actually getting through to him because he's still not looking at you or meeting your eyes. You grab at his shoulder for his attention. It's all you can do to not shake him and rattle him until he accepts what you are trying to tell him.

"I want to be with you, and even if you can’t save me in the end, that's okay. I just want to be with you for as long as I can. However long or short of a time that is, I won’t have any regrets as long as I get to spend it with you. I told you, didn’t I? Every me in every universe would say the same, given a choice."

He doesn’t respond this time and part of you feels like you’re talking to a besieged wall. Reaching up, you cup his cheeks in your hands and pull his face down to meet your eyes.

“How many other universes are out there where those versions of us never get to know each other at all? …Thousands? …Millions? We’re the lucky ones, Miguel. We got to meet, and we have a chance against all odds. So what if it means we have to jump through a few hoops and universes to be together?”

His eyes open fully at your words, and lock on your face. You think you can see the cracks in his defenses. His hands unfurl and twitch at his sides as if he’s fighting himself to reach for you.

"I love you,” you tell him, and his lips part with a slight tremble.

You’re running out of things to say that can convince him now. The only thing that’s left is for Miguel to make the choice.

Your hand slides down from his face, and he looks distraught at the loss of contact as you take one small step back and away from him.

"Let's try to be happy this time," you tell him.

Reaching out your hand towards him, you try your best to smile through your nervousness, hoping that he is going to say yes to you this time despite his trademark stubbornness that you’ve come to love and hate sometimes.

Miguel looks at your hand, hesitation carved into every shade of red in those eyes. His hand flexes by his side, but doesn’t move.

He’s still unsure, and hope falls flat in your chest at the thought that he might very well make the choice to stay and destroy himself despite how much you don’t want him to.

But then he nods, and your heart begins to sing.

Tentative as it may be, his arm still reaches out towards you, fingers seeking out yours and he takes your hand.

"Yeah," he answers quietly. “Let’s be happy.”

Your smile grows wider, eyes watery as your vision blur around the edges when you look up at him. Happiness blossoming in your chest until it feels so full you think your ribs might burst from it.

You squeeze down on his larger hands in yours, to reassure yourself that he is really here, with you. And he is.

"Lyla," you say, and your watch pings at your command, before Lyla’s face lights up the space above.

"Good to have you back with us, boss," she says with a salute in Miguel’s direction. “Where to now?” 

“Lyla,” he acknowledges with a faint smile and a nod, but he doesn’t look away from your face. "Do the thing. Take us home. Home-home."

Warm amber light rises up to surround you both, and Miguel pulls you into his chest. A kaleidoscope of colors explodes before your eyes, swirling around the two of you as he holds you in his arms.

You can't stop smiling at him, grinning like an idiot, as you tilt up to press your forehead to his.

Reality reforms around you, specks of navy-blue filling the large and vast sky. You're standing on the rooftop of a tall building surrounded by the skyline of brightly lit skyscrapers, a labyrinth of levitating bridges and streets laid out beneath. Floating vehicles buzz and soar through the sky like flamboyant dragonflies. Below your feet there is an ocean of dotted neon lights and colorful hologram billboards filling every inch and corner of the city below.

This must be Miguel's home dimension. What did he call it?  Earth-3000-something? Nueva York, he said, and it certainly looks new—bright and fantastical, like nothing you’ve ever known before—but you only have eyes for the man in front of you.

Miguel pulls back slightly, squeezing down on your hand.

"So what do we do now? As long as I exist, the universe will still be out to get you," he says.

Despite the bleakness of the picture he’s painting, his eyes are soft and there’s something that sounds like hope in his tone.

You smile at him, eyes narrowing against the bright neon lights of the tall towering buildings around you.

"We live,” you answer, “Together. As long as we can. I hear you're some kind of genius scientist or something. I'm sure we'll think of something fun to do in the infinite multiverse."

“What do you want to do first?” he asks.

“Sleep.”

He's smiling at you, the corners of his fangs peeking out against his lower lip, eyes squinting in a way that makes him look almost boyish.

The sight of it makes your cheeks warm pleasantly and affection blossoms endlessly in your chest for him.

This isn’t the end, but if it were, it feels like it's a good one this time. Miguel walks out towards the ledge of the building, turning back to reach out his hand to you.

"Let’s go, Cielito."

[Nueva York, Earth 928-C]

The end.

Credit and Dedication: One final time, this is dedicated to @thirstworldproblemss who is my muse, my partner-in-writing-&-brainstorming, who makes writing so much more fun everyday.

And then of course. To everyone of you. We are finally here. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. I want to thank everyone who has followed along in this story this entire time. Writing Every You Every Me has been one of the most joyous writing experiences I've had. That is largely because of you guys! Thank you for every heartfelt feedback you guys have left here, thank you for coming into my asks, thank you for clicking that little heart on the bottom letting me know you've read it and for the lurkers who has followed along all the while, thank you for taking the time to read this story of mine! Having this audience has made me grow so much as a writer. Having your company while I wrote this has brought me so much joy. Reading everyone's reactions and theories has been a privilege that not a lot of writers get in the process of writing a multi-chaptered story. Thank you so so much.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[chukys-mouthguard]

fight night

2.5k words

genre: angst, minor fluff, suggested smut

featuring: auston matthews x female reader

summary: after a fight results in auston uninviting you to the nhl awards, you both end up at UFC 303

“Look, you need to chill the fuck out okay? If you don’t like the people I’m hanging out with here, then don’t bother fucking coming tonight. I’ll just see you when I’m back in town.”

Before you could get another word in, Auston had hung up the phone. The two of you getting in a heated argument about the people he was hanging out with while in Las Vegas for a slew of appearances. The most important being the NHL Awards, which you were supposed to attend alongside him. But not anymore.

You didn’t hate Auston’s friend group per say, but he’d been adopting a new workout routine for the offseason, and they didn’t necessarily seem to be helping that. He’d been drinking a lot, something that wasn’t necessarily uncommon for him, but heavy drinking was not going to put him on good terms with his conditioning coach.

Having just expressed your concerns turning into a huge fight between the two of you. It probably didn’t help that you hadn’t seen in each other in weeks, the awards show meant to be the event that brought you two back together. But now here you were, already in Vegas since you’d flown in that day, with your agenda now cleared. Your flight home not for two days as you anticipated spending time with Auston before flying back out.

As you contemplated rebooking your flight, a call came in from your manager, not something you had been expecting.

“Hey y/n, you’re in Las Vegas for a few days right?”

“Um, yeah, I’m in Vegas right now. What’s up?”

“Well, you know how we just closed that sponsorship deal for you with New Amsterdam Vodka?”

Truly you had no clue how your manager landed you that sponsorship, it being one of the best brands you’d gotten a deal with to date. You’d like to think it was because of how much you publicized your love for Pink Whitney, but who really knows.

“Well, they had some things come up. And long story short, can you attend the UFC fight tomorrow night? We’ve got Olivia on a plane flying in as we speak.”

Olivia was your podcast co-host that was also signed to a deal with New Amsterdam. The two of you were the hottest up and coming podcasters who were quickly gaining notoriety for your ability to talk sports and pop culture, while making it entertaining and understandable for all audiences.

“Um, yeah, I can definitely attend the fight. My schedule is completely free.”

“Great! We’ve got an itinerary for the both of you that I’ll send over shortly, because there’s gonna be some brand activation type things needed. And we’ve got stylists coming to your hotel tomorrow afternoon to help you girls with outfits, hair, and makeup!”

After giving you the last few details, you hung up with your manager. A bit shocked at the opportunity you were getting, but thankful to have some sort of distraction to look forward to and hopefully get your mind off the fight you had with Auston.

-

Entering T-Mobile arena, you honestly weren’t sure what to expect out of the much anticipated UFC 303, but it was something to cross off your bingo card for the year. Despite your lack of interest in the fights themselves, you were excited to attend and at least say you were there.

Olivia had gotten in late last night and you had to fill her in on everything. Why you fought with Auston, how he uninvited you from being his guest at the awards show. And how you were thankful for this appearance to get your mind off of him. The stylists had thrown together a more casual look for you: light wash ripped boyfriend jeans, a white tank top, and an oversized black and yellow racing jacket. Elevating the look a bit with some heeled boots. Olivia’s outfit complimenting yours well, both your hair and makeup done just enough to look minimal but still flawless. And with a few New Amsterdam cocktails already in your systems, you were ready to roll.

The arena had all the celebrities attending enter away from the general public, meaning you’d be passing some familiar faces in the tunnels as you were led to your seats. Everyone from Gordon Ramsey to Aaron Rodgers, even-your boyfriend.

“Well fuck…”

Immediately noticing the reason for your reaction, Olivia tried to block Auston from seeing you. But it was too late. His eyes went wide as he saw you, looking you up and down, thank god you looked this good. He was with fellow NHLer Clayton Keller as they awaited an usher to guide them to their seats.

Though shocked to see you at the event, he knew it must have been something your manager had pulled off for you. A soft smile on Auston’s lips as he watched you interact with the New Amsterdam reps, he couldn’t help but be proud of you. He’s seen how much you’ve poured into your podcast, and how hard you’ve worked for moments like these. Despite the argument, he still cared about you and loved seeing you in your element.

He hadn’t gotten the chance to say anything as you were quickly pulled off in the opposite direction. Most likely to film some type of ad for the brand. Pulling out his phone he shot you a quick text, making sure you got to hear from him in case he didn’t see you the rest of the night.

You look so fucking beautiful my love.

The text brought a smile to your face as you quickly typed back a response before you were pulled aside for an interview alongside Olivia.

“Lastly, y/n, I wanted to extend a congratulations to your boyfriend, Auston Matthews of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Winner of the Richard Trophy last night at the NHL Awards.”

“Oh thank you so much.”

The comment was a bit unexpected, though it wasn’t uncommon to get asked about Auston since your relationship was very much public.

“We didn’t see you in attendance last night with Auston, hopefully there isn’t any trouble in paradise there?”

Laughing off the comment you shook your head, “No, not at all! There unfortunately was some last minute conflicts that prevented me from attending. But I’m so proud of him, I wish I could have been there. Luckily we have a night like tonight where we can just have some fun, and celebrate. So, I’m glad we were able to both be here!”

The interview wrapped up and you took a deep breath, Olivia squeezing your arm in reassurance. “I don’t know how you pulled that answer out of your ass, but that was so good!” The two of you laughed as an usher finally led you to your seats.

“I truly don’t even know what answer I gave, my brain was on autopilot. I’m just glad I didn’t say something stupid.”

“Are you gonna talk to him tonight at all?”

Stopping in your tracks as your usher gestured to your seats, your eyes settling on your boyfriend who was standing with his friends just next to where you’d be sitting for the night.

“Well I might not have much of a choice if I’m stuck sitting next to him.”

The two of you set your bags down at your seats, mingling a bit with the people around you. Remembering how your manager always preached to you both network as much as possible at events like these.

As you were talking with a rep from some coffee brand, trying your best to convince them to send some product to you girls to try, you felt an arm snacking around your waist. Immediately knowing it was Auston as your hand entangled with his at your hip.

Thanking the rep for their time, giving them your agents number, you finally were able to turn your attention to Auston. Who patiently stood at your side, a smile on his face as he watched you doing your thing.

“Hey baby.”

“Hi.”

He gave you a kiss before pulling you into his chest, rubbing your back as he knew you were still frustrated with him. Doing his best to try and make up for being an asshole.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight?”

He pulled you towards your seats, his hand immediately resting on your thigh as you sat down. Eyes fixated on you as he sipped his drink.

“Well, neither did I. Until I got the call ten minutes after someone uninvited me from their awards show last night.”

You shot him a glare as he gently squeezed your thigh. “Look, about that, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that and-“

“Auston, it’s fine. Tonight, I just want to have fun, we don’t need to talk about it right now. Especially because I’ve had enough cocktails that you get me riled up, you and I will end up in that ring as the main event.”

He smirked at you as he leaned in close, stealing a kiss from you. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Pushing him away as you tried to hide your blush, you ignored his horny thoughts. “Auston Matthews, we might need to cut you off. Someone is already feeling themselves tonight.”

A slight whine left his lips as he moved his hand, now draping an arm over your shoulder. “I can’t help that you look so good babe. Plus, I haven’t seen you in weeks, you expect me to not have my hands all over you? Most importantly, I need to make up for being such a dick last night.”

“Well that is very true. I didn’t even get to celebrate your big trophy win with you.”

A pout on your lips as you glanced up at him, deciding that you’d have some fun making him regret not inviting you. “I even brought your favorite blue lace set to wear under my dress last night, but, it just stayed in my suitcase since you didn’t want me there.” Fingers lightly playing with his chains as you spoke, making sure to really get under his skin.

The look in his eyes immediately turning to one of lust as he thought about the set in question. Baby blue lace that hugged your curves perfectly, and while it looked amazing on you he loved it even better on the floor.

“And I said I was sorry baby. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Tilting your chin up he brought your lips to his, clearly forgetting the two of you were in public as his tongue tried pushing past your lips. A slight chuckle leaving your lips as you pulled away from him.

“Babe, I love that you’re wanting to make it up to me. But maybe not front row for everyone to see, okay?”

He rolled his eyes as he obeyed, simply returning a hand to your thigh as the two of you watched as the main events were set to begin shortly.

You swore Auston’s hand crept closer and closer to your inner thigh with the ending of each fight. The alcohol mixed with the thoughts of you wearing his favorite lingerie clearly having him hot and bothered. And while you weren’t turning down the idea, it having been several weeks since you’d gotten your hand on him, you were still here for work and needed to act professional.

He luckily kept his cool for the remainder of the night, respecting when you had to remind him that you were there for work while he was there for fun. The two of you leaving hand in hand as he definitely was not letting you out of his sight. His mind focused on getting you back to his hotel and making up for not having you by his side at the awards show.

The second the door to his room closed you were pulled into his lap as he sat at the edge of the bed. One hand resting on your hip while the other pulled you in for a kiss.

“You do look fucking stunning tonight baby.”

A smile crept across your lips as your arms wrapped around his neck, thanking him as your eyes locked with his. “And, I’m sorry about last night. I should’ve never been that way, I needed you there with me. And, I let some dumb shit get me all worked up. I know you are just looking out for me, and I appreciate that so much. I love how much you care for me.”

Resting your forehead on his, you sighed, not even caring about the fight anymore. Knowing it was stupid, but appreciating his apology.

“I do care about you, a lot. And, maybe sometimes I overstep a bit. But it’s all out of love for you Auston. I wish I could’ve been there for you last night, but I’m here now. And there’s no place I’d rather be.”

“While I couldn’t agree more, I do wish I could’ve gotten to see that blue lace set on you last night. Would’ve been a nice way to celebrate that’s for sure.”

Slipping from his lap as he hands reached out to try and pull you back, you slowly discarded of your jacket. Standing in front of him with a smile on your face as he watched you in anticipation.

“Well, maybe we can still celebrate a day late.”

Pulling your tank top over your head, you revealed that you were in fact in the blue lace number. Auston biting his tongue at the sight of you in the bra, his hands wanting to make quick work of your jeans to see you in the matching thong.

“Fuck…but if you didn’t know you’d see me tonight, why wear the blue?”

“Shut up and just enjoy the coincidence Auston!”

Shaking your head you walked back over to him, pulling him in for a kiss as his hands made quick work of your jeans. Needing to see you fully on display in blue lace just for him. As you kicked off the jeans, he sat back on his forearms, lust filled eyes watching as you did a spin for him.

“God you’re so fucking perfect.”

Without warning he picked you up, lips crashing against yours while his hands rested under your ass gripping tightly as your skin and surely leaving a few marks.

You giggled as he tossed you on the bed, making quick work of his clothes, leaving him in just his briefs as he hovered over you. Tucking some hair behind your ear as his hips ground into your core, earning a moan from you as you felt him growing hard against you. The two of you taking your time, kissing for what felt like hours, no hurry as you wanted to savor every second of your time with one another.

“I love you so much Auston, and I’m so proud of you. But if you ever uninvite me from something like that ever again, so help me god.”

He rolled his eyes as a hand traveled down to the string of your thong, snapping it slightly as his fingers teased at your core.

“Relax baby, I’m gonna make up for it all.”

[3nni3]

Shadows In The Street Lights <3

A/N: Finally it's here. I don't know if this should be a series or not, but in the meanwhile I think about it, I hope you enjoy this little creation of mine, which was inspired by my childhood favourite movie, Starstruck. I hope some of you have pleasant memories of the movie as well, and now, welcome to live your own Starstruck movie in a form of this text. Also for the plot, if your native language is Dutch or English - now it's not. :)

CW: smoking, cursing, idk the basic stuff.

F!reader

This doesn't have any smut, fyi horny motherfuckers ;)

Word count: 3k ish

Have a nice day.

-E

(Gaat het? = You okay?)

---------------------------------------------

It was over. Something you had planned and waited for months was now over. But you couldn't be happier. You finally got to experience the one and only, Joost Klein live show. And it was so much better than anticipated. You walk out of the venue with your friends, the cold autumn breeze of Amsterdam hitting you, but you don't mind. After being inside a venue that you swear was at least hundred degrees Celsius, this felt nice for a while.

You hug your friends at the bus stop in front of the venue, saying goodbye as their bus arrives. The promise of never complaining about anything else again when you get back to your car crosses your mind as you curse your choice of clothing, thinking of the hoodie you decided to leave in the backseat. The night really was getting a bit cold, and even though everything was perfect, the cold air of Amsterdam and lack of cigarettes in your possession kinda made you irritated. You look at the ground, shoving your hands deep in the pockets of your thin jacket, as you walk to the direction where you left your car, turning the corner without watching where you're going. Mistake number.. whatever it is. 

A door was opened right in front of you, and nearly hit your head, but your shoe stops it, and you nearly lose your balance.

"Oh, sorry! Gaat het?" You hear a male voice speak as you regain your balance. "I'm fine." You chuckle, as you look up at the man in front of you, shocked. Holy fuck. "Joost? Oh shit, sorry, I mean, like, that was my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going." You ramble without thinking. Taking in the features of his figure, a tall Dutch man in front of you, your heart skips a couple of beats. Black jeans that has some kind of wavy seams as a decoration, Ed Hardy hoodie with the hood pulled up, and some shades covering his eyes. However with a simple outfit like that, he manages to look better than ever, making it impossible to look away. The man looks to the side as he notices you eyeing him. "It's alright," Joost laughs lightly, "as long as you're not hurt, we're good." You smile at his reassuring words, still a bit dumbfounded.

"You were at the show?" He continues, noticing your eyes on him, recognising who he is. With a slight chuckle leaving his lips, he takes his sunglasses off, putting them in the hoodie pocket. 'God it should be illegal to see those hazy, blue eyes without glasses framing them,' your thoughts racing as well as your heart. "Yeah, I was." you smile back at him, trying to regain your composure, mesmerized by the blonde in front of you. "How did you like it?" He decides to small talk a little bit. 'Why not,' he thought, since there was no other fans around, a little small talk never hurt nobody. "It was so good, you're so good!" You babble, immediately regretting it. He laughs, a warm comforting smile forming on his lips, making your worry about your overly enthusiastic babble fade away. "I'm glad. Are you here alone?" He asks, looking around you guys, not noticing anyone with you. "Yeah, or like… I was there with friends, but they left like five minutes ago." You gesture to the side with your head. "Ah, alright, alright…" He says in an awkward voice, trying to continue the conversation somehow.

"You're not from here." He states, bringing up the fact that you're talking in English. You shake your head, telling him where you're from and he nods, urging you to continue. "I just moved here, still struggling to learn Dutch." A laugh leaves your lips with that sentence. "That's fine, I know it's not easy." Joost answers with an understanding smile, "Duolingo lessons done?" His comment making you grin. "Yeah, definitely."

He pulls out his cigarette pack from his pocket, taking one and offering the pack to you. You gladly accept, taking one. He reaches out to light your cigarette that's hanging between your lips, before lighting his own. "Oh my, you're a saint. Thanks, this was very much needed." You laugh as the smoke fills your lungs, your thoughts sidetracking somewhere, possibly containing something about the man next to you. "What made you move here?" He suddenly asks, bringing you back to the present from your thoughts. "Oh, uh, I guess I just needed some change, you know? My job has multiple locations around Europe, internal transfer making it easy to relocate basically anywhere." You explain and he nods, blowing out smoke as he starts speaking again, "What do you do for work?" "Short answer is media," You say, deciding to go a little bit indepth with your answer, "and the long one is graphic design and editing for bigger corporations and managing their public image on social media."

Joost looks at you, raising his eyebrows as you two turn the corner. "Oh. That sounds so interesting. If I hadn't gotten into this music thing, I would've probably gotten into graphic designing as well. I like drawing on my iPad and doodling."

"I've seen your doodlings online, they're good." You admit, taking the final drag of your cigarette, before dropping it on the ground and stepping on it, while trying to still keep up with Joost's pace. He slows down for a few steps, seeing you got left behind, looking at you. "Thank you. That means so much. I want my art to be seen, either music or some doodles. I want my art to inspire people, help them or just for them to enjoy it in general. I guess it's somewhat a dream of mine..." He rambles. But you don't mind. You like listening to him. He drops his cigarette and steps on it putting it out, and is about to say something, when your phone rings. "Sorry." You mumble to him as you take the call, "It's my friend." He listens carefully to the foreign language you speak. While he doesn't understand a single word, he still manages to pick up two words - "Joost Klein". 

You say goodbye to your friend, putting your phone back in your pocket. "She called to make sure I'm alive and on my way home," you explain as you feel Joost's questioning look at you, "and I told her I'll be okay, that you're walking me to my car." His smile visible on his face, feeling good that he's able to provide the feeling of security to you, so you wouldn't need to walk alone in a sketchy neighborhood.

You reach the parking lot, the only two cars remaining are yours and Joost's, funnily enough, parked only one car length away from one another. "That one yours?" He points out at your car, somewhat amused, "Because if it is, mine's right next to it." You chuckle, "Yeah, that's mine. But don't judge, she's old, I know." You continue talking about your little Volkswagen Polo that has seen it's better days... almost two decades ago. "Hey, not judging," he throws his hands up, "as long as it gets you home tonight, it's good." His warm smile making your heart skip a beat. He leans against his car's passenger side door. "Well, I think I really need to thank you," you start as you open the car door, sitting down while putting the keys in the ignition, "for making sure I'd get safely here." You continue as you turn the key - but nothing happens. "No worries, honestly. It was my pl-" Joost starts but quickly stops seeing your frustrated expression. You try again but all you get is flashing lights on the dashboard. "Everything okay?" He asks, worried, pushing himself away from his car, taking a couple of steps to your way. You groan in response. "Well she's not getting me home tonight, I guess." Your laugh comes out unamused, as your head falls back against the headrest. He leans his elbow against your open driver's side door, cringing, "I'm sorry, I think I kinda jinxed it..." 

You shake your head, sighing, "No, not your jinxing. Just a horrible battery, which was supposed to be replaced way too long ago. A fucking ticking time bomb the whole car..." You laugh, not knowing what else to do, "I think I need to call and wake up my roommate." He shakes his head, "How far away do you live?", the blonde man asks, furrowing his brows. You groan and step out of the car, leaning against it, "Like half an hour away." The cold night air makes you shiver, so you decide to grab your hoodie from the back seat and throw it on. Crossing your arms, feeling the comfortable warmth your hoodie is providing, and you sigh. Joost puts out a cigarette you didn't even notice him smoking before this. 'What a chain smoker he is...' you think and mentally chuckle at that. He keeps fidgeting with his car keys and looks away for just a second before returning his gaze to you. "I'll drive you." The words come out of his mouth suddenly, surprising even himself with that, but for some reason, he really enjoys your company. The first normal interaction he's had in a while and to be honest, who wouldn't enjoy being accompanied by a pretty girl who's polite. You're not taking photos of him, asking about music, demanding something - quite the opposite, as you once again decline his offer, shaking your head. "I can't accept that, I'll call my roommate, she'll come pick me up." He huffs, "Seriously now, I really don't mind. I feel guilty for jinxing that-" "Joost." You stop him, letting out a little laugh, "It's fine." He rolls his eyes jokingly as you pull your phone out of your pocket, ready to dial your roommate. "Absolutely not." He chuckles as he pushes your phone down. "You're home much faster if you let me drive you. It's getting late, c'mon now." He says, giving you a sympathetic look.

God what a dream come true, Joost Klein _begging_ for you to be his passenger princess. But something in you just won't let him do that. Drive an hour extra so YOU will get home. It doesn't feel like a right thing to do. And you're pretty sure he's just suggesting it to not sound selfish. "Joost I absolutely can't-" "Get in." he cuts you off smiling, opening the passenger door to his car. You sigh, pushing yourself away from your car, grabbing your bag from the driver's seat, slamming the god damn stupid door shut and locking the car. "There's no point arguing, I'm not leaving you out here. It's fucking scary - even for me." He says as you reluctantly sit down in his passenger seat. He gently closes the door for you and walks around the car, getting in the driver's seat, starting the car. "Thank you. Like for real." you mumble quietly as he puts the car in drive and steers the car to the exit of the parking lot and onto the main road. "I owe you one." You say as he laughs, handing you his phone. "You can pay back by being the DJ, so I can focus on the road."You take his phone from his hand, your fingers gracing his hand, sending shivers through you. 

You don't know what to play, since all you've lately been listening to is, well, Joost. You test the waters of his music taste as you press play, and the first chords of 5 Seconds of Summer's Youngblood starts playing. He starts humming along, and a surprised look lands on your face, but you don't say anything. It feels weird. Sitting in the passenger seat, while the driver is literally your favourite artist. A silence falls among you as the music keeps playing, neither one of you knowing what to say. You know too much about him considering the fact he knows literally nothing about you. Of course it's all just public information, in his songs, or on his social media. Online in general. You're not a stalker either way, but it doesn't feel like you should know that much about someone you just met. You seem to notice Joost humming or singing along with you to almost every song you play, and smile to yourself, knowing he vibes with the same music as you do.

"Take the next exit." You give directions to the man next to you. He nods and proceeds to take the next exit. The landscapes flash by as you drive in silence. But this time it's not an awkward silence, it's a comfortable one. The music is still playing in the background as his phone sits on your thigh and you once in a while keep adding more songs to the queue. At some point, you started playing some of your favourite songs in your native language, knowing he probably doesn't understand much of the lyrics, but he still keeps vibing, nodding his head along to the music.

"And turn right from there." The words come out nervously, as you slowly overcome the shock of the situation and realise that Joost Klein is actually driving you home.

"You know, you have a great taste in music." Joost's compliment catches you off guard, "Thank you?" You don't mean the answer to come out sounding like a question, but it does. "And I don't just mean my music, you know?" He states, chuckling a little, "It's refreshing to know someone else too has as huge of a range of favourite genres." You feel a smile tug on the side of your mouth. "Well, your music isn't bad either." The joking tone in your voice gets more visible as the fan-artist barrier breaks down a bit by bit. All the small talk is becoming more natural, which warms not just your heart, but Joost's as well.

As you continue giving him directions, the surroundings start looking more and more familiar, meaning you'll soon be approaching your neighbourhood. The nearest grocery store gets left behind as you pass by a pub of some kind you have yet to visit, and then comes the intersection where you guide him to take a left into a road that leads to your house. A tiny pang in your chest tells you that you won't want this night to be over.

"It's that one on the right." You point out and he pulls into the driveway in front of a gray coloured small apartment complex with bushes framing the walkway up to the door. Lights and decorations could be seen on almost every balcony out of the six that were in sight on the front side of the house. "What a pretty place, I like the lights." He admires the decorations. "Yeah, I quite like it here..." You hum agreeingly, but tired. A nice silence sets between you guys for a few seconds again, and Joost definitely doesn't want to be the one breaking it.

You hand his phone back to him, your hands touching again, but you brush off the butterflies in your stomach, and grab your bag from the floor between your feet. "Listen, so, I wanna thank you, this was really nice of you..." You smile at him, not really knowing how to continue. "You're welcome, I'm glad to get you home safe." He returns your smile with a nod. As you open the door to step out, you feel devastated that this interaction with him is over now. "How much do I owe you?" You ask as you get up and lean forward, leaning your arm against the door. He laughs and shakes his head, "I'm not a taxi, you don't owe me anything. Besides, I really liked this. You're a nice girl." His words make you blush and you look away. "Alright then. Thank you, for real, Joost. And you're pretty nice too." You smile at him and he nods, "Goodnight. Hope your car gets fixed soon." "So do I... Goodnight." You decide against prolonging the pointless chit chat, and close the passenger door as you walk towards the front door. Joost stayed in the driveway, watching you walk up to the door, put in the door code, and walk in. Only after that he allows himself not to feel worry about you getting home safe, as he sees your figure walk up the stairs through the windows at the staircase. He let's out a sigh, puts his car in reverse and starts moving. As he backs out of your driveway, he realises - he never asked your name.