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wandsandwheezes · 4 months ago

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NASCAR IV | G.W //F.W

WARNINGS // 8.6k // SMUT 18+, George x Reader // Fred x unnamed OC, Angry Fred, Racer!George, light angst, fighting, rough sex, soft sex, breeding kink af, mentions of alcohol, cars, sex, possession, praise kink, a (tiny) amount of degradation, oral, unprotected sex.

A/N // Ladies n gents we are back n better than everrr!! This has legit been sat in the WIPs for a year and I have not had the energy or motivation to get back to it until now. ps.. thank you to @darthwheezely for helping me out on this one as my co-writer, idk what i'd do without you!! pps.. stay tuned for more works in the future!

It was always good to be home. As much as George adored being on the road, there was something so blissful about waking up in his own bed, with the woman of his dreams curled tightly into his chest. This was what made it worth it.

“Good morning, muffin,” you muttered peacefully, hand reaching up to push the messy tufts of hair from his sleepy eyes. He threw his head back and groaned at your use of the corny nickname so early in the morning.

“That divorce and sweet sweet alimony cannot come soon enough,” he grinned, soon getting whacked in the face by the pillow next to you, his own hand reaching to pull you by the scruff of your neck into a sloppy kiss.

Like most mornings, George was already out of bed, walking around aimlessly in his low-slung plaid pj bottoms as he searched sleepily for either his shop uniform or at the very least something that would easily pass without Fred throwing a fit.

“Are you sure you want to leave me?” You teased, pushing yourself out of bed, letting his t-shirt fall past your hips as your feet patted along the wood floors, taking you to him. You wrap your arms around his waist groggily, forehead resting against his back as you take in his warmth.

“I’m never sure about leaving you, angel, I doubt you’ll take much convincing if I suggest lunch?”

“I’ll make your favourite sandwich and swing by later, yeah?” You smiled, giggling as he spun you around, strong hands holding your arms as he leaned down to kiss you.

“They say you’re the lucky one, but lord, woman you make me the luckiest.”

The sun was not Fred’s friend today. But honestly: no one was Fred’s friend today, not when the sun was over a hundred and two degrees in a shop with shitty A/C with his wife away playing hostess for god knows how many interviewees in that pretty black dress.

He probably wouldn’t even be this angry if she hadn’t been an insufferable prime American tease, waking up to her lips wrapped around the base of his cock and sending delicious vibrations throughout his body before pulling off right as he was about to release:

“You’ve got work today, ace, I need you to be a good boy.”

So there was Fred, as horny as a fourteen year old, deprived as a fourteen year old, and about as pouty as a toddler. Even George knew how pissy his brother had been, eyeing him rather sharply.

“You know, Freddie, It would be nice to come into work one day with you having not woken up on the wrong side of bed.” George chuckled, pulling up the bottom of his already oil-stained shirt to wipe at his jaw. The older twin stalked around him and hit him in the chest with his rag.

“Actually, I was sleeping quite well on my lovely and rosy smelling side of the bed until I got fucking booted like a small boy and-” he was briefly aware of George laughing at him and made to punch his younger brother over the hood. “- it’s not funny, you know...it’s…” he swallowed, the familiar feeling of his strawberry tint rising to the surface, “...ithasn’tbeenasrecentasyou and before you ask me how I know that, remember you’re the other half of my DNA in mum’s womb,” he childishly spat. He slid into the driver’s seat of the Mustang they were working on and began drumming the dash, his knee bouncing against the side door - a tell tale sign of his frustration.

“I thought we established that you are in fact half of my DNA, just because you were born first doesn’t mean shit.” George rolled his eyes, throwing the rag on top of the car before joining his brother in the passenger seat.

“No, because I, in fact, am the prettier twin, which means I not only had sex first, but also get more privileges such as Denny’s coupons, discounted smoothies, and more phone calls with my mother than you.” Spotting you walk into the workshop area he honked the horn a couple times and giggled, whistling when you walked in.

“Ahoy my lovely sister-in-law!” He grinned and honked once more, a loud and obnoxious greeting - so uniquely Fred.

Rolling up to the side of the car, you laughed, seeing George rub at his temples, sighing to himself over the continuous blaring horn. You leaned in against the window, poking your head into the car with a smile, pressing a kiss to George’s cheek while Fred’s smile dropped, his face forming into a stare of jealousy, quickly forcing a smile again to hide his obvious frustrations.

“Oi! Get a bloody room you two!” He huffed, honking loudly when George leaned in to kiss you again.

“Do you mind?” George gritted out.

“Yes, a bit, actually, you may have the back office for now to do somewhat lovey and sinful things but please try to be discreet, kids!” He winked salaciously and leaned forward against the wheel, his elbow cocked on the dash as he fought to not think about destroying his wife to be the second she got home. Usually racing helped, kept his mind (and libido) wandering if he felt a bit pent up - but at least for a few months or so, there wouldn’t be any release. The thought alone had him throw his head back and groan in displeasure.

“I brought lunch, wanna eat with me?” You grinned, batting your eyelashes, a move that practically had George falling out of the car, grabbing your hand as he followed you out to the back office. It was definitely hotter in the back, if you were being honest, yet that had nothing to do with the blazing sunshine but the way your fiance could have practically drank you in whole by the way he was staring.

“Stop staring, George, your eyes will go square.” You laughed, setting your bag on the table, pulling out the sandwich you had made for him, pushing it into his chest as you pulled out your own lunch.

“You know that doesn’t work with staring at humans right? Just TVs.” George retorted, walking backwards before plopping himself down on the sofa. “You didn’t happen to bring my-” You had already reached into your bag, pulling out his water bottle, something he not only had a habit of leaving at home but something he nearly always drank with lunch. Props to him for staying hydrated but after so long together you had managed to pick up on nearly all of the smaller things about him.

“What would I do without you, huh?” He smiled, taking the bottle from your hand as you slipped onto the sofa next to him, legs swinging over his thighs as you unwrapped your sandwich. This was normal for you, reminding you of the days before racing and before America, a part of you growing fond of those memories.

“You seem lost, Angel.” He muttered, hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, a worried look painting his expression. Shaking your head at him, you pulled yourself up to be straddling his hips, your nose bumping against his softly before capturing his lips into a kiss.

A part of both of you needed this, the locked lips while his hands held your hips in their place, effortlessly controlling the way they would rut against his growing bulge, both desperate for the friction. He was moaning into your mouth, his hips bucking up to meet yours as the innocence in the kiss quickly slipped away, his own desperation to have you ruling how his hands had practically ripped your shirt off of you, his lips messily pressed against the newly exposed skin of your chest.

“Shit, baby, I just wanna get those tight little fucking shorts off of you.” He groaned, hand snaking up to tangle in the hair at the back of your head as your hips continued grinding relentlessly. You were ultimately putty in his hands, moldable and pliant only for his skilled grip and teasing touch.

“No time for that though.” He chuckled, his quick fingers effortlessly slipping the material to the side before the pad of his thumb found your clit, rubbing in teasing circular motion, a loud and lewd groan falling from his lips at the feel of just how wet you were already. Your hand flew to his mouth, finger pressed against his plump lips to keep him silent.

“Not so much noise, Georgie.” You giggled, a faint moan falling from your lips as his fingers began to tease your entrance. Your own warnings of silence had fallen short the second you found yourself wrapped around his fingers, his long digits pulling desperate moans from you by the second.

“Not so much noise, angel.”

—

The elder twin had watched his brother follow you out, had seen the way his twin’s eyes had smoothed over the curve of your ass, how he’d admired your shorts and in utter and complete disdain Fred kicked the inside of the car. It was dumb, the way he was wishing he could have his girl thrown in front of a bathroom counter and force her to watch him fuck that pretty pretty cunt of his, and unknowingly slid his hand down to his jeans and started to palm.

His jaw was clenched at the thought of her slutty little stunt she pulled this morning when they both knew how wet she would get when she had her mouth around him, and gritted in a groan as he squeezed his clothed erection.

“God, fuck, love,” he panted, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans half way to slide his boxers down, his cock springing free instantly. He thought about how her cunt fit perfectly to his cock, how no matter how many times he’d slipped deliciously into her, she always seemed just as tight as the first time, meanwhile his hand loosely pumped back and forth on his shaft. This was pathetic, he knew it was pathetic, but still the idea of her underneath him while her breasts heaved and her smokey chocolate hair was strewn about the pillow had him grunting.

“God, I’m so surprised you’re not pregnant yet, with the amount of cum I stuff you with and the rounds we do in a day,” he growled, all eleven inches sunk deep into her.

“Oh, shit, baby, god, you feel so good,” he panted, his thumb tightly rolling small circles on his tip.

“Want it so bad, baby, wanna be so full and round soon as we can,” she had moaned, arching so far into his hold that he had thrusted at the same time a nipple brushed his lips and into his mouth, biting the sensitive flesh and causing her to whine.

“Such a fucking whore,” he snarled, his hips bucking up to meet each stroke of his fist, his head thrown back in ecstasy as he imagined his palm to be nothing but her - no, his - soft and soaked pussy.

His hips were jerking at the speed of sound, he didn’t really care if anyone else could hear, if anything it made him more turned on, let ‘em hear, he could give less of a shit and especially if she were here, he’d make damn sure everyone from Houston to L.A. knew exactly which racer she was getting boned by each and every night.

“Freddie, honey, please, I need you to so bad,”

“I’m right behind you, baby, goddamnit so fucking good,” and with a faint shout of her name he released, his dick twitching under his own rough touch, his eyes screwed shut at his own frustration, none of it was real, the memory of it and the smell of sweaty sex in not only hotel rooms but in cars across the country dimming his mind back to square one. He laughed harshly at his own predicament, assessing his own situation before whistling lowly.

“Fuck, I need a drive.”

—

“George, for the love of God, stop fuckin’ with the carburetor, we already checked it an hour ago,” Fred whined, leaning against the back of the car. The day had been relatively slow beyond that one car, the hour approaching about 4:30, Fred eagerly awaiting until those hands hit 6.

“We did? I could have sworn we didn’t but I wouldn’t know, would I?” George rolled his eyes, pushing himself away from under the hood, heading over to you to take the tool you aimlessly held from your hands, not before his hands pressed against your neck, pulling you into a quick kiss.

Fred went to retort, interrupted only by the grizzly rotary of the engine rev close by. He knew exactly what the sound was, the same kind of rev that ecologists blamed on the hole in the ozone, the smell lewd and hungry for attention.

It wasn’t just any old car, it had to be for racing. And sure enough it was, two in fact, fully souped up in high gear and brand new paint blinding in the Arizona sun. Fred held a hand above his eyebrows to see who it was, and George leaned back around Fred trying to do the same thing. When the cars pulled up and swerved albeit messily into the lot the twins broke into grins.

“Is that-?”

“-yeah, it’s-”

And then the car doors opened, one man rather lanky and lean and the other shorter and stocky, the rather lean one putting both his hands on his hips and clucking: “Well, I’ll be damned, freshen up then lads,” and grinned mischievously.

“DEAN!”

“SEAMUS!” They both yelled and jumped at their friends, a chorus of rowdy hugs and how are yous being traded from each of the boys.

“Alright then, boys?” Seamus quipped.

“Well, Jesus, we sure hope so, haven’t seen you since, shit what March?” George ran a hand through his hair, looking at Fred to confirm that and he nodded in response.

“Sounds about right, we’ve had to keep to ourselves - don’t want a bust like what happened to Diggory, y’know,” Seamus smirked.

“That arsehole from - shit what was his sponsor, Georgie?”

“Wonderbread,”

“Yeah, I never liked him, hits on everything that moves he does, my girl included,” Fred made his way to their mini-fridge swinging out a couple of bottled cane-sugar Coke (the only kind he and his wife ever drank, unfortunately for their bank account), and distributing them to each of the boys, passing around the bottle opener.

Dean scoffed. “Fred, you think everyone flirts with your girl and Y/N.”

“I’m a protective man, Thomas, not my fault I see a douche bag and-”

“Anyway,” George cut him off, leaving a rather pouty Fred in his place, and leaning back to sit on the hood of the car. “What brings you two ‘round then?”

Seamus and Dean visibly held their bottles a little tighter, then looked at each other.

“Well, we um...we have this thing we do on Thursdays down behind Tucson-” Seamus started.

“-not the raceway...it’s a bit more shifty, if you get it.” Dean finished, taking a swig of Coke. George studied the two for a second and finally leaned back on the car hood.

“Boys, what is this?” He asked softly, Fred shifting uncomfortably on the minifridge.

Seamus opened his mouth again, his face a great shade of crimson when Dean leapt in again.

“We do it in secret because if Indy or Nascar found out we’d all be dead but...we never really stopped racing you know. We just...we do it in the backwoods area of town-”

“Where it’s basically just sand and flat land for miles,” Seamus added, nodding vehemently.

“Count me in.” Fred spoke quickly, pushing himself up off the mini fridge and over to the two boys, a smirk hanging off his lips in anticipation of being able to put his foot to the floor again on a track, albeit a dirt-road track, it was a course nevertheless.

“Yeah, no, Fred you can’t, if the Wood Brothers find out you are never racing again.” George cut in, fingers pressed to his temple in fear of his brother’s own recklessness.

“Come on, baby brother, I think you need to loosen up a little, what do you think, y/n?” Fred’s smirk only grew as he raised his eyebrow, hoping to entice the younger twin into his lure.

“You know, Georgie, I think it would be good for you and Fred to race together, you know, just for fun...” You shrugged, staking over to George, arms wrapping around his waist, as you looked up at him with a pout.

“I suppose if those two big brains can still have jobs, we’ll be fine, right?” George sighed, feeling himself giving in, purely from a look from his girlfriend.

“That’s the spirit!” Dean smirked, a smile cracking up on Seamus’ lips as the four boys looked among each other, almost silently communicating a plan until they had erupted with laughter.

—

The clock had said 9:34, roughly 26 minutes before Fred would be ecstatically waiting for George outside his studio apartment. His neck was tilted upwards, covered in shaving cream with a bath towel wrapped loosely around his waist. The sink was littered with expensive cologne and aftershave, the first purchase he ever made after his first check at the shop, his scalpel grifting smoothly up his jawline.

Fred had learned very early on that preparation was absolutely everything, and after his little twelfth place charade - he felt his mates needed to remember that he was, for all intents and purposes, that bitch.

“Fred, baby, you home?” He heard her call out, the clanging of keys falling into the empty fishbowl on the coffee table.

“Yeah, cupcake, I’m in here,” he called out stiffly, listening to her start to rant on about the interviews at hand - none of them were ever any fun, he’d been to enough to learn that all they cared about were raunchy questions geared at his wife and female reporters flirting with him in front of studio audiences.

“...and god my feet were killing me, she wanted to walk with me all the way down the block and-“ she stopped analyzing his posture, his broad and freckled back still slightly covered in drops from the shower, his V-line angled to the side to a point where if she tugged on his hips juuuust right it would be sure to drop in one fell swoop, combined with the fact that he was shaving.

“Honey?”

“Yes, dear?” He side eyed her and smirked before turning his eyes back to the mirror, finishing the last of the area around his upper jaw and by his cheekbones.

“Are you going somewhere tonight?” She questioned, standing next to him now, looking at him directly through the mirror. He licked his lips at the sight of her minorly aggressive position and broke contact.

“Just for a bit, love, I’ll be back probably when you’re asleep.”

“And were you planning on telling me?”

“And were you planning on being a tease this morning after I gave you such a lovely time last night?”

He watched her mouth open and close as if she were about to say something and faltered, and snorted. “Yes, exactly, I thought so,” he said, turning around to grab a hand towel, splashing water on his face to rinse off the cream.

“Oh...I see what this is,” she purred. He stopped and slowly pulled his face up to the sink, setting a hand down on the sink to ground him from the massive hard on that was occurring under his towel, and turning towards her.

“What was that?”

“I think you’re a pent up, horny teenager that doesn’t like being told no,” she smiled cruelly at him and watched as Fred’s jaw tensed ever so slightly.

He rolled it gently and went to move past her but she was quicker, and pushed him backward with five painted red nails to his chest. She looked up at him and roughly scratched down his torso, causing Fred to hiss at the fresh red stripes. She slid a hand up his chest and stopped at the column of his throat, gripping ever so slightly, before leaning up to kiss him and pulling away just so he could feel her exhale.

“Have a nice night, Freddie,” she whispered before quirking a brow and grinning, prancing off to their bedroom alone.

When she was out of earshot he shakily breathed out, trying to steady his breathing and his yearning cock - he’d deal with her later for sure, regardless of his behavior or not.

It was 9:32, approximately 28 minutes before George would pick him up outside his studio apartment…

—

The twins arrived at around 10:15, the drive there filled with only uncomfortable silence at what was to come. George was a bit pissed to say the least, once again Fred was getting his way for an adrenaline run, and this time Y/N had backed him up.

George’s last place he would be right now is behind the wheel of his own fucking car.

He parked it next to Dean’s sleek, jet black chevy, his hands gripping the steering wheel ever so slightly as he leaned back against the headrest.

“You realize if we get caught we could never race again, right?” George prompted quietly.

“Here’s an idea; don’t.” Fred rolled his eyes, reaching over to flick his brother in the ear, eyebrows raised playfully.

“Yeah, no shit, sherlock.” George grumbled, turning off the ignition, listening to the signature growl of his engine grind to a stop.

“Why is it always such a bad idea to do anything fun once in a while, Georgie,” Fred grumbled, his knee bouncing against the floor of the car. “It’s not like we’ve had anything to do as of late, you know.”

“Of course, besides, hmm, I dunno, not making our sponsors upset? By like possibly following the very slight and basic set of rules we’ve been given?” George snipped, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. He sighed to himself and went to get out of the car when Fred grabbed his arm.

“Hey, you agreed to this too, you know-”

“Yes, at the behest of my lovely fiance and my snot nosed, ant thorax of a barely older brother and as such, I’m driving this thing when this shit factory of a drag race starts.” He whacked Fred’s arm away and exited the car, immediately all but smiles on his face as he went to greet his friends, a sporadic and adrenaline heated Fred on his tail.

“Well if it isn’t the two most obnoxious bastards in NASCAR,” Fred turned to see his best friend and ex-pit crew member, Roger Davies, and excitedly gripped him in a hug, hands clapping backs and tears falling down cheeks at the renewal of friendship.

“Georgie! Look, it's Rog!”

“Holy shit, not my first husband-!”

“Your only husband, Weasley number 5, and Fred can disagree all he wants,” Roger grinned and pulled both boys into a hug before whispering in their ear, “watch out for Finnegan and Thomas, boys, the cheating hasn’t stopped since last season,” leaving the twins utterly confused.

“Oi! Not another sleepover without me?” Boomed Dean from behind them. Roger immediately pushed past the two entirely confused twins and went to clap Dean on the back.

“Just getting them acquainted with the rules before a race...you know how hard it is to follow all the rules, don’t you, mate?” Roger winked and headed back to the twins, moving them back to the car as all the other drivers retreated to theirs.

“Rog, what was all that?” Fred whispered.

“Dean has been known to be a bit...well, shifty as of late with these. Always been a bit of a windy bloke, you get it, but ever since Target dropped him from the sponsorship he hasn’t really been...getting off as much in racing as he used to.” Roger nervously laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, leaning against the back of George’s car.

“By ‘cheating’ what does that entail?” George crossed his arms in repose.

“He’s always been a thrill chaser, you know this, Georgie.”

That was true, Dean had always been after a nice high. An adrenaline junkie back at primary school, Dean and Fred (as George unfortunately remembered) would feed off each other like invasive flowers, the group think of two singularly aggressive and needy young boys clouding the canopy of their friends (and brothers) with misfortune. Anything from groundings to almost arrests to nights spent aimlessly wandering the London streets in the wee hours of the morning - to Dean’s favorite: bets.

Dean would bet and bet and bet if his life depended on it and when it came to racing, if there was a bet out in his name to win, he was sure as shit going to make sure that he was the winner, this led to more and more alterations to his cars, some that even street racing frowned upon. The media never got their hands on the true reason Dean had lost his Target sponsorship; just one simple, illegal, engine part. One that gave him the lead in a race that caught him out.

“How hasn’t someone banned him then?” George laughed, looking over at his friends, only for Roger to clear his throat with a chuckle himself.

“You can’t ban someone from street racing, Georgie, not without the authority that NASCAR has.” Roger explained, pushing away from George’s car to head towards his own. “See you on the track, boys.”

“Track?” Fred choked over the words, confused thoroughly at this point.

“I don’t think we’re in for just a drag race, Freddie.” George gulped, watching Roger slip inside his car, the lights flashing on and the sounds of rumbling engines echoing through the air.

—

“What do you mean I can’t drive your car.” Fred practically whined, if his eyes rolled any harder they would be in the back of his head.

“I mean what I said, dumbass, you’re not driving my car.” George protested, his arms crossing over his chest as he stood protectively in front of the driver’s side door.

“But you’d let me drive it in a drag race, that doesn’t make any sense, like at all.”

“That was when you had to drive in a straight line, you are not putting my baby in danger just to race her round a track.”

“Your baby? George, you do realise I race too right?”

“Fuck off. You’re not driving, that’s final.”

“Yes the fuck I am, now move.” Fred was practically pushing his brother out of the way as he tried to get himself in the driver’s seat. “Twenty minutes ago you didn’t even want to be here, now you want to drive?”

“Fine.” George sighed, finally stepping aside, only to grab the back of Fred’s shirt. “One scratch and you’ll be fixing it, either that or I’ll break you.”

“I’m not gonna crash the car, George, now get in.” Fred slid inside the car, George following suit on the passenger side. Fred went to pull out of the space that George had parked the car in, only to stall, dropping the clutch out of excitement, causing his younger brother to yell, out loud and quickly.

“Nope! I’m not doing this.”

“Fucking hell, George, shut up I can drive.”

—

There was something about the way tires kicked dust up as they sped around the dirt track that had Fred on edge. This race was unlike anything he’d ever seen or been a part of before, if he was being brutally honest it was exhilarating to be doing something like this, much more so when his brother was sat in the passenger seat. He didn’t need to look over or even take his eyes off the road to know that George was already being hypercritical of Fred’s driving skills, especially when the livelihood of his pride and joy of a car lay in another’s hands.

If George were gripping the steering wheel in that moment, his knuckles would have been well and truly white, watching clouds upon clouds of dust spray over the freshly washed exterior of his car. Instead, George’s hand was dripped tightly on the door, bracing himself for the sharp corners and bumpy jolts, thinking about how all the up and down was surely going to fuck his suspension.

Fred laughed to himself, but mostly at the way his twin was acting, almost as if George hadn’t spent most of his adult life behind the wheel of a car driving faster than any other man would dream of. Fred shouted over the roar of the engine “Jesus, Georgie, let loose a little will you?”

“I’d be way less uptight if you would have just let me drive.” George replied, sighing to himself, a small ‘woah’ falling from his mouth at the feeling of the back wheels spinning.

“It’s a bit fucking late for that decision.” Fred laughed back, passing a car that had the unfortunate and untimely end of spinning themselves off the joke of a track. Once the dust parted and George saw the mess in front of him, his eyes widened, heart racing if it could have beaten any faster.

“I will kill you if you do that.” the younger man grumbled, watching Fred speed past car after car, pushing them up the ranks.

“I told you I won’t crash your precious car… I’m starting to think you love her more than your lovely lady.” Fred bit his lower lip to stop himself laughing at his own comment. Looking up in the rear view mirror, he spotted the glistening black and bright blue of Roger and Dean gaining on the lead the twins had.

It was nearing what Fred hoped to be the end of the track, watching as the finish line grew nearer with every second. In what seemed to be all at once, a loud revving came in from Fred’s Left, The lightning bolt blue car overtaking George’ in a matter of seconds, pushing right past the finish line without a care in the world. Following closely in second was Dean’s beauty of a car, Fred managing to keep right behind his two friends, pulling third rank in the race.

—

Fred was the first out of the car, slamming the door behind him as his rage was starting to bubble out from his lungs. George hurried to catch up with his older brother, the look in his eyes and his body language evident that nothing short of violent impulsivity would amount from the situation. Fred pushed past Roger, ignoring the pleas for peace, he was never mad at Rog, Rog deserved a top rank, but his anger was centered towards Dean.

Dean needed a nice loss.

“Oi, Thomas.” He got closer to the man, Dean turning around slowly, a haughty sense of pride glazed on his face. “What’s wrong, Freddie, I’d figured after your little twelfth place at the table third should be a nice welcome to you,” he drawled, before Fred lunged at him, getting held back only by Davies.

“Aw, does poor little Freddie still need a babysitter?”

“Open that mouth one more fucking time-”

“Fred-” Roger stuttered.

“No,” he pushed from his grasp and proceeded to get inches from Dean’s face

Dean smirked and leaned back to grab a beer from the cooler beside him. “Fred. Your little tough guy act doesn’t scare me anymore, you know that.”

George stepped up next to Fred, “It’s not an act, mate, I think you know us well enough by now to get that we don’t take kindly to cheaters,” he said softly, rising to his full height.

Dean immediately leaned back at the sight of the two gingers, and even going as far as shrinking at the pure sight of Roger Davies, not as tall but definitely as intimidating, standing between them.

“The track never did cater to a liar, Thomas, we figured you’d know that by now,” Roger added quietly.

Dean scoffed, the adrenaline clearly rising in his chest, as the men behind him started to eye each other, the violence of the situation reaching a silent all time high. “I’m not gonna take shit from a losing tosser, his stooge of a younger brother, and a dumb blonde-“

Fred had launched himself all the way forward, his index and thumb forming a U shape as he grabbed Dean’s face, slamming it directly into the window. Dean struggled in Fred’s grasp, lifeless and sloppy fists flying in every direction possible. When Fred finally pulled off the boy and began to walk off, a smug and bloody smirk gracing his haughty face, Seamus lunged forward, a punch matching the back of Fred’s head.

A full on fight occurred, George rushing forward to slam Seamus to the ground, dust flying in every which way under the artificial lights. Fred had taken to pummeling Dean as if he was losing himself entirely in aggression.

The twins had always had an aggressive streak - but it had rarely been released in their current younger years of “adulthood.”

Amongst the mess of brawling fists and kicked up dirt, Roger had managed to summon the presence of one of the two Weasley girls - you, the understanding quick thinker with a tendency to be for whatever your boyfriend did and Fred’s Wife, the american firecracker who rarely took no for an answer.. When you had arrived, Rog and George were stopping Fred from lurching at Dean once more, Instead you were focused on the graze that lay above George’s brow, taking a deep breath and shaking your head at just how reckless he had become.

“George Weasley, I swear to fucking god you bastard.” You shouted, pulling him up by his bicep and pushing him back against his dust-covered car. “One night I leave you, One night and you end up in a back street race nearly getting your ass handed to you by Dean fucking Thomas-”

“It was Seamus, actually-”

“Not the fucking point, George.” you slapped his chest, only for him to wrap his arms around your waist, keeping you pulled close, a small smirk hanging off his lips.

“Fred said I needed to let loose, and I did and it was the best fun I’ve had since the end of season… but that obviously isn’t what I should be saying… I’m sorry, really am.”

You rolled your eyes, a sigh falling from your lips as you rested your head on his chest, with all the stress that NASCAR had given him, it really was the best thing that he was getting some actual joy in his free time. “At least you had fun.”

You knew you couldn’t be mad at him for long, not with the puppy dog eyes he was giving you as he knelt down on the floor, elbows resting on the mattress to look at you. Part of him realised that he needed to not piss you off any more than he already had, after all it was a little more than what you were expecting from him and with so much on the line after all of his hard work you were more mad at the fact he would so easily chance it.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” He quipped, a small smile on his lips as he stretched his back out, leaning forward across the mattress, fingertips grazing over your knee.

“You know what you’re doing.” You sighed, trying to look away from him, only to feel his full firm grip squeeze at your thigh.

“I’m just trying to apologize to you.”

“Yeah right.”

“I know how much you gave up to be here with me, for us, for me to achieve my dreams and I only went and nearly threw it away for a cheap race and I’m sorry.”

His eyes were glassy, filled with a sadness that you only recognised from the day he left for America, he truly was sorry for what had happened.

“I want to make it up to you, princess.” He pushed himself up onto the bed, his head resting on the pillow, your eyes never leaving him as you watch him shift to get comfortable.

Your hand reached out to brush the hair out of his eyes, watching his eyes flutter closed as a small sigh fell from his lips. You were quick to shift so that you lay next to him.

“There’s nothing to make up for, Georgie.” You smiled softly, shifting slightly closer to him, feeling his hand drape lazily over your side. Something about seeing him so vulnerable made you want to protect him with your whole heart and yet he was always the one to protect you.

“There’s everything to make up for, my love.” He smirked, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours softly before pressing a small kiss to your lips. “Just let me make you feel good.”

“George you don’t–” You went to protest, but he was quick to cut you off with another kiss, this time his hand gently pulling your hips closer towards him.

“I know just the way to make things up to you.” He pushed himself up slowly, arm wrapping around you to lay you down on your back, finding his place between your thighs, your legs either side of his hips.

His hands slowly raked up your thighs, finding his way up to your hips, fingers hooking underneath the waistband to pull the material down your legs, leaving you bare from the waist down. You had almost forgotten how much of a tease George could be, the way his fingers had quickly found your clit, the long digits finding your entrance soon after, only to warm you up.

Positioning himself with your legs hooked over his shoulders, he drew in a breath, releasing the cool exhale over you as you sighed frustratedly, hips bucking to try and get some friction if any, only for his hand to push your hips back down, a chuckle falling from his lips.

The second his tongue was licking a prominent stripe along your aching pussy, you were well and truly putty in his hands. Each flick of his tongue had you squirming, unrestrained moans falling from your lips as the pleasure built.

It didn’t take him long to attach his lips to your clit, sucking relentlessly at the bundle of nerves, his fingers pushing knuckle deep into you, curling up to hit your favourite spot, having you a wordless mess of nothing but moans of his name.

“Such a pretty thing you are, baby.” He hummed, thumb coming up to circle over your clit as he watched the way you had thrown your head back, your hands finding his hair to pull him back down needily, earning a chuckle from him.

His tongue continued its work, pulling you closer and closer to release with every flick. He didn’t let up until your thighs were shaking and your chest heaving, mind clouded only with thoughts of him and how lucky you were.

—--

Fred Weasley got home all too late, the door closing a bit louder than the man had wanted behind him. The slightly elder Weasley crept from the doorway to the bedroom, careful to mind the light creaks in the hardwood floor, taking every ounce of stress on his feet to avoid any miscalculations.

When he got to the bedroom, he saw the woman he loved, asleep no doubt by the sight of her mussed hair and lightly agape expression on her lips. Fred exhaled slowly, what he thought was quietly, until he heard her voice clearly say:

“So where were you?”

The man before her felt his heart thump harder than he felt when his own mother would corner him in the kitchen, the memories of sneaking out and sneaking back only to return with a-

“So are you going to tell me where you were?”

“Out.”

“No, really?” She spat, sitting back up and clicking the lamp on, her face etched with rage.

“I waited up for you the entire night, the least I probably deserve is an explanation.”

“Well, love, you didn’t seem to want to talk to me earlier, so I guess the lack of communication goes both ways, now move over.” he said briskly, beginning to take off his shirt. When she didn’t move, her face unwavering in anger, he rolled his jaw, swallowing back and refusing to feel the light effervescence of guilt in his throat.

“I said m-”

“I’m aware. See, Fred,” his wife exited the bed, and unfortunately for him, she was clad in only the black satin nightie he had gotten for her after his first big win. The guilt was rising now, as was something else low on his hips.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry, okay? I am, I-”

“Interrupt me again, and you get the couch, got it?” He nodded, his eyes drawn to the tears welling up in hers. “Fred, I’m your wife now and-and knowing my husband, my husband was out doing god knows what or who for that matter and has the audacity to come back in at three in the morning and be pissed at me? Who the hell are you?”

“I was racing! I was racing alright, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry I-I came in late and made you pissed because I love you and I am never going to do this again but God can you please put something else on so I can focus correctly-” and then he was kissing her, and somewhere deep in his cerebral cortex, this was probably unbearably toxic, for him to start apologizing angrily for the shit that he put her through but-

“God, you are a piece of fucking work aren’t you?” She snarled, already beginning to unbuckle and unzip his pants.

“But ‘m your piece of work, and currently,” he spat back, mouth melding in a messy and unkempt addition to hers, the entire situation wholly and completely Fred in every way possible, as he shed himself of his shirt and picked her up, “-I’d like to be fucking you.”

It didn’t take him long to pitch her body on the bed, his wife scrunching delectably at his fiery hair and his own ropy and iron hands squeezing at the bottom of her bare thighs. It had been long, too long, and with the already latent tension from their little bathroom incident earlier in the day - there wouldn’t be any denying Fred nor his girl of a quick, ravenous fuck tonight.

“Missed you so much, baby,” she whined, yanking his head up to mold herself to him in a heated kiss, the man atop her not needing to be shown twice at her action. “Missed you more, had me fuckin’ twitching and creaming in a car earlier, you did,” he chuckled, arousal thick and evident in his tone.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” He rasped, his eyes scrunching close as one of her delightfully un-dainty and gently calloused hands palmed him over his boxers. “God, wanted you so bad, baby, wanted to just drop the towel and have you on the sink, then ‘n there.”

“You mean that?” She said shakily, as he kissed her one last time before sliding down her body, his lengthy digits trailing down above him.

“God, absolutely, and if I look under here I wonder if - oh look at that, ‘was right, wasn’t I?” Much to her disagreeing whine, he sat up on his heels, his damn near naked body covered in sweat, his myriad of constellations adorning his chest like only the finest stars in the night sky. He looked up at her, the face only him or his twin could make, rum eyes bright and full of mischief, but also something else more sinister as his fingers trailed up her thighs.

“Fred, please-”

“‘Got you, baby, don’t you worry about me,” he mused, lazily almost, while his fingers drifted higher up the apex of her thigh before-

“No.” She said simply.

“Shit, I’m sorry do you want me to stop-?”

“No.” Fred’s wife, almost too fast for him to register, threw her left thigh around his waist, gathering momentum from her other leg fast enough to get him on his back, effectively pressing her hand to the center of his chest before all he could say was:

“Didn’t know you could do that, love,” he drawled, a quirk of a brow and a little smile on his face.

“You didn’t know I could do a lot of things, Freddie.” She shot back, bringing her nails up and in to scratch at his bare chest, her hips rolling to his and rubbing his tip under his boxers so well he thought he was going to explode.

“You have any plans beyond making me cum in m’pants, dear?” He hummed, his hands reaching up and under her satin to cup and squeeze at her bare ass.

“I was planning on making you cum so hard your ears pop, actually.”

“Merlin, woman, get on with it then,” he groaned, her laugh bubbling in his ears like champagne as her nails abandoned their spot on his broad chest to the hills and valleys of his v-line, the light grazing and nimble touch causing a wanton moan to erupt from the back of his throat along with a small, “fuckin’ hell, petal.” He watched with rapt but seemingly pained eyes as she slowly - too slowly, for his personal taste - began to lift her hips and grind the tip of his erection, his palms getting more clammy as he waited with need for her to sink onto him - if she’d even give him that.

But all too soon, she stopped her rolling onto his cock, making him swear at the loss of contact. “Goddamnit, fuck me already.”

“Oh, Freddie,” she preened, moving a hand back to cover one of his own sliding it to her soaking cunt, “after how bad you’ve been today? And you think I’m gonna reward you? Baby…” she drawled, reaching down to squeeze his thick cock, the action alone making him grunt and his neck veins pulsate with life.

“‘Do anything y’want, anything,” he whined, desperately trying to fuck his hips up to meet her friction. He knew his wife would push him, push him to the absolute limit until his dick exploded and his throat gave out from how hard he’d be screaming, she’d done it before, but it was so late, and God, he needed to bury himself deep in the milk and honey of her sex before it was too late.

“Then you have to be a good boy, Freddie, remember?”

“I know, I know, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, ma’am,” he babbled, the pleasure and lack of stimulation running through his veins. “Please,” he whimpered, his voice small and pliant like rubber.

She cocked a brow at him, curling her shiny red nails around his chin and gently tilting him toward hers.

“Been so bad, baby boy, but I guess ‘m gonna have to give you a treat some time…you just look so delicious like this,'' she purred, moving her hands to the swell of his bulge, delighting in the whine that escaped his throat like the rush of water in a stream (or something a bit more sinful in its entirety.) Fred’s wife swiftly lifted his cock free from it’s confines, his hands coming immediately to steady at her hip bones and kneading greedy circles into the tough skeleton.

“Ready f’me, precious?”

“Fred, don’t be pretending you’re the one on top at present,”

“Good Lord, woman, stop the banter and rock already.” The two chuckled breathlessly at Fred’s words, his wife pressing an airy kiss to his red and puckered mouth before bringing her cunt to just barely graze his tip, a movement that had the ginger subjected to her ministrations roll his eyes back and murmur a throaty “fuck” against her lips.

“Baby, please-“

“I know, Freddie, my love ‘ve got you,” she whispered before finally sinking down onto him, both partners releasing hisses and throaty moans at the feeling of being one.

It took no time at all for the ginger beneath to bring his hands to her now bouncing ass, guiding her roughly to every ridge of his cock. She was sloppy, the ride of pushing Fred’s high further and further to the forefront of his system. Fred oh the other hand had started to spastically fuck up into her now, moaning out her name the more he listened to the sound of her wet cunt being slid up and down on his thick cock.

She was close, dangerously close, the feeling of his balls clapping against the bottom of her ass in time with her pants. Fred was in nirvana, the way the light graced the sides of her face making her look like the most fallen of angels when-

“Fred, I can’t, I, please”

“I know, bub, ‘m right there with you,” he coaxed, all too soft in contrast with the rampant fucking he was giving her, waiting until he could feel her about to soak his cock before flipping her over, almost too quickly throwing her legs around his waist and thrusting further than what he thought was possible. His hands gripped hers and somewhere in his mind he blacked out against the feeling of the black satin rubbing against his torso.

“Baby-“

“Fred-“

Fred relished the feeling of her collapsing around him, his back fully extended as he rolled softly and slowly into her to push them through their conjoined high. He loved this, he always had, how her body heaved gently under his and his hands and mouth could whisper sweet nothings into her skin, soothing her form and giving her all the love he could possibly muster.

“I am sorry you know, bub.” He finally said after a while, his hands rubbing back and forth on her thighs.

She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his nose and then his lips, smiling lightly against his mouth as her eyes fluttered shut, “yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Just…don’t do it again okay-?” She whispered.

“Baby, you know I won’t. Scout’s honor ‘n all-“

“You didn’t let me finish, Weasley!”

“Well, then what’s the rest of it?”

She smiled at him before craning her lips to his ear: “next time you drag race, I better watch.”

She giggled when he threw the covers above their heads.

—

It was two days later, the sun blaring just as brightly as it had when Dean Thomas proposed a drag race, and now, as the front door bells jingled an entrance, the twins had done something they didn’t last time.

“We’re closed,” they both said flatly, not looking up from the respective cars.

“Even for me?” A familiar voice asked the boys, causing them both to raise their heads.

“Sirius!” They both squawked, the lanky men scrambling to their feet to hug their favorite agent, the older man hugging them back immediately.

“Why’ve you come from LA?”

“Yeah, is something wrong? I can guarantee you whatever it was it was 100% George’s fault-”

“Fred.”

“Sorry.”

Sirius released a small smile that had been tugging at his face the whole interaction. “Boys, I’ve got a bit of an announcement for you.”

“And what would that be?” George asked suspiciously. Fred looked out the corner of his eye at his twin, and all Sirius did was throw his hands out and up.

“Boys: we’re going to Monaco.”

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #fred and george #harry potter #george weasley fic #george and fred weasley #george weasley smut #weasley twins smut #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley fic #weasley twins #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #nascar series #racing twins #george weasley headcanon

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newtonsheffield · 11 months ago

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What do you imagine the context is behind that Kanthony photo?

Anonymous said: Do you have any thoughts or ideas about what the contexts for the new kanthony picture could be? Can we possibly see a little snippet of what you think is going on?

You know what I literally don’t want them to be having a very deep conversation. I want this to literally just be part of their day. Anthony’s in his shirtsleeves and Kate’s running her fingers through his hair softly.

“How did your appointment go?”

Anthony groaned, his forehead pressed against the side of her head, “It was awful. I can’t remember my club being so loud last season.”

Kate chuckled, leaning against him, pulling him closer, “It might have something to do with the fact that you’ve been hidden away in the country for the last year.”

Anthony huffed, “I’m getting terribly antisocial in my old age.”

“Oh poor old Anthony.” Kate leaned back, kissing the end of his nose, “Past his prime.”

“Past my prime?” He scoffed, nipping at her neck, “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have much of a complaint about my prime, Darling.”

“Always room for improvement.”

Anthony huffed, “Be careful what you wish for.” A moment passed between them, both enjoying the contact that came so easily to them now, so openly. “I think the problem is there’s really no one’s company I prefer to yours. These people are all incredibly dull.”

“I would never make your life dull.” Kate tutted, “Someone has to keep you on your toes.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“You know, most women get a little break from their husbands in the afternoon according to the other ladies.” Kate smirked, “And yet here you are, bothering me in the middle of the day.”

Anthony grinned against her skin, “I could bother you more if you like. I’m good at bothering.”

Kate giggled despite herself, “Very well but try not to mess up my hair. If it needs doing again in the middle of the day the staff will start to gossip.”

“Finally living up to my dubious reputation.”

#kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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ganondoodle · 5 months ago

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Will Zelda abolish the monarchy in your TotK rewrite?

she will not turn to the camera and say "i am abolishing monarchy" (since that needs to be said these days ..) but in a way its kinda meant to be like .. the opposite of the canon totk messaging?

like, fictional monarchy in itself isnt like the root of all evil, its the ideology that goes with it? i like fictional monarchy stuff and other races got them too so i wouldnt say its a clear -this is bad- thing

i do want to turn the whole idea of "hyrules royalty and its ruling is always good and just and anyone against it is automatically labeled as evil" upside down .. or more like, let it go further, rauru in the rewrite is .. similar to the canon one, thats kinda the point, hes the good and just king that wants to unite all nations in peace and wants to get rid of any "evil" be it monsters or someone threatening his 'peace'

but then you think about it, his idea of 'peace' is very specific, not everyone might want to be under his control, not everyone might have joined willingly and just bc theres someone opposing him does not have to mean they are some evil demon, all this talk might have been deliberate manipulation of history, he says hes invited a nation to join under his rule? he makes it sound like it was a nice offering like bringing a piece of cake to a neighbour, but it could be anything, he has those magical nuclear power pebbles, multiple, even just having them has an effect on others, he can say he would only use them for good, but that can be a lie, and more importantly, you dont know what his idea of 'good' is he can say he would never use it to hurt people, but what if he declares others to not BE people in his eyes he wants to bring about a world of light with no shadow to be found, rebuild a glorious kingdom of the past, there will be no shadow to hide in, there will be no place he is not, as he is the light, the king of light, and he knows whats best for all in his eternal, holy kingdom of light

.. most of this isnt even non-canon, it just gets presented as he says it, a one note fact, and you are supposed to agree- so really im just rewriting that part to be more overtly how it felt like to ME, and turnign the second half into opposing that bc hey, this might not be cool actually

im really jsut cranking raurus actions and ideals up just a tiny bit, and show more directly that its the behavoir of an imperialist king of all

so really its more like .. teaching her the lesson of how easy it is to fall into that line of thinking, how you need to consider .. maybe blindly following old traditions isnt always good, consider other perspectives, be careful bc she could have gone into that direction too (like she literally does in the canon totk end ..) and in a way she already has, but afterwards (in the rewrite) she can work against that, she could be rauru and has to decide and work against it

i know that isnt a clear answer, this whole idea is a little hmm to me bc TO ME canon totk already reads like that, and i want to work against it, bc in canon it goes unchallenged, and alot of people ... alot of people..., just go along with it seemingly not even beign able to see how its all suspicious-

in the end, i want it to be a careful but hopeful vibe of, zelda as a scientist, a historian, interested in alot of fields, being able to change something, a shift in perspective, like lady eboshi in princess monokoe saying at the end that they will start anew, now building good town- its not garanteed, zelda is still in a position of power, but she doesnt have to rebuild it like it was, people might still refer to her as princess and have high respect for her, but after being so deceived by rauru, being on the opposing side to almost the exact idea they once had, it has humbled them and can pave the way for a better future

ganondorfs spirit at the end moving on after finally being able to take out rauru, even if it meant to help out those hed see as being in the prime spot to become jsut like rauru, over the course of the second half all of them learning of each other, now more confident these younglings of a world thats long changed and not his anymore being able to build something better, and years after the ordeal theres news of a male gerudo having been born

(i know that idea goes agaisnt what made up his character for alot of the other games (though rewrite totk gan is still a different one from the old games), like his eternal problem of not being able to move on and refusing to die, and im sure theres lots of not the bestest thigns in my writing of it all too, but so far, its what i have been imagining, and unfortnately i am a sucker for those types of cliché endings-

it doesnt have to mean the next games would be going up against the gods or soemthing, though i do like that, but i felt like its a nice end for botws world, and much less uncomfortable than the canon totk end, theres no refounding of the kingdom, no swears of fealty, just young people working to rebuild the world into something better after it was almost wiped out, the kingdom already fell in botw, and the world kept on turning, i see no reason why it shouldnt be able to keep doing it)

#ganondoodles answers #zelda #ganondoodles rewrites totk #i am so good at giving clear answers to simple questions you guys

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 8 months ago

Text

the prologue

pairing: leon x reader's mom*

cw: noncon, p in v, leon roofies a woman, degradation, woman pisses herself but not in a sexual context (is v drunk), heavily implied that leon has a history of doing this kind of thing

summary: short lil thing inspired by @thevirgincherry 's fic nymphomania wherein leon (reader's dad) is implied to have met reader's mom when he noncon'd her... basically, this is the story of reader's mom and leon in theory

a/n: ik i don't usually write (or at least don't post) dark content, but i was feeling inspired

wc: 1k

Leon’s 27, going on 28, he’s way too old to keep doing this, and yet, the pill in his pocket is nagging him. He’s trying not to stare at the brunette beauty down at the other edge of the bar. Just one more time, he tells himself. She’ll be the last. He moves past her on the way to the restroom and tries to gauge her reaction when he places his hand on her lower back to squeeze through the crowd. “‘Scuse me, sweetheart,” he says, “just gonna squeeze past ya.”

He swears he can feel her eyes on him when he walks away. He prepares himself in the bathroom mirror. Since he’s a good man, he has to rationalize the crime before he commits it. She’s a prime target. One might even say she’s asking for it by looking away from her drink, leaving it open for anyone to do whatever they please with it. Leon considers himself a bit of a feminist these days, so he wouldn’t say she’s asking for it. She is a little naive, though, and in this world, you can’t let your guard down for a second. Leon’s teaching her a lesson, he’s doing her a good deed by spiking her drink. He’ll be gentler than most rapists would be, he’ll even try to make her cum if he can. He’s a real gentleman. Claire always talks about how “men never pay attention to what women want in the bedroom, and how women never cum, blah blah blah”, so he’s doing his part here. When she gets up to go to the ladies room, she almost falls over, but Leon’s there to catch her.

“Whoa,” he says, stabilizing her, “don’t want you to fall over. It’d be a shame to get a bruise on that pretty face.”

She looks at him like he’s an angel, and on some level he detests her for it, but goddamn she’s making this so much easier.

“You think I’m pretty?” She slurs out, starry-eyed.

“The prettiest,” he says.

“Uh-oh…” she says, and he’s about to ask her what’s wrong, but he follows her gaze and she’s the wet patch from her crotch down her legs.

Dammit. She really is a ditzy girl. PIssed herself with little enough shame that Leon wonders if this is the first time this has happened to her. On the one hand, Leon’s not happy about the damage this will do to the nice leather seats in his car, but on the other hand, it’s extra lube. Sure, piss isn’t ideal, but neither is blood, and he usually walks away from these encounters with a thin layer of that coating his dick.

“‘S okay, honey,” he says, “let’s get you out of here and get you a change of clothes.”

“Yeah, need new clothes…”

“You do, yeah, so how ‘bout you come with me and I’ll get you cleaned up, how’s that sound?”

“Really?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t wanna leave a sweet thing like you all alone out here. Put your arm around my shoulder and I’ll help you walk to the car.”

Leon had one beer that night, and it was really just to blend in. He can drive. He’s not really into the whole “raping in the alley behind the bar” thing. He prefers something more sophisticated.

He gets her home and she’s more than ready to get undressed in front of him.

“Lemme help you get these off,” he says, stripping her of her pants. He makes sure to cop a feel while he’s at it. She seems a bit confused when he takes her shirt off too, but she seems to find it somewhat amusing. Her laugh annoys him. If her panties weren’t covered in piss, he’d put them in her mouth. He’s a good guy, so he won’t shove them in her mouth tonight. She’s tiny, anyway, so he can hold her hips with one hand and clamp a hand over her mouth at the same time while he fucks her from behind.

He’s too lazy to get undressed so he unbuckles his belt and gets his pants down just enough to get his cock out. She mumbles a bunch of shit he doesn’t care to decipher before he thrusts inside all at once.

She moans. Leon feels less guilty since she likes it, but it’s also a bit of a turn off. It really defeats the purpose if she’s into it.

“Fucking slut,” he says, “can’t believe you like this.”

He slaps her hard on the ass and she moans again. It almost makes him laugh. It’s like she’s made for him. He’d be a lot happier if the girl were a virgin, but he doubts she is. Virgins tend to protest a little more.

“You like me raping you, huh?”

She tries to say something and Leon thinks it sounds like a “yes” which makes his conscience feel better, but a “no” probably would’ve made his dick harder.

Her moans start to piss him off, so he clamps her mouth shut, and to his surprise, she clenches around him.

He pulls her hair, bringing her head close enough that he can warn her - no it’s more of a threat, “I’m gonna cum soon.”

He thinks about Claire - some parts of her, like her nagging tone, annoy him, but others, like her perky tits, make her likable enough for him to jerk off to her occasionally - the last time he saw Claire, she told him about the whole “orgasm gap” whatever the fuck that means. He pretended to listen to her because her hands move a lot when she talks, and when she’s not wearing a bra - and she wasn’t that day - it makes her tits bounce. Fine, he’ll be the good feminist man she wants him to be and make this girl cum. All he has to do is rub her clit for a good minute while he fucks her. He pulls out in time to cum on her ass. He wipes it off her with a wet paper towel from the kitchen and gets her dressed. Her clothes are dry by now. Perfect. He finds her ID in her wallet and drops her off at the address listed. He helps her in the door once he finds her key, and then he plops her down on the couch.

He leaves, but not before leaving his business card in her wallet. “Had a great time tonight - Leon” he writes on the back. Just in case she wants to do this again sometime.

#leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader

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rowiewritesstuff · 2 years ago

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Hello again! Second request, I do hope I am not bothering you! I was wondering about a Bayverse A.U. where original events do occur but all is better and no one dies- (Maybe with extra characters like the twins and others) I was suggesting perhaps the reader (maybe female preferably), an agent if you will, is shy in a way, but is very sweet and charming to those around them. Maybe if O.P. is quite interested in how the reader makes him feel happy and do you know the song "Cloud 9" by Beach Bunny?- "But when she loves me, I feel like I'm floating When she calls me pretty, I feel like somebody"

What if the reader calls him that and speaks to him in a gentle way when they first meet and everyone else on the team is shocked with the way they became friends and how they treat one another. Bonus with their reactions and Ratchet being too old for this shit!

Bayverse Optimus Prime Fluff X Shy! Sweet! F! Reader

Hope this is okay! If either story wasn't what you wanted let me know and I can rewrite them! <3

While you wanted to be in the military to help others, you were never too good at the physical aspect. However the military did see your high test scores and strategic intelligence, so they still brought you in. Eventually, after a few years of hard work, you were assigned to work with the Autobots.

When you were first introduced to them, you were a little shy but smiled up at them and introduced yourself. When Optimus greeted you, you couldn’t help but say “Nice to meet you beach bunny!”

Your face lit a bright red as you realized what you said. The room got really quiet as everyone stared at you- which only made your embarrassment worse. You wished you could implode on yourself, before Jazz slapped the Prime on the back harshly. “ Nice, beach bunny! You’ve gone and embarrassed the poor girl.” He leaned down to you and held a digit out for you to shake. “Hey lil’ lady, I'm Jazz”

You took his digit and smiled. “Hi, it’s really nice to meet you!”

Optimus took a que from Jazz and also held his digit out. “I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. It is good to meet you.”

You nervously shook his digit as well. “I look forward to working with you, sir.” You did your best to maintain your composure at being able to shake this handsome mech’s hand- er, digit.

After a few weeks past, you began to get more comfortable around everyone in the base- especially Optimus. You had just become the base’s sweetheart that everyone got along with- even Galloway.

Optimus often invited you on long drives, where you both would listen to music and talk about what had bothered you that day.

No one really expected you to become friends so quickly with the serious Prime- especially Ratchet, Ironhide, and Jazz, his oldest friends. They were all super glad that their leader had someone that he could really open up to. He often tried to hide his darker emotions- but now he’s super open about it with you.

It was clear as day to Ratchet what was happening when the Prime came to him for advice. Optimus told him that he had feelings he couldn’t pinpoint for you. Whenever he thought of you his spark would flutter and he felt as if he were floating. He told Ratchet that whenever you complimented him for being handsome, or for his intelligence he felt like they were the only two in the world.

Ratchet shook his head with slight amusement. “You love her. Why are all the young bots these days so ignorant to their own emotions?

The terrible twins and all of the other trouble makers of the base are super happy you’re here too- you keep the Prime calm whenever they cause trouble, like breaking something really expensive. You always scold them but it’s in a much more gentle way. Everyone’s also pretty shocked that they listen to you. They try to be on their best behavior around you so you’re not disappointed in them.

Bumblebee wasn’t too happy about you coming around the base at first. He sees Optimus as a guardian or father figure, so he sees you similar to how humans would see a new step-mother. Eventually he couldn’t resist your gentle charm and warmed up to you. You were a shoulder to cry on for him, and someone he could go to for advice when he was too nervous to go to Optimus.

All of the femme bots would pull you away every few weeks for a ‘girls night’ where they would interrogate you about how Optimus was to date. They always wanted to know how romantic he was, or how serious in the relationship he was. Every time you’d get a look of pure adoration on your face that they couldn’t help put coo over.

When Optimus was killed by Megatron, you felt something in you die. You couldn’t believe what had happened right in front of you and Sam. You felt like you were frozen in place.

Sam had to pull you away to the safety of Bumblebee’s cab.

You all went on a mission to save Optimus, and you were guilty of punching Simmons in rage a few times.

The entire time Optimus was in the allspark, he was thinking about you. How happy you made him. He never thought that he would fall for anyone, let alone a human- but there he was. He wished so badly to just hold you one last time, to tell you how much he loved you.

When he was finally revived, you ran to him. You begged him not to fight Megatron, but he just kissed your head. “I’ll be alright, my dear.”

Between sobs you got out “You better, my beach bunny.”

While Optimus fought Megatron, you were on his mind. He knew he needed to go back to you in one piece. When he finally won the battle, he went back to you and scooped you into his hands.

You made him promise to never scare you like that again, you couldn’t take it.

“I promise that if I can help it, then it will never happen again.”

You smiled up gently at him, making him fall for you all over again. “You better not, or we’ll have problems, beach bunny.”

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toournextadventure · 2 years ago

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everyone but her pt.5

a/n: we're hittin the thievery, ladies and gents. will our little thief be caught? only time will tell. also, the gif is live footage of reader deciding where to put all her stolen items

Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: swearing, one suicide joke (lighthearted) Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

“Addams?” You opened the door to her dorm and poked your head in. “Fucking liar…”

The room was empty even though Wednesday had said she would be there. This was why you had specifically asked when she would be home so you could give her that dumb shirt you wore on your not-date, the one that still reeked of decomposition. You had gotten the hunch to ask if she wanted it, and of course she did. There wasn’t even any hesitation in her answer.

Disgusting, you had thought with a smile as she walked away that day.

But now you were in her room with that nasty shirt and she wasn’t there! Where did she even want you to put it? Surely not on her bed, not on Enid’s - although that would be hilarious - not near her novel. So where? You certainly didn’t want it anymore, the smell had already sunk into all the blankets and clothes in your room.

I’m not taking it back, you thought with a huff. Maybe you would just fold it and leave it on the floor by her bed. That would be far enough from everything, right? And if not, she would probably enjoy the smell anyway, you thought with a scrunch of your nose.

With an eagerness to get rid of the stench that was still permeating your nose, you haphazardly folded the shirt and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. Then, as if it had called out to your soul, you bent down and took the time to fold it properly and place it back into it’s spot. Damn your mother for teaching you not to leave your clothes unfolded. How dare she.

You stood up on popping knees - you were not that old - and took a deep breath. Guess I should go, you thought with pursed lips. It wasn’t like you were going to get anything done standing in their empty room, and you still had some homework. Were you actually going to do it? No, but you could pretend to do your homework, that still-

-what was that?

You practically pounced on the jumper resting on Wednesday’s bed, grabbing it between gentle fingers. How had you missed such a prime piece of fabric? It was so soft and warm. Why would she be leaving something like that out for the whole world to see? For you to see? Doesn’t she know there are thieves around? You thought as you tucked the jumper into your backpack with no thought to the morals or implications.

A trade, you told yourself as you finally left the room with a content smile. This was going to work great with the rest of your things.

—---

Her jumper was missing.

Wednesday knew she had left it out on her bed; she had planned on changing into it after classes before going to the Weathervane for coffee. It had been folded neatly on the end of her bed, right out in the open. There was no way it had fallen under the bed because that space was clear. The only thing on the floor had been that shirt you had worn for your da- autopsy, and nothing else.

No sign of the missing jumper.

“Have you seen it?” Wednesday asked when Enid came out of the bathroom.

“Your outfit?” Enid asked. “No.”

“Thing?” Wednesday asked, but he shook his hand and lifted his fingers in defeat.

Well that was just unusual. She always kept things in their spot for this exact reason, it was a waste of time to be looking for something. But she knew, she knew in her soul that she had left it on the foot of her bed. It hadn’t been on the floor, it hadn’t been in the closet, and it wasn’t in its rightful spot.

She had been distracted lately, though. As unlikely as it was, maybe she had misplaced it. Improbable, but she supposed anything was possible. Whatever the case, it was already past time to get going, she was going to be out far later than planned. It would ruin her schedule, but she could get back on track after today. At least as on track as possible.

That was her favourite jumper though.

—---

“Who has access to this room?” Wednesday asked in the most frustration you had heard from her in ages.

“Everyone,” you said with a shrug even though she was still in her closet. “It’s a dorm, not a secret base.”

“Not everyone is a suspect,” Wednesday said, “that would be improbable.”

“Then who do you have over most often?” You asked.

“You, Ajax, Xavier, Eugene, Yoko, and Bianca,” Wednesday rattled off. “I have some theories.”

“Let’s have ‘em,” you said, and Wednesday happily - or, unhappily - obliged.

You knew better than to play dumb. There was a pretty high chance you had actually given yourself away when Wednesday had first brought up the missing clothes as soon as you had stopped by for another bout of tutoring. Frozen on the spot, you had choked out a “haven’t seen ‘em” before throwing your stuff on the bed and sitting in her chair.

And now you were listening to her prattle on about who she thought was stealing her clothes, all the while doing your best to keep a good poker face on. All you had to do was keep her distracted until she bored herself out, and you could get back to work. You did still need tutoring, missing clothes or not.

“Thoughts?”

Oh shit.

Wednesday was looking at you expectantly as you sat there looking like an idiot. You hadn’t been listening and she knew it.

“It was probably Ajax,” you said with a shrug, “he’s an idiot.”

“That is a valid point,” Wednesday said. “You might be on to something.”

“Since I’m on to something,” you derailed, “let’s get to work before I lose my newfound smarts.”

She gave you a single nod. “We can get started in just a moment.” With that, she left to the bathroom.

Just as planned.

You waited until you heard the lock click into place before hopping up. Thing gave you a look but you threatened him to silence with a finger over your lips. He scampered away, hiding behind the typewriter. Smart hand, you thought as you continued to Wednesday’s closet.

Bingo. The shirt you had been looking for, right there in the open for you. It was almost like she wanted you to take it at this rate. You grabbed it and walked back to the chair. This is good for her, you thought as you tucked it into your backpack, she gets a mystery to solve. She always did love themes of betrayal, so really, you were doing this for her because you liked her.

Not that you would ever tell her that, of course.

“Let’s get started,” Wednesday said as she came back out of the bathroom, none the wiser. Maybe you really did get some newfound smarts.

—---

“Have you seen Wednesday’s knife?” Enid asked the moment you stepped through the door.

“Which one?” You asked even though you knew exactly which one. For some reason. You hadn’t even taken it yet.

“Her second favourite, the heavy one,” Enid said with a sigh.

“She has multiple favourites?” You asked as you plopped yourself down on Wednesday’s bed.

“It’s the white one,” Enid said. “The black is her number one favourite.”

“Why am I not surprised,” you muttered to yourself as your eyes slipped shut.

Wednesday wouldn’t be back to her dorm for your tutoring session. She had at least had the dignity to warn you beforehand, but she had decided to study in the library for something. Because believe it or not, even Wednesday Addams needed to study. At least that was her excuse, you thought she was secretly stalking Ajax to find out if he was the one stealing her shit.

Knowing that you were pulling the wool over her eyes was giving you a big head. You liked it.

When it was time for you to head back to your room before curfew, Enid was on her way out. Of course she was sneaking out to go see Ajax. Disgusting. She left before you, trusting you to lock the door. What a fool. A buffoon. She had no idea what she was doing.

You waited until Enid was out of the door, practically sprinting down the hall before you turned back around and walked over to Enid’s side of the room. Sliding your hand underneath the mattress, you felt along the length until your fingers touched something cold.

“Gotcha,” you mumbled to yourself as you grasped it and pulled it out, smiling when you looked at the beautiful knife.

A pristine white handle with a black blade, it truly was stunning. You hadn’t seen Wednesday’s favourite knife, but you could understand why this one was her second. Perfectly weighted, it was truly an extension of your arm. Maybe Pop is getting to me, you thought once your mind started to travel down the rabbit hole that was the intricacies of such a blade.

With a shake of your head, the thoughts faded away until all you could focus on was the shimmer of the blade. It was going to look beautiful with your collection. You slipped the knife into your back pocket and finally walked out of the room, locking the door behind you before heading to your own dorm.

You locked your door as soon as you got into your room. Everything was just as you had left it, and it melted away any anxiety from the day. With measured steps, you walked to the display case you kept on your bookshelf and put the knife in it amongst the other shinies: dull scalpels, coins, typewriter keys, you name it.

Once it was situated just right (so the sun would hit it perfectly and increase the shine factor), you walked to your desk and dug all the hair ties you had scooped up from Wednesday’s desk. It wasn’t like she missed them, she had a million of them. One, though, you slipped over your wrist. For safe keeping, you tried to convince yourself.

Only once everything was situated did you fall onto the large, neatly arranged pile of blankets and shirts and jackets and everything else you could find. Would it be comfy to anyone else? Absolutely not. Was it your safe space? Most definitely. Would you kill yourself if anyone found your stash? Oh, without hesitation.

You reached out to grab the closest piece of fabric to you and tucked it under your chin as you laid on your side, eyes falling shut.

You ignored the fact that it was one of Wednesday’s tops, and the fact that it still smelled like her, and that it helped you sleep better than you had in ages.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams

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safarigirlsp · 1 year ago

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Happy Fuckin’ Birthday

Happy Fuckin' Birthday

Flip Zimmerman x Lawyer Reader

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Angst, maybe? Comedy. Abuse of process. Hazing Flip for his birthday, as one should. Birthday pranks. Bitchy Reader. If you want a sweet, submissive, shy reader, my fics are never for you xD

AO3 Link

A little birthday celebration for Scorpio season! I had this written timely on November 19, but just forgot to post it. Whoops!

Turning forty wasn’t something Flip Zimmerman was overly excited about. It had nothing to do with the usual dramatics and neuroses that plagued most people. He didn’t have any deep regrets in life; he hadn’t taken any stupid turns or failed to seize any major opportunities; he didn’t have a ‘one that got away’ – the things in life that can add up to a mid-life crisis or make a man dread the passage of years. He had the woman he wanted, the job he wanted, and for the most part, the life he wanted. Flip didn’t give a damn about the number of candles on his cake. What annoyed the hell out of him was the production everyone else in his life had to make over it. That might rank as one of his bigger regrets in life, telling people close to him when his damn birthday was. His birthday would be a perfectly fine day, if no one else knew about it.

To Flip, his birthday was just another day on the calendar. But could everyone else in his life ever treat it that simply? Fuck no.

Flip never took the day off for his birthday. He immediately lost respect for any man who did that. Women got a pass with such frivolous and indulgent things, but men had no business pampering themselves like candy asses. This year was poised to be a little extra good for Flip since his birthday fell over a weekend. He could guiltlessly spend it exactly how he wanted, which was also how he’d spend every other day of his life if he was free from all financial, vocational, and social obligations. Flip wanted to spend his birthday weekend hidden away in his cabin, sleeping, eating, and fucking just as much as he wanted, and not doing a damned thing else or talking to a damned person other than his girl.

So far, Flip’s birthday weekend had been precisely what he wanted. Starting Friday night, he had gotten his birthday wish in quantities sufficient to appease all his ravenous hungers. Saturday had been the same, and it had been glorious. He had put on a damn fine show for his girl, if he did say so himself. He figured it was the best way to demonstrate he was a vigorous man in his prime, not a doddering old bastard. Flip had allowed his lady to finagle him into sharing a steaming hot bath with her after dinner to break up the pattern. He didn’t want to admit how good it felt on his aching muscles. Even though it was only due to all the extra use over the past two days, or rather, due to the gross lack of use during the other days of the year, Flip knew his sore muscles would be used against him on his fortieth birthday. All the running and weightlifting in the world wasn’t really the same as the workout a man gets from a marathon between the sheets. He knew he was in for a generous ration of shit for his birthday, not least of all from his girl. He’d wonder what was wrong if she wasn’t giving him hell. Still, it was best not to load the guns for her.

Flip defined ‘sleeping in’ differently than most. He had been conditioned by his days in the military to be up before sunrise and ready to meet every battle with the dawn. He felt extremely lazy and indulgent when he let the sunrise wake him as it first peaked over the mountains and into his bedroom window. This attitude was in stark contrast to his wife, who considered mornings in general to be a vile institution and often bitched about how morning people were given entirely too much power in society.

Dawn on Flip’s birthday was one of those crystalline winter mornings where the light was tinted a soft pink-blue-white and frost coated everything in sight like icing on a diamante cake. It had snowed several inches during the night and outside the window, the mountains were gleaming spires, the ground was covered with fresh powder, and the pines wore a layer of snow like fancy ladies swaddled in white mink. Snowy mornings like this were Flip’s favorite kind of morning, when everything was still pristine and sparkling with promise. Before any bullshit settled in.

Groaning contentedly, Flip stretched as the sunlight danced across his face. He was still a little sore in all the places he wanted to be, and he was rock hard and ready for a proper good morning.

So far, forty felt great.

Half asleep, he turned and nuzzled his nose into the soft warm body lying curled next to him. A soft, warm, furry body. Grumbling and pulling his face away, Flip opened his bleary eyes and glared through his disheveled hair at the fat, black cat he had inherited when he had begun living with his girl. Some men have worse step kids to deal with, he reasoned now as the adorable black asshole looked back at him through slitted green eyes, as if she was just as entitled to sleep in his bed as he was. Narrowing his own eyes back at the cat, he asked her, “Where’s your mom at?”

His question was answered by the clanging of a pot on the stove downstairs and a couple choice curses in a familiar feminine voice. Now fully awake, Flip became aware of the scent of bacon, eggs, and pancakes – his favorites – and strong black coffee just how he liked it. This was a rare treat. Flip usually assumed the duty of cooking breakfast on the days they could enjoy it together. Hearing his girl down in the kitchen, slaving away over the stove at such an unconscionable hour, as she deemed it, made him grin at the effort she put in for him.

“Your mom’s a keeper,” he confided to the cat and patted her round belly. “But you’re a sorry little porker.”

Flip stretched again and ran a hand through his unruly hair. He thought he should brush it before going downstairs, but he knew how she liked it when he looked a little wilder than usual. She liked him best when he smelled fresh from a shower but looked unbrushed, unshaven, and what he thought was mildly unkempt. Women are nonsensical creatures, he had realized early in his dating career. He damn sure needed to brush his teeth and wash his face though. He pulled on the pair of jeans he wore the day before and the flannel shirt he had thrown across the room the night before, only bothering to button two of the center buttons. The phone he’d left in his jeans pocket buzzed insistently against his ass.

Should have turned the fuckin’ thing off, he lamented as he retrieved it and saw the tirade of missed calls. He knew what all those calls meant. But as long as he ignored them, he had plausible deniability, as the bloodsucking lawyers say. As his girl would say. He lost his phone; his battery died; service is bad out at his place; his wife threw it at his head and it broke against the wall.

Against his better judgment, and because it was Stallworth calling and Flip didn’t feel right about ignoring his best friend, he answered.

“What,” Flip grunted, leaving no doubt as to his feelings over this intrusion. He thought to himself, This is the beginning of a bad fuckin’ day.

“Good morning to you too,” Ron said in his easy, affable tone. “It’s a beautiful day out, isn’t it?”

“I have a feelin’ I’m not gonna think so after you tell me why in the hell you’re calling.” Flip walked sullenly to the bathroom while Stallworth ran through some pleasantries. Thankfully, he didn’t lead with Happy Birthday. Flip would have hung up on him. Flip lifted the toilet seat and unzipped his jeans.

“We just got a big break in that jewel heist case. Actually, I did. On a stakeout last night,” Ron said proudly, then paused. “Are you taking a piss while I’m talking to you?”

“We’d both be happier if you weren’t talkin’ to me, but you called,” Flip muttered and flushed the toilet. He held the phone toward the bowl so Stallworth could hear the rush of water, mimicking Flip’s interest in the matter.

“You’re a barbarian, you know that?” Stallworth laughed despite himself.

“Flattery don’t do it for me,” Flip said as he ran the sink, letting the water warm. He noticed four angry red scratches on the side of his neck from his girl’s fingernails and felt a rush of pride. “Go out and catch your jewel thief and take all the glory. Girls love that shit.” He splashed his face with hot water and lathered it with his soapy hands. “I’ll read all about your heroics in the paper.”

“It’s not that simple,” Ron said regretfully. “We need you on this one. You know I wouldn’t be calling if we didn’t.”

“I’m off. It’s a Sunday. And it’s,” he just stopped himself from saying my fuckin’ birthday. “Too fuckin’ early.”

“You think I like being the guy who has to roust the bear out of his cave?” Ron tried to joke to his entirely unreceptive audience. “We need you. Get dressed and get your ass out here.”

“God damnit.” Flip hung up and shoved his phone back in his pocket. Oh yeah, it’s gonna be a great day, he thought. Aloud, he grumbled to his reflection in the mirror, “Happy fuckin’ birthday, you old bastard.”

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

A scalding droplet of bacon grease jumped from the sizzling cast iron pan to land on your exposed thigh, making you cuss under your breath as you quickly wiped it away. You were always extra prickly in the morning. Flip deserves a nice birthday breakfast, you reminded yourself and inhaled deeply, deep enough to force a good mood down your throat along with the chilly morning air. Also in honor of his birthday, you opted for a casually sexy look as opposed to something more comfortable like pajama pants and a tank. You wore only one of his favorite shirts, worn until it was soft as velvet, and slippers. Early on you had realized he liked that look on you and something about seeing you in his clothes appealed to his innate possessiveness.

It was chilly inside the cabin, save for the heat from the stove. On cold winter mornings like this the little cabin furnace had to work overtime just to keep the pipes from freezing. To really get the temperature up in the cabin, a fire needed to be lit in the living room fireplace, but you were not that ambitious before sunrise and would leave it to Flip.

As you thought of him, you heard the wooden stairs creak and knew he was descending them. His footfalls were always light, he moved agility for such a large man. You pretended not to hear him and moved to the side of the stove, leaning forward in a provocative invitation under the guise of fiddling with the coffee maker. Predictably, Flip took the bait and wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing his chest against your back and molding his body against yours. But his arms enfolded you chastely around your waist and his hands didn’t roam higher or lower to seek out their favorite places.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you purred, rubbing your ass back against him. You felt he was wearing jeans and turned inside his arms to face him. He was fully dressed, right down to his boots. “You’re violating your own self-imposed dress code, or rather lack thereof, for this weekend.”

“I have good news for you, sugar,” Flip told you with a grin and kissed you deeply. “You get to sleep in today after all.”

“You mean after we succumb to a food and orgasm coma in a couple hours?” You grinned back. “I’d call that a nap, but suit yourself.”

“I got a call,” Flip started.

“We agreed no phones this weekend!” you cut across him, instantly bristling. “That was your rule. I have a big trial Monday and I’ve been ignoring my phone for a day and a half already. You better be joking.”

“You of all people know rules are made to be broken,” Flip tried again, still maintaining his grin that now looked moronic to you.

“I’m sore everywhere from you wanting to act like a horny teenager all day yesterday.” You raised a dangerous eyebrow. “I got up when it was still dark to freeze in your kitchen and get burned by grease to cook for you on your birthday, and you’re taking calls?” Your voice had dropped an octave and sounded deceptively calm. Flip knew these were very bad signs.

“I didn’t even take my phone out of my pocket yesterday. Ron caught me off guard this mornin,’” Flip used a reasoning tone, like he would when talking to a jumper. It didn’t help your darkening mood. “But listen, there’s been a big break in that jewel heist Ron and I’ve been workin.’ He got a tip, a hot tip, on where we can catch the bastard. But it’s tonight.”

“And Ron needs you to hold his hand for this escapade?” you asked testily.

“Well, he’s still a little green on things like this.” Flip rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the floor. He always did that when he was in trouble, like a grounded boy trying to look contrite. “I can eat breakfast real quick with you before I go.”

“Real quick?” you laughed sarcastically. “Just what every girl wants to hear?”

“How about I eat somethin’ else before I head out.” He winked at you, trying his best to lighten your mood.

“Yes, I’ve always loved the wham, bam, thank you, ma’am approach.” You glared at him. “How long will you be gone?”

“Well, I have to go in now to go over everything and get briefed before I go out to nab the bastard.” Knowing he was digging his hole deeper, he muttered the next confession. “And it’s at some fancy party down at the Broadmoor tonight. They figure I’d be better to walk in there and get the job done. That reminds me, I’ll need you to pick out a nice suit for me.”

“Let me make sure I understand you correctly.” You stepped away from him, beyond arm’s reach. “You’re leaving me alone today – on your day off, on a weekend, on your birthday – to go out to a swanky party at the Broadmoor while I wait here until you decide to show up again?” You raised your eyebrows. “And then, let me guess – when you get home, late, I’m sure, you want me to feed you dinner and fuck you all night again. Or will you have eaten dinner at your soiree?”

“Sugar, you know I can’t control the timing of these things,” Flip said regretfully. “Breakfast looks great. You look delicious. I don’t want to leave, you know that.” He shook his head and asked exasperatedly, “What do you want me to do?”

“It’s your birthday.” You crossed your arms over your chest and narrowed your eyes. “So, it’s your choice.”

Flip had been in enough life and death situations to know he was approaching one now. But he didn’t have much choice. “I have to go in. But I’ll be as quick as I can and I’ll see you tonight. I’ll make it up to you tonight, sugar.”

“This is such bullshit, Flip.” You were fully angry now. Flip knew he was going to be in trouble for a while. “I blew off my responsibilities to let you fuck me as much as you wanted this weekend, and what do I get? You blowing me off to run out and try to catch some petty thief? What happens if you don’t catch this guy today? You have no personal consequences. If I screw up at my job, I lose business and lose actual income, and still, I’ve been blowing off my duties for you this weekend. But you have to strut out to make an arrest now, just so you can dick wave.”

“C’mon, darlin,’” Flip pleaded, holding his arms out, as if you’d run into them. “It’s not like that.”

“No, it’s exactly like that.” You shook your head and shoved past him toward the stairs. “If you’re going to work today, so am I. I have a hearing to prep for, and at least I can bill three-fifty an hour. I’ll be late too.” You paused at the bottom of the stairs to twist the knife a little more. “Since you let these criminals interfere in our lives, maybe I’ll take your thief’s case pro bono after you arrest him and get him off in court instead of getting you off in bed.”

“Calm the fuck down!” Flip lost his temper and instantly regretted it. He calmed his own voice and added, “It’s not that big of a deal. Quit pullin’ your lawyer shit on me.”

“Are you having a senior moment? You must be getting old, after all,” you snapped and stormed up the stairs. “Don’t worry. Maybe we’ll celebrate your birthday next year.”

“You don’t think you’re overreacting just a little?” Flip asked foolishly.

“Not just yet, I’m not.” Halfway up the staircase you turned, pulled off a slipper, and threw it across the room at him. Flip ducked just in time to avoid a perfectly aimed headshot.

“You missed!” Flip bellowed triumphantly then added a cocky laugh.

You didn’t miss your second shot. You whipped your other slipper with more sting, sending it flying right into his chest with a satisfying whap. Then you turned on your heel and trotted up the stairs.

“Love you, sugar!” Flip shouted sarcastically after you. His face was hot and the thick vein in his neck pulsed angrily.

“Happy fucking birthday!” You slammed the bedroom door.

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

The drive into the station seemed longer than usual, possibly because Flip spent the better part of it grinding his teeth and strangling the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip. He was not at all amused when Stallworth met him at the station door holding a cane.

“Take it easy, old guy,” Stallworth said, offering him the cane. “Need a hand getting to your desk?”

“You’ll need a hand pullin’ that cane out of your ass if you don’t get it out of my face.” Flip shoved past his friend and made his way to his desk, waving off several other old jokes and happy birthdays. His menacing glare would be enough to make strangers piss their pants. Sadly, his co-workers at the station knew this was mostly posturing and it did little to deter them.

Chief Bridges was waiting for Flip at his desk, leaning against it intrusively. He wore a shit-eating grin and said with every indicia of seriousness, “Forty, huh? You know what that means, Zimmerman. It’s time to re-take your firearms training. Maybe driving too. Make sure you’re not slipping as an old man. A man’s aim is the first thing to go.”

“Fuck you,” Flip growled irritably. “I’m in better shape now than I was in my twenties.”

“It’s worse than I feared.” Bridges grinned. “Sometimes, the mind goes first.”

“Forty’s not all that old,” Stallworth came to Flip’s defense. “For a tree or a tortoise.”

“Don’t let me catch you trying to get little blue pills off any trafficking suspects.” Bridges waved a finger at Flip. “I’ve had to write up more old farts for that in this department than you want to know.”

“Not one of my complaints.” Flip smirked. “You sound like you have some personal experience in that department, Chief.”

“I’m glad you’re a cocky sonofabitch, Zimmerman. And a ladies man. It makes this part of the job a helluva lot more fun for me,” Bridges said and Flip’s smirk melted away. “A ladies man is just what the doctor ordered for this sting. Turns out our jewel thief is a broad! Can you believe it? Word says she’s going to the event at the Broadmoor tonight and she’ll be wearing a black dress. All you have to do is sidle up to her, blow whatever smoke up her ass you need to, and get her to waltz right out of the party with you and up to the room we have setup. Stallworth will be there to help make the arrest in case you need backup. You think you’ll need a hand putting handcuffs on a woman once you get her into your bedroom?”

“I can’t fuckin’ do that and you know it!” Flip exclaimed angrily, on the verge of shouting. “I’m already in deep shit with the little woman over comin’ in at all today, and you think I’m gonna go out to a party and then bring some floozy back to a hotel room? I’ll do stupid things in the line of duty, but that’s a death sentence. No fuckin’ way.”

“Scared of a dame, are you, Zimmerman?” Bridges poked.

“I’m scared of the one I have at home,” Flip huffed indignantly. “I’d be a fool not to be. She’d string you up right alongside me, Chief. Find someone else. Ron’s single.”

“Our thief’s a tall gal. A woman won’t be interested in a man who’s shorter than she is, now will she? You’re the only man in the department who’ll be taller than her in heels.” Bridges looked at Stallworth and shrugged. “There’s a height requirement on this ride, and Ron’s several inches too short.”

“Just put a tail on her and grab her when she goes to the ladies room,” Flip suggested. “Easy.”

“If you haven’t noticed, the CSPD has been written up in the paper about once a month this whole year. All you overeager assholes making scenes and causing property damage during arrests,” Bridges chided both men, who had each been featured prominently in various articles. “The last thing I need is some big public scene at the Broadmoor to kick off the holiday season. Do you think this is a fucking negotiation, Zimmerman?”

“There wouldn’t be any negotiation if I told you to shove it up your ass along with my badge and gun,” Flip grunted, thinking that his job was interfering too much in his enjoyment of life.

“What else are you qualified to do? Public relations? Customer service?” Bridges laughed. “Being shacked up with a high-power lawyer the way you are, you should thank me every day for this job. You think a dame like that is gonna want some unemployed grumpy sonofabitch keeping her couch from running away. I got news for you, Zimmerman, cabana boys are about fifteen or twenty years younger than you.”

“Nope, I’ll go over to the dark side.” Flip smirked again. “The Feds have been houndin’ me pretty hard lately.”

“You’re getting to be a crotchety bastard in your old age,” Bridges said dismissively. He patted Flip on the back as he started toward his office. “Quit your bitching moaning and go get the job done. The faster you get it done, the faster you can be back home with your wife.”

“Sometimes I envy those whiny bastards who call in for their birthdays,” Flip groaned to Stallworth when they were alone.

“Too late for that now,” Stallworth said brightly. “Man up.”

“Manning up has never been a problem for me.” Flip glared at him and sat down heavily in his chair.

“What happened there?” Stallworth eyed the scratches you had left on Flip’s neck, pulling his shirt collar back to get a better look. “Are you being abused? Do you need a safe house interview? Was there some animal control problem with a bobcat I missed over the weekend?”

“I guess I’ve still got it,” Flip said proudly.

“Wow, and you left her on your birthday to come down here for me?” Stallworth batted his eyes and teased, “I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I feel like that’s a big step in our relationship.”

“She already calls you my work wife.” Flip shook his head. “Watch your ass, rookie, or there’s gonna be some domestic violence in our relationship.” Flip slumped in his chair, highly unamused and gestured for Ron to get on with it.

“Want me to talk slow when I go over this, old timer?” Stallworth teased, holding the casefile.

“Not in the fuckin’ mood.” Flip glared at his friend, not teasing at all. He snatched the file from Stallworth and slapped it down open on his desk. He was going to get this shit over with as fast as humanly possible. He retrieved a pair of glasses with large lenses and tortoise rims from his shirt pocket, a new addition to his wardrobe. He only recently capitulated to wearing them on occasion. But only for reading. He narrowed his eyes at Stallworth in anticipation. “Not a fuckin’ word.”

Before Flip could take in much on the first page, a commotion from the front of the station drew his attention. An argument and raised voices along with the shuffling of papers, all boded nothing good in a police station. Flip shoved up from his desk and hurried to see the cause of the uproar. Several officers argued with a fat little man who was so short Flip could only see the shiny top of his greasy bald scalp hovering chest level to the average sized officers around him. Dan Goldleaf was a private investigator who served papers in his spare time, one of the lowest forms of ilk to a cop, just above pedophiles and traffickers. Worst of all, the human shitstain worked for most of the defense lawyers in town.

When Flip approached the unruly spectacle, the trollish man excitedly waved the papers in his hand. He was gelatinously fat, and his whole body jiggled with the movement. He flashed a golden smile as he waddled to Flip. He pushed the papers into Flip’s chest and announced, “Here ya go, Zimmerman!” Quick as a ferret, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of Flip holding the papers in a clenched fist, a deadly glare on his face. Goldleaf straightened to his full height of around five feet and popped the lapels of his brown jacket, crackling a fresh mustard stain. The gaudy gold rings on every fat sausage finger glittered in the fluorescent lights. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Flip wanted to squish the greasy troll like a slug, but there were too many witnesses for that now. He looked at the crumpled papers he held in his fist and backed to the wall until his back was pressed against it. It kept him from pacing like a caged animal. He had been served with a formal looking document consisting of several pages. The papers had been sent by the law firm of Dewey, Cheatum & Howe. It began with:

CANDICE GOODING,

Petitioner,

Vs.

PHILIP ZIMMERMAN,

Respondent.

VERIFIED PETITION TO ESTABLISH PATERNITY

COMES NOW the Petitioner, Candice Gooding, by and through undersigned counsel, Rob Cheatum, and in support of her Verified Petition STATES THE FOLLOWING:

“Christ, it’s a fuckin’ paternity suit from some bitch named Candice Gooding. Says she has a five-year-old kid and it’s mine! She’s comin’ after me for goddamn child support,” Flip gritted through clenched teeth. Every muscle in his body contracted and he shook with rage. He wanted to break something, or at least punch through a wall. He managed to grate out, “I don’t even know this bitch!”

“Candice Gooding,” Stallworth said slowly, enunciating every syllable, as if speaking to an idiot. “That doesn’t ring any bells?”

“It sure as hell doesn’t!” Flip was fuming, his chest flushed hot.

“What else could she call herself?” Stallworth mused, pretending to consider the issue. “Candy maybe?” Slowly, the red flush drained from Flip’s face until he was unusually pale. “Candy Goodie, maybe? Ring any bells now? Wasn’t she an ex-girlfriend some five, six years ago?”

“Motherfucker,” Flip groaned. He suddenly felt very old, as if he had aged a decade on his birthday. He leaned against the wall and knocked his head back against it roughly, as if he could bang some sense into his younger self. “She wasn’t my goddamn girlfriend, and you know it. She was just a slutty little cocktail waitress whose big dream in life was to be a stripper in Vegas where she could make the ‘big bucks.’ She was hot and easy and I fucked her a few times when I was hard up. Big deal. Any port in a storm, you know? Every girl I banged when I was footloose and fancy free wasn’t a girlfriend.”

“Guess you should have used some rubber to weather that particular storm,” Stallworth quipped, studying the papers more closely. “That candy must have been good if you went back for seconds.”

“Fuck you, buddy,” Flip said, really and truly wanting to punch something now.

“Better call your wife,” Stallworth suggested.

A look of pure terror flashed across Flip’s face for an instant before he could mask it. “Don’t you dare call her. Or tell her anything about this at all! Christ, you want to get me killed?”

“She’s a lawyer. Who do you think will be handling this for you?” Stallworth tried unsuccessfully to be helpful.

“Just haul me out back and shoot me now. Get it over with quick.” Flip dropped his head into his hands, shaking his head. “She can’t know a thing about this until I figure it out.”

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

“Hey, Sugar,” Flip crooned into the phone when you answered. “I was thinkin’ that since I have to get dressed up and put on the ritz tonight that you could get all dolled up too like you like and meet me after. I’ll take you out on the town and show you a real nice time.”

“I’m not in the mood,” you said, your tone told him you were far from appeased. “I thought you decided we were working today. And tonight.”

Flip had called while he was changing into his suit, a black one with a button up shirt in a dark shade of charcoal. He realized you had picked out one of your favorites for him that morning and it made him feel even guiltier. A nice suit usually had the effect of making him feel dashing, now it felt like he was dressing for his own funeral. Maybe I am, he thought to himself with a rueful smirk. Aloud, he said, “I know you’re mad as hell, but I promise I’ll make it up to you. I love you, sugar.”

“I’m on the clock, Flip,” you said sternly. “Something you know a lot about, right? We’ll catch up later. Whenever that might be.”

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

On the drive to the Broadmoor Stallworth informed Flip, “I called a clerk I know at the court who can verify the paternity suit on a Sunday. It’s real.”

“It’s like all my birthday wishes are comin’ true.” Flip glared out of the window, particularly eyeing the couples walking down the street, having a much better evening than he was.

Stallworth had informed Flip of all the details of their sting, how the event was in a private room of the Broadmoor, how they had booked a suite under the name of Frank Zeiss, a cover name Flip often used. All Flip had to do was find the mark, lure her up to the suite, and help Ron make the arrest. Flip didn’t even want credit. He wanted to forget everything about this day and pretend his fortieth birthday was limited to the nearly perfect Friday and Saturday he spent with his girl. Before he had to leave on call. Why in the fuck did he have to answer his damned phone this morning?

Flip stopped in at the hotel bar before seeking out the private event room. He needed a drink for this shit. He ordered an Old Fashioned and swirled the tawny liquid around in his glass. He thought of the way you always laughed at him like he was an idiot instead of suave when he tied the cherry stem in a knot with his tongue for your amusement.

As he thought of you, to his horror, you walked into the bar and aimed right for him. Wearing a sultry blue dress that hugged your curves in all the best places, he thought his girl had never looked like more of a knockout. But…

“What the hell are you doin’ here?!” Flip grabbed your arm when you got close to the bar and yanked you to him.

“It’s nice to see you too,” you said with only a hint of warning in your tone.

“I’m glad you’ve retracted your claws a bit from earlier,” Flip said in a quick, agitated voice. “But it’s not nice to see you. Not now, not here.”

“If you’re here looking for someone, shouldn’t you have your glasses on, old man?” you teased.

“Watch it, sugar.” Flip stepped closer to you until your bodies were nearly touching. “This old man was still goin’ strong when you threw in the towel last night.”

“Nice suit.” You ignored him and ran your eyes over his body. “You clean up alright.”

“This isn’t a game.” Flip fought to keep his voice low. “You could get us both hurt.”

“So serious,” you chided dismissively and placed a hand on his chest. It was endearing how nervous he was at the concern for your safety. A bead of sweat ran down from his temple. “Relax, handsome. All you have to do is stand there and look pretty, right?”

“Funny,” Flip said edgily. “Now get the hell outta here and I’ll call you when I’m done. I don’t want to be distracted by you and I don’t want you mixed up in all this.”

“Actually, I wanted to find you sooner rather than later because I got a call from a colleague. It made me think you might be in some kind of trouble.” You watched him closely as you spoke. “Or should I say, opposing counsel. A lawyer named Rob Cheatum.”

Oh, fuck. Flip’s mouth went dry and he fought to keep his expression stern and to give nothing away. “Must be important for him to call you on a Sunday.”

“Actually, he called me Friday after work. But unlike you, I followed the rules you wanted for your birthday and didn’t look at my phone until I was driving in today. That’s when I saw it. He said he’s representing some woman in a case against you.” You looked straight into his eyes. “What the fuck is he talking about, Flip?”

“Sounds like some bloodsucker out to sue the department again,” he deflected unpersuasively. “Isn’t that how you people get in the holiday spirit, by drumming up business?”

“Oh my god, don’t tell me you lost your temper and punched a suspect again,” you sighed exasperatedly. “It gets old seeing your name in the paper.”

“We all know the only animals worse than lawyers are reporters.” Flip looked around, scanning for his suspect. “All the more reason for you to get outta here until I get this thing wrapped up. You don’t want to be included in a cover story with me when I cause a scene at this party, do you?”

“I can see it now.” You spread your hands like a banner. “Grouchy old man snaps at the younger crowd out having fun.”

“I sure don’t love you for your mouth, sugar.” Flip shook his head. He saw a tall woman in a black dress walking purposefully and fixed his eyes on her like a hunting dog. But there were several women in view wearing black dresses. And what was tall, anyway? The woman was probably five-eight, although heels always threw him off. Was that tall enough to be described as very tall? Probably not. Flip had been staring at her while running these mental calculations.

“Like what you see?” you asked, more to poke him than anything. You knew he was here under the guise of working.

“Not particularly. I’d give her a seven at best,” Flip gritted out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got a helluva lot better at home.”

“Speaking of, how long until the woman you’ve got at home is going to get some time with you?” you asked.

“Not long.” He shrugged.

“Not an answer, Detective,” you quipped.

Flip knew you only called him Detective when you were feeling flirty or feeling as mad as a wet cat. He knew which this was. Best to remain silent, he concluded.

“You’re here to grab some suspect, a woman, I gather from your roaming eyes,” you accused and Flip’s eyes darted immediately back to you, a little wider than usual. “You’re getting served papers from strange women, too. Is this some half-assed midlife crisis? Is it time for you to embarrass yourself trying to pick up eighteen-year-olds in a new convertible?”

“Whoa, pump the brakes on the crazy train.” Flip held up his hands in surrender. “I’m innocent until proven guilty.”

“Oh, you think this is a democracy?” you scoffed. “I don’t think so. This is a monarchy, and all ways here are the Queen’s ways.”

“I’ll tell you all about it later. I promise.” Flip tried a calming tone that had zero effect. “Just let me find this woman and then we can get outta here.”

“Fine.” You put your hands on your hips.

“Don’t fine me, darlin.’” Flip mocked your posture, also putting his hands on his hips. “I know what fine means.”

“This is ridiculous. I’ll find this damn woman in black myself.” You turned on your heel and walked away.

Flip took a bounding step after you and grabbed your arm roughly, stopping you. “You’re making a fuckin’ scene.”

“Is this guy bothering you, miss?” The bartender asked, a clear warning in his voice.

You looked at Flip’s hand where he gripped your arm and cocked an eyebrow. Flip slackened his grip and you yanked your arm free. You strode purposely through the bar and toward the series of the Broadmoor event rooms. You looked over your shoulder once just to make sure Flip was following you. He was, of course, walking stiffly a few paces behind with his shoulders set and eyes narrowed, looking ready and eager to bust some heads. The hotel was crowded with holiday traffic and you both knew he couldn’t grab you again without making an even bigger scene.

At the door to the private room, Flip caught you again, grabbing the door handle in front of you and pinning you close with his body from behind. To an observer, it might look affectionate but his body was rigid against you and his tone angry, “This isn’t the time or place for you to act like a goddamn prima donna. Knock it off.”

“Just think, all this because you had to answer Ron’s call this morning.” You grinned and before he had time to process the implications of your words, you pushed his hand down on the door handle and leaned into it.

Flip stumbled into the event room right at your back, a little off balance and fuming.

“Surprise!” A chorus of voices shouted inside the room.

Flip was nearly stunned by the cacophony of light and movement and shouting assholes inside the room. He stood, still gawkily positioned mid-stumble, blinking like a deer in the headlights. There were sparkly lights and girly decorations done in black and gold, and a table set with a giant cake and a few buckets of champagne. Music blared noisily from somewhere. All his traitorous friends smiled at him, Stallworth leading the charge of ingrates. Festive lights even shimmered on the greasy dome of Goldleaf’s head. The group of traitors yelled “Surprise!” again and then broke into a terrible round of Happy Birthday. Flip straightened and smoothed a hand over his suit, trying to look dignified while feeling like an absolute jackass for falling for this shit.

There was little Flip hated more in life than surprise parties. He forced a smile and thought that maybe it wasn’t as bad as those times he’d been shot. But no. The first time, he’d gotten some really good drugs. The second time, he got six weeks off and left the hell alone. The third time had given him one of your favorite scars that made him feel even tougher than he was. No, a surprise party was far worse than getting shot.

Flip squared his shoulders and put on his game face, steeling himself to endure a long night of socializing. He pulled you to his side just a little roughly and joined his own birthday party.

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

“That party must have cost a fortune,” Flip bemoaned. “I hope you didn’t foot the bill just to torture me.”

“Not a dime, actually. The owner of the Broadmoor is a client. Or rather, his son on his eighth DWI is,” you said nonchalantly. “He’s innocent, of course. Or rather, he will be once I’m done with him.”

Flip made a noncommittal grunt, still in the throes of post-party-trauma.

“He also threw in a free suite.” You looped your arm through Flip’s and steered him toward the elevators. “I’m sure you’ll like it more.”

The suite was equipped with a private balcony and hottub for guests who liked to enjoy the snowy alpine winters along with a steaming soak and a glass of wine. Flip held the door open for you like a perfect gentleman before slamming it closed behind him after following you inside. He held you at arm’s length when you tried to close the distance between you.

“I need a shower. I’ve been sweatin’ bullets all day thanks to you.” His lips were poutier than usual as he unbuttoned his shirt. Shrugging roughly out of it, he balled it up in his hands and threw it into the furthest corner of the room. Flip paused to glare at the shirt where it landed on the floor and huff a few breaths before storming into the bathroom as he unbuckled his belt. The slam of the bathroom door reverberated through the room when he kicked it closed. He continued to grumble and cuss under his breath inside the bathroom. The few words you could make out seemed to be in vehement criticism of birthdays and surprise parties and pondering the eternal question of just how much bullshit one man can take.

Smiling to yourself at his grouchiness, you decided to wait for him in the hottub on the balcony. Steaming jets and your warm touch would be just the ticket to turn his anger into something a lot more enjoyable for you both.

As you peeled your own clothes away, you could still hear him bitching from inside the bathroom and it made you grin. The icy air hit you when you stepped naked out onto the balcony. Goosebumps rose across your skin, breath fogged from your lips, and your nipples peaked instantly at the chill as you quickly covered the few steps to the hottub. The crisp winter air made the hot water even more welcoming, and a cloud of steam surrounded you when you lowered yourself into the bubbling water. Leaning your head back against the edge of the hottub, you felt all the tension leaving your body as you waited for Flip.

“I’m out here,” you called when you heard him emerge. “Come keep me company.”

Flip’s face and chest were still flushed from the heat of his shower when he walked onto the balcony, scowling. Pausing to linger in the doorway, towel slung around his hips, he leaned against the doorframe. He had to fight to keep his face stern as he looked down at your bare curves sitting tantalizingly amid the steam.

“You’re not bad lookin’ for a double agent,” he told you, sucking at his teeth.

“Evil machinations are much easier when you’re pretty,” you teased and beckoned him to join you with a curled finger. “Don’t just stand there gawking about it, handsome.”

His scowl turned into something far more devilish as he tossed his towel back into the room and lowered himself into the hottub beside you. Slinging one arm behind you along the rim of the hottub, Flip wasted no time in pulling you close. Beside you, he turned to kiss your cheek, to nuzzle his nose softly against your skin along your jaw before he moved his lips to the place below your ear. Inhaling your scent, he began to lose himself in you. His kisses drifted to your neck and turned more biting and heated when you raised your hand to stroke his cheek.

“I’m sure sorry for takin’ that call,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Are you?” you asked with a laugh. “We’ll see if you learn anything from it.”

“I’m a quick learner.” Flip couldn’t help but laugh as his hand trailed up your thigh.

Turning into him, you met his lips while he teased you with his fingers. Flip kissed you hungrily, his lingering anger coming out in his eager tongue licking into your mouth, his teeth clicking against yours, and his thick fingers pushing into you.

“We’re not done celebrating yet,” you whispered into his kiss. “Your real birthday present is that I took next week off and arranged with the chief to note you as staking out a cabin for the week.”

He laughed when you told him the location, “That’s our address.”

“Is it really?” you feigned ignorance. “I’d call it a paid vacation on the taxpayers. As someone who gets shafted by Uncle Sam almost as often as I get it from you, I see no problem at all.”

“I thought you had work tomorrow?” Flip asked, looking at you with deep lusting respect.

“You thought so, yes,” you teased. “I’m off too.”

“So, you have to put me through the ringer first to earn it, huh?” He nipped your neck.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a grouchy bastard, you wouldn’t invite being screwed with, hmmm?” You twisted your fingers into his hair. “But we’ll never know.”

“A surprise party is playin’ dirty,” he said against your neck. “That’s hittin’ below the belt.”

“Funny thing is that I agree with you.” You tugged his hair sharply enough for it to be a reprimand. “Ron badly wanted to throw you a surprise party for your fortieth. I told him that I was giving you what you really wanted for the weekend, and that you would absolutely hate a surprise party. After a debate, Ron and I agreed that if he could entice you away from me today, he could inflict his surprise party upon you and I’d help lure you into it. It was insultingly easy for him, I might add. I really thought he’d have a harder time. So, I think it’s only fair to make you suffer a little on top of it. Serves you right for leaving me for your work wife.”

“So, you all gang up on me, huh? Wonderful.” He grinned. “You almost gave me a heart attack with that fuckin’ paternity horseshit. You arranged that awfully fast.”

“I thought it was nice icing on the cake,” you grinned back. “How long do you think it takes me to type a paternity petition? Fifteen minutes tops. Goldleaf is always happy to screw with you and so is Cheatum. A good time had by all. And just think, you chose all this.” You gestured grandly to encompass the enormity of the shitshow Flip had gotten himself into, “instead of staying shut in in bed with me all day.”

“I’ll never answer my phone again unless it’s you,” Flip huffed a laugh.

Deciding he had suffered enough for now, you slung your leg over his lap to straddle him. His cock was already deliciously hard and ready for you when you sank down onto him. No matter how many times he fucked you, it was always wonderfully intense before you adjusted to accommodate him. Flip’s hands smoothed down your sides, caressing you gently now before his fingers would grip bruises into you as you rode him. He kissed your neck and rolled his hips beneath you, groaning in that heady way of his when he was losing himself in the pleasure of your body.

The water sloshed in the hottub and steam whirled around you both as he fucked an orgasm out of you and followed you down into a warm, blissful afterglow. After several moments, cock still buried inside of you, he kissed your neck a few final times and raised his head to look at you with a satisfied grin.

“I hope this birthday was one to remember, old timer,” you teased as you moved your hands to rub the knots in his broad shoulders. “Forty’s a big one.”

“I really hate birthdays,” was his only grumbled response.

“Spoken just like a grumpy old man,” you said amid a fresh stream of soft laughter.

“Real funny, sugar.” Flip nipped at your skin before pulling you close again for round two. “Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.”

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

Tagging some buddies!

@babbushka @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @iamburdened @gabesprincess @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @cas-backwards-tie @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @reyloaddict55 @fizzywoohoo @heartlight-starlight @richbrittstein @clydesfavoritegirl @thepalaceofmelanie @celiholland @reveluving @vedavan @reylokisses @queen-of-elves @srorgana1 @kyloremus @looking4mymagicshop @lumberjack00fantasies

#birthday bash #best #fic #my stuff!#my writing #flip #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman x you #winter

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theshotsheardacrossworlds · 4 months ago

Text

Grove

Three evenings with Beatrice, a half-drow war cleric of Selune, and Zevlor in the Emerald Grove. NSFW for the last section. SFW for the first two.

When the human called the very handsome tiefling a foulblood, Beatrice Wildheart knew what she was going to do.

I punched that little bastard in the face!

When the same extremely handsome tiefling introduced himself as Zevlor, Beatrice knew what was going to do.

Not my usual silent pining that always leads to heartbreak.

Not this time.

When she, Gale, Wyll, and Shadowheart returned to Zevlor and Tilses informing them that the ugly nasty bitch wanted the refugees gone, she not only offered her support in taking care of the goblins but also asked him to find her along the shore later.

And now it is “later” and where is he?

Beatrice was standing ankle-deep in the cool water, her armor discarded. She had traded one of the druids for a tank top and a pair of knee-length trousers that sort of mostly kind of fits? Whatever, better than rags.

“Greetings, Lady Beatrice Wildheart.”

A deep, gentle voice rumbled, causing Beatrice to turn around. Shit. Does word travel this fast?! Fucking hells. “Zevlor, who—”

To her surprise, he chuckled. “Word travels fast.” Of course. “Though I must beg your pardon, my lady, for not showing proper respect to a woman of your standing.”

Lady of Silver, spare me.

She shook her head, hands resting on her wide, soft hips. “Please, I like it better when I’m just Beatrice. Or Bea, my friends call me that.”

Zevlor smiled. “Am I a friend already?”

Her brown eyes widened.

Wait.

Is he flirting with me?

Should I try to flirt with him?

“I hope so!” Giggling nervously, she carefully walked out of the water, stepping back onto shore. “I mean, I did volunteer to kill goblins for you, so that must mean something.” Heat rose in her freckled cheeks as she sat down on a large rock, heart beating in her chest. Don’t fuck this up. Be bold and brave. Let the Moonmaiden guide me.

“It’s kind what you’re offering to do for my people,” he sat next to her, shoulders sagging. Selune’s tears, when was the last time he had a good night’s rest? “But why do you want to speak to me? Is there something I can help you with?”

Be brave.

Don’t be weird.

Moonmaiden, guide me.

Smiling softly, she turned to face him. “I want to spend some time with you. That’s all.” Maybe he won’t notice me blushing?

He did not respond to her immediately, brow furrowed. “Surely there are others more worthy of your time? More deserving?” He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. As if the weight of everything on him is too much to bear. Moonmaiden, give me the strength and wisdom to help him. He is not alone. Not anymore. “I’m well past my prime, Bea. My faith was shattered. I’m an old, broken paladin who was forced to leave his home. Surely, there are others whose company is preferable to mine?” He now looked at her, infernal eyes ablaze. The most beautiful eyes…on the most handsome face…

She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“You’re worthy of my time, Zevlor. I want…” Oh wait, maybe I can try not to come too strong but still be helpful! “Would you like to hear about Baldur’s Gate? I’m from there, and assuming you’ve never been—”

The tiefling finally returned her smile. Aww, he looks a bit happier. Moonmaiden, give me some charisma to charm him…or something. “Correct, my dear. I would like that very much.”

For the next hour, she told him nearly everything she knew about the city, its inhabitants, and tradition. The Gate is home. It’s a bit shit but it’s home. When she began to explain the noble houses, he shifted the conversation to her---her family (obviously explained that I was adopted), friends (lots of them all over Faerun), her profession (I felt the call to protect and serve Selune by smiting the enemies of light), and then…

“There must be a special someone waiting for you back in the Gate.”

A statement.

Not a question.

As if it’s fact.

Oh dear.

She shook her vigorously. “No, no. It’s been a…saga of sorts trying to find a match for me.” Beatrice then added quickly, “A love match, I need to emphasize. Mum would never support anything less.” And Da, gods rest him. “But it’s complicated.”

Zevlor blinked. “I-I…why, if I may ask?”

You have got to be kidding.

A bitter laugh escaped her. “I’m the large half-drow daughter of a dwarven countess. That is, quite literally, the problem.” She squeezed her eyes shut, her shoulders tensing. “It’s been made very clear that I’m not what anyone wants for a partner or wife or anything romantic really.” Mum cannot raise my dowry enough. I’m just…undesirable. But maybe not to him? A girl can hope, right?

“I will not deny that there are prejudices against drow, which certainly play a role in your situation. However,” he’s grabbing my hand?!?!? “I find you to be beautiful, brave, kindhearted, and of excellent character.” With his other hand, he tilted her chin slightly so he could admire her, lightly tracing her jaw with a finger. “There should be dozens, if not hundreds, of suitors vying for your hand. If I were a few decades younger,” Zevlor smiled sadly, now caressing her blushing cheek. “I would be as well.”

“Please don’t say that.” Da always said to listen to my heart because it would never lead me astray. Heart says… “I like you. A lot. I think you’re all those things too. I…I hope we can have time together like this again soon. We’re heading back out tomorrow, but we’ll be around to trade and rest and…” Beatrice trailed off, her brown eyes watching his thumb gently touch her bottom lip. “Zevlor?” she whispered.

For the first time since meeting him, the paladin genuinely smiled. “Waking gods,” he cupped face and leaned so that his forehead met hers. “I’d given up on them sending me an angel, but here you are.” He can’t just say things like that and not expect me to get misty eyed. “Are you certain? I’m no prize—”

Beatrice released an annoyed huff before kissing him. The kiss did not last long but to her, served its purpose. “I don’t mind.” She said sweetly before giving one another peck. “Are you certain?”

His hands landed on her waist, squeezing gently as if I’m made of glass. Zevlor, I’m not… “Though I don’t feel deserving of your affection, I would be a fool to refuse it. A fool to deny it. I am certain, my darling.” When his lips next captured hers, the kiss was far more intense. Clawed fingers danced under the hem of her top but stayed at her thick waist. “I am very certain.”

So certain that when Beatrice’s party returned a day and a half later, he brought a bouquet of wildflowers he picked for her at our spot.

That little hidden place along the shore at the grove. It’s our spot now.

***

“May I tell you something?” Beatrice whispered, sitting in our spot with Zevlor the night after she recruited Karlach to her party. They sat side by side on a large stone, bare feet in the cool water. Her head was resting against his, and he snaked an arm around her broad shoulders.

“You can tell me anything, darling. What troubles you?”

Gods, where to start?

No.

Focus.

“I told you I felt like I was called to serving My Lady, but I’m not like most clerics you’ve met I bet.” She chuckled softly and reached for his free hand. “I’m not one to proselytize. I prefer using a great sword to attack and protect instead of healing. My temple would send me to besieged enclaves and villages, and I’d…well, get rid of their problems.” Beatrice wrinkled her nose and giggled. “It was a good time. I was doing a lot of good.” Then. “Then Da got sick, I came home, it was terminal, three years later he’s gone, and I…” Squeezing his hand, tears down her freckled, pale ash face. “The Moonmaiden told me to be a light in the darkness, but I feel like I…I’m not doing enough.”

Zevlor shifted, turning to face her and taking both her hands in his. “You,” he carefully lifted one hand, placed a kiss on her knuckles, and repeated the gesture with her other hand. “Are far too hard on yourself.” They both shared a small laugh with him rubbing his rough thumbs over her hands. “While I’m not entirely impartial,” There’s that lovely little teasing smile I adore. “I’ve no doubt that there are many in this grove, as well as those in your temple, who would say you’re doing wonderfully.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with an all too brief kiss. “I’ve never met anyone whose soul burns as brightly as yours, my dear---that is all you. Not Selune. You.” Follow my heart. It will never lead me astray. “So please, my beautiful Bea, be kind to yourself.”

But I’ve never been kind to myself, have I?

Not when some of the trainee war clerics called me a fat, useless drow.

Not when I’ve been politely and less than politely rejected by potential suitors.

Not when Da got sick and I couldn’t save him…

Not when Lewson got murdered by bloody Zhents.

Not when I got abducted.

Not when…

As he pulled her into a tender embrace, she felt herself practically melting into him. “Shh, quiet your mind. Stay right here with me, darling.” That’s his tail wrapping around my waist. He is so sweet. “Don’t let the weight of your own high expectations crush you. Don’t let it dim your light.”

“I’ll try, but you must promise me something in return.” When she heard him hum in assent, she smiled. “Be kinder to yourself too. You’re doing the best you can out of a frankly awful situation, Zevlor.” And that’s putting it mildly. She leaned back and cupped his face in her hands. “You deserve happiness. We deserve happiness. Don’t we?”

That night he did not answer her.

But I’m confident he will. We do deserve happiness, Zev. We do.

***

“A pity for us you have promised your body to Zevlor.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened as Lae’zel continued to speak about trophies? Bodies? Lips?????

“—I intend to, myself. Wyll looks particularly promising.”

And that’s my cue to get the fuck out of this conversation.

She giggled nervously, wished Lae’zel a good evening, and then she nearly knocked him over as she walked away from the gith.

“Oh, Bea! How nice to see you.” He winked adorably as he sipped wine I’m assuming. Not that I drink… “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?”

“Yes,” mostly. That interaction with Lae’zel was something else. Her fingers brushed against his free hand, and she took a step closer. “And you?”

“With you, I couldn’t be happier.” A knowing smile tugged on his lips as he sipped his wine. “Once things die down, my dear, shall we meet in the Secluded Chamber? It’s more…private than our usual place.”

More private so we can…maybe…perhaps…

FUCK?!?!?

Wait no, Zevlor doesn’t fuck. He makes love.

And no, I didn’t read that in a romance novel.

I read it in several romance novels.

Feeling her cheeks burn in a mix of desire and anticipation, she nodded quickly. “Sounds perfect. I, um, I can slip away soon.” The only person I want to talk to for the rest of the night is you. Only you.

A low hum escaped him as he led her towards the edge of the party. “Meet me in fifteen minutes.” Zevlor murmured, bringing her hand to his lips. Sharing one last longing so much longing look, he turned and departed the camp.

Luckily for Beatrice, fifteen minutes went by fast. Got a pep talk from Karlach who told me to “fuck his brains out” and “pull his damn tail” while also showing him “who the real Hellrider is.” Quick little wash because no one wants a stinky lady in bed, right? And it’s not like I have my favorite perfume in the middle of nowhere.

When she arrived at the Secluded Chamber, she nearly gasped at the sight of Zevlor. In all their meetings along the shore, he was always in his armor, refusing to remove it even when she was always wearing something comfortable.

But now…

He looks so yummy.

He greeted her wearing a cream tunic, dark brown breeches that show off his legs MOONMAIDEN TAKE ME, and worn but still nice shoes. “Dearest,” he began with a tender smile. “I hope it wasn’t too difficult for you to leave. After all, everyone wanted a word the hero of the hour.” Gods that wink again. “That she would grace me with her presence…I’m an incredibly fortunate man.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” She swayed her hips as she walked to him, warmth blossoming within her. One look from him, and I feel desired. For the first time in my life, I feel desired. And I… Standing in front of him but having no idea what to do, she wrapped long arms around his neck and kissed him. “I want…” Beatrice whispered, her brown eyes meeting his infernal ones. Just say it. Say it. There’s no shame in wanting this. In wanting him. “Can we…” Spit. It. Out. She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. “Sorry, I’m nervous. It’s my first time.” WHY DID YOU SAY THAT, BEA? WHY? HE KNOWS.

“We don’t have to be intimate tonight if you’re this nervous—”

Her eyes widened as she quickly reassured him. “No. No. I…I…” Breathe. “You may not like what you see.”

It was at this moment Beatrice saw his expression shift from concern to molten. Hot. Smoldering. Moonmaiden preserve me. “If you allow it, my lady,” his already gravelly voice was much lower. “I will show you just how much I like what I see.”

She knew that too often she thought too much.

Not this time.

Barely a second passed when she released a breathy “yes please,” and his hands found their way to her ample behind, cupping and squeezing. His lips crashed into hers, and he moaned in her mouth. “Zev…”

That earned her another moan. “Been too long…since a lover called me that…” Her hands roamed to his narrow waist and slowly, carefully went under his shirt. Gods, he feels incredible. Muscle. Warm skin. Ridges. Bumps. Scars. I love them. I love them all. I want to— “You make me feel young again.”

No.

Beatrice slipped out of his grasp, giggling. “I’ll make you a deal, Zev. You don’t talk about how you’re old and I won’t say I’m ugly.”

And to really put this matter to rest…

“Darling, I…” His eyes widened as what he was going to say died on his lips. “I…”

She threw off her shirt, tossing it near a chair? We can sort it later. Fighting the urge to cover her breasts, she instead focused on untying the laces on her trousers. “What’s the matter, love? Cat got your tongue?” She hoped her teasing tone would distract him (and me) from the hammering of her heart. He likes this. I think? I hope?

As she stepped out of her smalls and pants, Zevlor continued to watch her, unmoving except for his wagging tail. He…does like how I look? “You are enchanting. Stunning. So beautiful.” In two strides he reached her and led her to a pair of bedrolls on a stone slab. Aw, he lit candles too. That’s so sweet. “Now, be a dear and lie down.”

HE JUST PINCHED MY BUTT?!?!?

Something between a surprise yelp and a giggle escaped her as she scrambled onto bedrolls not at all gracefully.

“What a sweet, eager little thing you are.” He cooed, kicking off his shoes.

Beatrice snorted as her head hit a somewhat soft pillow. “I’m not little, love.” Leaning to prop herself up on her elbows, she watched, slack jawed as Zevlor discarded his shirt (yummy) and trousers (NO SMALLS?!?! HE JUST…WALKS AROUND LIKE THAT?!?!). She panted at the sight of him and his incredibly hard, ridged cock, swallowing thickly.

His eyes twinkled as he crawled to her. “What’s the matter, Bea?” With his breathtakingly handsome face inches from hers, weight on his strong forearms, he teased, “Cock got your tongue?” The resulting squeak from her as she wrapped her long arms around his neck made him chuckle. “Don’t play innocent with me, my angel. I saw you gawking. Leering. Staring.” With each word, his lips touched hers.

Into one of the kisses, she smiled wide, her hands threading through his hair and loosened it. “Admiring is the word I prefer to use. Admiring my beautiful paladin and his very large cock.” I can tease too, love. “Zev, ah, want you…” Beatrice moaned, rolling her soft hips. Want you. Need you. Now.

“Patience, dearest. Want this to last, and more importantly,” he pressed several kisses down her jaw to her neck and then settled with his mouth above one of her breasts. “Worship you.” Moonmaiden take me. He licked and suckled her with abandon, his own hips grinding against her. This is already better than anything I could’ve imagined. Already so good, and we’re not even—

She inhaled sharply when she felt the rough pad of one of his fingers touch the curls at the apex of her thick thighs. “Oh gods…”

“You are so lovely,” the older tiefling panted, lifting his head from one breast before eyeing the other. Oh dear, that’s his tail around my leg. Selune save me. “Everything about you…you are perfect. Simply perfect.” His tongue circled the nipple on her opposite breast while her hands found the base of his horns. “Do whatever you wish, pulchra. Love me however you please. I would know…all of you…” After he lavished her other breast, he trailed kisses down her belly (Moonmaiden, was it my imagination or was he kneading me like dough? If so, that was amazing and he needs to do it more often) and then rose on his knees between her legs. “May I taste you, my love?” His hands rested on her soft thighs, and she could not help but smile at the look of adoration in his eyes.

She did, however, raise an eyebrow. “Pulchra?” It’s Infernal. Not sure about the meaning though.

Zevlor’s cheeks reddened. “It’s Infernal for ‘beautiful woman’ but for a gentleman of my vintage it means ‘mistress.’”

Okay, now I’m even more confused. “Mistress?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I cannot call you uxor. We are not married.”

OH.

“Pulchra it is then, and…yes. Please. Do wha—” Instead of finishing her thought, Zevlor dove into her, easily lifting her legs over his shoulders and tasting her as he promised. “Oh gods please…please…”

“There are no gods here, pulchra. Only me.” He grunted, continuing his ministrations. The feel of his horns against me as he’s eating me out…there are no words.

Beatrice did not know how much time had passed when he stopped and adjusted himself. “Zev?” she panted, letting go of his horns. Turns out I really love fucking his face.

Responding only with a smirk, he lowered his head and began to lick her swollen bud.

WHAT IS THAT?!?!

She immediately tensed, and Zevlor squeezed her thighs. “Easy, pulchra. That’s just my tail. Come…tail first then my cock…”

Oh. Oh wow. This is happening.

The only coherent reply she could manage was moaning his name along with “please” and “more.” As she quickly reached her peak, she felt his nails digging in her thighs slightly, which only made her more aroused. “Zev…please…want to…want…”

Then something inside her snapped, and she fell apart on his tongue. Small gasps escaped her, her ample chest heaving.

“That’s it, my darling…such a good girl…” Moonmaiden take me. With a grunt, he crawled over her and lined his achingly hard member towards her entrance. “We’ll go slow, pulchra. I won’t hurt you.”

“Show him who the real Hellrider is, soldier.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened as she touched his shoulders. “Can I be on top? If that’s okay?”

He exhaled sharply, nodding and laying on his back. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Zevlor watched as she less than elegantly straddled him. “Careful, sweetheart. Don’t want you falling over.”

“I think you’ve realized by now that sometimes I’m not the most graceful person.” She chuckled, settling over his swollen length. With his hands firmly on her wide hips, she began to slowly lower herself. Fuck me, he’s thick. A lot thicker than he looks. Hells. “Zev…”

Whatever he was saying though, she could not understand.

Infernal.

Holy fuck.

Moaning as she took him inch by torturous but glorious inch, laughed breathlessly. “What’d you say?”

“Ah, so fucking tight, pulchra. Queen of my heart, have me…all of me…I am yours for as long as—ah, oh waking gods!” Zevlor gasped when her pelvis met his.

He’s got ridges on his…and on his?!?? YES!

Rocking her hips, she rode him with abandon.

I feel alive…

And beautiful…

Because of my paladin…

She threw her head back as she reached her second peak, her hands gripping his harder than I do the Everburn Blade. “I love you! I fucking love you! I love you, Zev!” Panting, Beatrice’s broad shoulders slumped as he thrusted inside her, his hips stuttering.

“Pulchra…my angel…I-I…I love you, my darling…”

Moonmaiden take me, that groan from him!

Zevlor let out an oomph when she collapsed onto his chest, his strong arms wrapping around her. One clawed hand rested on her back while the other cradled the back of her head. “Bea? Are you alright?” He whispered, gently caressing her.

“Yeah.” She sighed and then muttered a spell to clean them. Gods, even soft, he’s huge. “You? Was I okay?”

As she rolled off him, he chuckled. “Okay? My dear, the way you were riding me,” he placed a kiss in her black-red curls when she curled against his side. “I’d say you’re the Hellrider, not me.”

YES! YES! YES! MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! I DID IT, KARLACH!

She traced the ridges on his chest and giggled. “Gods, you’re too much, love.” Laying in his arms and feeling sleep take her, shit, I should tell him I meant it. Just in case. “When I said I love you before, I meant it. I love you, and I…I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. And I know that there’s still much ahead, for both of us, but I want this. I want you. That is, if you even want—”

He squeezed the pillowy part of her upper arm. “Are we still not mentioning my age?” Zevlor teased. Oh for fuck’s sake. You. Are. Not. Old. “I do want you, pulchra.” He heaved a sigh. “Protecting my people must come first. That’s been my priority---my mission---for most of my life.” This sounds decidedly not good. He once again squeezed her arm and reached for her hand on his chest, bringing it to his lips. “But we deserve happiness, do we not? After everything that’s happened…everything that is still to come…we deserve happiness, and I firmly believe I’ve found it with you.” I’m gonna cry. I’m gonna cry so much. “I love you too, dearest.” He raised her hand to his lips again and placed another tender kiss on her knuckles. “Gods willing, we make it to Baldur’s Gate hale and whole.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as she prayed silently.

Moonmaiden, I have served as your righteous fury. I have cut down the enemies of light. I have protected many.

I beg of you, Lady of Silver, keep him safe.

Keep them all safe.

#beatrice wildheart #half drow tav #cleric tav #plus size tav #chubby tav #zevlor #zevlor nation #zevlor bg3 #bg3 zevlor #zevlor x tav #riding the hellrider woooo #with a cameo from lae'zel lol

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