#perfect night supremacy !!

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

it's night time<333 (with a lil sibling bonding bonus: >;Dc)

studio au belongs to @zu-is-here fem designs are made by me

[hersreputation]

Midnights + favorite lines/songs 

Why can't you sleep? Maybe you lie awake in the aftershock of falling headlong into a connection that feels like some surreal cataclysmic event. Like spontaneous combustion, or seeing snow falling on a tropical beach. A lavender haze crush that feels like the crash of wave.

Or was tonight the night you realized how solitary, how alone you really are, no matter how high you climb.  The elevation just makes it colder.

Some midnights, you're out and you're buzzing with electric current — an adventurer in pursuit of rapturous thrill. Music blaring from speakers and the reckless intimacy of dancing with strangers. Something in this shadowy room to make you feel shiny again. On these nights, you know that there are facets of you that only glow in the dark.

Why are you still up at this hour? Because you're cosplaying vengeance fantasies, where the bad bad man is hauled away in handcuffs and you get to watch it happen. You laugh into the mirror with a red wine snarl. You look positively deranged.

Maybe you were trying to mastermind matters of the heart again. You've gotten lost in the labyrinth of your head, where the fear wraps its claws around the fragile throat of true love. Will you be able to save it in time? Save it from who? Well, it obvious. From you.

[kokoch4n3l]

kpopies calling perfect night by lesserafim boring just proves you guys have no friends or social life 😭 life bruh what is boring about a chill song about going out with your girls?

[luc1d17y-ffxiv]

Carby don't need no knife to raise its body count.

[miraculous-ladybutt]

Y’all if you watch the eng dub get ready for another auto tune spectacular starring Bryce Papenbrook

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

*dj voice* W W W W W W W W WAAAAAXXXX PLAAAAAAAAAY *air horns*

hehehehehvshehe unfortunately, I have, once more, read this at 7 o’clock in the morning. ✊😪 now I, also unfortunately, have a bad case of the horn horn which UNFUCKINGFORTUNATELY I cannot cure at the moment

#thugitout #CREAMERNATION

Lavender

You receive a pleasurable massage from Ezra. (4.1k)

Tags - smut, massages, unethical!ezra, softest of soft!dom, wax play, hands in places hands shouldn't be, teasing, fingering, oral (f! receiving) masturbation, ezra creams his pants #creamernation, slight dom vibes from ezra, chamomille tea, ezra is a silvertongued menace, light foot action - assume reader has clean tootsies. Fic help - @endlessthxxghts and @beefrobeefcal thank you both for holding my hand through this!!! and for hyping me up, and for being the best part of my day!!! LOVE YOU!!! A/N - hey hey motherfuckers 😛 I hope you enjoy! First time writing Ezra and it’s for my beautiful @noxturnalpascal’s birthday that was a couple weeks ago 🩷 patti i'm not sorry for what i've done. also i love you.

After a sixteen hour drive back home from visiting your family, you’re in nothing but pain. There’s an awful, pinching feeling at your lower back, your hips and knees ache, and your neck is sore. Even laying down in your bed hurts. 

You try a couple of different solutions to remedy yourself. Ice pack, heating pad - you never know when you’re supposed to use one or the other. You try stretching, yoga, and increasing your water intake. But after four days of agony, you’ve had it. 

There’s a light-purple colored piece of cardstock that’s been hung up on your fridge by a magnet for the last few months. It’s a gift certificate to a spa called Lavender, you won it in a raffle at a charity drag show. 

Call (212) 929-5804 to schedule a 90 minute massage of your choice, and please bring this voucher with you to your appointment. 

I look forward to pleasuring you. 

-Ezra

You feel a flutter in your gut as you read those words: pleasuring you. Fuck, you’re so touch starved, and you begin to imagine what this Ezra could look like. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Before you get lost in your dirty thoughts about a massage therapist you’ve never even met before, you need to book an appointment. When you flip the card over, you see a list of services offered by Ezra. Massages of all kinds - chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue. You’re not really sure what you’re looking for, but you schedule your appointment anyway. 

-

Friday at 6:40pm, you leave your apartment and begin walking to Lavender. It’s only about a fifteen minute walk away, which you don’t mind because the weather is cooling down and the leaves are beginning to change color. You enjoy the scenery. At 6:57, you walk into the small office for your appointment, a bell jingling as you push open the door. The shades are drawn over the windows, blocking out what little light is cast by the setting sun in the overcast sky. It smells smokey, like incense. Gentle music plays as you wait at the front desk for someone to help you. 

After a moment, a man comes out through a door behind the desk. He’s taller, his face is handsome under the low light. His hair is dark apart from a very prominent streak of white in his hairline, his beard and mustache are neatly trimmed and graying. And as he makes his way closer to you, you make out a peculiar curved scar on his cheek, right next to a sharp, aquiline nose. The man smiles warmly at you and you silently pray to any god that’ll listen that he’s your massage therapist, and not just the person working the front desk. 

“I believe you must be my 7 o’clock, yes?”

Hallelujah. 

“Yes, that’s my appointment.”

“Your name, my dove?” 

You’re going weak in the knees. He speaks in a low voice, a syrupy thick southern accent pouring from his pouty lips. You tell him your name, tripping over your syllables. The man chuckles,  “I’m Ezra. Pleased to meet you,” he says, taking your hand in his before pressing a gentle kiss to your trembling knuckles. “I sense anxiety, my dove. Would I be correct in that assumption?”

You nod. “A little, yeah. Sorry. It’s my first massage.” Ezra’s warm, chocolatey eyes roam your body and you feel flustered, “I uh - I have this…” you dig out the gift certificate from your purse, slightly crumpled now. “From the raffle at that drag show.” 

“Ah, yes,” Ezra smiles, taking the certificate from you. “Thank you,” he says, smoothing out the crinkles in the paper. He notices you tapping your fingers rhythmically on his desk, and covers your hand with his own. “There’s no need for anxiety, darlin’. You’re in good hands with me. Perhaps a cup of tea to soothe those nerves of yours before I get started with you?” 

“That’d be great, yeah,” you reply. 

Ezra opens a nearby cabinet. “What are you in the mood for this evening?”

“Not really sure,” you answer, humming as you think. “Do you have suggestions?”

“That I do,” he says. “I’d suggest somethin’ herbal, no need for caffeine so late. I’ve got peach, I’ve got chamomile vanilla…” Ezra trails off, moving various boxes in the cabinet. “Hot chocolate too, f’ya want.” 

“The vanilla one. Please.” 

“The vanilla one it shall be, then.” 

Ezra makes you a small cup of tea, sweetening it with a bit of honey per your request. He sits you down in a comfortable chair and carefully places the warm mug on an end table next to you, then hands you a clipboard. 

“Just some routine paperwork I’d appreciate if you’d fill out for me as I get your room situated. Hope that’s not an issue.” 

“Not at all.” 

Ezra thanks you and exits the room, leaving you to fill out the paperwork. It’s all the usual questions: Name, date of birth, email, phone number, emergency contact. After that it asks of any allergies, medical conditions, or major surgeries to be aware of. You answer each question accordingly, and then the last section is made up of questions about your massage preferences.

Massage type? (Chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue) - Unsure. 

Any areas of the body that need to be focused on or avoided? - Unsure. 

Preferred pressure? (light, medium, hard) - Unsure. 

Any other preferences or details you’d like to add? - Unsure.

You click the pen and lay it on the completed paperwork, then sip your steaming tea. You wiggle your foot as you anxiously await Ezra’s return.

“I’m ready for you, sweet dove.” 

Ezra’s waiting by the door behind the front desk. You drink the last of your tea and follow Ezra into the room, where he takes his clipboard back from you. The room is dark, darker than the waiting area. It’s lit by a couple of plain candles, warm light flickering against the walls as soft piano music plays from a speaker. “Your purse,” Ezra motions for you to remove your bag, then hangs it over a hook on the door. “And your jacket, if I may,” he murmurs from behind you, hooking his fingers between the collar of your jacket and your body, waiting for you to unzip it before he pulls it off of your shoulders and hangs it up. Your skin tingles as his fingers brush over you, just a taste of what’s to come. 

“Undress for me as I go over your paperwork outside. I’ll knock on the door and wait for your word before re-entering.”  

“How much? How…” you trail off, bashful as you try to complete the sentence. Ezra knows what you’re trying to ask, though. “To your leisure, darlin’, though my suggestion would be to the nude, jewelry and all. The choice is yours. And once you’re done, lie on the table for me. You may protect your modesty with the towel I’ve provided for you right here.” Ezra pats a white towel that sits folded on the counter, next to a little crystal jewelry dish. 

Ezra leaves, gently shutting the door behind himself. He examines your paperwork behind the closed door as he hears rustling on the other side, the sound of you undressing. You leave your clothes in a pile on a chair, then cover your body with the towel. You lay on the massage table, pleasantly surprised that Ezra’s been warming it for you. You’re still a little nervous, so you focus on breathing deeply and calming yourself down as you wait to hear Ezra’s knock. You listen to the gentle piano playing, trying to place where you’ve heard this song before. 

Knock knock.

“Come in,” you call out, and Ezra opens the door. He closes it again softly and stands by the counter, readying some supplies. “What’s this song?”

“S’a piano cover of The Cure,” Ezra answers. “Last Day of Summer.” 

“Mmm. I never really liked them,” you admit. 

Ezra chuckles softly. “To each their own, I ‘spose. But I must inform you that you’re missin’ out, my dove.” 

You’re grateful Ezra can’t see your smile or your bashful expression at the pet name as you rest your face in the cradle of the table. “I do like this,” you tell him. “The piano cover.” 

“I do too. Relaxing, ain’t it?” 

“Yeah, it is. Very.” 

“Indeed. Now, I’d like to go over a couple of items on your paperwork before we commence. I believe you had stated that you’ve never received a massage before, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“And you’re unsure of your preferences or areas of your body I should pay special attention to or avoid.”

 “That’s right, yeah.” Ezra hums in response, then goes quiet. “...I hope that’s not a problem?” 

“Worry not, dove, s’not a problem at all. Jus’ means I’ll be takin’ a more…experimental approach to massagin’ your body, s’all.”

 “Oh. Uh…experimental how?”

 “Your massage will entail the utilization of a variety of techniques, to thoroughly explore all parts of your body. By my listenin’ to both your verbal and nonverbal cues, and by checkin’ in, askin’ you questions about how you’re feelin’,” Ezra explains, “I’ll get to know your body and how best to please you. It’ll make things run nice an’ creamy for us both.” 

“O-okay. That sounds good.” 

You’re in trouble. Each of Ezra’s words, spoken through a honey-sweet tone, goes straight to your core. You wonder how slick you are between your thighs, if Ezra’ll notice. 

“I believe we’re ready to begin, then, dove.” 

Ezra lights some dragon’s blood scented incense, then washes his hands with hot water. Best not to startle you with cold hands. He approaches you on the massage table, you can smell him even through the smokey scent of the incense. He’s clean and citrusy, you wonder what cologne he wears. He places something on a rolling table and then reaches for your towel, gently tugging the tucked in ends from beneath your body. “Lift up a little for me, my dove. I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

You hoist yourself up, lifting your torso into the air so Ezra can pull the ends of the towel from under you. Cool air hits the skin of your exposed breasts, though your nipples are already hardened by your arousal. Once you lie back down, Ezra folds the towel down your torso so that only your ass and legs remain covered. “And I’ll be talkin’ you through my process, so nothin’ comes as a surprise.”

“Mm.”

“Gonna begin by drizzling some oil over your back, to keep your skin nice and properly lubricated as I massage you. Ready?”

“Ready,” you mumble. 

“But first…It seems you’ve forgotten to remove your jewelry,” he whispers, unclasping the necklace you wear. You lift slightly so that he can carefully remove the chain and pendant, then sets it down. Ezra takes the item he set on the rolling table, a massage candle that’s been burning for a while, the oil completely liquified. He holds it a couple inches above your back and then tilts it, hot oil dripping down your skin and surprising you. “My apologies, dove. I didn’t intend to startle you. You’ll get used to the warmth, I promise.” 

Ezra drips a bit more oil on your body, then sets it back down on the rolling table. “Gonna touch you, now,” he whispers. You sigh as you feel his hands finally touch your skin, calloused palms rubbing the oil from your shoulders down to your lower back. He begins by massaging your neck, thumbs sliding down your skin, over and over and over before traveling lower, massaging your traps and shoulders, the backs of your arms a little bit. His hands travel back up your shoulders where the skin meets your neck and massages with a firm pressure, causing you to wince. “Ohh, I know, I know. You’re quite tender, there, my dove. If you’d so kindly allow me to work out this tightness, I think it’d benefit you tremendously.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

Ezra massages you by pressing firmly into your skin, thumbs moving in circles, back and forth. “Relax,” he whispers. “Soften yourself. I’ve got you. Breathe in…” 

You draw in a deep breath, Ezra’s movements momentarily pausing. 

“...And out.” 

On your exhale, he massages the tense part of your neck, satisfied at how you’ve relaxed your body for him. He works out the tension, “Good, attagirl,” he praises, hands sliding down the rest of your back. He uses long strokes to massage up and down your spine, then your sides. You let out soft noises, noises indicating pleasure, not pain. Ezra notices how you quiet yourself, voiceless exhales instead of moans. “You don’t have to quiet yourself on my account, dove. I encourage any vocal or physical manifestation of your pleasure.”

Ezra’s hands feel like magic as they travel up and down your back, squeezing and sliding over your oiled skin. He walks his hands down your arms, down your palms, pausing when he reaches your fingers, “I believe you’ve forgotten to remove some more jewelry, darlin’. May I take these rings off of your fingers?”

“Yeah, please.” 

Ezra wiggles your rings off of the fingers of your right hand, then the left. They make soft, metallic noises as they clink against each other in Ezra’s palm. “Beautiful rings, my dear,” he murmurs before setting them down on the rolling cart, next to the necklace he’d taken off for you. Ezra massages your forearms, your wrists, your palms and fingers, first one hand and then the other. When he’s done, you hear the soft shuffle of fabric as he moves to the end of the massage table, rolling his cart with him. “I’d like to ask for consent before massaging your feet, my dove, as I’ve been kicked before by some rather ticklish clients.” 

“I’m a little ticklish, too” you admit shyly. “I can never get pedicures because of it. Have to do my toes at home.”

Ezra chuckles. “I find that firm pressure is most effective in preventing that sensation. May I try?” 

“Yes, go ahead.” 

Ezra pours a bit of oil in his hands and rubs them together before reaching for one of your feet, your toes wiggling and curling at his touch. “Shh, jus’ relax,” he coos softly, smirking at your sensitivity. With a steady, hard pressure, Ezra massages your foot. “Focus on your breathin’. It’s ‘sposed to feel good, I ain’t tryin’ to play a dirty trick on you.”

The tickling sensation is there, but with steady, deep breaths, you’re able to control it and allow yourself the pleasure of having your feet massaged. You stretch out the way a cat does when it relaxes, and Ezra smiles in satisfaction. “There it is. Feel good?”

“S’good,” you sigh. 

Ezra massages from your feet to your ankles, then folds the towel up and over your ass to expose your legs fully. He massages from your ankles up your calves, and oh - it feels incredible. You moan freely, feeling more confident to do so after his kind encouragement. You melt under his touch, arching into it as he works up your thighs, drizzling more oil before rubbing your skin. His hands are kneading the plump flesh of your ass now, one hand on each cheek, his thumbs close to your pussy. He admires that pretty diamond shape of your ass and thighs framing your bare pussy, and he notices how you drip for him. “Ezra,” his name slips from your lips in a whimper as he spreads your cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over the coarse hair that surrounds your cunt. 

“You seem quite enthused, little dove,” Ezra smirks. 

“Yeah…feel - feels good. So good, s-so…” 

“I’m pleased to hear it, my darlin’.” 

“Ezra,” you whine in betrayal when you feel Ezra’s hands leave your body, the pressure of his touch lingering on your skin. 

“My, such an ardent complaint,” Ezra remarks. “I hate to disappoint, but I implore you to trust my process. I won’t leave you dissatisfied, sweetheart.” Ezra unfolds the towel back over your body, then lifts it slightly, “Now, on your back for me.”  

You flip yourself onto your back, and once settled, Ezra folds the towel down to cover your lower half, leaving your breasts exposed. He keeps the temperature of the air in the room warm, but your nipples are hardened anyway, hardened by your arousal. Your heart pounds as you watch him, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths. You turn your head to watch him reach for his massage oil candle, your breath hitching when you see his pants visibly tented by his erection. He doesn’t bother hiding it. 

Ezra watches you with dark, sparkling eyes as he drips the oil on your body, the candlelight flickering, illuminating his handsome features with a warm glow. He massages your shoulders and your chest, hands gliding over your breasts and abdomen, then back up again. You gasp when his thumb catches your nipple, and Ezra raises an eyebrow. He circles your areola with his thumb, pinching and twisting your other nipple gently, teasing you. “Fuck,” you cry out, raising your hand to hold Ezra’s strong, muscular, veiny forearm. 

“You’re doin’ so good,” he whispers, then places your hand down at your side. He pulls the towel down your body some more as he massages down your sides and your hips, lifting one of your legs so he can massage both sides of your thigh. Your legs are spread for him, pussy on display and glistening with your arousal. “Oh, little dove. Such a mess you’re makin’ of my table.” 

You bite your lip and whine as Ezra’s fingers just barely touch your lips, achingly close to where you need his touch the most. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“I don’t wanna hear you apologizin’, sweetheart. I won’t stand for it,” Ezra lays your bent leg back down, then rounds the table and lifts your other leg. “‘Sides,” he says, “S’only natural, how your body reacts to my touch. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 

You smile shyly as Ezra massages up and down your thigh, teasing you just how he did before. You tilt yourself into his touch, moaning as he approaches your wet cunt, waiting to feel his fingers between your folds. But you never do. 

“We’re comin’ up on the end of our appointment,” Ezra warns. “If there’s an area of your body that you feel needs special attention before we conclude, let me know.”

“Ezra–” You reach for his wrist and urge him to touch you between your thighs. 

“Something that still needs tending to, my dove?”

You nod frantically. “Please–”

“Use your words,” he interrupts, his voice low. “You have to ask me for what you want. I’m unable to alleviate your discomfort if you don’t tell me what you need, sweetheart.” Ezra’s fingers hover over your core, feeling the heat radiating from you. You stutter out something incoherent, and Ezra dips his fingers lower, ever so gently touching you. He traces your folds, waiting for your answer. “Ask me.” 

“I want you to make me come, Ezra,” you beg, “Please.” 

“I can do that in many ways. Tell me how, little dove. Tell me where you need me to touch you.” 

Ezra wears a crooked smile. This, this is his loophole. He knows that technically, as a professional, this is a line he shouldn’t cross. But he can’t help himself, you moan so sweetly for him even without his fingers buried in your cunt. Sensation is subjective, so you can’t say his teasing is intentional, deliberate. It’s your own reaction, and not Ezra’s fault if you feel aroused during massage - after all, it’s a completely natural response to physical stimulation. By making you ask - beg - for what he’s coaxed you to want from him, Ezra evades responsibility. This is on you. 

“I want your fingers in my pussy,” you breathe, pressing his thick fingers against your slick center. “Please.” 

Ezra inserts his middle and ring fingers into your dripping hole, feeling your muscles tense around his digits as he gathers your arousal. He pulls his fingers back out and then traces up and down your pussy, loving the way his fingers slip and slide through your slick folds. He circles your clit once, twice, then explores the feeling of your lips again. “Check in with me, darlin’, how are you feeling?”

You answer Ezra’s question with a mess of breathy moans, and he chuckles at that. He paints steady circles around your clit and glides his other hand over your oiled body, fingers catching your pebbled nipples. Ezra leans over and keeps his face close to yours, grinning proudly when you gasp as he pushes those two fingers of his back inside you. Your legs clamp shut around his arm as he curls his fingers rhythmically, stroking that spongy, sweet spot inside of you that makes you squirm. “Ezra, Ezra,” you cry. 

“Shhhh,” he hushes you, “Open up for me.” Ezra traces your face with his sharp nose, his hot, minty breath fanning over your skin. As you spread your legs, he bites your earlobe gently. “Stay like this now, little dove. Let me please you.” 

Ezra stands up straight again, his warm, masculine hand sliding down your sternum and your stomach, fingers reaching for that tight bundle of nerves between your thighs. As he works his fingers inside you, he circles your clit, using both hands to pleasure you. You’re close, and it’s taken no time at all. Arching your back, you tilt your head and close your eyes as you lean into his touch, focusing on your impending release. “Look at me when you come,” he commands. “Eyes on me.” 

“Fuck, Ezra–” 

“I know, little dove, I know,” he coos.

He replaces his fingers with his tongue, knees cracking as he kneels before you. By pressing a button beneath the table he lowers it, bringing you to a comfortable height for himself. You don’t notice him dipping his fingers into the candle, then shoving his hand beneath the waistband of his linen pants. He toys with his hard cock, stiff member aching, leaking just for you.

All you can focus on is the pleasure building deep in your gut. You watch Ezra, he’s gazing upon you with hooded eyes. He seems entranced by it all, the sensation of your pulsing cunt, the slick noises his fingers make while inside you. He hums at your taste, that sweet, musky flavor of your pussy. You tug his dark hair as he circles your clit with his tongue, “Fuck, right there,” you gasp. “Right there, Ezra, please.” 

As Ezra’s tongue slides over your clit, fingers steadily curling inside you, he pumps himself. His big hand slides up and down his shaft, he can feel each of his swollen, prominent veins under his palm. He grips himself tightly, fucking his fist with fervor. 

“I’m there, I’m there,” you cry. You come on his tongue with loud, frantic moans, maintaining eye contact, just like he told you to do. He works you through it, your pussy soaking his fingers, his nose, arousal dripping all the way down into his palm. Moans of pleasure shifting to noises of overstimulation, Ezra continuing to fuck you on his fingers as he fucks his fist. He groans against your cunt as he comes, painting his own hand with hot, milky ropes of his come. He drags his release out, teasing both himself and you as he comes down. 

Gently, Ezra pulls his fingers from your core, then pulls his own hand out of his pants. He turns to wash his hands at the sink but you stop him, reaching for his wrist. “N-need to taste you,” you breathe. “Let me taste you, Ezra.” 

Ezra smiles warmly. “I’m flattered by your enthusiasm to reciprocate the pleasure, little dove, but I must confess I’ve taken care of my arousal already. This is your time to relax and to immerse yourself in pleasure, not mine.”

You pout. 

“But if you desire to taste me…”

Ezra holds his hand in front of your face, fingers glistening with silky ribbons of his come. You bring his palm to your lips, then lick and suck his fingers clean of his spend, humming at the salty, heady taste. 

When done, Ezra helps you sit up. “I’ll wait out front for you to get dressed, and then we can schedule a follow-up appointment,” he says, a mischievous look in his eye. “Don’t forget your jewelry on my cart, little dove.”

Comments, reblogs, and asks are so very appreciated!! I love to hear your kind words about my work, they keep me motivated to write for you all <3

[freelancearsonist]

every breath you take

➔ (no outbreak) Joel Miller x f!Reader

➔ 5.3k words

➔ Your dad is getting married to his soulmate and you have every intention of making it the perfect day. The only kink in your plan is your unexpected feelings for your soon-to-be stepdad’s best man.

➔ Rated MA // BILL X FRANK SUPREMACY. LONG LIVE BILL X FRANK. no outbreak, age gap (reader is early 20s, Joel is 45), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, fingering (reader receiving), references to masturbation (reader), pussy pronouns, pet names // reader has female anatomy (no body description but is generally able-bodied) and uses feminine pronouns, is Frank’s adopted daughter (written for all skin tones), wears makeup and a dress, has hair (unspecified length)

➔ Big big thank you to @sugarcoated-lame and @sunlightmurdock for this idea and letting me run with it (sorry it took 5 months 😂) this is psuedo-inspired by my own current activities as my best friend's moh which is why i haven't been super active in the past month or so, thank you to everyone for being so patient with me <33

June, 2013.

After months of planning—stress, sweat, and tears abounding—the big night is here. Well, almost here. The actual wedding is tomorrow, but tonight is the rehearsal dinner; and as your adoptive dad has spent the entire preparatory period impressing upon you, the rehearsal might be even more important than the wedding itself.

With that in mind, you arrive at the venue a few hours early to assist with the set up. Seeing the unassembled pieces and parts of the event brings a smile to your face and a determination to your soul–you want this to be perfect. 

Someone else shares your determination, too.

You would’ve sworn, when you first met him, that an elaborate wedding would be the very last thing Bill would want. And yet this has been as much his planning as it has been your dad’s. It brings so much joy to your heart that your dad has found someone who matches him so completely. You couldn’t be happier for them; and at the same time, you couldn’t be more frustrated for yourself. Because, as dedicated as you are to making this day perfect for them, Bill’s best man and long-time friend is maybe even more dedicated. He’s been turning this wedding into a ‘friendly’ competition between the two of you, trying to one-up you at every opportunity he gets. It’s infuriating—especially when he wears that smug grin that’s become his signature expression around you. It’s torture, too, because all you want to do is kiss that stupid smirk right off his handsome face.

It’s unintentional on his part, you’re sure, but the tension is palpable enough to slice with a butter knife nonetheless. Today is no exception—he’s dressed for labor in worn jeans that are just a little too tight around his thighs and a faded Iron Maiden shirt that hugs his strong biceps. His hair is ruffled like he’s been tugging and running his hands through it, and it puts all kinds of indecent thoughts into your brain.

It’s wrong. The guy’s old enough to be your dad, and that’s aside from the fact that he’s your soon-to-be-stepdad’s best man. No self-respecting young woman should be looking at a guy who’s old enough to remember the Nixon administration the way you are right now. And yet…

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he says in that drawl of his which makes you want to throw your sanity out the window and fall at his feet to worship the very ground he walks on.

You’ve never hated Joel Miller more than you do right now. 

Regardless, you greet him with the sweetest smile you can muster. “Good morning. I didn’t know you’d be here this early.”

“Well, rehearsal’s as important as the weddin’ itself,” he dutifully repeats the line that you’ve heard from your dad a million times over. “And this barn ain’t gonna decorate itself.”

“Well, that’s kinda my job,” you remind him, hoping your tone sounds more annoyed to him than it does to you. 

He flashes that boyish smile that no middle-aged man should be able to master, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “Can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

You want to grumble about it. You want to be annoyed by this goofy-ass forty-five year old man and his stupid competitive streak. Instead, your mouth betrays you by smiling. “I appreciate the help.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” He punctuates it with a wink, and you consider just falling onto the ground and perishing. Instead, you roll up your shirt sleeves and get to work.

The fruits of your labor are well worth the effort they take. You feel a heady sense of pride when you look around at all the decor–as long as this barn has been a wedding venue, you’re certain no one’s ever made it look this good before.

The tables are arranged neatly in rows, draped with luxurious white tablecloths and topped with neat arrangements of greenery in the centers. The seating chart that Bill and Frank worked so meticulously on is put into effect with hand-written placards designating each chair to an occupant. Strings of white globe lights hang from the rafters and cast a hazy, reverent glow over the entire barn. Everything is the perfect mix of modern and rustic.

Outside on the lawn, rows of neatly arranged chairs line a petal-scattered aisle. Everything leads to the focal point–an eight-foot high arch wrapped generously in green vines and white blossoms. It’s definitely the highlight of the entire thing, which irks you just the slightest bit–it was solely Joel’s vision. Apparently, he’s a lot more artistic than you’ve ever given him credit for. It tracks, you suppose; construction is an artform if you really think about it. He uses his hands to create just like a sculptor, but to a larger scale. And those hands are capable; you’ve seen exactly how much they can move or carry and you wonder if they could–

You shake off that train of thought before it can go any further. If you can’t get yourself under control you’re going to start wearing a rubberband on your wrist that you can snap every time your thoughts about Joel stray into the ‘things you shouldn’t be thinking about a middle-aged man’ category.

He certainly has aged like fine wine for a forty-five-year-old man, though…

Snap.

With a sigh, you give your head a shake in hopes of clearing your mind and take a look down at your watch. You’ve finished with perfect timing–you’ve got about two hours to go home and get cleaned up before you have to be back for the rehearsal dinner.

You look for Joel for a few moments before leaving, but he’s nowhere to be found. It puzzles you a little bit that he wouldn’t at least say goodbye before leaving, but then again he really doesn’t have to answer to you. It’s a well-needed wake up call, a reminder that your feelings–can whatever you’re going through really be called that?–your attraction, is one-sided. He’s here for Bill and Frank, not for you. You’re his best friend’s daughter and nothing more, and the realization washes over you like a bucket of ice water.

You hate the way it sends you spiraling on the drive home. You hate the way you care so much about what he might think of you. You hate the way that you have to look at yourself in the mirror and give yourself a stern talking-to about needing to let this whole stupid crush go. You hate the way that you can’t even pretend the extra layer of mascara you apply isn’t for him.

You avoid Joel the entire night, which isn’t easy to do. You have to walk down the aisle next to him during the ceremony rehearsal but you avoid his eye contact, taking a twisted little satisfaction in the way he frowns when all of your replies to his chit chat are short and clipped. Dinner is easier–both Frank and Bill sit between you and Joel, so there’s no attempted conversation to deflect from him. But you could almost swear you feel his eyes on you, as if he’s looking right through your dad and soon-to-be-stepdad.

Joel is puzzled, to put it simply. One second, he’s got you in the palm of his hand. Then a moment later, you’re looking at him like you might look at a bug you stepped on and got stuck to your shoe.

He puts it out of mind as much as he can. He’s not supposed to be looking at you like that, after all. He’s not supposed to be admiring the perfectly kissable curve of your shoulder or the biteable expanse of your neck. He’s definitely not supposed to be wondering what you’re wearing under that adorable dress of yours. You’re his best friend’s daughter, for god’s sake. You’re so far off limits that he shouldn’t even be looking in your general direction.

But he is. He’s looking, and he can’t stop looking. And most of all, he can’t stop wondering if you feel it too.

Evidently you don’t, because you won’t even take his arm as you practice walking up the aisle in preparation for the big day tomorrow. You’ve probably figured out how much he’s been thinking about you and the kinds of things he’s been thinking, and you’re disgusted. He’s just a dirty old man to you, surely.

Little does Joel know that you come on your fingers moaning his name practically as soon as you’re through the door of your hotel room that night. You fall asleep before you can feel too ashamed about it–blissfully unaware that Joel’s doing the same exact thing just a few doors down.

You wake up in the morning with much more clarity than you usually have, especially at 9AM.

No matter what, today is about Bill and Frank. You get to be part of a true love story, the kind that your dad used to read about to you in bedtime stories when you were a little girl. That knowledge steadies your mind more than anything else ever could.

You jump into the shower and try your best to tame your unruly hair before shuffling down to the dining area on the ground floor of the hotel. 

Bill and Frank really spared no expense on this place. All the food is fresh and hot, replenished every few minutes. It smells incredible–there’s overlapping waves of pastries, sausages, eggs, and fruits. It’s almost overwhelming; there’s way too many options.

After you pile up a plate with as much as your stomach can comfortably handle, you make your way over to the table your father occupies by himself.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” he says through a mouthful of cantaloupe.

“Decided to sleep in a little,” you explain. “Where’s Bill?”

“He already had breakfast, he’s getting ready,” Frank explains. “Joel made out a whole schedule for us, put us on different shifts so we don’t see each other before the wedding. It’s bad luck, after all.”

You snort through a bite of biscuits and gravy, because that’s such a characteristically Joel thing to do. From what you know of him, he thrives with routine and function–you’re surprised he doesn’t have you working off of a schedule, too.

A small, annoying part of your brain thinks it’s really adorable that Joel plays into that whole superstition. Another, more sensible part tells you that nothing Joel does is adorable and you’ve really got to stop thinking about him so much.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask, looking up at your dad through a bite of blueberry muffin.

“Relieved, honestly,” he admits with a chuckle and a twinkle in his eye. “I finally get to marry my best friend today, with my other best friend by my side.”

You hide the way the comment makes you choke up behind another bite of your breakfast.

There have been a lot of times where you’ve gone unwanted in your life; starting right at birth, continuing with unrequited crushes and lost friendships. But one person has always wanted you and been there for you through thick and thin. Frank picks you up every time no matter how hard you fall, and you feel so unbelievably lucky to be in his life. 

If anyone deserves a fairytale ending, it’s Frank. He always puts the people he cares about first, and now it’s his turn to shine. You’re not letting anything get in the way of that–especially not stupid, unrequited feelings for the best man.

With a little more resolve in your mind, it’s easier to get ready for the main event.

Every step of your preparation has been immaculately planned over the course of months. From your dress to your make-up, to your hair, not one detail has been overlooked. It takes you more than an hour to get ready–but when you’re ready, you’re a vision. Even though you’re not normally the type to enjoy looking into the mirror, you have to admit to yourself that you look stunning. 

Your traitorous brain wonders if Joel will think the same. 

With a heavy sigh, you grab your bag and your car keys. You really wish you had a way to shut those intruding little wishful thoughts off–they’re doing more harm than good at this point. 

You take a deep breath, shove as much as you can down, and resolve to have a good time celebrating your dads–then you open the door and set out towards an unforgettable night.

Whatever kind of shock and awe you were hoping to inspire in Joel, it’s surely nothing compared to the rush you feel as you find him in the bridal party lounge.

You’ve never seen him quite so put together. He’s normally a bit undone–a symptom of being a long-time bachelor–but today, he’s perfectly styled. The hair he’s been growing out is slicked back into gorgeous curls, his black tuxedo pants hug his hips like a dream. He’s in the process of fastening the last two buttons on his impeccable white dress shirt and every bone in your body screams to stop him–to keep that peek of his tanned chest on display for your hungry eyes.

You have a fearful moment of thinking you actually made the request aloud, because he does stop in his tracks when his eyes land on you. His lips part in shock and his pupils dilate and he freezes. Fingers that were once absentmindedly completing their task drop to his sides as he murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like “wow.”

“Need help?” You offer before you can think better of it.

There’s a long moment of tense silence, and then he nods silently.

Your mouth is dry as you approach him, trying desperately to keep your cool. Your clammy palms are definitely not the most qualified to complete this task for him, but you can’t back down now. With a deep breath–you’re so close now that it fills your nose with the spicy, intoxicating scent of his cologne–you will your hands to stay steady and reach for his shirt buttons.

His lead tongue finally remembers how to work as you fasten the first button. “You look… incredible.”

“So do you,” you whisper. Just when you think you’re out of the woods, ready to step back and breathe properly again, his hand comes up to offer you a bow tie.

“This too?” His warm brown eyes search yours–how could he ever expect you to say no?

“Y-yeah. Sure.” You turn the collar of his shirt up, then carefully fasten the tie around his neck. The band is perfectly configured to his neck, the bow already tied–all you have to do is secure a hook through a loop. He could’ve easily done this himself; and yet he didn’t. He wanted you to do this, and that particular bit of knowledge sends a rush of heat burning through your veins. 

Maybe this whole song and dance isn’t quite as unrequited as you originally thought.

Your fingers brush his warm skin as you smooth his shirt collar back down over the band of the tie and it’s like an electric shock that shoots through every inch of your body. You’ve stuck a fork in an outlet and you want to do it again.

You’re done with your task, yet you can’t bring yourself to step away. He doesn’t either–for seconds that feel like hours, you look into those dark eyes and feel his breath against your face and you finally have the courage to do something about it. You’re going to kiss him, just lean in a little further and–

The sound of the lounge door opening makes your body jolt with the force of an actual fork in an outlet.

“There you are!” Frank’s got an untamable smile on his face–his hair is impeccably gelled back, his white tuxedo tailored to fit like a glove. The sight of him, so close to everything he’s ever wanted, brings tears to your eyes. “Wow, you two look amazing.”

“Hey. Thanks.” You’re fighting with all your strength to keep your voice even and calm despite the compliment. The reality of your father’s happily ever after comes crashing in and you’ve never felt so proud. “First look time?”

“Yeah,” he confirms with a nod. “Is Bill–?”

“Dressin’,” Joel answers after clearing his throat. “I’ll bring ’im out when he’s done.”

“Perfect, thank you.” Frank takes your hand to lead you outside, but not before you look over your shoulder at Joel. He looks thoroughly disheveled despite his sharp appearance–you’ve gotten under his skin. Good.

Thank god for waterproof make-up because you nearly lose your whole face during the first look. Not that you’re wearing much, but it’s enough that it’s jeopardized by the tears your treacherous eyes shed despite trying in vain to will them away.

You’ve never been so happy for two people before. You’ve never seen two people more in love. In their matching white tuxes, with their matching watery eyes, as they turn to greet each other for the first time today, you know that Bill and Frank are a forever thing. It brings you a sense of peace that you never knew was possible.

At some point, you become conscious of the fact that you’re holding Joel’s hand. You know you probably shouldn’t, that you could get both of you in serious trouble–but he’s not pulling away, so neither do you.

The true test of your mascara comes during the ceremony–it passes the test with flying colors, which is truly impressive considering the tsunami it has to hold up against. You’ve never really been a wedding cryer, although you suppose no one would blame you for this one. You’re hardly the only person walking away with tissues to their eyes. Bill and Frank have loved so hard and fought for so long in order to obtain this day–it’s nothing short of incredible to see them finally seal their union with vows.

Before the reception, you pop into the bridal lounge to make sure you’re still presentable. A couple tissues later and you’re good to go, but the sound of the door opening and the lock clicking into place stops you in your tracks.

Joel’s standing there, looking like a dream. Curls slightly disheveled from the wind, top two buttons of his shirt undone with his bowtie hanging out of his jacket pocket. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, albeit not as bad as yours.

His breath seems to catch when he sees you–he clears his throat before whispering, “Hey.”

For a long moment, your tongue is too heavy to speak. Every ounce of desire from earlier comes rushing back in a flash flood of emotion. It’s just you and him and tension so palpable you could grab ahold of it.

“H-hey,” you breathe. Earlier, you were ready to do something drastic. Now, all the familiar doubts come crashing back in. Are all these feelings one-sided? Were you just seeing what you wanted to see? The feeling of his hand in yours is burned into your palm. Does he feel it too?

“I think it went pretty well,” he hums. His hands are tucked into his pockets, thumbs twitching unconsciously as if he’s nervous.

“It was perfect,” you agree.

For a moment that seems to last a lifetime, you both stand toeing the line. It’s right there, unseen but waiting to be crossed. You don’t know if either of you have the courage it takes to step over it.

And then he moves; he breaks the tenuous balance of platonic and something more by closing the distance between you.

“You really do look amazin’,” he breathes, hands clenching indecisively at his sides. “I mean, you always do, but–”

You grab him before he can finish his sentence. ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ is blaring on the outdoor speakers as your lips finally meet his. It’s been weeks, maybe even months, of dreaming about this moment. It’s better than you ever could’ve imagined.

The world fades away as his breath becomes yours. There’s nothing but the feeling of his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip and his hands gripping your waist and his curls tickling your forehead. Nothing but the sound of his deep groan and the desperate thrum of his heartbeat underneath your palm as it slides up his chest. Nothing but finally feeling complete.

“W-we shouldn’t…” he murmurs, but he doesn’t dare pull away. His steps sound like cannonfire as he backs you up against the wall, a march towards something deliciously irreversible as his tight grip on your waist bunches the fabric of your dress up. Nothing has ever felt as right as his entire body surrounding and swallowing you this way.

“I want to,” you breathe against his lips. “Do you?”

“God, yes.”

Your arms come up to wrap around his neck and tug him closer, desperately wanting every inch of his body pressed up against you. Just as he’s starting to pull the skirt of your dress up, the song outside changes to ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’, strangely apt but also a reminder that you don’t have time. You made this playlist yourself–you know that there’s only three more songs after this one before you’re supposed to be ready for the bridal party entrance to the reception.

“Joel…” you moan out. “Joel, we have to be quick.”

“How quick?” He questions between searing kisses down the length of your neck.

“Ten minutes at the very most.”

“Shit,” he grumbles. He doesn’t pull away though–if anything, he pushes you back harder against the wall. “You still wanna do this?”

As much as you want to say yes, as much as you want to say fuck the reception, you can’t do that to Frank and Bill. “You think ten minutes is enough time?”

“If I can’t make you come in ten minutes I’ll eat my own fist.”

It makes you shiver in conjunction with the way his hand slides feather-light up your thigh.

Even the ghosting touch of his calloused fingertips on your sensitive skin has you aching for more. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna drive me crazy.”

The cocky bastard has the audacity to actually wink at you. “That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

You drag his lips back to yours with a renewed sense of desperation, relishing the gentle scratch of his trimmed beard against your chin and under your palms. “It’s definitely working.”

“Good.”

You know this is territory that you probably shouldn’t be crossing into, not when he’s twenty years older than you and he’s your new step-dad's best friend, but you can’t be brought to care when those deliciously rough fingertips are slipping under the hem of your panties.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he grumbles against your lips. “She’s soakin’ for me.”

“A-always is,” you gasp out. 

His fingers sweep through your folds, gathering as much slick as he can to swirl around your sensitive clit. He smirks at the way your hands tighten on him even at the lightest of touches.

“That how you like it, sweetheart? Nice and gentle?” He presses a little firmer and a grin spreads over his face at the gasp you let out. “Oh, that’s it.”

“Joel, please…” Your hands move to his arms, squeezing tighter than you probably should but you can’t help it when he’s touching you like this. It’s exactly what you need and he knows it–he watches your face for every little indication that he’s doing a good job.

“Please what?” He purrs quietly. “What do you need?”

You could go on like this for hours, you’re sure–and you’re sure he’d be more than willing. You could stay here in his arms forever and let him work you over until there’s nothing left in your head but his name.

The song outside changes again, and you know forever will have to wait.

“Fuck me,” you plead. “Need you.”

“It’s gonna be tight, sweetheart.” You’d think he was being overly confident if you couldn’t feel the size of the bulge pressing against your thigh.

“That’s okay. Please.”

“Alright, sweetheart.” In a flash he’s got his belt undone and your greedy hands are more than happy to assist in shoving those perfectly pressed pants down his sturdy thighs.

You can’t help the gasp that bubbles out with the sight of him. He’s big. There’s no debate. The flushed tip of him is peeking through mouth-watering foreskin, red and flushed as if angry it’s not inside you already. You’re devastated you don’t have time to take that thick length into your mouth, to make him shudder and shake until he’s begging to fill you.

Later, you remind yourself.

“Still sure about this?” He asks, tone no longer brimming with the urgency and arrogance from just a few moments prior. He searches your eyes intimately for any hint of hesitation–the last thing he wants to do is to push you.

You’ve never wanted anyone more.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Joel.”

“Easy, honey. I’ve gotcha.” The hand between your thighs moves to coat him in your slick–for a moment, you’re mesmerized at the sight of his big hand working over his cock. “Gotta tell me if anythin’ doesn’t feel good, ‘kay?”

“I will, I swear, just please–”

The rest of your sentence gets lost in a breathless moan with the first gentle thrust of his hips. Even just the tip is a stretch–one that has your nails digging into his shirt-clad back and your thighs tightening around his waist.

“Shit, sweetie,” he purrs, voice liquid gold. “Gotta relax, gotta lemme in–”

You manage to loosen your thighs a little and it gives him the space he needs to press all the way in to the hilt–the feeling of him filling you completely is nothing but breathtaking. A broken groan tumbles from his lips–you can feel the way his breath hitches from how his forehead is pressed against yours. It’s nothing short of heady, to know that you have such a profound effect on a man you thought might be immune to you.

“Good?” He questions in a whisper. One of his hands is hooked under your left knee to keep your leg up around his waist; the other strokes absentminded patterns over your right hip, as if unconsciously soothing you.

You give him a shaky nod in response. “Good.”

The pace he sets is the most delicious kind of torture. You both know you’re in a time crunch, so Joel is more than happy to employ the most toe-curlingly relentless speed. Every slick thrust of his cock makes your eyes flutter–little breathy moans escape your lips with fervor as he pounds deep. He's hitting every single spot all at once and then some. All the while his lips trace around your neck and jaw, careful not to leave marks but whining quietly as if he’s tempted. As if he wants nothing more than to claim you in a way that everyone can see.

You moan out his name and the hand on your waist comes to help, settling between your bodies and finding that perfect rhythm from before. You’re finding out that he’s a very intuitive and quick learner–you would certainly praise him for it if you could find the breath to do so. 

The way his hips work–driving him deeper than anyone’s ever been; the way his fingers swirl–bringing you to the brink in mere minutes with the most thigh-shaking friction; the way his mouth works, sucking just light enough on the sweet spot behind your ear so as not to leave a mark… it all builds and builds and builds, leaving you breathless and trembling and teetering on the edge of pure oblivion.

“Y’feel like fuckin’ heaven,” he gasps out against your cheek. “Never gonna get enough.”

The words alone send white-hot pleasure shooting down your spine–you’ve wanted him so badly for so long, and now you know he’s wanted you too. It feels even better with that satisfaction, with the fact of winning the prize you’ve been coveting so deeply.

“Joel…” You want to tell him the million thoughts that are rushing through your head, but your lungs aren’t cooperating. 

“I know baby,” he murmurs with a particularly devastating thrust. “I know. S’okay.”

It’s too much and simultaneously not enough. You dig your nails into his shirt to tug him closer, a silent plea to get him working against that spot again. He complies without words, hitching your leg a little higher around his waist and angling his hips in a way that makes you cry out his name again.

“I’m gonna–”

“Yeah, go ‘head,” he purrs breathlessly. “Lemme feel it, come all over my cock.”

His fingers press a little firmer against your clit and that’s all you need for the knot in your stomach to unravel with blinding force. It travels through every nerve like some delicious form of spontaneous combustion, making your body shiver with the energy of it. It’s the best you’ve ever felt–you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it, either.

“That’s it honey, holy shit…” He murmurs before finally meeting your lips again for a breathless and panting kiss. “W-where?”

For a moment, you have no clue what he could possibly be talking about. His thrusts are losing rhythm with each moment, as if he’s about to–

“Inside,” you whine out after your moment of clarity. “Please–”

“Shit,” he spits even as he drives himself impossibly deeper. “Y’sure?”

You’re not even conscious of nodding your head–all you know is that you need him completely. “It’s safe. Promise.”

“Atta girl,” he whispers. “Gonna leave you fuckin’ drippin’, won’t be able to stop feelin’ it all night–”

His head tips back as the first wave crashes over him, eyes squeezed shut and mouth dropped open as his hips grind into yours. There’s nothing short of pure ecstasy on his face with the first few ropes of cum that fill you. You’ve never seen anything quite as beautiful as the pleasure washing over this gorgeous man’s gorgeous face. Knowing that you’re the cause of all this nearly sends you over the edge all over again.

He grunts as he shoves himself a little deeper, eager to feel every inch of you as he unwinds. “Christ, honey… squeezin’ me so goddamn tight.”

“Not my fault you’re huge.”

He chuckles at that, staying seated deep within your walls for a moment longer so he can kiss you again. It’s lost its edge of desperation, but it makes up for it with an overwhelming note of sweetness. His hand cups your jaw to guide the angle and once again you’re struck by that overwhelming sense of rightness. It’s like you were meant to be here, meant to take everything he gives you and more, meant to love him.

The song outside changes to ‘Every Breath You Take’, the song before the entrance song, and you spring to action.

“Shit, Joel, we’ve got to go.”

He pulls out with an overdramatic groan, as if it hurts him to be separated now that he knows what it feels like to be joined. You can feel the drip start even before his hand comes to fix your panties, but there’s hardly enough time to worry about that.

“How’s my make-up?”

“Perfect, darlin’. Not a thing outta place.”

“Thank god for waterproof,” you chuckle as you straighten your dress.

His dark eyes meet yours as your hands smooth out his rumpled shirt–there’s still so much swirling behind them, so much promise of things to come.

“We’ve gotta go,” you repeat when he halts by the door.

“Just a sec,” he murmurs. And then he pulls you in for one final, saccharine sweet kiss. “Come to my room w’me tonight.”

“Okay,” you promise–you’re surprised you can keep your voice even when just the question makes your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you.” It’s genuine, earnest. It makes your heart skip another beat.

He takes your hand before unlocking and opening the door, and he doesn’t let it go until he absolutely has to.

➔ beta: @schnarfer and @futuraa-free thank you my darlings <3 ; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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[ham1lton]

MISS BAD MEDIA KARMA

pairings: (alleged) charles leclerc x reader. lando norris x reader. george russell x reader. (platonic) sebastian vettel x reader.

warnings: misogynistic media and comments.

summary: after a night out with your fellow drivers, the media is alight with rumours and speculation about your romantic life. most people would call a pr meeting, you go through the funniest rumours on instagram live and rate them out of ten.

author’s note: i’m still taking questions/asks/requests so please send some in! also as usual, there is a poll at the end so please vote!

— part of my maneater series ꕤ

START INSTAGRAM LIVE. (20K WATCHING)

Y/N: hi guys! hi! how is everyone? how are you doing?

user1: Y/N NOTICE ME!

user2: y/n girl u look hungover as hell 😭

Y/N: am i hungover? perhaps. that’s probably why i’m doing this. jo is going to kill me but whatever.

user3: what are you planning on doing? 😭

Y/N: after yesterday’s… events. there have been a lot of rumours about me and my fellow drivers that have been spread around social media. so let’s talk through them and rate them out of ten.

user7: ain’t this a pr disaster?

user8: you probably shouldn’t do this.

landonorris: LMFAOOOOOO DO IT

Y/N: lando? how are you not hungover from last night? i’ll start with you. apparently according to this thread by twitter user y/nando, the two of us are secretly engaged to be married. okay first of all, why? second of all, no. i’m sorry. that isn’t happening any time soon. also, my schedule is too packed to be thinking about marriage plans. this one is 2/10 because c’mon.

landonorris: i’m searching that thread right now.

landonorris: wait lol why is this kinda accurate… are you sure we’re not engaged?

user7: LMFAOOOOOO

Y/N: we’re supposed to be EXTINGUISHING the rumours, not adding to them??? we are not engaged. we’re just friends. barely that if anything.

user8: BOOOOOOOOO

y/nando: it’s okay :) you’ll see that you’re perfect for each other one day.

Y/N: will we? anyways. next rumour. according to some monaco newspaper, charles and i have a secret child. this is apparently backed up by some anonymous sources.

landonorris: BOOOOO we get some shitty engagement rumour and you and charles get a child. i want a redo!

charles_leclerc: don’t deny our child y/n 😔

user6: y’all are MESSY 😭

user9: CHARLESY/N SUPREMACY 😍

georgerussell63: end the live y/n 😁👍🏻

Y/N: what is this photo? this is supposed to be proof of my pregnancy? i was just bloated from an evening of indulging at this amazing italian restaurant. it was gorgeous. whoever used this photo is dead wrong for that. this one is 5/10 cause i feel self conscious.

user12: no deadass 😭 if i was famous i would have had a million pregnancy rumours by now.

user68: no charlesy/n baby? BOOO!

Y/N: another one. george and i were spotted buying baby clothes in london. apparently george is me and charles’ baby’s godfather. there is no baby! charles and i don’t have a kid. so george is not the godfather!

georgerussell63: wait… why not? i would be a great godfather actually. i am offended.

user9: george going from telling y/n to switch off the live to being offended he isn’t the godfather of her alleged baby is crazy 😭

Y/N: also why was i shopping with george and not my alleged baby daddy? charles you’re a deadbeat to our non-existent child and that’s why this newspaper is saying that george is raising my kid?

charles_leclerc: apologies to leclerc jr but no way i’m letting george raise him.

georgerussell63: i’m not ready to be a stepdad but c’mon i’d be a great one.

user4: george isn’t the stepdad, he’s the dad that stepped up!

logansargeant: i’m upset that i haven’t been included in these rumors.

Y/N: if i was gonna ask anyone to be my baby’s stepdad it would be oscar. this rumour is 3/10 because it’s so unbelievable.

oscarpiastri: NOOOOOOOO 😰

user9: HELP???

user67: i’m watching this while doing my makeup. y/n is my favourite influencer!

user78: i was watching your vlog when i saw the notification!

Y/N: did you enjoy this vlog? for people who haven’t seen it yet, it’s detailing my offseason with my friends and family! we travelled a little and i did some work with my sponsorships! so check it out. we have some very interesting camera people.

user65: can’t believe you had the usher do your camera work for your superbowl vlog.

user8: you met beyoncé, you never gonna fail!

user67: be honest, did you faint at the sight of all the big celebs?

lewishamilton: y/n, this is all very interesting but maybe you shouldn’t be doing this? - sebastian.

Y/N: seb?? what are you doing here? and why are you on lewis’ account? don’t you have your own?

lewishamilton: i lost my login information 😅 and i got a message from charles telling me to shut this down - sebastian.

Y/N: what a snitch…

user23: he mad y/n didn’t accept their child 😭

Y/N: speaking of sebastian, here is my favourite rumour. that sebastian is my father and i’m his secret lovechild.

youryoungersis: wait…. is that why we look so different? you have a different dad???

lewishamilton: i’m not that much older than you? how can i be your dad? i’m only 13 years older than you! do i look that old? - sebastian, NOT your father.

user7: HELPSOSJSSJ

user5: NOT HIM CLARIFYING 😭😭

Y/N: that one is funny but no. we don’t even look alike! i hear a lot that we have the same mannerisms but that’s probably because i practically grew up around the guy. i’m rating this one…. 7/10.

lewishamilton: grew up around not with! - sebastian, NOT her father.

user2: BRO WE GET IT 😭😭😭😭

Y/N: so basically, time for the last one. this one is definitely the most out of pocket one.

alex_albon: BOOOOO I MISSED MOST OF IT

danielricciardo: 🤣🤣🤣

user98: HELSPSOSJ i’m laughing so hard.

Y/N: oh hi jo! how did you get in? WAIT!-

INSTAGRAM LIVE ENDED. (98K WATCHING)

[cottonlemonade]

could I please order a large chai latte for Bokuto? for here<3

A Night In With Your Husband

warnings: spoilers, mdni

“Tell me a secret. Something you’ve never told anyone.”

“Sometimes I get really sad that people don’t dab anymore.”

You snorted and turned around to look at your husband. The water in the bathtub sloshed quietly as you did and bubbles clung to your arms and breasts.

Kotarou wore an expression of genuine wistfulness. “What?”

“Oh you’re serious.”

“Of course.”

“Aww, baby. - We can dab at home if that’ll make you feel better?”

“Really? Awesome!”

He brought his capri sun to yours and you drank to your new pact.

Being married to a pro volleyball player came with as many perks as it did drawbacks. As much street cred it gave you to boast at the office that your husband was playing for the national team it meant that between training and away games and photo shoots and some more training your time alone was rather limited. Of course you couldn’t be prouder of him and how far he had come and you went to every game you could but nights like these - quiet ones where you could cook together and then have a relaxing bubble bath - were few and far between, making them all the more precious.

You kissed him, tasting the Safari Fruits mixing with your Peach Flavor. His strong arm wrapped around your front, giving your chubby tummy a few loving squishes as he deepened the kiss. You felt his hair brush your cheek and reached up to run your fingers through it. Kotarou hummed happily, and let his large hand wander a little further, so very glad that he could sleep in tomorrow.

a/n: absolutely perfect date night. Hair-down-Bokuto supremacy 😌 thank you so much for the request, girl. I hope you enjoyed it 🌟

[extra-venomous-tentacula]

THANK YOU!

A good match, for he is rich and she is handsome.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Taking requests I see? Any chance we could get a girl dad Remy LeBeau headcanon list??

girl dad!Remy lebeau headcanons

A/n: AHHHHH GIRL DAD REMY SUPREMACY

REMY MASTERLIST

𝜗❀᧓ when he first finds out your baby is a girl he literally couldn’t be happier. he’s always wanted a child, he didnt really care what gender, but he had always dreamed of a girl.

𝜗❀᧓ he’s sososo happy. like picking you up off the ground happy.

𝜗❀᧓ when you’re pregnant, he’s doting, careful. he makes sure to not go on any extremely dangerous missions so not to stress you out, and Charles already told you no more missions for you until you’re no longer pregnant.

𝜗❀᧓ and his favorite thing ever while you were pregnant was to listen and feel her kick. he loved to talk to her too :3

𝜗❀᧓ also he’s the best dad when she does arrive.

𝜗❀᧓ too tired to go and pick her up while she’s crying in the middle of the night? Remy’s on it. (Groggily and very tiredly.) she’s needing breakfast? He’s already in the kitchen with some formula AND some pancake mix for you and him.

𝜗❀᧓ while shes younger, she’s so entranced when he messes with his cards. She’ll stare and watch him with wide, curious eyes with her mouth agape while he simply shuffles them at a fast pace. or when he makes it so they start to glow, putting enough energy in them but not too much so they explode, that’s her favorite.

𝜗❀᧓ he finds it really funny too, watching her reaction. so he tends to do it a lot around her, more than he already did.

𝜗❀᧓ and when she’s older he’s teaching her his tricks !

𝜗❀᧓ i just know she’s such a daddy’s girl too, cuz he spoils her rotten. spoils the both of you actually.

𝜗❀᧓ she also has like a form of heterochromia, her right eye being more like remys, a glowing white color instead of like a pink, and her left one being normal. It’s one of your favorite features on her because it’s so fucking cute.

𝜗❀᧓ she does indeed get a mutation when she’s older, one where she can turn her body into living light. (Kind of like Monica rambeau.) like she can light speed travel, immune to things like lasers, etc. It’s pretty sick.

𝜗❀᧓ you and Remy most definitely have your hands full with that mutation, because at first, she had absolutely no clue how to control it and would randomly just turn into a walking lightbulb.

𝜗❀᧓ ofc, after some help with Charles, she does learn.

𝜗❀᧓ but anyways, Remy always trains with her. he likes to see how she’s doing for himself.

𝜗❀᧓ he truly does love his lil family. it’s perfect, it’s the life he would have never imagined for himself back in the bayou. it’s literally like you both came from his dreams or something.

𝜗❀᧓ he loves the domesticity of it all, he loves waking up to the both of you laughing in the living room.

𝜗❀᧓ he’s the best girl dad ever, and he would do anything for his girls <3

[mothhball]

hiiii i saw your drabbles requests post :)

um...how would neil feel about cockwarming?

NEIL LEWIS X READER

summary patience is a rare virtue...

warnings SMUT!! this is just filth lmao <3 dom reader supremacy, subby Neil, cockwarming, no specific mention of reader's genitals

notes thanks for the request!!! this one got a little short because I'm fighting to get my groove back lmao

! MINORS DNI !

main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: 472

"This would have a runtime of two minutes and thirty seconds if they would just talk to each other.”

Neil groans into the crook of your shoulder, tightening his grip on the flesh of your thighs which causes you to shift in his lap and him to whine in response. The movie you’re trying to watch continues to flicker across Neil’s tube TV, presenting both of you with scene after scene of (admittedly) shallow entertainment. But god, every once in a while, you just want to watch something fun and sappy instead of one of Neil’s favorite black-and-white masterpieces that were shot on “authentic, good ol’ fashioned film” and feature a beautiful actress that got traumatized by a director.

Sometimes you just want to watch a rom-com. And in a last-ditch attempt to turn movie night in your favor, you suggested a little reward if Neil managed to make it through. To sweeten the deal.

“What did we agree on regarding catty remarks?” you prompt, trying not to smile when you hear him sigh and grumble into your neck.

“Little to none,” he mutters, placing his chin back on your shoulder to try and brace through the last thirty minutes of the movie. His silence lasts for a minute. A valiant effort, considering you’ve been squeezing his cock inside of you since the two of you got settled on the couch and he handed you the remote.

“Can’t you at least, like… grind a little?” How cute. He’s trying to bargain with you. But he hasn’t earned it just yet. You shake your head, clicking your tongue in disapproval when he bucks his hips up into you without your permission.

“Don’t,” you hiss, reaching under yourself to grab onto the throbbing base of his cock and squeeze. The strangled noise that leaves Neil’s lips is almost enough to break your own resolve. Almost. Not looking at him makes it easier to stay resolute, but you can feel him trembling, hear him panting right against your body. His grip on your thighs is twitching, betraying the desperate need that fills every cell and fiber of his heated flesh.

“Please –“ he chokes out from behind gritted teeth, “Oh fuck, please…”

It’s an exercise in restraint for both of you. Delicious torture in the comfort of your living room. And in a moment of wicked delight, you wait for his breath to steady before you clench around his aching cock, sending him spiraling again.

“Just 20 more minutes, baby. And then I’ll ride you while the credits roll,” you promise, treating yourself to a little glimpse over your shoulder to look at his flushed cheeks and watery eyes. He nods, you smile and turn back toward the TV to enjoy the next line of cheesy, overacted dialogue.

This really is the perfect movie date.

@tkappi @ddawgg1 @wiseyouthinfluencer @cillianslvt @ilovedottore

@vegasisthinking @paradiseprincesss @sagepixie @rosiemarieyn @bloodandglitter207

@luvlloyd @smxkyqvxrtz @4doorsup @biblicallyaccuratebee @nocturnest

@ilovetoxicfictionalmen @hanawrites404 @celebrities-imagines @kiss-me-cill-me @ptolemaniac

@0loveoak0 @nnattu @ashdrinksoatmilk @vampmary1411 @ink5ouls

@calicoartie @pretty-bluebird @detroitbecomevenom @mandies24 @x0xomady

@mcumorningstar @cilliansprincess @ellebellebarnes @strangeobsessed @ryecosse

[gorgeys]

Hi! Could you a Naomi x female reader, where her older brother works for Jordan and she meets Naomi at the party and gets a lil jealous when Jordan tries to hit on the reader? Thanks!

FRIENDS? ★ naomi lapaglia

Naomi Lapaglia (Wolf of Wall Street) x fem!reader

You quickly catch Jordan's eye at a party, but Naomi wants you all to herself...

Warnings: mentions of sex, flirting, corruption kink??, mentions of cheating

Word Count: 3110

Note: ayee i'm obsessed with naomi so i loved writing this request! there's also another naomi request that will be coming out shortly and that will def be a long one! i believe in margot robbie supremacy

b/n = brother's name

You stared in awe as you approached the mansion.  It was by far the largest house you had ever seen.  You looked to your brother and he only smiled.  It seems he was adjusting to the shift in your lives much faster than you.

He had only begun working for Jordan a couple months ago when rent was tight and there was barely any food in the fridge.  You had just moved in with him to help cut costs for the both of you as you sunk deeper into student loans and edged barely closer to your degree.  If things couldn’t get any worse, your brother was laid off from his job out of nowhere. He began interviews for practically every job on Wall Street when your luck changed tremendously.  He landed a job at Stratton Oakmont.

He climbed the ranks quickly.  You and your brother had quite a unique charisma, one that allowed you to manipulate many social situations in your favor and it was no different at Stratton.  With his charm and hard-working attitude, your brother was one of the few to have a personal connection with the founders of the company and he could feel that promotion coming.  But it was just out of reach.  So he quickly enlisted you to give him a little push.

There was an obvious shift in your lifestyle as soon as your brother got the job.  He was able to provide for the both of you plus decorate the apartment and take you out to lavish dinners.  Life just seemed so much brighter for the both of you.  So you would do anything to keep your lives like this.  Even if it meant playing this part.

It was the first time you’d be attending one of Stratton’s famous parties.  Your brother let you hang off his arm, dolled up in a completely brand new designer outfit, just how Jordan liked it.  Your dress was as short as it could be without being socially unacceptable and your neckline plunged so deep that your tits were nearly popping out.  Your heels were custom made and reeled in your flashy dress to make it a classy look.  Your make-up was done to a tee, emphasizing the soft features of your face, and your hair was curled into perfect waves.  Even your brother, who had teased you all your childhood, agreed you were a sight for sore eyes.  There was no way you wouldn’t catch Jordan’s attention.

Everything seemed to fall into place as you entered.  Eyes were on you from the moment you stepped inside, men in suits turning their heads to gape while their wives and girlfriends knocked them on the back of the head for looking.  You smiled just as you had rehearsed in the mirror and strutted as elegantly as you could muster even if you had to relearn to walk in those tall heels.

Most of the men you passed patted your brother on the shoulder in greeting, eyeing you up in the process.  Your brother had to reiterate several times that you were his sister, hoping he’d be able to avoid any risque comments about the two of you for the night.

You hid your excitement at the expensive environment, causally downing a champagne flute from a server, while you soaked up the extravagance of the house and the people.

It wasn’t long before your brother elbowed you in the side.

“Look, right over there,” he said, nodding his head to the left.  “That’s Jordan.”

When you looked, he was already staring back at you.  He leaned against the giant glass windows of the living room, a mystery drink in his hand.  He was wearing a suit but several of the buttons of his button up were undone, exposing his chest.  His hair was messy and his eyes were bloodshot.  While he was a little sleazier than you expected, you shouldn’t have been surprised considering the insane stories your brother had told you about his addictions to sex and drugs.

He was surrounded by a group of men who you could only assume were the founding members of the company.  They had noticed you from a mile away and you could faintly hear them talking about you and how badly they wanted to fuck you.  One even said he’d fuck you even if you were his sister.  You pretended not to notice as they shoved Jordan playfully, egging him on to approach you.  For the Wolfie to handle you, as they put it.

He confidently half-smiled at you before shifting his shoulders, fixing his suit jacket.  He sloppily ran his hand through his hair before he began walking toward you.  He sauntered arrogantly, as if he already had you in the palm of his hand, and his eyes ran all over you though he tried his best to hide it.

“B/N!  Good to see you,” Jordan exclaimed, stretching his hand out to give your brother a firm handshake.

“Hi, Jordan, great party,” your brother said with a smile.

“Yeah,” he dismisses your brother, his eyes quickly turning onto you.  “Now don’t be rude and introduce me to this lovely lady you’ve got here,” he said, nodding toward you, a smile stretching across his lips.

“This is my sister, Y/N.”

“Aah,” he sighs, his face lighting up with excitement.  “Sister,” he repeats, grinning widely.

“I just wanted to bring her along and show her what a Stratton party’s all about.”

“Nice to meet you, Jordan” you say, in a honey-sweet voice, showing your pearly whites.  You can tell he’s already hypnotized as you look up at him through your fluttering eyelashes with doe eyes.  You extend your hand toward him with the graceful flick of your wrist and he holds it so delicately.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, lifting your hand to his lips and leaving a gentle kiss on the back of your hand.  Your smile widens accordingly as he refuses to let go of your soft skin.

“You know, you’ve got a really great place here.  I don’t think I’ve ever been in a house this big before,” you say, your eyes flicking up to the enormous glass chandelier above you that would certainly kill everyone in the room if it ever came crashing down.  You ignored that thought and looked back into his star-struck eyes with an excited gaze.

“Oh, really?” He raised his eyebrows, enjoying himself too much.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding along.

You wouldn’t have called him unattractive but he wasn’t really your type.  Either way you’d let him have one freaky night with your body in return for a large check deposited in your brother’s bank account.  You hoped he was a good lay but your instincts were telling you otherwise.

He shooed your brother away to go talk to some of the other guys while he entertained you, talking himself up and offering you several compliments.  It was when he stepped closer to you that his wife noticed the two of you from across the room.  She was sipping on her champagne and gossiping in a huddle of powerful wives when you caught her eye, your hand holding her husband’s for way too long.

She was no fool, she saw the way he looked at you, like he wanted to devour you.  She remembered that dangerous glint in his eyes from when she had first met him at a party like this one.  And we all know how that went.

She was ready to cause a scene, to impulsively confront him in the large crowd and beat him senseless with a glass bottle for even looking at another woman.  But something distracted her.

She had the perfect view of you from the side as you moved your free hand across your lower back.  Then your hand moved lower, lower, lower, gliding across your ass, smoothing out the fabric of your tight dress.  Naomi’s eyes were fixed.  Finally your fingers pulled lightly on the hem of your dress, trying to bring it down as it had rode up a little too high, showing off most of your bare thighs.

That’s when she stopped herself and decided to give you a closer look.  And that’s also when she realized she was no better than her husband.

You weren’t like any of the other women Jordan flirted with.  No, you were flawless.  Her eyes examined your figure and noticed how every curve of your body was carved so smoothly, so perfectly that she couldn’t look away.  She could only imagine the way your skin would feel beneath her fingers; she assumed it was soft and pliable. She imagined how each arch of your body would fit perfectly into her hands like you were molded just for that reason.  She wanted to admire you for the rest of the night. And it felt like you were enticing her, like you were asking for her touch in that low-cut dress.  It wasn’t hiding much but still, Naomi wished she could see more.

She realized that she could barely blame her husband for his reaction.  Your beauty was baffling and undeniable.  What could she expect from Jordan, a man who couldn’t hide his desires nearly as well as she could hide hers.

For a moment your eyes strayed away from his and you glanced in Naomi’s direction.  Your hand carelessly brushed your hair back and Naomi was slightly mesmerized.  She sucked her lips into her mouth, imprinting the features of your face into her mind, forgetting which reality she was in.

Her stomach churned, her body telling her brain that her need for you was innate.  The way your lips curved into a pure smile and your eyes were full of light made her want to ruin you.   She wanted to whisk you off to some far away place to have you only for herself.  She wanted to melt away that pretty facade and see what lurked beneath your shiny surface.

It was impossible for her to restrain her own thoughts as just a single look at you brought up such deep, impure desires.  She was no better than a man but you made her like that.

Her chest burns as Jordan leans impossibly closer to you, whispering something in your ear.  You giggle delightfully, comfortably holding on to his shoulder.  He takes that as a sign to wrap his arm around your waist, practically engulfing you with his body while his lips stay uncomfortably close to your ear.

Naomi couldn’t believe the audacity of her husband to throw himself onto you in public.  No, you deserved much better than to be smothered in sweat and cologne in front of all these important people.  You deserved someone who would treat you right and then, behind closed doors, someone who would treat you so wrong.  She knew her husband couldn’t do any of that for you.  You didn’t deserve him.

By then she had placed her glass onto a table with a little too much force and allowed her feet to carry her across the room.  She straightens up the neckline of her dress and clicks her heels into the ground with a purpose.  You deserved her.

“Jordan!” a thick Brooklyn accent cuts through the air.

It surprises you slightly but it seems to shock Jordan into action as he abruptly pulls away from you.  You’re left awkwardly standing alone as he steps back from you.  Your hands clutch onto the sides of your thighs for comfort.

“Naomi!  Baby!” he exclaims, outstretching his arms to the blonde thundering toward you.  He puts on a large smile and leans back comfortably as if he wasn’t just all over you.

She doesn’t accept his embrace but swats his hands away from her.  She moves to stand at his side.

“You gonna introduce me to your little friend here?” she says, motioning toward you with one of her hands.  Her voice is laced with an attitude that scares you.  You’re not quite sure if it's venomous but it’s definitely strong.  She turns to face you and plants her hands firmly on her hips.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he stutters, looking nervously between the two of you.  “This is Y/N.  And Y/N-”

“I’m Naomi, Jordan’s wife,” she cuts him off.

You had heard stories about Naomi, about how her beauty transcended time, but you sure as hell weren’t expecting the masterpiece that stood before you.  You were rendered speechless for a moment, staring stupidly at her, your lips slightly parted.

Long blonde hair trailed down her shoulders, barely covering her thick gold hoop earrings.  Her face looked like it was sculpted by the gods, with a jawline sharper than a knife and pink lips that pursed curiously at you.  Her tight baby blue dress with a perfect cleavage cutout matched her blue eyes lined with thick eyeliner.

You couldn’t fathom how Jordan could cheat on her.  She was probably the most perfect human you had seen in your entire life.  And here you were trying to seduce her husband.

Her eyes aggressively ran up and down your body, soaking up every last drop of you.  They held some dark emotion behind them.  Using the context of the situation you assumed it was jealousy but she knew it was lust.  It was the first time that night you felt so small and so flustered, your confident facade fading away.

You hoped it wasn’t showing on your face but from the way her lips quirked upward as she extended her hand, you could tell she was enjoying your agitated state.

“Hi, Naomi,” you said, speaking a little quieter than you had with Jordan before.  You accepted her hand, expecting a tense shake, but her grip was even gentler than her husband’s.  In fact, her hands were the softest you had ever held.

She copied Jordan’s movements, just more delicately.  She brought your hand to her lips, leaning slightly forward to give the back of your hand a chaste kiss.  Her eyes didn’t leave yours the entire time, making your stomach bubble in forbidden arousal.  The gesture felt so intimate, as if no one else was watching.

If you weren’t in awe before, you were hypnotized now.  Her beauty was ethereal and from the way she handled you, you began to question her intentions with you.  Your perception of her as the jealous wife was slowly fading into the background.

If Jordan wasn’t your type, his wife surely was.

He looked between the two of you, completely unsure of what to say.  It seemed he was in quite a pickle as it seemed his wife’s unpredictable behavior would soon get in the way of his endeavors with you.

“You know, you’re a cute one, doll,” she said, her tongue slightly poking through her teasing smile.  Her strong accent only made every word out of her mouth even sexier, especially that pet name.  Doll.  You’d love to be her doll.

You felt your face heat up and your eyes ever so slightly widen.  You attempted to ignore the arousal you felt beneath your dress as your nails dug anxiously into the fabric of your dress.  You momentarily wondered whether you should thank her for the compliment before deciding against it.  Each reaction out of you only pushed her to continue, to test your limits.

“I almost don’t blame my husband for looking at you the way he does,” she said, her eyes momentarily shifting to your cleavage before focusing on the small twitches of your face again.

You took a sharp breath and opened your mouth wider like you wanted to respond and apologize but Jordan beat you to it.

“Come on, baby.  You know I only have eyes for you,” he whines and pouts like a child, leaning closer to her and wrapping an arm around her waist.  She instantly pushes him off of her, disgusted by his touch, without sparing him a glance.

All you want to do is walk away and distance yourself from this married couple’s petty quarrel but your feet seem too heavy to move.  You can’t help but love the way Naomi looks at you.

“But I can assure you he’s no fun,” she says, ignoring her husband’s pleading looks.   “Very vanilla, you know?  And he comes too fast.”  She whispers that last part like he’s not even there although he can clearly hear her.

Both you and Jordan share the same state of shock.  You can’t help but feel like you’re learning too much information about the couple you met a few minutes ago.  But the way Naomi speaks to you it feels like you’ve known her much longer.

“Uh, I-I’m sorry-” you begin but are quickly interrupted.

“Myself on the other hand,” she says, trailing off for a few moments.  She presses her lips together as if she’s looking through you, her thoughts taking her to far away places.  The glint in her eye is mischievous and you want her to take you with her.  “We can have lots of fun together.”

Your insides are screaming the moment the words leave her lips, her devilish smile only making the feeling worse.  You can only dream about what she’s implying and your imagination runs wild. You’re already putty in her hands, you both can feel it.

“What’d you say, you wanna be friends?” she says, her tone seemingly innocent.  But one look in those blue eyes would say otherwise.

“Friends?” you ask breathlessly.  You let your head hang low and your bottom lip push out toward her, silently questioning the meaning of the word.

“Yeah,” she says, smiling brightly.  But there’s a coy element about it.  “You wanna be my friend?”  Her eyes check you out once more just for emphasis.

There’s your answer.

The initial goal of seducing Jordan is long forgotten.  Quick cash seems irrelevant compared to the duchess before you, especially now that she seems within reach.  If you didn’t accept her offer you were sure you’d regret it.

You nod cautiously.

“Yeah, I’ll be your friend.”

She instantly beams at you with a conniving grin while internally congratulating herself for a mission accomplished.  You feel your lips reciprocate in a stunned smile.

“Good.  Let’s get you another drink, doll” she says, reaching out and grabbing your hand.  She tugs you behind her as she heads toward the home bar.  She gives you a raunchy look over her shoulder while you let her control your every movement.  “Then I can show you around.”

Your smile grows while Jordan is left standing stupidly by himself.  He curses under his breath, wondering how he fumbled so badly.

i'm screaming

[thepurplebacon]

FOOOD

fOoooooOOod

FFSJWNEKQOKSJDJWJWJWJWKD

FOOdjqkdnkwkerjdjej

"I finally made it home, my dear"

[ellecdc]

helloo i’m freaking out

i just re-read “surprise! we’re making love” bc dah it’s a masterpiece and i’m obsessed w that fic and “a man with a plan”. (the way u write remus it’s just 🤌🏼FUCKING PERFECT ILYSM) and idk if i dreamt it or if there was a second part to that fic and pls if there was WERE IS IT I CANT FIND IT AND IM FREAKING OUT and if there wasn’t, im not gonna ask u to write one bc i don’t want to be annoying, but could u tell me how there story ends?☺️ i need to know they lived happily ever after in a beautiful cottage with lots of flowers and birds chirping

byeeee!! ilysm you are amazing hope u have a great week!!!💕💕💕💕

hahaha aweeee thank you, I'm so glad you loved it - I really like that fic too

and you must have dreamt it because there isn't a part two! I know how I want it to end but I don't think it would actually make an interesting or engaging fic (it would fall painfully flat in comparison to it's first part)

essentially, I imagine them talking more that night - reader saying to Remus "I'm engaged to be married....." and remus going "I know..............I'm a werewolf" and reader going "I know......"

turns out she was just as invested in him, she just hadn't realized it. but since being top of her class in astronomy (i.e., tracking moon cycles) and noticing peculiarities about Remus following such cycles, she managed to put two and two together.

they do sort of 'date' but it's quiet and soft and timid and maybe perhaps a bit awkward at first - Sirius is sort of against it and says something like "mate, you need to be careful - she comes from another world entirely, and they are not kind to their own let alone anyone else", which sort of pisses Remus off but he understands where he's coming from.

Remus plays a little bit of interference between Avery and reader while at school; showing up and sitting between them if Avery approaches her etc

now it's important to note that in this AU, I do have Voldemort BUT he's not the crazy fuck like he is in canon and it's not a war of sorts, but rather a political campaign and a lot of internal strife within the ministry

like canon, the purebloods/sacred 28 support riddle, with the exception of Crouch sr who agrees with pureblood supremacy but is running for Ministry of Magic himself

but my thought is that they get off the Hogwarts express at platform 9 3/4, Remus stands with his parents and Sirius and James with the Potters.

reader steps off the train with the Rosier twins, Regulus, and Barty and are chatting when the opposite half of the platform grows eerily quiet and readers name is called.

reader et al. look over to see readers parents standing with the Avery's and a very smug looking Avery jr., the Rosier's looking as severe as ever, and the Black's looking at Regulus expectantly.

Crouch sr shows up too, not standing with the other pureblood's but essentially on that side

and the group realizes they need to make a decision - the Rosier's don't feel like going back home to grey walls and apathetic parents who only had children to further their blood line and parade them around at balls, Regulus doesn't want to go back home without his brother to maniacal parents who use Regulus for political gain, and Junior doesn't want to return home to his abusive father who has never felt anything more than disdain for his son anyway.

and reader....well....she's not marrying Avery.

so the five of them shrink their bags, put their belongings into their pockets and they run

they head for the brick wall to cross into the muggle side of the station while dodging curses and hexes being thrown at them from their parents - an unforgivable from Crouch sr which actually finds him in Azkaban in the end

James, Sirius, and Remus find them all hiding in an alleyway in muggle London - the Potter's insist they come to their place, hire lawyers, sue their parents/are emancipated

and Remus ends up bringing reader home to Wales where they live in the Lupin's cottage and she's never been happier

lol

the end

[dark-and-kawaii]

Cambion's Daughter

⋆˙⟡♡ Summary/Request: "was wondering if you had any more thoughts on Raphael being a dad".

⋆˙⟡♡ Fatherhood <- Original Thoughts On Dadphael

⋆˙⟡♡ Dadphael | Fluff | Good Dad

Raphael stood motionless in his private chambers, eyes fixed intently on the tiny creature swaddled in black silk in his arms.

She could not have been more different from him, small, weak, her features delicate like the petals of an early spring blossom, each contour soft, requiring the gentlest touch lest she be bruised or damaged by the harshness of a careless hand... And yet she was of his blood, borne from his loins in a carnal union nine months past. For nine months he had paid her growing form within you little attention beyond ensuring her continued existence. Babies held no interest for the future King of the Hells; Raphael had bigger designs to attend to, realms to rule.

But now, gazing into her sleepy face, something stirred deep within him that he did not comprehend. Her tiny claws flexed open and closed, grasping unconsciously at empty air, and when her eyes fluttered open to meet his own, he found himself transfixed by pools of liquid amber peering back without fear or judgment.

She cooed softly, her tail, so much smaller than his own, coming up to wrap loosely around his wrist. At the unfamiliar touch, his face -ever locked in a mask of disdain for lesser beings- softened without his consent. Lips parted in a genuine smile, small but full of wonder, as he beheld the tiny creature that was his child, his to shape and form into the perfect creation.

In that moment, Raphael knew he was lost. His life had always been in order, his purpose singular and undistracted; to ascend to the throne of the Hells and rule with unchallenged might. His existence was a tapestry of power plays, strategic alliances, and dominance. He was a creature of ambition, his every action calculated to assert his supremacy. This child of his blood though, his daughter, had worked a change in him he could never have foreseen or prevented.

Now at night, as she slept curled in the cradle of his wings, lulled by the steady beat of his mighty heart. Raphael, the great devil himself, came to live for these quiet moments of unconditional love from his little mouseling.

He’ll bring her with him to sit in his archive, gently holding her against his chest as she sleeps, a written contract lying on his desk while he works. Though his face was still stern and stoic to outsiders, in these private moments a softness always emerged that few had ever seen. As he gazed upon her peaceful face, he wondered how such a small creature could hold so much power over one as mighty as himself.

When she stirs slightly in her sleep while on his chest, Raphael instinctively holds her closer, protective of his newest treasure.

Calls her the apple of his eyes, little mouseling, his little fiend, and my favorite “my little mirror” - Hinting that she reflects the best of her father's qualities.

As the months passed, Raphael watched with joy and wonder as his little mouseling grew stronger. Her amber eyes, once barely open, now gazed up at him with curiosity and delight. Her tiny claws, once grasping blindly at air, now clutched his leg with surprising strength. With each new milestone, she grew stronger, more fierce, and his heart swelled with pride.

His daughter develops a strong attachment to Raphael and seeks comfort in his presence. Whenever she encounters someone new, she hides behind his leg, finding solace and security by his side.

Dark thoughts do tend to creep into his mind. As the future ruler of the Hells, he would have many enemies who would seek to undermine his power. If they knew of his newfound weakness, they would surely try to exploit it. His daughter's very existence would be put her in danger. These thoughts usually diminish fairly quickly, he still thinks highly of himself and with the crown no one could ever strike him or his daughter down.