#light speed magazine

[thoughtportal]

All traitors to the Sibyllines go to Tartarus to receive the only punishment for rebellion: eternal life. {read}

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Instacrush

max verstappen x reader

Content warnings: unprotected sex (p-in-v), rough sex, dirty talk, language, daddy kink, pining, flirting, possessive behavior, one bed trope,...

Word count: almost 7k 

Note: I'm gonna add a smau at the end so keep reading!

My masterlist

The engagement ring on your finger suited you perfectly. It wasn’t overly large or flashy, but the single diamond gave off a subtle, delicate sparkle. It was beautiful and felt just right, symbolizing the love and unity of marriage. When you looked at it in the light, you almost thought you could feel the love Max had for you.

If only that were true.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” you asked, sitting down at the table across from Max.

“So we can practice and make sure we seem like a real couple,” he replied.

You sighed, your gaze once again drifting around the hotel room. There was a small sitting area, a dining space connected to a kitchenette, one bathroom, and a bedroom. You had already pointed out the single bed, and Max, ever the professional, reminded you that part of the assignment meant you were expected to share it. After all, this was a couple’s retreat. It wouldn’t have been a problem—if only you didn’t have a crush on him.

If only it were that simple.

You were completely enamoured with Max Verstappen, the handsome three-time F1 World Champion. Instacrush wasn't something you experienced often, so he took you by surprise. It was the first time you met him on your first day at work. You were so caught up looking around the paddock, so excited for your first time ever set foot in the land of speed. You were just an intern working in the social media department. Landing a job during the global economic recession was a dream come true for you, not to mention, working for such a big and top-tier team like Red Bull. And that’s where you bumped into him, his can of Red Bull splashed all over your new team uniform. And honestly, you didn’t remember much since you were busy looking staring at his eyes. The bluest eyes you have ever seen. It was like the water in the ocean in  Maldives that you once saw in some travel magazines. It was pathetic to fall for him so hard and quickly. It had to be some sort of karma or divine intervention that you were with him in a hotel room.

Just the two of you.

“You know,” he began, wetting his lips as he leaned back in his chair. You blinked, only because you didn't want him to call you out on staring. “You don't have to look so miserable to be here. Is my company that terrible?”

“What? No. Max, you aren't a terrible company,” you promised, slumping a bit in your chair. The last thing you wanted to do was upset him. “Just been a bit since I've been in a relationship and I’m kind of rusty,” you said. 

“I’m just not sure I’m the right one for this job,” you added.

“You’re perfect for this job. Why would you think otherwise?”

You froze like a deer in headlights, even as his compliment warmed your heart. It meant a lot that he thought you would do the job well. But how were you supposed to answer that question? That you adored him and it would be torture to pretend to be with him for a few months just to back to being coworkers after?

“We should practice,” you suggested instead of giving him an answer. The backstory wasn't overly elaborate, but you had to get it right.

He leaned forward, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Did someone say something to make you think you wouldn't be good for this assignment?” He asked in a low voice. “Because I'll straighten them out.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from whimpering. The thought of him putting someone in their place to make you feel better was swoon-worthy. “No, Max. No one said anything. You're right. I’m good for this,” you said before you added, “We’re good together.”

You couldn't read the look he gave you and it became more difficult not to squirm under his gaze. “Yeah,” he whispered, leaning back and clearing his throat. “So. We’re engaged. Going to a resort for a much-needed vacation. We’ll have to mingle with some of the guests in between investigating the owner. One of the first questions will be how we met.”

With an exhale, you recited, ��We met at the track. Both slammed into each other. Both said sorry at the same time”

“And you gave me your hands for me to get up,” you smiled, making a show out of reaching for the glass on the table. “Our fingers touched first. Our eyes met second.”

“And we immediately befriended at first,” he smiled.

Your heart swelled. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world when he smiled like that. “We did,” you said, trying to blink the longing from your eyes. “We went on that reserved dinner with the team and talked a bit about ourselves.” 

It was all the truth, except for the fact that you guys were never more than friends since he was with Kelly, and you. Well, you were just you, there’s nothing really special about you for him to like. You aren’t those supermodels he used to date, nor have the skinniest body type, you are chubbier, with red hair and freckles across your cheeks. Before accepting his request to be in a PR relationship with him just so he gets along with the image of not being a notorious playboy who drives a fast car as an occupation, you did ask him WHY YOU? WHY NOT SOME OTHER GIRLS? AND LET’S BE HONEST ANY OTHER GIRLS WHO ARE PRETTIER WOULD DIE TO FILL IN THE JOB, SO WHY YOU? He just stood there looking at you once again with the deepest set of blue eyes that made your knees go weak, We are friends so this is what a friend should do, right? Help each other out. And y/n I really need your helping hands now. 

“Even proposed to you at the same restaurant,” he said, gesturing to your left hand. “But I actually got the ring after our first date because I knew I wanted you to be my girl,” he said with such conviction that you found it hard to breathe.

The way his eyes softened as he gazed at you, you found yourself believing him for a moment. You had to stay rooted in realism though. The point of the mission besides the actual mission was to act as if you two were crazy about each other.

Not that you had to do any acting on your part.

You cleared your throat and pulled your hand back from the glass. “If only that were true,” you said, absentmindedly twisting the ring around your finger. You weren't cynical about love, but this whole thing was a reminder that you were single and alone. 

The silence between you two was deafening, filled only by the sound of your own heart breaking. You longed for his words to be true, for him to truly want you as his girlfriend. But deep down, you knew it was all pretend. Your fingers fidgeted with the ring again, a constant reminder of the lie you were living. The weight of the situation was almost unbearable. 

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Heat crept up your neck. You shouldn't have said anything. “I mean, what a briliant story you have in mind,” you replied to avoid saying you wanted to be his girl.

“Well, it was true, y/n.” 

You pulled yourself from your thoughts when he said your name, which sounded like it melted on his tongue. It made you press your thighs together. You needed to stay professional. 

“Most of it only, Max. Anyway, enough of that. Let’s move on,”

Max looked unsatisfied with your response, his blue eyes searching your face. He could tell you were deflecting, which was both attractive and frustrating. “Okay then. How about we move on to the next part of our relationship? The first date.” He leaned back in his chair and you mimicked his movement. 

“Ah, our first date,” you said, the memory bringing a smile to your face. “It was a classic dinner-and-a-movie type date, right?”

Max chuckled at your summation of your first date. “Yeah, it was pretty basic, but it was our first date,” he said, his voice low. “I wanted to keep things simple and focus on just the two of us. No fancy restaurants or anything like that.”

You recalled how nervous you were leading up to the date, spending hours trying to figure out what to wear and worrying about what to say. In hindsight, you didn’t need to have been so worried.

“But you looked beautiful that night,” Max continued, a small smile playing on his lips. “You always do.”

You tried to ignore the way your heart quickened at his compliment. How was it that Max Verstappen, F1 World Champion, and certified heartthrob, could say something so casually that made you feel like the most beautiful woman alive? 

“Thanks, Max,” you said, your cheeks starting to heat up. You twisted the ring on your finger, your nervous habit making its appearance. “You looked pretty good yourself, if I remember correctly.”

Max chuckled softly, his eyes fixated on your hand. “Are you nervous, Schatje?” he teased, a playful sparkle in his blue eyes. “You’re fiddling with your ring again.”

Your cheeks flushed even more. You should be used to his teasing by now, especially after the time you two had spent together recently while preparing for this PR mission. And yet, every time he called you darling, your heart would do somersaults in your chest. 

“No, I’m not,” you denied, knowing how unconvincing you sounded. “Just… practicing my part, you know. For the acting thing.”

Max’s eyes darkened slightly as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the armrest. He knew that you were avoiding something, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

He began to recite the next bit of their cover story. “What’s our favorite couple activity?”

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the mention of couple activity. "Well," you began, your voice shaky, "our favorite couple activity is definitely cooking together. It's a great way for us to bond and spend quality time together." 

“Well it must be you will be the chef and I’m your assistant then, since I couldn’t even boil an egg to save my life, Liefje.”

Max's self-deprecating comment took you a little by surprise. You were used to seeing him as the confident, world-class athlete on the track, not as a hopeless cook in the kitchen.

You chuckled softly at his admission. "Well, I guess you'll have to stick to being my sous-chef then. I can teach you a thing or two in the kitchen."

Max groaned exaggeratedly. "I suppose I'll have to stick to fetching the ingredients and looking pretty," he joked.

You rolled your eyes playfully at his remark, unable to stop yourself from smiling. "Yes, you can be the pretty one, Max. I'll do all the hard work in the kitchen."

He chuckled, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips. "Well, I guess I should be thankful that I have a gorgeous girl doing all the cooking for me, then."

His compliment left you feeling warm and tingly, but you tried to brush it off and stay focused on the task at hand.

"But you have to promise me one thing, Max," you insisted, trying to maintain your composure. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for your condition. "What's that, Schatje?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

You leaned forward a bit, your eyes meeting his. "You have to be my personal taste tester. Gotta make sure everything is just right."

Max chuckled at your condition, a smirk playing at his lips. "Ah, so I'm not only your sous-chef, but I also get the privilege of being your taste-tester?" he teased.

You nodded, a sly smile of your own on your lips. "That's right. You'll be my human guinea pig. No complaining, just eating." Max groaned dramatically, pretending to look disappointed.

Despite his initial reluctance, Max couldn't help but smile at your cheeky request. "Okay, okay, I'll be your taste-tester on one condition," he countered.

Your curiosity piqued, you asked, "And what's that?"

Max leaned forward, his eyes meeting yours, "You have to give me one of your special desserts afterward."

You laughed, surprised at his audacity. "Oh, now you're pushing it, Verstappen," you quipped. "But I suppose I can throw in a dessert for you, as a token of my appreciation for your taste-testing services."

Max leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. "Deal," he said, a playful grin on his face. "Let's hope your cooking skills are as good as your baking, Liefje."

“Why don't you have a boyfriend?” He asked suddenly.

The switch in topic jarred you. “That’s. I’m. What? How is that relevant?”

It wasn't smooth, but it was better than blurting out that your hopeless crush on him was one of the major factors.

“I’m curious,” he shrugged.

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to answer. Truth be told, your life was dominated by work, leaving little time for relationships. But if you explained that to Max, he'd probably just call you a workaholic and laugh. He was the epitome of work hard, play just as hard.

"I don't know," you finally said, trying to sound casual. "I guess I just haven't found the right person."

Max scrutinized you but didn't press the topic further. Instead, he took a sip of his water, his eyes never leaving your face. Max wasn't buying your nonchalant attitude. He leaned back in his chair, still watching you closely. "I don't believe you. You're a beautiful woman, and yet you're single."

The compliment caught you off guard. Coming from Max Verstappen, the three-time FIA Formula One World Champion, it was a lot to take in. Trying to keep your cool, you retorted, "You don't have to flatter me, Max. I know I'm not some supermodel or something."

Max's lips curled up into a sly smile. He leaned even closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Who said anything about comparing you to a supermodel?" he teased.

You felt your heart skip a beat at his proximity. He was even more attractive up close, with his sharp features and those intense blue eyes. Despite your best attempts to keep your cool, you found yourself blushing again.

"Come on, Schatje," Max said, his voice dropping an octave. "Just tell me why you don't have a boyfriend."

The intensity in Max's eyes was almost overwhelming. You fidgeted nervously in your seat, feeling increasingly flustered under his gaze. Why was he so insistent on this topic? You tried to come up with a witty retort, a clever way to deflect, but your mind was drawing a blank. His intense gaze made it hard to think straight. "It's not a big deal, Max," you finally managed to say, your voice betraying your growing nervousness.

"Bullshit." He leaned back in his chair, studying you once again. "You're avoiding the question. There must be a reason why you don't have a boyfriend."

Max's persistence made you feel inexplicably flustered. He was so adamant about knowing the reason behind your single status. You wracked your brain, trying to come up with a convincing answer that wouldn't give away your secret. But the more you fidgeted and avoided his gaze, the more he seemed to be onto you. "Come on, y/n,” he coaxed again, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his legs. "Just give me a straight answer."

Max's smirk widened as he saw the effect he was having on you. He could tell he was making you nervous, and that only made him more determined to get the answer he wanted. "You're making this even more suspicious, you know," he said, his voice laced with gentle mockery. "The more you avoid the question, the more interested I become."

There was something about the way Max said that that sent a shiver down your spine. Was he just teasing you, or was there a hint of genuine interest in his voice? It was hard to tell. "You're relentless, you know that?" you mumbled, trying to cover your nerves with sarcasm.

Max chuckled, clearly enjoying how much he was getting under your skin. "I can be very persistent when I want something."

Max's admission sent a flutter through your stomach. He was relentless in his pursuit of an answer, and it was both frustrating and exhilarating. You fidgeted in your seat, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. "And you always get what you want, don't you?" you retorted, aiming for a tone of sarcasm.

Max chuckled at your attempt at sarcasm. He seemed unfazed as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixated on you. "I do, usually," he agreed. "But you're proving to be quite the challenge, y/n."

He took in your flushed cheeks and shifting eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

Max's gaze seemed to pierce through you, reading your every reaction. "You're blushing like a schoolgirl, Schatje," he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

His observant nature was both impressive and irritating. You tried to compose yourself, to appear unfazed by his words. But the more he teased, the more flustered you became.

The sound of your phone ringing snapped you both out of whatever spell you two were under. “Shit,”  you muttered, “It’s Christian. I better-”

“Yeah, you should answer that,” he said, “I think I'm going to call it a night. It was simply lovely to have such a conversation with you, Lief”

You watched as Max stood from the table, a smirk still tugging at his lips as he stretched his arms over his head. The way his shirt pulled tight against his muscles didn’t escape your notice, but you quickly turned your focus to your phone. Christian’s name flashed on the screen, a reminder that despite the playful teasing and lingering tension, you were still on assignment.

Clearing your throat, you answered the call, doing your best to sound professional. “Hey, Christian. What’s up?”

Max lingered by the doorway to the bedroom, his blue eyes still watching you as he leaned casually against the frame. The man was frustratingly calm and composed, as if he hadn’t just spent the last several minutes flustering you beyond belief.

“Just checking in. Wanted to make sure everything’s running smoothly with you and Max,” Christian’s voice came through the speaker.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you replied, glancing at Max again. He raised an eyebrow, clearly hearing the conversation. “We’re just going over the cover story. Making sure we’re on the same page for tomorrow.”

“Good, good. Remember, we need you two to look convincing as a couple. This retreat is high-profile, and we can’t afford any slip-ups. Play the part, but don’t overdo it,” Christian said.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Got it. We’ll be convincing.”

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, you ended the call and set your phone down, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Max was still standing in the doorway, his gaze soft but unreadable.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost concerned.

“Yeah,” you replied, though your heart still raced from the earlier tension. “Just… trying to make sure I don’t mess this up.”

Max pushed himself off the doorframe and took a few steps closer to you. “You won’t. You’re doing great, Schatje. Better than I expected, actually.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—there was more behind his words than simple encouragement. But you couldn’t afford to let your hopes get the better of you. This was a job. Nothing more.

“Well, I guess I should get some sleep too,” you said, standing up from the table. “Big day tomorrow.” Max nodded, his eyes flicking briefly to the bed in the other room. “Right. About the bed…”

You froze, realizing that you had been so caught up in the conversation earlier that you hadn’t given the sleeping arrangement much thought. But now, with the two of you standing there in a hotel room alone, the reality of sharing a bed with Max Verstappen hit you like a freight train.

“I can take the couch,” he offered quickly, sensing your hesitation.

“No, Max. It’s fine. We’re supposed to be a couple, right? Couples share beds.” You tried to sound confident, but your voice wavered slightly.

Max’s lips quirked into a small smile. “True. But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You shook your head, summoning what little courage you had left. “I’ll be fine. It’s just sleeping. No big deal.”

Max didn’t argue, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something unreadable. He gestured towards the bedroom. “Ladies first.”

You swallowed hard and walked towards the bed, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. Max followed close behind, and as you both climbed into the bed, the space between you felt like an ocean. You were hyper-aware of every movement, every breath.

Max lay on his back, one arm resting behind his head, while you kept to your side, facing away from him. The silence was thick, the air filled with unspoken thoughts.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight, Max,” you replied, your voice tight with nerves.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall asleep. But the warmth of Max’s body next to you, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it was all too distracting. You tried to push the thoughts away, reminding yourself that this was all pretend. That Max Verstappen didn’t see you as anything more than a colleague helping him out.

But as the minutes ticked by, sleep continued to evade you, and you couldn’t help but wonder—what if?

What if this wasn’t just pretend? What if Max felt the same pull, the same unspoken connection that you did? What if, somewhere in the midst of this fake relationship, something real was beginning to bloom?

You shook your head at the thought, frustrated with yourself for even entertaining such a ridiculous idea. Max was a superstar, a world champion, and you were just… you.

But as you lay there, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing beside you, it was hard to ignore the tiny spark of hope flickering in your chest.

Maybe—just maybe—there was more to this story than either of you realized.

You shifted slightly in bed, careful not to disturb Max, who was still lying quietly beside you. You glanced over at him, only to find that his eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.

"Can't sleep?" he asked quietly, turning his head to look at you.

You shook your head, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his gaze. "Too much on my mind, I guess."

Max smiled faintly. "Same here."

There was a brief silence between you, and in the quiet of the night, it felt like the weight of unspoken words was suffocating. You wanted to ask him if this was all just a game to him, if he felt the same tension you did, but you were too afraid of the answer.

Instead, you settled for something safer. "Do you ever get tired of it? The pressure, the constant spotlight?"

Max turned his head fully towards you, his expression thoughtful. "Sometimes. It’s part of the job, though. I’ve learned to live with it. But yeah, there are days when it gets overwhelming."

You nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "I get that. It’s hard to find balance when the whole world is watching."

Max's eyes softened, and for a moment, it felt like the walls between you two were crumbling. "Yeah. But it’s not all bad, you know? There are people who make it easier."

You looked at him, your heart fluttering at the implication of his words. Was he talking about you? Or was this just part of his charm?

Before you could respond, Max shifted closer, closing the small gap between you. His proximity made your heart race, and you held your breath as he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"You make it easier, y/n," he whispered, his voice low and sincere.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. There was no more pretending, no more acting for the sake of the mission. It was just the two of you, lying in the dark, and suddenly, it felt like everything you had been holding back was on the verge of spilling over.

"Max," you whispered, your voice trembling as you struggled to find the right words.

But before you could say anything more, Max leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours. You imagined Max kissing you before, but didn’t think it would ever be so soft. His lips barely brushed against yours, but it felt like the beginning of something more. It tempted you like nothing else ever had. He must’ve felt it, too, since he deepened it. You melted. You surrendered. You never really stood a chance before him. 

“So, you like me? Was that why you kissed me, or, ” You asked when he pulled back a little to gaze at you. “I’m sorry. I just need to hear you say it because I really like you and have for months. Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have said that because we have a whole acting and pretending thing ahead and now you know and I don't want it to be weird.”

Your mind almost shut down when he gave you a full-blown smile and said, “Yeah, I like you. I thought it was obvious. I tried dropping little hints, talking about your smile and teasing you.” He said. “You know Kelly dumped me because I remembered your coffee order when we were at the hospitality not hers,”

You stared at Max in shock, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. Kelly dumped him over... you?

"You remembered my coffee order?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max chuckled softly, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek as he held your gaze. "Yeah," he replied. "Every single time. It wasn't something I planned to memorize, but I guess I couldn't help it. You’ve always been in the back of my mind, even when I didn’t realize it." You blinked, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of emotions. All the late-night conversations, the teasing, the moments when his touch lingered a little longer than necessary—it all clicked into place. He wasn’t just playing a part. He liked you. Max liked you.

"You really are an idiot," you said with a breathy laugh, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. The tension between you two, the unspoken feelings, had been weighing on you for so long, but now everything felt so clear.

Max grinned, his face inches from yours. "Takes one to know one," he teased, his lips brushing against yours again.

You leaned into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back. This time it wasn’t tentative or cautious. It was everything you had been holding back, all the feelings you had suppressed because you thought it was just part of the job, part of the act.

But this was real. You were real.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. Max’s forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your hands.

"Guess we’re going to have to make this mission even more believable now, huh?" Max murmured, his voice filled with that same teasing warmth.

You smiled, biting your lip as you looked up at him. "We might have to practice a little more, just to make sure we’re convincing enough."

Max laughed, a sound that sent warmth coursing through your veins. "I think we can manage that." 

A moment passed before you giggled, happiness blooming in your chest. Max Verstappen liked you. Wanted you. “Please do,” you breathed, pulling him back down for another kiss.

He groaned, ravaging your mouth as he moved on top of you. His knee pushed your legs apart so he could settle between them, swallowing down your whimpers when he pressed his growing hardness against your pussy. He ground his hips, your panties soaked as his tongue tangled with yours. The man kissed you like he had something to prove.

Like he wanted to own you.

His muscles rippled as he leaned up and grasped the bottom of your nightie. The vision of him above you like this was now engraved in your mind. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

Sleeping with him was moving fast considering you just confessed your feelings for each other, but you didn't care. “Don't stop,” you whispered, quivering as he tugged the fabric over your head.

Your hands moved up to cover your chest before he gripped your wrists. “Are you trying to hide from me?” He questioned, his smirk playful in comparison to the uncertainty in his gaze.

You didn't want him doubting himself or your want for him for a second.

“Maybe? I mean, look at you and look at…”

You wouldn't knock on your looks since you were generally confident in your appearance, but the driver was an entirely different level of gorgeous. “Don't,” he whispered, releasing a wrist so he could cup your breast. You arched your back and any uncertainty in his eyes before faded when a moan escaped your lips. “You're so fucking beautiful.”

The praise almost made your eyes water as he brought his head down, losing focus when he swept his tongue across your nipple. Your eyes fluttered shut as he did it again, a wave from a sea of ecstasy crashing over you. Your heart thudded faster, addicted to the feel of his sinful mouth, suckling gently as his hands continued to explore. You writhed beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. "Please,"

He chuckled, the vibration making your breast hum in his mouth. "Please what, baby?" He asked, his free hand moving to your other breast, pinching the nipple gently. You whimpered, your hips bucking against the floor. "Please touch me, please kiss me, please fuck me,"

“You are such a needy baby,”

"His hands slid down your sides, gripping your thighs and spreading them apart. He settled between them, his breath hot against your core. "You want me to touch you here?" He asked, his fingers gently caressing your folds through your underwear."

“You’re the reason I don't have a boyfriend,” you whined, your fingers twisting in his hair. Why did you say that?

He paused, lifting his head to look at you with a mix of confusion and realization. "Because of me?" He asked softly. "Because I'm always around, and no one else can compare?" He slid a finger underneath the fabric, touching you for the first time.

His finger traced your slit, gathering your wetness before pushing inside gently. You let out a sigh of relief, your hips tilting to meet his finger. "Is that it? Is that why you don't have a boyfriend?" He asked, curling his finger inside you, rubbing your g-spot. 

“Y-yes… It's you, has always been you, Max.” you gasped.

He added another finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. His voice was low, filled with a dominance you'd never heard from him before. "So, every time you went on a date, every time they kissed you, it was me you thought of?” 

His fingers moved faster, curling and rubbing against your g-spot. "And every time they tried to touch you, hold your hand, it was my hand you wished was there instead?" He asked, his thumb rubbing your clit in circles. "Is that it, baby?”

But what can you say more besides moaning at his touch. 

He grinned wolfishly, his eyes locked onto yours. "You can't speak because you're so turned on, thinking about me instead of them. Isn't that right?" His fingers continued to pump in and out of you, his thumb pressing circles onto your swollen nub. "Say it.”

But you’re not thinking straight. You’re not thinking straight at all when all he did was teasing you like that.

He growled, his face hovering over your core. "Say it, or I'll stop." His fingers paused, buried deep inside you. You squirmed, your hips bucking, silently begging him to continue. "Say it," he repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

“Max” you breathed, clenching your legs together.

He tsked disapprovingly, prying your legs apart with his broad shoulders. "Not until you say what I want to hear." His golden eyes bore into yours, filled with desire and determination. "Say, 'Only you, Max. Only you.'" His fingers remained motionless. 

“Jus’ need you. Need you to make it better. ‘M yours Daddy, only yours.” 

His expression softened, and he rewarded you by moving his fingers again, crooking them inside you. "Good girl," he praised, his voice gentle. "Now, wrap your legs around my shoulders. I'm going to make you come with my mouth.”

You eagerly wrapped your legs around his shoulders, locking your ankles behind his neck. He lowered his face between your thighs, his breath hot against your wet flesh. "You're so ready for me, baby," he murmured, his thumbs spreading you open. "So swollen and needy.”

And without further teasing, he pressed his lips to your clit and sucked. Hard. His fingers curled inside you again, hitting that perfect spot. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. "Oh god oh god oh god,"

Max smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue. "Feel good, baby?" he breathed. His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions. You didn't know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Max flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking. "You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?" His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the sheets and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside.

The act surprised your lover almost as much as it did you-not quite, but almost -upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him. When you whined a loud, protracted, 'FUCK!' he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this. Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Max knew you were close. He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else's. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

 "Come on my face, Liefde. Show me what a good girl you are.”

And suddenly you were coming undone all over him—crying his name, clawing his skin, squeezing your legs so tight around his head you feared you might snap it in two.

He slowly licked you clean, his gaze never leaving yours. "You taste even better than you look," he murmured, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He leaned in close, pressing his forehead to yours. "And you look... like a masterpiece.

You took his face in closer and sucked your arousal off his tongue. Took him by surprise and dragged a mindless, lazy, half-crazed and careless tongue all over his, where your juices had no doubt collected too. That slutty, fucked-out look you gave him—like your brain had all but fallen out of your head with the orgasm he’d given you—was everything Max could’ve wanted.

Max's eyes widened in surprise as you sucked his face clean, his hands instinctively coming up to hold your head in place. He groaned into your mouth, his own arousal spiking at the filthy, careless way you were using your tongue.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth to explore and taste every inch of it. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer against him, letting you feel the hard length of his cock pressed up against you.

“I need to fuck you now,” he said.

His voice was rough with desire, his patience worn thin. He reached between your legs, grabbing your thigh and tossing your leg over his shoulder. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. "Hold on, Schatje,"

He slammed into you with no warning, burying his cock deep inside your pussy in one brutal thrust. You cried out in surprise and pleasure, your walls clenching around him as he fills you completely. He grabbed your other thigh, holding you in place as he started pounding into you with ruthless intensity.

“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”

You didn’t have to say anything, just whimpering in time. Max kissed your forehead and let you fold into him as his dick wreaked havoc down below. He kissed you again, and again, and in between kisses, mumbled,

“That’s daddy’s sweet, needy little slut.”

“My perfect fucking Schatje, so good at taking my cock.”

Every syllable spoken aloud was like a brand new catalyst for your impending release. You barely nodded your head, opened your mouth and whined pathetically, but that’s exactly how Max wanted you.

"Shit, you were made for this, weren't you baby? Made to take my load." He's so lost in the way you whine, telling him he's right and he knows it when he feels the way your body clenches and flutters around him.

He pistons his hips, fucking you with abandon, his balls slapping against your ass with each brutal thrust. He reaches up to grab your breast, squeezing it roughly as he snarls in your ear. "Gonna fill this fucking pussy up with my cum, mark you as mine.”

His grip on your thighs tightened as he continued to pound into you, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. "Not till I say so, baby. You gonna wait for me, aren't you?" He grunted, his own release barreling down on him. 

“Daddy, faster, please, harder, feels so good!” You were practically sobbing, loving the way he was splitting you open.

“I'm Gonna cum, daddy! Can I cum?” Max practically growls, not missing a beat while still thrusting in you.

He grunted approvingly at your desperate pleas, his face contorting with effort as he held back his own release. "Not... till... I... say... so..." He punctuated each word with a powerful thrust, his voice harsh with command. "Look at me, baby. Look at me when you beg."

You preened, the walls of your pussy clenching around his length. “Please, daddy.” 

“Jesus, you’re making me so wet. You’re such a little whore for me.”

“I’m your whore. Always, daddy, please!”

His face contorted with pleasure as you finally gave him what he wanted. "Good girl," he hissed, his pace becoming frenzied as he finally let himself go. "You're gonna take it all, aren't you? Gonna take every last drop?" 

“Yes!!” You sob, biting down onto his shoulder to keep your cries down while he continues to fuck you into oblivion. You don't understand how such filth can spew from that pink, pouty little mouth of his. "Please-please-need-you-daddy-I'm gonna-" 

“ I’m 'yours sweet girl, all yours, go on, cum for me love, cum on my cock, it's all yours" He gazed into your eyes, cooing at your parted lips and sweat slicked skin. It didn't take long for you to shatter around him his lips smashing against yours to swallow your moans.

"Want your cum daddy" You beg , desperate to have him claim you from the inside.

"Oh fuck baby, y-you can't say that, gonna, oh fuckkk" Your words throw Max right off the edge as he lets out a deep groan stilling his hips and shooting endless ropes of his spend into you. You both lay in comfortable silence, your fingers playing with his hair now disheveled. 

“Do you mean it? After this is all over?” Anything could happen. Perhaps this was just to keep his bed warm. Something to keep him calm, you were just someone to-

"Of course Liefje" Max presses a firm kiss to your forehead, silencing the thoughts that tried to run wild. "You're mine"

liked by 2,427 others

yourusername first day at work, welcome to the playground - newbie.

view all 728 comments

user1 what a dream job 😭

user2 I wanna be there toooooo 😭

urfriend my baby's dream finally came true

yourusername wish me luck bestie

user4 what is your job?

yourusername i'm the new intern in social media for RBR

liked by redbullracing, yourusername, landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 3,962,028 others

maxverstappen1 this new (intern) social media manager has me doing all sorts of weird things, apparently the fans like me doing this…I’m yet to be convinced 😂 might need a long nap after this.

view all 350,728 comments

username12 fyi we absolutely love photos like these 😂

landonorris I nearly fell off my chair laughing after scrolling through this post 😂😂😂

username13 thank you the new intern for convincing max to bless us with a world of meme worthy content, i beg for more

username14 he has no idea how much we love seeing this side of him does he???

username15 pls promote ur new intern to be ur lifelong admin @/redbullracing

redbullracing let me ask my boss first ferrari we still have open position for the new intern, wanna join? redbullracing back off mercedesamgf1 or u can work for us instead, why be an intern when u can be our new admin for a very demure, very mindfull team! username16 are they battling for the new intern 😂 username17 on track and offtrack battle

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 26,882 others

yourusername life lately as the new intern at @/redbullracing

view all 2,728 comments

username18 so u r the new intern that blessed us with so much max's meme

yourusername no need to tks me 🤗 username18 u r so pretty, might be my new wife

username19 oooooh max's in the like

username20 aww so cute

username3 the outfits slay

landonorris uhhh 

username21 WHAT ARE YOU EOING HERE maxverstappen1 she's not on ur team, mate landonorris so i can not say hello to her ???

yourbff you are so effortlessly gorgeous please ���� and whose hand is that wifey

username22 wtf is max and lando beefing in the comment

username23 shut the f up she's a swiftie OMG i need a challenge with max and checo with taylor

yourusername working on it, but these two know nothing 'bout the pop culture 😭 username24 OMG the devil works hard but u gotta work harder girl

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, yourusername and 1,826,882 others

redbullracing Taylor Swift 1 - 0 Chestappen

view all 550,128 comments

maxverstappen1 do not shame ur drivers publicly like that

redbullracing we do not 🤗 landonorris how can they not know about THE TAYLOR georgerussell63 i would have won this charlesleclerc if the ferrari's challenge could be this easy

username30 they cant even score a point

username31 OMG Chestappen

liked by 826,882 others

f1wags new wag alert!!! This might be the new gf of Max and she also works for Red Bull too

username32 OMG is she y/n the old intern now admin

f1wags that's her

username33 i follow her too and she is soooooooo pretty

username34 her new ideas for all their challenges are cool too

username1 😒😒

username2 BOOOO👎

username3 so it’s official then huh?

username13 BODY IS TEAA

username24 HOLYYY

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and 3,344,234 others

maxverstappen1 i think this called hard launch and yes this is my new gf @/yourusername took all the pics since she thought i'm not very good at it

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[littlelamy]

how you met

rockstar!rafe x model!reader

The pulsing bass and dim lights made it easy to get lost in the heat of the underground club. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and the kind of energy that came alive after midnight. It was the perfect place to forget… or be forgotten. Exactly what you’d needed after your friends all but forced you out tonight, insisting that life didn’t end just because you’d left your famous ex in the past.

"Look around!" one of them yelled over the music, nudging you with a sly grin. “This is exactly what you need!”

“Right,” you muttered, taking a sip of whatever drink they’d ordered for you, scanning the room with a sort of lazy detachment. You weren’t really looking to rebound with anyone here. That is, until you saw him.

He was on stage, barely ten feet away. Shirtless, tattoos splashed across his skin, he had that dark, brooding edge that made him look like he was born for a stage like this, all arrogance and mystery wrapped up in a stunning face with a jawline that could cut glass. His voice was raw, gravelly, like he was spitting out every word with a vengeance, and somehow, he had the entire crowd hooked.

Rafe Cameron.

You recognized him immediately—he’d been the face (and body) of a million indie music magazines you’d been in too, though your worlds had never actually crossed. But seeing him up close, hearing him live, felt different. You watched, your heart picking up speed with each word he growled into the mic, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room until—

He saw you.

There was a beat, maybe two, where the energy between you was so thick it was almost tangible. His gaze raked over you slowly, starting from the glossy heels that matched the clingy little dress your friends had practically begged you to wear. His eyes were heavy, hooded, and every time he looked at you, you could practically feel the heat licking at your skin. You arched a brow, pretending not to notice, barely giving him a second glance, which only seemed to make his stare even bolder.

“God, he’s looking right at you,” your friend whispered, practically squealing in excitement. You kept a cool exterior, giving Rafe the most casual of glances before looking away, leaning back to take a slow sip of your drink. His band continued their set, but he never stopped glancing in your direction, his attention flickering between the song and whatever spell you’d cast over him.

The moment they finished, you expected him to disappear backstage. Instead, Rafe practically leaped off the stage, heading straight for the bar, for you.

“Didn’t think a girl like you would ever show up in a place like this,” he drawled, voice low and teasing as he leaned an arm on the bar next to you. He smelled like sweat and the faintest hint of smoke, and somehow, it was intoxicating. Up close, he was even more gorgeous, a mix of rugged, careless appeal and a confidence that was probably earned from too many one-night stands.

“Maybe you don’t know what kind of girl I am,” you replied, shooting him a little smirk. You wanted him, yes, but the game was too fun to rush. Besides, you were still reeling from the effect he had on you. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

Rafe chuckled, and there was something wicked about it, like he already knew exactly what you were doing and had every intention of breaking down your resolve. “Oh, I know. I’ve seen your face on more magazine covers than I can count. Got them all over my place, by the way.” His eyes roamed your body again, this time with no hint of shame. “But trust me, you’re even better in person.”

“You talk like you think you’ve got me all figured out,” you shot back, the smirk playing on your lips as you turned to face him. His stare was unrelenting, blue eyes devouring every inch of you, and there was no hiding the smolder in them. He’d probably perfected that look a long time ago, and it was undeniably sexy.

He leaned in, his lips brushing just past your ear. “You want me to figure you out?” His voice was a low, dangerous whisper. “Because, baby, I’ll take all night if that’s what it takes.”

You couldn’t help the way your breath hitched at his words. He was crass, unapologetic, and entirely too good at this game, but you weren’t about to let him know he’d gotten under your skin. Yet.

“Oh, please,” you replied coolly, rolling your eyes as if unaffected. “Like you could handle it.”

Rafe’s grin widened, flashing that perfect smile that made your pulse thud in your chest. “Big words for a girl playing hard to get,” he said, his hand reaching to twirl a strand of your hair between his fingers. He was close enough that you could see every detail of the tattoos etched along his collarbone, and you had to focus hard to keep your cool as he looked at you like you were something he was seconds away from devouring.

You arched a brow, meeting his gaze head-on. “Playing?” you echoed, feigning nonchalance. “This is just my normal.”

His laugh was a dark, husky sound, and the way his fingers brushed along your arm left a trail of heat on your skin. “If that’s the case, sweetheart, consider me hooked.”

He paused, eyes locking on yours as he closed the distance, his hand coming to rest on your waist. You could feel his warm breath on your lips, smell the scent of whiskey on his breath. You knew exactly what he wanted—and, if you were honest with yourself, you wanted it too. But you weren’t about to make it easy.

You let a long moment of silence stretch between you, your eyes flicking to his mouth for the briefest second before meeting his gaze again, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Then I guess you’ll just have to work a little harder for it, won’t you?”

Rafe’s smirk softened into something that was almost a grin. “Oh, trust me, I don’t mind putting in the work.” Without another word, his lips crashed against yours, hungry, unrestrained, a kiss that held every bit of the reckless energy he had on stage. His hands held you firmly, like he was staking a claim, and the way he kissed was more than just a kiss—it was a promise, a challenge, a taunt all in one.

As you pulled away, a satisfied smirk played on your lips. Rafe was left standing there, his hand still lingering at his side as if reluctant to let go. You met his heated gaze, letting a slow, coy smile spread across your face before stepping back, savoring the way his eyes stayed locked on you, intense and unyielding.

With one last lingering glance, you turned on your heel, swaying your hips with each step, knowing full well he was watching every second. Each sway was deliberate, your heels clicking against the floor in time with the pounding bass of the music, and you didn’t look back, but you could practically feel his eyes tracing every curve.

Rafe’s husky voice rang out, half-amused, half-starved, over the music. “You’re playing a dangerous game, you know that?”

You glanced back, giving him a sly wink. “Guess you’ll just have to catch up and see.”

His smirk grew, and you knew you’d just sparked something wild in him. Just the way you wanted it. And as you slipped into the crowd, you could already feel the tension simmering, ready to pull you back to him the second you both decided to stop playing games.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @dinakisser @rafecameroninterlude @sstargirln

[the-thing-withfeathers]

gunshots, gods, & getting fucked (b.e.)

warning: SMUT SMUT SMUT! gun usage, violence, bank robbery, mention of cops. fingering, oral, strap-on usage, pet names, praise.

your hands gripped the steering wheel tight, your knuckles were turning white. your eyes scanned the dark and empty road for any sign of flashing lights.

you were growing bored, but you had to stay focused.

the radio was playing the faintest of tunes, you mouthed the lyrics as you looked into the void, only being illuminated streetlamps.

and then there was an alarm.

your eyes flicked to the bank’s entrance as the car’s engine sprung to life. your eats started to hurt at how loud the alarm was.

you thought she was more careful than that.

you saw your raven-haired partner sprint out the doors, the duffel bag she was carrying looked like it was about to burst open.

she swung the passenger door open, practically leaping into it.

“drive!”

you didn’t waste a second before your foot slammed onto the gas. you drove off, your tires screeching as you took a hard right at the end of the street.

“what the fuck, bils?!” you asked her, frustrated. “you said you wouldn’t set it off!”

“yeah, look. sometimes things go wrong.” she scoffed, “anyways, i have the money. it’s up to you now, baby. get us outta here.”

you chuckled dryly. of course she managed to sweet talk you despite nearly butchering the whole operation.

“you look so fucking pretty behind the wheel.” billie grinned at you, she lowered the mask she was wearing and leaned over to press a kiss to your neck.

“enough, tiger. i need to focus.” you elbowed her softly, she laughed softly and leaned back in her seat. “save it for when we’re in the clear.”

it was like the universe was trying to be funny. just as you said that, you heard sirens getting closer to you.

“fuck.” you hissed, looking in the rearview mirror. you saw a cop car tailing you, you changed gears and the two of you jolted forwards as the car sped up.

billie leaned forward and popped the glovebox open, pulling out a pistol. she grabbed an ammo magazine from the middle compartment and loaded the gun. she pulled her mask back up and turned around to gauge what she was dealing with.

“hold on, we might not need it.” you warned her. billie tended to have, what they called, a trigger finger. she got a little too excited to sport the gun in her hand.

you saw her blow a raspberry as she slumped back in her chair. you found her cute like that.

you made a sharp left, turning into a busier road. you made risky swerves, cutting in between available spaces when you could. then you turned a random corner, spotting an alleyway.

you quickly parked in it, killing the engine. you signaled billie to be quiet, your eyes never leaving the rearview. you saw as the cop cars sped by quickly. you gave it a few seconds before turning the engine back on and reversing back onto the road.

you made sure to keep the car quiet as you made your way to the bridge that allowed you to get into the next city over.

three cop cars managed to spot you just as you entered the bridge, quickly speeding after you.

“jesus billie.” you groaned softly. “made yourself a bit of a threat there.”

“luckily, i have the best getaway driver ever.” she poked your shoulder.

“i can only do so much.”

you conquered any gap that you were allowed. but you saw in the distance that oncoming traffic was starting to slow down as more cars started to pile onto the lanes.

the three cars behind you managed to take over all the lanes, one on each. you couldn’t back out now. you started to sweat a little, worrying that you might not make it out fast enough.

and then you spotted it.

a huge semi-truck, it’s shadow was hiding the cars beside it.

you squinted slightly and managed to read its license plate.

BRT 365.

you almost called it a victory, but you weren’t out of the woods yet.

as you were about to make your move, one of the cop cars bumped into your rear. it sent you and billie forward a little.

you looked over to her to make sure she was okay, but she was only frustrated. you could tell she was getting close to scratching that itch, and you needed more time.

“hey bils.” you called after her, grabbing her attention. she turned to you and raised her eyebrows in anticipation.

“give ‘em hell.”

she licked the top row of her teeth, donning an almost sinister smile. she cocked the gun and rolled her window down. she elevated herself and stuck her head and arm out the window.

she pointed the gun directly at the cop car’s wheel.

“fuck you.” she said as she fired, hitting the tire dead on. you watched in the rearview mirror as the car veered off to the side and crashed into the bridge.

the driver of the car fumbled with the radio, most likely signaling that you were armed.

the other two cars were nowhere to be seen, hidden behind layers and layers of other cars. you saw your chance.

you lined the car up with the underbelly of the semitruck, spotting it’s mechanism that you & its driver built yourself.

“watch this.” you said to billie. you swerved into the underside of the truck, latching onto the mechanism.

the metal platform started to lift the car up into the truck, you turned the engine off to make it easier.

when you were completely inside and the bottom of the truck closed itself off, you exited the car.

“that was some mighty fine timing, charli!” you called out to the woman behind the wheel.

“thank me later, we’re nearly back at the safe house.” she said, her thick accent was reassuring.

you leaned against the car, your arms crossed over your chest as your girlfriend rounded the car, standing in front of you.

“look at you, pretty. proper criminal.” she said, her hands finding their way to your waist. she yanked you forward and connected your lips in a deep kiss. it was immediately heated, you knew successful missions like this turned her on like no tomorrow.

you giggled softly and put your hands on her shoulders. “nice shooting.” you pushed her backwards slightly, she groaned at the loss of affection.

you smiled to yourself, making your way to charli’s passenger seat. billie still set off the alarm, so you had to deprive her just a little bit.

—

you hopped out of the passenger seat once you reached the safehouse, smacking your hand on the side of the truck twice. you made your way back to the car as charli opened the back.

you drove out of the truck and parked the car in the garage.

“we’ll dump it tomorrow night, we just have to let the police cool down their search.” you said, shutting the car door behind you. billie took out the duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder.

she reached for your hand as she walked towards the back door entrance to your safe house. you jogged a little to grab it, intertwining your fingers together.

“i’ll see you guys next week. night, night!” charli called after the two of you, mounting her motorbike and driving off. you waved after her and so did billie.

as you two made your way to your shared bedroom, billie howled in excitement. she tossed the bag on your bed and unzipped it, turning it over and emptying it right on the bed.

“fuck yeah, baby!!!!” she exclaimed, whooping and turning to hug you. she lifted you a little and spun you around. you laughed and whooped just the same.

she set you down and grabbed your face with both her hands, “my fucking princess, you and your cars are a fucking supernova.” she said, smashing your lips together in a fiery kiss.

you wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her closer. she set her hands on the back of your thighs and you jumped, wrapping your legs around her waist. she turned 90 degrees and set you down directly on the cash.

oh, this was interesting!

she nearly tore off your pants, not even bothering to take your other clothes off. she planted your feet on her shoulders as she knelt down in front of your already dripping cunt. you could head your heart pounding in your ears, this turned you on a little too much.

“fuck baby, does robbing a bank turn you on?” she chuckled, running a finger up and down your opening. “or was it the getaway?” she asked, tilting her head.

you nearly let out a whimper as you shook your head. “no…” you answered.

“no? what was it then?” her piercing eyes looked up at you from where she was.

“you shooting that gun… that was so fucking hot.” you confessed, your hips rolling on her finger. she let you continue that motion, you were the reason she got away. she had to reward you for that.

“oh really? you flatter me too much…” billie smirked, her gold teeth flashing in the light of your bedroom. her finger hit your clit, you hissed at the contact, your hips bucking upwards.

“billie, c’mon, please?” you begged her, you needed her to make you feel good.

“i suppose so, because you’ve been such a good girl. my fucking supernova.” she said, leaning down and diving into your pussy.

she pressed her tongue flat against your clit and shook her head quickly. you were leaking all over the cash, you knew it would ruin some of the bills. but you didn’t care, and neither did she.

you let out a sharp moan as she put two fingers in you. she was devouring you like she was a woman starved, lapping at your arousal like it was the only thing she could ever eat again.

your thighs tightened around her head, you could tell she was enjoying it. she loved being suffocated between your thighs.

her fingers pumped in and out of you quickly, she wanted to please you too. she curled her fingers inside of you, coaxing another moan out.

you felt a white-hot flush run through your body and settle in the pits of your stomach. it didn’t take long for you to give her a warning.

“billie— oh fuck, i’m gonna cum!” you cried out to her, your hands gripping the sheets and the bills that laid on top of them.

you thanked whatever otherworldly presence was looking out for you that she didn’t stop. she gave you silent permission with her eyes, those fucking eyes.

your back arched as you reached your climax, and she lapped everything up. she refused to leave anything behind.

when she was done, she walked off to the closet, and you knew exactly what she was after. she came out with a black silicone cock sitting perfectly strapped around her waist.

you felt yourself gush at her stance. you sat up, backing up into the bed and she climbed on it to hover above you.

the wads of cash followed the two of you, sinking into the mattress until it was under your back.

“you’re already so wet, don’t even need to use lube.” she said, mockingly. “does my cock make you this wet, princess?” she pouted, asking you.

you nodded quickly, your hands caressing her cheeks as she lined the tip of her cock with your hole. she turned her head slightly to kiss the palm of your hand.

as she slowly entered you, you let out a series of whines, trying to adjust to being stretched out.

“yeah, you can take it, baby. you can take it.” she said, pushing it further into you until the gap between your cunt and her waist was basically non-existent.

your eyes squeezed shut as you wriggled a little, allowing yourself a couple of seconds to get used to the size. you opened your eyes slowly to see billie’s empathetic ones, she was so sweet even in times like this.

even after all the crimes she’d committed, you had no doubt that she loved you more than the life she led.

“ready, baby?” she asked you as you met her eyes. you nodded in response because if you tried to talk, it would only come out as moans.

she thrusted into you, hard. pulling out almost all the way then bottoming out completely. you cried out in pain at first, but then it became pleasure just as quickly.

“fucking…” she mumbled, “good girl. fucking good girl, taking it so good for me.” she said through thrusts.

your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your mouth hung open. her hand found its way up your shirt, squeezing one of your tits through your bra. your back arched into her hand.

“oh my god, you’re so pretty. you’re so fucking sexy.” she said, studying your face of pleasure.

“fuck, bils!” you screamed out, your nails digging into her cheeks. she didn’t care about the pain, she just loved making you feel good.

she started to pick up her pace, her hand joining the fun as she used her fingers to draw circles on your clit. you squealed as your body jolted, your tits bouncing with every thrust.

“fuck.. fuck… fuck…” the curses stumbled out of your mouth with each thrust. that rush of pleasure went straight through your body again.

“gonna cum, princess?” billie asked, you started to tighten around her cock, making it harder to continue her movements. you could only whimper out a soft ‘mmhm’, but that was good enough for billie.

“okay baby, why don’t you cum for me like the good girl you are, yeah? c’mon, you can do it. cum like a good girl.” she coaxed your second orgasm out of you.

the pleasure was building up from everything she was doing. the hand on your clit, her cock fucking into you and making you see stars. your body tensed up,

and then you released.

“billie!” you cried out, your body relaxing as you came on her cock, your arousal forming a ring at its base.

she kept thrusting into you, helping you ride out the crashing wave of an orgasm you just had. and then she pulled away, plopping down on the bed next to you.

“hey baby?” she spoke to you.

“hm?”

“i’ll only ever fuck you like this now.” she said.

“what do you mean?”

“i’ll only ever fuck you like we’re gods.”

—

author’s journal

pooookie nation!!!!! it’s been a while since i came out with something for billie and i had this sudden burst of inspiration to write this.

this one in particular is for @dandelions4us <33 i told u i’d come thru with this babes!!

going insane for crime billie now WOOF WOOF BARK BSRK

& also i hope u all enjoyed this you filthy animals

kisses xx

[lanf1an]

SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt.2 - january 5 2025

pt.1 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5

wordcount: 1810

The door of the ski lodge burst open, making you look up from your drink. Max appeared, the rest of the group having found Lando and you, waving and dragging his snowboard behind him, with Dylan close on his heels. Flo and Cisca followed.

“Absolute perfection out there,” Max declared, his grin as wide as the horizon. He dropped into the chair across from you and immediately launched into a story about his wipeout. Dylan followed, unstrapping his boots with practiced ease.

“Max, you forgot to mention the part where I saved your ass after you faceplanted.”

“Details,” Max said with a dismissive wave before turning to Lando. “Hey, Lan, you know what I’ve been thinking? Quadrant should sponsor Dylan.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Why not?” Max said, gesturing toward Dylan. “He’s Red Bull-sponsored already, and he’s basically a legend. Plus, Dylan would kill it in the merch.”

Dylan laughed, shaking his head. “I appreciate the thought, but I’m not exactly esports material, and I think Lando’s got the whole ‘speed’ thing covered.”

Lando leaned back in his chair, considering. “It’s not a bad idea. Could bring a new vibe to the team, snowboarding isn’t racing.” 

“Exactly!” Max exclaimed, clearly pleased with himself.

The conversation drifted as the group packed up their stuff and made their way back to the lodge. You watched Dylan joking with Cisca, Cisca had dragged Dylan into a conversation about snowboarding tricks and she was clustered to his lips, he was laughing as he sketched a move with his hands.“You’ve got to teach me that,” she said, eyes wide with excitement. “Anytime” Dylan said with a grin. his easy charm blending seamlessly with the group, and you couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection for him. 

Later, back at the lodge, Magui arrived, her presence lighting up the room. Lando was quick to meet her by the doorway, pulling her into a easy kiss before taking her coat. They looked perfect together, the F1 driver and the model—a picture straight out of a magazine. Their reunion was quiet and easy, as though they were used to these quick and fleeting moments together. This time she was also only staying for a few days.

You turned back to the kitchen, focusing on the mugs of hot chocolate you were preparing. Dylan leaned in the door opening, watching you with a soft smile.

“Should I take over?” he asked. “You’ve been hostess of the year this trip.”

You laughed, handing him a steaming mug. “I think I’ve got it under control. Go mingle.”

He gave you a mock salute and wandered back to join the others

You busied yourself setting the table for dinner, Lando helping. 

Dinner was a lively affair, with Max recounting his earlier escapades and Cisca chiming in with sarcastic commentary. Magui's laugh ringing out at all the right moments, but mostly at Lando’s stories, which were less frequent since they were having quiet conversations with the two of them, keeping to themselves, her hand resting on Lando’s arm as if it belonged there.

As the evening wore on, the group moved from dinner to games and then to music and dancing. The wine flowed freely, laughter and warmth filling the lodge. By the time the night wound down, most of the group was sprawled across the couches and floor, drowsy but content.

You found yourself beside Lando on the couch, the fire casting a warm glow over the room. He leaned against the armrest, his half-empty glass of wine dangling from his fingers. His gaze was fixed on the flickering flames.

“You okay?” you asked softly, tucking your feet beneath you.

Lando turned to you, his usual smirk replaced with something quieter. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous territory for you,” you teased, nudging his shoulder.

He huffed a laugh. “You’re hilarious.”

You sat in comfortable silence for a moment before he spoke again, his voice quieter. “Do you ever feel like… like you’re just going through the motions?” Lando asked suddenly, his voice low. “Like you’re living the life everyone expects you to, but it’s not really yours?”

You blinked confused, caught off guard by his sudden unexpected choice of subject. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, swirling the wine in his glass. “Magui’s great. She is. But sometimes I wonder if we’re together because we want to be or because it just… fits the narrative. F1 driver and model. Picture-perfect.”

You didn’t respond immediately, sensing he needed to say more.

“You and Dylan…” Lando continued, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “You guys are so natural. You actually know each other, and it works. It’s real. I want that. Something real.”

“Lando…” you started, unsure of what to say. “You’ll have that too. You’ve never even wanted that yet—focusing on racing, and look where that’s brought you.”

“You know what, Fewtrell? You’ve got it good with Dylan. That’s what I want. Someone who actually gets me. Not just someone who… looks good on my arm.” Lando repeated himself. 

“You’re drunk, Lan.” you concluded.

“No, I mean it. F1 relationships… they’re all the same. Shallow. Temporary. But you and Dylan… that’s real. I want that.”

You sensed he wasn't going to give it a break. You gave a short laugh, shaking your head. “Lando, you haven’t even been looking for something real.” you also repeated yourself, hoping he would hear it now.

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been focused on winning races and kissing other girls in clubs,” you shot back, tone light but edged with meaning. “You don’t get to complain about not having something real when you’ve never made room for it.”

Lando winced, the guilt flashing across his face. You know you should judge him for it—anyone else, and you probably would have. But you also knew his world was different. A life on the road, racing nearly every weekend, with a level of attention and temptation most people couldn’t imagine.

You softened slightly. “Look, I know it’s hard. F1 relationships aren’t exactly a blueprint for stability. You barely see each other because you’re always traveling, and there are... distractions. But if you really want something real, it’s not going to fall into your lap. You’ve got to make space for it.”

“How do you know I haven’t?” he said defensively, though the edge in his voice was weaker now.

“Because I know you,”

His shoulders sagged, and the guilt returned, more evident this time. “Okay. Maybe I haven’t. But I want it now,” he said, quieter, almost like a confession.

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, so now you’ve decided you want it all?”

He frowned slightly, unsure where you were going with this.

“You know, the McLaren constructor’s championship, driver’s world champion…” You gestured vaguely, your tone laced with playful sarcasm. “You can’t have everything, Lando. Life doesn’t work that way.’’ 

Lando leaned his head back against the couch, his gaze flickering to you. “You’re probably right.”

“Of course, I’m always right,” you said, sticking out your tongue, having had enough of this serious conversation this late at night, sleepiness taking over. 

He glanced at you, a faint smirk forming. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

— London, november 14 2015

At sixteen year old, it had felt like a disaster. Not in a catastrophic way—nothing earth-shattering had gone wrong—but in a teenage life it was one of the worst things. Her first time with her then-boyfriend, a sweet enough guy who she thought had cared. She’d expected… something. Fireworks, a sense of closeness, maybe even just a feeling of satisfaction. But all she’d been left with was disappointment  and a desperate need to shake it off.

When Max hadn’t answered her texts, she’d turned to the one other person who always seemed to know what to say—or at least how to distract her.

Lando had shown up within ten minutes of her cryptic “What are you doing right now?” text, a bag of chips in one hand and a pack of her favorite chocolate in the other.

“Alright,” he’d said, flopping onto the couch beside her. “What’s up? Max is out of commission?”

She hadn’t meant to tell him. She’d thought maybe they’d just watch a movie or play a game so she’d feel distracted. But the words had spilled out before she could stop them.

“It sucked Lan,” she admitted, her voice cracking between a laugh and a cry. “I thought it would be… I don’t know. Better.”

Lando blinked, clearly trying to process what she’d just said. “Wait, are you saying—”

“Yes,” she interrupted, burying her face in her hands. “And don’t make it weird, okay?”

“I’m not making it weird,” he protested, though his tone was slightly higher than usual. “I just… wasn’t expecting that.”

She peeked at him through her fingers, his expression a mix of surprise and something she couldn’t quite place. “What, you didn’t think I’d ever have sex?”

“No, I mean—yeah, obviously, you would. I just didn’t think…” He trailed off, ruffling his hair awkwardly. “Never mind. What happened?”

And so she told him. About the awkward pauses, the fumbling, the little to no attention for her, and the overwhelming sense that something was missing.

“It’s not supposed to feel like that, right?” she asked, her voice small.

Lando had been quiet for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t think there’s a ‘supposed to.’ It’s different for everyone, but… yeah, it probably shouldn’t feel like that. You want me to go beat him up? I’m not that big, but I’m scrappy.”

She huffed a laugh, leaning back against the couch. “Great. Glad to know I’m just unlucky, then.”

“Hey,” he said, nudging her with his shoulder. “It’s definitely not you. Sometimes it’s just… the wrong person. Or the wrong timing. Or both.”

“Thanks, Dr. Norris,” she teased, but her smile was genuine.

They’d spent the rest of the night watching the movie and talking about everything and nothing. By the time he got up to leave, the heaviness in her chest had lifted, replaced by a warm sense of gratitude.

As he slipped on his jacket, he turned to her, a familiar smirk tugging at his lips. “Can’t believe the first time your first time isn’t with me, it doesn’t work out. Mistakes, Fewtrell.”

She rolled her eyes, groaning. “Oh my god, Lando.”

“No, seriously,” he continued, winking as he opened the door. “We could have had an actual good first time, you know. Just saying, everything’s better with me.”

“Get out,” she said, throwing a pillow at him as he laughed and ducked out of the room.

But even as the door clicked shut behind him, she found herself smiling, shaking her head at his ridiculousness. Only Lando could turn a moment like that into something lighthearted without dismissing how she felt. 

—

WN: Hi guys!! Thanks so much for reading!! Hope you like it! Let me know what you think, not my favorite chapter.... but bear with me please!! I'm open for all suggestions and feedback! Posting part 3 tomorrow!

tl: @ash88-yep @lewishamiltonismybf @harrysdimple05

[wolverigrl]

Party (1)

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

A/N: Sooo this part was written right after clubbing, and I may got carried away, which why I divided it into two parts. The next part should be online on Monday or Tuesday! So stay tuned! :)

Warnings: smut (not completely detailed), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), mentions of alcohol, some swearing, mentions of pregnancy

Not proofread!

Enjoy!

Previous Part

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It's happening. I'm officially a year older today. Honestly, I don't even feel the change. Except for maybe the overwhelming sense of everything right now - the music, the laughter, the champagne that seems to be in my hand all the time - and him. Especially him. Hugh.

The night feels like a dream, but it's real - my birthday, my party. I rented this entire club for the occasion, and it's filled to the brim with friends, the people I care about, the ones who've been there through everything. Some are people I used to only see on screens, in magazines, but now they're real, they're here, and they're celebrating me. It's surreal.

The cast of The Greatest Showman showed up early, and I've barely had amoment to myself. Zac and Zendaya are dancing like they don't have a care in the world. Keala's by the bar, harmonizing with the DJ's set like only she can. Everywhere I turn, someone new is pulling me in for a hug, giving me a gift, toasting to me and wishing me all the best.

"Happy birthday, y/n!" Another friend comes up to me - one of the faces I vaguely recognize through the blur of champagne and flashing lights. They hand me a beautifully wrapped gift, and I accept it with a smile, although my mind is elsewhere. I'm grateful, of course, but the attention, the noise, the constant flow of people - it's overwhelming.

But my eyes always drift back to him. Hugh.

I catch a glimpse of him near the bar, his tall, broad frame leaning casually as he sips martini, talking to Ryan. The way the dim lights catch his features - sharp jawline, eyes that sparkle with a mischievous glint - it's like time slows down when I see him. My heart speeds up, a familiar heat spreading through me. It's not the alcohol. It's him.

I can't stop thinking about him, not tonight. There's something about the way he looks, how he moves in that perfectly tailored suit that drives me crazy. Maybe it's because I've had one too many glasses of champagne, or maybe it's just that he's Hugh and he's everything I want right now. I'm feeling it, that hormonal pull that still won't quit. It's like I'm on fire, and he's the only one who can put it out.

Our eyes meet across the room. A slow, easy smile spreads across his lips, and I feel a rush of heat flood through me. God, he's gorgeous. I feel myself gravitating toward him before I even realize what I'm doing weaving through the crowd.

"Enjoying your party, love?" His voice is low when I reach him, the deep itmbre sending shivers down my spine. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear, and I inhale the familiar scent of him - something earthy, masculine, mixed with the faintest hint of martini.

"I would be enjoying it a lot more if you weren't all the way over here." I murmur, my fingers finding the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer.

Hugh laughs softly, his hand sliding around my waist with such ease it feels like second nature.

"Oh, I see. Is the birthday girl feeling a little. neglected?"

"Maybe." I tease, but the truth is, it's not just that. It's everything. I feel wound up, my body buzzing from the alcohol, the excitement, and from him. The way his hand rests so possessively on my waist. The way his eyes darken just a bit when I lean in closer and my chest brushing against his.

He's trying to play it cool, but I know him too well. He feels it too, this spark between us that's been burning hotter as the night goes on. And right now, I can't think of anything but us.

I press my body against his, my lips just grazing his ear as I whisper.

"You know, I've been thinking about you all night."

His grip tightens on my waist, his thumb brushing my hip in a way that makes me bite my lip.

"Oh is that so?" His voice is teasing, but there's an edge to it now, something darker and more primal.

"Mmhmm" I hum, letting my hands drift up his chest, feeling the firmness of his body beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. My fingers toy with his collar, brushing against his skin.

"I can't stop thinking about how good you look in this suit."

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound hat vibrates through my body.

"You're playing with fire, baby."

"Oh I like the burn." I grin.

For a moment, we're just standing here, locked in this invisible dance of tension and desire, the noise of he party fading into the background. My fingers slip into his hair, tugging lightly, and I can feel the way his breath catches in response. He doesn't move, just looks at me with that slow smoldering gaze that makes my knees feel weak.

"Y/n.." he murmurs, his voice a little rough now, like he's barely holding himself back. "We're at your birthday party. You do realize that?"

I grin, pressing my hips against him as I lean up to whisper in his ear, "And what do you wanna do about that?"

His hand grips my waist tighter pulling me even closer, his mouth so close to mine I can feel his breath against my lips.

"You're trouble, you know that?"

"Only for you, baby."

Before I can say anything else, the music changes, and I feel the beat thrum through my body, pulling me onto the dance floor. Hugh follows, his hands on my hips as we move together.

Dancing with him feels like the most natural thing in the world. Every sway of my hips, every turn, it's like our bodies are in sync, perfectly attuned to each other. I can feel the heat of his hands on my skin, even through the fabric of my dress, and it makes me ache for more.

I turn in his arms, pressing my back against his chest and grinding against him as the music pulses around us. His hands tighten on my hips pulling me back harder against him, and I can feel his breath on my neck, hot and heavy.

"Y/n.." he whispers in my ear, voice strained but playful.

"You're making it very hard to be a gentleman right now."

A wicked smile curves my lips. I glance over my shoulder, giving him a sultry look. "Who said I want you to be a gentleman?"

His eyes darken, the playful glint replaced by something more primal. He presses a kiss to my neck, just below my ear, sending goosebumps down my arms. I turn in his arms, facing him fully, and pull him into another kiss, this one deeper, more intense, oblivious to the crowd dancing around us

He groans softly into the kiss, his hands sliding down my sides and his fingers gripping my hips like he's trying to keep some semblance of control. But I can feel him losing it, just as much as I am. The way his body presses into mine, the heat between us - it's almost unbearable.

The music blurs into the background, and all I can think about is the feel of him behind me. His body moving with mine, the way his hands seem to leave trails of fire on my skin. I look up, our lips just inches apart.

"We should stop.." he murmurs though his grip on me doesn't loosen. If anything, he pulls me closer.

I tilt my head up, brushing my lips against his in the barest of touches, teasing.

"Do you really want to?"

He doesn't answer with words. Instead, his mouth crashes against mine, and I lose myself in the taste of him. My hands are in his hair, tugging him closer, and I can feel the way his body tenses against mine, like he's holding back everything he wants to do.

I know we're still in the middle of the dance floor, but I don't care. Right now, it's just him and me, lost in the heat of the moment. I deepen the kiss, letting my tongue slide against hus, and he groans into my mouth, pulling me even closer, if that's even possible.

After what feels like an eternity, we finally pull away from the dance floor. My head is spinning, but not only from the champagne. I grab his hand, pulling him toward the photobooth in the corner of the club.

"Come on, let's do something fun!" I say with a playful grin, tugging him inside.

He laughs, following me into the cramped space. The curtain closes pehind us, and I waste no time climbing onto his lap, my legs straddling his.

"Smile for the camera!" I say, sticking my tongue out at him just as the first flash goes off.

We make silly faces for the next few shots - sticking our tongues out crossing our eyes - but I can feel the tension building between us again. My body is still humming from the dancing, the closeness, the way his hands feel on my thighs, even through the fabric of my dress.

I lean in for the next shot, kissing his cheek, but it doesn't stop there. The kiss lingers, my lips trailing down to his jaw, his neck, and I can feel the way his breath hitches beneath me.

"Love.." he breathes, his hands sliding up my thighs, gripping them tightly. "You're really trying to drive me crazy tonight, aren't you?"

smile against his skin, my lips brushing his ear as I whisper, "Maybe."

The camera flashes again, but we're not paying attention anymore. My mouth finds his, and the kiss quickly turns heated, desperate. His hands slide up my sides, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. I can feel him hard against me, and it only makes me want him more.

I grind against him, and he groans softly, his hands gripping my hips so tightly I know I'II have bruises tomorrow. But I don't care. All I care about is the feel of him beneath me, the way his mouth moves against mine and the way his hands are everywhere at once.

We're lost in each other, so caught in the heat of the moment that I barely register the curtain ripping open. It takes a second for reality to hit, but when it does, it's not subtle.

"Hey! No funny business in there!" a voice teases, giggling as it echoes in the small booth.

I freeze, still straddling Hugh, our lips inches apart, our breathing heavy. I look up and find Chris standing there with his brother Scott, both grinning like they've just caught us in the act - because, well, they pretty much have.

"Really, guys?" I groan, burying my face in Hugh's neck in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. Hugh chuckles, his chest vibrating beneath me, still catching his breath.

Chris gives me an exaggerated wink. "What? Thought we'd come join the party. The booth's big enough for four, right?"

"Get out of here, man!" Hugh says with a laugh, shaking his head, though he's still holding onto me like he has no intention of letting go. His hands remain firm on my waist and his body warm beneath mine. Scott leans against the doorway of the booth, grinning. "You know, we're happy for you two, but maybe save the PDA for after the birthday cake?"

I roll my eyes and slide off Hugh's lap, standing up and adjusting my dress, trying not to look too flustered.

"Fine, fine. The booth is yours!"

Hugh stands up behind me, smoothing down his suit and running a hand through his hair. He's got that mischievous glint in his eyes, though one that tells me this is far from over.

"Have fun!" he says, stepping out of the booth, his hand slipping into mine as we head back toward the party. I squeeze his fingers, unable to hide the grin on my face. But as we walk away, I feel the heat between us still simmering beneath the surface. It's like every brush of his hand against mine, every glance he gives me, is charged with electricity. I don't think either of us is done with what we started.

We slip into a quieter area of the club, tucked away from the noise of the party.

There's a small storage room just off the side of the main hallway, dimly lit, the perfect place to catch our breath and maybe finish what we started.

Inside the storage room, it's cramped and cluttered, a stark contrast to the opulent club just outside. The air smells faintly of cleaning products and dust. Shelves ine the walls, stacked with supplies - boxes, extra bottles of liquor, random equipment that looks untouched for months. There's a small, rickety table in the corner, just big enough for me to sit on, though it Iooks like it could collapse at any moment.

Hugh's hands are on me the second the door clicks shut. His lips find mine in a fierce, hungry kiss, and the world around us fades into a blur of heat and need. His fingers grip my tips, pulling me against him, and can feel the hardness of him through his pants, pressing insistently against me, The urgency between us is undeniable, like we've been holding back all night and can't wait another second.

He guides me backward, and stumble slightly as my back hits the edge of the small table, my breath catching. His mouth leaves a scorching trail along my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin where my shoulder meets my collarbone. I shiver, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

"I need you." I whisper, my voice breathy and desperate.

His response is a low growl vibrating against my skin. "God, y/n.. I need you too. I've needed you all night."

With one swift motion, he lifts me onto the table, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The table creaks beneath me, unsteady from our combined weight, but neither of us cares. His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my dress higher, bunching it around my hips.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me." he murmurs against my ear, his voice thick with desire. His nands grip my waist, and his lips brush my neck again, leaving a trail of heat wherever he touches.

"I've been thinking about you.. imagining this.. every second of tonight."

A soft moan escapes my lips as his fingers tease the edge of my panties, and I arch my back, pressing against him. "Hugh please.."

Hugh's mouth crashes back onto mine swallowing my words. He fumbles with his belt, the leather slipping through the loops with a soft hiss, and the sound alone makes my pulse race. I can feel the tension in his body, the way his hands shake slightly with need, and it drives me wild.

He pulls my panties to the side, and I gasp as his fingers slide against me, teasingly testing.

"Fuck. You're so wet." he whispers, his voice hoarse. His fingers dip inside me briefly, making me gasp.

"And all for me?"

"Only for you baby.." I manage to say parely able to form the words through the haze of desire.

I need you, Hugh. Now."

With a groan, he frees himself from his pants, and I feel the hot, hard length of him pressing against my thigh. His fingers dig into my hips as he positions himself at my entrance, and I bite my lip, already rembling with anticipation.

"Tell me what you want." he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. "Say it."

"I want you." I breathe, my voice shaking with need.

"I want you to fuck me."

He pushes inside me slowly, inch by inch, and my head falls back as a moan escapes my lips. The sensation of him filling me is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain as he stretches me and takes me.

"Fucking hell, y/n." he groans, his forehead pressed against mine as he bottoms out inside me.

"You feel...so fucking good."

The table creaks beneath us, swaying slightly from our movements, but I barely notice. My legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he begins to move slow at first, then harder, faster, until the rhythm of his thrusts matches the beat of the music still thudding through the walls. With every movement, I feel the tension building inside me, winding tighter and tighter until l'm on the verge of breaking. Hugh's hands roam my body, gripping my thighs my hips, sliding up to cup my breasts through my dress. His lips find mine again, his tongue tangling with mine as he thrusts into me with a desperation that mirrors my own.

"You make me feel so good.." I whimper, my nails digging into his shoulders.

"Don't stop... please, don't stop.."

His hand slides down to grip my ass pulling me harder against him as he thrusts deeper, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I love you, y/n." he groans, his voice rough with need. "I fucking love you."

"I love you, Hugh." I whisper, my body trembling as I hold onto him for dear life.

"I love you so much."

We're completely lost in each other now, the world around us disappearing as we move together and the table creaking loudly beneath us.

At one point, I hear something fall - a bottle or maybe a box knocked off one of the shelves - but neither of us cares. We're too far gone, too wrapped up in the heat of the moment to think about anything else.

His thrusts become more erratic, harder, faster, and I feel the tension inside me snap.

My climax crashes through me, sending waves of pleasure rippling through every nerve in my body. I cry out, my nails raking down his back as I hold on, riding the wave of ecstasy.

Hugh groans loudly as he follows me over the edge, his body tensing as he thrusts one last time, his release hot and deep inside me. We're both shaking, breathless, our bodies pressed so tightly together it's like we're one.

For at few moments, we - just stay like that, holding each other with our foreheads pressed together as we try to catch our breath. The room is silent now, save for the sound of our breathing, the faint thump of music still vibrating through the walls.

After a long moment, Hugh pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he looks at me. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips.

"You're amazing." he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

I smile, my heart still racing. "So are you."

He kisses me again, but this time slower and sweeter, like he's savoring the moment. Then, with a soft laugh he pulls back and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief.

"Here, love." he says with a grin, his back pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. It's such a gentlemanly gesture, one that makes me laugh softly. He helps me clean up, his touch careful and respectful, and I can't help but feel a rush of affection for him in that moment.

"Always prepared, huh?" I tease, running a hand through his tousled hair, which is still slightly damp with sweat from our heated encounter.

"I like to think so." he replies with a wink, adjusting his pants and redoing his belt.

He then wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer while kissing softly my forehead.

"You okay?" he murmurs, his voice soft.

smile, my heart still pounding 'More than okay.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my forehead before slowly puling away and helping me straighten out my dress. We both fumble with our clothes trying to make ourselves look at least somewhat presentable, but I can't stop myself from smoothing his shirt, adjusting his tie, and brushing a hand through his hair.

"You're fussing." He says with a lazy smile while his hands find my waist again. "They're going to know we've been up to something."

"I don't care!" I laugh softly, though I can feel my cheeks flushing. I tug on his shirt collar one last time, making sure everything is back in place.

Then, he looks at me with that familiar softness in his eyes, the intensity from earlier replaced with something deeper. His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin, and for a moment, we just stand there in the dim light, staring at each other like the rest of the world doesn't exist.

"What if you were pregnant?"

...

- to be continued -

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@spectorrrhgf @tinawantstobeadoll @appetencyfortacos @weskerussy @kellyxo1 @larkkyoris @shukirschtein14 @corvusmorte @carefree-flowerchild @rexmeshlasblog @melmel-fandom @needz1nk @nonamevenus @morganlolitta @angelofthorr @pickuptruck01 @inlovewithcharmers @gaulty74 @mega-kittyglitter-1 @sylviavf @bethexo07

Next part

[yup-thats-me]

confession • Takakura. K

pairing; Takakura Ken x fem!reader

summary; it took y/n a bit too long to understand she's caught feelings for that idiot!

warnings; none. minor spoiler from ep 8

Were lunch breaks always this boring? That, Y/n couldn't tell. After all, she had spent lunches for the last few weeks with Okarun on the school terrace talking about who knows what.

She wouldn't even be here sulking with her friends in the classroom, she could have been at her favorite place with Okarun if no that idiot had lied straight to her face.

"I'll be working on a report," he said. And maybe she would have believed him if not for the answer he gave when Y/n asked to hang out later after school: "I have stuff to do."

"Ugh. I'm gonna buy some drinks," she exclaimed getting up. "Orange juice for me!" her friends ordered.

What was Okarun doing now? Reading occult magazines? but he could have done the same while eating his lunch with Y/n. Working on a report? maybe but the girl had her doubts. The last months or so they've spent together looking for Okarun's balls, the dude never even uttered a word about assignments. what came over him now?

As Y/n strolled around lazily with her friend's drinks in hand, she stopped dead in her tracks. There was Okarun, doing what seemed to be push-ups, the only thing extraordinary being that Aira Shiratori was under him. Y/n even noticed her eyes were closed.

Y/n's heart began thumping loudly against her chest. What were they doing? Kissing. It couldn't be right? Please! Knowing Okarun, he had never even held a girl's hand in his entire existence. A kiss would be the stretch of the century!

Y/n really wanted to see where the two were going with this, but the drinks she was carrying fell with a thud loud enough to make Okarun startle and look around.

Y/n swore their eyes met. She turned at the speed of light, running away from the two.

"Y/n! Wait, its a misunderstanding!" came the pleading voice of Okarun. But Y/n couldn't hear him over the loud thumps her heart was making, nor could she see with tears covering her vision.

Tears? Why were there tears? She couldn't possibly cry just because the idiot she fell in love with was just seconds away from crashing his lips against the girl who calls her a demon?

Suddenly, Y/n was stopped in her tracks. Okarun was holding on to her sleeve, his other hand carrying the drinks she had dropped. His eyes were pleading.

"I've had enough!" Y/n snapped, snatching her arms from him. "'I have a report to work on,' yeah, right! The report was on the anatomy of female lips, right?"

Y/n could no longer hold back her tears. They streamed down her face endlessly, her eyes red. Okarun had tried to wipe them away even if he was confused as to why the girl was crying, but Y/n backed away.

"You should get back to your bae, she'd be waiting for her kiss," she remarked turning away.

The poor drinks were dropped yet again. Okarun grabbed her wrist, making her face him by force.

"I'm in love with you, so would you please stop with the remarks?"

His voice held a hidden pain. His hands were trembling. He still had not processed what he just blurted out. When it did, he let go of her wrist, backing away a few steps. "Sorry."

The guy was looking down, his mind on overdrive. Did he just confess to Y/n as a request? That was so lame! Of course she would reject him. There's surely no questioning that!

But unexpectedly, Y/n made him look up. His eyes still had not focused on the girl standing before him before he heard a crisp "smack" and the pain stinging in his ear.

Y/n had slapped him. Not that hard that it would hurt, but it still came as a shock. Before he could recover, however, he felt Y/n pulling him by the neck.

In an instant, their lips were clashing agsint the other's clumsily, both amateurs. Just as Okarun was about to register what was happening and maybe even wrap his hands around Y/n, Y/n pulled away.

"I love you too!"

She burst out. "I could tell," Okarun mumbled. When he came to, he looked as shocked as Y/n. Then with the greatest look of betrayal in his eyes, and a hand over his stinging cheek, he asked with faux fury, "What was the slap for then?"

"You deserved it," Y/n smiled, poking out her tongue. "You're officially my boyfriend now," She smirked pulling him by his tie.

"I guess we wouldn't get our drinks today?"

it was her friends who were watching the whole scene play out from their hideout, watching giddily as their friend finally made her move. Took Y/n long enough.

[tuesdayiminlove]

i don't wanna look at anything else (now that i saw you) PART 2/3

where jamie seems to remember everything, and you're just trying to navigate a stitch on your crochet flower (jamie tartt x fem!reader)

part one

A/N: here's part two!!!!! link what yall think, im so grateful for the feedback of the first part, it's super encouraging <33 tysm. also this is NOT proofread oops

word count: 4.5k

When you arrive back inside your home, you’re heavy-breathing with a heartbeat erratic enough for your heart to pop out of your chest. You place your keys down, reaching into your jean pocket for your phone, placing the first call you can manage to muster up. 

Stevie is over within minutes, you think you might’ve heard her light jogging over to your house. 

Her heavy pants echo the room as she tries to muster up the words. “I just got back from work, and I fucking ran! Tell me the emergency immediately.”

“I don’t even know where to begin!” you say. “I mean, I was trying to make some creamy vegetable soup, but I didn’t even get to chop the tomatoes, Stevie! The fucking tomatoes! I—“

“Okay, begin by getting the point, babe." She walks to your kitchen, you following close behind. It doesn’t come to a surprise that she opens your refrigerator, most likely rummaging for the cucumbers and your chickpea hummus. “I love you, but if this is dire, I’m gonna need to know now.” 

You gather your thoughts as Stevie begins to look through your drawers for a knife. How do you even say it simply? “Jamie Tartt thinks I’m his girlfriend.”

Stevie drops the knife. 

In any other situation, you would scold her for doing something close to a hazard in the kitchen. But you understand her actions completely. If you were holding a flower pot when finding out this information, you’d drop that shit, too. 

“Continue before I absolutely freak the fuck out.”

That’s when you tell her about the call and the trip to the hospital. The words are coming out of your mouth at the speed of light, you’re surprised Stevie is managing to keep up. But she does, quietly chopping her cucumbers and dipping a few into the hummus. This is a more collected look than when she dropped the knife, but you’re sure the gears are turning in her head just as much as they are for you currently. 

“I just left his house and I told him I’d be back with—soup!”

You don’t wait to turn the stove back on, shuffling Stevie away from the center of the counter while you go back to cooking. 

She says your name slowly, eyes wide. “This is some romcom-movie-shit, babe.”

You fight a roll of your eyes. “This is real life!” you scold. “And the poor boy is concussed, probably mental!” 

“Mental for thinking he’s dating you? Have you seen yourself? You’re fucking magnificent.”

“Thanks,” you drawl, not in the mood for a compliment. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s just a bit bonkers right now, and I don’t know what to do!” You stir the pot stressfully, watching the ingredients mix around the broth. You’ve put a bit more ingredients, and added more broth to make sure that the serving is good for two, and for any leftovers Jamie may want. You think you’ll have enough to send Steve home with, as well. “The doctor said not to startle him, but I’m pretty fucking startled. So I don’t know how to not startle him when I’m not in the right state of mind! This feels so stupid.” 

“I think you should tell him the truth,” says Stevie. She’s right behind your shoulder, peering over at the pot. She takes a large whiff, and hums. “You making this for him?”

“And for you.” And me! 

“Ah,” she says. “I see. A little compensation so I don’t out you to the press, yeah? Nice thinking!”

“Not funny,” you drawl. It was never a thought that crossed your mind that Stevie would go out, telling people of your current entanglement with Jamie. She’s an editor for a magazine company, and she has a problem telling you all the tips she gets about local celebrities, always trusting you not to tell anyone anything. You don’t doubt that she’ll do the same for you. “So I should tell him the truth, then?” you ask, getting back to the main point of Stevie’s visit. 

“Mhm,” she replies. “Probably not today though, don’t you think? He’s overwhelmed enough as it is, he’s probably gonna be benched in Richmond’s next couple matches. That sad fuck is probably groveling as we speak. And he can’t even drink to cure the pain! … That’s how concussions work, right?” She shakes her head. “Anyway, don’t do it today. If I were you, I’d play it by ear, you know?”

You nod, having heard all of this from the doctor.

"And one more thing."

Stevie hums in questionn

“… He may have tried to kiss me.”

You think everyone in the neighborhood heard Stevie’s screech when she belts your name. 

It’s later in the day when you ring Jamie’s doorbell. You’d successfully shooed Stevie out of your house, convincing her that she does not need to spy on you from your kitchen window in case Jamie tries to make a move (“I’ll be there in two seconds, ready to make that concussion worse. Just say the word.”). And now you have the soup in two tupperware containers, as well some carrots and dip in your tote bag because that’s what Jamie originally always used you for, right? The familiarity will hopefully make him happy. 

When he opens the door, you’re not surprised to see all the lights are closed, as well as his curtains shut (so much for Stevie spying). The only thing you see that’s shedding artificial light is the lamp by his staircase, but even that looks as dim as it can be. 

“Hey, love,” he says groggily, a certain warmth to it that makes the nickname seem more intimate. He rubs his eyes as he moves to create room for you to come inside. “Sorry I took so long. Took a bit of a nap.”

“Oh,” you frown, concern taking over the nerves of his sudden pet names, “I’m sorry for waking you. I can just drop these off and head out, if you’d prefer?”

Jamie shakes his head. “Don’t be silly. Come in.”

You enter apprehensively, though you’re trying your best to conceal it. This is the second time ever that you are in Jamie’s home. And it’s only been a day. The strangeness of that fact lingers in the air as you close the door behind you.

You trail behind him toward the kitchen, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood floors. Various football plaques litter the walls, as well as many, many photos of Richmond’s team.

“Why don’t you go sit down?” you say as you simultaneously take in his home. “I can prepare these myself and bring them to you.”

“Rubbish," scoffs Jamie, "I’m still mobile, and I’m not leaving my girlfriend to take care of me like you’re some sort of maid. I’m not bedridden.”

The word girlfriend, once again, catches you off guard, and your heart does a funny little stutter. You push it aside. “I just don’t want you to exert yourself,” you reason, brows furrowed. “You’re concussed, Jamie.”

“Who cares about that?” he jokes, waving off your concerns. 

Your jaw clenches. You want to say I care. Because this concussion is affecting you more than you fucking know. But you bite your tongue, and instead ask him where he keeps his bowls and silverware. 

Minutes later, Jamie and yourself are sitting on his couch. You took the liberty of sitting on the opposite end of his sofa, taking up as little space as possible. You’ve tucked yourself into the far corner, legs curled up slightly, trying to occupy as little room as possible. Jamie, on the other hand, lounges comfortably, his socked feet propped on the edge of the coffee table, though his posture is slightly more relaxed than it was earlier. You’d ask Jamie if it would be okay to crochet while you’re here, mainly so you can have something to do instead of sitting there awkward with today’s events before you. 

So, soup now resting on Jamie’s coffee table (you stop every few moments to take a bite), you’re intent on the rose petal you’re making with your yarn. Jamie alternates between eating his soup and watching you, his gaze unashamedly direct, though there’s a softness to it that makes your heart flutter despite yourself.

To anyone else, the scene might look endearingly domestic: the two of you sharing a quiet moment in the living room, him eating soup, you crocheting, the occasional exchange of lighthearted banter. But there’s an underlying element to it. You don’t want to tip-toe around Jamie, because you’re supposed to be acting natural and all, but it’s hard. 

“You’re the most thoughtful thing ever, you know that?” he says, after a minute of silence. 

Your hands pause mid-stitch, your eyes staying fixed on the delicate yarn in front of you as you decide how to respond, stomach churning nervously. “A ‘thing’?” you joke lightly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “How very gentlemanly of you.”

“You know what I mean!” chastises Jamie. 

Fighting the butterflies in your stomach as his words settle warmly around your heart.

“I do know,” you reply softly, finally glancing up at him. “Why do you say that?”

“The rose you’re knitting—“

“Crocheting.”

“Crocheting. Sorry, love. How many are you making for the old bloke’s grandson?”

The moment you take in Jamie's words, you pause, crochet hook in the air. “What?” 

Jamie looks confused. “Mr. Taylor? That his name?”

You shake your head, mind still reeling. “No, I know who you meant. How do you know I’m making this for his grandson?” You don’t recall telling that to Jamie when you initially mentioned what you wanted to do here. 

You currently have half of a rose petal done, wanting to make something special for Mr. Taylor grandson—Roman. The young toddler is allergic to flowers, getting all sniffly and itchy when you had brought over a hand-made flower arrangement for the Taylors (it had been their 37th wedding anniversary). But Roman had just kept looking at the flowers with such curiosity, despite his body’s affinity for them. When you had decided to take up crocheting (you wanted to make tiny plant plushies yourself—because why are stuffed plushies with cute faces on them so expensive these days?), one of the first things you learned was to make stuffed flower arrangements, just for when Roman would visit. 

How could Jamie possibly know that?

“Because you’re you,” says Jamie. Blush coats over his cheeks lightly when he averts his gaze from hers, hand moving to scratch the back of his head.

“… And," he begins, "one day, I was in me car and I saw you walk over to the Taylors’ house with crochet roses. ‘Made it look like a nice arrangement, too. I wanted to ask you why you had fake flowers when you have fucking millions just in your front yard. Didn’t know if that’d sound weird, though, so…” he trails off, his words getting quieter, “So, I may have asked Mr. Taylor instead.”

You try to recall the memory Jamie spoke of. You do recall the last time you had headed over to the Taylors with the signature bouquet. Jamie had been at the front of his house, getting into his car. Of course she had noticed him immediately, spotting him just by her peripheral vision, but she hadn’t decided to spare him a look until she crossed the street to look back, but he had been preoccupied. She didn’t even think he saw her that day. 

That day had been nearly three months ago. 

Your mouth falls open. Jamie had noticed and asked about you that long ago?

Jamie glances at you nervously, mistaking your silence for something more negative. “I’m not some creep or anything, promise! I just—I dunno—I was curious! You’re always doing stuff like that.” 

You shake your head. “I just never knew you noticed,” you mumble, your nerves growing. Even now, he remembers. You wish you knew what that meant for you two; you wish that the suspicions and hopes in your brain are true. “Or asked.”

Jamie’s cockiness kicks back in at your flustered nerves. “Like I said, I’ve always noticed you. And now I get to be the luckiest guy.”

Your eyes meet his. For a moment, you let yourself pretend. Pretend that this is real—that this is the relationship you and Jamie have built together. That you’re a couple, and this is just one of those moments you get to stumble upon—a sweet realization that Jamie had liked you long before either of you dared to admit it.

You let yourself hold on to the fantasy, just for a moment.

It has to be just a moment... you think if you stare any longer at Jamie your body is going to take over and grab him for a kiss, just to know what it may feel like. You just know you shouldn’t.

“Four,” you say softly. “I’m making four for Roman.” You turn back to the stitch you had laid on your lap, trying to get out of your frenzie and into your zone. 

Jamie smiles, eyes still twinkling. “That’s his name? Roman?”

You hum. “He’s about to turn four. And he’s just the most adorable kid I’ve seen.”

“I’m being rude, aren’t I?" replies Jamie, "Prodding.”

Your head snaps up. “What? No.” You uncomfortably shift in your seat to hopefully look less odd. “Sorry if I’m being weird. I’m just… zoned out, I guess. Thinking a lot.”

“Yeah?” he says, staring at you intently. “What about?”

“Just… everything about today, I suppose.”

Jamie jokingly smiles. “Yeah, getting a call that your boyfriend got whacked in the head and is now concussed wasn’t really in your daily plan, was it?”

You let out a laugh. “No, it wasn’t.”

“It got in the way of watering radishes, I bet.”

Again, you laugh more, your stomach moving steadily at the action. From the limited conversation you’ve had with him, paired with now, you’ve deduced that Jamie is just a complete pro for lightening up conversations. When your heart races nervously, a quip comes out of his mouth that makes your body go back steady. You don’t even think that this is an individual experience; he seems like he does it a lot. You wonder how that balance comes so perfectly in his life. 

“Yeah,” you laugh. “My gardening has to come to a pause today.” 

“It’s a shame,” he says, grinning. “Would’ve loved to see you in your cute sunhat, or the giant yellow gloves you always wear.”

Your eyes widen at his words. 

Seeing your shock, he adds, “You think I don’t notice these things? I always have.”

You try not to cough up the food you’d just digested. You would like to consider that Jamie is just making things up, but the description of your usual accessories when you’re out tending to your plants remain true. The giant yellow gloves belong to your mom, and there hasn’t been any reason to buy new ones if you’ve already got a pair. 

And the sunhat—well, it’s not everyday you’re seen out with it. It’s usually if the sun ever comes out, glaring at your eyes while you try to focus on a task at hand. You’ve probably brought it out maybe a couple of times since Jamie had moved in next to you; none of those times being as of recent. 

It’s a shock Jamie can even recall it. 

He remembers the little things. I always have. 

“Fuck,” he mutters softly. “Have I creeped you out? Don’t mean to sound like a prick, but I thought what I said was pretty fucking cute. But I understand if it’s creepy again. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “No, Jamie, I’m not creeped. ‘M kinda just shocked that you notice things like that.” 

He shrugs. “It’s hard to not pay attention. You live right beside me. And you’re you. It’s pretty fucking impossible for me not to notice things about you.”

Your heart is back to racing. All of Jamie’s confessions of things he’s noticed can only insinuate that he’s genuinely seen things about you, whether he had gotten hit in the head or not. They’re not fabricated in his mind from his belief that you two are dating. He’s not like Holy shit, do you remember that time we had dinner together? You think if he started recalling specific memories that never happened, you’d check him straight into the nearest mental institution. 

But he’s saying things that are so undeniably true; things he’s noticed about your being. 

If you aren’t already so conscious and confused of the actual problem at hand, you’d sit here and pretend that he’s yours—just as much as he claims to be. You wish this moment to be real, but it’s not. The sadness and guilt that weighs over you with that fact can overtake any other feeling in this moment. 

“Jamie,” you begin, “I need to tell you something.”

You think about Stevie’s advice, to not tell him today. The doctor saying not to overwhelm him. You know they’re right. You don’t want to. The poor bloke is probably already stressed enough as it is. You want to be here for Jamie, to help him get better because even with your limited experience around him, you care very deeply about his wellbeing. And maybe your feelings are skewed by the crush you’ve been harboring on him, but that’s hardly the point anymore. 

But how are you supposed to keep this up? Pretending to be someone you’re not, filling a role in his life that isn’t truly yours—it feels wrong, no matter how much you want to help him heal.

You don’t think you’re cut out for pretending. 

Jamie looks at you expectantly, a small smile on his face and your heart just breaks. 

“Jamie… I don’t know how to say this,” you admit, your throat tightening. “But I’m not your girlfriend.”

For a second, Jamie looks beyond confused. “The fuck? Did we break up?”

“I got the call today,” you explain gently, shrinking down into the sofa with a racing heart. “When I heard you were in the hospital, I was worried—God, I was worried—but I didn’t understand why they called me. And then Roy said… he said we’d been going out.” You bite your lip, carefully choosing your next words. “It made me realize something had gone wrong. That maybe you hit your head and got things mixed up.”

Jamie doesn’t say anything, his brows knitting together as he processes your words.

“I wanted to do what was best for you,” you continue, your voice growing quieter. “Everyone kept telling me not to startle you, not to stress you out. But I can’t keep pretending we’re in a relationship when we’re not. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel honest. “I care about you, Jamie. I care about you getting better. But I can’t pretend, okay? I’m really, really sorry.””

It’s been nearly two days since you’ve seen or heard from Jamie. You’d practically bolted after your admission, your chest tight with guilt and your hands trembling as you no longer felt worthy of being in his home.

You hadn’t looked back, and he hadn’t stopped you.

It’s all you think about as you sit in the kitchen with your morning coffee, trying your best to catch up on the emails about work that have been piling up while you wallow.

Your work is interrupted when the doorbell rings. 

You immediately think it’s Stevie; she’s been wanting to see you since you had texted and said that you couldn’t even last the night without telling Jamie the truth. You purposefully left out the parts where Jamie pointed out the crocheting for Roman, and the gloves, and the sunhat, and Jamie just noticing you. God knows Stevie will be the first person to jump up and say he’s in love with you, and you’re not ready for that delusion in your head to be spoken out into the universe. 

Especially after Jamie has not spoken to you since. He’s probably freaked out, never wanting to speak to you for as long as he possibly can. 

You close your laptop and head to your front door, not even bothering to check who may be on the other end because—duh—it’s Stevie. 

Only, it’s not her. 

Instead, three boys stand on the opposite end of your door, gaping at you from the moment you lay eyes on them. 

They look vaguely familiar to you, and judging but the sweatsuits they’re wearing with the AFC Richmond logo, they’re Jamie’s teammates. You swallow your anxiety and give them a confused look.

“You’re real,” the man in the middle says, tall and broad with a commanding presence.. 

“Shut up, bruv,” the man to the right elbows the other. “We don’t even know if it’s her. ‘Could be the girl two houses down…”

“Mi amor,” says the final man, eyes light. His warm, melodic voice is unmistakably Spanish, holding up a bottle of wine like a peace offering. “What’s your name?”

You frown, wanting to ask so many questions when a shout intercepts the trio that has lined up at your door. 

“Oi!” 

They boys all turn, and you manage to peek your head out the door, to see Jamie stomping down the steps of his home, clad in sweats and… cow slippers? 

Despite the grumpy set of his face, the sight is almost endearing.

“Jamie!” the trio chorus in unison, like they’ve been caught red-handed.

“You didn’t answer the door,” one of them says, “we figured you’d be at your beautiful lady’s.”

“Don’t mean you can go knocking on doors of people you don’t fucking know,” huffs Jamie, finally reaching them. He doesn’t spare you a glance. 

The boys look ashamed. “We’re sorry, bruv,” says the tallest one, voice gruff and guilty. “Dani made Birria tacos, and Colin’s brought fuzzy socks. I just wanted to say sorry for whacking ya.”

Jamie’s eyes soften at his words. He sighs. “Thank you, mate. I appreciate it, I really do. But I stand by what I fuckin’ said. You can’t go knocking at random doors.”

“But it’s not random!” says the boy you’ve deduced to be Colin. For the first time since they’ve knocked, he turns to you in acknowledgement. “It’s lovely to meet you!” 

“The flowers are gorgeous,” says Dani, eyes g;azing dutifully at your front lawn. “And we apologize for the interruption.”

Jamie nods at them, like a mother watching over their child at the playground after a petty fight breaks out. 

You grin, awkwardness dissolvong. “It's okay. And—I love birria tacos, by the way. Good choice.”

Dani blushes. “I’m sure Jamie wouldn’t mind sharing it with his lady. Wouldn’t  you, Jamie?”

Jamie sputters, looking between the boys, and sparing you the first glance since he’s got here. His mouth opens, then closes. Repeatedly. 

“Um,” you interject, “I would much rather let Jamie enjoy it. Thank you, though!”

Isaac frowns. “That’s how you’re gonna treat your girl?” he grumbles at Jamie. 

“She said it!” argues Jamie. “Not me!”

Isaac shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about no chivalry these days, but he claps Jamie on the shoulder. “Alright, bruv, we’ll get outta your hair. Just make sure you enjoy the tacos. And, uh…” he glances at you with a cheeky grin, “Be nice to your lady, yeah?”

Jamie groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Colin pipes up, “It was lovely meeting you!” His voice is warm and genuine, and he flashes you a smile before jogging after Isaac, who is already halfway down the steps.

Dani lingers a moment longer, holding out the wine bottle to Jamie. “You deserve this,” he says with a knowing smile, his gaze flicking between you and Jamie.

Jamie takes the bottle “Thanks.”

“And don’t worry, we won’t knock on any more random doors. Adiós, mi amigos!” Dani trots after the others.

And then it’s just the two of you.

“‘M really fucking sorry ‘bout them. I didn’t think they’d come knocking at your door when I decided to fucking ignore them.” He stares down at the endearing cow faces at his feet, sighing.

You shrug, a harmless smile tugging at your lips. Jamie looks awfully nervous, which you don’t understand. “Makes sense, honestly. And I don’t mind. Now that you’re here, though, I just wanna ask how you’re doing.”

He looks briefly surprised. “I’m doing alright,” he says eventually. 

“Okay, because I never intend to pry, but I’ve just been pretty worried. And—“

“You don’t need to pretend to care.”

The abruptness of Jamie’s cutoff has you wondering whether or not it actually occurred. His frown, however, only solidifies that those words did indeed come from his mouth. 

“Excuse me?” you reply, voice sharper than intended.

“Listen, I was a fuckin’ idiot and a borderline creep to you. When you left, I really thought about it and how fucked up that whole day was. I can��t imagine how it made you feel; being put into a position where you had to be in a relationship with me.”

You frown. You wonder now if this is why Jamie has chosen not to speak to you; if his guilt for the situation has kept him from reaching out. You refuse for that to be a reality. 

“Jamie, are you serious? I just wanted you to be okay! And that’s still what I want for you.”

His eyes peek up from his slippers to you. “… So you don’t hate me?”

You laugh. “I have no reason to hate you, Jamie.”

“You have every reason to believe that I’m a stalker-creep, by the way!”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you want me to see you as one?”

“Obviously fucking not!

“Then stop trying to drill it into my head!” you laugh. 

Jamie stares at you for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to argue but can’t find the words. Finally, he lets out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. There’s a flicker of vulnerability in his expression, softened by the small. And, for the first time in days, the tension between you feels like it’s starting to ease.

“If it’s not obvious,” he begins awkwardly, “I like you. A lot.” He laughs at himself. “Enough to reach stalker status. And clearly my fucking fantasies wanted to take over with me fucking head… but I wanted to do it all the right way. ‘Kinda cheated didn’t I?”

For the first time in two days, the churning in your stomach isn’t anxiety, and instead something entirely more manageable. You grin at him, teasing, “Maybe a little.”

He huffs a laugh, the sound a mix of relief and something hopeful. His eyes meet yours, more sure now, though his voice remains gentle when he says, “I want to do it right. All of it. If you’ll let me.”

The way he looks at you—open, expectant, like he’s giving you the choice and trusting you to give the truest response.

Your smile says everything he needs to know.

(You already know Stevie’s going to lose her mind when you tell her.)

[purin-gambler]

there was nothing more suna loved than to take photos of his chubby love. with photography as his full time profession, you would be the main subject captured first in his heart, then captured to his lense. his vision of his love for you reflected in the imagery he takes of you.

never once had he pressured you. always understanding whether or not you felt picture ready in the moment. though he wants nothing more than to show the world your beauty, in your most rawest form to your most dolled up. and the times you do agree, his choices of composition, his use of following and breaking all dynamics in the principles of photography, as well as the incredible way he executes your perfection is not just derived from skill, but his wholehearted love for you.

the way hed take time, shifting in all sorts of silly and uncomfortable positions just to find the lighting that best highlights the doughy goodness of your body. shuffling around more to get an angle that doesnt shadow away your supple parts he loves so much. he looks ridiculous, especially in public. but he’ll take the light humiliation if it means you get to shine in return. the results always awed you both, so of course— it was worth it.

though his own guilty pleasure? gifting you outfits hed love for you to do mini photoshoots in, taking perspective pov shots— just to get close to you while posed and dressed up, and making sets for you in his personal studio or just in your shared home. because to his eyes, you are every lovely definition and more. not just as his muse, but as his girlfriend, his most cherished love, and his other half.

he could gush for hours over the way you stole his heart, and how he greedily gate keeps yours. every time he saw your smile as you laughed and chatted his ears off, every time you groggily woke up beside him, every time he saw you in ways you trusted no one else besides him to.

it almost frustrates him that your beautiful expressions cant be fully grasped by the digital pixels created by a photo. no matter how good the camera or his skills are. your smile on film would never live up to the radiant way you shine in person. but hes a greedy man, so he feels a sense of pride knowing he could see your smile youve given him in its truest form. with you right beside him, and its all for himself.

through his eyes alone, he had been entranced since day one. and he feels so damn luckily he can be the one to show you off to the world through his loving gaze.

hence the number of photos of you, the reason a photo of you and him are front and center on his booking website, and why his portfolio is full of his best work— a large percentage of it involving you.

and when it comes back to the individual photos hes taken— each capture, even if accidentally blurred from an unmatched shutter speed, or caught too off guard— still meant so much to him. back to the times youve agreed to take part in his more professional work, suna would always make it a point not to bother with heavily editing the photos. wanting highlight what makes you so one of a kind. with your blemishes and your so called ‘imperfections’ that only made so much more real to him, unlike the images seen in magazines or online.

he treasures you, and has seen you in so many different ways unlike no other. through each moment outside of still imagery, he will always highly regard you as a person he so dearly loves. shined in his work and through his own two orbs— you as a whole became his muse and center of his world.

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 6

summary ;; This is the reality of Jake Sully: the father and Olo'eyktan of the People cannot coexist, Eywa teaches her lessons in the toughest ways. PART 5 | NEXT (wip) pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; well this took a hot minute. am back on my bs WARNING for violence and t0rture, reader discretion is advised. Please excuse my mistakes if you see any!

Jake moved on pure primitive instinct, unbridled arctic rage honing all his senses into one laser point of focus. It wasn’t survival, and it surely wasn’t prey running from predator, there was nothing noble about what he was trying to achieve. 

That avatar was going to die today, and Jake was going to make it hurt. No fair game. No warrior’s death. No respect. 

Devoid of the shape of humanity or the ties that bound him to it, he was the embodiment of a creature’s killer intent, body taking over and consciousness disappearing to the backseat as he catapulted his tomahawk at the avatar, taking advantage of the miniscule opening provided by a magazine change needed after emptying all of his bullets to a Jake luring him into wasting his resources away. 

The dull squelch of the hand-carved ax’s head plunging into flesh couldn’t be dampened by the avatar’s choked and short shout, and Jake was jumping out of cover in no time, a bull to red, advancing towards the man, footsteps not hidden out of having no concern for it at all, let him panic or try to struggle for all Jake cared. 

Opposite of what he expected, the rifle wasn’t picked up or fumbled to aim at him. The avatar, pale in the face and pupils having devoured the yellow, fear trumping the pain of his arm almost sliced off from shoulder, crawled away on his back from Jake in full speed, getting up before Jake could reach him, and started staggering into the forest, dropping the tomahawk in the process. 

Jake stopped in his tracks for a moment and picked his weapon up, the dark liquid glistening purple in the light of the Tree of Souls, droplets of blood making the moss light up as they hit the ground. His chest heaved in controlled, loud breaths, mouth pulled back in a snarl, watching the pathetic son of a bitch trying to get away. 

He was one of the lot who’d shot you, hurt you, tortured you — simply to get a reaction out of Jake. 

He was the one who pulled Jake away before he could fix his mistakes, undo the damage they had done, and get you back. 

Jake was so close. So close. 

You were there. You were right there. He could still feel you in his arms, his shoulder imprinted with your tears, shiest of smiles at a better future he could build with you from the burnt soil of your relationship. 

If it hadn’t been for him… 

That man was your murderer. 

He deserved the hell of a father’s making.

This avatar was a marine — and the fucking idiot was running into the oblivion blind worse than a normal civilian would in this situation, had all those years of training evaporated in one second? Jake’s steps were determined, yet lax following after the guy, nose picking up the trail of blood left behind, eyes watching the red splatters. This was all Hansel and Gretel for him, playing follow the breadcrumbs.

The sound of thumping, frantic running, bumping into obstacles, crashing into flora, all was distinguishable from the natural song of the forest Jake had gotten so familiar with in these fifteen years. No response came from the avatar, but Jake wasn’t hurrying. He would have him. Let the bastard tire himself out first — but he wouldn’t let him die. No. He could smell the fear, the blood, anger at bay, all ice, knowing the trees would carry all the sounds he needed to Jake. He could hear exactly where the avatar was. and If he was hoping he’d bleed himself out faster than Jake could reach him to save himself from what was going to happen, well… 

He’d better start praying for mercy to whatever deity held his worthless faith, because Jake had none of it. They had no mercy for you, his sinless, innocent child, all but wails and yelps and blood, and apologies for it. 

Every time Jake thought of you in that tremendous pain to the brink of delirium, he burned in his heart’s ice until he was black and purple all over. Your smile was so real, your embrace was tiny and warm in his arms and he had a chance, the only chance no parent could ever get in this life. Jake had dissolved together with that mirage.   

The part of him engulfed in flames wanted to end this quickly and painfully—to burn it all, break that man in, scream his lungs out, the other part of him, frozen fury that scalded over in the loss of you, wanted to draw it out, wanted to inflict never-ending pain, to bring the avatar back from the brink of death over and over again just to repeat it in a cycle. 

His child. His baby. 

The ties that held Jake together were getting pulled tight, the pressure building like deep water currents, thinner threads snapping and crackling, body being pulled to all five directions from all five limbs. Awareness went out and barged its way back in hot flashes, he couldn’t comprehend the passing of time and how long he let your murderer catch the delusion of shaking Jake off his tail — but, his instincts knew to reveal himself before the avatar could be claimed by blood loss. 

Dangling hope right in front of his face just to snatch it away wasn’t enough. It could never be enough compared to you who had dragged your own corpse back home, muted to your own pain cocooned between those who should have meant nothing but home and safety to you. Torture. You had lived torture in your last hours with help just one step, one word away. 

Nothing would ever be enough.  

Jake emerged from the thick flora like the grim reaper himself who would always be waiting right at the spot of the reaping wherever the soul ran away to, detached and unimpressed, blank face not reflecting the scorched soul inside. The almost passed out avatar jolted awake when he smelled the smoke from Jake’s shadow falling on him, and could only press his back further to the body of the cluster of big rocks he had taken shelter against as if somehow becoming one with it could shield him away from Jake’s wrath.  

The man’s breathing was getting louder and shakier the more Jake stood there motionless. “C’mon then,” he said between clenched teeth, spasming hand dropping from his mutilated shoulder, squaring up the last drops of his courage. “Get on with it.”

Jake’s whitened fingers were making noise against the handle of his tomahawk, but his voice was hauntingly hollow, unfeeling now that he had the man right in his palm. “Thought I should let you live what you did to my daughter first.”

The avatar began to scream. “Fuck you, man, we didn’t do none of this shit to that kid—”

Jake’s tone didn’t change, but it cut worse than a knife. “You killed my kid.”

His eyes widened, breath hitching, the reality of what was coming to him finally sinking in and Jake witnessed every panicked second of it. “Fuck…” His gaze wildly alternated between Jake and the tomahawk, raising his better, trembling hand up for feeble defense. “Look, look, listen, we didn’t kill her, alright? We patched her up, okay, she was going to be a prisoner, what happened happened because you engaged in battle, we wouldn’t do that to a—AGH!”

He was interrupted by Jake sharply shoving the head of the tomahawk into his injury, just putting it in there, not moving it further down. “Do you have children, marine?”

The man palmed at the weapon, fingernails digging into the wood, but no matter how much he pushed, it didn’t budge one bit. “Stop, stop! Fuck—”

Jake repeated again, firmer. “I asked you a question, do you have children?”

“No!— No, god, argh!” 

He spaced out for a while, watching him squirm and trash to get away with defeated, half-assed attempts, also unable to because of how much of an immovable object Jake was making the weapon buried in the open wound be. It would hit the bone if he used more strength. 

With a fixed, stony stare, Jake removed the tomahawk, waiting for the man’s deplorable whimpers to recede before breaking him the news like reading it off a doctor’s report. “You won’t get to have any.”

He didn’t look like he cared about something like that, but the man knew his fate insinuated by the words. Nevertheless,it didn’t mean he could be free from the survivor’s instinct’s mood swings his body was putting him through. Denial to bargaining within minutes. “Just kill me already, you deserter piece of—”

“Oh, no, no no,” Jake reassured, the only flicker of emotion he had shown since he’d cornered the avatar. “You won’t get to die for a long time, either.” 

The avatar grunted, head falling down before he started to shake it. “Please just let it end—man, just let it end, I’m sorry, okay, please!” A whole body-trembling begging shifted to anger the more Jake remained non-responsive. Watching. Just watching. The hole in his chest getting wider the more he fed this man’s suffering to it — it wasn’t enough. “Just fucking do it! Pussy ass bitch! Come on you blue motherfucker, kill me! Kill m—”

“Are you the one who shot my daughter?” 

“What?”

“Are you. The one. Who shot my daughter?”

The avatar’s face twisted. “It wasn’t me—it wasn’t—asshole, you already killed the guy, I didn’t fucking do anything!—”

“You... didn’t do anything?”

A beat. The forest fell silent in Jake’s ears. Just like how the noises you made had abruptly died down as he was putting pressure on your wound.

And like that, the thick haze that had Jake desensitized blew over, unadulterated anger rushed to his body, acidic and nauseating, soul stitching back to his limbs by a million needles and he began to shake, face contorting, teeth showing itself, the hiss that lacerated his throat was the most terrifying one of his life yet, it didn’t sound like it belonged to a sentient being, twisted by a grieving, demented animalistic horror. The avatar’s breath hitched, whatever protest and voice he had escaping deep inside his body, ears pinned back to his head. 

“Of course,” Jake glowered, swallowing the scorching stones blocking his throat. He closed his burning eyes, and was greeted by the image of you, opening them back again, and shaking the ax as if it was an accusing finger. 

And without a word of warning, his hand shot down and grabbed the avatar from the neck of his tactical vest, hurling him over the chest-level array of big rocks forming a pointy bed above, ignoring the cries of pain as the abused, torn open flesh of the wound dragged through the sharp teeth of the gravel, dousing them in blood. “Please, please, stop!—I’m sorry, I was wrong, that wasn’t right, shit, shit!”

Jake snatched the man’s dominant arm that was coincidentally the same one dangling by fractured bone and tendons from the shoulder. His soul had known what he wanted right from the start before his brain had processed it. “This hand,” he spat, holding it from the wrist, gnashing his teeth. “that pulled the trigger at me…” 

Murdered his daughter for a second time. 

All a soldier’s worth for. One hand to hold the stock tight against the body and one to fire. All that to take a single life.

Leaning the hand down against the rock in a sudden move, Jake slammed on the blunt, pointy end of the tomahawk on it like he was hammering a nail, the sickening crack of the bones breaking got followed by the avatar’s fractured scream. 

Jake saw you hunched, cheekily laughing in the blue and purple of the creek, freckles glowing because of the eclipse, silhouette illuminated by the floating bioluminescent bugs.  

Spinning the tomahawk in his clammy hand in a full 360 turn, he smashed it down once more, stronger. The metal broke skin and sank into spongy muscle. His ears were buzzing, ringing from how the shrill yells. 

Jake was hugging you after what seemed to be years, and your little arms were clinging to him for life — you were sand slipping from his fingers. 

Jake hammered again. 

You were telling him how mean he was to you, your voice suppressing the avatar’s. 

He brought it down one more time and felt the tomahawk recoil from hitting rock. 

You were bashful as you repeated how Jake would always love you. 

Guttural breaths getting louder with effort each hit, he kept slamming it down until everything was his beautiful little sweet girl. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again and again and again and again and again until there was no resistance from the limb anymore and the man had gone silent and it was all mashed meat he was pounding— 

And then he almost plunged it to your bleeding, battered corpse, your stomach covered in reddish brown from the dried brown, body ashen blue, and Jake cried out in terror, jumping back and losing strength in his legs as the tomahawk flew from his hand and he fell over. 

His lungs constricted, refusing to take any breaths in and his heart ricocheted around in his ribcage, he was gaping at the wall of rock now washed red as if it was some white rose painted red in Alice in Wonderland. 

Jake sat there for the longest time, dissociated.

In those moments, he wasn’t Toruk Makto, he wasn’t Olo’eyktan, he wasn’t the pillar of a family of seven. He was simply Jake Sully. 

However, he wasn’t allowed to be stripped down to the bone until all that’s left was a mourning father. That was Jake’s reality. 

He had to cast the crippled man aside, the tragedy of his child away, and bring the leader of the People out right as your ghost rippled in his vision, watching spitefully within the forest — because all you wanted was for him to be your father, and he couldn’t even fucking do that after your death. 

This avatar was a valuable asset, a hostage to question. For the sake of his people. 

He wasn’t allowed revenge. 

A single drop of tear rolled down expressionless face. When he looked down, Jake’s hands were still stained with your blood. 

The only instance a child should be covered in blood is when they come out of their mother’s womb, little lungs being burned with existence for the first time, crying from the pain of being separated from Eywa’s arms, birth mother a complete stranger to them. 

The gore of you barely clinging to life, unmoving, drenched in your own blood, wiped and wiped to the point Neytiri had to change buckets of water until it turned light pink was overlapping with the joyful image of your newborn self she had lovingly and gently cleaned of the remains of labor with wetted mothsilk, skin too sensitive for water for the moment, the blue coming alive as the blood and other clotted bodily fluids were cleansed. 

It wasn’t the broken, ice-cold, lithe body of a young girl Neytiri had cleaned in the torment of her excoriated, unraveling mind, it was her baby’s. Her baby, her poor baby with a gaping hole in the middle of your body, memories marauding Neytiri’s lucidity. 

She lived the moment of your first cleansing over and over again. 

You were a particularly indomitable cryer, Neytiri had known you would be infamous for your battle cries right as she was brought back from the blackout of post-birth by your overly-healthy wailing — or perhaps you would best Ninat as a singer when you’d unapologetically blossom, but one thing was ascertained: her first daughter was a fierce, fiery blue ball of ardor compared to Neteyam, who was almost shy and reluctant in disturbing people around him in his weeping that a collective worry for his health had plagued the whole clan. 

As you squirmed, smeared in chunks of her flesh and blood, as if you wanted to jump off from her arms and start walking already, Neytiri had smiled up at her Jake, your father, unable to take his eyes off you, stuck between awe and laughs that came and went. “She has your heart,” she’d told him, spent and hurting, but wonderfully alive. “Strong.”

He’d traced his thumb through her drenched hairline. “Lungs, you mean?” His scent, wind and hearthfire, had enveloped Neytiri when Jake had leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I think they’re yours.” The teasing about how you had made Neytiri scream in labor wouldn’t have gone unpunished if she wasn’t on the edge of sleep held up only by your crying, so, he’d gotten a light hit on the side of his face instead. But Jake knew how to apologize, he’d always been spectacular at it. “I’d say she takes after me in appearance, look at her little ugly face.”

To Neytiri, you were beautiful, face dark purple from how strong you were screaming, and a mini-village elder with the wrinkles, swinging those little fists — things that made you lovely in her eyes. Her first daughter. 

She had learned motherhood from Neteyam, but she would learn to understand her mother and her choices through you, someone she thought couldn’t be more different from her — Neytiri, all Mo’at could have been, and Mo’at, all Neytiri might have become, once. She prayed you would love her as much as she’d begun to love you the second you were in her arms. 

To think the enormity of her love hadn’t reached you — it was one of the greatest failures of Neytiri’s life. If it had, you’d be wounded, but perfectly conscious and well in her mother’s tent. If it had, you would have been beyond comfortable telling those demons had hurt you. 

In that all-consuming devastation, the woven towel she was using to wipe the thin sheet of sweat that formed on your body slipped from her uncoordinated hands and fell on your chest, and Neytiri had to hold back the breath that spiked to become a hiccup by covering her mouth, and immediately, her curled hand was engulfed in a smaller, five-fingered one. She came eye-to-eye with Kiri after raising her head, putting her other hand on hers at the girl’s more disheveled and messy self, heart dropping to her stomach at the fatigue varnishing an extra layer of moisture in her daughter’s drooping eyes. 

“Oh Kiri,” Neytiri mumbled, caressing her cheek and brushing the tangled hair away from her face. 

“Why don’t you go get some rest, mom, hm?” 

“Even if I somehow agreed to that, I could never agree to leaving my daughter alone in this.”

“I’m fine.” Stopping to take a breath, she sighed, collecting the towel and starting to fold it. “Well, not really fine, but don't worry about me. We’re all miserable here. And that’s natural.” Fiddling with the corners of the cloth, she leaned in a bit and lowered her voice, light reflecting from the yellow of her irises making it look like they shone from within. “I… I know she’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Eywa has bestowed us a gift she has never given to anyone before and it’s for a reason. I feel that everything will be set right.” She shook her head up and down, determined. “Dad will do it. I know he will.”

Neytiri trusted Kiri with her intuition and understanding when it came to the inscrutable intentions of Eywa, she was closer to the Great Mother than any Tsahik was — so close that she would drift away too much from her family. And deep down, Neytiri was heartsick by this invisible line that separated her from her daughter, any parent in her place would be unsettled like this.

She was also hog-tied to close the distance growing between them because of the human boy Spider and how she would find camaraderie in him in their ‘orphan’ status as she called it. Kiri was already faraway in her obscure existence and unwittingly separated herself as if she didn’t see herself as a real part of the family some days, and Neytiri hated that the ‘kinship’ she’d formed with Spider was planting these ideas into her head when she was her and Jake’s daughter, no more, no less. To overwrite those feelings, she tried so hard to reach Kiri, but was unsettled by the feeling of being hated sometimes, again, more or less for her stance in placing Spider at the outskirts of their family. 

But oftentimes Kiri would express her affection through small, otherwise unnoticeable actions, just like this one, a caring touch and reassurance that could melt an ice cube — and Neytiri basked in the babiest of steps between them. And maybe this was how Jake had it with you, too, she had never thought about it like this before. 

Taking in Neytiri’s solemn silence, Kiri grumbled, suddenly agitated about something. “I just… I just wish I had isirka resin and xhikul seeds for this paste and cover her wound with it. Grandmother’s extract isn’t enough to stimulate the bone marrow and ugh—” The girl groaned with the obvious guilt at groaning in the first place, as well. “I’m sorry, mom, I don’t know what—”

“It’s alright, Kiri,” Neytiri said, weariness blending with tenderness, knowing you’d agree too. You would have probably told her to not waste her energy and wait around when there wasn’t anything left to do anyway. “Maybe it’s you who needs some rest. You’ve worked hard. Harder than any of us. You do need rest, too.”

Kiri was quick to refuse. “I’m trying something new, I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sure one of your brothers—”

Her earpiece buzzed alive. “Neytiri, do you read me?”

The unexpected timing of it caught her off guard, her hand flying up to the device, drums of alarm going off in her head by the croaky, despondent note to his voice. The impact of their previous argument evaporated from existence just by hearing his distress. “Jake?” She focused on you, not observing any difference, and frowned in worry, her pulse picking up pace as Kiri also locked her attention to her the moment she heard her father was on the line. “What happened?”

“I have here one of Quaritch’s dreamwalkers—whatever they are.” Neytiri’s mouth opened and closed at the reveal, forehead creasing. “Alive. Somehow survived to get to the Tree of Souls.”

Her hand instinctively descended to touch your cool and clammy arm closest to her. “Tree of Souls…? But you were—”

“Yeah. Yeah, he… I couldn’t. I couldn’t…” 

She stared at your face, all thoughts draining from her mind. “What are you saying, Jake?”

Silence.

“Jake,” Neytiri implored, her voice snuffed out towards the end. She tried again. “Jake, I don’t understand. What does this mean..?”

“Son of a bitch pulled me out before I could… before I could finish talking to her.” Kiri reached for her when she let out an incoherent, disbelieving voice, getting more panicked as Neytiri clawed at her tightening chest with his next words. “I failed, Neytiri. I couldn’t… She…” 

Neytiri was physically helpless to respond, and Kiri couldn’t hold back from inquiring seeing the state she was in. “Mom? Mom! What’s wrong?”

“This man, if it wasn’t for this man, I had it.” Jake kept talking at an increasing speed the longer Neytiri didn’t say anything. “I had her right in my arms, making future plans, smiling, everything was perfect, and then he—” His breath quivered. “He fucking—” And he stopped the sentence abruptly to get some semblance of control back because Eywa knew Neytiri was losing it ever so slowly. “I need you here with me right now, please. Please, I…” 

Neytiri refused to acknowledge what Jake couldn’t say out loud. You were still breathing, she felt your chest rise and fall even if the pattern was weak. You had life left in you. Jake saying he failed made no sense to her, she didn’t believe it. 

“Neytiri, I need to question this… this filth, need to learn all I can about what’s going on, but I can’t do it on my own. I’ll kill him. In a heartbeat. I want to squeeze the life out of him with my hands right this moment and I— I can’t… We have to know how they could have gotten this far, what they’re planning—and now right to the Tree of Souls too, and…” The rambling that got chaotic and disconnected faded off eventually, as if he’d lost his voice. “Shit.”

And throughout all that, Neytiri had gone from confused, in denial, at the threshold of grief but not nearly in there anchored by your pulse, and lusting for blood within minutes. Kiri was taken aback by the anger radiating from her. “Bring him here!”

“I can’t. He could have a tracker on him—they could have put it in his body. I can’t risk that.”

Neytiri stood up with only one thing in her mind, and it didn’t match Jake’s. “Where are you?”

“You gotta let me pass, buddy, come on! You wanna take my head off or something? Why are you being like this!” 

Hands up and quick on his feet, Lo’ak was trying to negotiate. 

With an ikran of all things. Not even his.

Yours. 

Mom storming out like a wronged, vengeful spirit had been the perfect chance for him to do a quick supply run sneak off, but your overgrown big bird with the exact same attitude as you was getting in his way and blocking Lo’ak off by snapping its jaw at his head and opening its sunset fire tinged wings every time he attempted to cross over to his own ikran. They were basically at a standstill and he had no idea why. 

Lo’ak just wanted to help. Help you. 

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Shit. 

Neteyam. Making his way to him with such speed that got his braids swinging and of course he’d sniffed Lo’ak out like a nantang. Followed the odd silence, probably. Eywa, he should have thought this out better. 

“Skxawng, do you not remember what dad said?”

“I do,” Lo’ak hummed and hawed, and that was the problem. He’d never felt this guilty about disobeying dad’s orders before, it was making him squirm. “But look, Kiri said she needed isirka resin and xhikul seeds or whatever to treat her, I’m going—”

Neteyam’s jaw had flexed when he said whatever, but there was no visible agitation after he gave a sharp breath through his nose.  “So let’s call mother or—”

“They’re busy with some sky person dad caught—”

“I know. The same ones who did this to our sister. I know, Lo’ak.” Neteyam aggressively gestured to the exit of the cave system, shaking his arm while speaking. “What do you think will happen if you go off on your own and land yourself in bigger trouble than she did? Huh?”

Lo’ak threw resentful looks at your ikran. “I can’t stay put like this. I have to do something.”

“This again? There is nothing we can do.” He hadn’t said that in his normal drilling of dad’s orders — Neteyam had the same pain of acceptance that were Lo’ak’s bruises etched onto his face.

And that made Lo’ak want to throw up all over the place. He’d experienced countless sicknesses his siblings had fallen to over the years, none of those were as fatal as this and he didn’t know what the fuck to do. What was he supposed to do when his sister was dying? What did one do when a family member was in this situation anyway? Nothing seemed right to him. 

And something was finally, finally within his power — and Lo’ak would of course rise up to the challenge without hesitation. He wasn’t just going to sit down and let that possibility of your salvation slip by. “But there is. Kiri said—”

“Lo’ak if you leave right now and somehow get caught dad will never trust you again. He was the most open he’s ever been, don’t betray him like that.” 

He was getting annoyed that Neteyam was ignoring the whole point, though it wasn’t as if Lo’ak didn’t know. He was fully aware, and that’s why this was supposed to be a secret. Dad couldn’t be hurt by what he didn’t know now, could he? Not only were you getting Kiri’s remedy, which he was sure as his name was Lo’ak that would end up most effective, but he also wasn’t breaking his promise to dad when the tiniest thread of trust in his son was knotted by the man just recently.  

Neteyam grabbed him by the top of his head in a brotherly manner but his hold was of steel, the boy tried to grumpily push him off but he didn’t budge, staring right into his soul. “Use what’s in this for once and just tell dad or mother, they’re down in the forest already anyway.” When he let go, Lo’ak stumbled back, rubbing the sting off, and the semi-playful older brother was back. “And one of them will actually know what to look for.”

His immediate response was refusal. “I know what I’m looking for—”

“What does isirka look like?”

The sounds your ikran was making was eerily close to laughter and Lo’ak felt heat rush up to the tips of his ears. “It’s a tree.”

Neteyam didn’t have brow hair like Lo’ak did, but the way he raised the lines was always more expressive than how he did it. “Xhikul, then?”

“Flower, skxawng.”

“Wrong.” Lo’ak’s tail started beating the air at the condescending tone. “Kiri is talking about the fruit. Xhika is its flower.”

He rolled his eyes, turning away. “Whatever—”

“Is it whatever?” Neteyam grabbed Lo’ak by the shoulder and spun him around so rough that he got dizzy. “Are you calling my sister’s life whatever?”

Lo’ak was going to explode from how wrong this was going and how insistent Neteyam was to twist his words. “That’s not what I meant bro!” 

“You are so careless.” Neteyam’s tail had shot up ramrod straight, the little bush of hair at the end of it all puffed up, ears perking in all directions. He wasn’t necessarily yelling but was tense all over, something he did whenever they were playing back in the day and he was about to pounce after staying still enough to implant a false seed of safety. “You don’t even think about what can happen if you were to bring a completely different ingredient! You don’t think!”

“Sorry that I’m trying to help! What are you doing?”

“Keeping us safe. Keeping you safe.” He pressed his lips together on a thin line, but couldn’t hold back whatever was bubbling inside. “I’m not losing another sibling, Lo’ak!”

Only a small gasp escaped Lo’ak when he opened his mouth in retaliation. He couldn’t have found his voice even if he found something to say to that rawness in return, anyway. 

The gut-churning guilt doubled. 

“Hey… I—”

“Go,” Neteyam whispered, tilting his head together with the lone word. “Since you’re dying to help, help Kiri. She’s exhausted. I don’t think grandmother will refuse.”

“What about you?” And there he goes again. Wrong words. Neteyam was looking more closed-off than before. “I’m not accusing or anything—”

“I can’t go in there.”

“What?”

“I can’t,” Neteyam took a deep breath and loudly let it go, tail deflating, the arch of it depressing as hell for some reason. “I can’t look at her.”

Neteyam just gave a forlorn smile in return to Lo’ak’s heavily concerned looks demanding he continue but not knowing how to word it, his back looked weirdly lonely as he was tending to your significantly calmer ikran to join back the horde. 

Buried in negative thoughts all the way back and ignoring the pitiful looks from the rest of the clan, he met Kiri outside of the healing tent talking to Spider, and he could see Tuk’s back covering the view to you in his peripheral.

They were whispering about something and it was obvious even from a distance where they were nothing but stick figures. At least try to look less suspicious, Lo’ak thought. 

The only part he caught from the conversation was Spider saying, “Just describe them to me,” — Kiri was really leaning in towards him. 

“What’s going on?” 

The two looked like they were caught in the middle of scheming, and it clicked almost immediately. 

If Lo’ak had thought of going off on his own, so had they. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, bro,” he said, draping his arm across the human boy’s shoulders. “Neteyam’s literally patrolling.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Spider groaned, visibly disappointed. It warmed Lo’ak’s heart to see he was totally down for sneaking off the camp for you. “You said your dad told him to rest.”

“Yeah, he did. Except Neteyam never rests. He has a dancing glow worm up his ass.”

The conversation couldn’t continue because Kiri did a double take at something. 

“Tuk!” Kiri took a few steps aside, squinting as if she didn’t think she was seeing it right. Then her expression burst into panic, her hands flying forward as she ran to the tent, Spider and Lo’ak could only stare, baffled. “Tuk, oh Eywa, what are you doing!—” 

“I’m giving her water, she’s thirsty.”

“What?”

He actually rushed to the entrance of the tent, nearly falling headfirst in, having stumbled on some rock. Your mouth was actually open. And Tuk was really trying to get you to drink from the bowl she was holding against your mouth.

You choked at one point, still unconscious, but it was a sign of life. Lo’ak didn’t know if the shocked screech came from him or Kiri.  

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul

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[h3nderyss]

magazine - mark lee

pairing: idol!mark lee x fem!reader . . . masterlist genre: fluff word count: 774 a/n: recently got the mark cosmopolitan magazine.. i KNOW it's a june issue and it's literally november, but i'm still thirsty. sue me.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"i'm home!" mark's voice echoed throughout the hallway, the familiar voice making your expression soften into an automatic smile.

the day had been slow; off work, catching up on a show you occasionally rewatched, and anticipating mark's return from his long days of work.

being an idol meant his schedule was FULL. barely any time for anything, especially for mark, the most hard-working and committed man you'd ever met. nobody could ever compare to him, how he perfectly balances life, work, and relationships. most importantly; you.

he'd recently had a photoshoot. for what? well, you didn't know. he demanded he'd keep it a secret, although a hint had been it was for a famous magazine brand. of course, this meant waiting weeks upon weeks for the issue to release. especially when your boyfriend was on the cover, it felt like months of waiting.

you sprung off the couch and rushed over to mark who took off his shoes and set them aside, as a second after, bringing him into a loving long-awaited hug which you both had been dying for the entire day.

"what's that?" you looked at this plastic bag he was holding, inside of it was a suspiciously tall thin book that you took a glance of.

mark moved the bag behind his back, out of view. "a surprise." he smirked at you and gave you a peck on the lips. "i want you to be prepared."

it only etched more confusion on your face as you slightly tilted your head. "why? is it just a book?" the thought of the magazine photoshoot mark had weeks ago hadn't even crossed your mind.

his eyes darted up as if he was thinking, "hm, i guess you could say that.." he nodded and looked back at you as he was joking around. he made you chuckle, and he moved the bag back in between you two, looking into it.

"a magazine? a-" your eyes immediately widened, mouth agape.

"oh my god." you spoke in light speed, digging the book out of the bag and into your arms. "mark..?!" your voice had been quiet and breathless. he really did have *this* much impact on you, even if it was a single photo. "c..cosmopolitan..?"

"i only managed to get this second version. the other two they couldn't give me." he gestured at the magazine and you immediately went and sat on the table to prepare yourself to skip through the pages and only focus on your ravishing boyfriend.

mark followed suit and sat next to you, the whole time smiling like an idiot. you were smiling too; blushing and biting your bottom lip as you stared at the gorgeous man on the cover of this magazine.

"how are you real," you said in almost a whisper. mark had not taken his eyes off of you. he loved seeing your reaction to everything, and he adored you so much it had been unhealthy.

mark moved a piece of hair that fell on your face looking down at the magazine, he wanted to see your face as he melted upon seeing you freak out over the man on paper. him.

you flipped through the pages, taking a minute to actually take in the photos of mark. "this pose.. mark this pose is.. that shirt on you.." mumbles came out of your mouth as you glanced at the real mark next to you.

"how are you you?" you looked at him infatuated.

"how am i, me?" he chuckled at you with a smile and briefly looking at the photo of him in front of you.

you nodded. "how did i manage to snag you?" suddenly a joking mood filled the air.

"i don't know but, i'd prefer you over anybody else."

as if you hadn't already been fiercely blushing from looking at mark in photoshoot in the magazine, he never failed to make you flustered.

"stop it!" you giggled and turned your attention back to the magazine, flipping through the same pages over again.

"close that book now and focus on the real mark! i'm right in front of you.." mark starts to whine, his real self not getting attention, just the reflection in the magazine.

"it's your fault for getting me this! i'm gonna frame all of these pictures now."

"babyyy.." his whiny tone and his hand starting to intertwine with yours was just enough to make your give in.

"markieee..." you reciprocated his whiny tone and gazed into his eyes. "i can't believe you're mine."

"you better start believing soon because, i'm not going anywhere anytime soon." mark smiles and pulls you into a loving passionate kiss.

[thoughtportal]

by Kij Johnson

Published in Jan. 2020 (Issue 116) | 3960 words

Six story types, from Damon Knight:

The story of resolution. The protagonist has a problem and solves it, or doesn’t.

The story of explanation.

The trick ending.

A decision is made. Whether it is acted upon is irrelevant.

The protagonist solves a puzzle.

The story of revelation. Something hidden is revealed to the protagonist, or to the reader. [read]

[mixsethaddams]

Eddie forgets it’s Valentine’s Day until the literal moment he pulls into the parking lot outside of Steve’s job to pick him up after his shift. The big banner in the window offering their February 14th special offers nearly sent him into cardiac arrest.

It was too late now to flip it into reverse and speed to the nearest garage and buy the first box of candy he could find; Steve had spotted him through the window and was already waving at him. Eddie usually arrived a few minutes early but he got caught up staring through the window at the music store downtown. There was an acoustic guitar he was saving up for on display. It would take him almost a year to get there on his current budget, but he was determined. Now that Eddie thought about it, there was definitely some pink ribbon hanging in that window today. He cursed himself again, realising he must’ve seen a million other literal red flags throughout the day that he’d ignored.

“Think, Munson, think….” Eddie grumbled to himself, wringing his hands around the steering wheel with white knuckles.

Steve was walking towards the van now, and the small red gift bag in his hand killed any hope Eddie might have had that he’d forgotten too.

“Happy Valentine’s, Eds,” said Steve brightly as he hopped into the passenger seat, handing over the bag.

Eddie looked into it and found an assortment of a few of his favourite things. A heavy metal magazine, red twizzlers, a pack of smokes, even some new guitar strings. Ah shit, this was perfect. Eddie felt like hell.

“You don’t have the right guitar for those yet though,” Steve pointed out and sure enough, on closer inspection they were nylon acoustic strings and not the steel kind Eddie used for his electric guitar.

“That’s ok it’s not- Wait, yet?” asked Eddie.

Steve looked giddy as he handed over a piece of paper. It was a receipt of sale and Eddie gawped at it in silence for almost a full five minutes. Steve bought him the guitar he’s been staring at in the window. The note on the bottom said he could pick it up tomorrow.

“This is for-”

“Sure is”

“-that I’ve wanted for months-”

“Sure have”

“-is this for real?”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Yes Eddie it’s for real,” said Steve with a sigh. “You’ve been talking about that thing in your sleep, figured this might make you shut up about it,”

“I will never shut up about this,” said Eddie, still staring at the receipt.

Another moment passed and Steve very politely and gently cleared his throat. Eddie snapped back to reality. Steve’s eyes went wide as Eddie kicked into action. He pulled his jacket off his shoulders and threw it at him. He reached down and tugged his shoes off, threw them at Steve too. All the rings on his hands came next, then his belt, and the keys for the van hit Steve squarely in the chest with a light thud.

“Take it,” he mumbled, adding his socks to the growing pile on Steve’s lap. “All of it,”

Steve let out a confused laugh.

“Eddie what the hell are you doing?” he asked, incredulous.

“You can have the trailer too,” said Eddie, fishing candy wrappers from his pockets and deciding if they were Steve worthy. “Wayne will understand,”

Steve laughed properly now.

“What are you talking about, baby?”

“This!” shrieked Eddie, now halfway out of his t-shirt, waving around the receipt for the guitar. “I can’t compete with this! I can’t give you anything like this, so just-” Eddie’s voice got muffled as his shirt got stuck over his head. “-take everything,”

He flung the piece of clothing and Steve’s head and started to unzip his jeans.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” said Steve, shaking with laughter now as he grabbed Eddie’s wrist. “Put your clothes back on, this isn’t a competition,”

“You’re only saying that because you won,” said Eddie with narrowed eyes.

Steve began to hand Eddie back all the things that had been hurled at him over the last frantic few minutes.

“I don’t need anything from you,” said Steve softly. “Especially not week-old candy wrappers,”

Eddie snatched back his socks.

“I don’t….” He said, embarrassed. “I don’t have anything though…”

Steve chuckled.

“So you can buy me dinner instead,” he told Eddie, reaching over to squeeze his thigh. “Now hurry up and take the rest of your shit back so you can bring me home,”

Eddie nodded solemnly and took each item back as it was given to him. He slipped his t shirt back over his head and when he looked at Steve for the last of his rings, he was holding Eddie’s favourite skull ring between his fingers. It was the only one that was big enough to fit Steve. A plan formed quickly, so organically that Eddie was shocked it hadn’t occurred to him before right now. It…was perfect honestly. It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it before, it just never felt like a good time and… Oh yeah, this was definitely the excuse he needed to just do it

“How ‘bout you keep that one, at least?” suggested Eddie. “Make me feel like I’m not a total failure today,”

“You’re not a failure,” said Steve, rolling his eyes again. “But fine, yes, I’m keeping this one,”

Eddie smiled and held out his hand to take one of Steve’s.

“Well then allow me,” he said, taking the ring. Steve offered up his right hand, and Eddie promptly swatted it away. “Other one,”

Steve’s eyebrow raised higher as he hesitantly gave Eddie his left hand.

“Seriously?” asked Steve, suspicious and amused.

“Unless you’d prefer the right hand?”

“No, no, left works,” said Steve quickly, taking his hand back to wipe off any sweat onto his jeans.

Steve shook out his hand and quickly smoothed down his hair. He plucked a stray starburst wrapper from his shoulder and flicked it to the ground. He settled himself comfortably facing Eddie and placed his left hand in Eddie’s waiting palm.

Eddie slotted the ring onto Steve’s third finger and gave it a little pat once it rested snugly against his knuckle, before bringing it up to his mouth and kissing it. A tiny squeak escaped Steve’s mouth.

“How’s that?” asked Eddie with a smile.

“Just what I wanted,” said Steve, looking like he was on cloud nine, and leaning over to kiss him.

[pepperstories]

Emergency Contact | Joseph Quinn

Warnings: SMUT! MDNI! Don't suck cock and drive please. That is very dangerous and also against the law. This is pretty much a series. Booty Call Joe. Tasty morsel of a man that he is.

Word Count: 3384

NSFW! 18+

A photo shoot prop worth the joy ride. Joe drove a smidge above the speed limit and enjoyed the gust of wind rattling through the sports car. The photo shoot was a success. The suit was ridiculous, but worthy of the name and the exciting chill he felt through his scalp from the excess water made him feel alive.

That was until he got a text from you.

You weren’t far away. A hideout bar in the centre of London, drinking dirty martini’s with work colleagues after a gruelling, unforgiving day in your black suede heels he loved so much.

He pictures you in the almost see through white shirt. A peekaboo bra that threatened to reveal the secrets Victoria longed to keep. A grey or black pencil skirt that shaped and hugged you perfectly enough to seem professional but flattering to draw the attention from the eyes of those in the dark bar you currently sat.

It was casual. A hook up that was established long before his current limelight and claim to fame. A mere Tinder date that was successful enough to lay the ground rules to some of the best fucks he’s ever experienced without the need for chocolates, flowers and general validation.

But he cared for you. You spoke about past relationships and how it just didn’t fit around your lifestyle. You’re favourite Ramen flavours when you’ve had too much red wine to cook an actual meal. The books you have strategically placed around your apartment that threaten to fall each time he makes an impromptu thrust of his hips into your welcoming cunt.

You cared for him. His love for the theatre and the books he had gracing the walls of his single occupancy flat in the centre of London. His flourish of knowledge on Hollywood gossip you wouldn’t find in the gossip columns of magazines. And his expert technique of making you cum with a tightening of his fingers around your neck and a flick of his tongue on your clit.

It was an understanding between the both of you: Things were perfect just the way they were.

So as he drove at top speed, his destination a small, darkly light pub just shy of the Shard. Just past 1 am and he could feel his cock twitching at the prospect of fucking you in a vintage sport car. Too far from home to even attempt the chivalry of fucking you in a nice comfy bed after a long 8 hours, he needed you now.

The narrowing streets were enough to tell him that he was close. The one way system was a permanent tattoo in his brain from growing up near the City. The small enclosed lanes getting tighter and tighter as he neared the corner you said you would wait.

A flash. His headlights. They caught the silvery grey of your duster jacket and you checked your watch and adjusted your handbag. A slight tilt in your step which he believed to be the alcohol.

Smirking at your anxious and somewhat impatient rocking that you do when you’re horny, he pulled up swiftly. You stood where a space was available, how thoughtful.

Glancing into the car, your face was a slight tinge of red. An alcoholic flush that kept you warm but caused a shiver to run down your vertebrae. A sports car was just the icing on the ever growing arousal that kept you from calling it a night.

“You looking for a good time?” Was all you said before swinging the car door open.

———————

Cramped. That was the only word that came to mind as you lifted your leg over to straddle him. A small enclosed piece of land between zones was where he decided to park. Not conspicuous in the slightest, but added enough danger to the situation to make the event much more pleasurable.

“Could you have chosen a smaller car?” You breathed out. The smell of tangy lime and stiff alcohol on your breath as it puffed into his face. He could only laugh at himself. He thought you would find this sexy.

“I thought I would impress you?” You scoffed slightly, manoeuvring the lace of your underwear down your leg and chucking it onto your bag in the back seat. His obnoxious zipper catching the inside of your thigh.

“You don’t have to impress me. You do that enough already.” It was flirting. A slight blush rising from his neck as he pulled you into a kiss. Both of your hands threading into the near dry curls on his head. He moved his hands from the dip on your back to between you. Unfastening the belt and trousers he had put on in a rush this morning. Not exactly the easiest combo for this soirée.

You settled on neck, just below his earlobe, where he liked it. His head dipping down every so often to see the progress of getting the trousers off his waist. A frustrated grunt here and there as he struggled with the angle. Too conscious of the fact that you were already a mere inch from a concussion should you jerk up suddenly.

“Fuck! I thought this would be hot as fuck.” His frustrated outburst was enough for you to sigh. His attempts at removing his pants were unsuccessful unless you stepped out of the car. Not ideal should a passing motorist or God forbid, a police car, should pass you.

“Why don’t we just go back to mines?” You suggested. More for the fact that your unforgiving hangover tomorrow will be better settled in your own bed. A walk of shame was not on the cards this weekend.

“I have an early shoot tomorrow. I also need to bring this car back.” His grimace was enough to tell you that this wasn’t going to happen tonight. Kissing his lips, you settled yourself back over into the passenger seat. The cool air settling between your legs as your sat back.

“It’s fine. Could you take me back into town? I can get a cab.” There was a hint of a smile. Enough to tell him that you were disappointed but not angry. Adjusting his seat and trousers. He nodded, pulling the seatbelt over his shoulder and starting the engine.

——————

City lights were the best part of going into London. Illuminating the skyline with hues of the colour wheel. It reflected on your tired face as he drove through the still busy streets of London. His cock still twitching in his trousers, he adjusted and readjusted too many times for it not to go unnoticed.

Tilting your head round to him, you looked around the busy streets and glanced into the rear view mirror. No sign of flashing blue lights or an impatient motorist tailing too close behind.

Adjusting yourself in the seat, you simply advised to keep driving, eyes forward and don’t be too obvious. Unsure of the command, he simply nodded and set his gaze forward, focusing on the crude rusted metal of the Vauxhall Corsa in front of him.

Ripping away the buttons and zipper on his trousers, you pulled his cock free from his boxers. The soft pale flush of skin a dull comparison to the angry red tip. You weren’t completely settled on the idea of getting him off and leaving the small motor without at least some relief. Although he was driving through London city, your focus was on the task at hand. A tight squeeze of your fingers around the base of his cock, you pulled the soft foreskin down enough to reveal his leaking tip and the pulsing skin of his frenulum. All and all, he was fit to burst.

You sensed him raising his hand above the crown of your head and then settle back on the wheel multiple times. His concentrations wearying as you hollowed out your mouth and slide down the full length of him. Tongue flat against his soft under side of his cock, you bobbled and sucked. You done it within an inch of your life. You didn’t tease, you didn’t force yourself down. This was for his pleasure and you needed him to cum.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me wreck.” His eyes were rolling on their own accord. His hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. No red lights, no busying traffic, he found himself driving towards the Burroughs where you lived. Without setting your sights on the location, you hummed and moaned against him. His stomach tensing, his body rolling forward at the sensation. The tip of your tongue tracing the sensible vein that ran alongside his shaft.

Although you were no amateur to fallacio, your attention to detail haltered slightly when he seemed to get harder and larger in your mouth. Realising that his anatomy was so finely tuned to the need your body had.

“I’m going to cum. Fuck, hold it there.” He spread the palm of his hand out across the base of your skull, thrusting slightly up into your gaped oral cavity and causing the stream of saliva to drool out of your mouth and on to his smart grey trousers. The strategically placed uvula that dangles at the back of your throat now coated in his spent, he done his usual thing: grunt, gasp and heavy breath between his chapped lips.

Cleaning off the rest of him, you suctioned off his cock with an obscene pop, looking up at him as you done so. The beautiful scarlet red of his lip stuck between the pearly whites. Lifting yourself back into you seat, you realised he had stopped. The dimly lit street was familiar and you gave him a confused lift of your eyebrow.

“I thought you had to give the car back?” Your tone was teasing but serious.

“They know where to find me.” Was all he said before pulling your crinkled shirt in his hands and pulling you over the handbrake for an open mouthed kiss. His hands sliding into your hair where your skull meets your spine. Fingers splayed and massaging the tense muscle. Sliding your tongue into his mouth, you felt his wandering free hand skim up the fabric of your work skirt and feeling the hold ups underneath. Pulling away from the kiss, he looks straight into your glazed eyes and kneed the seam of the lace hidden so carefully underneath.

“They’re your favourite.”

——————

It wasn’t a matter of how quick he could get you up the stairs, but if he could restrain himself enough to get you in bed. With a turn of the key, he bundles you up from behind and slams you against the nearest wall. Your face smooshed into the wallpaper and he pulls your jacket from behind and tosses it into your flat. His arms rounding you to pull apart the shirt he loved so much. All the while, he whispered filth into your ear. Sucking on the delicate lobe, he asked how wet you were, imagining the pressing and tightening of your thighs all night as you waited for him. How he was going to fuck you against this wall because there was no way he could walk the 20 paces into your bedroom.

He pulls the shirt off your shoulders, letting the garment hang around your skirt where it was tucked. The soft skin on your shoulder a reddish hue from your bra strap as he pulled it off to place wet opened mouthed kisses to it. Your panting and wanting was only urging him forward in his mission. Thumbing both nipples over your bra as you pushed your arse against him. His kisses roamed your cervical spine, placing soft pecks to the inter-vertebral discs as he watched you relax further into his touch. Reaching the middle of your back, he replaces his mouth with his fingers, rubbing two fingers underneath the clasp of your pretty bra and using his thumb to pull free. You whipped it off before he could and turned in his arms as he took to his knees in front of you.

He had no words. Your eyes a drunken, sexual glaze. Your neck hollowed from the deep gasping breaths you were taking and your perfect tits sloped and pert just for him. He decided he wasn’t going to take the skirt off at that very moment. Tilting his head to at you, he places both hands on each ankle. Running his hands up the velvety soft material of your light stockings and pushing up the impossibly tight pencil skirt. The fabric releasing it’s grasp of your full thighs and wide hips and nestled just below your bellybutton.

Nothing. You were bare to him. The V-Shaped valley of your cunt in perfect view. The modest little wax job you had since the last time you saw him left a tuff of curly hair that rested just above your clit. The rest was the perfectly smooth and hair free skin he couldn’t wait to taste. Your puffy lips rippling with anticipation as he leans forward to place a kiss on your pubic bone.

Pulling a leg over his shoulder, he licks a long thick stripe from your hole to your clit. A shaking breath coming from you and pushing your splayed fingers through his soft curls. Wrapping his lips around your clit, he flicks at a quick pace and marvelled in the mewling sounds you make from above. Gripping his hair tighter and moving your leg higher for him, he latches on harder and licks faster. His lower half holding up your sliding weight as you arch off the wall.

You weren’t sure what to feel in the moments leading up, but your body was buzzing with pleasurable electricity. His tongue grounding you with his fast and hard licks. His soft tight curls in between your clammy fingers. You gasped and tightened as he suctioned your clit between his lips. Suddenly he stood, grabbing your soft cheeks and pulling you into a kiss. Lifting your leg around his waist as he began to grind his hips into your soft cunt. The perfect hard friction you needed to cum loudly into his mouth.

He was surprised at your quick finish. Your shaking leg against his hip as your cunt pulsed against his clothed cock. It was enough for him to pull away from the kiss, unbuckle his belt and feel then slid down his legs. Taking your other leg, he pulls you up against the wall and forces you to wrap and hold your weight against his hips.

Gasping into his open mouth, he shifted his weight back and held you with one arm. The adrenaline from what was about to happen giving him the strength to hold your entire weight against him. Doing his signature move, licking a thick saliva filled strip down his hand and looking you straight in the eye as he done it, he pumped his cock straight into you.

It was the fullest you ever felt and it told you a lot about what was happening. The head of his cock striking your cervix straight on as he pushed straight in. The feeling of his cock still a stranger to your being as he moaned into your mouth. He settled into you before he began his thrusts. It was hard and true as he fuck you straight into the wallpaper. The slick feeling of his cock causing you to moan and pant into his mouth as he licked at your top lip each thrust he done.

A slick sound in the air of your small apartment as the headlights from the passing car gave you a glimpse of his thrusting cock into your wet hole.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day.” Was all he said as he thrust up into the spongy interior of your cunt. Your legs becoming somewhat numb from the position you had adopted. Words were hard to form in that moment. Biting back a sense of reality to relish in the continuous stokes he was giving you. It was a sense of passion you had never felt before. Warm brown eyes staring straight into yours. Forget about corporate mergers, Excel spreadsheets with broken coding, too tight a skirt and dirty martini's with colleagues you hardly knew. This is where you wanted to be.

It wasn't long before your breathe hitched. His mocking gasp in your face and the smirk highlighting the crinkle cut laughter lines on his face as he brought you closer. The stamina of his hips meeting yours. The angle he had you placed was striking that pink wet wall at the base of your cervix. Enough pain to produce pleasure and enough pleasure to dull the pain.

"I'm gonna cum, keep fucking going." You didn't recognise your own voice. Whether it was the alcohol in your system or the fucked out A-lister pounding his way into your womb, your voice sounded miles away.

"Wasn't going to. Never will." He grunted. A squeeze of your arse cheek and a hike of your leg pushed you further up the wall but him closer to your breast bone. The shlick of sweat gathering between the valley of your breasts was no match for Joe's skilled tongue laying flat and gliding up the column of your neck.

The creamy base of his cock pulled strings of moisture up to your clit, the friction being enough to pull a haunting groan from your lips. Something Joe was quick to pick up on.

"Right there? This where you need me?" He moved impossibly hard now. Deep thrusts that were wet and plentiful. He felt it before you, the pulsing ripple of your cunt swallowing him whole. No award. No character he played ever made him feel like this. Never made him work so hard to please. It was all you.

"Fuck!" He felt you jolt as it took you higher. A soaring wave that made your fingernails bite into his shoulders, your head fall against the wall and his cock to sputter inside you.

"Where do you want me, love? Hm? Inside? You want me to cum inside and fill you up?" His thrusts were calculated now. The aftermath of your orgasm tittering out as you thrashed and pinched your eyebrows at him. You almost looked savage as you growled and rolled your hips to meet his.

"Inside. Fuck, cum inside me." You said through gritted teeth. A manic, desperate look in your eyes. Just looking at you was enough. He felt himself slipping and sliding inside your cunt. His hands holding the majority of your bouncing weight as he felt his cock slide against your public bone. It made him possessed.

Howling into your neck, he came with three striking thrusts. You didn't think you could get any further up the wall until he proved you wrong with his finish. Heaving, wet breathes into your neck, he grounded his feet below up and held you close.

"Too hot. Too much. Too fucking good." Was all you thought as Joe rubbed his forehead into your breasts. His heavy breathing sweeping over the lace of your bra and cooling your damp sweat slick skin. Pulling his head up to look at you, you searched for something. A weaver of doubt. An inking of regret. Instead, you saw a stillness. A familiar relaxed lull in his eyes that made you feel safe. It was intoxicating.

"We're far too good at that." Was all he laughed out as he sighed against your neck. Soft little pecks to your jugular and needing hands on your thighs. "Hmm, I bet you never spoke about this in your interview's" A little snarky but witty, he softly bit the taunt skin of your chin making you yelp as he pulled out and slide you down his body until your toes touched the ground. He held you firmly against the wall still, tippy toes just allowing you the height for him to kiss you soundly and passionately on the lips. A thank you.

"Wait." You mumbled against his lips, his dark chocolate eyes opening again to look at you. A cute little head tilt thrown into the bargain. "How do they know the car is here?" A raised eyebrow was enough to make him bite his lip. Anticipation building as he pondered the right response. "You're my emergency contact."

[fawnprincessblog]

𝒮𝒽𝒽...

type: smut (2010 tom kaulitz × fem reader)

includes: public sex, fingering, d0m!tom 💗 uh, blurb please! : tom gets hard, results in public sex. however they have to keep it down...

The library was quiet as usual. There were no sounds, just the casual flipping of a page and clicking of a pen. It wasn't that huge, but it was a library after all, and there were countless shelves packed with an array of books on every possible genre, making it ever so pleasing to the eye. 

Tom and you were casually looking around. He was observing the latest magazines; completely engulfed into the pictures of naked women sponsoring luxury undergarments, barely paying attention to the text. Whereas for you, you simply browsed any books that seemed appealing to you, running your delicate fingers across the spine of the books, slowly capturing the names on each paperback. 

You were busy contemplating a book that sort of interested you when Tom had appeared behind you, tapping your shoulder lightly. "Hm?" You responded, not turning your attention away from the book. "Come with me," he whispered, "I need to show you something." 

"But I'm looking at this," you reply, finally turning to face him. 

"It's important," he persuaded, tugging onto your arm a little. 

Hesitantly, you put the book down, and let him lead you to where he wanted. You didn't know what your boyfriend had pulled you so far for, but you let him for now. "Why are you taking me so far?" You say softly, confused as he had pulled you into a corner in between two shelves that showcased books on self-help, where nobody seemed to be paying a visit to. "I need you to help me now," he whispered, somewhat desperate, his index finger pointing down to his growing hard-on. 

You roll your eyes and sigh, "I told you not to look at those magazines, Tom!" You scold, keeping your tone as low as possible. "This is a library and I am not taking any risks. Someone could catch us." 

"Please," he begged, his eyebrows furrowed. "You know I can't walk around like this.." 

Tom had a severe case of a high libido and a permanent hard-on. He was always horny and always desperate for some intimacy. You loved helping him out since you knew how good he could fuck you when he got out of control, but when it came to the times when it's least expected, it was so inconvenient. 

"Tom we can't-" you hesitate, though he cuts you off abruptly, "Yes we can, god damn it, we can make it quick." He unexpectedly starts trailing his fingers down to your waist and puts his sly hand under your skirt, tugging at the rim of your underwear. "Tom, stop it-" You smack his hand away, which only made his comeback stronger. 

"I know you're horny too," he whispers seductively, bringing his hand back under your skirt as he had you cornered against the wall in between the two shelves, his fingers slipping into the side of your underwear, running them across your slit. You whimper as his touch, becoming wet in an instant as his fingers begin rubbing your wetness leisurely in order to stimulate you, making sure you'd be just as horny as him to give in. 

Tom knew that all it took was a rub on the core, a bit of neck sucking and some breast play to get you stimulated and needy for him, which was an easy task. You were weak when his fingers toyed with you. 

"You're wet," he whispered into your ear, lips touching the skin of your neck as his fingers still continued its action on your aching pussy. He plastered his lips onto your neck, beginning to suck a light hickey onto you, making you gasp softly from the pleasure. "Nghh-Tom..." Your words trailed off as he had bit you on the same spot he sucked on, making you squirm. 

He groaned into the kisses he placed onto your neck, his fingers increasing its speed onto your pussy, pleasuring you to its finest. "En-Enough Tom, enough..." You managed to breath out, trying your best to hold in whatever sounds that threatened to slip. Hesitant to pay regard towards your request, he slipped his fingers into you, pumping in and out slowly. "Oh..mm fuck.." you moaned softly, biting onto your lower lip harshly, your eyes closing involuntarily. "There you go..." Tom whispered, "so horny for me, you naughty girl..." He was saying this all on purpose, turning you on in every way to get you as needy as possible. You felt yourself sweating, beginning to tremble under his touch. Barely a few good pumps in, he pulled his fingers out again, making you whine softly. "Better save all that goodness for me," he says, sucking onto his two fingers that had previously been in you, savouring the sweet taste on his tongue. 

You weren't going to refrain now; you were horny as fuck, and you needed him to fuck you right now despite the unfortunate place you were in. This was a big risk you were taking. 

Tom let out a soft grunt as he unzipped his pants, revealing his severely hardened length. He felt his cock twitch, aching at the thought of having it deep in you, begging for a full on pleasurable release. "We're making this quick, baby," he says, his voice husky. You pull your panties off, letting it pool at your ankles, leaving only your skirt on, promptly placing both your hands onto his shoulders as he positioned himself. Without a second of hesitation, Tom immediately plunged himself into you, thrusting harshly. He threw his head back, a low groan escaping his lips as his eyes closed. 

Unable to help yourself, you moaned out the moment you felt his warm dick insert itself into your drenched pussy, your body immediately going tense. For a second, you had forgotten your surroundings. "Mmh..To-" you choked out, though Tom quickly threw his palm over your mouth. 

"Shhh..." he hushed. "Control yourself. People will hear you." He continued to thrust at his desired pace, his hand still covering your mouth. Your moans were muffled into his palm, your hands gripped onto the sleeves of his shirt, trying hard to contain yourself in every way possible. 

He had his fingers of his free hand digging into the skin of your waist as he increased his thrusting pace, wanting to make this quick like he promised. You were trying to be as quiet as possible though Tom's size didn't help. 

"Ngh..fuck–" he groaned, his breaths coming out in ragged pants. Eventually Tom hit a certain spot, causing an immediate reaction from you. You gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt yourself clenching around his throbbing cock, your back grinding against the wall behind you. Feeling your tightness, Tom clenched his jaw, letting out a rough groan in his throat as he jerked harder into you, his palm pressing harder onto your mouth. 

You were so close, feeling that familiar knot in your lower stomach. You couldn't say anything since he covered your mouth, and it's not like you could word out anyway; Tom was just too good. Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt yourself draw closer to the edge. 

A few more rough thrusts and Tom released his load into you, letting out a low moan muffled into your shoulder. His hips jerked forward as his body experienced the orgasm, his cock twitching inside of you as you released right after, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. 

Tom released his palm from your mouth, letting you catch your breath. He slowly rode out his orgasm, bringing his eyes up to your face. "Fuck," he breathed. "I'm not done with you."

You feel him reluctantly pull out, making your squirm a little. You weren't able to speak for a moment, the pleasure still lingering. "Let's go home," he said, looking around cautiously as he zipped his pants back up, wondering if anyone noticed. "We'll continue there." 

hello everyone! first smut posted >< tell me what you think. is the writing alright with you all? lots of love 💋💋

[qwertywriting]

I honestly have no idea what happened here and I might have gotten a bit carried away...

this was based on my brainrot about biker!boothill

not edited or proofread

-☆☆☆-

Biker!Boothill who decided to get into motorcycles because of the thrill, going at high speeds, weaving in and out of traffic it was a rush of adrenaline with no- minimal risks. Dangerous? Dangerous for who? Definitely not him. Reckless?? It's all calculated, baby.

Some have tried and pick a fight, for whatever petty reason, but they soon learn it’s futile, a flash of teeth and a gun gets the point across pretty quick.

Biker!Boothill who downloaded lots of fashion magazines, because he it's cooler aesthetically, and he can make a good first impression. 

Biker!Boothill who drives around randomly just to see where his heart takes him, getting lost is the point- which is how he ended up spotting a familiar head of silver hair, down the street.

Boothill doesn’t really think through his next actions but a low rumble and high pitched whistle catches you and Stelle off guard.  Both of you, like everyone else around you, turn to the direction of the sound only to see a black motorcycle with streaks of red rolling up towards you and Stelle.  The tall figure steps off the bike, and lifts up the visor to peer at the both of you before pulling off the red helmet and giving his head a small shake. His intimidating expression morphs to excitement. “Fudge me sideways — Stelle, it really was you! I’d recognise that head of hair anywhere.”  Boothill only realised Stelle wasn’t alone when he arrived on the sidewalk, as you stood slightly behind Stelle. Giving you a small wave, flashing you a grin, showing off his augmented teeth. “Whoops, I almost didn’t see ya there darlin’” “Oh my god.” Stelle groans, “why did you have to yell loud enough to alert the entire street?”  Boothill clicks his tongue, running a hand through his hair. “I was just excited to see ya. So are ‘yer gonna introduce your friend to me or nah?” 

Biker!Boothill who was bugging Stelle for your phone number only to be surprised when he gets added into a group chat consisting of him, Stelle and you, along with an invite to go to a cafe hosting a collaboration with your favorite characters. 

Biker!Boothill who is constantly jumping at opportunities to invite you out for rides, Stelle is quick to shut down that idea at first, recalling several incidents of weaving through cars at high speeds and too many close calls.

Boothill, just grins at you, assuring you nothing bad would happen but you get the feeling that as long as he’s in the driver’s seat it would always end up like a rollercoaster. 

The one time you accept his invitation, it ends up involving the wails of sirens following behind, as you speed down the highway, and Boothill seemingly unfazed as he accelerates to even higher speeds that leave you feeling dizzy.

It probably takes you a long while before you accept another invitation to go for another ride. 

Bonus:

Stelle mentions braiding Boothill's hair while stopped at traffic lights for fun and surprisingly Boothill just lets you do it, but he also takes an extra second to make sure you’re clinging onto him before he speeds off again.