#maybe if I polish some parts here and there but still

[depvotee]

Making more bodiesssss

[kamaluhkhan]

THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

read part two GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you want revenge on luke castellan)

pairing: luke castellan x child of nemesis!reader (gender not specified)

word count: 8.5k

summary: luke hated your guts. he really did. he just hoped that no one could tell how, even after all this, you're still everything to him.

warnings/disclaimer: luke's POV. spoilers for the lightning thief and season 1 of pjo. some heated make-out sessions but no actual smut - MDNI / 18+. mentions of blood + death + alcohol. luke is 19 during tlt but i wrote this with him + reader being 21 by the end of this (this is important for the next part lol). anyways, luke + reader share clothes and lots of intense emotions they maybe possibly don't process in the best way. lots of ANGST - it's a greek tragedy fr!

author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation! this fic is LONG but i hope she's worth it ♡

♪: the grudge by olivia rodrigo

(i. you have a sharp tongue)

fourteen year old luke was overwhelmed when he first stepped into the hermes cabin. it was loud and overcrowded and no one really seemed to care that they had a new cabinmate. the head counselor showed luke to an empty bed at the back, told him to get settled in, and left without another word. luke dropped his backpack before collapsing on the mattress. it was so thin that he could feel the springs dig into his back.

"you'll get used to it."

luke sat up to see you climbing through the window. 

you had a band-aid stuck on your chin, chipped nail polish the color of blackberries, and leather combat boots that looked way too heavy to be wearing in the heat of summer. 

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.” 

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous. 

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?” 

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in. 

“what? n-no!” 

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you. 

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

 so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp. 

it just didn't seem fair. 

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods. 

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest. 

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest. 

every  demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they  didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself. 

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?” 

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching. 

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.” 

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.” 

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze. 

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too. 

“she deserved more.” 

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there. 

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do. 

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise. 

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.” 

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm. 

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.  

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day. 

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.” 

luke bristled at your nickname for him. 

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go. 

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.  

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in. 

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly. 

 the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again. 

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down. 

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse. 

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled. 

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” 

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.  

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning. 

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone? 

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one. 

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward." 

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you. 

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp. 

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.  

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready. 

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him. 

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through. 

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him. 

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood. 

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased. 

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess. 

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson. 

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?” 

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken. 

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.” 

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer. 

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.  

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too. 

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time. 

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more. 

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips. 

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die. 

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy. 

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away. 

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze. 

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse. 

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse. 

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.” 

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality. 

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie. 

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat. 

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him. 

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for. 

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did. 

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it. 

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair. 

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates. 

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes. 

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.” 

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes. 

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that. 

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you. 

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?” 

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush. 

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….” 

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right. 

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for. 

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached. 

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?” 

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?” 

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him. 

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.” 

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said. 

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow. 

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air. 

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch. 

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion. 

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp. 

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him. 

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment. 

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door. 

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire. 

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.  

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god. 

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy. 

everything was falling into place. 

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.  

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you. 

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles. 

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist. 

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him. 

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey. 

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy. 

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?” 

 “they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true. 

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him. 

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it. 

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down. 

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet. 

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog. 

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more. 

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously. 

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated. 

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind. 

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated. 

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well. 

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.” 

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe! 

would you hate him, if you knew? 

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage. 

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?” 

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns. 

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.” 

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment. 

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips. 

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe. 

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his. 

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath. 

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time. 

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted. 

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor. 

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock. 

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.” 

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being. 

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.” 

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.  

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone.  we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance. 

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor. 

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape. 

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice. 

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head. 

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life. 

there was a small, pathetic part of luke that wanted you to choose him, even if it meant you would have plunged the knife into his chest.

[evieelyzabethh]

Warmer than a Comforter

pairing(s): Spike x fem!reader

summary: it wasn't unusual for Spike to 'break' into your apartment, but it was unusual for him to want to spend the night.

warnings: very long (4.4k words), spike being a simp, one bed trope, dry humping, thigh fucking, masturbation, some fingering, slight praise, Spike being Spike, a smidge of possessiveness, and thats about it

It was no secret to anyone your favorite time of day was long after the sun went down. A full-time college student who worked a part time job on top of that was no easy feat. Your time during the day was never your time, it was your shitty professors time who assigned reading after reading that needed to be read for the never-ending stream of papers and theses, it belonged to your shitty boss who piled on tons of paperwork and demanded you be at his beck and call even after you clocked out. As much as you loved them, your time off belonged to your friends; patrolling, looking through dusty-old books, trying not to die every time you stepped out of your apartment.

When you got home (if there was no patrolling to be done), it was your time and while you were tired, you made time for your nightly routine. You'd slip off your shoes and walk in the dark to make it to your room to turn on your lamp, because you'd be damned if you were turning on one of the big lights this late.

You would usually strip down and dig a pair of pajamas out of your drawers before taking a scalding shower. You'd brush your teeth and wash your face, maybe if you had the energy, you'd do a face mask and paint your nails. You'd turn on your stereo or switch on your TV to fall asleep to the fuzzy sound and soft light. This, of course, is what you'd be doing right now had you not walked into your house with company.

You could see him lounging on your bed, the darkness of his attire somehow darker than your unlit room. His duster slung on the back of your desk chair, only clothed in some tight navy shirt and jeans.

"What are you doing here, Spike?" You crossed your arms over your chest, annoyed when you realized he had his dirty ass boots on your bed.

"M' paying my favorite Scooby a visit." You walked over to turn on your lamp, giving you enough light to see how smug he was. His arms sat behind his head, his eyes glittering with amusement. He was doing this to annoy you. He did most things just to annoy you.

"Pay another Scooby a visit." You were dead tired, practically forcing your eyes open. You had just gotten back from work, your bag still in your hand which you used to knock his legs off your bed. He could've been stubborn, but he let you.

You stripped off your hoodie, flashing him your stomach as your undershirt rose with the movement. He whistled, "Scandalous."

"Get out of my apartment." You tossed your hoodie at him while rolling your eyes. He caught it midair, bringing it to his nose to sniff it.

"Smells different. You using a different bodywash?" You hummed as you walked around your room to find something suitable to wear to bed. It was dreadfully hot out, even worse than what you'd expect from a California summer. You had at least 3 fans going anytime you were here, especially since your landlord could never seem to find a permanent solution to the junky A.C unit.

"Midnight Rose. Real fancy stuff." You hadn't even noticed a difference, but of course Spike would. Vampire senses had a way of being intrusive in a way that was only helpful when it came to your cycle and saving you bed sheets.

"I like the other one better: the cocoa butter one. It was fainter. You smelt more like you." You scoffed.

"Duly noted." Your hands roamed over the old t-shirts from high school and camisole tops so old the straps had snapped on a couple of them.

Spike sat up on your bed, untying the laces on his shoes haphazardly before setting them by your bedroom door. He roamed around like you had been, picking up bottles of nail polish and flipping through one of the books on your shelf.

"You could spare me a bit of your attention, love. I mean I did go through the trouble of-"

"Breaking into my apartment?" You interrupted.

"On second thought, it was a bit easy. I pushed it a bit and the window came right out. Are you leaving it open for somebody?" His tone was supposed to sound much more teasing than it did. There was a pang in his chest, probably of jealousy. Much to his chagrin, he was jealous a lot these days and he couldn't quite tell if his frequent visits were enabling that or the very cause of it. Either way, it was hard not to just crawl through your window anytime he pleased.

You acted like you were annoyed and if he had a dollar for every time you threatened to call Buffy on him, he wouldn't need to dumpster dive for furniture. If he had another dollar for every time, you never followed through, he'd be even richer. You said it's because you could handle yourself without her help, but, admittedly, you didn't hate his company that much.

As far as house guests go, it could be worse. It's not like he eats all your food, talks your ears off, or is unfunny. He was just there. A pain in your ass sometimes, like when he insists on being half a step behind you during patrols and never fails to tell you how great your ass looks from behind. Never a malevolent presence, just annoyingly noticeable.

His boots were clunky, and he smelled of faint cigarettes and alcohol. He also hated silence. He was fidgety and anxious, even if his intentions were stealth, he couldn't help but break the tension and open his mouth. At times against his will, he just wanted to be noticed that bad. He just needed to be around you that bad.

"I keep telling the landlord to fix it, but he insists it's just fine. 'Nothin' some glue won't fix'." But you had tried gluing it. Had it not been for the clear shit jammed in the lock, the window would've just come right open with the flick of a finger.

"I could fix it for you." He went ignored while you had made your way to your bathroom, taking your hair down from the claw clip it had been stuck in for the past few hours. A slight moan of relief slipped through your lips as your fingers carded through it to massage your scalp.

"You know how to fix windows?"

"Well...no. But it can't be that hard. I've been around a few hundred years, surely I can figure out how to fix a bloody window." What he meant to say (if he had the balls) was that he would be more than happy to learn how to fix a window for you. It would give him an excuse to hang around, it would keep him in your good graces for a solid month, and he wouldn't have to break an entering anymore. Granted, his preferred place of entry had long been broken and he could always come through the front door, but it was a matter of principle.

You looked him up and down, trying to decipher if this was a set up for a joke or if he was actually serious, but he kept his head down. He hadn't been able to blush since he was a human, but the habit had a way of rearing its head for you.

He was so pretty too. With his high cheekbones and the way the warm light made his complexion look less ghastly. As ironic and cliche as it would be to say, he looked slightly angelic. Like one who fell from Heaven and donned the dark and mysterious charade to make it hurt less. He would burn away under a cross just to make it back to Heaven. Nearly break his spine falling out of windows and bleed out taking stabs if it meant he was closer to your doors. If there was one thing Spike did well, it was devotion.

"You wouldn't even know where to start. I'll just call Xander or something."

"What're you gonna do that for!"

"Because, Spike," you laughed incredulously, confused as to if this was going to become an argument or form a chip on his shoulder. "If I want something fixed, I'm going to call someone who does it for a living."

"But would Xander do it for free?"

"Would you?"

"I wouldn't charge anything of monetary value." You snorted, not surprised at all with his answer.

"You are such a whore, you know that?"

"What can I say, baby?" He leaned against the door frame of your bathroom, where you stood staring at your reflection in the mirror. He was happy that his nonexistent reflection could betray him. He was grateful to be a part of this routine - your routine- in a way that didn't disrupt your peace. It was soft. Almost domestic.

You were so meticulous about the way you scrubbed your face and brushed your teeth. He liked how when you took off your makeup the glitter remained. You sparkled at the right angles, really fucking sparkled. Of course, he was going to sit and stare at you; mascara still not completely wiped away, hair tied back with a fuzzy headband, lips agitated from being bit throughout the day. It was poetic. Second nature to him. He didn't need to breath, but it came to him then, overwhelming and filling his lungs like water until he was full as he stared at you in the mirror with not even his own reflection to judge him.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower."

"How rude, without me?" Damn, he sounded like a bloody idiot. You only looked him up and down, trying to appear deeply disgusted but stopped just shy of mildly annoyed.

"Get out of my apartment before I stake you." You slammed the bathroom door in his face, hiding your blush behind the wood.

"That's not a no." His voice is muffled behind the door, and as much as you'd like to believe he didn't hear it, you did laugh.

***********************************************************

Spike had to have been a cat in a previous life, is what you decided when you found him still on your bed, nose in some magazine he found pretending to care about the newest Natasha Denona palette.

"That crypt must be uncomfortable as hell for you to still be here." You skated around your room to sink beside him. He reaches across his side to pull out a bottle of water and hands it to you.

"Your showers are hot as hell; I'm surprised you didn't pass out in there." He flips through the pages nonchalantly, pretending not to be incredibly fixated at the water dripping from the nape of your neck and disappearing into your shirt.

"You would've loved that, wouldn't you? Getting to play 'knight and shining armor' while I'm conveniently naked." The sound waxy pages being torn was a surprise. So much of you and his banter was contingent on the assumption that neither of you meant anything serious so nothing would become anything.

Spike, who spent most of his mortal adult life swallowing his feelings until his stomach became an endless chasm where his feelings went to fester rather than die, was more than okay with this unspoken arrangement. Sarcasm was a second language to you. You were used to your words not mattering, especially since in your group of friends, your existence seemed to matter far less than everyone else's. You wondered if that was why you and Spike got along so well.

He just got you. Maybe a side effect of him being around you whenever he could. He just got you. In a stupid way. In an annoying way. The kind of way that made you worried that reading minds was also one of his vampiric powers. He wormed his stupid way into your brain, slithering around in his own sort of Spike way til you didn't know where his influence began.

He did sort of have this hypnotic way of speech. Maybe because he was a poet. Poets have to have some sort of hypnotic power, right? Surely, there was some connection between rhythms and brain waves that made the effect of Spike's voice so persuasive. Maybe it's not the rhythm and it's just the honesty. Ironic, since the basis of your "relationship" was built on never assuming that the other meant what they said, but who cares. It gave you guys flavor. Something to keep things interesting.

"I'll have you know; I am a very old-fashioned guy with manners." You snorted as his response. He talked about his "old-fashioned" ways a lot. Maybe to convince you that he was a gentleman. Gentleman your ass, you'd seen what he kept in his crypt.

"My deepest apologies for assuming that a guy that used railroad spikes as a murder weapon of choice wouldn't be above jumping at the opportunity to see me naked."

"Am I that transparent?"

"When it comes to mirrors, yeah." His scoff was lost in the sound of a car horn going off across the street. Damn, you needed a new place. He had complained to you about the noise before. If you didn't leave near a busy street, he would try his luck spending the night far more than he already did. Each blare deepened the scowl on his face as he flinched at the sound, even louder from where he sat in front of it.

"Those death buggies have to be the worst thing to come out of the 20th century. So obnoxious, and for what?"

"I imagine they are more convenient than horse drawn carriages."

"Yeah, more convenient and not even half the charm." He turned his head to gaze out the window. "It's not even a nice car! I'd rather ride around in the fucking Angel Mobile than drive around in that thing."

"You are so dramatic. Usually I just," you swing your leg over his waist, straddling and reaching over to close the window. He swallowed hard at the feeling of your chest pressing against the magazine, the only boundary between him and you, and the nonchalance of the action. "Shut the window." You felt him tense beneath you, his right hand awkwardly meeting your hip, blue eyes staring up at you through dark eyelashes. "Then again, I'm not a pansy who needs complete silence to sleep."

He cleared his throat before he spoke. "I sleep in a cemetery, love, ain't much noise around those parts." His eyes wandered everywhere they could but the worst part about beautiful people is that there is no unsightly place to avert your gaze. He couldn't stare at your gorgeous eyes, or your stunning nose, or your lips to distract himself from the steadily growing boner that you were sitting right on top of. You were no better than he was.

Within the context of the unspoken agreement, this meant absolutely nothing. The boner was just a normal reaction, that didn't have to mean anything. The way he was looking at you was a bit hard to ignore, but that was the way he always looked at you. He was a lot closer right now, sure, but that stupid lovesick look that you have spent years trying to ignore, totally just a joke. Not real at all. A trick of the light, in fact. The hard-on was very real though.

After sitting there for a few seconds too long, you shift your weight to move back to your side of the bed, but his hands keep you in your place. " 'm cold", he mutters, his thumb rubbing circles between where your shorts meet your bare skin.

"Yeah?" You feel him pressing up against your core. "I didn't think you could get cold."

" Me either but-", you lowered yourself completely on his clothed dick and the groan he let out was salacious. "Here we are." The frigid way he moved made his lie believable. Incredibly cautious, hesitant. No idea what to do with himself. He ran his hands along your thighs, up and down your side, one cold hand sliding underneath your shirt, rubbing the hem of it between his pointer finger and his thumb.

You leaned forward, warm breath fanning against his nose. It smelled like mint. You smelled like some sort of cocoa butter. Smooth and soft on top of him and he didn't know if you were going to roll right off or melt into his skin. Your hands come to the sides of his face, and you stare intently at him. He felt like he was under a microscope with the way you looked at him like you were committing each detail of him to memory so that even when you closed his eyes, it was still him burning in the forefront of your mind.

"You gonna kiss me?" You whispered, pressing yourself further into him. He let out a breathy laugh.

"What, a guy's always gotta make the first move?" With that, you leaned down to give him what was meant to be a quick peck. A tester. A tease. But when you give Spike an inch, he takes a mile, and he took the opportunity to devour you. Mouth open, sloppy, wet kisses while his hands worked as eagerly as his tongue did. You were a calming presence, slow and sane as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to try and ground the both of you.

Breathing through your nose, you inhaled him. The faint smell of smoke, the fresh smell of whatever he washed the gel from his hair with, the distinctly Spike musk. Your thighs wrapped him more closely, subtly grinding into his lap, ignoring the slight burn on your knees from the friction between them and your sheets. His large hands covered swathes of skin, cooling you where you grew too hot from his touch. When he had his fill, he broke away from you, still nose to nose, a string of saliva still between the two of you.

"Do you wanna spend the night?" Your voice was somehow meek as if there was any way in hell he would say no to you. He breathed out, turning his head into the crook of your neck, leaving searing kisses on your silky skin, worshipping at his altar, and thanking who or whatever got him here tonight. He kisses you from your neck, along your jawline, to the corner of your lips.

"Yes", he whispers against your skin. He bucks his hips into you, the imprint of his cock and the rough material of his jeans kissing your pussy through the thin layers of material. You nearly choke on his tongue at the feeling. Fuck.

Your eyes are closed, hips moving furiously against his, too blissed out to even care about the steadily growing wet patch in your underwear. You're lost in kisses, kisses that overwhelm and confuse and steal your breath until you wonder how much you need to breathe anyway. Along with not needing to breathe, you learned they must have incredible resolve. He chases you. Not like how a wolf chases a lamb but how the sun chases the moon.

He pulls and you push for breath, some sort of reprieve, some time for your mind to catch up with your body because right now everything but the way the seams of his jeans catch your clit is one of the only things on your mind. He pulls you, still, his hands squeezing at your waist, moving up to cup your breasts, thumbing at your nipples, and flicking the already hard peaks. And you push, still, not in protest but in harmony. Your hips pressing down, his jerking up. Your hands tugging his hair, his squeezing your waist. It was good. It was so good.

"What is the point", he starts breathlessly, "of these damn shorts if they're so thin. You're leaking right through, love." He smiles against you, sharp teeth grazing against your cheek as he smirks.

"Take 'em off me then." For once in his life, he takes his time. The desperation of his prior movements forgotten as he looks at you as he trails a finger from your chest down between the valley of your breasts, to your navel. He draws invisible shapes along your stomach, diamonds, hearts, and letters spelling m-i-n-e. And he stalls there. Looking from beneath you, smug as you ground yourself onto his dick in an attempt to move him along.

He was amused. Fascinated. You in your own world, mewling, moaning, putting on a show just for him. Choosing to ignore how sticky your panties had gotten, how much they stuck to your cunt as you wiggled your hips as if you could get any closer. Your tits moving with you, the way your mouth was slightly agape, the way you keened when you rubbed against him just right. It was no motivation for him to move his hands at all, not when it was much more rewarding to angle his hips up and make you see stars. "You gonna cum like this?" He crooned, full of fake sympathy.

"You're really gonna make me get myself off." You rolled your eyes, maybe out of pleasure, maybe out of faux annoyance. Either way, his hand slithered to the waistband of your shorts and dipped even deeper. He left feather-light touches on your clit which sent jolts of electricity up your spine. Overcome with the tightening feeling in your belly, your hands grabbed at his shoulders as your hips worked and worked you snapped. Impossibly wet and dazed, you rocked into him until the high had passed and the stars had left from behind your eyelids leaving only Spike.

His fingers still, in your panties, he moves to slide them and your shorts off your body. You hover slightly, still too sensitive to rub your bare pussy against him. You fidget with the button of his jeans and zipper, Spike's hands coming to cover yours to ease the shakiness. Maybe to give the appearance that he was much calmer than he was. He was painfully hard, and you felt it when you palmed him through his boxers after getting his pants down enough. Where his tip sat was a wet spot. You smirked.

"Did I get your dick that wet?" A shiver went down his spine. The heat from your palm was felt through his boxers. Your hand was barely big enough to cover it. Before either of you was prepared for it, he flipped you on your back. His hands sat on either side of your head while yours removed him from his boxers. He was so big.

You tore your gaze away from his cock to meet his gaze. He still looked at you the same. Pupils widened from lust, cheeks with a slightly pink tinge, lips puffy, eyes looking down at you with the same look they always had. It's then he leans down to kiss you for the millionth time. No urgency, less messy, a kiss like he was trying to wake you from a thousand-year slumber.

Your hand still on his cock, you pumped it a few times, swiping your thumb against his tip to lubricate his dick. He groaned into your mouth, humming in pleasure. You try to line him up to sink in your hole, but he slaps you on the wrist. "Don't want your cunt tonight," he mumbled in between kisses, "Jus' let me feel you."

He pumped his cock a few times before slotting it in between the meat of your thighs. The veins and ridges of his dick would occasionally slide between your folds, but that wasn't the focus. No matter how much you wiggled for him to plant his cock so far deep it kissed your cervix, you were ignored as he squeezed your thighs together, panting as he fucked them.

The juxtaposition made your head dizzy. The softness with which he kissed you and the fervor of his dick between your thighs, them getting wetter with the accumulation of precum leaking from his dick. It only forced him to press harder, leaving handprints from how hard he gripped. "Such a pretty thing, aren't you." He sighed out, his pace still even but his breaths far from it. "Go ahead and touch that pretty cunt f' me."

As much as your brain wasn't working, it wasn't needed to do what you were told. Bleary-headed, your hand traveled from the outside of your leg to between your folds. Still wet from your previous orgasm, it didn't take much to just slip a couple fingers in, moaning as you did. One hand toyed with your tit as the other toyed with your clit, your hips wanting to buck into your hand had it not been for Spike's palm on your stomach.

Had he had the composure, he would have made some sarcastic comment. Slow down, love, what's the rush, is what he would've said had his thrusts not been as sloppy as they were. He pulled away from your lips to see the mess he was making. White beads pooled on the skin of your stomach, dripping down your thighs like liquid pearls. And you. Low warm light bouncing off your skin, lip tucked in your teeth, staring right up at him. It took all of him not to cum at the sight.

Not before you did, he decided, which by the way your moans pitched up wasn't that far away. Each "accidental" slide into you was met with a jerk of your hips. "Stop it", you squealed, the bucking of your hips screaming otherwise.

"Feels too good, doesn't it." Then he did it again. His large hand drifts around before grabbing your abandoned tit, groping it until you hit your limit again. Your chest heaved unevenly as you tried to catch your breath as Spike's hips sped up, stuttered, then stopped as his cum splashed on your stomach and breasts.

Spent and not knowing what to do, he kisses you again. He smiles into it, and to his surprise, you do too. Like it was the only thing that made sense to do. The fuzz gradually fades from your mind, the noise from the multiple fans running and the faint humming of electricity apparent again. There's a breeze coming in from your window and you giggle.

"Are you still cold?"

[roosterforme]

Do You Wanna Touch Me? | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You had been working at the bar for six months. And you'd been crushing on Rooster since the first night he handed you his credit card, called you Babydoll, and asked you to start a tab for him. And it only got worse from there, until one night you asked him about more than just his drink order.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, age gap, and smut

Length: 5800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written for my Top Gun Rocktober playlist! Check out my masterlist for more!

"Oh, my god," you whined softly, drying and polishing the rack of pint glasses in front of you as Rooster Bradshaw came strolling into the bar. "Fuck me," you sighed, barely able to keep your eyes off him as you fumbled one of the glasses.

"Yeah, you'd like that," Lizzy said with a laugh as she cut up some lemons before the Friday evening rush.

You didn't even know you spoke out loud. That's how much of a ridiculous crush you had on that big, sexy man. But he strolled right past you on his way to the pool table, barely even sparing a smile in your direction. 

"I really would," you told her, watching the flex of his bicep as he high fived Hangman. It wasn't like your coworkers didn't know you had a thing for Rooster. You'd been working here for six months, and you'd been crushing on him since the first night he handed you his credit card, called you Babydoll, and asked you to start a tab for him. And it only got worse from there.

He still occasionally called you Babydoll. He never called Lizzy or Jasmine by a pet name. Just you. And you held onto that little glimmer of hope that it meant something. That maybe one day, he'd look at you as more than just one of the bartenders.

"What's wrong with you?" Jas asked, waving a hand in front of your face. But then she looked where you were staring, and she asked no further questions. "Oh. Rooster's here."

"He sure is," you added, forcing yourself to focus on the customer in front of you who looked impatient for a drink. As you finished pouring him some tequila shots, you looked up eagerly, and Rooster met your eyes. It had been a solid week since you'd seen him, and he just always looked so good.

You pushed the shot glasses across the bar and collected payment, trying to stay as cool as you could. Because Rooster was heading your way now in his snug vintage wash jeans and bright tropical shirt. 

"Hey, Babydoll," he rasped, and your whole body clenched with need as your eyes fluttered closed. When you met his gaze again, he was leaning on the bar, closing in on your personal space. 

"Hey, Rooster," you replied, sounding a lot calmer than you felt. When he smirked and looked down at your shirt, your heart pounded even harder. Your name was embroidered on your Hard Deck top, just above your breast. He knew your name, but he always called you Babydoll anyway. So was he just simply staring at your tits?

He cleared his throat and asked, "Get me a beer? Please?" 

"Am I starting a tab?" you asked, reaching for one of the pint glasses you'd just finished cleaning. He responded by humming and sliding his credit card across the bar. He held eye contact with you while you expertly pulled the perfect pint of his preferred beer. The way his lips parted in a soft smile that matched yours, the twitch of his mustache...it all felt like foreplay that had been going on for months.

"Thanks," he muttered when your fingers brushed against his. He winked at you before turning back to the pool table, leaving you with his credit card and a desperate need inside of you.

As you set up his tab, Jasmine ran her hand along your lower back so you wouldn't bump her as she walked behind you. "Why don't you just invite him to join you in the bathroom and fuck him out of your system?" she joked. 

"Because," you sighed, "that would only make me pine harder. Getting a small taste of him would be worse than nothing at all."

"Oof," Lizzy replied. "You're a mess over Bradshaw."

"I wonder how old he is?" Jas asked.

You hummed and shrugged, watching him drink his beer across the room while you shook a vodka martini. "Gotta be at least thirty five."

"Ask him," Lizzy said. "Next time he comes over, ask him how old he is."

Your cheeks were warming up. He was bending at the waist, playing pool, and you were taking way too long to serve this martini. "No. What if he thinks I'm being rude? Or worse...what if he catches on that I like him, and he shuts it all down."

"Fine," Jas said, uncapping some ciders. "Next time Rooster comes up, I'll wait on him."

But that really didn't sit well with you. Rooster always came to you for his drinks, anytime he could. You liked that about him. You liked his attention. Jas wouldn't pour his pints quite as well as you could. You knew so well how much foam to let spill and how close to the top of the glass you could get. You loved pulling those pints of lager for him. And you loved pouring him bourbon when he asked for that instead. You knew which brand and that he liked it neat. You didn't have to ask. He didn't have to tell you.

No, you should always be the one to wait on him. And when he finished his pint and strolled back up to the bar after Phoenix beat him at pool, you stepped in front of Jasmine. "I got it," you said confidently, and Jas walked away chuckling. This time Rooster eased himself down onto an empty stool between two women who looked at him like they'd just won the lottery. But his eyes were on you. 

"Lager or bourbon?" you asked, and you were rewarded with those perfect, white teeth and his deep laughter. 

"You got everyone's regular drinks memorized?" he asked as you reached for his empty glass. But he didn't let you take it. He kept one hand on the glass for a few beats while your fingers met his. 

He was making you feel bold tonight. He was even more gorgeous up close like this, with a few gray hairs at his temples and some laugh lines around his eyes. His eyebrows shot up, and his smile faltered when you said, "No, Rooster. Not everybody's regular drinks. Only the hottest guys. Lager or bourbon?"

He grunted and swallowed hard. "Dealer's choice." Then he finally let you take the empty glass, and it was a good thing, too, because you needed to turn away from him. You took a few extra seconds to reach for the bottle of Wild Turkey. Your nipples were hard, your skin felt like it was on fire, and you were turned on just talking to him.

When you turned back to face him, his gaze was neutral again. You uncapped the bourbon and poured it for him, neat. 

"Thanks," he murmured, moving like he was standing to leave. 

And then your mouth worked before your brain, and you said, "Anytime, Sexy."

You watched him pause halfway out of his seat, his eyes dipping down to watch you nervously lick your lips. If he left for the pool table, you really were going to have to let Jasmine wait on him next time. Embarrassment flooded your veins, leaving you uncomfortable with a sheen of cold sweat on your neck. But he eased himself back down onto the stool and kept his eyes on you. "Alright. Babydoll."

You laughed softly, pulling out some glasses for the woman who wanted two cosmos. Rooster sipped his bourbon and kept his focus on your face and your body. He grunted as you took a shaker in each hand, and as you poured them out at the same time, he asked, "What's your favorite drink?"

He was hyper focused on you now, leaning in just the slightest bit further as you served both pink drinks. "To have or to make?" you asked, taking more orders.

"Both. I want you to tell me both."

You smiled at him, and he matched it right away. "Nothing is more fun to make than an expertly crafted Bloody Mary, but those are best as breakfast cocktails."

He nodded, accepting your answer, and then he asked, "And what do you order when you go out?"

You shrugged. "I don't often get to have someone make my drinks for me, but when I do, I usually order a Manhattan."

"A Manhattan?" he asked, balking at your answer. "How fuckin' old are you, Babydoll? People in their seventies drink those things!"

"I'm twenty three," you told him, laughing so hard you were doubled over. He looked delighted when you were finally able to stand up straight again. Your smile was still bright as you leaned on the bar until you were only two feet from his face and softly asked, "How old are you?"

The song on the jukebox changed as Rooster rubbed his mustache and said, "I'm a lot older than you are." His little self deprecating laugh just made you want to get closer to him. He looked amused by you and also resigned to the fact that he thought his age was something you wouldn't like about him.

"How old?" you asked again, biting your lip. 

His brown eyes found your mouth, and you thought for a moment that he was going to kiss you. Oh god, you wanted him to, so badly. "I'm thirty eight."

You hummed softly as Phoenix came to stand next to him, and you started to get her favorite kind of beer ready. 

"You coming back to the pool table?" she asked Rooster, but he just grunted something about needing to finish his bourbon first. When you handed Phoenix her drink, Rooster told you to put it on his tab, and he looked relieved when she walked away.

"Thirty eight," you said, watching him down the remainder of the drink in his glass. "That's why you're so good at flirting? You've had time to practice?"

He coughed a little bit as he set his empty glass down on the bar top. "Babydoll, I'm fifteen years older than you."

"So?" you asked, pulling another perfect pint for him. "You don't want to flirt with me?"

"Now wait, that's not what I'm saying at all. Just surprised you don't want to flirt with someone your own age."

"I don't like boys my age," you told him fearlessly. "I like men."

"Oh, hell," he groaned, taking a long sip of his fresh beer. "Just look at you. You're gonna get yourself in trouble if you don't find a nice guy."

He looked flustered now. You were making Lieutenant Bradshaw flustered. His cheeks were pink, and he kept sipping his beer, avoiding your gaze. He looked adorable and boyish, and you didn't know quite what to do about this. Or about the fact that talking to him was making you wet. 

"Hmmm," you hummed, and his eyes met yours immediately. "Are you a nice guy?"

"Fuck," he groaned, adjusting himself in his seat. "Sometimes."

"You're always pretty sweet to me," you whispered. "What's it like when you're not a nice guy, Rooster?"

You wanted to touch him for more than a few fleeting seconds. After six months, you thought you were going to. His long, thick fingers were just resting there in front of you. But then Fanboy came to the bar and asked you to close out his tab. And then you had to help Lizzy pour a massive round of shots. And then when Rooster asked you to close out his tab as well, you did it with a pout on your lips. 

As you slid his credit card, the slip he needed to sign, and a pen across the bar, he smiled at you. "Aww, come on. Don't give me that look. You know how it is."

"I don't, actually," you replied, watching him sign the credit card receipt for you. "How is it?"

He looked up and studied your face. "You're too perfect to mess with, Babydoll. Too young. Too pretty to touch."

You chewed on your lip and squeezed your thighs together. You had to know. Your voice was soft and unsure as you asked him, "Do you wanna touch me?"

He didn't meet your eyes again as he scribbled on the receipt and then left it and the pen for you to collect. He stood up from his stool, gave a quick salute to his friends and then headed for the door. 

You moaned helplessly. You blew it. He thought you were just a kid, and you never stood a chance. And now he'd probably never even look at you again. 

But when you picked up the receipt, you read one word written there under his name. YES.

-----------------------------

When you strolled into the bar the next evening, you got right to work. You had no idea if Rooster would show up, and you weren't sure if you even wanted to see him or not. You'd torn off the bottom of his credit card slip and taken it home with you. That little scrap of paper on which he'd admitted he wanted to touch you was hanging on your bedroom mirror. But it was the fact that he was probably never going to touch you, even though he was more than welcome to, that was making you frustrated. 

"What's wrong with you?" Lizzy asked as she arrived a minute later. "You look hot."

You glanced down at your Hard Deck top, denim skirt and beat up sneakers. "I look the same as I always do," you told her, continuing to dump buckets of ice into the cooler behind the bar. 

"Maybe it's your makeup," she replied. "I think you're hoping Rooster comes in tonight."

You rolled your eyes. "I always hope he's going to be here. He's pretty. I like looking at him."

"I'm not going to dispute that," Lizzy said as she cut up the lemons again tonight. "But I think you actually like him. Not just the way he looks."

You didn't respond, because it didn't matter. You'd keep the flirtation to a minimum the next time you saw him. The last thing you wanted to do was make him think you were desperate. He wanted to touch you? He could go right ahead. But you weren't about to beg him to.

As the bar got crowded, Jasmine showed up as well. The three of you got into a nice rhythm. A lot of the aviators were back again tonight, and you were serving them drink after drink. And then it was like you knew he was there before you saw him. After you handed a couple their drinks, your eyes automatically shifted toward the doorway, finding it filled with Rooster's big body. And he was already looking at you. 

"You want me to wait on him?" Lizzy asked you softly as Rooster approached the bar. 

But you just shook your head and reached for two different glasses, holding them up as he took a seat in front of you. When he pointed to the pint glass, he said, "Lager. Please."

"Sure," you replied, setting the smaller glass aside and pulling a perfect pint of beer for him. "Start a tab?"

"Nah, I'm not staying long tonight," he told you as you placed the beer in front of him without meeting his gaze. "Just wanted to see you and get one drink."

"Mmkay," you said. But when you pulled your hand away, he reached for it. 

Stunned, you let him take your hand in his large one, and then he asked, "Does this mean you're done flirting with the old man now? You got it all out of your system yesterday?" His eyes were guarded, cautious, and he held onto your hand, expecting an answer. 

You shook your head slowly, running your fingertips along his rough calluses. "I was just getting started."

A crooked little smile danced across his lips. "I am too old for you, Babydoll. And it's a shame."

Your heart jumped in your chest, hand still tangled up with his on the bar top. You could hear Lizzy and Jasmine working extra hard to take all the orders, trying to give you a moment here. So you smiled back. "You think you're old. So what? You expect me to call you Daddy?"

"Shit," he grunted, squirming a bit in his seat but keeping your hand in his.

When he didn't respond right away, you leaned a little closer, one eyebrow raised. "I asked you a question."

His eyes were wide, and that little grin was back. "I could be a... Daddy. Maybe for the right girl."

You pulled your hand free of his and planted both palms on the bar top and leaned closer to him. "And just how is a girl supposed to know if she's the right one?"

But his cheeks were tinged with pink once again, and he looked flustered. It was flattering, such an ego boost. You were the one who made him like this. But he wasn't responding now, and you needed to help Jas pour some chardonnay for the impatient ladies at the end of the bar. You sighed and said, "Well, I work until eleven. So just think on it."

But he wouldn't let you leave. Rooster reached for your hand again, but this time he was the one leaning closer. "The right girl would be one that I can't seem to stay away from. You said you work until eleven?"

"Yes," you replied softly, his large hand completely covering yours on the bar top.

"Right. Then ask me again if I want to start a tab."

You pressed your lips together, trying not to giggle. "Would you like to start a tab, Rooster?"

"You're damn right I would, Babydoll. I can't get enough of you. Think I'll just hang here until eleven. If that's okay with you."

This time you did giggle. "Yeah. That's okay with me." As he pulled his wallet out and handed you his credit card, you asked, "Bourbon or lager?"

"Make it a Manhattan."

"I've been told these drinks are for people in their seventies," you said with a straight face as you reached for the vermouth, secretly pleased he wanted your favorite. "You're only thirty eight."

"Listen," he said, watching you fix his drink. "You said you don't like boys your own age. And maybe I'm a little older than you, but all the parts are still in working order."

You felt giddy. When you set the glass down in front of him, you couldn't help but ask, "Does that mean you'll let me take you for a test drive?" 

You had to work to keep an innocent expression on your face as Bradley's blush deepened. He took a sip of his Manhattan, licked his lips and said, "I don't do test drives anymore."

"Oh," you said with a little pout. "You don't?"

"No," he replied a bit cautiously, taking another sip of his cocktail. "I'm getting too old for that. I like at least a little bit of commitment from the driver. Don't wanna feel like I'll get dinged up."

You shivered at his words, mesmerized by his voice and his demeanor as he looked down into his glass. Could you do more than a test drive? Of course you'd thought about it. You were crushing so hard, you'd imagined what it would be like if he was your boyfriend. But you'd barely even let yourself hope for a one night stand. Even that much seemed too good to be true.

"Oh," you said again in a softer tone. When he glanced up, his dark eyes were no longer guarded, and he was looking at you warily. Without giving it much thought, you pushed up onto the bar and leaned until he met you halfway in a kiss. It was just the softest brush of your lips against his. But the sound he made and the prickle of his mustache on your skin left you wide eyed and out of breath as you eased yourself back down. "No. You're too handsome to get all dinged up. I'm a great driver."

"Yeah," he said with a little laugh. "I can already tell. And that's what I was afraid of last night. There's just something about you, isn't there?"

"You have a thing for me?" you asked him, gripping the edge of the bar top. "Because I definitely have a thing for you." You had stopped breathing now, and your heart was pounding in your ears. 

With a little grin, he said, "Yeah, I do, Babydoll."

"Well, what are we going to do about it, Daddy?" you asked with another giggle as Jasmine thrust a bottle of prosecco into your hands. 

"We're going to go out my Bronco the minute your shift is over. We'll figure it out there." 

You nearly dropped the bottle when you met his eyes. "A quickie?" you asked softly, but you were sure he heard you.

"No," he groaned, running his big palm along his mouth and shaking his head at you. Then he finished the rest of his Manhattan in one gulp and pushed the glass your way. "Nothing about this is gonna be quick. I'd like to take my time, especially with someone as perfect as you."

You sounded like a feral animal, thighs clenched together and gripping the bottle of prosecco with both hands. 

"Shit," Rooster grunted. "You're making it hard to just sit here, Babydoll."

"Hard?" you asked with a grin. 

"You'll find out."

After another embarrassing noise, you had to excuse yourself to the other end of the bar for a few minutes. Jesus, you needed to keep your job, after all. But his eyes followed you everywhere. Any time you looked his way, he was transfixed on you. When you pulled a pint of lager and set it down for him, he whispered, "Thanks, Babydoll," sending shivers along your skin again. 

"Anything else you want, Rooster?" you asked him sweetly. 

His gaze dipped down to your chest before returning to your face. "Nothing I'm allowed to have inside the bar."

"At least not when we're open to the public, sir," you replied, giving him a little salute that had him reaching for you across the bar. But you managed to skirt away from his grasp with another laugh. 

"You coming back over here?" he asked between sips of his beer. "I didn't get a chance to ask you if you'll make me a Bloody Mary for breakfast tomorrow morning."

"Breakfast?"

"Yeah. Breakfast," he confirmed with a smile. "At my place?"

You pressed your lips together to keep from screaming. "So since this isn't a test drive, what are my options, exactly? Am I looking at a lease? A financing package?"

"I'm sure you'll know what you want to do when the time comes. And I'm going to need you to stop saying package right now."

"Just go," Jasmine told you suddenly. "It's after ten, and you're useless. You and he have had hours of foreplay already. Go."

"Are you sure?" you asked, already reaching for your bag and Rooster's credit card.

"Yes," Lizzy confirmed. Then she looked at Rooster who was already standing up and told him, "Pay your tab next week. And get her out of here."

"My pleasure," he rasped, and you practically ran for the opening in the bar, ducking underneath the counter. And when you stood up again, he was right there. He was so tall and broad, and with a coy smile, you slipped his credit card into the pocket of his jeans. When your fingers trailed closer to his zipper, he grabbed your wrist gently. 

"Just checking for myself to make sure all the parts are working," you mused as he raised your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles gently. In the middle of the crowded bar. Then he wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck, and you pulled him down for a kiss. 

He kept it pretty clean as he promised, "Wait until we get outside."

"Now," you demanded, pulling him along behind you by his shirt collar. As soon as the cool, night air met your hot skin, he had your bare thighs in his hands, and your back was pressed against the side of the building. "Oh my god," you gasped. Your body was pinned between the siding and Rooster, and the rough denim of his jeans was rubbing you deliciously through your underwear. 

"I told you I'm not going to rush," he whispered, pressing into you as you held onto his shoulders. He teased you with that delicious mustache and his lips on your neck before he kissed your ear and said, "Now, I'm gonna need verbal confirmation, Babydoll."

"Yes!" you nearly shouted. "Everything!"

He chuckled next to your ear and asked, "You wanna fuck in my Bronco?"

"Yes," you moaned so loudly, you were sure Jasmine and Lizzy could hear you. 

"I don't have any condoms with me," he said, looking you in the eye. "Do we need them?"

"No, I'm clean, and I take the pill," you said, leaning in to kiss his lips. He tasted you, running the tip of his tongue along yours before pulling his lips away. 

You whined for him, but he was undeterred. "I need you to tell me that you'll come home with me and make me that Bloody Mary in the morning while I make you breakfast."

He already wanted you to sleep over with him. He wanted to make you breakfast. He didn't want to have a one night stand. He was waiting for an answer. "You'll have to let me know if you want it traditional or extra spicy."

"Fuck," he grunted before his lips came crashing against yours. His big hands held your thighs wide as he rolled his hips gently against you. 

"Rooster," you moaned against his lips as he let you gently slide down his body until your feet hit the ground. 

"Please call me Bradley," he whispered as he wrapped his hand around your waist and quickly guided you across the dark parking lot. 

When you saw the Bronco, you ran the last little bit hand in hand. His laughter mixed with yours as he unlocked the door. "Come on, Bradley," you sang, looking up at him over your shoulder before climbing up onto the driver's seat on your hands and knees. "Do you wanna touch me?"

"Babydoll," he moaned, keeping you still as he guided your skirt up over your butt and around your waist. You cried out as he kissed the backs of your thighs. He slipped his fingers inside the thin strips of lace fabric that made up your thong, and you couldn't ever remember being this turned on before. 

"Bradley!" you gasped loudly when his lips and tongue met the globe of your rear end. He slid the lace to one side and kissed your slit from behind until you were panting. You might cum. You might actually have an orgasm on your hands and knees with your ass in his face. Boys your own age couldn't get you like this no matter what they did.

He gently swatted at you before palming your ass and saying, "Get in the backseat."

Oh yes. He was about to show you what else his age and experience had to offer, and you were already shaking with need. "Yes, sir," you whispered, and you heard him mutter a string of obscenities as you scrambled onto the backseat. As he slid the driver's seat forward and climbed in the back, you carefully pulled your underwear down your thighs. He helped you and then pressed the lace to his nose before pulling you onto his lap. 

"I've thought about this so many times when I touched myself," you blurted out as he teased your clit with his thumb. "Bronco sex," you whined, head tipped back, enjoying the perfect pressure he applied to your body. "Bronco sex with Bradley Bradshaw."

"Forgive me, Babydoll," he whispered, voice harsh. "But last night was the first time I jerked off thinking about you. Too afraid to go there before that, thinking there was no way in hell you'd want me."

"I want you," you swore, meeting his eyes in the near darkness. If anyone else was out in the parking lot, you couldn't see them. And you didn't care if they could see you, because he was slipping one thick finger inside you. "Wanted you for so long. Months and months."

"Jesus, you're tight," he groaned, sliding your snug top up to your chest as you rode his hand. "And you skipped a bra tonight like a good girl."

"Bradley," you gasped as he cupped your bare breast in his big hand. He lazily swirled his thumb around your nipple before bending to take you into his mouth. "Oh my god!" 

Your orgasm was already building. You had only been in the backseat with him for a few minutes, and he was still fully clothed. But now you were riding two fingers, and his thumb was delicious against your clit. As he licked and sucked on your breast, you started to clench. 

"Damn," he muttered against your body. "Already?"

You just nodded before guiding his lips up to yours, and you came as you moaned loudly against his mouth. "Bradley." You raked your fingers up into his hair and kissed him. He was hard through his jeans, and when he withdrew his fingers, you felt them trail up your body. 

"You're so pretty," he whispered, pulling your top over your head. "You'll look even better in my bed."

You wanted him to fuck you here first, but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't already thought about his place and what he might make you for breakfast. And as you sat straddled his hips in nothing but your skirt up around your waist and your sneakers on your feet, you felt adored by him. He was kissing a trail down between your breasts and rubbing his thumbs along your thighs. 

"Bradley," you whined, rubbing your pussy against his jeans, already feeling a little wrung out. "Please."

The street light at the corner reflected in his eyes, letting you know he was looking at your face as he raised his hips and unzipped his jeans. And a few seconds later, they were down around his knees along with his underwear. Your lips met his as you felt the velvety soft tip of his cock resting against your core. As you kissed him and tugged on his hair, he throbbed for you. And suddenly you weren't in such a hurry either. 

"Let me make you feel good," he whispered, and as you slid down around him, Bradley guided you with his hands on your hips. "You're so wet, my god."

"You always make me wet, even when you just talk to me at the bar," you admitted softly, your voice shaking as he kept pushing deeper inside you. "Oh. You're huge."

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, pausing where he was. But you just shook your head and rolled your hips slowly until he was completely inside you. He kissed you softly as you gasped and got used to him. "I don't wanna hurt this sweet pussy," he whispered next to your ear. "Perfect."

And then he brushed his knuckles along your clit and leaned his head back, watching as you rode him. "Take it off," you gasped, and he let you push his shirt down his arms and pull his tank over his head. You explored his broad chest with your hands and his shoulders with your lips. He was warm and rough and oh so sweet. His chest hairs brushed against your nipples as he guided your hips with his hands.

"Bradley?"

"Hmm?" 

You wrapped your hands around his neck and kissed his lips. "Fuck. So good." He felt delicious, his big hands everywhere, sliding up to span your back and keep you close. He fucked you in long, fluid movements that just got faster and faster. His pubes were coarse against your clit. His little grunts and words of praise kept you going as you started squeezing around his cock.

"Don't stop, Babydoll," he coaxed as you got closer. When his lips met your sweat slick chest again, and he pulled your nipple between his teeth, you came for him.

"Oh!" 

As your legs shook and your fingers went loose in his hair, Bradley fucked up into you until you were screaming his name. 

"Good girl," he grunted, and suddenly you were on your back along the seat with your legs spread wide. He fucked you with long, hard strokes that made your tits bounce and prolonged your orgasm. His lips were everywhere, and you were surrounded by his voice in the dark, holding onto his biceps as he came inside you.

You scrambled to get your mouth on his as you both caught your breath together, and as your heartbeat started to return to normal, you pressed a dozen soft kisses to his lips, one after the next. "Will you take me home?"

His hands stilled on your thigh and your neck. "Yeah," he said with a tone of sadness. "I can drop you off at home."

When he started pulling away without so much as another kiss, you reached for him, keeping him firmly inside you. "No, no. Take me home with you, Bradley."

"My place?" His voice was still soft, but it sounded hopeful now.

"Of course," you reassured him, and his kisses returned. "I'll spend the whole morning tomorrow making you Bloody Marys with little heart shaped garnishes."

He smiled against your lips before he said, "I'd like that, Babydoll."

---------------------------

The Hard Deck was pretty busy the following evening, and you were so physically exhausted from your night with Bradley, you could barely keep up. The Sunday crowd was keeping you on your toes, and Jasmine wouldn't stop asking you how your night ended. 

"Did you go home with him? You did. I can tell," she said as you just shrugged at all of her questions. "Are you going to see him again? Come on! Tell me!"

When you saw movement on the other side of the bar top, Jasmine's eyes went wide. "Hey, babydoll." The deep rumble of his voice was so distinct, you didn't need to look at him to know it was Bradley. He had whispered dirty, sweet things in your ears all night and all morning. You knew the sound of his voice by heart now.

When your eyes met his, you reached for a pint glass and filled it with his favorite beer. "Hey, Bradley. Wanna start a tab?" you asked with a soft smile.

You giggled as he reached for your hand and tugged you closer. Then he leaned across the bar and kissed you as his nose brushed against yours. "For you? Always. And don't close the tab until your shift ends."

---------------------------

No more test drives. I'm sure she's already considering her options to make him hers permanently. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32. Also, the pretty banner was made by Mak!

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[won4kiss]

﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ────THE BEST GIFTS AREN’T UNDER THE TREE : TEASER

୨୧ SYPNOSiS. you and park sunghoon don’t exactly get along. you’re coworkers who seem to have nothing in common— polar opposties. he’s the polished guy from a wealthy family, while you’re just trying to make ends meet and keep your personal life private. but when an awkward run-in at the pharmacy reveals more about your struggles than you ever wanted anyone to know—maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought—maybe the person who drives you the craziest might just be the one who gets you best.

୨୧ GENRE. office romance, enemies to lovers, fluff & christmas romcom hallmark movie themed, minimal angst.

୨୧ PAiRING. enemy! park sunghoon x fem! reader, rich!sunghoon x not very rich! reader, type 1 diabetic! reader | ps. shout out to all my t1d girls this is for u !! <3

୨୧ EST WORD COUNT: 8K-9.5K.

୨୧ RELEASE DATE: NOV 7TH 2024 / OUT NOW.

୨୧ TAGLIST OPEN ‹𝟹 @mioons @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @iluvnikism @rikibwn @wonsprincess @niawonn @pockyyasii @kiss4noo @nineooooo : COMMENT OR SEND AN ASK TBA.

PROLOGUE.

YOU’RE BALANCING TWO STEAMING CUPS OF OFFICE COFFEE WHEN YOU SPOT HIM—PARK SUNGHOON.

he’s leaning casually against your desk with that infuriatingly confident smirk.

it’s the same smirk he’s worn since the day you met, the one that says he’s got the world wrapped around his little finger—and for a second, you wish you could spill one of these coffees just to wipe it off his face.

“didn’t realize you worked here part-time,” he chuckles, watching you as you finally reach your desk, carefully setting down the cups. “or are you just on a different schedule than the rest of us?”

you don’t take the bait—instead, you shoot him a tight smile as you slip off your coat, doing your best to ignore him. ── 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝖡𝖤𝖫𝖮𝖶!

but, of course, he’s not done. “how’s that report going? the one that was supposed to be on my desk by, oh, i don’t know… yesterday?”

you sigh, bracing yourself. “some of us don’t have a personal assistant, sunghoon. i’m working on it. it’ll be done by noon.”

“just making sure.” he leans forward, lowering his voice, and for a moment his eyes meet yours with an unsettling intensity. “wouldn’t want you to fall behind.”

there’s a glimmer in his gaze that’s hard to read—almost like he’s daring you, or testing you, in a way that makes your skin prickle.

you swallow, telling yourself it’s just typical sunghoon. overconfident, ridiculously privileged, and completely insufferable.

“trust me, i don’t need reminders from you,” you reply, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

“clearly,” he says, that smirk still firmly in place as he straightens, crossing his arms. “oh, and by the way…” he glances down, eyes flicking briefly to the empty space on your desk before meeting your gaze again, his smile softening just enough to make you suspicious.

“you missed the secret santa sign-up sheet this morning.”

you freeze, hiding your surprise with what you hope is a casual shrug. “not really my thing.”

sunghoon raises an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “too bad. i was looking forward to seeing what you’d buy me. but then again…” he steps back, shrugging. “i guess not everyone’s in the christmas spirit this year.”

with that, he strolls away, leaving you standing there, pulse racing for reasons you can’t explain.

his words linger, making you feel strangely unsettled—almost like he knows more about you than he should.

and as you sit down, you realize, with a small jolt of annoyance, that sunghoon’s somehow managed to do it again.

even without trying, he’s gotten under your skin, leaving you wondering if he’s challenging you… or if there’s something more to it than that. whatever the reason, you knew one thing for certain—

park sunghoon is going to be the death of you this christmas.

LiBRARY | © won4kiss all rights reserved.

NOTE. IN HONOUR OF CHRISTMAS SEASON !! fun fact my birthdays on christmas eve so im actually the biggest christmas girl ever 🧘‍♀️ i’m also type 1 diabetic and luckily i have free health care atm but to all the people who do struggle with paying for insulin and everything, I’m so sorry :(

[mallowsweetmiri]

Bestfriend!Remus with no boundaries

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

“Where’s Y/N?” Remus asked as he entered the dorm, setting his bag down by the door. James and Sirius exchanged an entertained glance.

“How should we know, Moony?” Sirius replied, going back to his book. James chuckled as he polished his broom.

“Hmm,” Remus hummed inquisitively, “she told me she was gonna meet me here after class.” Sirius put his book down in his lap,

“Maybe she finally found some other guy.” James choked on a laugh and dropped his polish. Remus rolled his eyes at Sirius’ smirk, opening the window to smoke.

“Oh, shut up you prat. She’s probably just running late,” Remus said with a cigarette between his lips. As if on cue, you barged through the door, huffing as you dropped your bag next to Remus’.

“Ugh, sorry Rem. Those Slytherin bitches hexed me on my way up here,” you hissed, stomping over to Remus and taking the cigarette out from his mouth. He laughed lazily at you as you angrily puffed in smoke, eyeing you up and down.

“Well, you look fine. Did they hurt you at all?” Remus asked, rubbing his hands along your hips and inspecting every inch of your body for injuries. You huffed out a laugh.

“Nah, I gave them what they deserved,” you smirked, “here.” You placed the cigarette back between his lips, his hands still lingering on your waist as he smoked. The two of you passed the cigarette back and forth like this, Remus eventually pulling you into his lap on his bed to show you his new muggle book while the two of you shared a fag.

“This chapter has been my favorite,” he said, pointing to the pages, his other hand holding you firm against his leg. You hummed as you smoked, your breasts near his face as you leaned in to read the chapter title. He squeezed your thigh and looked up at you with parted lips. You placed the cigarette back in his mouth before giving him a hug into your chest.

“You’re such a nerd,” you laughed, ruffling his hair. Sirius made a gagging noise from across the room.

“You guys are disgusting. Just shag already!” Sirius said with a displeased look on his face. You threw Remus’ pillow at his head.

“Sirius, shut the fuck up. You know we’re just friends,” you rolled your eyes, standing up off of Remus’ lap, “but if you want to kiss me…” you puckered your lips at him before cracking up.

“Hey, I’ll take you up on that offer,” James said with a cheeky smile. You chuckled with a light blush, you always thought James was cute. Remus stood up behind you and pulled you back into his lap.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” Remus laughed as you feigned a pout towards James who returned a laugh.

“As if I’d want Moony’s sloppy seconds,” Sirius grumbled, but you could’ve sworn you saw a blush on his face.

“Hey, watch your mouth, Padfoot,” Remus clicked his tongue at Sirius, earning another grumble from the boy.

“I’m offended Siri. Who do you think I am?” You scoffed, placing a hand over your heart.

“Oh, just Remus’ best friend,” Sirius snarked, grumbling as he returned to his book. James laughed again and went over to his bunk.

“It’s okay, Pads. I’m your best friend,” James aid, falling forward onto his bed with a loud thump. You and Remus’ started cracking up as Sirius struggled under James’ weight. You turned your attention back to Remus.

“You wanna come get dinner with me?” You asked Remus, twirling his hair between your fingers. He met your eyes with a smile.

“I’d love nothing more.”

[aresrambles]

Mission Complete

logan howlett x fem!reader - in which you and the wolverine shack up in a shitty hotel after a mission. nsfw, afab terms, there's only one bed, 18+reader (always), “kid”, pining!logan, pining!reader (3911 words)

a/n: just one night with this man... just one fucking night. also yes, first wolvie post but defo not the last.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ�� ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Logan pauses in the doorway, his gaze lingering on the double bed crammed into the corner of your shared hotel room. He steps inside, trying to appear nonchalant, but his eyes dart around, searching for an alternative—a sofa, a chair, hell, even a futon. Nothing. He sighs heavily, dropping his bag with a thud, his mind racing through the options. Sharing a bed with you? That’s out of the damn question. He could sleep on the floor, or better yet, maybe there’s another room available. Spending the night with you would be some sick kind of torture; he can’t restrain himself that long.

If you notice his hesitation, you don’t show it. You slip past him with a casual brush of the shoulder, making a beeline for the bathroom. “Dibs on the shower!” you call out, rummaging through your backpack for what he figures must be a change of clothes. Logan grunts in response.

“This mission wasn’t even that bad,” you continue, your voice muffled as you dig deeper into your bag. “We’re leaving early tomorrow, so you should probably shower tonight too. Don’t need you slowing us down in the morning, old man.”

Logan doesn’t dignify your jab with a response. Instead, he turns on his heel and heads back out, letting the door click shut behind him. He’s got a better chance of dealing with the front desk than with sharing that bed. He fishes out a cigar, biting down on it as he stalks down the stairs, striking a match as he goes. The no-smoking signs? They might as well be invisible to him. If they didn’t notice him before, they’d sure as hell notice the smoke.

When he reaches the lobby, it’s empty. Logan rings the bell—once, twice.

“Hello?”

Silence. He rings the bell again, harder this time.

“Hello? Anybody here? I was just—oh, for fuck’s sake.”

His eyes land on a neat little sign perched on the desk: ‘Front desk will be available again from 7:30 a.m. tomorrow.’

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, he thinks, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke in frustration. What if there’s an emergency? What are people supposed to do, wait until morning?

Logan growls under his breath, stubbing out the cigar on the polished wood of the counter, leaving a smoldering mark as a parting gift. He storms back up the stairs, mentally preparing himself for a night on the hard floor. It could be worse, he muses, but only just.

Logan swings open the door to a piercing shriek, slamming it shut almost as quickly as he’d opened it, his hand still gripping the doorknob with a trembling force. Okay, it could definitely be worse, he thinks, his mind spinning.

Inside, you scramble to cover yourself, your heart racing as you realize what just happened. “Seriously? Do you not knock?” you shout, your voice laced with a mix of panic and humiliation. Your face burns as you try to process the situation, the mortification almost too much to bear. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” you mutter under your breath, hurriedly yanking on the oversized t-shirt you had planned to sleep in, your hands fumbling in haste.

“Why didn’t you change in the bathroom?” Logan shoots back, voice gruff, trying to mask his own flustered state. He grinds out his cigar underfoot, his mind replaying the moment he just witnessed, over and over. His ears burn hot, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t shake the image of you—shirt halfway over your head, bare and vulnerable, your skin still glistening from the shower. Fuck. He looks down, his jeans now uncomfortably tight, the ache in his groin a harsh reminder of why sharing a bed with you is a terrible idea. He can barely keep himself together when you’re fully dressed, let alone in a state like that.

You take a moment to steady your breathing, trying to push the embarrassment down. “You can… you can come in now,” you stammer, your back turned to the door as you pretend to be engrossed in your phone, anything to avoid facing him.

Logan doesn’t reply. He pushes the door open and slips inside, his movements quick and stiff as he heads straight for the bathroom, needing to put some distance between you both. The door closes behind him, and you let out a groan, burying your face in your hands. This moment was going to haunt you for a very long time.

So, you had a little crush on Logan. No big deal—just a harmless, schoolgirl crush. At least, that’s what you told yourself. But you couldn’t deny that you and Logan made a damn good team. So good, in fact, that the Professor had been pairing you two up for missions more often than not lately. And that silly, schoolgirl crush? It had started to grow into something much harder to ignore.

Your stomach churns as you roll over onto the bed, face buried in the pillows. It’s hard to admit, but part of you got a little turned on by what just happened. The searing embarrassment of having your body on display like that for the man who’d starred in so many of your late-night fantasies… It was almost too much to handle. You sigh deeply, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks again.

But then reality sets in. Logan didn’t feel the same way—how could he? The way he bolted for the bathroom was proof enough. Why would someone like him ever be interested in you? You’ve heard the stories about Logan’s past flames, women who were nothing short of extraordinary. And here you are, just another teammate, a brief moment of awkwardness quickly forgotten.

You try to push the thoughts away, deciding it’s best to just turn in for the night. There’ll be plenty of time to torture yourself with these thoughts later. For now, sleep is the only escape from the swirling mess in your head.

It was true—Logan couldn’t get away fast enough, but not for the reasons you thought. As he stood under the scorching spray of the shower, letting the steaming water cascade over his body, his eyes remained fixed on the tiles beneath his feet. His regenerative abilities could heal wounds and stitch him back together, but they never quite banished the constant ache that clung to his bones, a dull throb that even the hot water could only barely soothe. But the ache in his abdomen? That was something else entirely.

Logan couldn’t shake the image burned into his mind, the sight of you, bare and beautiful, just moments ago. He gritted his teeth, his thoughts straying where they shouldn’t. How would those perfect tits look under the water with him, droplets sliding down your skin while he took you against the shower wall? Would you mewl softly, or would you gasp, nails digging into his back? Would you cling to him, or would your legs give out, collapsing into his arms?

He let out a rough grunt, twisting the shower knob to ice-cold in an attempt to snap himself out of it. The icy blast hit him hard, but he welcomed it, hoping it might douse the fire in his veins. He could touch himself—hell, the thought crossed his mind more than once—but not with you just outside, not when you were so close. It felt wrong, too damn wrong.

The cold water eventually worked its magic, easing the unbearable tension that had built up inside him, but it took nearly an hour to do so. Finally, with a heavy sigh, Logan stepped out of the shower, drying off and pulling on a pair of sweatpants. As he looked at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror, he knew one thing for certain: this was going to be a long, restless night.

Logan steps out of the bathroom to find you huddled on the floor, passed out in a tangled mess of blankets. He rolls his eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he carefully scoops you up and lays you down on the bed.

“I don’t need th’ bed,” you mumble, your voice so soft he almost misses it. He huffs through his nose, a fond smile creeping onto his face. “Where else you gonna sleep?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. You blink sleepily, trying to focus as the darkness settles around you, the only sound the gentle rustling of sheets as he adjusts you on the bed.

“Sorry about earlier,” he adds, his tone uncharacteristically gentle.

You don’t reply, too embarrassed to form words. Instead, you turn your face away, hoping he won’t notice the flush of heat creeping up your cheeks. But in the stillness of the night, it feels like every little movement, every breath, is amplified.

“I don’t want you to sleep on the floor,” you finally confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “There’s space for both of us.” The words hang in the air, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of how close Logan is to you. You can almost feel the warmth of his breath against your face, the proximity making your heart race. But then, just as suddenly, he shifts away, the moment passing like a whisper in the dark.

It’s silent for some time, like he’s thinking. You almost speak up again but he beats you to it, just as you part your lips.

“Scoot up, kid,” he says, his voice gruff but not unkind.

You do as he says, moving over to make room, your pulse still thrumming in your ears. Logan settles in beside you, and the bed dips slightly under his weight. The space between you feels impossibly small, yet you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Despite his shower, the faint smell of cigars still lingers in the air. It’s oddly comforting, grounding you in the surreal reality of the moment. You take a deep breath, trying to steady the wild thoughts racing through your mind. “Good night Logan,” you murmur, hoping that sleep will come quickly and spare you from the ache of wanting what you can’t have—craving the feel of his strong arms around you, the way his hands might tighten against your throat, and the sound of his voice purring dark promises in your ear.

“G’night,” he replies, his voice a low rumble as he turns away, leaving you back to back.

Logan is in Hell.

He can feel your warmth through the thin gap between you, every soft breath you take a reminder of just how close you are. His mouth had agreed before his mind could stop him, and now he’s paying the price. Lying next to you, with your soft body and those innocent eyes that see right through him, is torture. He wonders if there’s still time to slink back into that pile of blankets on the floor.

His muscles tense as he tries to push down the desire clawing at him, the instinct to reach out and pull you close nearly overwhelming. The scent of your skin, the way you whispered his name—everything about you is a test of his control. Logan knows he’s walking a fine line, and the longer he stays here, the harder it gets to keep himself in check.

His fists clench under the covers, every muscle in his body taut with tension. Logan can hear your soft, rhythmic breathing, the quiet rustle of sheets as you shift slightly beside him. The scent of your skin lingering in the air is really what’s holding him hostage. He tries to focus on anything else, but all he can think about is how close you are—how easy it would be to reach out and just touch you.

You lie there, eyes wide open, staring into the darkness. The silence of the room is thick, almost suffocating, but you know you’re not the only one awake. You can feel it- an awareness that runs deeper than simple intuition. All those missions together, all those nights spent side by side—you’ve learned to read him in ways that go beyond words.

Without needing to glance back, you know Logan Howlett is still awake. It’s as if his presence hums in the air between you, a silent energy that’s becoming increasingly impossible to ignore. There’s a tension there, a subtle shift in the way he breathes, the way he holds himself so still, as if he’s trying not to disturb the fragile peace of the night. But you can sense it: something’s bothering him.

You wonder if it’s the same turmoil that’s been gnawing at you, the same restless desire that has kept you on edge ever since you laid down beside him. The thought of Logan feeling the same way sends a shiver through you. It’s a strange kind of comfort, knowing that you might not be alone in this.

But then again, the Wolverine is a man of secrets, you know him well, better than most, but not as well as you’d like. Not in the ways that matter most right now. And yet, lying there in the dark, with only your thoughts and the steady rhythm of his breathing to keep you company, you can’t help but wonder if the walls he’s built around himself are cracking, just as yours are.

You can’t take it anymore. Tentatively, you let your hand drift to the space between you, your fingers brushing against his side. Logan stiffens at the contact, a sharp intake of breath the only sound in the darkness. Emboldened by his reaction, you let your hand slide further, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen. You’re on fire, body moving on its own accord. This wasn’t you, it couldn’t be.

“Darlin’, you don’t know what you’re startin’,” Logan growls, his voice thick with warning and something else that you couldn’t quite identify yet.

But you do know. You know exactly what you want, and you’re tired of pretending otherwise. You turn onto your side, pressing your body against his back, your breath hot against his neck.

“I don’t know. Maybe I do,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly with anticipation.

Logan turns to you with a gentleness that catches you off guard, his hand sliding to your waist with a tenderness that feels almost reverent. He pulls you close, but it’s not with the raw urgency you expected. Instead, it’s slow, deliberate, as though he’s holding himself back by a thread. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense, searching for something, perhaps a final permission.

It’s you that closes the gap. The pressure of his lips against yours is gentle, but the undercurrent of need is undeniable, simmering just beneath the surface. You can feel the restraint in every brush of his lips, every measured caress, and it only makes you clench tighter.

Logan’s hands begin to roam, exploring your body with a hunger that has clearly been held back for far too long. He takes his time, fingers tracing every curve, every dip, as if memorizing the feel of you beneath his touch. His lips leave yours to trail down your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, “This is all I could think about out there, in the woods… how you’d feel, how you’d taste.”

His words send a rush of heat through you, a deep flush spreading across your skin. His hands slide up your thighs, teasing the edge of your shirt before slipping underneath, the warmth of his touch igniting every nerve. His fingers trace lazy circles on your skin, his lips moving down your collarbone, and you realize with a start that you’re trembling beneath him.

You find yourself arching into his touch, a soft whimper escaping your lips. Logan’s mouth curls into a smile against your skin, sensing your desperation. “‘s that what you want, darlin’?” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that vibrates against your skin, making you shiver. “You want me to take you apart, piece by piece?”

You nod, breathless, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you silently plead for him to stop teasing. “Please, Logan,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “Please…”

He chuckles softly against your skin, a dark, throaty sound that sends another wave of heat through you. Logan pulls back, his gaze heavy with desire as he sits up. You watch, breathless, as he reaches for the hem of his vest, pulling it over his head in one swift motion. The sight of his bare chest visible only by the flecks of moonlight, muscles rippling beneath his skin, takes your breath away (though this wouldn’t be the first time). You reach out, your fingers brushing against his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch.

Logan watches you with dark, hungry eyes as he reaches for the waistband of his pants, removing them with deliberate slowness. He seems to take pleasure in the way your breath catches, in the way your gaze follows every movement as he slides them down, revealing the full, impressive length of his dick. Logan is big. It’s not just long, but it’s fucking big. Veiny, girthy and leaking precum at the tip, you can’t help but instinctively bite your lip.

The sight of him, hard and ready, makes your pussy ache for him in a way that’s almost painful. “Logan… please,” you whisper again, your voice barely more than a breath as you look up at him through your lashes.

His gaze darkens, a satisfied smile curling at the corners of his mouth as he finally gives in, his hands moving with purpose as he strips you of your t-shirt. The moment your body is fully exposed to him, Logan pauses, his eyes raking over you with a possessive hunger that makes your heart skip a beat. He takes you in, every inch of you, committing the contours of your body to memory.

When he finally positions himself between your legs, you’re trembling with anticipation, your body aching for him. But Logan doesn’t rush. He takes his time, guiding himself to your entrance, the head of his cock brushing against your wetness before he pulls your panties to the side. He watches your face, his gaze dark and intense, as he teases you, pushing just the tip inside before pulling back. Bastard.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rough but laced with tenderness, his lips brushing against your ear. “Because once I start, I can assure you; there’s no going back.”

You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel him inside you. “I need you inside me.” you whisper, your voice heavy with desire.

Logan growls low in his throat, and finally, mercifully, he pushes inside you, filling you with a slow, deliberate thrust that makes you gasp. The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch and fullness making your head spin as he sinks deeper, inch by inch, until he’s buried to the hilt. He pauses, letting you adjust, his lips brushing yours in a soft, almost reverent kiss.

Then he begins to move, each thrust deep and powerful, driving you both closer to the edge with every stroke. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he moves inside you, his gaze locked on yours as if he’s taking in every expression, every moan, every gasp.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine. You do, your eyes meeting his in a drunken haze. You moan, your body trembling beneath him, the sensation of him inside you overwhelming. Every thrust, every movement, is perfectly timed, his body attuned to yours in a way that almost didn’t feel real.

“Logan,” you breathe, your voice trembling with need. “It’s so… much.”

He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “I know, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice full of rough affection. “But you can take it,” He spits.

The praise, the way he’s looking at you, it all builds the tension inside you to a fever pitch. His gaze never wavers, holding yours as he moves deeper, harder. You can’t help the soft whimpers that escape your lips, your body tightening around him with each powerful stroke. Logan’s grip on your hips tightens, and he groans, his eyes darkening further as he watches you come undone beneath him.

“Don’t hold back,” he growls, his voice full of animalistic need. “Let me see you, I want it all.”

“Logan… I—” The words catch in your throat as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, your body arching beneath him.

He growls your name, a primal sound full of need, as he moves faster, harder, both you and Logan knew you were close.

“Come for me,” he whispers, his voice ragged, his gaze locked on yours.

And you do. With a cry, you shatter around him, the pleasure crashing over you like a wave, your body convulsing with the force of it. Logan follows you over the edge, his own release tearing through him as he groans your name.

When it’s over, Logan collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. The room is quiet now, the air thick with the scent of sweat and satisfaction. You nestle against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. The tension that had built up between you over the past few days finally snapped, and here you both are, tangled in the aftermath.

You shift beside him, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat. He turns his head to look at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—a hint of unease, maybe even regret. “You sure this was okay?” His voice is rough, laced with concern, and that old nickname hangs in the air like a habit he can’t break. “Kid.”

You meet his gaze, holding it, making sure he sees you clearly. “Logan,” you say, your voice steady, “I’m not a kid anymore. You need to stop treating me like one.”

He exhales, a long, controlled breath, as if he’s trying to push down everything he’s feeling. “I just don’t want to hurt you,” he admits, the words heavy.

A small, wry smile tugs at your lips as you prop yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him. “You’re not taking advantage of me, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Your tone is straightforward, cutting through his doubts. “I wanted this as much as you did. I think, maybe even more…” You trail off.

He looks away, eyes flicking back to the ceiling, his hand finding its way to your back, fingers brushing your skin in a gesture that feels almost hesitant. “I’ve done things... seen things. Sometimes I’m not sure what’s right anymore.”

You lean down, pressing a kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough to make sure he feels it, really feels it. When you pull back, you hold his gaze, your voice low but firm. “I know what I’m getting into.”

He’s quiet, his hand tightening on your back just a little, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on. He doesn’t say anything else, just pulls you closer, holding you like you’re the one solid thing in a world that’s always shifting beneath his feet.

[hearts4renaa]

OH MY, LOVE IS A LIE!

summary: it's all over now, but he's still thinking of you. featuring alhaitham, diluc, kamisato ayato, and zhongli. part 2 to you're losing me.

w/c: 2.1k in total a/n: i am really churning out angst for yall. inspired by hits different by taylor swift

I find the artifacts, cried over a hat. Curse the space that I needed.

“There’s no way you still have that.” Kaveh comments as he walks past Alhaitham in their little library of the home. Kaveh looks at the small crystal in the scholar's hands, cringing.

Alhaitham glares at the blonde. “Shut it.” He grumbles, twirling the gem in between his fingers. He intended to give it to you over dinner, as an apology for the stunt he pulled two weeks ago. The guilt took over his body like a fever. He was sleepless for a few nights, and you slept in the guest bedroom. Eventually, he drew to a conclusion. The two of you had been dating for quite a while; maybe it’s time to take it to the next step.

He invited you to a proper dinner that night, and you accepted despite the growing tension between the two of you. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t realize the two of you had very different plans for that night. He was there to take it further. You were there to end it.

Kaveh’s scoff takes Alhaitham out of the depths of his memory. “Don’t you have better things to do than nag me?” Alhaitham spit out. “Pay your rent, perhaps?” 

Kaveh rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “It’s crazy how you’re talking to me how you talked to them.” A glare made its way into his amber eyes. “Thought you would’ve learned to watch your choice of words after what happened.”

Alhaitham had no rebuttal. He knew Kaveh was right. He didn’t think his words or actions carried much weight until you were crushed under them. His words and actions chipped away at what he loved until eventually, nothing was there at all. How did he not notice? How did he not see the storms in your eyes? How did he not hear the tiredness in your voice? How could he let you fight for the relationship alone, while he stood on the sidelines as it withered to nothingness? His eyes redirect from Kaveh to the gem in his hands. It’s like he can still see your face in the reflection. Like the love was still there, shimmering and sparkling the same way the gem did in the afternoon sun.

“And yes, I do have better things to do.” Kaveh says, walking towards the entrance of the house. “I’m heading to lunch with a friend of mine.” A knock pierces their conversation, effectively saving Alhaitham from having to face the harsh truth from Kaveh of all people. “Ah, they’re here!” Kaveh leaves the library entirely, leaving Alhaitham in the room alone. He hears the front door open. “Y/N!” Kaveh greets. Alhaitham freezes.

What the fuck?

“Just one second, I forgot something in the study.” He hears Kaveh say, and footsteps are fast approaching. Kaveh retrieves his left behind item, but not before Alhaitham stops him. The grip he has on Kaveh’s forearm is almost painful.

“What the hell?” Alhaitham’s voice is bitter. Jealous, even.

Kaveh yanks his arm away. “Just because you lost the love of your life Y/N doesn’t mean I have to lose my friend Y/N.” Kaveh’s voice is firm. Soon enough, he’s walking away and out the door.

Alhaitham feels the sorrow truly kick in. All the times he asked for space from you. All the time he could’ve spent with you. Now, the space between the two of you was farther than ever before. And he can’t do anything but look at the gem in his hand, wishing he could run to you more than ever.

I trace the evidence, make it make some sense, why the wound is still bleeding?

He won’t admit it, but Diluc’s hands were beginning to ache from the endless action of polishing the glasses. He insisted on working the bar tonight, letting the usual bar staff have some well deserved rest. Peering down, Diluc takes the time to examine the many scars on his hands. They were dotted on his skin, and they all held a story. A burn. A scab he kept picking at. An accidental cut. Either way, they all had an experience leading up to each wound.

He realizes how much of a hypocrite he is. Scolding you for wanting the adventure, for getting a minor injury as if he doesn’t do ten times more fighting than you did. Worried endlessly for your safety, as if he doesn’t risk his life on the daily. Diluc has faced many wounds over his life, but the worst one he’s experienced was losing you.

The breakup wasn’t dramatic. The two of you sat across from each other next to the fire, and you told him of how you lost the love. Of how the flame burned so slowly than it burned out. The two of you agreed to end things together; at least, that’s what you think. He didn’t lose anything. His flame still burns as brightly as it did in the beginning. Perhaps his flame burned so bright that it overtook yours. You packed your things and left Dawn Winery. He saw you off with a polite wave, but the moment the door shut, the dam burst and the tears flowed.

Now here he was, without you, repeating a stupid polishing action until the door opened. There you were, with the Traveler and Venti of all people. It’s awkward for a moment, both of your eyes darting around to avoid the other’s. Eventually, the three of you get a table to sit at. As your group passes by, he hears the Traveler quietly say something to you. “Sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think he’d be working today.” He hears you laugh. Oh, how he wishes he was the source. 

“Don’t worry about it,” You say. “I’m basically over him.”

Diluc feels a sting in his chest, and he has to stop himself from dropping the glass in his hand. That hurt. He certainly wasn’t over you. The night passes, and you are engaged in conversation. Diluc takes the chance to steal fleeting glances in your direction.

The weapon on your back has more wear and tear. Your bag looks heavier, more used. He sees minor scars on your skin. A few on your arm, one on your cheek, some on your calves. It takes everything in him to not fret over you, but he knows he can’t. You’re not his to lose anymore. But most of all, Diluc sees the way you exude light. Cheer radiates from you, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you more beautiful than you were right now.

You may bear more scars than when you were with him, but he’s never seen you happier.

You were the one that I loved! Don’t need another metaphor, it’s simple enough.

Ayato runs a hand through his hair while walking the streets of Inazuma City. He was on the way to a wedding attire fitting, for his wedding to another Inazuman noblewoman. The wedding isn’t for another month, so it’s crucial to ensure that all clothing is prepared and ready to allow ample time for unforeseen circumstances. On the way to his appointment, Ayato passes by a familiar restaurant. He softly smiles, remembering how he used to visit often. Then, his smile is replaced with a frown when he realizes he hasn’t been in two months. There was no reason for him to eat there anymore- he used to eat there with you.

He’ll never forget how puffy your eyes were when you broke things off with him. It was obvious you were crying, and with how the conversation was going, Ayato was about to cry too. “I can’t do this anymore, Ayato.” Your voice sounded exhausted. Ayato hated knowing he was the reason for your sleepless nights. He didn’t understand why he snapped at your skepticism over the arranged marriage. He couldn't, and wouldn’t ever imagine you marrying someone else. He understood. The problem is, he understood too late. Now, it’s been two months and he still doesn’t go a single day without thinking of you. 

Finally, Ayato arrived at his destination. The tailors was a quaint little shop in a less busy corner of Inazuma, but many of the locals purchased ceremonial clothing from the owners. They’re said to have a very keen eye, even when it comes to choosing employees. Ayato slides the door open, and he is greeted by a worker.

“Welcome! Are you here for a fitting or-”

He could recognize that voice. There’s no way. His eyes widened at the realization, and you did too, seeing how your words trailed off. 

“Y/N.” He breathed out your name as if he had been suffocating prior. You take a second to compose yourself before putting your professional facade back on. He is a customer. He is no more than that.

“Are you here for an appointment?” You ask.

Your formal tone throws him off. He remembers your cheery usual tone from back then, and he wishes nothing more than to go back to those times.

“Yeah.” He nods. “It’s…wedding attire.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat. Of course, he’s still going forward with the marriage. After all, he made it clear that you have nothing to offer for the Kamisatos.You nod curtly before gesturing him to a fitting station. “Please allow me to grab my tools.” You give a small bow, ignoring eye contact. You turn away to head towards the shop’s tool drawer with measuring tapes and such. When you’re certain he cannot see your face, you allow your bottom lip to tremble slightly. 

Meanwhile, Ayato’s eyes stay trained on your figure. For the two of you to break up, then have you be the person attending to him during the wedding fitting? The Seven must be laughing at him as he experiences this cruel twist of fate. Suddenly, it hits him. The two of you are part of each other’s past. It’s over. You aren’t in each other’s present lives, and you most likely won’t be part of each other’s futures.

You might be a stranger now, but he will forever recognize your voice in a sea of people.

A wrinkle in time, like the crease by your eyes. This is why they shouldn’t kill off the main guy.

“Who do you think the lucky one is?” The women of Liyue gossip. Their eyes are fixed on Zhongli, following him like a hawk. The man in question is shopping for flowers. However, he seems to be interested in the large bouquets of flowers, the ones far too large to be classified as “just felt like it” flowers. He takes his time to examine each flower thoroughly. He checks the stems, petals, if they’re fully bloomed. Uncommon than most men nowadays, Zhongli was truly looking at every factor while shopping for these flowers, which is why the women were so interested to know who they were for.

On Zhongli’s end, his senses were being absolutely bombarded with the signature floral scent. Zhongli’s taste in flowers only gets incredibly picky around this time of year. After all, the anniversary of your death is upcoming. He only wants the best flowers for you, since he couldn’t give you the best when you were still alive. If there’s one memory he’ll never forget, it’ll be how you still told him that you loved him, even in your final moments.

“Excuse me, are you looking for anything in particular?” A worker asks him.

Normally, he’d politely decline and continue about his day. But he can’t. Not when said worker looks identical to you. His eyes are wide, scanning the person up and down. Same hair, eyes, facial structure. If he didn’t know better, he’d think you were right in front of him. Unfortunately, Zhongli does know better. He knows that you are no longer alive. And he knows that he is the reason for your death.

He regains his composure. “I’m alright, thank you.” His smile is polite, but not sincere.

"Ah, alright. I’m sorry if this sounds weird but…” The worker started. “Are you doing alright? I’m sorry, I just felt like I had to ask you. Gut feeling, I guess.”

For a second time, Zhongli was taken aback, but he answered nonetheless. “Yes, just trying to find some nice flowers.” The worker smiled. It amazes Zhongli how much they look like you.

“Are you buying flowers for someone?” They ask.

“Yes,” Zhongli pauses. “They’re for someone who is very dear to me.” 

The worker points to a bouquet. “How about this one, then? It’s one of my favorites.”

Zhongli smiles. They were your favorite too. He lets out a chuckle at the situation. He had always hoped to see you again, but he didn’t think you’d visit him like this. “That one looks great.” He responds.

He looks up at the sky, and he hopes you know that in every other universe, he would’ve chosen you.

[thepersonnamedsam]

helloo, just wondering if I could request an imagine for gen z driver and everything that happened last weekend in Qatar! How the heat affected her, and maybe something dramatic and how the other drivers, fans and teams maybe worried about her, thank u sm<3

a random day in my life in f1

pairing: the genz!driver x 23!grid

summary: a vlog about our beloved genz!drivers day in the paddock

word count: 2k

warnings: none

note: merry christmas and a happy new year!

thanks for staying with me this year and into the new one :)

it’s not exactly like you asked and i’m sorry for that… but this has been sitting in my drafts for sooo long, and i just had to like give it some meaning…

masterlist / taglist

The vlogging camera was always secured somewhere in her bags, but she almost never used it. Being overwhelmed fast by all of the other cameras, she didn’t want to create herself more anxiety. But today was different.

„Hi guys!“ Her face appeared on the screen. Much too close, you could almost see her pimples she got from her sweaty balaclava.

The camera swayed and the paddock was shown. „We‘re here in Qatar, it’s beautiful. It is-“, the video switched to her watch „-2pm on a Thursday, that means Free Practice!“

Light music played in the background of the video, but you could still hear the busy paddock. People talking and walking in the background. Sometimes there would even be shouting, but y/n didn’t care, she just smiled into the camera.

„I’ll take you with me through my day! Are you excited? I bet you are“, she smiled. „Uhm, Qatar is a night race, as many of you probably know… but FP1 is still in daylight, which I’m glad, because I can actually see the track and not just feel it-“, she gestures the curves of the track with her hand „-you know? Yea…“, she mumbles the last part.

The video switches to a different setting. y/n now standing inside of her garage: „I have to be careful what I show here, it’s like Hippa in hospitals“, she laughs, „with privacy and all, we don’t want the other teams to know what strategies we’ve been working on.“

„But that’s my car“, she points to the newly polished F1 car, „she got a new look just for this race, can you believe it?“ The camera sways around the car to show off the new design.

„It’s really hot here, make sure to drink enough guys!“ An animation of a glass being filled with water appeared on the screen. „If it works, you should see some water right now“, the young driver grins.

The view changes again, this time to her watch: „We have 3.30pm, it’s time for me to warm up, but I’m actually already very hot, so maybe my trainer will let me off?“ She looks expectantly at her trainer, who only shakes his head no. „Aww man, worth a shot though.“

She placed the camera on the ground to film her warmup. The timelapse shows how she starts to lightly jog on the place. Her trainer starts to throw tennis balls at her. You couldn’t hear it in the video, but he shouts with which hand she has to catch the ball.

The music was catchy and in best with her rope jumping. y/n face was red and she was sweating extremely. She was puffing and breathing heavily. In this humid weather, even inside the cooling garage, it was hard to train. How would she survive in an already 40° hot car, for over 50 laps?

The music stops, so does the timelapse. You can see y/n breathing loud as she laid on the floor. Her head turned towards the camera and she smiles lightly. „Phew, never doing that again“, she laughs.

The video changes again, as y/n walks down the paddock to visit some of her friends: „I’m on my way to the McLaren hospitality. Lando and I have that tradition for Free Practice. We always get a smoothie before, so we don’t have to drink some weird protein shake.“

The view sways around and you can see the bright orange from McLaren. You could hear Lando before he was even in the video. His laugh loud and prominent. „Hi y/n‘s fans!“, he waves into the camera.

„This is Lando Norris, if you didn’t know. He drives for McLaren!“, she explains to her viewers. „I hope they know who I am…“, Lando pouts. She shushes him and giggles.

„What smoothie are you gonna get?“, she asks Lando. „McLaren hospitality has the best smoothies, I swear. Mine doesn’t even have smoothies, can you believe that?“

„Uhm, I think I’ll get the green one, I don’t want to hear anything from Jon, so that’s the only safe option“, he sighs. y/n grimaces, as the green smoothie tastes the worst.

„I think I want the red one, the one with the dragonfruit in it, so I can fly through this Free Practice like a dragon“, she laughs.

Lando rolls his eyes but still has to laugh at her shitty joke. „That was such a bad joke.“ - „But you love me anyway“, y/n grins.

You see y/n full on sweaty and with a red head. „Free Practice is done, it was hot, like really hot, Imma hop into my ice bath for a second and yea. I’ll probably go to the Hotel after to cool down, so I’m fully prepared for Qualifying.“

A shot of the pink rubber duck floating in the ice bath was shown. The duck was flipped and it showed the temperature of the water. 8°C. Perfect for a hot day like this.

„Ohh, I’m almost vaporising“, y/n laughs as she submerges in the water. „My skin is so hot and the water so cold, it’s like I’m the hot metal they put into water, I love this videos, I binge watch them before I go to sleep“, she confesses.

„Anyway, have you seen my pink ducky? I got it from Carlos! I was jealous of his, so he bought me my own temperature duck, isn’t that sweet?“

The next shot was y/n in her hotel room. She was laying in her bed, scrolling through her phone and occasionally laughing. The view was amazing, the sun was setting and you could see so much of Qatar.

„Good morning! It’s Friday then, it’s Saturday, Sunday, what?“

„Welcome“, she laughs, „I’m eating breakfast together with Max, say hi Max!“, Max waves into the camera. „I’m eating Avocado Toast with some Salmon - good fats for my body and Max is eating, actually, what are you eating Max?“

The view changes to Max‘ plate. There was a mix of different things, like some roaster potatoes and beans and some weird, almost wool like thing on his plate. „It’s potatoes, beans and some sauerkraut“, he explains. „What? Sauerkraut?“ - „Yea, I don’t know, apparently it’s good for your body.“

y/n makes a face of disgust and the screen goes black for a second.

„Okay, Q1 and Q2 are finished, got stuck in Q2, but I’m glad I don’t have to start in Q3 honestly, I can focus on the Sprint Shootout later. It’s hot in the car, hotter than usual.“

The scene changes, again to y/n laying exhausted on the floor. From the side you can see Oscar creeping up with a big glass of water. The moment the water hits y/n‘s skin, she’s up and about chasing the rookie.

„Oscar!“ And she sprints out of the view. The screen goes black and then you can see Oscar’s wet hair and two smiley young drivers. „She dumped me“, he huffs. „Into the water“, she says for clarification.

„It’s race day!“, she screams into the camera. „Well sprint day“, she says less excited. „I hate driving in these conditions. It’s way too hot, I’d rather drive on ice than this.“

The scenery changes again, cars driving around the parking lot. „I came here with Charles and Carlos, we’re staying at the same hotel and to save our carbon footprint, with all the excessive driving we do anyway, we thought we carpooled.“

You can see Charles driving and Carlos sitting in the passenger seat. „They wouldn’t let me drive, even though I’m an F1 driver“, she sighs. You can hear Carlos laugh and say: „Have you seen your driving style on the street? No way I would sit in that car.“

The young woman shakes her head and tuts. „You wouldn’t understand“, she whispered into the camera. Charles laughs.

„You know, for you being Australian, you’re still very sweaty.“ - „What? I’m not sweaty, that’s my natural glow“, Daniel laughs. „Natural for sure“, she mumbles.

„What even are you doing? You’ve been walking around with that thing for the past three days“, Danny asks. „I’m vlogging!“ - „You’re what?“, he asks confused. „You’re old, that’s what you are. It’s like blogging but with a video, so it’s vlogging“, she explains with a sigh. The older out of the two just makes an ‚oh‘ sound and laughs.

„I wanted to make a ‚a random day in my life in f1‘ video but it turned out to be a ‚a random four days in my life in f1‘ video.“

Fernando looks confused at y/n. „What?“, he blinks at her. „You know, it should’ve been a video about one day, now it’s about the whole race week“, she explains. „Ahh, okay“, Fernando answers, still unsure what the younger driver tries to explain him. „You wanna say hi?“, she asks him.

„Hi“, he replies. Fernando was not yet in view, but you could hear him. „Into the camera, Nando. You know how this works, you’ve done press and TikTok!“

„Hi“, he says again, this time Fernandos forehead was in excellent view. You could hear y/n‘s giggles as he took the camera out of her hand. „This is for my wife, Taylor, who’s cheating with another athlete!“

The camera was set down and Fernando stood up. „What are you doing?“, y/n‘s giggles continued. „Play Cardigan by Taylor Swift please“, he whisper shouts. As soon as the music begins, Fernando dances and sings to it.

„This is me before the sprint“, y/n looks into the camera and holds up a piece sign, „And this is me after the sprint.“ Face red and puffy. „Athletes sweat, I‘m a real athlete“, she quotes Daniel.

The camera sways to Oscar, who won his first race/sprint. „How do you feel, Mr. Piastri?“ - „I’m hot and sweaty, I wanna drown myself in an iceberg or something.“

„Yea same“, she huffs. „Listen, this race is exhausting. We drive in an unnormal heat, alone in the car it’s 40°C when the outside temperature is like 20°C. But the outside temperature here is already like 40°C, imagine what it’s like inside our cars.

This is for the FIA: I lost like 7kg this sprint race alone, just from sweating. What about you, Os?“ - „I don’t know if I want to say anything to the FIA“, he says lowly. „Ahh, they won’t see that anyway“, she reassures him. „I lost like eight pounds, maybe?“ - „How much is that in kilograms?“, she asks him slowly. He laughs and says: „Maybe 3.5kg.“

„Mr. Verstappen how many kilograms did you lose today?“, she shouts over the paddock. Max halts and turns around to face the camera that was shoved in his face.

„The scale says five, why? How much did you lose?“ - „Seven! Can you believe that?“

„This race really is torture, and we only raced, what, 16 laps? I don’t know.“ - „Can’t wait for tomorrow“, Lando sighs.

The screen goes black for a second again, before the same music started from her warm up at Free Practice. The timelapse begins again and you can see y/n sweating.

Occasionally she sits down to have a sip of water, but her trainer gets her up again. Her face appears wide in front of the camera and she starts to sing the lyrics as the music fades.

„Race day, baby, hoping for a good result today! I feel it in my sweat that I’ve been losing over the past few days“, she jokes.

She gets filmed as she gets into her car, it’s being rolled out of the garage and she makes the shaka with both her hands.

We get a few scenes as she drives past the start line and as she crosses the finish line, the radio messages was overlaid on the video.

„That is P4, baby!“, her race engineer shouted. „Yes! C‘mon! I almost fainted the last three laps, but totally worth it!“

You can see the podium being filmed from the ground. Max won, of course but; „Oscar and Lando! Woohoo! P2 and P3 for my Papaya Boys“, she screams as the McLaren drivers received their trophy.

The video ends with y/n sneaking into the room where they celebrated their podium in private. They were all exhausted.

„You reek of sweat and champagne“, y/n says from behind the camera. All three laugh and Max throws his towel at her camera. The screen goes black.

Comments 3.2K

user i- what was this?

user2 love, love, LOVE the smoothie tradition

user3 qatar should be banned from the schedule

user4 what do you mean, you almost fainted on the last 3 laps? what is going on?

user5 i heard lance almost fainted too

user6 this is cruel, but also love the content

user7 I WANT TO CRADLE HER AND TELL HER EVERYTHING IS OKAY AND THAT SHE CAN TAKE AN ICY SHOWER

user8 kimi would’ve walked straight to his yacht

user9 nando’s so right playing cardigan

user10 I KNEW YOU, PLAYING HIDE AND SEEK AND GIVING ME YOUR WEEKENDS!

youtube this was… eventful?

user11 ariana, what are you doing here?

user12 that’s so old

user13 shut up, they’re probably from all the tiktok edits here on yt

user11 what’s tiktok?

user14 love the new content

f1 wowza, y/n is just stealing our job! next stop: y/n hosts grill the grid

°°°

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[infamous-if]

The INFAMOUS PART 2 UPDATE is here!

Band Member Tier: NOVEMBER 22ND [POSTED]

Fan tier: NOVEMBER 27TH [POSTED]

PLAY THE DEMO HERE | BUG REPORT FORM

The demo is finally here! Part 2 clocks the demo at around 238.000 words. I can finally breathe a sigh of relief now that it's out. I can now go back to the prologue where I will begin rewriting/updating and just polishing everything before Chapter 3. To do that, I am asking for the favor of sending any and all bug reports in the entire demo to the google form. It's my makeshift method until I recruit beta testers, which will be happening some time during my rewrite.

It's best if you start from the beginning (i'm sorry). The errors from the demo are still there since I figured rewriting will fix that anyway, and there is one persistent error that I decided to just add a temporary choice near the end just for those who want to see the scene if, for some reason, the variables don't set.

✮ Part 2 is 60K words and it is NOT its own chapter, which means it does not have a full chapter arc. It's the second part of the chapter so it would help to read it as such. With part 2, Chapter 2 will complete at 144,000 words.

✮ What to expect:

Write and prepare for your first performance.

Be forced to stage a scene *ahem.*

Attend an episode viewing party.

See a familiar face!

Come to terms with the fact that maybe fame isn't all sunshine and rainbows.

I hope you enjoy the update :)

[narcjsistx]

hii! I'm new to this platform and I haven't fully understood how it works yet... also, english is not my first language. but here are some headcanons <3

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

— Manjiro Sano in a relationship HCS ᡣ𐭩

Once put together, Toman (or at least, the famous members) necessarily have to know you. There are many reasons, first of all because he likes to show that he has such a cute girlfriend, then because in general they shouldn't cause you problems. Another reason, which however is more his personal thing, was to introduce you to the captains of each division in case, even if it never happens, you are in trouble and he is not there. they have a duty to protect you

He would be happy to go on outings with you, Emma and Draken often. Even if they are not a couple yet, even if he knows they like each other, he would maybe like to go out together. A motorcycle ride and a snack would be the perfect date with his best friend, his sister and his girlfriend

Even if you're not part of Toman, you still have one of their jackets. Mikey requested that Mitsuya make you one for your birthday, since you often steal his because, at least in your opinion, "it's the most comfortable thing in the world"

He doesn't particularly like seeing you alongside Sanzu. As much as he knows that Sanzu is loyal to him until death, the thought that he might be replaced by him just because he is "cooler" (at least in his vision) bothers him. He knows it's a thing EXTREMELY stupid, but he can't shake this idea

I don't know why but it gives me the idea of ​​being a person who feels like he's dying with a fever of 37.5. You've had to reassure him several times that no, with a fever of 38 he can't die horribly, but he thinks you lying to him. The bro hides the sadness of having lost his entire family but not that of having a slightly high fever

I have the idea that he is extremely clingy as a person. like... do you have to go out even for 5 minutes? perfect, he will be at your house in 2 minutes. don't you have to leave the house? he will still be at your house soon. he has an inner need for ever-present contact

I THINK HE LIKES NAILS WITH BLACK NAIL POLISH. NO ONE WILL TAKE THIS IDEA AWAY FROM ME

he doesn't want to you join Toman, simply because he knows how much chaos the gang can generate even inside of private life

he introduced you to his mother and brother. you two spent an entire afternoon near their graves and he described you as a very good girl who is saving him from something bigger than him

since you've been with him, you've found out about the ancient practice of "nap dates." it's not that they happen by chance, he also organizes them with a certain seriousness in reality... like, what pajamas, what blanket...

[p0orbaby]

I’d Rather Go Blind Than Let You Down

summary: the baby is here, that should calm leah down, right? right?

warnings: hospital setting

a/n: someone asked for some more panicky leah so here it is. first part here but you don’t need to read it if you don’t want to

word count: 1.3k

-

It’s a boy. A boy. Your boy. You can hardly wrap your head around it, the reality of him. He’s only been in the world for forty minutes, and already it feels like he’s upended every law of physics. Six pounds and change, but impossibly heavy in the way he roots you to the earth, demanding you stay present, stay still, stay here. His hair is a downy mess of dark brown fluff, sticking up in little uneven tufts that remind you of how Leah’s fringe used to look after her under-12s matches: matted and wild, all effort and energy. His hands—God, his hands—are the size of fifty-pence pieces, delicate and wrinkled, each finger curled tightly into its own little fist. He’s perfect. Absolutely, inexplicably perfect. And you’re completely terrified.

The hospital room smells like cheap soap and distant disinfectant, undercut by the faint, sticky sweetness of some long-spilled juice no one bothered to properly clean. It’s a symphony of beige: beige walls, beige curtains, beige linoleum. Even the bed looks beige, although it’s probably just worn white, like an old t-shirt washed too many times. Somewhere in the hallway, someone’s shoes squeak with rhythmic persistence, and you vaguely wonder if they’re pacing, as you had earlier, wearing an accidental track into the polished floor.

Leah is sitting in the uncomfortable armchair by the bed, which is upholstered in that scratchy material designed to withstand decades of spills and bad decisions. Her elbows rest on her knees, her fingers steepled against her lips in a half-prayer, half-facepalm, as if she’s mid-negotiation with some higher power. She hasn’t spoken much since the baby was born. Not because she doesn’t want to, you think, but because the enormity of it all has rendered her mute. She looks pale, unsteady, as if someone has shaken her up like a bottle of fizzy water and forgotten to twist the cap back on properly.

The baby makes a soft, snuffling noise against your chest, pulling her attention like a magnet. Her gaze darts to him and then flicks away just as quickly, as if looking directly at him for too long might somehow blind her. She hasn’t held him yet. She hasn’t even really touched him, save for one trembling fingertip brushed against his impossibly tiny foot when the midwife first handed him to you. It wasn’t avoidance, not exactly. More like reverence. Or fear. Maybe both.

You’re exhausted in a way that doesn’t feel real, like your body’s moving on autopilot while your brain drifts somewhere between sleep and shock. Your limbs are heavy, molten, but there’s also an odd lightness to you, a weightless, dizzying awe at what you’ve just done. You gave birth. You. You. Somehow, you survived it—hours of pain, pushing, panting, the raw animalistic chaos of it—and now you’re here, holding this impossibly small, impossibly fragile life in your arms. You’re not sure how you’re even still upright, let alone conscious.

“Do you want to hold him?” you ask, your voice soft, careful, as if you’re coaxing a wild animal out of the brush.

Leah’s head snaps up, her eyes wide and glassy, like a deer caught in headlights. “Hold him?” she echoes, her voice shaky and high-pitched. “Me?

“Yes, you. Who else?”

She blinks, her hands flexing and unflexing against her knees like they’re warming up for a solo on Britain’s Got Talent. “I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea”

“Leah, he’s your son”

“I know,” she says quickly, her voice climbing into that higher, defensive register that comes out when she’s trying to convince herself more than you. “I know he’s my son. But he’s just so… small. And… fragile. What if I—”

“You’re not going to drop him”

“I might!” she says, alarmed by her own hypothetical. “I might drop him. Or…or hold him wrong. What if I hold him wrong and, like, dislocate something? Babies are delicate! Like…like soufflés”

You blink at her. “Did you just compare our child to a soufflé?”

She shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know! I’m just saying, I’m not exactly… maternal, am I? I’m not one of those people who looks at a baby and just… knows what to do. I’m more of a… ‘panic and Google it’ kind of person”

“That’s fine,” you say, adjusting the baby slightly in your arms as he makes a soft, snuffling noise. “Most parents are ‘panic and Google it’ people. It’s basically the default”

Leah doesn’t look convinced. She’s rubbing her hands together now, the way she does before a big match, but this isn’t a match. There’s no referee, no whistle, no rules, no second leg if she screws this up. Her gaze darts back to the baby, then to you, then back to the baby, like she’s trying to memorise the mechanics of holding him without actually doing it.

“What if I’m terrible at this?” she blurts out suddenly, the words spilling out of her in a rush. “What if I’m a terrible mum and he grows up hating me and we end up one of those families where no one talks and we all just sit around at Christmas in complete silence, eating dry turkey and resenting each other?”

You stare at her. “That’s… a very specific fear”

She shrugs, her leg bouncing up and down anxiously. “I’ve seen it happen”

“Leah, you’re not going to be a terrible mum”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you. And you love him. That’s pretty much the most important part”

She frowns, her brow furrowed like she’s still not quite buying it. “Love’s not enough. Love doesn’t teach you how to… to… change nappies or… or know what all the different cries mean”

“Love doesn’t teach you that,” you agree, “but practice does. And you’ll get there. We both will”

Leah’s eyes flick back to the baby, who has now fallen into a soft, twitchy sleep against your chest. Her expression softens slightly, but the fear is still there, a tightness around her mouth, a tension in her shoulders.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” she asks quietly.

You laugh, soft and disbelieving. “He’s a newborn, Leah. His likes and dislikes are limited to ‘milk’ and ‘not-milk.’ He’s not going to sit there judging your personality”

She doesn’t laugh. If anything, she looks even more stricken, like she’s just realised she might have to win over this tiny person who doesn’t even have fully developed motor skills yet.

You sigh, reaching out to take her hand. “Leah, listen to me. You’re not going to drop him. You’re not going to dislocate anything. And you’re definitely not going to ruin Christmas twenty years from now. You’re going to be great. I promise”

She hesitates, her fingers curling slightly around yours. “What if I mess up?”

“You will,” you say simply. “We both will. That’s part of it. But messing up doesn’t mean failing. It just means you’re trying”

For a moment, she just looks at you, her eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, absolution, a manual for parenthood that doesn’t exist. Then, slowly, she nods. It’s not a confident nod, not by any stretch, but it’s a start.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I’ll try.”

You smile, holding out the baby toward her. “Then take him”

She hesitates for one last second before leaning forward, her hands trembling slightly as she takes the baby from you. She holds him like he’s made of glass, her arms stiff and awkward, but she’s holding him. She’s doing it.

And then the baby lets out a tiny, contented sigh, and Leah freezes, staring down at him like she’s just witnessed a miracle.

“He…he’s so… little,” she whispers, her voice filled with something like awe. “And warm. Why’s he so warm?”

“Because he’s a baby, not a lizard”

Leah lets out a soft, breathless laugh, her eyes never leaving the baby’s face. For the first time all night, she looks calm. Not completely, but enough. Enough to believe, maybe just for a moment, that she can do this.

That you can do this. Together.

[bloodibambiidoll]

love love love the rafe cameron x weirdgirl!reader au!! imagine reader at the country club overhearing some mean boys making fun of her and how rafe is crazy to date someone like her :(( she stays in her room after hearing this and rafe catches her biting herself and crying (she normally bites him but after hearing this she feels like she can’t) oh my heart-

No bc this is like sooo perfect. This is literally so her. I’ve been having a lot of fun coming up with lore for her so I’m so glad you’re liking her so far!! Warnings: (I’d like to note that weird girl is autistic coded bc I am autistic), Reader gets her feelings hurt, protective Rafe, biting 18+MNDI!! Part of this AU

“Yeah dude, she’s like so hot until she opens her mouth.” Your footsteps come to a sudden halt, your shiny black Mary Jane’s squeaking against the polished wooden floors of the country club. There’s a group of guys about your age standing around the corner in a circle all snickering to each other.

“No, yeah, like she says the fucking weirdest shit in that creepy little monotone voice. I have no idea how Rafe puts up with it.”

“The pussy must be out of this world or some shit because I would never be able to handle that. I saw her last week on the beach collecting animal bones or some shit bro. Bet she went back to check on her kill.” The entire group starts busting up laughing just as you feel hot tears start to stream down your cheeks. You just want to leave but they are blocking the only path to the door so you suck it up and high tail it as fast as you past them.

You were waiting for Rafe to be done with his game of golf but after that? You really didn’t want to bother him with wanting to leave early so you decided to just walk the mile and a half home. If you were lucky maybe you’d run into the neighborhood cat you befriended and he would walk part of the way with you.

When you get home you rush up the stairs and into your room, slamming the door behind you. Your head is swimming with negative thoughts. You were always scared you were too weird for Rafe, too much, too different from him. So when you hear guys he hangs around saying things like that about you? It’s hard to not let it get to your head.

You kick off your shoes and practically tear off the cute outfit you spent over an hour putting together. You grab your pink fuzzy robe, and walk over to your bunny’s cage, smiling down at her with watery eyes.

“I think you’re the only one that really understands me, Lydia.” Your bottom lip wobbles as you pick her up and walk over to your bed. You rock back and forth slightly as you caress her fur, trying to self soothe. You’re realizing in this moment that maybe you really are too much for Rafe because you hardly remember how to calm yourself down without him.

You wish so badly that he was here. You know he would hold you tight and let you sink your teeth into him until your tears stopped flowing. It seems to be one of the only things that truly calms you down so you decide to bring your own hand up to your mouth and bite down on it. It soothes you a little, but it isn’t Rafe. He’s called you a few times but you just let it ring, he’s probably worried, but you’re too embarrassed to pick up.

“Baby? Are you here?” The minute you hear Rafe’s voice you want to run to him, but the words of the boys at the country club playing in your head on repeat in your head cements you in place. “Bats?”

When he opens your bedroom door and takes in the sight of you his heart sinks.

“Baby girl, what’s going on? What happened? Where did you go? You scared the shit outta me.” He rushes over to you, coming to sit next to you on your bed. He rests his large hands on your calves and rubs soothing circles on your skin with the pads of his thumbs. You whimper and shake your head, your mouth still latched onto your hand. “Batty, you’ve gotta talk to me, okay? Tell me what’s going on.”

“I was…” You pull your hand away from your face, resting it on Lydia’s back as you pet her softly, the feeling of her fur grounding you. “I was coming back from the bathroom and I heard Jake and those guys… talking about me.”

“What about you?” Rafe’s voice takes on a protective tone, especially when another fit of sobs erupts through you. He hooks his arms under you so he can pull you and your bunny softly into his lap. “Princess. Tell me what they said.”

“They said - they said that they don’t know how you put up with me because I’m so weird and that you’re probably only with me because the pussy is good.” You sniffle as your tears continue to fall and if Rafe didn’t know you needed him right now he would be on his way back to the club to beat all of their asses until they couldn’t walk.

“Hey, hey, nah, none of that.” He cups your face in his hand, wiping away your tears. “You know I love you, all your weird shit and all. I’m not ‘putting up’ with you, I fuckin’ love your weird little ass.”

“They also… they also said that - that I probably kill animals…” You start sobbing again and Rafe’s entire body tenses. He knows how much you love animals, how important they are to you. He wants to fucking rip their throats out.

“Princess… I’m so sorry they said that. They just don’t know you, aight? You’d never harm a fly. Don’t let that shit get to you. I know it’s hard, but fuck em, they don’t know fuckin’ shit about my baby.” He gives you a reassuring smile as he wipes away some of your remaining tears. His hand swipes past your lips and you turn your head slightly to sink your teeth into it. He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “There’s my weird girl.”

[ha-rinrin]

bratty sub jinx x dom reader (I'd be sooo thankful if you do this<3)

since you asked so nicely, here it is! idk if I got the bratty part right so if you want me to make it again just let me know.

pairing: bratty sub jinx x dom fem!reader

warning: smut

wordcount: 5.6k

summary: In a chaotic dance of dominance and desire, you find yourself entangled with a bratty Jinx who knows how to push all the right buttons.

masterlist

Taming the Brat

The faint hum of Piltover’s busy streets filters through the window, but inside your apartment, everything is calm, meticulously organized, and in perfect order. The polished wood floors, the neatly stacked books, and the clean, geometric lines of the furniture, everything equally perfect as Piltover.

But then there's Jinx 

She’s lounging on your couch like a queen, her boots flung haphazardly onto your spotless floor, one dangerously close to knocking over the stack of magazines on the coffee table. Loose screws and bolts from whatever gadget she dragged in with her are scattered across the table, some of them rolling closer to the edge every time she shifts her legs.

“Piltover.” She drawls your city’s name like it’s a bad joke, glancing around your apartment with exaggerated disdain. “How do you even breathe in this place? It’s like a museum. Or a... hospital.” She wrinkles her nose.

Before you can respond, she grabs one of the neatly arranged throw pillows and tosses it across the room. “Oops. Guess that wasn’t where it’s supposed to go, huh?” She grins, eyes darting to yours, waiting for a reaction.

You stand near the window, arms crossed, trying your hardest to stay calm. “Some of us like things in order, Jinx.”

Jinx lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Order? Bleh. Where’s the fun in that?” She kicks her legs up, smacking her feet against the back of the couch with a thud, as if daring you to tell her off. Then, with a quick motion, she snatches one of your books off the coffee table and starts fanning herself with it, pages bending at odd angles.

“Careful!” you warn, your voice slipping with a bit more urgency than you meant.

Her grin only widens. “What? This old thing? Look at this!” She holds it up like she’s inspecting a relic. “Everything’s in alphabetical order. Do you do that with all your stuff?” She leans back, putting the book on her head like it’s a hat. “Bet you even have a color-coded wardrobe. Am I right?”

She tosses the book behind her, letting it land on the floor with a careless thud. “Oops, again. Man, I’m really bad at this 'order' thing.”

You shoot her a look, but she’s already moved on. Jinx leans over the side of the couch, grabs a bolt, and flicks it across the room with a practiced flick of her wrist, the small piece of metal clinking as it rolls under a piece of furniture.

“Wow, look at that, lost forever,” she says, her voice dripping with mock horror. “Guess I’ll just have to tear apart your perfect little apartment to find it.” She pauses, giving you a wicked grin. “Or maybe... I won’t.” She shrugs and stretches out even more, taking up way more space than necessary, her arm knocking over the perfectly arranged stack of papers onto the floor.

Her eyes gleam with that signature mischief, fully aware she’s getting under your skin. “So, how long before you crack, huh? Gonna start reorganizing while I’m still here?”

Her fingers tap idly on the table, and she reaches for another book. “Bet you even have a label maker around here somewhere, don’t you?” She opens the book, not bothering to read it, just flipping the pages back and forth obnoxiously loud. “You’re like... so Piltover. Do you have a schedule for everything?”

She’s practically bouncing now, pushing every single button she can find with no intention of stopping. Her grin grows wider, and she leans in, eyes sparkling with playful defiance. “What do you do for fun, anyway? Dust the shelves? Or, wait—vacuum in perfectly straight lines?”

Her bratty energy is off the charts now, every word dripping with mockery, her playful grin daring you to do something about it. She’s enjoying every second of testing your patience.

You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your calm as you watch her antics. “Jinx, if you break anything—”

She cuts you off with a laugh, her fingers dangerously close to another delicate trinket. “What? You think I’m gonna break it? Please, I’m a professional at not breaking stuff.” She smirks, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

You can feel your resolve slipping as you try to hold back a smile. “You call this a professional setup?”

Her laughter fills the room, carefree and loud. “Boring! You need to lighten up!”

As she leans back against the couch, you decide it’s time to turn the tables. “You know,” you say slowly, locking eyes with her, “if you keep this up, we might need to head over to your place instead.”

Her grin falters for a brief moment before her eyes widen, a knowing smile spreading across her lips. “Oh? Is that what you want?” she teases, her voice dripping with playful seduction. “You know what happens when we go to my place.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m counting on,” you reply, stepping closer.

She stands up, excitement dancing in her eyes as she leans closer, a spark of mischief in her gaze. “I mean, you know I’m always down for a little fun. Just remember, last time we went to my place, it got really chaotic.”

“Yeah, but that’s part of the thrill, isn’t it?” you say, smirking as you lean in, teasing her with your closeness. “I’ve been ready for all kinds of chaos since the last time I left.”

She bites her lip, that bratty demeanor shining through as she takes a step back, clearly reveling in the flirtation. “So, you wanna play with fire again, huh? That’s brave of you.”

You give her a teasing smirk. “Or maybe I just know how to handle the heat.”

Jinx’s grin widens, her playful bravado flaring as she heads for the door. “Alright, then. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She slides into her boots, her energy crackling with anticipation. “You know this means we’re skipping the boring stuff.”

“Good,” you reply, feeling the thrill build in the air. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

With a cheeky wink, she flings the door open. “Ready for another round?”

“Always,” you say, stepping out into the excitement of the unknown, knowing exactly where the night is headed.

The walk to Jinx's place is electric, her energy infectious as she chats about the chaos she has planned for the night. As you step through her front door, the familiar sights and sounds of her world wrap around you like a warm embrace. The hideout is a whirlwind of color and noise, with mismatched furniture strewn about, bright posters plastered across the walls, and half-finished inventions scattered everywhere. It feels like a sanctuary of delightful chaos, perfectly embodying her spirit.

“Welcome to my lair,” she announces with a grand gesture, her grin widening as she takes in the familiar surroundings. “Buckle up; it’s about to get wild!”

You can’t help but chuckle, stepping deeper into her world. “Wild, huh? You have no idea what you’re in for tonight.”

Her eyes narrow, a playful challenge lighting up her features. “Oh, really? I think I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

You close the door behind you, locking it with a swift click that echoes in the charged atmosphere. The room is lit by flickering neon lights and the glow of odd contraptions whirring to life. “You say that now, but just wait.”

As you take a step closer, the air thickens with anticipation. The playful banter ignites something in you, turning the usual dynamic on its head.

Before she can respond, you grab her by the hair, tilting her head back to meet your gaze. Her eyes widen with surprise, but the bratty grin quickly returns, challenging you. “Oh, getting bold, are we?”

“Just keeping you on your toes,” you reply, leaning in to brush your lips against hers, teasing just long enough to make her squirm.

“Pfft, you think you can handle me?” she shoots back, her tone both defiant and playful. “I’m not that easy to break.”

You can’t help but smile at her bravado. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”

With a swift motion, you pin her against the wall, your body pressing into hers, creating a delicious tension between you. “But tonight, you’re going to learn just how much chaos I can bring.”

Jinx's eyes sparkle with mischief, a bratty grin plastered on her face. “Oh, is that a challenge? Because I thrive on havoc!”

“Good, because I’m not going easy on you,” you murmur, pulling back just enough to catch her gaze. 

She laughs, the sound playful and defiant. “Prove it!”

With that, she wiggles free from your grasp, darting away with a cheeky smile. “You’ll have to catch me first!”

The playful game ignites a fire within you, and you chase after her, the atmosphere crackling with energy. When you finally catch up, you spin her around again, pinning her back against the wall.

“Nice try,” you say, your breath hot against her skin, enjoying the rush of dominance. “But you’re not getting away that easily.”

“Oh, you’re gonna have to try harder than that!” she challenges, the bratty spark in her eyes igniting further.

You smirk, relishing the challenge. “Oh, I will.”

You crash your lips against hers, kissing her hard, pouring all your pent-up desire.

Jinx gasps against your mouth, and it’s not long before she melts into the kiss, her playful defiance transforming into eager responsiveness. She kisses you back letting you take over, her hands tangling in your hair, but there’s a hint of submission in her energy, eager to follow your lead.

“Not bad,” she breathes between kisses, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “But I’m not going to make this easy for you!”

With a playful smirk, she leans in again, but you capture her lips with a kiss that’s even more fervent, fully taking charge. The way she responds, eagerly following your movements, only fuels the fire between you.

You smile against her lips, enjoying the rush of dominance. “You’re in for a ride, Jinx.”

“Oh, I know,” she replies breathlessly, pressing her body against yours, clearly relishing the thrilling tension as you guide her once more into a kiss, her bratty spirit shining through even as you take the lead

You pull Jinx close, crashing your lips together. The kiss is hard and raw, igniting a fire between you. She gasps against you, her fingers gripping your shoulders as she melts into it.

You tilt her head back, deepening the kiss, while her body arches into yours, hungry and wanting. Pulling her hair, you hear a soft moan escape her lips, a sound that only fuels your desire.

Wrapping your arms around her waist, you lift her easily, and she giggles, the sound thrilling you.

“Okay, now you’re just showing off!” she teases, but the flush on her cheeks tells you she loves it.

You capture her lips again, the kiss deepening, turning frantic. Her hands tangle in your hair, tugging as her breath quickens.

You lead her toward her cluttered workbench, where tools and mechanical parts lay strewn. The air is thick with electricity, and you can see her excitement mirrored in your gaze. As you reach the table, you can’t help but push her back playfully, watching as she stumbles slightly before regaining her balance, laughter spilling from her lips.

“Careful, Jinx!” you mock, and she rolls her eyes, but there’s a glimmer of challenge in her gaze.

With a swift motion, you sweep your arm across the table, sending wrenches and gadgets clattering to the floor. The sound echoes in the small space, but it barely registers as you turn your attention back to her, your heart racing.

“Oops,” you say innocently, your smirk widening. “Looks like we need to make room.”

You guide her to lay back on the now-clear surface, her playful laughter ringing in your ears. She looks up at you, a mix of excitement and mischief in her eyes, as you hover over her.

A thrill runs through you, and you can’t resist leaning down to capture her lips again. The kiss is fiery, full of the hunger that’s been building between you. When you pull back, you look deep into her vibrant eyes, feeling a rush of confidence and desire.

“Let’s get rid of these,” you say, your fingers brushing against the hem of her shirt, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

Jinx arches an eyebrow, a challenge lighting up her expression. “What, you think you can just undress me?” she shoots back, her voice playful yet sultry.

You lean closer, your breath ghosting over her skin. “Oh, I know I can,” you reply, the promise lacing your tone making her shiver with anticipation.

With that, your fingers deftly slip beneath her shirt, pulling it upward and over her head. She lifts her arms willingly, letting you remove the fabric, revealing her bare skin to you. The sight makes your heart race, and you can’t help but lean down to press your lips against her collarbone, trailing kisses down to the swell of her chest.

“See? Easy,” you tease, your voice low and sultry.

Your hands roam over her sides, tracing the curves of her body as you lean back to admire her for a moment. The flush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes tell you how much she’s enjoying this. 

“Now for the rest,” you say, glancing at the waistband of her shorts.

“Good luck with that,” she retorts, a teasing smile dancing on her lips as she winks at you.

With a swift motion, you tug her shorts down, exposing more of her skin. The thrill of undressing her ignites a fire in your core, and you lean down again, kissing her hard as your hands explore every inch of her body, each caress igniting sparks of pleasure.

Jinx lets out a playful laugh, her body arching up to meet yours. “Is that all you’ve got?” she taunts, her breathless voice laced with challenge.

You can feel the urgency and excitement radiating between you, and you know there’s no turning back now. “Just wait and see,” you whisper, your lips brushing against her ear

You take a moment to admire her bare skin, the soft glow of her body illuminating the dimly lit space. Jinx watches you with a playful challenge in her eyes, her breath quickening as anticipation fills the air.

Without breaking eye contact, you lean down, pressing soft kisses along her collarbone, trailing down to the delicate curve of her shoulder. Each kiss ignites a fire in your chest, and you can feel her shiver beneath your touch. You move to one of her tits, sucking her nipple, erupting a moan from her, causing her to grab your hair, pulling you closer to keep herself grounded

“Is this what you had in mind?” you tease, your lips lingering just above her skin.

“Maybe,” she replies coyly, biting her lip, the challenge evident in her voice.

You grin, your fingers dancing along her sides as you move lower, kissing a path down her stomach. As your lips brush against her soft skin, you take the opportunity to leave a mark—your teeth grazing lightly, then sucking gently to create a deep hickey.

“Oops, guess I got carried away,” you say playfully, watching as her eyes widen in surprise and delight.

With every kiss, you take your time, savoring the way she feels under your lips and the way her skin warms beneath your touch. You plant soft, lingering kisses along her sides, relishing the giggles that escape her as you leave another mark.

“Hey! What are you doing?” she gasps, half-laughing, half-mocking. “Trying to make me a walking canvas?”

“Just giving you some art,” you reply cheekily, trailing kisses up her ribs, pausing to nip and suck at the skin, leaving more hickeys that bloom like flowers on her body.

Her fingers never leaving your scalp gripping tightly as she gasps. “If you keep this up, I might lose my mind,” she breathes, the challenge replaced with breathless desire.

You kiss your way back up to her lips, leaving a few final hickeys along her collarbone and neck, capturing her mouth in a passionate embrace. The heat between you intensifies, and Jinx’s playful demeanor only fuels your urgency.

You roll your hips against hers, feeling her respond with a soft moan that vibrates through your entire body. Each movement deepens the connection, and you both find yourselves teetering on the edge of something exhilarating.

With every roll of your hips, the heat between you intensifies, and you can feel the world around you fading into oblivion. Jinx’s body responds instinctively, her legs tightening around your waist, urging you on as her breath quickens.

“God, you feel amazing,” she breathes, her fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer as if she wants to fuse your bodies together. The sensation of her touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire deep within you.

“More,” Jinx whispers against your lips, her voice thick with need. “I want more of you.”

You smirk against her mouth, the challenge in her words pushing you further. “You got it, brat,” you tease, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. The playful glint in her gaze sends a thrill through you, and you know she’s ready for whatever you have in mind.

Without hesitation, you begin trailing kisses down her jawline, savoring the softness of her skin as you make your way toward her neck. You find a spot just below her ear, kissing and nibbling, making sure to leave your mark—a deep, dark hickey that’s sure to stand out against her vibrant skin.

She gasps, her fingers tightening in your hair as you continue your descent. “Oh, you’re so going to regret that,” she teases breathlessly, but you can hear the eagerness in her voice, the way she arches her back in response to your ministrations.

You pause for a moment, looking up at her, your lips hovering just above her collarbone. “Regret? I don’t think so,” you reply with a smirk, then return to your exploration, peppering kisses across her chest, savoring the taste of her skin.

As you trail down further, you take your time, leaving hickeys along her sides and down to her waist. Each mark is a reminder of the moment, each sound she makes fuels your desire, pushing you to claim her further.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, her voice a mix of desperation and exhilaration. “I need more”

With a wicked grin, you slide down onto your knees, positioning yourself between her legs, your heart racing with anticipation. The change in perspective only heightens your desire as you take in every inch of her, the way her body quivers under your gaze, the way her pussy is leaking with need. You lean in closer, pressing your lips against the soft skin of her thighs, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

“God, you’re such a tease,” she gasps, fingers digging into the edge of the table, her body arching in response to your touch.

With deliberate slowness, you continue your exploration, your kisses growing more insistent as you trail higher. You leave a path of hickeys along her thighs, each mark a testament to your possession. Her gasps and moans grow louder, filling the space with a symphony of desire that only fuels your hunger.

“Don’t keep me waiting!” she urges, her voice laced with desperation, her hips rolling instinctively toward you.

You meet her gaze, desire reflecting back at her, and without hesitation, you lean in, capturing her waist with your hands as your lips find her clit. You suck and nibble, causing Jinx to cry out in pleasure

“Tell me what you want, Jinx,” you whisper against her pussy, each word dripping with heat.

“I want you—now!” she moans, frustration mixing with need, her body writhing as she fights against the tension building inside her.

“But you already have me,” you tease, a smirk curling on your lips as you feel her shiver beneath your touch.

Jinx bites her lip, her frustration palpable. “Not enough,” she growls, her hips arching upward, seeking more contact. “You know what I want.”

You keep her waiting, savoring every tremble, every soft gasp that escapes her lips as you press wet kisses against her clit—enough to send waves of electricity down her body, but not enough to satisfy her completely.

“You love being right here, don’t you?” you murmur, the words a playful taunt as your hands tighten around her waist.

Her response is instant, a sharp intake of breath that turns into a moan. “Shut up and do something already,” she hisses, her body writhing beneath you, desperate for more.

“Patience,” you tease, your lips brushing against her clit, watching her reaction. “I thought you liked a little chaos.”

Jinx glares down at you, eyes dark with need, but there’s a grin tugging at her lips. “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be such a tease about it.”

You meet her gaze, feeling that spark of defiance in her stare, and smirk as you finally give in to her demand

With a smirk, you finally close the distance, your lips and tongue moving in sync as you flick against her sensitive clit. The moment your mouth makes full contact, Jinx’s head falls back, a low, guttural moan escaping her lips. Her hands fly to your hair, gripping tight as her body arches toward you in desperate need.

“That’s more like it,” she breathes, her voice shaky with satisfaction, though there’s still that underlying bratty tone.

Without missing a beat, you slide your hand up her thigh, teasing her slick entrance with your fingers before slowly thrusting two of them inside her. The sensation makes Jinx gasp, her hips bucking up toward you as her body tightens around your fingers. You curl them inside her, hitting just the right spot while your tongue continues its relentless work against her clit.

Jinx’s moans grow louder, her legs trembling as the pleasure overwhelms her. “Fuck… yes, don’t stop!” Her voice is raw, full of need, her bratty attitude wavering as her body gives in to your control.

You smirk against her skin, pumping your fingers in and out of her in time with the swirling motions of your tongue. The combination drives her wild—her hips start moving of their own accord, riding your hand as the heat between you grows unbearable. You can feel her tightening around your fingers, her walls clenching as you thrust deeper, harder.

“Oh, God…” she gasps, her voice tight, the heat building to a fever pitch. Her back arches off the workbench, her legs tightening around you, pulling you in as if desperate to keep you right there.

But you’re still in control. You slow your pace, just enough to keep her teetering on the edge, never letting her fully fall over. “Not yet, Jinx,” you tease, pulling your lips away just enough to see the frustration on her face.

“Don’t stop!” she practically growls, her fingers digging into your scalp as she tries to grind her hips against your hand, desperate for more.

You meet her eyes, watching the defiance and desire flicker across her face. “Beg for it,” you demand, your voice low and full of authority as your fingers press deeper inside her.

She glares at you, the bratty fire still alive in her eyes. “not a chance.”

You slow your pace even more, torturing her with the deliberate movements of your fingers and the teasing flick of your tongue just out of reach of her clit. “Then I guess you don’t want to come,” you murmur.

Her hips twitch toward you, her frustration palpable. “Fine, please—just don’t stop, pretty please.” The words slip out, soft and desperate, and it sends a thrill through you.

Satisfied with her submission, you dive back in, thrusting your fingers faster and sucking on her clit with renewed intensity. Jinx’s whole body responds instantly—her moans grow louder, her legs quivering as you push her closer and closer to the edge.

“I’m close,” she pants, her voice trembling as she clutches at your hair, holding on as if her life depends on it.

With one final, well-placed thrust of your fingers and a flick of your tongue, you send her spiraling into release. Jinx cries out, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through her. Her hips jerk against your hand as she comes undone, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation.

You ride out her orgasm, continuing to pump your fingers inside her until her body finally relaxes, collapsing back against the workbench in exhausted bliss.

You slowly withdraw your fingers, your lips glistening as you pull back and meet her gaze, a satisfied smirk on your face. “Told you I’d make you beg,” you tease.

Jinx rolls her eyes, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, yeah… you win this time,” she breathes, still catching her breath.

Jinx’s body is still trembling from her release, her breath coming in heavy pants as you pull back. But you’re far from done. With a playful glint in your eyes, you slide her off the workbench just enough so that her front presses flat against it, her legs hanging off the edge. She barely has time to catch her breath before you’re behind her again, positioning her just the way you want.

“Oh, you think you’re in control now?” she teases, glancing back over her shoulder with a smirk, though her body betrays her eagerness, pressing back toward you. Her brattiness is still there, but the desperation hasn’t left her voice.

You don’t say a word as you adjust the strap-on you took out of one of her drawer, securing it tightly around your waist. The sight of her sprawled out on the workbench, completely at your mercy, only ignites the fire burning in your chest. You grab her hips firmly, pulling her back slightly so that her legs dangle just off the edge, leaving her completely exposed to you.

Jinx gasps at the sensation, her fingers curling into the wood of the workbench for support. “Fuck… you're not playing around, are you?”

You lean over her, your breath hot against her ear. “You wanted more, didn’t you?” you whisper, your voice laced with dominance. “So that’s exactly what you’re going to get.”

Before she can respond, you tease her entrance with the tip of the strap-on, rubbing it against her slickness. The anticipation is almost too much for her—her body jerks in response, a desperate moan escaping her lips.

“Please,” she whispers, all traces of her defiance starting to slip away as her hips push back toward you.

“Thought you weren’t begging” you taunt, smirking as you press in just enough to make her body tremble with need.

Her response is breathless, a mix of frustration and desire. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

Without any further teasing, you thrust into her, filling her completely in one smooth motion. Jinx cries out, her hands gripping the edge of the workbench as her body adjusts to the sensation. Her legs tremble, barely able to hold her up, but you’re holding her in place, controlling every inch of her.

“Fuck!” she moans, her voice raw with pleasure as you begin to move, your hips rocking into her with a steady rhythm. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixing with her gasps and moans as you pick up the pace, each thrust driving her closer to the edge once again.

“You like this, don’t you?” you growl, leaning over her as your hand slides up her back, pressing her further into the workbench. “You love being like this—completely mine.”

Jinx’s only response is a loud moan, her hips grinding back against you with desperate need. She’s losing herself in the sensation, every thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.

You keep the relentless pace, one hand gripping her waist while the other snakes around to press against her clit. The moment your fingers touch her, Jinx lets out a sharp cry, her whole body trembling.

“I’m gonna—fuck—do it, don’t stop!” she gasps, her words barely coherent as she teeters on the edge of another orgasm.

You don’t slow down, your thrusts growing more powerful as your fingers work her clit in time with your movements. The tension builds in her body, and you can feel her walls tightening around the strap-on as her release approaches.

“Come for me,” you command, your voice firm but full of heat.

With one final thrust, you push her over the edge. Jinx’s body seizes beneath you, her cries echoing through the room as she comes hard, her entire form shaking with the intensity of her orgasm. You hold her steady, guiding her through the waves of pleasure until she’s finally spent, her body limp and trembling in your arms.

You slowly pull out, watching her collapse against the workbench, completely breathless and sated. A satisfied smirk tugs at your lips as you run a hand through her blue hair, brushing it off her sweaty forehead. the strap on already on the floor.

“Still think you’re in charge?” you tease, your voice soft but teasing as you press a kiss to her shoulder.

Jinx laughs weakly, her body still trembling with aftershocks. “You’ll pay for that… later,” she mutters, but there’s no real threat in her voice—just the familiar, playful defiance that you’ve grown to love.

“Looking forward to it,” you reply grinning as you help her up,the two of you basking in the aftermath of the chaos you’ve just created together.

As the haze of pleasure starts to settle, you gently pull Jinx upright from where she had slumped over the workbench, her body still trembling slightly. Her usual wild energy seems softer now, her breaths ragged but slowly calming. You wrap an arm around her waist, guiding her back to her feet, holding her close.

"Easy now," you whisper, brushing your lips against her temple as you help her regain her balance. She leans into you, her body still weak from the intensity of everything.

She’s always so brash, always ready to dive into chaos, but moments like this… they remind you of the softer side she rarely shows anyone else. The part of her that lets her walls down, if only for a few moments.

You guide her carefully toward a small couch nearby, and she flops down with a heavy sigh, her eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. You kneel in front of her, placing soft kisses on her knees before trailing your hands up her thighs, giving her a reassuring squeeze. She gives you a lazy, appreciative smile.

"You okay?" you ask softly, pushing strands of her hair away from her face.

She nods, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “Yeah… that was just... intense,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smile softly, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “You did so good,” you murmur against her skin, your words soft and sincere.

Jinx lets out a small chuckle, her usual bravado creeping back in. “Pfft… you’re the one who can’t get enough of me.”

You laugh, but you don’t argue. Instead, you grab a blanket draped over a nearby chair and wrap it around her shoulders, pulling her close to you again. “Come here,” you say, sitting down next to her, cradling her in your arms.

She curls into you, her head resting against your chest as you gently stroke her hair, fingers combing through the blue strands. The rhythmic motion seems to calm her, her breathing growing steady as she relaxes fully into your embrace.

“I like this part,” she mumbles, her voice sleepy now, but there’s a warmth in her tone.

“Yeah?” you ask, smiling down at her as you continue to run your fingers through her hair. “You like being taken care of?”

She makes a noncommittal sound, but her grip tightens on your shirt as she snuggles closer. “Just... don’t tell anyone, okay? I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

You chuckle, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Your secret’s safe with me, Jinx.”

For a while, you just sit there together, the silence comfortable and filled with a sense of peace. The wildness from earlier has melted away, replaced with this soft, intimate moment. You can feel the rise and fall of her chest against yours, her breath warm against your skin. It’s moments like these that make the chaos worth it—the quiet after the storm, where it’s just you and her.

After a few minutes, you shift slightly, reaching for a nearby water bottle and handing it to her. “Here, drink this,” you say softly.

Jinx takes it with a grateful smile, sipping slowly. “You’re such a softie,” she teases, but there’s no bite in her words.

“Only for you,” you reply with a wink, and she rolls her eyes, though you can see the faint blush on her cheeks.

Once she’s finished the water, you gently wipe the sweat from her forehead with the edge of the blanket, your touch soft and caring. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment, savoring the gentle attention you’re giving her.

“Feeling better?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as you lean in to kiss her temple again.

She nods, her lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah… thanks,” she says softly, the usual bravado in her voice replaced by something more genuine, more tender.

You both stay like that for a while longer, wrapped up in each other. The world outside can wait. For now, it’s just you and her, sharing this quiet, intimate moment in the aftermath of all the chaos.

[creamflix]

Hihi! Can I have Dan Heng + champagne bottles? 🍾 (Naughty)

you’ve received a gift! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ want your own gift? ・:〃➜ click here! 

christmas on the astral express was as chaotic as it was magical. decorations twinkled, laughter filled the air, and festive cheer spilled over — quite literally, in some cases, like when you decided to try just a sip of champagne.

how that “sip” turned into polishing off nearly half a bottle, you weren’t sure. but the warm, fizzy buzz in your veins had you feeling unstoppable, invincible even.

that was, until your boyfriend DAN HENG appeared out of nowhere, snatching the bottle from your hands with an expression equal parts amused and disapproving.

“what are you doing?” he asked, holding the bottle out of your reach like a parent catching their kid raiding the cookie jar. “you can’t just down champagne like it’s water. moderation is a thing, you know.”

you groaned, leaning against the nearest table dramatically. “it’s christmas, baby. live a little!”

“living doesn’t mean getting wasted,” he replied flatly, setting the bottle aside. “you’ll regret this later.”

you tried — really tried — to listen to his words, but your champagne-clouded brain had other priorities.

like how stupidly good he looked right now.

he’d rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms, and the snug fit of his shirt did nothing to hide the lithe, muscular frame beneath. his hair was slightly tousled, probably from running after someone else who got too festive, and his sharp eyes glinted in the dim light of the express.

was it the champagne, or had he always looked this good?

“are you even listening?” he asked, raising an eyebrow when you didn’t respond.

“hmm?” you blinked, your gaze reluctantly dragging away from his chest to meet his eyes.

he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, but you caught the faintest twitch of his lips — he knew exactly where your mind was wandering.

“you’re hopeless,” he muttered.

“and you’re hot,” you shot back without hesitation, a cheeky grin spreading across your face.

his ears turned an adorable shade of red at your bluntness, but he quickly masked it with a glare.

“you’re drunk.”

“maybe,” you admitted, stepping closer, your grin softening into something more sincere. “doesn’t mean i'm wrong.”

his eyes flicked over your face, studying you intently. you weren’t sure if it was the champagne or the holiday spirit, but there was a spark of something mischievous and hungry in his gaze.

“you’re impossible,” he murmured, shaking his head, but his voice was quieter now, rougher.

“and you’re still hot,” you teased, closing the distance between you entirely.

his hands found your waist, steadying you as you pressed yourself against him.

“you’re going to regret this tomorrow,” he warned again, but the way his fingers tightened on your hips betrayed him.

“i’ll regret not doing this tomorrow,” you countered, leaning up to capture his lips in a slow, heated kiss.

whatever protest he might’ve had melted away instantly, his grip on you firm as he kissed you back with equal intensity. the world around you blurred — the noise, the lights, the lingering festive chaos —and all that mattered was the way his lips moved against yours, the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“merry christmas,” you murmured against his lips, grinning when he pulled back just enough to roll his eyes at you.

“you’re lucky it’s christmas,” he muttered, his smirk betraying his words before he kissed you again.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[writingoddess1125]

how would the old men of the sea react to y/n asking them to join them in the bath tub?

I gotcha Sweety Pop! 🍭

Buy me a Ko-Fi ☕️

Shanks, Mihawk, Buggy x ReaderGN

🫧 Join Me? 🫧

Spicy Themes! + Fluff

Buggy

You lay in the large copper bath with a happy sigh, the sweet smell of lavender bubble bath filling the room as you relaxed heavily. You didn't get much time like this to yourself especially on Buggy's ship. Being the main one to keep the place at some semblance or order.

You sigh and lean back to close your eyes and drifr off. Before you hear your door being roughly busted into-

"(Y/N)! Did you approve for them to paint the sky background light blue for the stage peice I wa- wa.. You're uh-" Buggy stopped at his rant as he saw you in the bubble bath, Calmly blinking up at him as he stopped mid rant.

"Captian? Are you okay?" You calmly ask, seeing how red his face was under his grease paint. He turned away quickly.

"I didn't know you were in the bath! I-I was just coming in for-" you wave off his yelling almost-apology. Knowing this was just what he did when flustered, Sitting up more you smirked at your Captian deciding to tease more.

"Wanna join me?~"

You offer, his eyes locking on you quickly like you had just grown a second head. Nodding rapidly and without even saying anything he was already stripping down to nothing like the clothes were the enemy and flinging them away even using the Chop Chop abilities to strip faster.

You laugh as the man almost swan diving into the water and getting real close with a crooked grin, the makeup already melting off his handsome face and eyes shimmering in mischief. He will defiently not keep this innocent for long-

Shanks

You and your crew had taken a stop on a empty island while sailing for the grand line. Choosing to party here and enjoy a few days of laying low before setting sail in a few days.

You would be taking a midnight dip in a nearby stream- enjoying the nice cool water on your skin as you take the time to wash up.

You heard the sound of rustling from the brush next to the stream and look up quickly- seeing your Captian, Red Haired Shanks stumble through the brush, his cheeks red from the booze as he looked around confused- blushing at the sight of you in the water.

"Ah sorry Sweety didn't mean to stumble on ya!" Shanks said with a chuckle, looking away shyly at catching you in this state.

You giggle at this and sink into the water yo cover yourself, the alcohol still flowing in your own system.

"It's alright Cap just enjoying the water. Well why don't you join me? Its cool in here" You offer, feeling way more bold then normal-

Not catching the giddy smile from Shanks as he sets down the rum bottle and starts to disrobe. Jumping in right after you with a smile as he swims to catch up to you.

"Don't mind if I do (Y/N)!-" He will chime and defienly take the chance to swim close to you. Alcohol defiently playing a part in whatever happened that night.

Mihawk

You where in the main bathhouse of Mihawk's Palace in Kuraigana Island. It was a massive room filled with amazing mineral water- it was quite heavenly in truth.

You floated in the water for a bit, fully frontal on the top of the water in pure relation. Which was cut short when the door opened... Your eyes widened and looked up quickly from your floating full frontal to see Mihawk holding a towel and fresh clothes with wide eyes seeing you like this.

He stared at you in shock at seeing you like this, slowly he started to close the door. As you sank into the water to cover yourself-

"W-Wait! Mihawk do you want to maybe join me?" You stutter out shyly as you stare at him. Blushing at your own boldness for asking such a thing- He paused his own movements, before slowly nodding and stepping into the bathhouse fully. You turned away to be respectful at this so he could undress in peace- however you did see his reflection from the polished walls you were looking at and blushed at what you saw.

Gwad Damn!!

Hearing him get into the water you didn't dare to glance back till you felt something warm appear behind you- Glancing up to see Mihawk standing right before you, His eyes practically glowing as he stood with his chest pressed against you a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

"Embarrassed Darling?"

You will leave that bathtub dirtier then when you arrived.