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thoughtfulfiction · 3 months ago

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Carpe Diem

Author’s Note: We all miss him. So I wrote the most romantic thing I’ve ever written.

A glass of chilled Savasana California Rosé sat in front of you, its diluted pink hue a stark contrast to the sweet yet crisp taste. With a fork in hand you begin to dig into the chicken parmesan with strozzapreti pasta, the chunky tomato sauce brings a rich and comforting smell that shifts your attention from the constant hum of the plane's engine. Eating dinner on a plane like this—silverware instead of plastic cutlery, wine served in real glass—felt oddly surreal. This whole trip did, like you’d stumbled into someone else’s life.

You hadn’t always pictured yourself in this life—a corner office in Berkeley, managing accounts worth millions and rubbing elbows with executives. The internship you’d applied for during your junior year of college was meant to be a stepping stone, a way to pad your resume and have something cool to look back on the future. You hadn’t expected it to become the foundation of a career at a place ranked 7th among the largest biomedical companies by revenue in the world. And here you were sipping rosé in first class on your way to a solo vacation in Greece. Somehow, it had all come together. Your first year making six figures was surreal enough, but now the freedom to spend it on something like this felt even more unbelievable.

The hotel room you would be calling home for the next few days was stretched out like it came straight out of a travel magazine. Everything about it screamed neutral paradise, highlighting the warmth of the space. Plush pillows stacked neatly atop the Temper-Pedic king sized bed that earned the hotel all five of its stars with just one glance. The open layout gave the impression of a private condo, complete with a sleek mini bar and an espresso machine that practically begged to be used. The view from the top floor was breathtaking, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that made way for the vibrant blue skies that allowed the sun to shine at it's greatest capacity, reflecting off the marble from the streets of southern Athens below. And the colors were so dynamic; olive groves, fields of breathtaking wildflowers and citrus trees brought the city to life. Everything reminded you of a landscape painting, it was all so perfect you almost had to pinch yourself to make sure you were really here.

But before your Athens takeover could really commence, you needed a nap. Or three.

Day one passed in a blissful haze of recovery. After a nap that could have doubled as a small coma, you walked by the hotel’s pool, taking in the sparkling water and the soft chatter of other guests lounging under striped umbrellas. Breakfast that morning was a feast fit for royalty, an omelet folded to perfection, fresh fruit that tasted like sunshine, and Moustokouloura, a pastry so rich and sweet it felt like dessert at dawn. The concierge insisted you try Greek coffee, and when the steaming cup arrived at your door, its strong, earthy aroma greeted you like a wake-up call from the gods. You took it to the patio, sipping as you let the city below slowly introduce itself. This is exactly where you're supposed to be. Athens was filled with color, sound, and possibility. This was freedom, pure and simple.

Feeling refreshed on your second morning after some extensive Tik Tok research about things to do in Athens, you walked around the streets of Plaka, by far the most recommended place on the site. And it didn't take long for you to understand why. The neighborhood was a collection of some of the most beautiful brick buildings, an array of restaurants with uniquely placed outdoor seating. The air carried the mingling scents of fresh pita, grilling souvlaki, and blooming jasmine. Laughter and snippets of conversation floated from café tables spilling onto the sidewalks, where diners lingered over plates of mezes and glasses of ouzo. You walked slowly, admiring every square inch of the place like you were going to commit every detail to memory, stumbling upon a store with random trinkets you figured you could take home to your friends and tell them what they were getting themselves into when you all would be in Greece together eventually. Now that you'd experienced this on your own, you couldn't wait to share this experience with them next time. The first person you spotted when you walked in was a tall man, well over six feet, broad shoulders with his back facing the door. He was sexy from the back which meant...no. You shook yourself out of the daydream about what this man could possibly look like because of course men in Greece looked better. That was some sort of law or something based on every movie you'd ever seen. The book shelf at the front of the store caught your eye first, a Greek guide book with common phrases for tourists to know, things that maybe Duolingo wouldn't think of so you grabbed it, scanning the pages for useful information. You tried to focus on the guidebook in your hands, but your nerves betrayed you. An older man’s gaze prickled at your skin, a quiet warning sounding in your mind. Maybe it was nothing, you told yourself. He could just be a curious local. But by the third lap around the shop and you could still feel his eyes in you, the goosebumps on your arms had turned into a full-blown alarm.

The man was closer now, his steps too deliberate to be a coincidence. By the time he spoke, his voice was low and overly familiar, the kind of tone that made your stomach twist. “Hi. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I just... couldn’t help noticing you.”

You swallowed thickly, hoping to keep the conversation short, sweet and with as little personal information exchanged as humanly possible. "Yes. Just visiting," you force out a smile.

"Ah I see, those are pretty," he gestures toward the necklaces in your hand, "pretty necklaces for a pretty lady. Does the pretty lady have a name?"

"Um," you wanted to take a step back, you wanted to walk away, but there was literally no way out of this situation because he was standing in between you and the exit. And for some reason you couldn't think of a fake name off the top of your head to give him. "It's—”

“Oh hey, babe. There you are,” a deep voice interrupted. Your head whipped around, and there he was—broad shoulders, a jawline sharp enough to rival a Greek statue. He had the kind of easy confidence that made your heart skip a beat. Mr. Broad Shoulders slid his arm around you, his touch casual but protective, the warmth of his hand anchoring you in place but doubling your pulse rate for a different reason. “Thought you wanted those charm bracelets, but you disappeared on me.”

“I got distracted.” Your gaze flickered upward, caught on the sun-kissed curl falling across his forehead. He smelled faintly of cinnamon, like he’d been leaning over a freshly lit candle moments before swooping in to save you.

The man takes a look at the two of you and apologizes, walking away without a second glance. You let out a sigh of relief, "thanks for the save, I really didn't know what to do and you just-I really appreciate it."

"No worries, I saw him following you around and thought it was weird. Glad I could help."

You look around to make sure the man from before, spotting him circling the back area with the pasties. "It's...very weird. He didn’t seem like he’d back down that easily."

“I’m Joe, by the way. Since I’m your boyfriend now, that seems like something you should know.”

You laughed, the tension in your chest finally easing. “Yeah, probably. Nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Y/N, your very grateful girlfriend.”

Joe leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper meant just for you. “He’s still watching us. Mind if I sell this a little more?” Without waiting for an answer, he adjusted his grip, his arm tightening around your shoulders like he’d been holding you this way forever. It was seamless, effortless, entirely too convincing. And it left you speechless. All you could do was nod, looking up at him, thinking about how this guy might be the most gorgeous person you've ever seen.

The two of you moved around the store aimlessly, the conversation flowing like you’d known each other for longer than half an hour. Joe explained he’d been in Greece for a few days, taking time to decompress after a grueling work season. “Sometimes, I just need to step away,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity that struck a chord.

“I get that,” you replied, sharing your own story of navigating your career and this newfound independence. You admitted, almost sheepishly, that sometimes your job didn’t feel like work because it aligned with your passions so perfectly. Joe nodded, his expression softening. “That’s how I feel,” he said. “I mean, this year it really magnified that for me. But sometimes when things don't go the way you hoped or planned, it makes the sacrifices worth more. Like not having as much free time when I'm working. Now, I have endless free time."

There was something magnetic about him—not just the broad shoulders and effortless charm, but the way he seemed so present. Every touch felt intentional, whether it was his hand on your back as you navigated tight spaces or his offer to buy the travel book you’d been thumbing through. You felt a strange sense of familiarity, like you’d seen him somewhere before but couldn’t quite place it.

After carefully deliberating over the trinkets, you settled on matching necklaces for your friends. On your way to the register, a woman approached, her expression warm and animated.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she began, “but I just had to tell you—you two make the most stunning couple. The way you look at each other, it’s just... beautiful. Are you here on an anniversary trip?”

“One year,” Joe answered without hesitation, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“That’s incredible! Congratulations!” the woman gushed. “Athens is the perfect place to explore as a couple. Do you have plans yet?”

You chimed in, “Not really. We were just going to see where the day takes us.”

The woman nodded enthusiastically and rattled off recommendations, from must-visit landmarks to hidden culinary gems. You took notes on your phone, her suggestions igniting your excitement for the day ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, Joe watched you with a kind of awe. The way your face lit up when you talked about exploring the city tugged at something deep inside him.

He’d spent the last four days locked away in his room, trying to process a season that had been equal parts triumph and heartbreak. It wasn’t just the physical toll of the game—it was the sting of being so close to the pinnacle and falling short. They had gone from 4-8 to 9-8 in what felt like the blink of an eye. The unmet expectations that he had for the team dulled his personal success a bit and he needed to escape after watching other teams prepare for their playoff runs while he cleaned out his locker. He just wanted to recharge and regroup…alone. And here you were, an unexpected spark in the midst of his self-imposed solitude.

When the woman finally bid you goodbye, you hesitated. Should you ask him to join you? The idea of spending the day with a stranger—no matter how kind and gorgeous—felt bold, maybe too bold. But being alone again felt... unbearable. You decided against asking because the thought of rejection was a step above unbearable, if at all possible.

“Well,” you began, your voice faltering slightly, “I guess this is it. I should probably head to my next stop now that I have a to-do list.” You forced a small laugh, keeping your gaze on the floor.

Joe nodded, his smile tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope you check off everything on your list.”

He watched you walk away, his chest tightening with each step. He wanted to stop you, to ask you to stay, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was stand there, frozen, as the door swung open.

You paused just before stepping outside. Something tugged at you—a feeling that walking away now would be a mistake.

Turning back, you smiled shyly. “I just realized... how am I supposed to experience Athens to its full potential without my boyfriend? On our anniversary trip, no less?”

Joe’s laugh was warm, easy. “No idea. Luckily, I think I know someone who can help.”

“You’re always so helpful. I feel like I won the dating lottery.”

“Can’t disagree,” he teased, his grin widening.

“Alright,” you said, nudging him playfully, “let’s get out of here before your head gets so big it doesn’t fit through the door.”

He walked out with you, allowing you to lead the way to your first stop.

Fairytale Athens looked like an intense mix between the Garden of Eden and Alice in Wonderland. "This is...wow," Joe quips, the vast array of flowers on the ceiling, the pink bar area and the flamingos. So many flamingos.

You could tell by his tight expression that this place isn't really his scene. "We're not here for two hours of afternoon tea or anything," you reassure him with a smile, "Dimitra said that we should grab drinks before walking around Acropolis and that..." you glance at the menu in front of you, "...strawberry ginger lemonade? That might be calling my name." He shakes his head and orders a mint and cucumber lemonade for himself, your lemonade and two waters as you walk around the princess castle, taking as many pictures as possible before Joe walked back over with all four drinks in hand before heading to the incredibly famous tourist attraction.

The package you paid for allowed you to skip the line and head through a side entrance, your tour guide walking you through the history of the ancient sights along with details about the architectural styles, construction techniques, and the symbolism of the monuments. The faint echo of the voices highlighted the rich history of the place you were standing in, the warm air a stark contrast to the cool lemonade in your hand. It seemed like Joe was hanging onto every word as he helped you up some steep ancient steps, his eyes lighting up as the guide drove you over to the museum, going into depth about the Gods.

"This exhibit is Gods, Worship and Magic, one of the most popular sites this year. You guys can walk around and read about the different deities featured." Artemis' exhibit, caught your eye first.

Glancing down at the steel plaque, "goddess of the hunt, devoted to nature. Were you ever a Percy Jackson fan growing up?"

"I was more of a SpongeBob guy. And Star Wars. Definitely had a dinosaur phase that lasted a lot longer than I care to share," he looks up, wondering why in the hell he just told you that. "Do—do you have any humiliating stories you'd like to share with the class?"

He nudged you as you walked alongside him, his hand so dangerously close to yours. You had the biggest urge to reach out and touch him. So you did. Reaching out maybe an inch, you interlocked your pinky with his, making his heart take a leap in his chest, swinging your hands happily towards the Eros exhibit. "The god of—”

"Love and desire," he finishes for you. Just because he wasn’t a Percy Jackson fanatic, doesn’t mean he didn’t pay close attention to the Greek mythology unit in school.

"Look at the hands," you said softly, leaning in closer. "It's like they're...perfectly fit for each other, you know?"

Joe's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. He was standing so close now, the faint scent of mint and cucumber from his lemonade mingling with the earthy air of the exhibit. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm and low, "I know what you mean."

Your pinkies were still hooked, but now the little space between you felt electrified. You didn't dare turn to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might see—or what he might see in yours.

"I do have an embarrassing thing to share with the class," you turn to face him and admire the excited look on his face, like what you're about to say is the most important thing in the world. "When I was little I was obsessed with Mama Mia." He gives you a puzzled look. "It's a musical that they turned into a movie. Anyway...it's about a girl that's getting married in a small town in Greece and the views just..." you pause, smiling at the memory, "...changed my life. I've always wanted that magical movie moment feeling. The music, the views, the…”

"Romance?" he finishes softly, a knowing look in his eyes.

You exhale, your cheeks warming as you nod. "Yeah...the romance. It was nice too." You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. "Doesn’t really compare to the real thing, though," you add, barely above a whisper.

The weight of the moment lingers between you. His gaze searches yours, his expression softening like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. Your heart stumbles, and suddenly you feel too seen. You clear your throat, breaking the spell. "I'm, uh, getting kind of hungry. We should grab lunch and head to the next spot."

Joe blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, like he wasn't ready for the shift. "Yeah, sure," he says, his voice gentler now. He watches you for a second longer than you'd expect, then nods. As you walk back to meet the tour guide, Joe finds himself wondering how you’ve managed to unravel him so quickly, leaving him wondering why he already feels so invested in figuring you out.

When you get into the Uber it's like a weight has been lifted off your chest. The museum, which was supposed to be a calm and educational experience was too stuffy and intimate by the end of the visit. In the car, you could have your own space, sitting as close to the door as you could to gather yourself and your thoughts. The driver was nice enough, he had chargers in the car and gave you water bottles, noting that the heat would steadily increase throughout the day. You noticed him stealing glances at Joe in the rearview mirror, his hands tightening on the wheel like he was holding back words. The silence stretched until finally—“I’m sorry, man. I just gotta say…” he finally utters out, "I've been a Bengals fan since I was 8. And I woke up at ungodly hours to watch you play every week. Huge, huge fan."

You laughed at yourself in your seat, the pieces of the puzzle being put together. All of your focus had been on the day, spending every waking minute together and you didn't even fully process why he looked so familiar because the odds of that just sounded too insane to be real. Joe managed a polite smile, his usual ease replaced with a flicker of discomfort. You glanced at him, watching his jaw tighten just slightly as he signed the hat, the faintest blush creeping up his neck. Did he worry you’d see him differently now?

The car stopped near a bustling square lined with food trucks and small cafes. The aroma of grilled meat and spices wafted through the air as you wandered, your eyes drawn to colorful menus. It didn’t take long for the debate to begin.

"Joseph, the mini burgers are definitely better than the souvlaki cones. Be serious."

"No they aren't!" He argues, "you just need to try another one, here."

The souvlaki cone was tender and smoky, the tzatziki tangy and cool against the heat of the pork. But the burger—crispy bacon, the creamy richness of the mayo—felt indulgent, almost sinful. You savored every bite, laughing at Joe’s mock-offended gasp when you declared it the winner. "I hear you and I respect your wrong opinion. But the burger is just better I'm sorry. Do you want another bite?"

He shakes his head slowly, admiring you while you did such a mundane task, silently cursing himself at the fact that he chartered a plane to leave early the next morning. The two of you needed more time together. One day just wasn't going to be enough and the more time he spent with you the more apparent that fact became.

And then you took him on a boat.

It rocked gently, but Joe’s hands gripped the edge of the seat like the waves were threatening to tip them over. His gaze darted toward the horizon, avoiding the churning water below. “You’re really not a boat guy, huh?” you teased, your voice softening when his fingers tightened further. "I'm so sorry I had no idea. But Joe? We're literally in Greece, it's like, treason not to get on a boat here."

"Exactly, so I'm abiding by the law. Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."

Your hand found his thigh in a quiet attempt to reassure him, and you felt the tension slowly drain from his muscles. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but the way his leg leaned ever so slightly into your touch sent a warmth through you that lingered long after. Aegina’s coastline unfolded before you, the white-washed buildings glowing under the sun, expansive trees swaying in the breeze. Joe stepped out first, offering his hand. His grip was firm, steadying you until your feet found the solid ground. You smiled up at him, the unspoken connection between you stronger than ever.

Just as Dimitra had described to you before, the pottery studio was tucked in a quiet corner of the island. Inside, the walls were lined with vibrant pottery, each bowl and vase a testament to countless hands shaping their stories, their glazes gleaming softly in the sunlight as you and Joe grabbed seats toward the back of the room. The instructor's notes were simple, to mold an item of your choice to keep at the end of the session, giving everyone creative freedom to produce a piece of their heart's desire. The clay felt cool to the touch, it's sticky and wet texture balanced wonderfully with the earthy smell that made your experience all the more relaxing and fun. Joe on the other hand, was creating a bowl with a lopsided shape, "it's supposed to look like this," he said firmly, biting back a laugh as you tried (and failed) to keep a straight face.

"Abstract art is still art. I just thought maybe...a quarterback would be better with his hands," you teased.

"Oh yeah? Let's see your work, Picasso." He took a break from his work station to scoot closer to yours, "shit, that actually looks pretty good."

You clean your hands off and move over to his station when he sets his chair back down. "I worked at my uncle's ceramic shop when I was little. It was his passion project so we all had to pitch in as a family and take turns," you helped guide his hand along the bowl, allowing him to smooth over the ridges efficiently evening out some of the misshapen parts. "I'm not saying I’m an expert by any means but I can get you to a point where your bowl can sit up by itself." Your fingers brushed his as you guided his hand, the soft pressure of your touch steadying his movements. Together, the ridges of the bowl began to smooth, though neither of you seemed in a hurry to let go. By the end of the session both bowls were done to the best of your ability, sort of bowl shaped, sort of not and full of personality.

"You’re good at this," Joe says, watching as continued to shape your bowl.

"Good at pottery?" you ask, laughing.

"Good at making things feel...easier," he replies softly. The pottery, he thought to himself, sort of mirrored your time together-unpolished, imperfect, but full of potential and that was both exciting and daunting. After your hands were clean, he grabbed your phone and snapped a picture of the two of you showing off your bowls.

"I was scared when you mentioned doing this at first, but I actually really enjoyed that. This," he gestures to his masterpiece, "is going up somewhere, maybe next to the trophy case at my parent's house. Funny enough, they also live in Athens. Ohio, not Greece," he clarifies.

"You might've missed your true calling," you tell him with a laugh, "here you are wasting your talents on football when the art community needs you."

"Yeah...sure," he laughs, holding onto the bags with your now fully dry bowls in them. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'm ready to quit my day job. Quite frankly, I don't think the art world is ready for me yet. Although working that clay could have been really good wrist rehab."

There it was, that can of worms you'd been trying to navigate. You didn't want to push him to talk about the season or his job if he didn't want to. And now the door was open for you to ask. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to but...was it scary? You know, putting your entire life, all of your free time, your dedication to this one thing that you're obviously really good at. Putting in all that work and then one day it's all just...taken away from you?"

He stops walking for a bit and your breath hitches in your throat, fearing that you've pushed him too far. At the end of the day you were still a stranger to him and maybe that was too personal?

You could tell the question was kind of eating at him, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—”

"No it's fine. I just…yeah. I was terrified for a little bit. No one had been through this before—not at my position, not at this level. I had no blueprint, no one to turn to for advice. It felt like— walking on a tightrope in the dark, hoping I wouldn’t fall.

“The scariest part wasn’t the pain or the rehab," Joe admits. "It was not knowing if I’d still be...me when it was all over."

You tilt your head, searching his face. "You mean, the quarterback?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "No. Just...me. Without football, I really didn’t know who that was, how I was going to navigate fame and my private life and everything in between that comes with being me. Whatever that means. And I had an uncomfortably long amount of time to figure it out. Now that the wrist and my health is not an issue anymore and with everything that happened during the season I just felt drained afterwards. Exhausted honestly. And today's been exactly what I needed.”

"Today's been a breath a fresh air for me too. Obviously I didn't have 500 pounds of man laying on top of me but I get it on a smaller scale. Feeling like work is drowning you and nothing you do is good enough so you need to escape. This trip isn’t just a celebration," you confess. "It’s a reminder that I’m more than my deadlines and titles. My boss once called me at 11 p.m. on a Sunday, and I didn’t even blink before picking up. I guess I forgot what it felt like to just...be. I really needed a—”

"Reset," the two of you say at the same time, a comfortable silence washing over you as you continue to walk. "That’s kind of why I came here," you confess. "Not to figure out who I am, but...to remind myself I’m more than my job. More than what other people expect of me."

"Feels like everyone’s always watching, doesn’t it?" Joe says, his voice quieter. "Waiting for you to fail or...prove them right."

"Yeah. But I think we deserve more than that."

Joe sighs, nodding quietly, "We do," Joe says with a small smile. "And one day, when we get it, we’ll look back on this trip as the start of something different." He didn’t say everything he was thinking—some things needed more time to come to the surface.

"Sounds perfect, lead the way."

After you shared the world's greatest chicken gyro, you walked around Aegina a little more, realizing that you had no time to change before dinner and you'd been wearing the same clothes all day long. You walked into a small store, grabbing things off the shelf to try on. Joe was easy, settling for gray cargo pants and a blue striped knit top. Rummaging through clothes and anything that wasn't instant online shopping had become a bit of a chore and you were on a time crunch which made you feel even more rushed. You grabbed three or four dresses and had Joe sit outside the fitting room while you tried the stuff on, only stepping out to show him your favorite.

"What do you think about this?”

The baby blue square neck A-line dress hugged your body like it was created just for you to wear, it's length accentuating your curves in a way that almost had him physically picking his jaw up off the floor. He didn't think you could look any better before but you'd just shattered his expectations. "You look absolutely amazing," he says sincerely, his mouth feeling dry.

You glance at him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Compliments weren’t new, but the way he said it—like it was the only thing in the world that mattered—left you speechless. You managed a soft laugh, pretending to study your reflection. "Thanks." After heading back to the fitting room to change, you grabbed all of your items and headed to the front to pay with Joe standing behind you in line. The cashier rung up your items and was getting ready to bag it when Joe added his clothes to the mix.

"Joe what are you doing? You're not paying for my clothes."

He handed over his card without hesitation, ignoring your protests. "I’ve got this," he said, his voice casual but his eyes portraying something deeper, like this was the most natural thing in the world to him. "Boyfriends are supposed to buy things. I think it’s in the constitution.”

"It's definitely not. And seriously, you don't have to do this."

"I got it, don't worry babe." The word slipped out so effortlessly that for a second, you wondered if you’d misheard him. But the way his eyes flicked to yours, briefly widening, told you everything. He realized it too—and yet, he didn’t take it back.You thanked him the entire walk back to the boat, his soft laugh sending warm and fuzzy feelings in your chest.

You were starting to acknowledge the growing warmth between you two, the way Joe’s presence seemed to make every moment feel right. The idea of saying goodbye felt heavier than it should after just one day, but somehow, it seemed inevitable. The next spot was inside a resort, they allowed you to change your clothes and head upstairs to the rooftop bar to watch the sunset. The drinks and the view had nothing on you, he quickly realized, finding himself unable to tear his eyes away. Everything just made sense today, the museum walk, the easy conversation, the boat ride. He didn't want to leave before but now the mere thought of packing his suitcase tonight made him upset.

"What are you thinking about over there?" Your words snap him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing, just how much I'm going to miss it here. The peace, the incredible sunset..."

You. The word hung in the air for a while before he pushed it down and tried to move on.

"We should head over to there and get closer to the view, you can literally see the entire city from glass railing." You stood up first and grabbed his hand, practically dragging him over there. Luckily there wasn't anyone else in the area. "This is the most insane scenery. I don't get how anyone could get tired of seeing this everyday, I'd never be inside. I feel like we’ve been the physical representation of carpe diem."

He looks at you confused, "what does that even mean?"

"Carpe diem? It’s Latin for 'seize the day.' Basically saying not to focus too much on the future and live in the present to the fullest capacity.”

"I like that," he chuckles.

Long after the sun went down and most of your dishes were cleared from the table, the lingering sweetness of caramel on your lips was all you could think about, a fleeting pleasure that only made the impending goodbye sting even more.

"Joe I have to tell you something," he looks at you as you head over to stand in one of the private lounge areas, giving you his undivided attention. "I saw you this morning in the store. Your back was facing me but I don't know, you caught my eye. And I told myself I wouldn't say anything, I wouldn't go up to you and make small talk because I'm here on a solo vacation to be one with myself and-now I'm really glad that I know you."

A smile forms on the corner of his mouth, "I've been telling myself all day that this isn't real. That I could just let my guard down because in Greece, I don't have to be Joe Burrow. I can just be...Joe. You let me be exactly who I am, nothing more, nothing less. And honestly? This might've been the single greatest day of my life. I've had good ones, really good ones. But today is up there for sure." You hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten until you could feel his arm against yours, his breath soft and warm on your cheek. His eyes dropped to your lips again, this time lingering a moment longer, as if the air between you had thickened. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath just a whisper away, as his hand hovered near your cheek. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a spark through you, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you in.

You couldn't allow yourself to go there. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not now, not like this—but the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, made it hard to think clearly. As much as you wanted this, to feel him close, to taste the sweetness of that kiss, the weight of knowing how fleeting it all was crushed down on you. This wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything you were afraid to want, a piece of yourself that you couldn’t let slip away so easily. If you already felt this strongly about him after a day, how were you going to make it through the rest of the vacation without him knowing how his lips tasted and how his strong hands pulled you in close, holding onto you like he'd rather lose everything than let you go. There was no way in the world you'd recover.

"We can't," you whisper, watching him drop his hand that had just been lightly caressing your cheek. "You're gonna leave tomorrow and I'm gonna be thinking about this kiss for a long time. And I can't," your voice trembles. "I don't want you to go, so I can't kiss you. I'm sorry."

"No don't—don't apologize. I get it." He still hadn't taken a step back, biting his lip to keep his emotions in check. "I can walk you back to your hotel? I haven't packed yet and I need to.”

"Sure, yeah that's fine."

The 15 minute walk felt like three seconds. You didn't want him to go. He no longer wanted to leave. "Y/N I—”

You wrapped him up in a bone crushing hug, silently begging him to stay, just for a few more days. His grip on you was just as strong, his heartbeat thumping rapidly against your body. There weren't enough words in the English, or Greek dictionary to describe how much you were going to miss him. To miss this day. "Bye Joe." That was it. That was all you could manage. The moment you let go of him felt like a piece of your heart stayed in his arms. There was no way to explain the ache in your chest as you watched him turn away, the pull to stay stronger than any rational thought.

Going to sleep that night sounded impossible. The day had started out so innocent and special and the adventure and emotional rollercoaster you'd been on during the day made it feel like you'd experienced a series of days all wrapped into one. You set your bags down on the ground when you got to your room, too tired to change out of your clothes and falling asleep on top of the covers as soon as you laid down.

The next morning you checked the time on your phone, it was 8am. Joe had told you yesterday he was leaving at 10. That meek little goodbye wasn't going to cut it. You didn't even have his number. After your teeth were brushed and your clothes were changed, you rushed out of your hotel and got in an Uber, on your way to Joe's resort. The 46 minute ride allowed you to come up with everything you wanted to say, how this was only meant to be for a day but maybe it could be more? Maybe you could come see him in Cincinnati or he could come to Berkeley or someway somehow you could figure out a way to make it work.

You thanked your driver, opting to speed walk into the lobby. The person at the front desk couldn't give you access to the room without a reason, even when you gave them the name Joe used for his reservation. Pulling out your phone, you showed her the picture of you and Joe that he took at the pottery place and she finally believed you.

"I'm sorry ma'am, he actually left this morning a bit earlier than planned. He checked out at 7am to get on the plane."

Your chest tightened as the words settled in—he was gone. Just like that, in the span of a few hours, everything had shifted. The chance to say what was left unsaid, the connection you had just begun to explore, all slipped away before you could even hold onto it.

It felt like a dark cloud loomed over you throughout the rest of the day. The sun, once so warm on your skin, now felt distant and cold. The flowers that had seemed so alive that morning now appeared dull, their colors muted, as though even nature understood the weight on your heart. While you ate lunch, you tried to people watch, although you quickly discovered that there were only couples surrounding you, sharing meals and laughing at each other's jokes which made you miss him even more. The only real bright spot of the day was your flower garden excursion, taking pictures of the newly bloomed bulbs and taking in their fresh scent. As the hours passed, you allowed yourself to breathe a little deeper, letting the moments of regret slip away as you focused on the simple joys of your surroundings. The beauty of the flowers, the calm of the gardens, it all reminded you that there was still peace to be found in this unexpected chapter of your life.

You were just beginning to let go of the weight on your chest, convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, this was how things were meant to be. But as you laid your phone down beside you, the familiar ping of a message broke the stillness.

It was an DM request on Instagram. The message had two simple words.

Carpe diem.

For a second, your heart skipped, and you couldn’t help but smile. That phrase, so simple and yet so loaded with meaning, sent a wave of warmth through you. It was him. In a way, he had left his mark on you after all, even if he wasn’t here to say the words aloud. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end. And though you didn’t know what tomorrow would bring or if this connection would ever evolve beyond this brief encounter, in that moment, with his words glowing on your screen, you allowed yourself one final thought: Maybe this was only the beginning.

#Joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fic

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skarpetaspodnapleta · 4 months ago

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Without limits, without pauses, without mercy. From dusk till dawn, from dawn till dusk. From the kitchen counter, where dishes tremble at every movement, to the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, where every trembling breath echoes against the walls. From the walls that fail to contain the moans, to the cabinets that shake in rhythm with moving hips. From the bedroom mirror that mercilessly reflects every taut muscle and every trace of nails down your back, to the shower where water mixes with sweat and saliva, soaking everything: bodies, walls, and souls alike.

On the table, on the chair, on the floor, on the couch, on every piece of furniture that stands in your way. Missionary, with nails digging into your back. On top, with hands wrapped tightly around a throat. Reverse cowgirl, where the view alone drives you insane. From behind, with raised hips begging for more. Sideways, backwards, upside down, in every position that shifts with the rhythm of desire. On the dining table that groans under the weight. On the washing machine, vibrating in perfect sync with your movements. On the stairs, where every thrust reverberates like an echo through the house.

In the kitchen, where steam rises above pots, and the smell of spices mingles with the scent of overheated skin. On the windowsill, where moonlight illuminates every motion, every drop of sweat, every bite mark left on shoulders and necks. Against the fridge, its cold surface a stark contrast to the fire in your body. On the kitchen island, where hands grip the countertop and legs wrap around hips in a desperate plea for more.

In the living room, where the couch becomes a battlefield. Pillows thrown to the floor, the rug crumpled, furniture shifted, and the air thick with moans. On the coffee table, barely sturdy enough to handle the force. By the window, where curtains sway in time with your movements, the city lights outside flickering in rhythm. On the armchair, balancing on the edge, every tilt and angle pushing your pulse faster and faster.

Outside, where the cold air bites at your skin, but the heat of your bodies makes it irrelevant. On the terrace, where the night sky becomes your only witness. On the car hood, still warm from the day’s sun. In the trunk, where every movement feels like breaking the rules. On the motorcycle, where balance is a challenge, and every moment feels like defying gravity.

In the car, where fogged-up windows shield what’s happening inside. On the back seat, where hands pull bodies closer. In the front seat, where the steering wheel barely stays in place. In a parking lot, where the risk of being caught makes your heart race even faster. By the side of the road, where the sound of passing cars merges with ragged breaths and muffled moans.

In the forest, where the scent of earth and dampness blends with the scent of skin. In a tent, where the thin fabric barely conceals the movements, and every sound carries through the trees. On the beach, where sand sticks to sweaty skin, and the crashing waves match the rhythm of your hips. In the water, where the waves cradle your bodies, every surge amplifying the pleasure.

In a hotel, where the bed never stays in one place. Where the mirrors on the ceiling reflect every moment. In the elevator, where time seems to freeze, and the space between floors becomes your entire world. In the restaurant’s backroom, where kitchen tools tremble on the shelves, and your bodies pulse with unrelenting desire.

In the bathroom, where the mirror fogs up, and the floor is slick with water. In the shower, where hands glide over wet skin, mouths never ceasing their search for each other. In the bathtub, where warm water envelops you, and the foam becomes the only veil between you and the heat.

Every inch of skin, every hidden curve, every nerve pushed to its breaking point. Fingers sliding across sweaty flesh, teeth sinking into lips, bite marks left on necks, shoulders, hips. Backs arching into impossible shapes, legs trembling with tension, toes curling with every wave of pleasure. Breaths quickened, shallow, broken by endless screams and moans.

From the first touch to the final shudder, when your body quakes and your mind dissolves into pure bliss. From the first look that sparks the fire, to the final embrace that leaves you both spent. Without limits, without pauses, without mercy.

And then, there’s him—in uniform, the sight enough to ignite every nerve in your body. The crisp lines of his police uniform, the badge glinting under dim light, the holster at his side holding his weapon, a reminder of the authority he wields. The weight of his presence pins you in place, his voice low and commanding, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands, firm and unyielding, trace your body as if asserting control, the leather of his belt brushing against your skin, the cold metal of his cuffs a silent threat and promise all at once. Against the wall, with his body pressed tightly to yours, his breath hot against your neck, the uniform and everything it represents only heightening the tension, the power dynamic pulling you deeper into unrelenting desire.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford smut #police #police uniform #smut #all day #stephen strange x reader #t'challa x reader #jason todd x reader #bruce wayne x reader #monster lust #hobie brown x reader #ninjago x reader #miles morales x reader #marcus acacius x reader #cregan stark x reader

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p0orbaby · 4 months ago

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Dancing in the Dark

summary: a tactics coach and a vice captain walk into a bar… have a not so secret relationship

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

a/n: i asked for requests and someone sent me this gem

word count: 3.1k

Leah texts you at exactly 12:02 a.m., a time she insists is “late enough to avoid suspicion but early enough that we’re not knackered in the morning.” The precision of it is very Leah—practical, calculated, with just the faintest whisper of rebellion. It’s always the same text—Room 308—as if she’s writing it for a stranger who might need the address for their sat nav. She never adds punctuation. You think that’s intentional, a way of keeping it casual, devoid of any intimacy that could be misconstrued.

You’ve stopped bothering to reply. It’s not that you don’t want to see her—want isn’t the word for what you feel when you see her name flash on your screen, but it’s close enough. It’s that typing on my way feels excessive when the answer’s already obvious. She knows you’ll come. You know she knows. And there’s something about that silent agreement that feels like the only part of this whole arrangement that makes sense.

The desk lamp casts a faint yellow glow across the room as you pack up. Your laptop goes into the bag first, followed by the notepad you’ve been using to scribble ideas for tomorrow’s strategy meeting. You pause to carefully align its corner with the edge of the desk—a habit you’ve had since you were a child, though you’re not sure if it’s a quirk of personality or a learned behaviour from years of Catholic school and its draconian rules about neatness.

Your hoodie is next, slung over the back of the chair like it’s been waiting for this exact moment. It’s an old one from university, the logo cracked and peeling, the sleeves stretched from too many washes. It smells faintly of your laundry detergent—a scent marketed as “ocean breeze,” though you’ve always thought it smells more like cheap fabric softener and an overactive imagination. Nothing about it suggests the ocean, or even a breeze. It’s more akin to the air freshener in a Southend-on-Sea rental cottage, the kind with faded floral curtains and a broken kettle. You wonder, briefly, if Leah would find this thought amusing. Probably. She has a way of laughing at things that don’t seem funny until she does.

The hotel corridor is silent, save for the distant hum of a vending machine and the occasional creak of overused floorboards. You walk quickly, your trainers barely making a sound on the patterned carpet—a gaudy, swirling design in shades of burgundy and gold that seems to scream corporate retreat. You keep your eyes trained forward, as if avoiding eye contact with the carpet will somehow render you invisible to anyone who might happen to step out of their room.

You’ve mapped out every staff member’s room, memorised the most efficient route, and calculated the probability of running into someone based on their known habits. Karen from PR always goes to bed early, probably still jet-lagged from the US tour. The physio, Jamie, is a night owl, but he’s more likely to be glued to Netflix than wandering the halls. Leah finds this level of detail ridiculous.

“You’re acting like MI5 is going to raid the place,” she’d said once, sprawled on her bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Her hair was still damp from the shower, a faint halo of gold catching the light as she turned her head to look at you. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know”

She’d been peeling off your shirt as she said it, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, her eyes glittering with amusement. You wanted to argue, to tell her that fun is precisely what you’re having, in the only way you know how to have it: meticulously planned, risk-assessed, and executed with the precision of a military operation. But then her hands had moved lower, and the argument had dissolved into something else entirely. Something much harder to put into words.

Room 308. You knock twice—firm, precise knocks that betray none of the absurd nervousness bubbling under the surface. The kind that makes your palms clammy and your chest feel like it’s trying to audition for a drum solo. The knocks are part of a ritual now, as familiar as tying your boots before a match or double-checking the pitch markings. Three sharp raps, never four, because three would seem impatient, and two would feel too casual, as though you’re dropping by to borrow sugar or ask for her Netflix password.

The door opens almost instantly, as if she’s been standing on the other side, waiting for you. Leah’s dressed in one of those oversized T-shirts she always wears off the pitch, the kind that blur the line between effortless and lazy. This one is black, or it might have been once, but it’s faded now, the fabric soft and worn thin at the seams. The logo across the chest is barely legible—AC__ME—as though it’s been through the wash one too many times. You can’t tell if it’s a nod to Arsenal, a subtle homage to Wile E. Coyote’s endless misfortunes, or one of those niche designer brands that only appear on people with a six-figure salary and a curated Instagram aesthetic. It’s probably the latter. Leah strikes you as the kind of person who’d know what Vetements is and pretend she doesn’t care about it while secretly owning three pieces.

“Hey,” she says, stepping aside to let you in. Her voice has this easy warmth to it, like she’s just woken up from the kind of nap that makes you forget what year it is. There’s a hint of amusement in her tone, the faint lilt of someone who’s just thought of something funny but isn’t planning to share it with the group. You’ve always liked that about her—how she can hold a joke in her mouth like a secret, like it’s something she doesn’t owe to anyone else.

“Hi,” you reply, because what else is there to say? Hello feels too formal, like you’ve shown up for a job interview, and anything else—anything softer, more intimate—feels dangerous. Like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff just to see how far you can lean before gravity kicks in.

Her room is a mirror image of yours, down to the garish burgundy carpet and beige curtains that don’t quite close properly. It’s a symphony of stereotypical hotel design, where the furniture all looks like it’s been bolted down as a precaution against theft. But there’s something different about hers, something distinctly Leah. It smells faintly of her perfume, a citrusy Chanel scent you’d once looked for in John Lewis out of curiosity. You’d sprayed it onto one of those paper tester strips, only to feel your lungs contract at the price tag. It smells like sunshine and sharp edges, and now it’s permanently tangled up in your memory of her.

The bed is unmade, the covers thrown haphazardly across the mattress like they’ve been caught mid-escape. One pillow teeters on the edge, a casualty of her apparent inability to sleep neatly. There’s a half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand, its label peeling from condensation. A pair of socks—crew-length, white with a small Nike tick—lie abandoned on the floor near the foot of the bed, one inside out. The room is messy in a way that surprises you. Leah, who is precise and meticulous on the pitch, leaves her personal space in a state of mild chaos. And for some reason, it makes you smile. It’s humanising, like finding out that superheroes still get toothpaste on their shirts.

You step inside, careful not to trip over her trainers—Adidas Sambas in a muted beige tone, scuffed at the edges but somehow still immaculate in their coolness. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound punctuating the silence like a full stop. You turn to face her, and she’s leaning against the dresser now, her hands resting in the pockets of her shorts. She’s watching you, her eyes half-lidded and impossibly blue, the kind of blue that makes you think of open skies and lost afternoons.

“What?” you ask, because the weight of her gaze always makes you self-conscious, like you’ve walked into a room wearing mismatched socks.

“Nothing,” she says, her mouth curving into a smirk. “You just look…” She pauses, letting the sentence hang in the air like an unfinished melody.

“What?” you repeat, a little sharper this time, though you’re smiling too.

“Like you’re trying not to smile,” she finishes, pushing off the dresser and moving closer.

And maybe you are. Maybe you’re trying not to give away how much you like this—the quiet intimacy of it, the way she looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who knows what this feels like. Maybe you’re trying not to admit how much you want to reach out and touch her, to close the space between you with a single step. But you don’t. Not yet.

The sex is unhurried, languid. Leah moves with the same precision she does on the pitch, her hands mapping the curve of your waist, the line of your jaw, like she’s planning her next move three steps in advance. It’s the same deliberation you’ve seen in her during matches—the way she reads the game like it’s written in a language only she understands. But this isn’t a match. There are no spectators, no whistles, no rules, just her and you and the slow, deliberate way she’s undoing you, piece by piece.

Her kisses are deep, focused. They land with intent, the kind that makes you forget your own name, let alone the fragile, tenuous boundaries of this arrangement. Her mouth lingers on yours, then moves to your neck, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. She doesn’t bite, not yet, but you can feel her teeth graze your skin, an unspoken promise that leaves you gasping, your fingers curling into the rough fabric of the hotel sheets.

Her fingertips press into your skin—not hard enough to hurt but just firm enough to leave the ghost of her touch behind, as though she’s marking her territory. They trace the length of your back, down your spine, to your hips. Her thumbs skim over the waistband of your joggers before she tugs them down with a kind of casual confidence that feels maddeningly unfair. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always does.

“You’re so quiet,” she murmurs, her voice low, teasing. She presses a kiss to your collarbone, her hands slipping beneath your shirt to push it up, her palms warm against your ribs. “That’s not like you”

“I’m—” You try to respond, but her mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly,” she says, her voice smug as she moves lower, her lips trailing down your chest, your stomach, her pace agonisingly slow. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips instinctively, barely registering the soft laugh she lets out, the sound dark and smooth like melted chocolate.

There’s no rush. Leah’s always like this—methodical, unhurried. She knows how to take her time, how to keep you teetering on the edge until your body feels like it’s no longer your own. She kisses her way back up, pausing to nip at your jaw, your shoulder, the place where your pulse beats just beneath your skin. Her hand slips between your thighs, her touch deliberate, controlled. And you’re gone.

It’s like a tidal wave, slow to build but devastating when it crashes over you. You’re not sure when you start begging—if it even counts as begging, the broken sounds spilling from your lips without your consent—but Leah doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seems pleased, her smirk pressing against the hollow of your throat as she mutters something you’re too far gone to catch.

At some point, she presses her forehead to yours, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She murmurs something—low, unintelligible, a slurred mix of swear words and your name. Or maybe it’s not your name. Maybe it’s a prayer. Maybe it’s both. You don’t ask her to repeat it. You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe, your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer like you can merge into her, like you can stop time if you just hold on tightly enough.

By the time you collapse onto the mattress, tangled in the hotel’s suspiciously rough sheets, you’re vaguely aware of how loud you’ve been. The walls are thin. The kind of thing where you can hear your neighbour’s TV murmuring away or the occasional flush of a toilet. It’s almost comedic, really, the way you’d tried so hard to avoid being seen earlier, only to make it painfully obvious now. You half expect a knock on the door, some irate teammate demanding silence.

Leah doesn’t seem to care. Of course she doesn’t. She lies beside you, her face flushed, her hair falling loose from the ponytail she’d barely tried to secure. She’s smirking, the way she always does after these nights, like she’s just scored the winning goal and nobody else on the team noticed. Her arm brushes against yours as she stretches out, her skin warm and damp, her breathing slow and even.

The next morning, you arrive at breakfast twenty minutes late, a record even for you. You’ve spent the better part of that time in front of the mirror, tilting your head at impossible angles to assess the carnage Leah left on your neck. Hickeys, in various stages of bruise-like blossoming, dot your skin like a battlefield casualty report. You try concealer—two layers, then three—but it only makes you look like you’ve dipped your neck in cake batter. After an extensive wardrobe evaluation, you settle on a jumper with a collar just high enough to obscure the worst of it, but not so high that it screams I’ve made several poor life choices and am now concealing the evidence.

You enter the dining area cautiously, your eyes scanning for witnesses like you’re in the opening sequence of Casino Royale. The room is loud with the sound of clinking cutlery, chairs scraping against linoleum, and conversations overlapping in a way that is both chaotic and oddly comforting. You spot Katie McCabe first, standing by the buffet with a bowl of cereal that is more milk than anything resembling a solid. Her spoon hovers mid-air as she glances at you, then swivels her head in Leah’s direction, who is seated at a corner table, scrolling through her phone like she has never made a suspicious noise in her life.

Katie’s eyes narrow, and her mouth stretches into a grin so wicked it should be trademarked. She sets her cereal down and makes a beeline for you, walking with the kind of determination that belongs exclusively to people with too much time on their hands and absolutely no regard for personal boundaries.

“Well, well,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes dart to your neck, then back up to your face. “Someone had a busy night.”

You freeze. Instinctively, your hand twitches toward the collar of your jumper, but you stop yourself. Guilty behaviour. Act normal. Be cool. You shrug in what you hope is a convincing display of nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Katie tilts her head, her grin widening. “Oh, don’t play dumb,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward your neck. “What’s that, then? Tactical bruising? Working on a new game plan?”

“I slipped in the shower,” you deadpan. It’s a lie so bad it physically hurts to say, but the alternative is giving Katie McCabe ammunition, and you’d rather die than give her the satisfaction.

She snorts. “Jesus, you’ve got to at least try with these excuses”

You glare at her, but it’s useless. Katie is like a shark in open water—she can smell blood, and she’s circling. She follows you to the table, sliding into the chair next to yours without so much as an invitation. Her cereal sloshes precariously in her bowl, milk dripping onto the edge of the table. She doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.

Leah, of course, is completely unbothered. She’s leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone like she’s reading the football section of The Guardian and not actively trying to avoid eye contact with you. Her hair is still slightly damp from her morning shower, and she’s wearing a hoodie that looks suspiciously like yours. Katie clocks the hoodie immediately and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Not yet.

“Just to clarify,” Katie says, her voice loud enough to carry to the next table, “are we calling this a team-building exercise or…?”

Leah doesn’t even flinch. Without looking up from her phone, she says, “Mind your business, McCabe”

Katie lets out a delighted laugh, stealing a slice of toast from your plate like she’s earned it. “Oh, it is my business,” she says, buttering the toast with an enthusiasm that borders on offensive. “You lot kept me up all night. Thought someone was being murdered in the next room. Turns out it was just—”

“Katie,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through her sentence. Your face is burning, your ears hot enough to fry an egg on.

Katie leans back in her chair, utterly unrepentant. “Relax,” she says, taking a bite of the toast she stole. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now”

She winks at you, a gesture so insufferable you consider lobbing a teaspoon at her head. Instead, you glance at Leah, whose lips are twitching at the edges, betraying the smirk she’s desperately trying to suppress.

You shoot her a glare that you hope translates to I will kill you later, but she only raises an eyebrow, as if to say go ahead, make my day.

Katie’s still watching you, her grin as infuriating as ever. “You’re lucky it was me who heard you,” she says, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Imagine if it had been Beth. She’d have the whole squad doing impressions by now”

Leah finally looks up from her phone, her expression cool, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “You done?”

Katie holds up her hands in mock surrender, her grin never faltering. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, try keeping it down. Or don’t. Makes for great entertainment”

You slump in your chair, burying your face in your hands. You can feel Leah’s gaze on you, and when you finally peek through your fingers, she’s smiling. Not smirking, not teasing, but actually smiling, like this is the most fun she’s had in weeks.

You make a mental note to kill her later. Or maybe kiss her. You haven’t decided yet.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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honeyryewhiskey · 2 months ago

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˗ˏˋ photobooth ´ˎ˗

no warnings, just fluff ! — i wanted to post something for my sweet baby dean before i crawl into bed 800 word count

The case has been a mess. Long nights, dead ends, and enough running around in your stiff FBI getup to make you resent the sight of a suit forever. You and Dean are striding through the lobby of some swanky hotel, trying to look like you belong—heads high, badges tucked away, shoes clicking against polished marble.

And that’s when you see it.

Tucked between an old cigarette vending machine and a gold-plated water fountain sits a photo booth. A real, honest-to-God, outdated photo booth—the kind with a stiff curtain, a cracked plastic seat, and the promise of grainy black-and-white film strips.

You stop dead in your tracks, eyes marveling at the sight as you grab Dean’s arm. “Oh my God.”

Dean halts, glancing down at your grip, ready to protest—until he follows your gaze. His brows lift, features smoothing into boyish wonder. For a second, the weight of the case disappears, the exhaustion, the damn suits—gone. Now, you’re both staring at the dust-covered machine like kids discovering a hidden treasure.

“No freaking way,” he breathes.

You’re already pulling him toward it, the case momentarily forgotten. You look up at him with complete certainty, more seriousness written between your eyes than what you’ve given to half the law enforcement you’ve been deceiving all week. “We have to.”

A slow, lopsided smile tugs at his lips. “We really, really do.”

Dean slides in first, broad shoulders making the cramped space even smaller. The booth smells of hotel potpourri, but beneath that lingers the scent of old film chemicals and dust—like something frozen in time. You wedge in beside him, your knees knocking as you feed crumpled bills into the slot.

The dim screen flickers to life, tracking your movements in a grainy, washed-out reflection. Dean tugs at his tie, loosening it as you adjust your posture, anticipation buzzing in the tiny space.

“Alright, first one—”

The flash fires before you finish, catching you mid-laugh, turned toward Dean with wide eyes. He looks just as unprepared—brows raised, mouth slightly open, like he just got caught off guard by a ghost.

“Oh, c’mon,” he huffs, shaking his head. “Okay, serious one this time.”

You both lean in, straight-faced, trying your best to channel FBI professionalism. The camera clicks, capturing the moment your cheeks brush together, your eyes locked ahead like a pair of suspects in a police lineup.

Then, just as the next flash readies—Dean shifts.

One brow quirks, the other drops into a hardened stare. Lips pursed just slightly.

Blue Steel.

“Oh, you ass,” you wheeze, immediately trying to copy him before the flash fires. But it’s too late—you barely manage an exaggerated pout, making you look more like a sulking kid than a smoldering secret agent.

Dean barks out a laugh, his shoulders shaking. “Oh man,” he teases, looking at the preview. “That’s adorable.”

“I look ridiculous,” you groan, cheeks heating as you swipe at the screen before it disappears.

“Nah.” He tilts his head, eyes flicking down to you with a smirk. “It’s cute, you trying to look like me.” He winks, all cocky and smug. “Just needs some more practice, sweetheart.”

You’re rolling your eyes as the screen flashes the last countdown. Three, two—

Before you can think, you reach out, catching Dean’s jaw in your palm and pressing a kiss to his cheek just before the camera flashes.

Silent anticipation stretches into the space as the booth spits out the strip a second later, both of you leaning in to watch the machine work slowly—and rather loudly—to print the images. Dean grabs it first, his dimples deepening as he studies the frames. His thumb brushes over the last image—him, grinning like a fool, with your lips against his cheek.

A slow, pleased hum rumbles from his chest. He taps the last photo, crinkled eyes flicking back to you, “this one’s my favorite.”

You roll your eyes, snatching the strip from his fingers to get a better look. “Yeah, yeah. You gonna frame it?”

“Tempting,” he muses, watching you with too much attention for being so close. It makes your heart skip, and you swallow that flutter like it’s nothing. Then, without hesitation, he takes the strip back and carefully folds it, tucking it into his wallet like it belongs there.

You clear your throat, the speckles of dust dancing in the screen’s glow suddenly itching at your insides. “Sam’s probably wondering where we are.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, following as you slip out of the booth, “back to business.”

He brushes past you, but not without ruffling your hair as he passes.

“Dean,” you groan, swatting at him, but he’s already striding ahead, taking long, lazy steps—too fast for you to catch. He glances back over his shoulder, eyes twinkling as he throws you a wink.

And as much as you try to ignore it, you’re smiling the whole way out.

tags <3 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @daylighted @snowluvvie @soldiersgirl @ultravi0lence14 @dulcescorderitas @jollyhunter @bluemerakis

#dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff

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lex-the-flex · 6 months ago

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34 + 35

Hugh Jackman x reader

Summary: After attending a long and exhausting event, all you want to do is enjoy a coffee espresso, but life has other plans.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warning(s): MEGA FLUFF, Hugh being a LITERAL sweetheart + gentleman, slight angst, dealing with a walking red flag, mentions of stalking (?), BRIEF & MINOR sexual assault/situation, brief cursing, minor violence (just an idiot getting punched in the face), Hugh being your shield, and me gushing about museums. (I'm envisioning this taking place when Hugh was a bit younger).

A/N: I can TOTALLY imagine this being one of my MANY meet-cutes with Hugh and a girl can dream! Feedback is appreciated and enjoy!

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll please follow me back to the dining hall, we will now open the bar and you are free to wander through the museum at your leisure. Thank you for all of your hard work and enjoy the remainder of your evening.” The museum’s director announces, leading the group back inside the building.

Sighing in relief at the cool night air, the instant relief of being able to finally stretch your legs after sitting for more than two hours hits you hard. Glancing down at your watch, you read the time; 11:28 pm.

Silently groaning to yourself, all you wanted to do was take off your makeup and go to sleep in your hotel room. But you couldn’t. The event wasn’t scheduled to end until one in the morning, and the truth was: you secretly wanted to die. While you weren’t the biggest fan of wearing dresses, much less an elegant, custom-made slip gown that was dyed a deep charcoal, this one had its charm. You felt like a warrior adorned for battle.

Heading back inside the grand museum, the elegant dining room never fails to revive your soul. The dark atmosphere accompanied by the warm lighting felt unreal, like you shouldn’t even be here. But here you were, standing in one of your favorite places in the entire world. Walking towards the bar, you spot an empty seat on the end, so you take the opportunity before anyone else can.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks.

“Um, may I have an espresso martini?” You ask, setting down the drink menu.

“It’ll be about five minutes. We just finished cleaning the machine.” She replies, taking your drink ticket.

“Okay, that’s fine.” You answer.

Smiling back at you, the bartender hands the ticket stub back over to you now dotted with a black check mark. Leaning against the bar, you patiently wait for your drink and decide to look up some of the works of art that were on display in the building. You start to finally feel relaxed knowing you’re allowed to walk freely throughout the art gallery and the mere anticipation makes butterflies rise in your stomach.

However, the excitement comes to a dead stop the second you accidentally look up from your phone and make eye contact with some young, blonde rich-looking scumbag who was sitting at the other side of the bar. Promptly leaving his seat, the man makes his way over to you.

“Hey, what’s your name? I’m Max.” He flirtatiously asks.

Bracing himself against the edge of your personal bubble, you try your best to ignore him and the scent of vodka on his lips. Returning with your drink, you thank the bartender and spin in your chair to stand, but the partygoer stops you.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart. I just want to know who I’m meeting.” Max explains, taking a hold of your shoulder.

The cold sensation of his hand being incredibly unwelcome on your exposed skin sends a threatening chill down your spine.

“I’m sure any other girl would enjoy your company. So leave me alone.” You rebuttal.

Chuckling at your response, the guy leans closer, breaking your precious personal bubble. Max’s fingers hover around the bare skin of your naked thigh, dancing above your freckles. The echoing sound of your heartbeat fills your ears as you couldn’t breathe.

“Come on, baby. What do you say we get out of here, huh?” He whispers in your ear.

Seeing red, you instinctively shove Max away from your body.

“No!” You exclaim.

At the same time, however, someone else was pulling him off of you. Stumbling against a spare fridge, Max knocks into the stranger that had the decency to save you.

“Look bud, she said no. She’s with me, you understand? So back off.” The stranger threateningly explains, letting his thick Austrian accent take over.

Cowering away from him, Max playfully raises his hands in defeat.

“Alright man. You win.” Max teases before walking into the crowd.

Watching him walk away, you turn your attention towards the kind soul who saved you from something potentially traumatic.

“Thank you.” You manage to say.

“You’re welcome, it’s the least I can do.” He replies.

Standing from your seat, you flash him a quick smile before heading to the art gallery. Exhaling at the entire encounter, you manage to find a wooden bench in the middle of the room and sit down. Rubbing your fingers together, you notice that your hands haven’t stopped shaking, so you reach into your bag for a moment, only to realize that you left your phone at the bar.

Scoffing, you hesitantly pull yourself together, ready to make the walk of shame back into the dining hall when the sight of the kind stranger stops you in your tracks in the doorway.

“Hi.” You say.

“Hi.” He replies with a smirk.

Walking towards you, he holds up your phone in his hand.

“You uh, left this at the bar and I didn’t want that asshole to have it. So I thought I’d return it to you.” He says.

Handing your phone to you, he sits down next to you.

“Thank you. …And thank you for helping me at the bar. That was the last thing I expected to happen tonight.” You admit.

Forcing the rising wave of tears back down, you finally put your phone away before deciding to break your shyness to meet new people.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” You introduce yourself.

Extending your hand to the handsome stranger, he gently takes your hand in his, holding it like a gentleman should.

“It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Hugh. And I’m glad I got to know your name before that asshole.” He replies.

Laughing at his answer, Hugh lightly chuckles along with you. Looking up at him again, his light hazel eyes and dark brown hair seem to put in a near trance-like state, including the fact that he looks amazing in just a regular suit and tie. Glancing back into your e/c orbs, you feel safe with Hugh by your side, and you didn’t seem to know or understand why. It just felt right.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what's a normal person like you doing here? This place definitely seems out of your league.” Hugh asks.

Furrowing your brows, you lightheartedly place your hand over your heart, and pretend to gasp.

“Wow. I can’t believe you, Hugh. You actually think I’m normal?” You tease, earning yourself a laugh from the man across from you.

“You know what I mean.” He responds.

“The company I work for wants me to expand my idea for this article I’m writing. They actually want to know if rich people, including celebrities, truly appreciate the arts and other historical pieces in history.” You explain.

“Ouch. That hurts you know. Well, if it’s any consolation, I for one do enjoy the arts. I mean, you’re talking to a theater kid here. So the arts sort of come naturally to me.” Hugh replies, feeling hurt for a moment, but he quickly shifts the tone.

“Then can I interview you? You seem like one of the few knowledgeable people here. I wish more people like you would attend these events than the rich boys who are thriving off of their parent’s money and think they can get away with–” You begin, but slowly trail off in slight terror.

Suddenly, appearing in the doorway, Max appears to have found you, and that he has been eavesdropping on your delightful conversation.

“What is it?” Hugh asks, going off the look on your face.

Turning around to the doorway, Hugh’s kind look drops almost instantly, and you stand from your spot at the bench. Following suit, Hugh fixes his jacket before giving you all of his attention.

“What did he exactly do to you, Y/N? We can go if you like.” Hugh firmly states, stepping closer to you.

Briefly holding the brim of Hugh’s jacket, you inch closer so that Max wouldn’t hear.

“Hugh, he… He tried to…” You can’t bring yourself to tell Hugh, allowing your tears to shed.

Instantly understanding what you mean, you swear that Hugh’s once calm and peaceful eyes light up with fury, now knowing that this douche tried to violate and humiliate your charming and innocent soul. Hugh understood that you, a young woman such as yourself shouldn’t have to experience something like that.

So he knew what he had to do, regardless if it would get him banned from this museum for life.

“Look, buddy l’m not looking for trouble. I do appreciate you keeping her company, though.” Max tries again, hoping to win you over. Except this time, he’s a little more drunk.

“God, when will you learn? Some women actually have the common sense to avoid guys like you.” Hugh spits.

“Well, most women prefer the young rich guy who can take them places instead of the boring washed-up actor who still chooses to be in shitty superhero movies!” Max shouts, causing you to flinch.

Attempting to walk towards you, Max doesn’t seem to take the obvious hints, and he unfortunately takes the blunt end of the stick. Punching him in the face, you and Hugh watch Max fall to the floor. Groaning in pain, Max wipes his bloody nose as Hugh takes you by the hand, leading you out of the museum.

Taking your shoulders, Hugh calmly recenters himself.

Pulling Hugh in for an embrace, he welcomes it and tightly holds your frame. Squeezing his broad shoulders, Hugh calmly sways you from side to side.

“It’s alright. He won’t bother you anymore. I promise.” Hugh announces.

“Thank you, Hugh. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if you hadn’t showed up.” You reply, slowly ending the hug.

“Of course. Now, what do you say about starting that interview?” He asks, waving to the valet employee.

“I’d love to.” You answer with a smile, knowing that this is the start of something spectacular.

wolverine/hugh taglist ~

@dreamliners

@chronicallybubbly

@dontfeedthebigbadwolf

@the-resident-vampire

@ovaryacted

@misssarcasm15

@yellow-eyed-sams-wife

@lost-in-horrorland

@peterparkernotfound

@pcrushinnerd

@quillycrow

@till-hes-90

@the-moth-archives

@stilllivindue2spite

@wolviesgal

@mostly-marvel-musings

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x y/n #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman fic #hugh jackman angst #hugh jackman imagines #hugh jackman headcanons

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repulsiveliquidation · 1 year ago

Text

The White Suit || Jill Roord

based on that suit. good lord. save me. lock me up. anyway, it's just smut lol

warnings : mommy kink, swearing, aftercare, strap-on's, vibrators, oral sex.

“Lieveling, you really can’t make it?”

“I’m stuck in the airport, my love. My flight got canceled and there aren’t any flights to Heathrow till tomorrow.”

“I really wanted you to be here,” Jill says to you sadly.

“Me too baby, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you when I get there tomorrow okay?”

Jill hangs up with tears in her eyes. It’s her first game back since her ACL injury and you had promised to be there to watch her take her place back on the pitch. She steps off the team bus in her suit and sulks the whole warmup, the rest of the girls feel bad for her when she tells them you couldn’t make it.

Little did she know that you managed to get a seat on the next flight out of Spain where you were. You still missed the game but hid out in her room after texting Leila to delay Jill and steal her spare key to get you into her room.

You changed quickly, Leila managing to drag Jill for some coffee before coming back to the hotel to give you some time to get ready. You pulled on a light blue lingerie set that was reminiscent of the Man City blue, thigh-highs pulled up nice and taut secured to your bottoms. Your harness lay waiting on the bed, an acceptable array of straps right beside it.

Your hair fell perfectly around your shoulders, skin soft and supple with every move you made. A light pink lipstick perfectly lathered on your lips. An aromatherapy machine gently spews lavender-scented mist, permeating the room. You smiled, towel laid out on the bed right in the middle ready for your night of celebrations.

Leila texted you that they were in the elevator up so you sat on the bed with your legs crossed waiting for Jill to walk in. You were a little nervous and there were butterflies in your stomach, hoping that Jill would be surprised and not upset.

“Leila, stop being so touchy I’m not going to leave this room till she comes tomorrow–baby?” Jill says in surprise, standing in the doorway in shock. Leila and Laia grin and cheer as they walk to their room, cackling away as Jill stutters.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see my baby,” you tell her and stand, sauntering over to her. She shuts the door behind her and drops her gear bag, her white suit a little crumpled on her shoulder. You tsk and stand in front of her a little too close to smooth out the wrinkles.

She stands with her jaw dropped and you close it for her, looking up at her beautiful eyes that slowly begin to gloss over. You fiddle with her lapels and smooth out the rest of the creases from her jacket, pressing your lips right on the collar of her jacket leaving a perfect lip stain.

Jill’s knees visibly buckle and she catches herself, muttering incoherently her apologies. You smile softly and cup her face, tilting your head in for a kiss. She meets you halfway and you smile into the kiss, her lips soft with a hint of coffee and caramel.

Jill moans when your tongue swipes her bottom lip and you slip your tongue into her mouth, exploring and dominating her tongue. You wrap your arms around her neck and pull her towards the bed, before fisting her lapels that were perfectly tailored for Jill.

You pull away and admire her outfit, her slightly damp hair draped perfectly on her shoulders and you gently adjust her necklaces and she whines, reaching to take her jacket off.

You tut and she looks down at you again, eyes full of expressive features. You take her hand and guide her in front of the bed where your harness sits. You nudge your head for her to take it and she does, helping you step into it. She secures the sides and you smile, cooing at her gently.

Jill eyes the array of dildos that sit perfectly straight on the bed. She sees her favorite, one that’s too big, one that’s too small, and one that she’s never seen before.

“May I pick one, Mommy?” Jill asks obediently, fidgeting with her vest.

You stand behind her and caress her arms, chin resting on the Dutch’s shoulder.

“Yes, you may angel. You get to pick because you won that game today and look so pretty in that suit hm?”

Jill nods and you frown a little. She catches a glimpse of your face in the window across from her and immediately corrects herself.

“Thank you, Mommy.”

“Good girl, Jill,” you praise, walking around the bed and onto it. Jill drags her fingers over the toys and predictably picks her favorite one. She picks it up and hands it to you.

“This one please, Mommy,” she says quietly, eyes meeting yours. She’s dazed and a little lust-hungry, shoulders sagging and knees about to buckle again. You pity her and decide that that’s enough teasing and take her toy of choice to put on.

It clips in securely and you have her sitting on the edge of the bed. You kiss her neck gently and shrug her jacket off, throwing it over to the chair in the corner. Jill shudders at the sudden cold air on her exposed skin, goosebumps littering her skin. You climb off the bed and stand over her, fiddling with the buttons on her vest.

You undid each one slowly, getting down to your knees with every pop of a button. Jill was breathing a little heavier now, leaning back on her elbows as she understood your intentions.

Once her vest was off, her pants were not far behind. She smiled a little drunkenly as you pulled them off, nails raking over her strong thighs. Jill shuddered again and smiled, throwing her head back.

You smiled and watch her relax into the premium bedding, her bare ass tense against the 400 thread count linen. You caress her tired muscles and kiss up her thighs, her knees parting way for you. You grin up at her and see a light blush on her cheeks, eyes hooded a little as her pussy throbs achingly between her legs.

“Where do you want me, babygirl?” you ask teasingly, perfectly manicured nails running through her wet pussy. Jill whines and hides behind her forearm, nodding softly.

“Words, you useless whore.”

“Anywhere, everywhere, just touch me Mommy please!” Jill cries, eyes filling with tears as your fingers along her pussy tug her folds just a little.

You lean in and lick her up her slit gently, tongue a little warmer than her folds that were exposed to the colder room. She jerks but keeps her ass planted on the bed obediently as your tongue fondles her peeking clit.

Jill bites her lip hard, eyes screwed shut tight. A slender finger pushes into her and her knees fold up onto the bed to ease your access. She moans and cants her hips down onto your finger slowly before your palm rests on her hip as a warning. You stand and slide another finger into her pussy and hover over her, eyes dark and voice deep.

“One more move that I don’t fucking ask for, I stop and you go to bed with nothing, do you understand me?”

“Yes Mommy,” she whines out, nodding her head profusely.

Her ass never leaves the bed and you grin proudly down at her when you feel a rush of arousal coat your fingers inside her.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

“Yes Mommy, feels so good when you touch me,” she answers, feeling a third finger push in beside the other two. Jill throws her head back and whines while her hips can’t resist one more cheeky grind.

You stop your fingers right on her sweet spot, having just decided to reward her for being a good girl when you feel her hips move when you told her not to. Your fingers pull out of her pussy and you get off the bed. You pull her to the middle of the bed and smile, kissing down her chest. She shifts nervously and smiles back, unsure if she’s messed up or not.

You reach up and under the pillow, pulling out a vibrator. It’s turned on immediately and your hands pull her legs wide open, lips right beside her ears.

“I told you not to move, princess.”

The wand head is pressed to her clit and she barely has time to process the transition into her punishment. The rush of pleasure goes straight to her head and down to her toes. She struggles to find something to hold on to, the sheets taut as she grasps them and pulls them tight.

“You getting close, darling?” you taunt, wand pressed harder on her clit. Jill grips your wrist and whimpers, nodding hard.

“Please Mommy,” Jill begs beautifully, “Please let me come.”

“No.”

Jill’s thighs which have been flexed to force blood toward her core dissipate the moment you pull the wand away. She cries out your name and her eyes begin to water, her pleasure dropping back to zero.

“What did you do wrong, sweetheart?” you ask softly, kissing down her bare chest. You suck bright red hickeys all over her chest, her lips struggling to form a sentence.

“Moved when you didn’t allow me to,” she manages, tears falling down the side of her face. You suck on her breast gently, hand bringing the toy back towards her core. It barely touches a bit of flesh, the light vibrations driving her crazy.

“What must you say so you can come, baby?”

She answers much more composed this time.

“I’m sorry Mommy, won’t happen again.”

“Good girl,” you whisper to her, the vibrator pressed hard against her clit. Jill cries out your name again and tries her best to stay still, eyes screwed shut again. She bites her lip and slowly smiles deliriously, a sign that she’s close.

You pull the vibrator away and give her no time to argue when your cock slips right into her dripping pussy. Jill gasps and looks up at you in shock, thighs shaking as your thrusts are powerful and precise.

You press the vibrator into her palm as your hips never falter, hands pressing her thighs wide open.

“Be a good girl and don’t move that off your clit unless I say so.”

She does as you say, shaky hands pressing the vibrator right on her clit, and her expression changes. You press her legs wider and pound into her pussy hard, feeling the vibrations fizz out into your strap-on and lightly onto your clit.

“Faster Mommy, I’m so close please!”

You fuck into her faster and suck on her breasts gently, helping her hold the toy right on her clit. Jill swears she sees white when she comes, eyes rolling as far as they go into her head. She shudders and jerks as she comes, toe curled up tight.

“Fuck!” she screams as you keep railing her into the mattress, the first orgasm fizzling out and the second fast approaching. Jill chants your name like a mantra and her hands shake too much to hold the vibrator on her clit. You lean back and pound up right into her sweet spot, holding the vibrator right on her sensitive clit.

“One more for me, darling,” you coo, throwing your head back as your pleasure slowly rises too. “Think you can give me one more pretty orgasm sweetheart?”

“Yes Mommy, it’s yours!”

Jill concentrates on your movements, her lust-driven focus solely on you. She feels the tug in the back of her belly button, the buildup of pressure just in her core. A hand wrapped around her neck and squeezes, that was all the triggers she needed. She barely had time to warn you she was coming, the sheer power of her orgasm pushes you out as she squirts all over your lower half. You watch in amazement, her legs shaking like a leaf as you fondle her clit fast. You pull away just as she reaches her tipping point, eyes zoned in on you.

She can barely remember most of what happened next. She was in a warm bath and lots of bubbles within ten minutes, wrapped in your arms under the soft lights of her hotel room bathroom. You’re kissing her ear when she properly comes to, smacking her lips and blinking her eyes.

“Hello gorgeous,” you whisper, hands caressing her arms. She snuggles back into you, eyes closing as the smell of her favorite lavender Epsom salt fills the air. She feels your arms around her and the warm water helps her aching muscles, tilting her head back to kiss you.

You pull a hand out of the water and cup her face, kissing her earnestly as she gently turns into your arms. Jill pulls away and smiles, rough hands doing their own exploration under the bubbly water.

“Did you come earlier, love?” she asks in her slight Dutch and English accent, she frowns when you shake your head.

“I was close but I didn’t come.”

“That’s not good,” Jill states matter-of-factly. Her hands drag down your soapy thighs, the water making the glide extremely easy. You lean back and let her have her fun, feeling the Dutch’s fingers dance over your clit.

“Just relax, I’ve got you,” Jill reassures, smiling when she feels your muscles relax into the fragrant water more. She rubs tight circles over your clit and you feel yourself getting close already. She tilts your head up and presses her lips to yours hard, fingers rubbing your clit faster and faster. You moan into her mouth and grip the edges of the bath. The water spills a little but you couldn’t care less. Jill sneaks two fingers into you and you cry out her name, coming hard on her fingers.

Jill smiles and cups your face for a kiss, feeling you melt into her arms. She pulls away, grinning from ear to ear.

“I should tell management to get us more suits huh?”

#jill roord #jill roord smut #jill roord imagine #jill roord x reader #man city women #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso one shot #woso smut

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thyln4gf · 10 days ago

Text

Love bites

✞ Fear. That was definitely the word he would use, if he was asked - you werent anything ordinary, and he didnt wanna have you slip through his fingers.

✞ Word count - 1,058

✞ I have synesthesia! Heres 5 songs that i associate with this fic - "morning elvis" - Florence + the machine, ethel cain (live at denver ball arena), "precious" - Starbenders, "heavy metal lover" - Lady Gaga, "nervous" - The Neighbourhood, "strawberries & cigarettes" - Troye Sivan.

✞ Warnings - mentions of alcohol consumption.

✞ Lando Norris x driver!reader

✞ Notes - wrote this mess of a blurb after a long period of not writing anything, as obvious. Its (somewhat??) of a fluff, and im willing to write a part 2 if thats something yall might want. (Reminder - requests for other pieces also open!)

A red light has been flashing up in your mind the entire evening, and even continued out onto the morning after. It felt wrong, like something you should look away from. But youve been thinking about it, havent you? Its been on your mind, and you cant even deny. You thought about how warm he could feel. You had a craving for his touch, and prayed for his hands to finally have a go at worshipping you. Nothing too complicated, right?

So why did finally getting all that youve ever wanted feel so wrong?

Making coffee in a kitchen has never been more nerve-wracking, if anyone would have asked. It all started when you brought a very much drunk guy home - and it was just enough to set you off. Just like that, even the little things were just enough to annoy you to no end. What is the sun doing being this bright, and this early? And why is a curtain, well... not acting like one? It seems to be failing at doing its job, as rays of the said sunshine seemed to be slipping through the gaps quite easily. Honestly, you were in your own little world. Just like a certain someone.

Lando was currently watching you from a few steps away, half asleep, as he was still recovering from the hangover he woke up with. If not you shuffling around, he wouldnt even think about getting up before it hit midday. But he couldnt even complain - after all, you were the one to take care of him. You picked him up from the party, drunker than he has ever been before. You brought him to your hotel room, as he was just enough under the influence to not remember where he could find his own. Most importantly, he slept like a baby. So what was there to complain about?

As much as his head was killing him, taking in the sight of you was definitely helping. He couldnt decide if he was still a little drunk or just stupid, but something did spark some courage and confidence in him - after all, he had always had feelings for you. But something about this specific turn of events made it pretty difficult for him to hide them. You both have been dancing around each other for some time, and could now finally catch a moment alone. This whole situation was his dream come true.

If you hadnt seen him coming from the corner of your eye, you definitely would have yelped - because this man decided to grab your waist as gently and "nonchalantly" as he could. He only ended up looking like a cute, soft teddy bear - he buried his head into the crook of your neck, taking in your scent - it was one he found very pleasant. He couldnt refrain from pulling you closer, his hands moving around your waist - and resting just above your hips.

As you were trying to do your thing, you noticed that he was... warm. Maybe a little too warm. Wasnt anything too bad, but enough to spark a small tinge of concern. You raise one of your hands up to his forehead, trying to feel the temperature with the back of it - which was a little difficult, due to the way he decided to squish his face against you. But hey - not impossible.

"Youre warm." Is your response to that, right as you go back to your original task - your voice slipping out in a gentle murmur. You have never gotten drunk enough to get a bad hangover, but you werent an asshole - you knew how much a quiet, comfortable space could help. Lando let out a groan in response - he wasnt fond of the idea of speaking just yet. His throat was a little sore, and probably due to all the drinking he did the night before. But he had to say something, atleast.

“Feels like my head is splitting.” He mumbled against you, his breath ghosting over your neck. He had to stop himself from pressing a kiss to it, in fear it wouldve been unwelcome. Fear - he had cursed himself out for it, not once and surely not even twice. It was rather irrational, most of the times. He was still scared to say just how much you meant to him. But oh, you knew.

A chuckle slips from your throat at his sentence - a low, comforting rumble. He adored that sound.

"And the waters wet." Is your response, referring to how much he had consumed last night. Or should you say today? You brought him back from the club well over midnight, after all. Lando couldnt see your face - but the image of your teasing smile was up there in his mind, loud and clear. He murmurs a curse or two, his words muffled by your shirt - so they dont reach your ears quite well. And as much as he wanted to say something else, to keep you talking - to hear your voice - he just couldnt. He was still feeling dizzy, and his ability to think seemed to be giving up on cooperating completely. He resorts to keeping his face in your neck, taking in your scent as if it was mandatory to be able to keep himself alive and functioning. And partially, it was. He couldnt even bring himself to think about being somewhere else right now, the thought alone leaving even more space for the negative thoughts. He felt comfortable, and most importantly, safe.

Which, by the way, he never thought he would catch himself thinking - just a year and some ago, he wouldve never imagined himself settling down and finding peace. He was still intimidated by the idea of a life one could call mundane - but it was you we're talking about. You made him want to give it a try - give you guys a try. Lando wanted a taste of what it could be like, and oh did he get plenty. He hasnt quite asked you to be his yet, and you havent hinted about wanting something more either - but something told him that he wasnt gonna escape this one that easily.

And he was perfectly content with the idea.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 fanart #formula one fanart #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #ln4

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amber-aromadiffusermachine · 2 years ago

Text

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nyoomfruits · 5 months ago

Note

after this race can we please get landoscar 15 or 24?

15. squeezing them tightly + 24. cuddles of reassurance

Here's the thing. Knowing you're driving a literal death machine on wheels and knowing you're driving a literal death machine on wheels are two entirely different things.

Logically, Oscar knows his job is dangerous. Logically, he knows it can all be over in a second. But weirdly, in a way, he forgets, sometimes. It becomes background noise. The sky is blue, the grass is green, the car you drive could kill you.

But then sometimes, sometimes there are these reminders, like the 2024 Brazilian Grand Prix, where he has to witness yellow flags turn into safety cars turn into red flags so often he pretty sure he forgets how to breathe.

Everytime there's a yellow flag his heart jumps, thinking please. Please not him. Please.

It isn't. None of them are. But they could be, and that's what's keeping Oscar's heart in his throat for the entire race. He keeps getting flashbacks to Las Vegas, to Lando's car flying into the barriers, Lando nothing but a helpless passenger.

Keeps seeing Lando's weak, loopy smile after, the one that hadn't quite reached his eyes. They hadn't even been a thing, back then, but the memory still haunts Oscar to this day.

The race ends in dissapointment. But Oscar doesn't care, because the race ends, and Oscar's still in his car, and Lando is still in his car, and nothing happened.

Oscar makes a beeline for Lando when they exit the car, shakes his hand in a friendly bro-y 'we're definitely just teammates and definitely not madly in love and planning to buy a house in Monaco together' kind of way, and looks at his crinkly eyed smile through the visor of his helmet, and breathes a sigh of relief.

It isn't until they're back in the McLaren Motorhome, after slugging through Press and debriefings, that Oscar gets to properly wrap Lando up in his arms, pull him close and bury his face in his hair, taking in the familiar scent of sweat and car and boy, that he can properly, truly breathe again.

"Hey," Lando says, a little wheezy, because Oscar is definitely squeezing him a little too tight, but he's too glad to hold him to really care. "I'm okay."

"I love you," Oscar says, mostly in the crook of Lando's neck.

"I know," Lando says, pressing his smile against the side of Oscar's face. "I love you too. Now, come on, let's get back to the hotel, yeah? We'll have like, a proper cuddle."

Oscar, who was honestly planning on never letting Lando go again, has to concede mainly on the fact that never letting him go again would be much more comfortable in a bed.

And so he pulls away, if ever so reluctantly, and gets rewarded with Lando's soft, tired, race worn smile. "Okay," he says. "Yeah. Let's go."

#landoscar #drabble

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aromasphere1 · 2 years ago

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cuteandhughesy · 1 month ago

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Happy 1000!! Requesting prompt 9 with mikko rantanen please :)

prompt no 9: "i'm not leaving you like this"

the airport is alive around you. the sounds of squeaking wheels dragging—slow and fast—the beeping and buzzing of various machines as they work on checking people in and out of terminals, chatter of hellos and goodbyes. everything and everyone is moving.

but you’re still.

mikko’s chest is warm through the material of his black sweatshirt, enveloping you in the scent of him. and you breathe in deeply between cries, savouring the warm musky laundry mixture that is your boyfriend because you’re not sure when you’ll be smelling him next.

it feels like you’ve been wrapped in each other for hours, which maybe you have—standing off to the side outside his lounge, silently spending the last few minutes with one another before he leaves for carolina, leaving you in your once shared colorado apartment until everything else can get sorted—an apartment in raleigh, a job for you, movers…a contract.

with everything up in the air right now, you don’t even care how ridiculous you look sobbing in the bustling denver airport. you pull away, just enough to wipe your face hastily. “ugh this sucks for you,” you laugh half heartedly, but it’s interrupted by your own hiccup. “i’m sorry for being so emotional.”

and yeah obviously you’re upset because your boyfriend of almost 6 years is moving away for a little bit—but this isn’t just about you. mikko is also dealing with a million different emotions, ones you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

he shakes his head, hand resting on the back of your head so you can’t stray too far. “it’s okay baby,” mikko mumbles, accent thicker than usual—a clear indicator he’s emotional. “you’re allowed to be upset.”

“I know…just…I hate this.” you breathe, fingers tightening on the sides of his hoodie, grasping the material between your clammy fingers. your pout quickly returns, chin trembling as you attempt to hold back another round of salty tears.

“me too,” mikko admits quietly. he exhales shakily, arms snaking around your hips and picking you up in a hug. “i’m gunna miss you so much babygirl,” his words are said into your shoulder, and your heart clenches. the next time you hear that special, cheesy term on endearment will be over the grainy line of the phone—and that hurts you more than you’d care to admit.

your toes are just brushing the ground—barley touching the worn airport tiles—as mikko holds you to his chest, only sheer strength holding you against him. it’s an uncomfortable stretch on your legs, but you know it’ll be awhile before you get to complain about it again, so you bask in it.

your lips brush the hinge of his jaw, “i’ll miss you more.”

“i’ll call you when i’m settled at the hotel.”

you nod quickly, still in his arms, “okay.” your voice cracks, tears dripping off your cheeks and hitting his winter pale skin, trailing down his neck and beneath the collar of his sweatshirt.

the sound of your creaky response has mikko putting you down in favour of looking at you properly. his large, warm hands cup your face like they’ve done thousands of times before. mikko’s brows pulls, eyes prickling with tears as he looks down at you. “baby…” he mutters gently, thumbs wiping away your tears before they fall too far.

the echoey intercom voice echos through the airport, reminding both of you of the situation beforehand—like you needed that right now. the flight to raleigh boards soon, and that means mikko needs to go and check in.

“you should go,” you tell him, the softest smile gracing your tear stained, blotchy face. “before my nose starts getting snotty.”

it already has started getting snotty, you and him both know that. but it’s an excuse—a lighthearted way to start the beginning of your goodbye. but mikko shakes his head again, “i’m not leaving you like this. not yet.” he leans down, upper back bending uncomfortably as he leans down to match your height. mikko kisses you tenderly, lips just holding onto one another in their own quiet departure. “I love you,” he says into your mouth.

“love you too.”

“i’ll see you in a few weeks during the break, okay?” mikko says once he’s pulled off your mouth, one hand trailing down your face and grasping the strap of the carry on bag slung over his shoulder.

you breathe, “okay.”

and with one more kiss and another reminder through the telecom system, mikko is leaving you and denver behind.

#🍾 ⊹˚₊ 1000 celly #❣️answered #mikko rantanen x reader #mikko rantanen blurb #mikko rantanen imagine #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #hockey imagine #hockey blurb

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hyunjinsjeans · 7 months ago

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Breakfast in bed (Bangchan x Reader)

Summary: going with Chan on his trip to America you can’t let an opportunity to give it a try to have that baby you talked about pass you by.

Type: Fluff 🧸, NSFW 🔞

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, unprotected sex (don’t do it, guys!) , little proofreading.

Word count: 2263 words

Related: He Knows (Chan ver.)

Masterlist Here

AN: This fic is a part 2 to Bangchan’s version of the He Knows Series. It can also be read as a stand alone. There is so little plot, I’m a little sorry. I’m also a little shy around smut still but I’m trying guys 👉👈This is the first one! Let’s go!

You breathe in the morning air. America has been wonderful, after Chan decided to bring you along only a few days before the departure date, you had to get the days off from work and plan accordingly.

Chan finds himself dragging you behind him everywhere, he cannot help it. While he is in his leader mindset, he is also so unable to disconnect from you. You experience his bossy side first hand. He is strict and direct, and he does not play games with the boys whenever they begin having too much fun during dance practice.

Chicago has been kind to the boys, even though they have spent little time on their own personal interests, you still find yourself having a great time seeing them all do what they love. Their set was a massive hit, the boys had great fun and Felix went a little overboard on stage… You enjoyed the show from a spot backstage with some of their staff as well as Changbin!Reader and Felix!Reader who had made it with their little ones.

“Hey… what are you doing all the way over there?” He drops his arm over his eyes as he lays on his back in the bed.

You hear his voice and smile from the open balcony. You turn in your old snoopy pj shorts and shirt and look at him, forgetting about the birds that fly above the busy city. You’ve already made coffee on the coffee machine in the small hotel room, the small mug between your hands.

“Morning, sleepy head!” You step aside and close the balcony sliding door. “I was just having a second with my thoughts, how’d you sleep?”

Chan sighs but does not move a muscle, still tired. You walk up to the bed, leaving the coffee on the bedside table and sit next to him, placing your hand on his forearm you pull the limb away from his face and whisper.

“Mmm, that good?” You arch an eyebrow and watch him whine.

He rolls on his side and wraps his arm around you, dragging you down onto the bed beside him. “Yeah, it’s nice to share a hotel room with you…”

You complain as you drop on the bed, hands go reach out to him on instinct. “Chan!” You can hear him chuckle at your plea. “I’m telling Lee Know you don’t like sharing rooms with him.”

He smiles and wraps his arms around you, “tell him something he doesn’t know…”

You push his messy hair away from his face and examine his face. Eyes closed and expression full of glee. He takes a deep breath and you put your hand against his cheek, he smiles and puts his hand on top of yours, turning his face to kiss your palm.

“I’m so glad you could come. I miss you so much when you stay home.” He admits in a soft voice.

You hum and lean in to kiss his nose. “I know. I feel weird when you’re travelling.”

Chan opens his eyes and meets your gaze, his hand reaches out to touch your face too, his fingers drag along your temple and fix a strand of your hair behind your ear. You lean against him and let him turn to lay on his back again, now pulling you softly into his chest. You wrap your leg around his and let your arm rest on his stomach while your head finds the perfect spot on the crook of his neck.

“Remind me, what time are we supposed to check out?” You rub your nose against his skin, inhaling his scent with a soft smile on your face.

“This afternoon. I think they said at around 3…” his arms squeeze you against him, he closes his eyes when you start nipping at his neck, “babe, what are you doing?”

You smile and slip your hand slowly up his chest and neck until you reach his jaw, “I’m spoiling my husband, what are you doing?” You say playfully.

He chuckles, “well, obviously I’m being spoiled!”

You laugh against his skin, kissing his neck before throwing your head back to look at him.

“Should I stop?” you wait for his reply.

Chan’s grasp on you tightens, “I never said that!” He complains and you giggle in response.

“Oh, so I am allowed to give you hickeys?” You press your lips on his neck again.

“No, no, no!” He puts his hand on your hair and pulls you away softly, “I’m still the only one allowed to give hickeys.”

He stares at your neck for a moment and then his eyes meet yours, all sleep has disappeared from them all of a sudden.

“Mm, actually… let me fix you with one…” He dips his head into your neck and pushes his plush lips against your neck.

You close your eyes as his breath hits your skin and you feel him nibbling on the sensitive spot right under your ear. Your head falls on the pillow and you run your hands up and down his naked chest. He presses his body against you and you grip onto his shoulder, pulling him on top of you as you roll onto your back.

“Looks so pretty, babe.” He whispers when he pulls away and watches the small mark on your neck.

With a cloudy mind you sigh, while he is fully awake now you feel like you’re being put into a trance.

“Chan,” you whisper, combing his hair back with your fingers. “You do realise I have to walk behind you at the airport, right? Now sporting this thing on my neck.”

He smiles and chuckles, “couldn’t help it…” He brushes his nose against yours. “I remember seeing you dance and jump around last night. You looked so cute, so excited to watch us perform. I’m glad you had fun.”

You nod with your head still on the pillow. Looking up at Chan you understand a little better why he wanted you to come. It has been a couple of months since you two decided to grow the family, encouraged by those members who already had kids. The night before you had helped Changbin!Reader with her two year old, Hajoon. She was an excitable little girl and you had a lot of fun holding her and dancing, playing with her small hands as she giggled with her big noise cancelling headphones. Obviously, Chan was eager to watch you have that same kind of fun with a child of your own.

“Aw, are you getting the baby fever?” You tease him, “welcome to my life, be thankful LeeKnow!Reader couldn’t be here, I’m a fool for their baby boy!”

Chan giggles, giving your lips a soft peck.

“Don’t worry, you can be a fool for our baby too. Let’s work on that, yeah?” He proposes.

“Oh, you’re on a schedule now? Is it time for that?” You tease.

“Mmmhm,” He kisses you, smiling into the kiss. “It’s time.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and play with the hair on the back of his head, letting his tongue into your mouth once he licks your bottom lip. You bring your leg up to his hip and feel his hand pull it up against his side. Your hand goes to find his arm and you hold on to him, his fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. He kisses down your neck and bites every so often, making you gasp and let out little whispered sounds. He pulls your shirt and shorts off and has you laying on your back naked in a few minutes. His hands touch your legs from the ankle to the back of your knee, to your thighs and then his strong hands grip your hips. You reach up and touch his naked chest.

Chan grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles and the back of your hand, before leaning down and kissing your stomach, right above your belly button. You whine under his kiss but let him kiss an agonisingly slow path down your belly and between your legs.

He really gives no warning before his face is buried into you, his hands holding your legs apart over his shoulders.

You gasp under his mouth and put a hand on his hair, fingers tangle with his dark locks while your other hand holds on to fistfulls of the bedsheets. You throw your head back as his tongue works on your most sensitive spot, making sure you are absolutely ready for him. You pant with a strong string tightening inside you, breathing seems so difficult as he laps at your folds, his nose rubbing against your sensitive clit. He hums into your sensitive knob and you gasp loudly, legs shaking in his grasp. He keeps going, eating you out like a starved man, only stopping after you cum on his mouth. You call out his name, your back arching off the bed as you do. He kisses your thighs and then your belly and up to your chest, his hands now eager to grope your breasts, he speaks against your chest, lips brushing your skin as he does so. “So pretty, babe… you’ll be even prettier with our baby…”

You nod, lazy hand landing on his shoulder. “Mmhm,” you kiss his lips, “I can’t wait…”

He leans into your kiss and struggles to kick off his boxers fast enough, you laugh as he has to step off the bed to get them off. Smiling, you sit up in the middle of the bed and wrap your arms around your weakened legs and stare. He looks back at you with a sheepish smile on his face as he stands fully naked before you.

“What are you laughing at?” He climbs onto the bed again, his hands land on your knees and he pulls them apart slowly, still face to face with you as you sit up.

“I’m thinking I love you,” you caress his cheek. “And that I am so eager to have your baby one day, hopefully soon…”

It is not spoken, but as the time has gone on and you’re still a couple months into trying for a baby, the two of you have relaxed a lot about the topic. Especially you, since the stress of it was not doing you any good. Chan feels his heart fill with hope when you say those words. He wants the same thing you want and he knows the uncertainty of the situation is hard to cope with, everytime you get a period it’s both of you who deal with the disappointment. Everytime you’re together like this, you remind each other that it’s not a “task”, that you’re doing it because you want to, because it means something.

He sighs and his shoulders relax, he laughs to himself and grabs your face. “I love you too, Y/N. And I can’t wait either…”

You cup his face and bring your lips to his, he leans the rest of the way and he pushes you down slowly, hovering over you as you wrap your legs around his waist. He slips his hand between your bodies and guides himself inside you. You grip his shoulders and moan into his ear as he starts kissing down your neck. You feel him sink in, all the way in until there is no more space between you. He whispers in your ear but at that moment he starts moving. His hips snap against yours and you plant your feet on the bed, head thrown back.

“Channie…”

He hums and groans into your skin. Picking up the pace, it becomes almost unbearable the way he reaches the most sensitive spot inside you, your legs shaking with the imminent release approaching. You dig your fingers into his back and meet his every move, hips meeting his.

“...so close, Chan… ‘m so close…” You let him know in a whine.

He pulls your legs up, his hands find the back of your knees and he pushes them against your chest as he keeps going.

“It’s okay, babe… I’ve got you,” he basically folds you in half as he continues with a fast pace.

You grab onto the bed sheets and soon find the drag of his cock inside you too much, a loud moan falling from your lips as you cum. He gasps and fucks you through it, his hips stuttering a couple of times before he suddenly lands a hand on the headboard behind your head.

“That’s it babe, I’m going to… gonna cum too.” He announces.

Only a couple thrusts later, his warm cum is spilling inside you. You reach up and pull his hand down kissing his bicep before he lets go of your other leg and you can fully wrap yourself around him.

You let Chan kiss your lips, your cheek and your neck before he pulls away and peppers your collarbone with kisses as well.

“You’re so extra…” you joke, he chuckles and asks why, “because you didn’t have to put me in a mating press!”

He breathes in, “oh, you love it…”

You put your hands on your face, unable to deny his statement. You hear him laughing and cannot help yourself but smile.

“See?” He kisses your hands still on your face. “Hey, I’ve got a good feeling about this…”

You let him take your hands away from your face and smile at one another, hopeful but unaware this would be the moment that would change your lives.

———

Comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated! Thank you for reading!

#bang chan fluff #bang chan x you #bang chan fanfic #bang chan imagines #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan x female reader #bang chan x y/n #hyunjinsjeans writing

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