#team parade 18

[aurumacadicus]

In before I start seeing people bitching about rainbow capitalism MY favorite rainbow capitalism story is about Subaru. Yes the Japanese car company.

In the nineties, they were struggling. They were competing with a dozen other companies targeting the main demographic at the time: white men ages 18-35, especially after a failed luxury car launch with a new ad agency. “What we need is to focus on niche demographics,” they decided, and then focused on people who enjoyed the outdoors. The Subaru was excellent at driving on dirt roads that many other vehicles couldn’t at the time, so it was perfect for all those off-road campers; they started making all-wheel drive standard in all their cars to help with that. And the people who wanted cars to go do outdoor stuff? Lesbians.

Okay. Of course it wasn’t only lesbians buying Subarus. They’re on the list with educators, health-care professionals, and IT people. But the point is, this Japanese car company interviewed this strange demographic (single, female head of household) and realized one important factor: They were lesbians. They liked to be able to use the cars to go do outdoorsy stuff, and they liked that they could use the cars to haul stuff rather than a big truck or van. Subaru had a choice to make then. They had four other demographics they could market to, after all--the educators, the health-care professionals, IT professionals, and straight outdoorsy couples. Their company didn’t hinge on this one “problematic” demographic.

And they decided “fuck it,” and marketed to lesbians anyway. This included offering benefits to American gay and lesbian employees for their domestic partners, so it didn’t look like a cash grab. (This was not a problem. They already offered those in Canada.)

Yes, there was some backlash. They got letters from a grassroots group accusing them of promoting homosexuality, and every letter said they’d no longer be buying from Subaru. “You didn’t buy from us before, either,” Subaru realized, and ignored them. It helped that the team really cared about the plan, and that they had many straight allies to back them up. There was also some initial backlash when Subaru hired women to play a lesbian couple in the commercial, but they quickly found that lesbians preferred more subtlety; “XENA LVR” on a license plate, or bumper stickers with the names of popular LGBTQ+ destinations, or taglines of “Get out. Stay out.” that could be used for the outdoors--or the closet.

Subaru said “We see you. We support you.” They sponsored Pride parades and partnered with Rainbow Card and hired Martina Navratilova as spokeswoman. They put their money where their mouth is and went into it whole hog. In a time where companies did not want to take our money, Subaru said, “Why not? They’re people who drive.” And that was groundbreaking.

[0mg-bird]

Lover’s Rock~ S. Reid

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Summary: Spencer isn’t the only one that stands out in the crowd, but maybe that’s a good thing, because that’s what leads him to you.

Warnings: I didn’t really proof read, I’ll do it later lol. 18+ content towards the end. Um Reid is such a dweeb and adorable???? Fluff, mentions of alcohol and embarrassment. Reader is so twee (can we bring twee back or no?) idk she makes questionable fashion choices.

Really, this wasn’t your thing.

The bar scene, the club dresses all the girls where, the high heels and the whole game of cat and mouse that all the guys want to play. But you’re here, you made an effort to appease your best friends who claim you have no social life.

The entire night so far, they watched you strike out with the guys they motioned over because in their mind, you’re desperate and lonely and lame.

Okay, maybe that’s more of your headspace than theirs, but they’ve been offering you pity glances this whole time.

You’ve made a decision a while ago that maybe there was no romance out there for you. You were just born with some aspect that made normal, sane guys physically run away, and maybe that’s fine. You were really good on your own. And it never did feel right when you had a guy, if it didn’t feel like the movies, it wasn’t worth it.

Right?

Okay, maybe you should settle, at some point, you’ll be too old to marry and you’ll just keep working, with no real life and take care of Shelly, your goldfish. Maybe it won’t be perfect, but it’ll be someone to share things with.

You let out a huff and watch the ice melt in your drink, not bothering to smile when your friend tells you to brighten up.

Normally, you’re a ray of sunshine, but something about getting rejected four consecutive times is raining on your parade.

An entire bar full of happy people in their element, and it’s just you, sticking out like a sore thumb, especially when your friends go dance with a few guys they hit it off with.

Too busy looking at the buckle on the ankle strap of your heel, you are sinking somewhere in your mind, to a place where you aren’t listening to cheap song lyrics of and realizing that table is stickier than you thought.

“Where’s Reid?”

“Reid.”

“Spencer!” Penelope smacks his shoulder, pulling him from the trance of his eyes on the book pages.

He looks up from the corner booth, seeing his team has returned with drinks.

“Are you seriously reading right now?” Morgan criticizes, placing a beer in front of the younger agent.

Spencer doesn’t know why he does this, beer tastes like a plowed hay field in his opinion. But he takes the drink in gratitude and before he can explain that he was just trying to finish the Russian publishing of ‘Crime and Punishment’, Morgan rips the book from his hands and tosses it to Emily for safe keeping.

“I- what was that for?” Spencer questions with a unjust squeak, feeling rather sad.

“Look around, kid, do you see how many fine ladies are here? You don’t need to be sitting here with your nose between the pages of Little Women.” Morgan states as a matter of fact.

“Yeah, nobody puts baby in the corner.” Penelope agrees.

With an airy scoff, Spencer looks to the other members for help, but they all seem to side with Derek.

He gains a defeated frown.

Spencer didn’t want to be here in the first place, now he’s being forced out into the public to socialize. There has to be a law against this, he knows there’s not because he knows everything, but he is certainly going to try and create one.

“Oh come on, Spence, why don’t you try to get a date?” JJ asks, meaning well, but the laugh that comes from Emily makes him want to recoil.

“C’mon, I’ll help you.” Morgan offers, pulling him from the booth seat.

“Yeah, that never really works well when you try to be my wingman, you usually end up with all the phone numbers.” Spencer claims, pressing his lips into a line.

But like some mock savior, Morgan stands behind Reid as they wait by the bar.

“What about her?” Morgan would point out.

To which Reid would respond with some variation of ‘she’s too much’ or ‘she definitely has a boyfriend three times my size’.

After fifteen minutes of this back and forth, Morgan is seriously regretting he forced the hermit out of his shell.

And that’s when a rowdy group finally leaves and clears the path of vision to you.

Still sat at a high table with one leg crossed over the other, you wiggle your foot as you doodle on a drink napkin.

Reid misses whatever Morgan says, and in that air of silence, the agent follows the vision.

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Derek chuckles, clapping Reid on the shoulder. “She’s pretty. Go talk to her.”

“What?” Reid looks away. “No, no, I don’t want to disturb her.”

You let out a very bored sigh.

Derek’s brows furrow. “I know you’re some boy genius but you really are dumb sometimes. Everything about that girl is screaming ‘put me outa my misery’.”

Spencer tilts his head slightly, watching you rub your eye and then frown at the way you smudged your already smudged eye liner.

“Okay, maybe you’re right.” He nods. “But���what do I say?”

Derek grins. “Compliment her, ask if she wants another drink, strike up a conversation. It’s easy, man.”

Spencer gets an uneasy feeling in him, but he still braves through it. “Easy for you, maybe.” He mumbles before running a hand through his hair and takes a step towards you.

“Go get her, tiger!” Morgan encourages.

When he returns to the team with the happy news, Penelope asks if Spencer’s gonna do good.

“Oh, definitely not, we’ll be lucky if he doesn’t trip over his own feet on the way over there.” Derek answers, laughing.

But Spencer makes it to you without a stumble, yet his whole plan leaves his mind when he gets to you.

You’re gorgeous, too pretty for him.

“Nice legs.”

Did he just say that?

You look up at him upon hearing his voice, your wide eyes confused.

“I’m sorry?” You question, not sure if you heard this stranger correctly.

He’s a rather handsome stranger.

“No- I mean I like your legs- tights! Not your legs, you have nice legs of course but that’s not- your tights are nice- cool! Different?”

Oh god, he should just walk away now. He’s already messed this whole thing up and surely you think he’s an idiot.

While he’s got an embarrassed look on his face, you look down at the red lace tights you wear under your skirt, something your friends questioned as a fashion choice.

“You really like them?” You ask, voice soft to his ears.

He stops his rambling.

“Yeah, of course I do, I think they’re cool.” He smiles softly.

You can’t help but grin bashfully.

“Every guy I’ve talked to tonight thought they were a little weird, but that’s okay, I kinda like weird.” You admit, watching as he shakes his head.

“People say my socks are weird all the time, don’t feel bad.” He comforts, pulling the material of his pants up so you can see his mismatched socks with funky colors and prints on them.

“Those are cool.” Your approval eases him, giving him just enough reassurance that you aren’t going to scream for help in the next two minutes.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid- sorry, force of habit, uh, just Spencer. I-I’m Spencer.” He introduces with the smallest of wave.

Still smiling more than you have the entire night, you greet him. He repeats your name like it has some special meaning, and you’ve never loved the sound of it more.

“I was going to get a drink, what are you having?” He asks, looking at your sweating glass. “Vodka soda? Cherry sour?”

You blush. “It’s actually a shirley temple…I just ate all the cherries out of it already.”

Without hesitation, he nods. “Okay, I’ll be back.”

He leaves you at your table, and then your brief moment of sunshine is clouded once more by doubt. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he drugs your drink and then you wake up in an alley somewhere, missing your wallet and phone and your tights that he thinks are so cool?

This was a bad idea. Dating isn’t for you. He seemed so nice and he’s so attractive but that should have been your first red flag and-

Oh. He’s coming back.

With two shirley temples.

He places them on the table and waits for you to grab one, then he grabs the other and takes a sip.

“You mind if I sit?” He asks.

Feeling a little silly for assuming he was out to maim you, you nod.

“I seriously doubt my friends remember I’m over here, so feel free to stay.” You joke at your expense.

He sits across from you, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his team who make it very obvious that they’re staring.

You study his profile, a shaggy haircut that falls across his forehead, all tousled in an effortless way. His jaw line is defined, round brown eyes that flick back to you. When he catches you looking, he grins once more.

It’s never been so…easy, having a ‘get to know you’ conversation. Questions come without second thoughts, you find yourself laughing, actually laughing.

Playing with your straw, you try to calm your facial expressions, your cheeks are starting to hurt from beaming so much.

“So, Dr. Reid, huh?” You ask, making him let out a small huff of embarrassment.

“That’s what the PhD’s say, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly feeling really dorky about his immense amount of education.

It’s not dorky to you. Every guy you’ve talked to tonight dropped out of community college because ‘it didn’t align with their career paths’ of selling protein smoothies or working in some ‘underground’ record store.

But here Spencer is, explaining he’s on the behavioral analysis unit for the FBI and he tells you about all the degrees he has. All you can think about as he talks of universities and the academy is, knowledge is such a sexy look on a guy. Sure, you’ve never really liked the underachieving stoners, but usually you’ve been with guys who seem to say “you like school?” when you talk about working towards your Masters degree.

“Wow.” Is all you can say for a moment, clearly shocked and, well, impressed. “I really wasn’t expecting that.”

“That’s what most people say.” He nods, picking the cherry in his drink out by the stem and offering it to you.

By your thankful eyes batting up at him, he’s tempted on going behind the bar and bringing you all the maraschino cherries they have. He quickly turns the conversation around to focus on you so he can focus on something other than the stained color on your lips.

“What about you? What do you do?” He asks.

Compared to his job, yours seems too normal, too mundane. You almost want to avoid the question, never once have you been unsatisfied with your career but now you can’t help it. What if Spencer doesn’t like you because you don’t work for NASA?

That’s ridiculous, because to Spencer, your job makes his adoration grow.

“Oh, I’m just a teacher.” You say, fiddling with a stem in your mouth.

Spencer gains a soft smile. “You could never just be a teacher, teacher’s are important. Well, unless you’re a sucky teacher.”

His joke earns a bubbly giggle and he decides he’d like to hear that sound forever. It’s moments like this that he’s glad to have an eidetic memory.

“I don’t think I’m a sucky teacher so that’s good, my students seem to like me.” You state, pushing your hair behind your ear and dropping the knotted stem onto a napkin.

Spencer finds himself leaning a little closer, body naturally gravitating to your pull. “What do you teach?” He asks.

“I work for my schools gifted children program, so I basically teach kid geniuses advanced core curriculum because they’ve tested out of their normal classes.” You chuckle, oblivious to the way Spencer’s heart warms.

He remains quiet for a bit too long, just staring at you with an honest look, one that makes you feel like you’re turned inside out and bared for him. The panic rises again, you think you must have said something to ruin it.

“I know it’s nothing special-” You begin to say.

“No.” He interrupts, a sure tone. “I-I think it’s great. Really, that’s not an easy job.”

Deep breath out, you’re put at ease.

“I constantly have imposter syndrome, these kids are twelve and bringing up philosophies and mathematical formulas I have to go home and study because I haven’t even learned them yet. Honestly, sometimes I don’t even think they need me there.” You joke lightly, half meaning it but masking that slight insecurity by finishing off your drink.

“They need you.” Spencer assures, an expression showing he’s never been more sure of something. “Believe me, you’re probably the only person they see in a school day that understands them.”

Brows creased, you shake your head, holding his rather intimidating gaze for such puppy dog eyes.

“What makes you so sure?” You question.

Spencer takes in a breath. “Because I know what it’s like to be twelve years old and telling a grown adult about Fermat’s Last Theorem.”

Sometimes, the world has a funny way of putting two people together. For years, you’ve wandered through life and on a random Friday night, feeling a little flushed from the Summer air, here is Spencer Reid, the man of your dreams.

Your friends left some time ago after you assured them you were fine to be left at the place you were just complaining about being. You don’t mind being left with Spencer, in fact, you’re dreading the time you have to go home because it means this moment is over.

“I really would like to live in New York.” You exclaim, somehow have fallen into the rabbit hole of dreams for the future.

“New York’s really cool!” He agrees. “Did you know that they have a homicide rate of 4.48 percent right now? It’s been declining since the nineties.”

You must make some sort of surprised face because his eyes go wide and he quickly tried to recover his odd statement.

“Sorry, my job isn’t really full of happy statistics. But mostly we just find dead prostitutes in alleys in New York.”

His blushed cheeks make your heart flutter in its beats.

“I’m glad I’m not a prostitute.” You giggle, making him chew his bottom lip for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re not either.”

By the time the team gets their coats back on with the intention of heading home, they look across the room to see their quirky doctor friend is partaking in very friendly body language.

“Oh my god, look at him.” Emily laughs. “He’s finally using that big IQ of his.”

Penelope, who comes to hold onto Morgan’s arm, grins rather proudly. “It’s like a butterfly finally coming out of its cocoon. It’s…beautiful, actually.”

Derek laughs down at her. “I think that last long island ice tea was a bad idea. Come on, baby, let’s get you home.”

“Good luck, my fine friend.” She calls in the general direction of you and Spencer, but the two of you don’t notice.

JJ ties her hair up and starts to take a few steps forward.

“Where are you going?” Penelope questions.

“To let him know we’re leaving?”

“No!” The team seems to exclaim, all shouting that she cannot disturb the moment Spencer worked rather hard to get to.

She just holds her hands up in defense, then follows after Emily as they leave the bar.

Spencer of course notices the way Prentiss leaves him with an encouraging thumbs up. It makes his get a little bashful, but he nods a goodbye and watches the door shut once more. His attention is brought back to his hand on the table, well, more to the way your pinky brushes against his. You continue to talk about mutual interests and what your apartment in New York would look like, a slight ramble to you that shows you’re very aware of the slight contact.

With some kind of placebo courage he can’t even blame on alcohol, he lets his fingers crawl between yours like that’s where they belong.

The team would definitely laugh at this teenage display, but to the both of you, it’s the perfect amount of reassurance, soft enough to not be too scary.

The attraction is there, Spencer forces himself to profile it just so his negative thoughts can’t prove him wrong. You’re smiling at every word, your eyes seem to stay dilated and focused on his, and he isn’t sure if you even realize the way your heel brushes his ankle every so often.

His profile, often never wrong, is what helps him reach across the slight space to tuck your hair behind your ear so casually as he tells you about his minuscule music taste.

After a few flirty comments, you force yourself yo look away from him just so you can het your breathing under control. Upon this action, you read the watch on his wrist and a frown sets on your lipstick stained lips.

“I should go home before it’s too late to walk.” You sigh, not wanting this moment to end.

He nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Those round eyes he’s starting to really adore look up at him and you chew your lip, almost like you’re waiting for him to do something. Say something.

It takes him entirely too long to figure out what to do. Morgan would be ashamed.

“C-Can I walk you home?” He asks in a rush and in eagerness.

You nod like that’s the best idea you’ve ever heard.

That’s how it leads to you leaning against him like it’s something you do often, walking in step as you ramble on and on about what you have to do to get your classroom ready for the new school year. He listens without annoyance like most guys would, then tells you about books he has that he thinks you might enjoy, books he could part with so you could give them to the students whose reading levels are above what the school provides.

He’s so caring and considerate, making sure he walks closest to the street, lets you be off in your own world and makes sure you don’t run into anything as you constantly gaze up at him. All the way to your building and up the stairs to your apartment door, the two of you are as comfortable with each other like two old friends would be.

That’s what makes your head spin. You just met Spencer and already feel like he’s been in your life for hundreds of years.

You pull your keys from your purse, you unlock the door but don’t make a move to open it.

“I’m really, really, happy that I met you.” You whisper to him as he slightly crowds your space in the door way.

“I am too.” He agrees, heart beating a little faster as your hand presses gently to his chest.

Don’t be crazy, you just met her, she doesn’t want a stranger trying to kiss her, tell her good night, call her tomorrow, maybe you can plan for something next weekend-

His thoughts don’t stand a chance when you wrap your fingers around his tie and gently tug him to your lips.

It’s smooth and warm and has your eyes shutting and your lungs exhaling. His gentle hand cradles your face while the other flexes against your hip.

It just feels so…

So right.

With the slight tilt of your head, the goodnight kiss deepens, you’re molded against him.

His lips part, coaxing yours to do the same, and the feeling of your tongue against his has you slightly teetering backwards. You lean against the door for support, hands roaming into his hair.

You’ve been wanting to run your hands through it all night.

He’s desperate in his movements, like he’s a starved man and you’re enjoying every second of it. His thumb runs over your jaw, you’re pushing away any space between you.

When you decide you’re going to pass out from the lack of oxygen, you pull away, sucking your bottom lip to savor the taste. Spencer still holds your face in his large hands and matches your shallow pants.

It’s all so much. You’re hot, brain a little foggy, but still so sure of this situation.

And you soon find yourself saying something you’ve never ever said after just meeting a guy.

“Do you want to come inside?”

Spencer seriously thinks he misheard you.

“Yeah- yes. Yes, I do.” He nods.

A laugh escapes your lips, one he swallows up as he embraces you once more, trying to help you open the door. His arm around your waist makes sure you don’t stumble and fall as the two of you finally get inside.

He looks around the space. “I like your apartment, it’s nice.”

“Thank you.” You mumble against his lips, pulling at your jean jacket and tossing it to the couch.

It’s dark, causing you to back into a side table. The both of you laugh, but neither of you bother to reach for the light switch.

You guid him towards your bedroom, pushing him through the ajar door. The open window leaves the room painted in a low light, the breeze is cool as you clumsily fall onto the mattress with him.

“I never do this.” You state, a huff leaving your lips as he rolls you onto your back.

“I don’t either.” He agrees, mouth wandering down your jaw to your neck.

You fiddling hands make a home in his hair. “Like I really don’t do this. I don’t even go to bars, let alone take home strange men- not that you’re strange. But don’t think I am a casual hookup girl, because I’m not, I just- there’s a connection, right? I’m not alone in this?”

He pulls away, looking down at you with a loopy grin. “You’re rambling, that’s a sign of nervousness.”

“I am nervous!” You exclaim with a breathy laugh. “You’re just…you’re really great.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip. “You’re really great too.” He whispers. “But we don’t have to do anything.”

“No!” You say a little too boldly. “I mean, no, no I want this. Do you want this?”

With a nod, he assures you. “I want this too.”

Maybe you should be more shy and self conscious about this, but when he’s being so kind, all your nervousness leaves. The two of you stumble through the awkward bits with laughter and jokes, and it makes you realize that something so serious doesn’t have to be so uniform.

Really, you’re having more fun than you’ve ever had.

“Spencer?” You gasp, dangerously close to falling off the bed at how the two of you have rolled around.

“Yeah?” He asks, head buried in your neck, trying not to get too ahead of himself as he continues his deep pace between your legs.

“You’re kinda pulling my hair.”

Immediately he moves his hand, apologetic.

Hands dragging up his chest, you try to shimmy away from the mattress ledge. Spencer notices the tragedy that’s about to strike, opting to back off of you completely so you can readjust.

You gasp at the loss of contact. “A little warning next time would be appreciated.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He stammers, gripping you in a feverish way, mouth back to yours.

You don’t exactly know how you ended up on top, but you look at him slightly frightened eyes.

“Is this a no?” He questions, only concerned with making you comfortable.

He’s the complete opposite of selfish, he proved that the second he started you off with his tongue against your core.

“No, not if you like this? I just…I don’t know if I’m good at this.”

He nods in understanding. “Okay, no problem.”

You protest as he goes to move you. “Can I try? Will-will you help me?”

God, he could marry you.

“Yeah, of course sweetheart.” He whispers, kissing you gently.

The butterflies in your stomach are all twitter pated.

Or maybe you’re just extremely turned on.

Spencer is a great teacher, it’s you who jumps the gun at things.

“There you go, angel, slow.” He breathes in your ear, finger tips pressing into your hips as you slowly push down, letting his tip enter you. “Just go really slow, okay?”

You try to do as he says, easing him into you slowly, but by some urge to rush satisfaction, you sink all the way onto him without warning.

“Fuck! That wasn’t slow.” He grits, a hoarse moan escaping from the back of his throat, his grip on you almost bruising.

“S-sorry.” You try to say, but the sheer pressure you feel at this sudden angle has you shuddering and crying out softly. “I’m an overachiever.” You try to joke.

“Holy shit, you want an A+ or something?” He chuckles, trying to calm himself down, running through mathematical formulas in his head so he doesn’t finish just like this.

“Spence, I need- it’s a lot, I need-” You whine out, not having the heart to feel embarrassed for sounding so needy.

“I know, I know. Fuck, do you have any idea how good you feel?” He questions, swallowing hard as he guides your hips forward slightly.

“I can’t really think at all when you’re sitting in my cervix right now.” You claim, quickly overwhelmed by pleasure as you find a rhythm against him.

Sucking on your throat, he mutters something you don’t care to listen to.

“This is- is it supposed to be this good?” You moan, trying not to dig your finger nails into his shoulders.

“I think we just fit perfectly.”

With each movement, you become more comfortable and confident, soon that friendly softness is replaced by lustful roughness. Through it all, Spencer remains caring, even when you tell him he can be a little rough with you.

Never in your sex life have you wanted more and more, even when it finishes.

Even after the two of you can’t find the strength to pull any more orgasms from each other, you lay beside each other, Spencer hasn’t bothered to pull out of you yet, perhaps he’s too spent.

“So.” You clear your throat, tracing his features. “How do you want to play this?”

He hums, dragging his fingers up and down your side. “What do you mean?”

“Guys usually leave after this stuff, right?”

His brows furrow, anxiety comes to ripple through him. “Do you want me to leave?”

Staring at his tired eyes, you shake your head. “No, I want you to stay. Forever. I’m thinking about chaining you to the headboard.”

He chuckles. “I’ll save you the effort, I will gladly stay.”

A sweet smile is returned to him.

At some point, the two of you clean up and fall asleep the second the sheets are pulled over you.

Spencer is convinced it’s all a dream until he wakes up to the sun warm over his skin. He rubs his blurry eyes and rolls over in the bed that is not his, met with your bare back. Slowly, he reaches for you, kissing your shoulder to rouse you.

His phone, still in the pocket of his discarded pants, rings again and again, forcing him to retrieve it in his boxers.

Of course it’s Hotch.

Of course he needs to get to the office. On a Saturday. After the night he just had.

“I should call the authorities, there’s a cute intruder in my room.” Your sleepy voice says from bed. “Oh wait…you are the authorities.”

He likes the way you can make yourself giggle.

“I have bad news.” He says, tracking down his clothes. “My boss just called me in.”

He hates the frown you have.

“That’s a very unfortunate thing.” You nod.

He buttons his pants, then slides his shirt on as he comes to your bedside.

“I should get going so I can go home and change.”

His warm hand presses to your cheek.

You turn to kiss his palm. “Is this goodbye?”

“No. Definitely no.” He assures. “I’ll call when I can, okay? Maybe we can get dinner or something?”

You could sigh heavenly at the way he’s just so dreamy.

“That sounds nice. I’d kiss you but I might have morning breath.” You smile.

He kisses you anyway.

And after leaving the team waiting in the round table room, he appears refreshed and in a very good mood.

He takes his seat, all eyes on him.

“Sorry I’m late, good morning.” He clears his throat.

“Good morning indeed.” Morgan chuckles, sliding him a cup of coffee.

“You okay, Reid?” Rossi asks, eyeing the agent.

“I’m great.” He smiles.

“Is that a hickey?” JJ exclaims, reveling in the way he quickly grabs for his neck, only to realize she’s joking.

“Real mature.” He mutters, knowing the entire day is going to be jokes made at his expense.

He doesn’t mind though, not when he knows his reward for all of this is you.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

End of the Road || LH44

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x wife!reader Summary: when you and your husband both have a surprise to share you find your plans for the future clashing Warnings: 18+ only, pregnancy, angst, fluff WC: 2.9k F1 Masterlist

30th November 2025

You had waited two long years for this day to come. When Lewis had told you he was extending his contract with Mercedes back in 2023 you had struggled to accept it. You could feel your body clock counting down and wanted nothing more than to start a family with Lewis but refused to have him be a part time father because of his career. You knew he was made to be a father, you had seen it in every interaction with his nieces and nephews as well as his young fans, it was just a matter of finding the right time to retire.

That day had finally come.

You woke with a smile on your face and rolled over in Lewis’ arms to see him watching you, his own smile playing at his lips.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

There was no hiding your excitement as you pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. Your hands rested on his chest, fingers tracing the tattoos that decorated his skin. “Are you excited, Lew?”

“I am,” he hummed as his large hands ran up your thighs to rest on your hips. “I actually have a surprise.”

Your smile grew and you dipped your head down to kiss him. “Me too.”

Lewis’ phone rang beside the bed and you saw Toto’s name flash up on the screen. With a groan, you climbed off your husband and went to start your morning routine before heading to the race. Soon, you told yourself, soon there would be no more early interruptions from team principles or blacked out SUVs arriving to take you to your next destination.

The paddock was electrifying and the crowds went wild for Lewis when he stepped out onto the grid for his final driver’s parade. You watched on proudly from the balcony above the Mercedes pit space with Roscoe by your side.

“I’m going to miss this,” you said as you bent down and scratched him under his chin. “You’re going to miss this too, or the extra attention at least.”

Roscoe looked up at you with sad eyes as if he could understand exactly what you were saying and you smiled. “But I promise you won’t be lonely. You’ll have some company soon enough.”

“And that is the end of the 2025 season. Sir Lewis Hamilton, the seven time world champion has officially won his long awaited eighth championship! What a career this man has had and he will be sorely missed by the teams and fans alike.”

Your throat was hoarse from all the screaming you had done in support of your husband as he crossed the finish line just ahead of Lando Norris to secure the title that had once been stolen from him. You couldn’t believe that after 18 years in Formula 1 he got to finish on a high. Nico Rosenberg was right to retire after winning his championship because it had been disheartening to watch so many other world champions fall down the rankings before losing their seats. It had been one of Lewis’ fears confessed in the late night conversations you shared on other ends of the world. 

You picked up Roscoe and pulled a custom made shirt over his head before tucking his paws in the armholes and racing down to the pit lane. The Mercedes team made space for you to reach the metal barrier just as Lewis parked his car up one last time. Standing above the halo, he threw his fists up and let the cheers saturate his being for a moment, committing it to memory before he leapt down and kissed the car. A thank you, a farewell? You wouldn’t know.

He spotted you in an instant, flipping his visor up so you could see the tears shimmering in his eyes as he made his way over. His fingers traced the lettering that decorated the car with each step, ‘still I rise’, it was his mantra and his reminder. Those were the same letters inked across his shoulders and you had kissed them that morning before he pulled his shirt on. 

Roscoe barked at his daddy’s approach and you barely kept him in your arms when Lewis reached you, pulling you both into a tight hug. His face was damp with sweat and tears when you kissed him but it didn’t register in your mind.

“I’m so proud of you!” 

“Couldn’t have done it without you, darling.” His grin split his face and you could have stayed in that moment forever, but post race interviews were calling him away. “Remember that surprise?”

You nodded and he winked as he quickly stepped away to take the microphone held out to him, his fingers slipping from yours. Lewis waved to the crowd as he stepped onto the red carpet laid out and the first question had your stomach turning.

Rumours…there had always been rumours running rife around the paddock. There were rumours long before you stepped foot in the F1 world and there would be rumours long after you stepped out. But this rumour was one you hadn’t heard about.

Your ears started thrumming with the rush of blood to your head and you stopped hearing everything after Lewis smiled. You knew that smile. That was the relieved smile after successfully keeping a secret. That was the smile you had seen when he proposed to you, the same smile he had when he flew you to Barbados for your birthday.

“Yes, it’s true,” he said as he blocked one ear from the noise the crowd made. “Things changed, the seat came up unexpectedly and I said yes. I’ll be back here next year with Mercedes.”

Roscoe squirmed in your arms as you tried to take his shirt off and you placed him at your feet before he could hurt himself or you. Your hands scrambled to hold the metal as your chest began to tighten - the plans you had made together crumbling at the news. 

“Roscoe!” 

Your cry somehow caught Lewis’ attention over the deafening atmosphere and he turned to see his furbaby sneak under the barrier and run towards him. Dropping to his knee, still clutching the mic, Lewis greeted his regular sidekick in parc ferme.

“What’s this cute outfit?” Naomi asked with a smile as she knelt down too and read the print on the shirt you hadn’t finished removing. “Big brother?”

“I…I…” Lewis was lost for words as he read the rest and looked your way in shock. “Baby Hamilton?”

A silence spread as the microphone picked up the whisper and echoed it across the entire track. The cameras turned to you and you felt them zooming in on you, capturing the moment that was meant to be full of joy but you felt nothing except betrayal. 

All eyes were on you as you nodded once, closing your eyes to hide the tears that were blurring your vision.

You didn’t hear your husband finish the interview, but you felt the moment he reached you. His presence was something you had always been attuned to and you felt the warmth of his palms before they cradled your cheek, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your lashes.

“Open your eyes for me, beautiful,” he pleaded softly and you took a deep breath before they fluttered open. Pure joy met you on the face of the man who owned your heart, a happiness that came from deep within his soul as he dropped a hand to your abdomen. “We’re having a baby?”

“Can we–can we talk about this after?” you whispered after another sure nod. His brows instantly pulled into a frown but you ignored it as you took his hand and placed it on the rail. “You have a podium to claim, champ.”

He was torn as he ran a hand over this hair that you had spent hours painstakingly braiding for him before leaving Monaco but you eased his unease with a kiss to the corner of his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, more than anything.”

“But not more than this sport.” His back stiffened as he turned away but it should have been impossible to hear the truth you uttered beneath your breath. 

You waited as a good wife, a patient wife, should, but you wished you were far away from all things Formula 1. You watched your husband take the centre stage and receive the fruits of his labour, the race trophy and the promise of the coveted WDC trophy at the FIA awards in a week's time. You tried to smile as he placed his palm over his chest before pointing at you, knowing that your initials and date of the wedding were forever marked upon the skin he touched. It was a message he sent for you, one of the many ways he communicated his love over the years. 

Somewhere along the way something had been lost in translation.

You paced the private room nervously while Roscoe snored loudly on the couch in the corner. Lewis should have returned to the motorhome already but he had likely been caught up in the crowds all wanting to congratulate him on his win and his impending fatherhood. A lot of the other teams had already left the paddock and the atmosphere was quickly quietening down outside the door.

The knots in your stomach tied tighter at the knock on the door and when you opened it to see Lewis’ security your palms grew sweaty. “Where’s Lew? Is he alright?”

“He’s alright, ma’am, but there’s quite a bit of activity around him so he thought we should get you back to the hotel first.”

It wasn’t the first time that the crowds had grown too large that he wanted to keep you away. Your safety was always his priority. “Okay, but who's with him?”

“FIA security have him covered.”

You nodded and grabbed Roscoe’s leash, clipping it to his collar as he slowly lifted his head and yawned. If you weren’t already stressed you would have laughed when he dropped his head back on his paws and closed his eyes. “Come on, Rosc, I can’t carry you everywhere. Work with me here.”

He seemed to sense the change in you and began to stretch, shaking his coat out before jumping off the couch and sidling up to your feet for a quick pat. “I think we are ready, Dwayne,” you confirmed as you looked around to make sure you hadn’t missed anything.Dwayne opened the door and stepped into formation with the rest of the team around you, sheltering you out of the building and along the busy paths to where the cars were parked. You had never really felt anxious when surrounded by security but it crept in as you saw just how many people were hanging around the Mercedes building. This was more attention than you were used to, this time it was aimed at you - or more accurately the child of a champion that you carried.

You had already showered and changed by the time your husband arrived at the five star hotel you would stay at for one more night. You heard the door beep as a key card was scanned before it opened and you untucked your legs from underneath you as he walked in.

Lewis looked drained as he shucked his jacket off and draped it over the coat rack with a heavy sigh. Your eyes followed him around the room to where he grabbed a chilled bottle of water and cracked it open. His steps were slow and unsure as he walked back, coming to a stop behind the couch. You listened to the quiet thud of the empty bottle being placed on the table before a hand rested either side of your body.

“Hi,” he greeted softly.

You tipped your head back into the cushion to look up at him before rolling your head to the side and kissing the wedding band on his hand. “Hi.”

“It’s been quite the day.”

His lips twitched with a smile at the scoff you made before you reached up to him. He dipped his head until your fingertips found his skin and pulled him the rest of the way down to capture his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered across your lips before pulling back and walking around the couch so he could see you properly, but he didn’t sit with you.

After a moment of watching him pace around the rug, you broke the tense silence. “You said you were going to retire.”

His eyes darted to your stomach as he ran his thumb over his lips, back and forth. “And you said you were going to wait.”

You placed your hand over the non-existent bump and sighed. “For what it is worth, I didn’t plan this - it just happened, but I thought the timing was some goddamn miracle. Until today.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“This changes everything, can’t you see that? I had a part time father who missed the big things because he wasn’t there, Lew, and I don’t want that for my child.” You wiped your eyes before you met his so he could see the hurt you felt. “You should have told me.”

“You should have told me.”

You laughed humorlessly and grabbed a pillow, cuddling it close as if it could hide the truth beneath it and pretend everything was okay. “Guess we both hate surprises.”

His pacing stopped dead in his tracks and he shook his head before he dropped to his knees at your feet and took your hand. “I don’t hate this surprise. Whatever else you think about me aside, I love that we are having a baby. You and me, darling. Our baby, like we always planned.”

“But you’ve made plans without me. What happens next year when you’re gone and I’m at home with a newborn? What if you miss her birth?”

“Her?” he asked as he looked up wide eyed.

“It’s too soon to find out,” you answered quietly. “I just have a feeling.”

He slowly pulled the pillow away from you before smiling as he ran the back of his fingers over your stomach. “I feel her too, strong like her mama.”

Something cracked in your chest as you finally felt the joy you were hoping for all afternoon. You saw the love and devotion he already had for his child, it was right there in his dark brown eyes that shimmered in the light of the chandelier.

“I’m sorry,” you choked, placing your hands over his.

“Me too” he rasped as he took the space beside you and pulled you onto his lap. His arms welcomed you home, offering warmth and security in their embrace while he pressed his lips to your forehead. “I’ll talk to Toto, darling, he’ll understand.”

7th December 2025

Lewis had attached himself to your hip and refused to leave your side until his name was called at the end of the awards. The final and most important trophy had been his goal for the past four years, its elusiveness at last coming to an end.

Pride radiated from you and everyone at the Mercedes table as your husband picked up the WDC trophy and kissed the polished metal.

“There’s so many people I have to thank for giving me the opportunity to win eight of these, but we would be here all night. I’ll stick to the main ones then: my beautiful wife, Y/N, who has been my biggest supporter, especially during those hard years, my not-as-beautiful team principal, Toto, for giving me a really fast car, and to all the engineers who built it. Thank you.”

Lewis looked at his reflection in the trophy and beside you Toto sniffled at what was to come. You reached over to squeeze his hand as Lewis cleared the lump in his throat.

“It’s been one hell of a journey getting here and I have met some very special people along the way, but, the most important one is yet to come and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. That is why I have chosen tonight to be the end of my road with Formula 1 but I will cherish the memories I made along the way as I start a new journey - one likely to be even harder to prepare for.”

“He’s going to be a great father,” Toto whispered as he wiped his eyes.

Your smile was beginning to ache from how long it had been on your face. “I know.”

“So,” Lewis hummed as the murmurs grew over the sudden change of heart he had compared to a week ago, “it is my honour to be the one to announce that Bianca Bustamante will be driving in Mercedes for 2026. Congratulations, Bi, you deserve it.”

Lewis held the trophy up for the flash of the photographers before leaving the stage and weaving his way back to your table. Everyone he passed gave him a standing ovation and Toto rose to meet him too, hugging each other tightly and sharing a few words of thanks before he returned to his seat beside you.

“You’re meant to thank your mum and your dad then move on,” you teased, “not make everyone cry.”

Lewis laughed, placing the trophy on table with the floral centrepieces. “Did Toto cry?”

You leaned into your husband’s side as his arm draped over your chair and you giggled with a nod. “Like a baby.”

Lewis looked at his old boss fondly before sending you a wink. “I guess I’ll just have to get used to that.”

[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟰: 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗼 / 𝗺𝗮𝘅 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗺𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you can't remember the last time you've gotten to spend more than three days at a time with both of your boyfriends. you understand how demanding their job is but, you just can't remember the last time they really exhausted you...pleasurably. and then winter break comes around , and they have all the time they need to make you lose your mind. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. overstimulation. light dom/sub. quickies. cunnilingus. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. unsafe sex. safewords. creampie. come eating. squirting. hand job. masturbation. dacryphilia. mention of taking explicit photos. praise kink. aftercare. set after the 2023 season. no beta we die like carlos’ fuel system. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 6.5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: daniel ricciardo/max verstappen x black!fem!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: take me away • daniel caesar

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: set post 2023 season. mm, i luv me some danny caesar–i got to see him live this year 😛 i was originally gonna pick a classic country song in true american fashion to show some patriotism for the austin gp—as a black woman, i can attest that we love our country bangers—but take me away just fit perfectly. and daniel is definitely taking yall somewhere this upload—max and reader are just along for the ride 💀. i tried to write sub!max, i think it came across well, and ahead of time i sincerely apologize to the maxiel truthers…i think i may have slayed. i will not be paying for your therapy < 3 🙂 (and if you think i changed the summary, stfu no i didn’t 😌) enjoy y'all !!!!

do you want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!

this past racing season was long; daniel knows that well; he went from being the third driver at red bull, to having a seat at alphatauri, to breaking his wrist–and still managed to recover to drive in the last five races. max can also account for how lengthy this season was; he dominated every race illustrated by his 10 consecutive wins, won his team the constructor’s championship 16 races in, won his third world driver’s championship the following week through a sprint race, and still had to stick around for five more races. but, daniel and max both know who has the best firsthand account of how prolonged and draining the formula one 2023 season was.

you.

daniel knows that you’re they’re biggest supporter; you’re a sweetheart. and while you haven’t vocalized your displeasure for the twenty-three races this year–he can feel your dejection. at the start of the season, everything was seen through rose-colored glasses; max was winning, the three of you were having champagne-drenched celebrations in hotel rooms–so filthy the poor staff probably had to incinerate the sheets. you were satisfied; and daniel was with you whenever red bull didn’t want to parade him around at a grand prix. but as the months progressed and as daniel got a seat, the demanding nature of formula one was observable. the longer season had stolen them from you–they were flying from country to country, the gaps between races only long enough to only have them home for two or three days at a time, before they had to fly out and adjust to a new time zone. leaving your two boyfriends unable to make a mess of you as often as you all crave in doing so. phone sex is hot–but it can lose its luster over almost nine months. they’ve been neglecting you–even though every time either one of them suggests that notion, you disagree vehemently– but, it’s the truth.

they pride themselves on the fact that they used to make you beg for them to stop drawing orgasms out of you...but recently your sex life has consisted of dry-humping like horny teenagers, frantic pussy-eating and cock-sucking, and quickies in the shower. so, max and daniel formulated a plan.

after abu-dhabi, the three of you returned home to max’s monaco flat and fell into bed. you’re comfortably laying completely on top of daniel, front to front, and your head is tucked under his chin, turned to the side to face max, who’s settled on his side facing the two of you, arm draped over your back, with his hand squeezing at your waist randomly as he talks to daniel. you’re fighting sleep and losing; eyelids fluttering closed every now and then against your will, breath slowing as you edge closer and closer to sleep. you're floating on the brink of unconsciousness until you're dragged away at the soft sounds of daniel and max rousing you.

“there ya’ go, honey,” murmurs daniel, his voice rumbling in his chest underneath you, “we got somethin’ to ask you, before we let ya sleep, sweet girl.”

max’s hand shifts to rub at the length of your back, and you clear the sleepy haze from your mind enough to nod your head and hum softly in question, “m’kay.”

daniel gently pulls your head from his neck with his tattooed hand on your nape, making sure your pretty eyes, foggy with sleep, make eye contact, “how do ya’ feel about spending december in australia, hmm? a sunny christmas–on the ricciardo ranch; you, me, max and our families–ain’t that perfect, honey?”

max smiles softly at your pout–you’re never one to appreciate having your sleep interrupted–before adding on to daniel’s question, “jimmy and sassy can stay with the sitter; i already spoke to her a few days ago. she’d be thrilled to have them, so you don’t have to worry about where’d they stay. i don’t think i can get pet passports in three days nor do i want to see how two bengal cats act on a private jet for twenty hours.”

a few seconds pass, max and daniel searching your face for any hint to a possible answer. you blink a few times, before you murmur faintly, “‘m okay with it…can i go to sleep now?”

max laughs tenderly, guiding your head back into daniel’s neck before he scoots closer and rests his own head on the australian’s shoulder, “yeah, mijn schatje. sleep well.”

daniel wraps the arm pinned under max around him, pulling him closer to drop a kiss on his forehead. his other hand falls on your back over the dutchman’s, caressing it softly. he holds the two of you as tight as he possibly can, the big grin on his face only seen by the ceiling. he has his whole world in his arms right now, but come christmas time, his whole universe–his family–will be under the same roof back home in australia.

the next three days are filled with an absurd amount of packing. max and daniel have five suitcases between the two of them—you have five for yourself; it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. the night before your flight, they watch you pace around the bedroom making sure there’s nothing important you’re forgetting. jimmy and sassy had been dropped off at the sitter’s, and max and daniel had already moved all the luggage to the entryway for the early flight. the two drivers had stopped trying to convince you to join them in the bed and cuddled together, knowing it’s best to let you work out your anxieties now so you don’t overthink on the flight.

as you start combing through the closet again, max whispers to daniel, “we could fuck the nerves out her right now, danny.”

daniel smacks max’s hip, smirking when he whines quietly, “no, maxy. she has to sit for an almost twenty hour flight, we can’t make that any more difficult for her.” the dutchman huffs, unhappy with the answer even though he knows it's the logical course of action.

dan continues, “remember: as soon as we get to the ranch and settle in—we'll be alone for a week before my parents come ‘n join us. we’ll have plenty of time to take her apart and put her back together.”

daniel was wrong. after y’all landed in perth, and made the drive out to the countryside—it was apparent that the three of you weren’t the only ones at the ranch. his parents had come early to make sure the ranch was prepped and fully stocked for your vacation, and prepared a home cooked dinner to welcome you in. dan can’t help his big smile from becoming a permanent fixture on his face as he watches his mom and dad fawn over you and max. grace pulls you into the house, instructing the men to bring the luggage inside while she gets to fixing you a plate heaping with barbecue. joe affectionately calls max ‘son’ with a tight hug, congratulating him on his third championship before they all make their way into the house.

the original plan is put on the back burner as daniel watches you and max bloom under the loving attention from his parents. the days passed quickly, all of them spent horsing around the farm; horseback riding, dirt biking, atv riding, making a trip out to the beach, eating good food, and sleeping well. dan sees max’s pale skin pinkening and your melanated complexion glowing with warmth from the caress of the australian sun. your afternoon naps are taken underneath the warm rays, stretching out in any slice of sun you can catch, bathing in it like a cat. max and dan do as many things as they can shirtless attempting to get their tan in as quick as possible—dan tans gracefully, max, on the other hand, burns like a lobster first before his tan becomes apparent.

they fucked you on the second day after your arrival, but not exactly how they were hoping too. it’s still a relatively short affair—for their standards, at least. while it quieted the need within you, it didn’t completely satisfy the urge for any of you. daniel had to coax you into biting a pillow to muffle your squeals, and have max nearly choke on his tattooed fingers to quiet his whining—dan himself clenched his jaw so tightly to prevent his own moans from escaping that he’s surprised he didn’t crack a tooth. he loves his parents, but he’s genuinely going to snap if he doesn’t get to ruin you and max without worrying if they could hear how he makes you and max beg for him.

on the fifth day, you wear your first sundress to lunch and max pulls daniel in the kitchen to muffle a scream into his chest. 

“dan, baby—i love your parents,” max starts, his eye twitching, “you know i do! but, i can’t go another day without hearing her scream for me—for us.”

they’re only men. very desperate men. and you had the nerve to parade yourself in this flowy, yellow, strapless sundress at a meal they have to suffer through. they can’t even tear it off of you after, because dan’s parents have a chance of overhearing. but, what forces the australian to kindly kick his parents out of the house, is how you fail to stop yourself from drooling over them playing around in the pool—struggling to continue speaking with his mom as you sit on the pool’s ledge. 

before dinner, dan showers by himself first, changing into fresh clothes. he then ushers you and max into the shower, ‘to rinse off the chlorine and sweat from the day,’ he says. but, he could care less about that. as soon as he hears the shower start, he practically sprints to the kitchen to see his mom and dad put the finishing touches on the burgers they fixed up.

daniel skids to a stop in the doorway, leaning against it in faux-relaxedness, and says, “howdy.” it’s silent for a minute; his dad stares at him blankly, and his mom eventually breaks and speaks plainly, “what is it, danny?”

daniel gasps in mock-disbelief, “why d’ya always think i want something from you? i can’t just be greeting my wonderful, loving, and understanding parents?”

grace stares at him, not fooled, “are you just saying ‘hi’?”

daniel stutters aimlessly looking to his dad for help, but joe just shrugs at him in a ‘you did this to yourself, son’ manner. 

“maybe! well, no, actually…” daniel sulks, slinking into the kitchen, and resting against the counter next to his mom.

his mom hums knowingly, and gestures at him to start speaking.

“uh, so, you know i love having y’all around, right, and uh, it’s nice y’know—i mean, i don’t see ya’ as often as i want to, but uh—don’t get me wrong, you’re my parents, but uhm—“

joe sighs, “daniel, cut to the chase, please.”

daniel groans, before he leans his head back to look at the ceiling, “fine. look—we just expected to at least have one week to ourselves when we got here. not that y’all being here to surprise us is bad! you know that. but, uhm…we just made plans, i guess. a-and we kind of can’t do it, because, well…”

grace washes her hands as daniel continues to ramble through an unnecessary apologetic explanation. she turns the water off, drying her hands on a towel, and turns to her husband, pointing at daniel while rolling her eyes teasingly, before she cuts her son off, “daniel, we can leave tonight.”

daniel stops, head dropping to look at his mom in shock, “what?”

“we can leave tonight, if that’s what you’re trying to ask. your father and i don’t mind,” grace smiles gently, “we weren’t supposed to stay for this long anyways, we were just trying to get the ranch prepared for y’all, and you know how enamored we are with your girl and boy; we overstayed our welcome. we can go and come back a week before christmas with the rest of the family, danny.”

daniel perks up, “you guys don’t have to leave for that long, i don’t wanna kick you out—“

“daniel, please,” joe scoffs, walking over to clap daniel on the back, “you’re not kicking us out. we’ll be back on the seventeenth, alright. hopefully, that gives y’all enough time to work out your frustrations. we really don’t want to overhear or see anything—“

daniel pales, “okAY, thank you, yes—please don’t comeback until as late as y’all want, jesus christ. wait—did you hear the other night?! ohmygod…they’re going to kill me.”

joe and grace laugh, “no, we didn’t hear anything, danny. we just figured from how they were following you around in the morning—max couldn’t even look us in the eye, son.”

daniel groans, embarrassed, “don’t tell them anything about this okay? they’ll break up with me if they know i asked you to leave so i could have sex with them.”

his parents' laughter only gets louder, but they agree eventually after they indulge in teasing their son a little more.

dinner is pleasant; you and max remain unaware of the ricciardo’s intervention, enjoying the well-cooked meal and lighthearted conversation. when everyone’s stomach is full and the conversation quiets, grace and joe break the news that they unfortunately have to return to perth. you and max sadden, trying to convince daniel’s parents to stay a little longer—max’s eyes fail to hide his eagerness at their announcement, even though his voice manages to be completely sincere. daniel watches as his parents formulate a fake excuse about their departute before he gently reminds you two, “they’ll be back for christmas, babes. you’ll see them again.”

the two of you calm at daniel’s statement, and walk his parents out to the car, exchanging hugs and kisses before they drive off back to the city. daniel leads you two back into the house after you’ve watched his parents disappear down the road, and the shift in energy as soon as the door locks is missed by you.

you mindlessly amble back to the dining table, stacking the emptied plates and glasses and wandering into the kitchen to clean them. as soon as you turn the sink faucet on, a strong body pushes against your back, and presses you against the edge of the counter as their hand reaches around you to shut the water off. you turn around to tell-off whichever boyfriend did that, but before you can get any words out, you’re pulled into a filthy kiss.

your shocked gasp is muffled by max’s lips, and you half-heartedly attempt to pull away, but the dutchman chases your lips, not allowing you to stop. you give in with a sigh, allowing max to continue kissing you. he buries one hand in your hair, tilting your head to the side for a better angle, and licks at the seam of your lips. you squirm against him, not quite giving into the coaxing of his tongue, and max hums softly before he tugs at your bottom lip. you turn your head to the side, panting softly to suck in a few desperate breaths before max pulls you back and invades the opening of your lips. you squeal at the feeling of his tongue laving against yours, the lewd wet sounds of your mouths have your thighs pressing together. max brings his other arm to grasp around your waist, and pulls you against him, groaning into your mouth at the smallest amount of friction that movement provided. you feel lightheaded, your knees weakening, but max firmly holds you up, not letting you slip from his grasp. your hands come up to wrap around him, one feeling up his chest before resting around his neck, and the other hand digging into the meat of his back in search of stability. he hums at the ache of your nails and drops both of his hands to cup the back of your thighs right under your ass. he lifts you onto the counter, spreading your legs and shoving his body between them, while still managing to not break the kiss. at the show of strength you arch your back, whining highly, pushing your chest against his—he’s so strong. he eagerly starts tugging the sundress up your legs, making to expose your panties before he’s interrupted by a sudden heavy hand on the back of his neck.

max jerks away from you (you can finally catch your breath), his chest heaving, and his own whine fills the air at the weight of daniel’s hand.

“now, darlin’,” daniel addresses max with a smirk, “this wasn’t part of our plan, was it? you forget the script, maxy?”

max blushes a pretty pink, and murmurs, “no, daniel—sorry, danny.” dan hums at the apology, pressing a kiss to max’s warm cheek.

“w-what plan?” you timidly ask, still sitting on the counter, legs spread obscenely, dress skewed messily, and lips swelling from max’s ambition.

daniel chuckles, eyes shining at you hungrily, “mmm. how ‘bout we make our way to the bedroom and ‘ll show ya, sweetheart?”

you’re spread eagle in the middle of the bed, completely naked, with daniel fully dressed in between your legs sucking marks and pressing kisses on your thighs, max stripped down to his boxer-briefs on his side next to you, doing the same to your neck and chest. you’re squirming viciously just from the feeling of his beard scraping against your inner thighs, squeals ripping from your throat when he leaves a hickey or bites at the meat of your thigh. the australian’s pupils are blown wide, as he watches you try and muffle your cries behind your hand—if this is how you’re responding to the two of them thoroughly refreshing their claim on you, he’s thrilled to see how you’ll lose your mind as the night goes on. pulling his head away, daniel presses his thumb into one of the bruises he left and your back arches deeply–you choke on your squeal, thighs slamming shut around his hand.

“none of that now, sweetheart,” dan instructs firmly, “‘s just me, you, and max, honey. no need to quiet those sweet sounds of yours, alright?”

you nod wildly, stumbling over your agreement, “y-yeah, danny. ‘ll be- i’ll be loud for you guys.”

max moans at your words from where his lips were tugging at your nipple, pulling away to raise himself back to your lips, thirstily tasting your desperation from its source. dan allows max to bruise up your mouth, and leave his own beard burn around your lips, as he undresses himself down to his briefs. 

“max…max, maxy, babe,” daniel softly calls a few times, failing to get the impatient man’s attention, “max, look at me.” the switch from dan’s soft tone to a deeper, base filled sound has max snapping away to look at daniel, panting roughly.

“be good f’me and give yourself a hand, darlin’,” dan commands, and max sighs lovingly at the endearment, “you can manage that right, maxy? while i get our sweet girl ready to take you, hm?”

max whimpers, “yes, danny,” and shifts to sit upright, pulling his underwear off and wrapping his large hand around himself. dan purrs, “good boy. her sweet cunt’s already drippin’ for us, maxy. won't take me long to stretch ‘er open for you.” you keen, humiliated at the way dan speaks about you like you’re not in the room with them. daniel tugs your legs open again, hiding his laughter in the plush meat of your thigh, but you can feel the smirk against your skin. 

embarrassed, you whine hushedly, hands fisting into the sheets by your side, “mean.”

daniel hums uncaringly at your remark, “mean? don’t worry, honey–when i finish with you, you’ll think ‘m mean for a very different reason.” he doesn’t give you a chance to ponder his words, and a firm drag of his tongue across your cunt destroys any chance for your thought processes. this time around, your moans are clear, echoing around the room. the press of daniel’s tongue is unforgiving and working intently at your clit. your thighs clamp around his head, not allowing the australian to escape even though he can feel your hips bucking away, trying to escape the consistent stimulation on one of your most sensitive spots. when one of your hands flies down to tug at his curls, he relents his assault and switches to prodding his tongue against your opening. he moans depravedly against your entrance, the noise vibrating through you, causing your shriek to pierce the air. he eats you out like a man starved; savagely shoving his tongue deeper inside you, curling against your walls, nose bumping against your clit, mouth moving like he’s truly trying to eat you alive. he ignores the ache of his jaw, the tightness of his briefs, how his beard scratches your skin; and he smoothly slips a finger into you, beginning thoroughly stretch you out.

it’s absolutely obscene-sounding. daniel works his way up to three fingers, and any previous qualms he had about you being too quiet are resolved. your whines are constant at the insistent invasion of daniel’s curling digits, and based on the way your legs are trembling, he can tell you're nearing the precipice. what’s even more erotic, is the way your cries harmonize with max’s own grunts of pleasure; the dutchman’s hips buck into the frantic pace of his hands and danny wouldn’t be surprised if max comes before he even gets inside you. daniel sits back on his heels, his fingers still digging deeper inside you, forcefully pressing against your g-spot. with his left hand, daniel knocks max’s hand away, ignoring the responding yowl of displeasure, and fists max’s cock on his own, “doin’ a little too much, maxy. our desperate girl deserves to come first, anyways—lemme set the pace for you, darlin’.” max suffers under danny’s ministrations; the extreme shift down in tempo, the constant attention on the head of his cock, a finger pressing at his slit or the vein along his underside alternatingly. you, on the other hand, are being pushed closer and closer to your orgasm. daniel’s thumb joins, rubbing quick circles of your clit–and you scream out, pleasure overriding you. when your moans start to blend into breathy little ah-ah-ah’s, he slips his fingers free from the tight clasp of your cunt, and releases his hold on max’s cock.

you sob achingly, begging daniel to make you cum, dismayed cries of, “no! danny, why’d you stop, please, make me cum,” falling from your lips as max mewls next to you, his own hands trying to force danny’s back around him. daniel shushes you, and motions for max to come closer. max flies forward happily, his whines cutting off at daniel’s attention. he man-handles max into hovering over you in missionary, his cock resting against your fluttering cunt, waiting for permission. your cries quiet, and your heart races with anticipation for max to bury himself in you. danny’s left hand grips at max’s corresponding hip, and his right hand slips in the narrow space between you two, and he presses the flushed arousal in you. and the australian cannot stop running his mouth.

“that’s ‘t, baby–nice n’ easy for ya’–mmm–he’s splitting you open isn’t he–yeah, soak ‘im, babe, get him nice and wet–no, sweetheart, don’t run from it–yeahhh just like that, you take ‘t so well–”

your own orgasm suprises you, otherwise you would’ve at least made an attempt to tell the two men. max hasn’t even gotten halfway inside you and you’re cumming; back-arching, toes-curling, hands rushing forward to scratch down max’s back, eyes screwed shut, and walls clamping tightly around him. max is whining above you, flinching away from the hot grasp of your inner walls, but daniel won’t let him pull out.

“danny, danny! please–oh–i-i-i’m gonna–not gonna last–‘m gonna cum, if i stay inside her,” max admits, sobbing embarrasingly.

daniel laughs softly from behind max, and shifts so his front is pressed to the dutchman’s back. max shivers at the sound, the hair on the back of his neck rising. “aww, you can’t handle it, darling? don’t worry, i’ve changed my plans for you, anyways,” daniel smugly whispers into max’s ear. dan brings both of his hands to the younger’s waist, and forces him deeper inside of you, ignoring the way max cries sensitively and keeps pushing him forward until he bottoms out. you and max let out twin squeals from the white-hot flash of pleasure; you struggle to adjust to his size as quickly as daniel forced him in–you pulsate around him, it’s like you’re still trying to drag him further in and push him out at the same time. daniel presses a kiss to max’s shoulder blade and praises him, “see, maxy? i knew you could do it—such a good boy f’me.”

max’s eyes roll back, and he can’t fight it–he cums, loudly. his limbs weaken and his body collapses over yours, head falling into your neck, and his lewd moans vibrate through your raw skin. the younger’s body covers you completely, and your knees come up to cradle max’s hips, encouraging him to thrust through the aftershocks. daniel leans back, continuing to bathe the two of you with praise as he lets you guys shudder through the come down. a couple minutes pass before your legs relax and max’s moans die down to breathy hums, as both of your chests heave as you try to regulate your breathing. 

“feelin’ good, my loves?” daniel questions tenderly.

you’re the first to respond, a sated smile sent the australians way, “so good, danny.” max sighs out a breathy “yeah,” muffled into your chest. daniel brightens, “alrighty–maxy, fuck her properly now, and make her cum again.” the dutchman grunts in disbelief, “what? no, i-i can’t, i just came–”

dan cuts max off, “you can’t or, you won’t?” max’s breath stutters at the sudden dominance in daniel’s tone, sitting up to turn his head to look at the older man incredulously. the smile on dan’s face is gone, his expression suddenly firm and unyielding–max can only drop his gaze away from daniel’s eyes, avoiding the piercing gaze.

“max, look at me,” the australian states unflinchingly, and the younger man’s eyes fly to meet his at the command.

“what’s your color, darlin’?”

with his tongue flicking out to wet his lips nervously, max mutely whispers, “green.” daniel’s piercing gaze drops to you and he repeats the question, “sweetheart, what’s your color?”

you squirm under his intense attention—max’s hips stuttering at the stimulation, and your bruised brown thighs squeeze at his waist until he stops—but the slight flare of pleasure that races up your spine decides your answer, “green, danny.”

a smirk spreads across daniel’s lips, “see, you can, maxy,” the younger blushes deeply at his teasing croon, “now, be a sweet prince for me, and fuck our sweetheart, hm?” and with a pinch to max’s hip, he sinks in you deeply with an oversensitive sigh, before he pulls out and sets a slow rhythm to allow you both a little more time to recover. the drag of his cock is coaxing soft shuddery breaths out of your lips, and sharp over-sensitive whines from max. his hands are trembling from where they’re grip flexes on your waist, veins popping with the strength of his grasp, sure to leave a mark on your darker skin. dan’s hands halt the gentle roll of his hips, before the man leads him at a quicker pace. max throws his head back onto daniel’s shoulder, overwhelmed at the feeling of your tight, soaking wet cunt, and cries out “too much—ngh—i-it’s too much!” but aside from all of his whines, he’s getting hard again. unlike max, the sensitivity from your orgasm had faded quickly—if anything, it’s doubling the amount of pleasure you’re feeling. desperate for more, you plant your feet on the bed and start rolling your hips to meet max halfway; moaning yearningly at the change in position.

the younger man frantically tries to force your hips back down, the friction added from you meeting his thrusts is too great. “heyheyhey—none of that, prince,” daniel quickly tugs max’s hands away from your waist, one hand firmly holding them against the younger’s chest, “remember, we made a promise to give her so many orgasms to make up for how mean we’ve been to her. you don’t want to break that promise; right, darling?” max tries to hide his face in dan’s shoulder, but it’s too late—he starts sobbing. daniel watches how the tears rain down max’s cheeks, and how his face crumples so prettily—is it weird that making his usually unbothered boyfriend cry, turns him on?

max sniffles, “n-no, danny. -ll do it, i-i wanna make her cum.” not wanting to disappoint you any further, he starts quickening his strokes on his own, eventually outpacing the rhythm daniel set for him. it dawns on max quickly; he’s not going to last, again. he makes the mistake of looking at the blissed out expression on your face, the knot in his tummy tightening as he watches how your mouth falls open in a moan, wet and inviting. he drops his eyes away, but they fall on where the two of you are connected; the sight causes him to choke on his breath. his own thrusts have forced his cum out of you, frothing at your entrance, smeared all over your labia and staining your inner thighs. if he could eat you out and fuck you at the same time—he’d be doing it. max urgently asks daniel, “d-danny, ‘m gonna cum—please, can i cum?” ignoring max, dan’s hand lets go of max’s, and falls to let his middle and ring finger rub vigorously at your clit. your body jackknifes, a scream leaving your lips at the sudden addition, you choke out a warning, “g’na cum! pleasepleaseplease—” and when daniel’s thumb sneaks down to press gently at where you're wrapped snugly around max, almost like he’s trying to slip in alongside his cock—white flashes behind your eyes and you’re cumming hard. 

daniel hums, satisfied, “now, you can cum, maxy.” the younger had already started coming the second he started speaking. it’s erotic—how the two of yours’ orgasm feeds off of each other. every clench of your cunt has you squeezing tightly around max, causing him to thrust in you deeper, which in turn has you pulsating around him tightly, and the cycle continues. max rides out the two of your orgasms viciously this time around, his hips slamming into you, forcing himself as deep as possible wanting to empty every last dreg of his cum within you. you can only whimper brokenly, not making an effort to calm his grinds, wanting to savor anything you can get before he pulls out of you. with max’s last pump of his hips in you, daniel slowly guides him out of you. the two of you hiss, extremely over sensitive from the two times you’ve cum, so daniel tries to make the affair as smooth as he possibly can. with a squelching pop, max is freed from the tight grasp of your cunt, and dan leads him to lie down next to you on the bed.

you’re still floating, not a single thought in your head, a deep sense of satisfaction coating your mind, but you can vaguely hear daniel checking on max, making sure he didn’t push him too far. you hum quietly under your breath, almost like a purr, eyes shut blissfully as you allow yourself to relax in your afterglow. you faintly register daniel slipping in between your legs, his broad shoulders pressed against the underside of your thighs. you feel his left hand gently press at the raw skin of your thigh, and you fuzzily manage to move it over for him, thinking that he’s trying to clean you up. 

daniel can only stare. the pink skin of your hole has turned to a deeper red, with how max bullied your cunt. his mouth falls open, entranced, at the sight of your bruised pussy winking at him, struggling to close, and he moans softly as the pulsing of your cunt starts pushing max’s cum out of you. the creamy, frothy, white fluid slowly sliding out of you and down your ass. his tongue wets his lips—he wants a taste. dan drops the towel he was holding in his right hand, and brings the now empty hand up to spread your lips with a ‘v’ of his fingers. his eyes flick up to your face, and once he sees that you're still floating, he takes a gentle pass over your entrance with two fingers, collecting yours and max’s combined release. he sucks the mess clean, and a groan rumbles through his chest. fuck—he needs more. daniel quickly finds himself breathing softly over your cunt for the second time tonight, and he can feel how your thighs already start shaking at the exhales of his breath against you. he laps his tongue once in a broad stripe over you, and moans depravedly—and then, he pretty much forced to eat you out; why let this go to waste. 

the minute his tongue slips inside you, your thighs slam shut around his head, trying to halt his overeager movements. daniel doesn’t care, he’d happily suffocate in your cunt if it meant he got to eat max’s cum out of you for the last time. when he slips two of his fingers in to coax more of the cum max fucked deep in you out, your hand flies down and tugs at his curls. daniel pulls his mouth away, growling sharply at the pain from the grip of your hand, but he steadfastly dives back in—he’s going to swallow every last drop you’ll give him. “hngh—too much, –anny, can’t take it—my tummy feels weird—it hurts!” daniel’s hips starting grinding against the bed, and he’s made aware of how painfully hard he’s gotten throughout the night; he hasn’t cum once. daniel moans against your cunt, panting against you, “ya got one more f’me right, sweetheart? yeah, ya do—just let me taste you, yeah?” daniel tunes out your cries again, and brushes his nose against your clit as he laves his tongue over you picking up every drop of cum the two of you have spilled on your swollen cunt. his fingers start to curl upwards as he pulls them out, dragging wetness out from the depths of your walls, and you squeal, any pleads that you planned to say have been suddenly erased from your throat at the sudden pain-pleasure that bursts behind your eyes. your core tightens, and you seize against the bed cumming for the third time this night at daniel’s insistence. this is the most intense orgasm all night, and it feels never ending; all of your senses feel like they’re burning hot, nerves tingling from your scalp to your curled toes. what you’ve failed to recognize is that you're gushing all over daniel’s face. he practically gets waterboarded from where he was pressed against your cunt, but once he realizes that he’s made you squirt, he happily starts drinking down each spray of your fluid, uncaring of how his beard is drenched with your release, and how it puddles underneath your ass. 

he swallows you down to the very last drop, plump lips massaging your labia sweetly. he backs off your pussy, switching to your thighs to collect any wetness he missed out on. when your hand tugs at his curls again, pulling him away when the beard burn gets too much, daniel rises to his knees over you. he tugs his cock out of his briefs, the tip flushed the deepest red he’s ever seen it, and it throbs hotly in his grasp. he uses the hand soaked with your squirt to roughly rub himself off, tattooed thigh spasming, and it takes less than ten pumps of his hand before he’s cumming. with every spray of his hot cum that lands against your swollen cunt, your hips jerk—even that feels too much.

when daniel finishes, he moans at the picture he painted on you—would you let him take a picture if he asked? but his fantasy is disrupted when you squirm up the bed, your hand falling to cup protectively over your cunt, thighs tightening around your hand, and you murmur repeatedly, “no more, no more.” max coos quietly from where he’s laying, still just as fucked out as you, but he tries to soothe your cries. he sweetly pulls you into his chest when tears slip out of your eyes, petting at you clumsily, not quite yet having regained complete control of his limbs. “did so good, schatje. daniel did just like he promised—i-if, if you let him clean you up, we can cuddle and go straight to bed, ok? be good, j-just a little longer.”

you sob messily into max’s embrace, but after a few minutes with max and daniel both reassuring you that they’ve finished pulling orgasms out of you, and comfortingly massaging the already setting soreness of your muscles—your cries die down to sniffles, and you slowly spread your legs open for danny. daniel stares at the mess he created this time around, but dismisses the urge to lick it off you; his only goal right now is to properly clean you up, and make sure you go to sleep feeling satisfied and worn-out. as gently as possible, he takes turns wiping both your thighs and cunt, and max’s thighs and cock, switching when either of you says it’s too much. it takes longer than it usually does, but it doesn’t upset daniel as long as it means the two of you are comfortable. 

“okay, okay,” daniel soothes sweetly, “i’m done. you both did so good for me tonight.”

max blushes at the praise, and with a voice as airy as silk, you whisper, “you ‘ere good too, danny—made me feel r’lly good, thank you.” daniel smiles, his heart warming at your sweet words, “thank you, honey. you’re always so sweet to me.”

“now, let’s move this party to the bathroom so both of you can pee, and take a bath before we sleep, i’ll get some snacks for you to eat too,” daniel orders softly, “i took a lot from the two of you tonight—so let me make sure i put you back together, okay?

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© httpsserene 2023

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Five-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, Dirty Talk, Threats of Violence, Jealousy, Toxic Behaviours, Possessive Behaviours, Mentions of GunPoint (enchanted gun but still), Italian, Flirty!Theodore!Nott, Angst, Sexual Tension.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"I don't know about this, Em..."

Giggles danced through the air, originating from your blonde companion, currently immersed in a thorough investigation of your shared closet. Her voice, laced with amusement, murmured something indecipherable, the words muffled by the solidity of the wooden door. A long sigh escaped your lips, a potent release of pure exasperation.

"This is crazy," you muttered to yourself. "Nott is going to need an entire bloody medical team when he catches sight of me..."

The enchanting red dress, a gem sourced from a privy boutique in Hogsmeade under Mattheo's explicit direction, molded itself to every contour as you confronted your reflection in the mirror. As your eyes traversed the fabric's journey, or rather, the lack thereof--there was no escaping the undeniable truth; the dress was exquisitely tight, sparing no nuance of your silhouette to the imagination.

"Doubt he'll even get the chance..." Emily replied, finally reemerging from the closet, "lover boy will likely claim his head the moment he fixes his gaze on you for too long."

Emily's cheeky response added a layer of playful anticipation to the charged atmosphere, earning an exaggerated eye roll from you in response as you fought hard to suppress your smirk.

When you'd embarked on the hunt for the ideal dress, you had brought Emily along for her valuable opinion. As your gaze fell upon this specific piece, uncertainty gripped you, convinced it might be a touch excessive. Yet, Emily staunchly opposed that notion. Her unwavering belief in its perfection became a contagion, subjecting you to prolonged minutes of relentless persuasion. Gradually, her infectious enthusiasm chipped away at your resistance until, inevitably, you succumbed--reluctantly handing over Mattheo's gifted galleons.

"And do I truly wish to burden my conscience with the death of the schools most popular Italian playboy? And not to mention Riddle's certain Azkaban sentence...all but a couple months from graduation?" you deadpanned, fingers instinctively rising to massage your temples in an attempt to alleviate the burgeoning headache. "Maybe I should just borrow something from your-"

"Absolutely not," Emily interjected, her voice cutting through your proposal with firm decisiveness. She approached you, a sparkle in her eyes, and added, "you look perfect. Trust me on this."

Meeting your eyes in the mirror, Emily's irises shimmered with a warm reassurance. She adjusted her flowy emerald green dress, a garment she had acquired at Tom's request--they were going to the masquerade together, though the status of their relationship still remained uncertain.

Emily, ever the advocate of going with the flow, a concept apparently foreign to Tom, said she wasn't in any rush to make things official, understanding that perhaps it would look a tad bit odd for him to start dating her after he'd just paraded you around to all of his friends, merely less than a few weeks go.

And as a result of this, you and Emily had a long, in depth heart-to-heart conversation where you made sure to unravel any lingering issues--the liberating honesty and the comfort of having someone in your corner again felt tangible. Although initially perturbed by the extended secrecy, Emily eventually grasped the rationale behind your discretion, acknowledging the protective measures taken for yourself and your desired career.

The depth of your longstanding friendship played a pivotal role in fostering this understanding, and you'd never been more thankful to have such a wonderful, supportive friend in your life.

"What do you think Michael will do when he spots you wearing traitor colours?" you teased, an impish grin playing on your lips as you watched Emily fix her long blonde hair, adjusting herself in the reflection.

"I reckon he'll be rather unamused," she snorted, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "But he'll be in for a real surprise when he sees you cozying up with Theodore Nott, the traitor extraordinaire."

"Cozying up with Theodore?" you retorted with a smirk, feigning innocence. "Absolutely not, I just recently cleared my conscience, I intend on keeping it that way."

"I wouldn't underestimate the Italian playboy; word on the street is he can be quite insistent..." Emily spun back around to face you, a cheeky smile playing on her lips. "My suggestion is that you tell him about Mattheo before he unwittingly finds himself sharing a bed with Berkshire."

Your expression sank, and a twist formed in your stomach. "Oh, gods, Emily, I need to change," you exclaimed, spinning around and making a beeline for the closet. "Surely there's a garbage bag or your grandmas old moo-moo hidden in here that I could wear instead, right?"

Emily's sudden snort echoed through the room, reverberating far louder than you'd expected. With swift precision, she wielded her wand, slamming the closet door shut before you could reach it.

"Come on, it's going to be fun," she teased, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Give those cocky Slytherin boys an experience they've never had before. Making them squirm is a rare opportunity--after all, they're not used to being denied anything."

You hesitated, a reluctant smile crawling across your face at her words as you silently considered the prospect. Mattheo had always made it abundantly clear that girls were typically within arm's reach for him, and he could have anyone he desired. The idea of driving him to the brink tonight, knowing he couldn't do a thing about it after explicitly instructing Theodore to ask you, ignited a rebellious spark within you.

"Alright, but this better not turn into a disaster," you responded, your internal thoughts dancing between uncertainty and a subtle thrill. "If the mafia comes after me because I smacked their most prized possession, I'm blaming you."

"You look fucking hot. Own it," she encouraged, a playful smile dancing on her lips. Turning her attention to the door, a sudden realization struck her. "I've got to run. Promised Michael I'd help him with his bloody tie--but don't forget to check the mail. Something arrived for you earlier."

With a swift goodbye, she whisked away, grabbing her matching emerald green eye mask, leaving you to contemplate the mysterious package. Not one to dawdle, you approached the table by the door, spotting a small brown box with your name inscribed on it.

With eager anticipation, you unwrapped the package, unveiling a stunningly bejeweled red mask. A note accompanied the alluring accessory, bearing the cryptic message:

"Something about me, I fucking hate the colour yellow."

A smirk played on your lips as you extracted the exquisite gift from its velvet cradle. The crimson mask lay in your hands, a stunning creation adorned with gemstones that caught and reflected the light with each subtle movement. Blush flooded your cheeks as you approached the mirror, slipping the mask on. Turning your head in every direction, you marveled at the way it enhanced your features, making you feel like a mysterious enchantress.

The beauty of the mask was beyond words, and even though the logical part of you knew it had to be from Mattheo, the sheer magnificence of the gift made it feel almost surreal.

After what felt like an eternity lost in the mirror, admiring the stunning mask, the realization hit that you needed to meet Theodore. He'd mentioned waiting for you at the entrance to your common room, so as swiftly as possible, you adjusted your dress, attempting to cover up your chest, and gracefully slipped out of your room, navigating the familiar halls with a sense of purpose.

The chilled corridor welcomed you as you emerged, and after a brief moment of searching, there, like an awakening spell, you spotted Theo--and your stomach nearly leapt into your chest at the sight of him.

"Holy shit, Nott...are you...are you actually wearing enemy colors?" Your jaw dropped as you beheld Theodore in a Ravenclaw blue suit, a sight you'd never expected in a million years. "Hold still, I need to take a bloody picture of this."

Theo's arrogant response came with a sly smirk, his dark eyes tracing hungrily over your figure. He stood before you in a pristine suit, accompanied by matching vest, and a crisp white dress shirt underneath. The ensemble was adorned with exquisite gold links and buttons, showcasing his impeccable taste. His confident demeanour suggested that he indeed cleaned up more than nicely, and this was only a slight indication of his professionalism.

"Sure, have your laughs," he quipped, an arrogant smirk playing on his lips. His eyes moved deliberately, scanning the curves of your figure. "Enjoy the view while it lasts, little bird. This suit's debut is a one-time thing—I might just set it ablaze once the night is over."

"Well you certainly know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?..." you teased, grin stretching past your ears as you took another step closer. "How honoured I am to accompany you in this suits first and only outing."

"Your wit is far too sharp for a Ravenclaw," Theo huffed in amusement, his stormy eyes glistening behind his dark blue mask. "You look properly fucking flaming by the way...do pardon my French."

You snorted, gracefully taking his arm as he offered it, intertwining yours around his. "French? I was under the impression you were Italian, Signor Nott."

"You speak it?" Theo raised an intrigued eyebrow, briefly glancing down at you as the two of you strolled towards the ballroom.

"Partially," you replied, a playful glint in your eye, your attention split between the conversation and the challenge of navigating gracefully in your black heels. Each step resonated with a confident clack on the school floors. "I dabble in a multitude of tongues...a side effect of an inquisitive mind."

"Is that so?" he said, pure intrigue in his tone. "Talk to me in Italian then,"

"Are you serious?" You snorted, far louder than you'd intended, waiting for him to say he was joking. He simply looked down at you, eyes locked on yours behind the mysterious mask.

"Absolutely serious," Theo chuckled, the breathy tones dancing in the air, a subtle spark of challenge in his eyes. "A little ball of knowledge, huh? Prove it."

A warm flush crept up your cheeks as you stifled your laughter. Theo had a charm of his own, a natural way of drawing people in much like Mattheo, although the troublemaking wizard had a slightly more breathtaking allure with those dark, intoxicating eyes and that unruly mop of chocolate curls. It wasn't a shortcoming on Theo's part--it was simply the irreplaceable magnetism that Mattheo possessed, but you couldn't deny the way Nott was making you feel.

"Alright, you want me to put my money where my mouth is, I respect that." You teased, clearing your throat as you pondered an Italian phrase that might leave an impression. After a brief moment of contemplation, it dawned on you. "Non c'è rosa senza spine."

(There is no rose without thorns.)

"Buona scelta," he replied with a smirk, his tone holding an air of both appreciation and subtle challenge. "Sei più astuta di quanto pensassi."

(Good choice; you’re more clever than I thought.)

"You underestimate me, Nott," you chuckled, a surge of pride coursing through you. "Consider that your first mistake."

"You know, the more I get to know you, the larger my desire to figure you out becomes,” he said, dropping his tone into a husky whisper as the two of you turned a corner. "You are...intriguing."

It was at this moment, as the two of you entered into the bustling main hall, that you were extremely thankful this event was a masquerade. The mask provided a welcome veil of anonymity, shielding you from the prying gazes that threatened to make you uneasy. It seemed you were blending seamlessly into Theo's arm, a part of the enigmatic allure rather than a subject of scrutiny.

"You couldn't figure me out in a million years," you retorted, a sharp edge to your tone, the corners of your lips subtly playing with a hint of a smirk. "Better men have tried."

Theo, as expected, didn't like that response. "Don't tempt me, little bird...I will make it my life's mission."

You rolled your eyes, chewing on your cheek. "You're far too sure of yourself, Theodore."

"Look at that, Bella...you're already using my first name," he quipped, smirking. "I'm making progress without even trying."

You fought the urge to smack him, your eyes narrowing in a playful challenge. "To know me, Signor Nott, I'll put you through hell...just ask Riddle, he can certainly attest."

"Mm, thats precisely the thing, little bird..." he said, his smirk holding a touch of intrigue. "Riddle's a closed book when it comes to you. Doesn't spill a damn thing, makes me wonder what secrets the two of you are hiding.”

"Quite a conspiracy, I'd say," you chuckled, relishing the light banter between you two as the distant sounds of music and laughter from the ballroom grew louder. With a nod and a playful smile, you gestured toward the entrance. "Shall we?"

Theo nodded, a playful glint in his eyes, as he released your arm and extended a hand to the small of your back, ushering you forward. "After you, milady"

Upon crossing the threshold into the ballroom, a breathtaking scene unfolded before your eyes. The room was adorned with vibrant spring decorations, an enchanting celebration marking the approaching end of the term. The fragrance of fresh flowers wafted through the air, and the soft glow of enchanted lanterns bathed the room in a warm, golden radiance. Hogwarts students from all years, dressed in their finest attire, wore a dazzling array of masks, each one a unique work of art.

As your eyes darted around the room, the search for familiar faces led you to a moment of anticipation. The diversity of masks, ranging from intricate designs to whimsical shapes, made it challenging to discern familiar faces.

Finally, your gaze landed on the only man you'd ever go out of your way to search for, his distinctive chocolate curls drawing your attention like a magnet amidst the sea of masked enchantment. The mere fucking sight of him, cloaked in newfound sophistication, sent a thrilling pulse through your veins, awakening sensations in your body that you were unprepared to face.

He stood there, like a fucking silhouette of elegance, adorned entirely in black--black mask, black suit pants, a sleek black dress shirt, and a finely tailored black suit vest. The only splash of colour adorned him in the form of a satin red tie, perfectly mirroring the shade of your dress. The entirety of your being froze in place, your throat resembling a parched desert, the sole reminder to keep moving coming from the steady pressure of Theo's hand on your back, coaxing you forward through the enchanting crowd.

As the two of you veered closer to them, the tension in your body was almost painful. Truth be told, it wasn't the singular presence of Mattheo that set your heart racing like a high-performance sports car on race day--oh, no, the true accelerant was his fucking date. The very girl from the washroom, the one you had directed him to accompany, and the vibrant colour of her long, flowing dress:

Yellow.

"Riddle, Malfoy," Theo uttered, initiating a firm handshake with each of his Slytherin comrades as they exchanged greetings. "Parkinson, Lanalock."

"Nott," Parkinson remarked, a smile gracing her features. "Never expected to see you in blue. You could easily pass for a Ravenclaw, you know."

Theo's response carried a touch of cunning arrogance, sneaking you a glance. "A choice made with utmost consideration, you might say."

In the midst of the social dance, your gaze and Mattheo's remained locked, an unbroken connection that felt more like a silent conversation than a mere exchange of glances. The unspoken tension between you two hung thick, and in that charged moment, it was uncertain if either of you had even blinked. Your heart pounded not only in your throat but also seemingly echoed in another, more intimate part of you as well.

Mattheo had never looked more fucking captivating, and the longing for him intensified by the millions--that merciless irresistible force effortlessly working to pull you closer.

Just as the tension threatened to become all-encompassing, Professor Dumbledore's voice reverberated over the lively chatter, his warm tone weaving through the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the enchanting Spring Masquerade. I hope the magic of the night unfolds to your desires. Now, if you would kindly make your way to the dance floor, we are about to commence the first slow dance of the evening. So, let the celebration begin."

The resonance of Dumbledore's voice snapped you from Mattheo's visual captivity, prompting a few deliberate blinks and an expelled breath laden with tension. Theo, with a gentle glance, took your hand, guiding the group to choose spots on the dance floor directly adjacent to one another. It required every fiber of your being not to steal a glance at Mattheo, aware that the mere sight of him holding another girl would induce a wave of nausea within you.

Your attention became an exclusive affair with Theo. As he placed his hands on your hips, his grip was tender, a sensation entirely distinct from anything you'd experienced with Mattheo. A sharp intake of breath accompanied the elevation of your arms, led your palms to find a gentle perch on Theo's shoulders. In the depths of his stormy blue eyes, you unintentionally delved, oblivious to the intensity of the eye contact you established--you were so lost in your own thoughts that a bomb could go off in this very room, and you were certain you wouldn't even flinch.

Then, Theo's voice broke the silence. "Little bird, are you alright?"

"Oh, yes," you blinked, your voice escaping your throat in a cracked whisper, as though each word were a struggle for breath. "And you?"

"More than," he quipped, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

Your watchful eyes tracked the journey of his gaze, starting from your eyes, sliding leisurely to your lips, lingering provocatively before venturing lower, dipping over your chest with a seductive grace before sinuously slithering back up. The subtle intimacy of the visual exploration ignited a warmth within you, and you glimpsed his lips, recalling Emily's advice from your dorm. Make these men squirm.

"Glad to hear it," you mused, a playful edge to your tone, your fingers tightening their grip on his shoulders as he delicately drew you closer. "Wouldn't want the Italian playboy to be anything other than alright."

His grip tightened perceptibly, the sensation almost tangible as if his nails could breach the delicate fabric of your dress. The room plunged into a soft dimness, signaling the beginning of the slow dance. The shift in atmosphere was unexpected, enough to make you jump slightly. For a fleeting moment, you locked eyes with Mattheo, finding his gaze fixed on you, his hands scarcely making contact with his date.

Hastily looking away, Theo's voice reached your ear, dangerously close, "Italian playboy, hmm? Is that what they're calling me these days?"

"Don't act like you weren't already aware," you chuckled softly, the resonance carrying a hint of mischief. "Though, I must say, the rumors might be onto something."

Theo smirked, his voice a low murmur tinged with arrogance. "Well, uccellino, despite the rumors, I assure you I am a proper gentleman..."

A sharp intake of breath caught in your throat as his nails dug deeper into the fabric of your dress, compelling you closer as the two of you gracefully swayed to the music.

"How gentle you are, indeed," you mumbled, chewing your lip as you met his gaze, the two of you dangerously close together.

Theo's gaze deepened, his lean frame bending down as his lips brushed against your ear. "I may be a gentleman, Bella," he murmured, the words a seductive whisper. "...but if you keep looking at me like that--with those big eyes, biting on your goddamn lip...we might just be fucking on the nearest surface I find."

Oh, no. This was bad. Your response stammered out before you could even think to stop it, panic flickering in your eyes.

"I-I, excuse me," you stuttered, hastily breaking away from the dance just as the song was nearing its end. The abrupt departure carried a mix of flustered embarrassment and a desperate need to collect yourself.

Seeking refuge, you maneuvered toward the drink table nestled in the far corner of the room. The dim light and distant chatter provided a momentary escape as you began to slam back drinks, attempting to drown the intensity of the encounter with Theo.

As the remnants of a calm facade settled within, a subtle shift in the atmosphere stirred your senses. A tingling awareness compelled you to glance over your shoulder, only to find yourself ensnared in the dark, intoxicating depths of Mattheo's eyes. A strange yet undeniable wave of relief washed over you, despite the fact that he stood looming directly behind, adopting the guise of casualness while pretending to grab a drink.

"Mattheo," you breathed his name, the syllables escaping your lips like a breathless sin, a recognition of the forbidden allure that surrounded him. "What are you doing?"

Mattheo's breath, a tantalizing whisper, brushed against the nape of your neck, setting your nerves ablaze. "I can't stand the way he's touching you, Raven...I can't even stand the way he's fucking looking at you..."

Your lungs seemed to stall. "This was your idea, Matty..."

"I'm well aware," he hissed, the energy radiating from him palpable in the charged air. "Fuck, you look so fucking sexy...you are so goddamn beautiful, you know that?"

"I'm not sure I do..." your heart melted, a subtle heat pulsating through your thighs. "I think I need you to tell me again."

"You are so, so fucking beautiful..." he muttered, his voice a deep husk, strained with lust as it left his throat. "You are the most captivating girl in this entire fucking room...I can't stop staring at you...I can't stop needing you..." you gasped as his hand grazed over your ass, subtly, but a feeling you'd never miss. "What do you think you're fucking doing to me, hm?"

You nibbled on your bottom lip, the flush of blood coloring your face. "At this moment...nowhere bloody close to enough."

Mattheo's voice, saturated with desire, responded, "You're absolutely right, princess...and I can't wait to have you all to myself, as soon as this dumb fucking dance is over."

A soft hum escaped you as your lids fluttered, reveling in the warmth of Mattheo's body behind you. "Unless Nott gets to me first..."

As though a switch had been flipped, Mattheo's hand seized your wrist with a subtle yet undeniable warning, a silent caution against uttering anything remotely similar again.

"Don't even joke about that, Raven," he growled, the intensity in his voice cutting through the air. "I swear to Salazar himself, what I did to Berkshire will pale in comparison to what I'll do to Nott."

"So jealous, Matty..." you purred, smirking as he slowly released your wrist. You couldn't deny that his possessive tendencies did something to you, however fucking insane they were. "So angry..."

"You like that, don't you?...dirty little slut..." you could practically hear the smirk on his perfect fucking lips, your entire body vibrating with need. "Keep tempting me, princess...I'll bend you over this table, fuck you in front of the whole fucking school...I'll point my gun at Notts fucking head and make him watch, on his knees in front of you as I fuck you stupid...how does that sound for jealous, hm?"

Breath eluded you, the sheer intensity threatening your consciousness. "Godric, help you..."

"Sorry, Raven, but the only help from above that I believe in is a sniper on a rooftop..." Mattheo's voice, a deep, honeyed drawl, slipped from his lips. "And just so you're aware, I know eighty different ways to kill a man--and I can make an easy seventy nine of them look like a bloody accident...understand?"

"Fuck..." your mind struggled to form coherent thoughts. It had been days since his last touch, and the way he spoke now made you crave him more than the very air you breathed. "I don't think I do...I think I need you to tell me again..."

"I've never been a jealous man, Raven..." Mattheo's gaze swept the surroundings, ensuring no lingering gazes were watching. Satisfied, he shifted slightly, his lips now at your other ear. "I've never envied someone for what they have or who they're with, and yet, I'm damn jealous of every asshole you smile at, everyone you openly converse with...I've never fucking wanted something that I couldn't have, a girl I couldn't get...so this, all of this...is fucking maddening."

Your lungs seemed to stall, a momentary freeze as if he'd submerged you into the heart of a raging inferno. A surge of warmth flooded through every fiber of your being, an intoxicating heat.

"I need you," your voice murmured, the words dripping with a desperate longing. "I need you in every fucking way imaginable..."

"Mm," Mattheo hummed, the warmth of his touch tracing the curve of your hip. "Such a delightfully dirty mouth for a princess..."

Feigning innocence, you lifted your gaze to meet his, a coy smile gracing your lips. "Perhaps...but even princesses have their secret pleasures, don't they, Matty?"

For a moment--a fleeting, beautiful fucking moment--your eyes locked, and it was in that secret realm, where slight smirks played on each of your lips, and the tension was fucking so thick that you could hardly breathe--where you both knew you've found what the whole fucking world was still carelessly searching for.

And it was there, that you knew--no man, no job, no fucking career could ever make you feel as happy and needed and treasured as Mattheo Riddle did. In his own, crazy, fucked up way.

Mattheo blinked. "Meet me in the washroom in forty minutes.”

—————————

Chapter 26->

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | four

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: after a conference in new york, you and j miller phd take things a step further. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, i think i describe reader as having sweaty palms about 1500 times so it deserves a warning, alcohol consumption, the plight of being a woman in academia, oral [f receiving], unprotected piv sex [IN A BED ??? GASP] for you filthy animals, prone bone, a little roughness and then not much at all, uhhh pet names during sex.... uhhmm intimacy errrrrr.... soft!joel... feelings... okay bye word count: 9.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: hey folks, thank you so much for all your patience as i took my sweet sweet time writing this. we get to know our prof a little better in this one so a fair amount of dialogue for you but yeah anyways i hope you enjoy it, and i'd love to hear what you think! [and if i Fell Off because of the depression, don't tell me lol] A WORD ABOUT THE TAG LIST: i will continue the taglist for this part and for part five, and after that i will rely solely on my notifications account @hier--soirupdates so pls follow that and turn on notifs to be told when i post writing x this is part four of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three.

Saturday.

The conference centre is vast.

A large space that protects you from the threatening clouds that loom over New York City, and exposes you to countless dense conversations.

An NYU teacher’s assistant is glued to your hip, parading you through the centre with a wayward index finger that points out the bar, the room where the keynote speech will be given [large, with an imposing stage], and the room where you will give your presentation [less large, with a far less imposing stage].

Your presentation.  

You fight the urge to pull up the email for the thousandth time while she explains how there will be fifteen minutes to set up beforehand, and advises on when the doors will open for guests, and reminds you that you have a strict allotted time of 20-minutes, do you understand?

But the email is branded on the inside of your eyelids after this morning’s flight was spent reading and rereading and rereading the words. So you nod and smile and placate her on the tour of the centre, as you run through it in your mind.

We look forward to welcoming you to NYU’s Annual Classics and Ancient History Conference. Our team was intrigued by the presentation devised around your translation study in Athens…

“Did you hear me?”

You wish she wasn’t dressed so casually.

Loose balls of lint are collected on the back of her cardigan like trinkets, weighty and threatening to fall off in a sort of bread crumb trail behind her every movement. It makes your dress feel all the more serious, all the more formal. Navy blue and a little tight, with sleeves that slant across the middle of your bicep and a hem that cuts modestly across your lower thigh. Professional, smart, sexy, but not too sexy. You and Nora spent two hours at the mall picking it out last weekend. And you can see people in suits, in blazers, in dresses, everywhere you turn, but your eyes keep returning to the TA’s cardigan. Little pills, sad morsels of broken fabric.

She says your name sharply.

“Yes,” you snap to attention, and clock her poor attempt not to roll her eyes. “You were saying?”

“It’s an open bar,” she continues from a few steps ahead, slowly back away while raising her voice to be heard over the countless others sprouting across the room. “And food is served after the Keynote.”

Finally free of her and her cardigan, you scale the edge of the hall, curious eyes glancing across faces familiar and not. You notice some other postgrads from UNE, and some professors from your alma mater. But it isn’t until three hours into the conference that you notice him.

You’re in a painfully long conversation with Professor Carmichael, an ancient history department head from Boston, when you notice them.

“Well you see,” he’s saying, slowly. “The First Roman Triumvirate was very unique. Surely you agree with me there, my dear?”

“Of course,” you nod amiably. A waiter floats past you holding a tray of glasses. You grasp one with a grateful smile, and turn back to face him with a sip of cold white wine moving down your throat. “The Big Three, it’s all very interesting. Although I must say, I am personally more interested in the second triumvirat—”

“Oh they all say that,” he waves his hand. “Everyone is so taken by Antony and Octavian that they forget about Crassus! So tragic.”

“A very tragic death,” you offer an exaggerated frown. “I agree.”

Carmichael hums, eyes narrowing as if you’ve said something wrong. Sipping your wine, your eyes float over his shoulder, determinedly trying to spot any sign of food, gaze spilling across countless faces and tables and waiters and professors until one set of people makes you pause.  Wild dark hair atop a floral dress floats in your vision, her pale hand hovering over the sleeve of a tall man in a suit. You watch the backs of their heads; the way the woman tilts her chin upward to speak to the man and laughs at what he says in return. That laugh. You frown, and feel yourself take a step forward, a step in their direction.

“Is something the matter?” Carmichael asks and you halt, flash him a sweet smile and shake your head.

“No,” you rush, practically tasting the opportunity to escape the conversation. “I’m sorry, Professor, I thought I saw someone waving me over. If you don’t min—”

“Always so many people to talk to at these things,” he says in a sing-song tone of voice, smiling obliviously. “All in due course, dear. You’ll find them later I’m sure.”

It’s not until fifteen minutes later that the tap comes on your shoulder. You turn and feel relief wash over you as you come face to face with Rachel, with her tangle of curls and bright orange dress. But then a jolt shudders through your frame, for you spot the man accompanying her; the man you watched her traipse around the room with, the man in the sleek black suit—Joel, hovering a step behind her.

“Rachel,” you blink. “Joel. Hi—”

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Rachel says. Her eyes are wide, lips pulled back into a crooked grin that immediately sets you at ease. Joel, on the other hand, looks uncomfortable to say the least. You watch him tuck his hands in his pockets and then take them out again quickly, lips pursed together in a tight line as he glances between you and Professor Carmichael.

“Joel,” she grips the sleeve of his blazer and tugs him forward to stand beside her. You watch where her hand grazes him - the ease with which she jostles him around. “Did you know?”

“No.” He stares for a moment, lips parted and eyes darting across your face, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I’m giving a presentation,” you explain quickly, eyes darting between the two of them, fingers tightening around your glass every time your eyes settle on him. He trimmed his beard again; the hairs are shorter, neater—almost too short and too neat for your liking. His shirt is pressed and crisp, shock white beneath the midnight black of his jacket. He’s wearing different glasses. Tortoise shell glasses. Someone clears their throat to your right, snapping you out of your reverie. You apologise quickly, “This is Professor Carmichael.”

“Of course,” Joel nods, stepping forward to grip the older man’s hand. “Good to see you again, Professor.”

“And you, Professor Miller,” Carmichael chuckles, patting a shaky hand against Joel’s shoulder. “When was the last time we crossed paths? A year ago?”

“Must’ve been a year,” Joel smiles easily. His eyes slip to look at you every few seconds. “The conference in Ottawa.”

“The conference in Ottawa!” Carmichael cheers, nodding away. A weight sinks in your stomach like a cinder block as you watch the Professor gear up to wrangle Joel and Rachel into another conversation about Crassus’ untimely demise. But then Rachel slips away, called out to by someone across the room. And before Carmichael can open his mouth, Joel is speaking again, that honeyed drawl like music to your ears.

“Excuse me, Professor Carmichael,” he smiles again. Two of his fingers grip your elbow, tugging you a step backward. “Do you mind if I steal my star student for a few moments?”

Joel tilts your body to the left, and then the two of you are veering off into the crowd, wandering through throngs of people, his warm fingers pressed against the soft flesh above your elbow.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” you say under your breath, glancing around warily, trying to spy any curious eyes that might notice the two of you.   

“Could say the same thing,” he murmurs, dragging you to a stop at the edge of the hall with his eyebrows raised. “When’s your talk?”

“At one. Overlaps with the Keynote, which I’m a little relieved about,” you smile, a pinched, tense thing. “Hopefully everyone will go to that, and I’ll have a smaller crowd.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. You think you notice his shoulders stiffen. “S’that right?”

A persistent pang of hunger stabs through your stomach, you rub a hand over the front of your dress and nod. Curious brown eyes follow the movement.

“Here,” Joel reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. His fingers graze your skin as he tucks the shiny rectangle of foil into your palm. “They don’t put out any food until after the Keynote.”

It’s a granola bar. Peanut butter and banana. You stare at it for a moment, almost dumbfounded by the kindness of the gesture. By how attentive he is; how much he notices without you even having to speak.

“Thanks,” you say. Nestle it into your purse and give him an appreciative smile.

“Sure,” he nods jerkily. Adjusts the glasses on his nose. “I’m disappointed to miss it.”

“Oh?” you blink. Your eyes focus then, flitting downward to focus on the badge hanging from his lanyard.

Joel Miller, Ph.D.

University of New England.

Keynote Speaker.

“Oh, shit.”

“Mhm,” Joel squints at you. “Sorry if I don’t share the sentiment that everyone comes to watch me instead of you.”   

“Why didn’t you…” you gape. “You didn’t say you were giving a talk?” 

“You didn’t ask.”

“The Keynote speech is a big deal,” you say, as if he wouldn’t know.

“I was their third choice,” he shrugs you off with practiced ease. “First two weren’t interested.”

“Third time lucky then,” you smile, and he chuckles. Someone calls Joel’s name then, and you both spin to see Rachel across the room with a group of people, all eagerly waving him over. Something nasty curls in your chest – something bitter and unwarranted and cruel. You smother it with a mouthful of wine and a soft smile of farewell to him as he turns and walks in her direction.

A hand clasps down on your shoulder and you flinch, turning to see Professor Carmichael beaming.

“Where were we then, my dear?”

You eat Joel’s granola bar at the back of the hall five minutes before your talk and walk onstage with the taste of peanut and banana on your lips, brushing crumbs of dried oats off your fingers.

Fifteen people attend, spotted miscellaneously across the amassed rows of chairs. The slide clicker is damp in your palm, and your thumb hovers trembling over the button, awaiting each moment you need to press down.

“Working alongside some fantastic translators,” you tell them. “We focused on studying the disparities between how Greek texts are translated by men and women. Particularly, we aimed to delve into the way emotive language has been downgraded or elevated depending on the lens through which a text is being viewed.”

Professor Carmichael sits in the front row, those sun-spot covered hands clasped in his lap, offering an encouraging smile as you shift upon the stage. Rachel is a few rows back, and she nods intently whenever you glance in her direction.

“One of our main points of focus,” you continue. “Was to understand points of difficulty in translating while accounting for cultural nuances, and how the context of differing authors can impact upon this. In my next slide—”

It’s as you turn to glance at the display that you notice them for the first time. Three rows from the front, where a group of men sit. Two of them young, maybe around your age. You change your slide and watch them whisper in each other’s ears. One of them points at you. Or not you, rather—your legs.

And you yearn for it to be meaningless. A meaningless gesture between colleagues. Meaningless legs, meaningless dress, meaningless curves and slopes and dips and spins. But as you continue, you know it can’t be. The way they talk through your presentation, as if they aren’t bothered to be heard. The way they leer at you over Carmichael’s shoulder, grinning to each other. Your words in one ear and out the other—simply a talking point for them, a blue dress, something to stare at. Your dress feels hot, tight, and your chest feels hotter, tighter under the lights as those eyes glaze over you. You glance back towards Rachel. She gives you a thumbs up that doesn’t serve to cool your nerves.

“When translating word for word in our field, it’s uncommon,” you stutter to a stop, eyes flashing warily. “Sorry, it is not uncommon to find that narratological creativity dwindles.”

You hear a chuckle to your right and swallow down the urge to shoot daggers in the direction of the sound. “Translators struggle to maintain the in-depth imaginative expression that the original Greek text inspires. But through my discussions with Professor Samaras, we found that…”

It’s in the final minutes that you notice him. Tucked away in a back row of the room, arms folded across his chest. You pause for a moment, words caught in your throat. But Joel merely gives you a short nod. The faintest hint of a smile, of the corner of his eyes slanting upward, and it’s as if a cool breeze washes over you. Hands steady, knees lock, and you push through. You don’t look at any of their faces until it’s over.

And when it is, and scattered applause decorates the air, you can’t help but cast a smile in Joel’s direction. A smile that slips and wavers when you spot the broad expanse of his back, that sharp black blazer, as he slips out the doors without wasting a second.

The rest of your audience follows suit, a slim line that wanders out the doors without a second glance—spare Carmichael, who tells you he was quite taken with how you presented yourself, my dear.

You hear your own name and turn to see Rachel approaching, a burst of floral frock and swinging earrings. Her smile is wide and crooked, and you can’t help but smile back.

“That was wonderful,” she cheers, squeezing your shoulder. “I was so taken by how you spoke about the importance of linguistic quality assurance when translating emotive texts. Brilliant!”

Your face warms. “Thank you,” you shake your head quickly. “It was… thank you. That’s very kind.”

You glance over her shoulder, wondering if he’ll reappear – perhaps share her sentiments, maybe shower you with praise. He doesn’t.

She catches you looking. “Joel was in a rush,” she offers easily. “Lots of people wanting to talk to the man of the evening.”

“Of course,” you swallow thickly. Another smile.

Rachel stares at you curiously. “He’s very impressed by you, you know.” Her voice is warm, gentle—soft spoken like a mother who can sense the slightest flash of insecurity. You cringe immediately, feel your arms cross protectively across your chest. Don’t give the game away now. “Honestly, I think he read your comparative paper on the katabasis three times. Practically raved about it when I asked what it was.”

“Oh,” you blink, shifting uneasily under her gaze. “That’s… wow, I’m flattered.”

“He sees a lot of potential in you,” she says.

“Right,” you nod. “Well, he’s a grea—you’re both great teachers. I’m very lucky to be learning from the two of you.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, and you fear your face grows warmer in the silence. Can feel the slick on your palms returning, the flash of heat in your chest, the longer you sit in it. You make a quick and tumbling excuse to flee the scene, spitting a mess of thank you so much and just need some fresh air, before you’re stumbling out of the hall and wandering outside on newborn deer legs. You snag a flute of something bubbly off the bar on your way, and find yourself on a secluded bench in the breezeway behind the conference centre.

You sit there alone and watch the grass, the way the light from inside shines out across the green. Feel the chill of the wind slip past you, rustling your hair and raising goosebumps on your bare legs. Sip dry Cava and contemplate how many more of these things you can feasibly imagine attending in your career. There’s a single text from Nora on your phone, asking how the presentation went. You tuck it into your purse, leaving the message unanswered.

By the time you hear the door hinges creak, the glass is near empty. You spy a shadowy form snaking its way down the path, headed in your direction.

“Mr Keynote Speaker,” you hum. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Funny,” Joel mutters dryly, knees cracking as he falls onto the bench beside you. A heavy sigh slips from between his lips, fingers lacing together in his lap as he gazes across the breezeway. You down the last of your drink and place it on the concrete by your feet. “Needed some god damn peace and quiet. All that chit chat drives me insane.”

You murmur in agreement and stare at the side of his face – the neatened beard, the thick frame of his glasses. Purposeful or not, the side of his body is pressed against yours. Thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder – he’s sat directly in the centre of the bench. Heat radiates off his body and it’s almost too warm, and yet you find yourself relaxing against him.

“First time at one of these?” Joel asks gruffly. He’s still not looking at you, his eyes trained on a pigeon pecking at a discarded foil wrapper on the grass.

“Is it that obvious?” you grimace.

“Only because I’ve been to twenty of the damn things,” he says. “Y’learn how to smell the nervous energy comin’ off the first timers.”

“Twenty?” you mutter. Feel your stomach curl and twist at the idea of doing this day nineteen more times.

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Went to a lot during my second degree. Had to get good at talkin’, fast.”

“Ahh,” you say. “So, you weren’t always such a sweet talker then?”

He lets out a low chuckle, as if amused by the thought. “Sweet talker, huh? That what I am?”

You shrug, suddenly emboldened by him following you outside, by how close he is, by how open he seems.

“I suppose,” you say slowly.

“And what gave you that idea?”

“You here alone?” you offer a poor imitation of him, voice low and breathy with your awful take on a Southern twang. “Meet me in the bathroom.” You wink, quietly delighted by the way his lips have tightened into a flat line.

“Funny,” he says again, entirely unamused now.

Something warm shifts in your lower stomach. Something wet—a vivid memory of him on the ground behind you in the bathroom of a bar, of hands spreading you open, of his tongue pressing inside you, of The Eagles playing faintly in the background.

“You do that kind of thing often?” you ask.  

“Do what?”

“Approach young women at bars,” you wiggle your eyebrows, smirking. “Rob them of their virtue in the bathroom and then hope you never see them again.”

“You? Virtuous?” Joel rolls his eyes. You can see the corner of his lip curling upward. “Must be gettin’ yourself confused with somebody else.”  

“Maybe,” you smile.

“Sometimes,” he casts you a look, after a moment. “Not… often. And not young.”

“Younger,” you counter quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” he trails off and shakes his head. “It’s not a thing I do, alright?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t date then?”

He tilts his head at you curiously, eyes planted firmly on your face now. “Not for a long time.”

“Why not?”

“Been busy,” he grunts, clearly growing impatient by the line of questioning.  “Spent a lot of time studying. Working.”

“Where did you study?” you press.

“This twenty fuckin’ questions?” he snaps, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Came out here for—”

“You came out here,” you interrupt. “Because I came out here.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“Night classes at Texas A&M for my undergrad,” he grits out. You smile sickly sweet, pleased. “Did my postgrads part time at UT Austin,” Joel says.

Your eyebrows kick up again, the teasing pretence all but forgotten. “Sounds… unconventional?” you offer softly.

“That’s one word for it,” he agrees vaguely. “Spent the better half of a decade at school just to end up teaching at one. Ain’t that somethin’.”

“And before that?” you press.  

“Before that,” he continues with a wry grin, one full of distaste and frustration and resentment. “Was a contractor for a long time. Houses, buildings.” He rests a hand against his shoulder, fingers pressing against the muscle there, as if working out a decade old knot.

And for a moment you can see it. Can almost taste it. Collared shirts and glasses replaced with hard hats and hammers and dirt in the lines of his palms. Joel carrying a plank of wood on his shoulder, wearing a toolbelt. Joel on his knees, sweat shining on his forehead while he wields an electric drill.

Your dress feels too tight suddenly. Too warm.

“A contractor,” you say distractedly, and hope he doesn’t notice how your thighs press together.

“Mhm,” Joel nods. “With my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

He ignores that. “Where did you study?”

“San Diego State,” you flash him a grin. “Go Aztecs.”

“Good school,” he hums. “You’re a long way from California.”

Only a little further than Texas, you think.

“You did good up there,” Joel adds.  

Your smile dips and wanes into a scowl, uninterested in the change of subject.

“What?”

“It was…” you shake your head slowly, face warming as you glance down to your lap.

“What?”

“It just wasn’t what I expected.” You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your dress. “That’s all.”

“And what did you expect?”

“To be listened to,” you grunt. “Not gawked at by some ancient jerkoffs that were only there to stare at my ass when I turned to change a slide.”

Joel nods, quiet.

“I wanted it to matter,” you mutter. “Wanted to… fuck, I wanted to impress them.”

“I was impressed.”

“Oh yeah?” you snort, finally looking up. “You hightailed it out of there pretty quickly.”

Joel shakes his head and stares back at you, gaze heavy. His hands tighten into fists against his thighs, knuckles lightening to white as he squeezes. You shuffle on the seat—ignore the flare of heat that erupts where your shoulder nudges firmer against his. 

“I guess you could say,” he speaks slowly. “I’m tryin’ to keep my distance.”

You arch an eyebrow and attempt to swallow the laugh bubbling up your throat.

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” you smirk.

Joel laughs and your smile falters, mouth going slack at the sound. How rare it is, and how much rarer to have it all to yourself like this. For all of his sharp angles, his sweet talking, his harsh words, and harsher touch—that laugh is the cruellest part.  

He jostles his shoulder against yours a little. An acknowledgement; perhaps a glimpse inside. Something that says, I know, I see it, I feel it, I can’t stop either.

“You make it hard,” he says then, and his voice is soft—almost a whisper.

“How’s that?” You match his tone, as if you’re two little kids who’ve snuck outside to share secrets where no one else can hear them.

“You bein’ here,” he murmurs, eyes searching. “Startin’ to feel like you’re everywhere I turn.”

A breeze swims past and you shiver, locks of hair floating in a mess around your face until you pat them down. Joel moves almost imperceptibly, curling his side tighter against yours to shield you from the onslaught.

“I know the feeling,” you admit.

The muscle in his jaw ticks and he clears his throat, looking out across the green again. For a moment the pair of you sit in silence. Not as professor and student, but simply a man and a woman on a bench. Breathing the same air, soaking in a shared silence that only the two of you could understand. And there are so many more questions you want to ask him, so much more you feel compelled to know, but instead you settle for this—sitting on a bench together, shoulders and thighs and chests pressed side to side, two frames moulded around the welcoming shape of one another. For now.

“It gets easier,” Joel says then, jaw tense as he spares a glance back in your direction. “This stuff, these people, all the talkin’.”

You acknowledge him with a small smile, just the slightest twitch of your lip. Don’t bother saying, maybe for you. Maybe for a man.

“You know,” you suck in a breath and give him a lazy smile instead. “I think this might be the longest conversation we’ve had without ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“Mm.” He leans his head back to rest on the wall, eyes focusing up towards the sky.

“I like it,” you say quietly. Hear how vulnerability chimes in your voice – a wobble that begs to be ignored and understood all at once. “It’s nice… talking like this.”

Joel’s head tilts towards you, dark eyes locked on yours. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see that wariness in his eyes. The same wariness that poured out in flecks of brown and amber and gold in the light of your bedroom a week ago, when he told you he was fifty. A hesitant curiosity, an incessant suspicion, a bark of disbelief. You feel the desire to pluck the feeling out of him and swallow it whole. To lock it safely inside yourself and make it so he never has to feel it again.

So you lean in a press your lips against his. Painfully soft, just a whisper of two mouths slotting together. Chapped and dry from the wind, he tastes like bitter sparkling wine. You sigh into him, uncaring. Hook your ankle around his, place your hand on his thigh, and sink closer, deeper.

He pulls back an inch, mouth still hovering over yours, the tip of his nose pressed into your cheek.

“Shouldn’t do this here,” he warns quietly, eyes still closed. His breath is hot against your face, and you inhale the taste of mint and Cava and Joel.

“I know.” You grip the lapel of his blazer and kiss him again. Firmer this time, grazing your tongue along the seam of his lips until he welcomes you inside to taste behind his teeth. The frame of his glasses presses into your nose, your cheeks, and you smile into his mouth. Rough palms and lazy fingertips graze the skin of your bicep, your neck, until they find a home at the nape of your neck. His thumb presses against the hinge of your jaw, hot wet tongue working your mouth open until you’re whining, teeth nipping at his bottom lip and fingernails digging into the meat of his thigh.

Only when you move to press a hand beneath the collar of his shirt does Joel pull back again, this time to stand and take a step away from the bench. A tinge of scarlet creeps its way from the hollow of his throat to the apple of his cheeks. He clears his throat and glances over his shoulder, towards the door. When he looks back, there’s something new there. Some dangerous that flashes in his eyes and lingers when his gaze dances down the curve of your body against the seat.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, breathless.

For a minute he doesn’t answer. Simply stares, contemplating, broad chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The lenses of his glasses are fogged, and you watch them slowly clear.  

Then— “The Pendry.”

Joel reaches into his pocket and retrieves something small and laminated. You take it from his outstretched palm carefully. “Fifth floor.”

You stare at it for a moment. Turn it over in your palm once, twice. Read the room number printed on the key card before tucking it safely into your purse. When you look up again, Joel is already walking back inside.

It’s nearing midnight by the time you arrive at the Pendry – a high rise in Manhattan West, the kind with a fancy lobby and a doorman in a neat black suit. The polar opposite of the hotel where your suitcase lies unopened across the city. You feel out of place in an instant, but you’re still in your dress, and the staff don’t bat an eye at your presence. The key card he gave you is hot where your fingers curl around it, plastic damp and foggy with the sweat from your palms. By the time you reach his door you have to wipe it on your dress before the sensor will recognise it.

A hollow beep echoes through the hall, and his door presses open with a soft hiss.

The room is enveloped in darkness. Moonlight shines in through a slim gap in the curtains, highlighting vague edges of the space. A desk against the wall, a large bed on the left of the room. For a moment you consider that he isn’t here—that he got caught up at the conference, sweet talking into the midnight hour with other professors and alums. You can hear sounds from the street, music and car horns blaring, even from the fifth floor. But nothing else. No Joel.

Tentatively, you take a step inside the room. And then another. Kick your heels off and feel rough carpet hairs sift between your toes. Holding your hands out into the darkness, fingertips ghosting the wall for support, you venture further into the room, only pausing when your shin thumps against the corner of something sharp and sturdy.

You spit a surprised curse and stumble into the wall, hands falling to grip your leg where it throbs and smarts.

“Jesus fuck,” you hiss, smoothing your fingers against the already forming lump.

A lamp flicks on, and the room lurches into view, tinged in a soft yellow light. You jump, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. Bed sheets rumple and shift, and Joel is frowning at you from his place amongst the pillows, a hand raising to drowsily scratch his chin.  

“The hell are you doin’?” he rasps.

Heat flares in your face as you straighten up, mirroring his frown. He moves slow, a sluggish stretch out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and he looks almost concerned. It gives you pause for a moment, eyes unsure of where to settle, as you note just how much of his body you’ve never seen before. The soft muscles in his legs, the dark hair over tan skin. You can see the slight round of his stomach through the thin fabric of the shirt.

“Were you asleep?” you accuse.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” Joel mutters, and the sound is a fractured medley of words and yawns. You feel a dull pang of disappointment in your chest as you watch him rub sleep from the corner of his left eye.

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You gave me a key.”   

“I know,” he sighs.

“Of course I was going to come.”

He nods. Yawns again, hand snaking upward to cover his open mouth.

You turn your back on him slowly. Take a glass from the little kitchenette and let the faucet run a cool burst of water into it. Little specks of water splash up, dotting against your hand. Your feet ache from wearing those damn heels all day, but you wilfully ignore the pain, gulping down half the glass while staring at your reflection in the splashback. Blue dress, hair tucked behind your ears, charcoal smudged around the curve of your eyes.

Joel’s fingers wind around yours, peeling the glass from your clutch so he can steal the final few sips. He discards it on the counter and leans against it. You try to make out his expression in the shadowy light, wiping your water-dotted arm against your side.

“S’a good dress.” He looks more alert suddenly, eyes sharp and focused, wide shoulders squared.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t say anything about it earlier.”

“Was tryin’ not to think about it,” he says plainly. “And how badly I wanted to take it off.”

Your hand stills. That misplaced disappointment slips out of the room, an unwelcome third party, and you grin at him. A sleazy, sleepy smile, and walk backwards in the direction of the bed without taking your eyes off of him.

“So take it off,” you challenge.

Your heartbeat is a steady thrum against your breastbone as he crosses the room. Badoom, badoom, no less than three strides and he’s there, gripping your waist to turn you so his chest is against your back.

Your zip is a low whir in the air, spinning downward slowly, slowly, from the nape of your neck to the sloping base of your spine. Deft hands trace skin, grazing every mark, every freckle as they are revealed to him, until the material of your dress is a gaping smile across your back. You shiver as the air rushes to meet your bare flesh, and then careful—cautious—you feel a pair of lips press against the top of your spine, soft pink against steely vertebrae. You say his name, low and surprised, and he doesn’t say anything. Those hands push the dress down your arms, and you watch it tremble and fall, a mess of blue at your feet.

You can hear his breathing; the way it stutters and jumps as he traces the clasp of your bra, the arch of your spine beneath it.

“Take it off,” you say again, and feel a sharp scratch of desperation that perhaps this time he won’t deny you this. This something that you’ve not experienced even once, and yet you find yourself missing.

The idea of his skin against yours is something prophetic, something inevitable, something divine—something determined far before the two of you met in that bar. It’s out of your control or his, irrevocable—a beast bred from desire that claws and snaps at the bars of its cage, calling you kicking and screaming into each other’s arms.

His fingers pluck at the clasp, and you smile. Sigh in relief as your bra hits the floor and the weight of your breasts are borne to the increasingly warm air. Joel is still behind you, still not seeing you. But broad palms splay across your back, massaging and flexing into your skin as they roam your sides, your stomach, up your front to cup your breasts. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as he squeezes softly, palms warm and solid against the stiff peaks of your nipples.

“Fuck.” Joel’s nose buries itself in your hair, his forehead against the back of your head. Your legs shake, and you lean back into his chest, your body a soft and tremulous thing that would surely float away if he weren’t here to hold you up.  

His hands are on your breasts, sweet and tender and finally, and you wonder how long this wanting will feel like burning. Like nicks of flame that gloss over you and spit embers at anyone who dares to get too close—at him, sparking and sputtering as they collide in a spitfire symphony. This man who lives set ablaze in his own right. This man who welcomes your flame every time—swallows it whole, and lays kisses against the back of your neck with lips still warm.

Calloused fingers roll and circle your nipples, playing gently, listening for every gasp, every sigh, before diligently repeating whatever it was that called the sound forward. Your underwear is all but ruined, already damp and clinging to the slick skin between your thighs. And you can feel him against your lower back, albeit unmoving—not grinding against you, not pushing you down onto the bed, but waiting – for what, you can’t be sure.

You turn around faster than he can stop you. Hook fingers into the band of your panties and drag them down in a swift movement before straightening, holding his gaze all the while. And Joel—

He looks in pain. Dark eyes lock onto on your face and don’t stray. Don’t dip downward, don’t glance around the room. His hands hang by his sides, palms facing upward in a dejected fashion, jaw slack as he just—waits.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you whisper.

“You don’t….” he shakes his head. “If I look, I won’t be able to forget. And I—I can’t—”

There’s a flash of that memory again. Sweating in the dark bathroom of a bar in Portland. Joel wiping stained lipstick from your chin. The words I’m gonna remember this dripping from his swollen lips.

You take a step forward. Feel your nipples graze the soft material of his shirt. “And what if I don’t want you to forget?”

He says your name quietly, shoulders tense. But when you grip the hem of his shirt, he doesn’t stop you. Rather, he lifts his arms and lets you drag the fabric over his head. You marvel at the bare skin, eyes dancing across jutting collarbones and the soft swell of his stomach. Watch the way his chest rises and falls as stilted breaths flurry inside him before spilling into the air between you. Admire the trail of dark hair that rests between his bellybutton and the soft band of his underwear. His eyes don’t leave your face as you push the boxers down his legs.

“So handsome,” you say and Joel exhales, hands hovering a hairsbreadth from your waist. The weight of the moment hangs heavy between you. This moment of more. To be with him like this feels like more. To be naked feels like more.

You grip his hand and raise it to your breast again. Squeeze your fingers over his. His thumb flicks across your nipple and you gasp. His eyes darken, nostrils flaring as he fights to restrain himself.  

“Joel,” you whisper. “Look at me.”

Finally, he does. Those brown eyes flickering downward to rake in the sight of your body.

He’s on you in a second, mouth slanting desperately against yours while his hands drift aimlessly across skin, untethered in their access. Fingers pinching and grabbing and squeezing, teeth searing at your lips, and you gasp as his cock presses against your stomach. The long, thick weight of him, drooling and needy. Your fingers slip around him, rub softly over the underside of his head, the vein on the underside of him. Joel grips your wrist and pushes you backward a step, his lips leaving yours with a wet smack.

“Sit on the bed,” he orders firmly.

You wander backward, stumbling onto the edge of the bed when your calves collide with the heavy wooden base. He watches you, hand drifting to wrap around the base of his cock. He strokes himself gently, black eyes tracing vigilantly over every inch of your body. And you expect him to push you down, to crawl on top of you. Instead, you watch with bated breath as Joel drops to his knees in front of you. His knees crack as they bend but he ignores it, nudging your thighs apart so his broad frame can fit between them. Hooded eyes gaze between your thighs, roaming across all of the bare skin on show. Slowly, he lifts a hand and rests it gently on your mound. Calloused fingers stroke over the dark hair there, stroking through the short curls. You sigh and cant your hips up, but Joel only grunts, his free hand squeezing your thigh to hold you against the mattress.

Before you can process it, he’s leaning forward, nose nestling in your hair as his warm tongue parts your folds. You groan in unison, your fingers carding through his curls to hold him against you. He murmurs something that you don’t quite catch over the roaring in your ears, but you don’t care. Too caught up in a smooth slide of his mouth slotting against you. The flat of his tongue glides up and down your sex, smearing a mess of slick and saliva in his wake. You gasp as it flicks sharply across your clit, your jaw tensing at the harsh sensation. Joel notices—pulls back.

“Tell me,” he urges.    

“Slower,” you say quickly, voice feeble and desperate.

“Slower,” Joel repeats with a nod, and he massages your thighs as he licks into you, fingernails scraping your skin as his grip tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He traces slow circles around your clit with the flat of his tongue that have you gasping and bucking against his face. And when his tongue presses inside of you, you moan, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging.

“Fuck,” he growls into you, and he likes that. You do it again and his eyes flick open, pupils blown, gaze darting wildly across your stomach, your arms, your breasts, your face – watching, admiring, taking in every detail of the offering that you’ve laid so generously at his altar. The tip of a finger curls inside you and he grins when your thighs tense around him. He rears his head back to watch how you welcome him inside, eyes locked on the way your weeping cunt clenches and drips around one of his fingers, and then another.

“Yeah,” you sigh, nose scrunching at the slight stretch. “Yeah, like that, fuck.” 

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Christ.” And then the cut of his wet red mouth is back on you, lips parting to suck against your clit until you’re crying out, voice a hoarse shout as you speed rapidly towards your end.

“Shit, Joel,” you gasp. One of your legs kicks out straight and his hand drops from your thigh, one set of fingers working you open while the other comes up to part your lips, giving himself more access. As he lathes wet kisses against you, the coarse hairs of his beard scraping your inner thighs, you can feel it. That liquid heat that coils and stirs in the base of your stomach.

“Joel, I—ohh—I think I’m gonna come,” you whimper, hand shooting out to grip his shoulder. Your nails dig into the tense muscle there, using the leverage to rut your hips against his face.

He groans into your sex, fingers moving faster, unforgiving against that spongy spot deep inside that sets you alight. His teeth graze against your clit, the lightest brush, and your stomach is tensing, every muscle in your body locking up.

“Give it t’me,” he says gruffly. “That’s it, come on, baby.”

A choked gasp falls from your lips and then you’re coming, twitching against his face, pussy bearing down on thick fingers that stoke you through the high. Your hand leaves his shoulder to grip the back of his neck, holding his face against where you’re aching for him still. Joel moans, a low sound from deep in his chest, dragging his fingers away so he can drink down every heady drop of your orgasm.

Baby.

The word rings in your head, bouncing inside your skull, a fierce ricochet. Baby.

Trembling fingers feather across the cowlick at the crown of his head, twisting and petting soft wayward curls as his mouth pulls back, a wet drag across the skin of your hip. You catch a glimpse of his cock, heavy and throbbing between his thighs.

Joel’s teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your thigh, a sharp pinch that makes you flinch. Tired muscles tensing, face twisting up as he sucks and licks, hot tongue soothing over the stinging red mark. He breathes your name, mouthing the sound into your flesh once, twice.

“I’ve been tryna remember this,” he murmurs. “Only ever had it for a second.”

You whimper as he licks into you again, slowly. And you’re so sensitive, and maybe—maybe—it’s too much, too soon, but he doesn’t care. He grips your calf and tucks it over his shoulder. Holds it there in a vice grip.

“Wasn’t enough,” he says. Dark eyes look up and you’re rapt in them—bound and boneless simply from having those eyes on you you you nothing but you all he sees is you and he loves it, you can tell. Thrives on the way you melt beneath his rough fingertips, the wet drag of his tongue. “Remember that first day in my office?

Remember, remember, remember, how could you forget? I’m gonna remember this this this.

“Yes.” Your leg trembles against the side of face, the coarse hairs of his beard scratching your skin. The tip of his tongue lathes slow circles around your clit. A cruel, leisurely slip of flesh on flesh that has you gasping and twitching beneath his hands.

“I wanted this that day,” Joel rasps. “Needed it. But you were gone so soon, ‘n’ I couldn’t help myself.”

“What—oh fuck—” He flicks his tongue faster, hot swipes from side to side that have your thigh clamping down against the muscles in his neck. Your mind is a blur, eyebrows furrowed as you try to make sense of his words.

“Fucked my fist the second you left,” he growls. “My fingers in my mouth, the taste of you—Christ, couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Joel,” you gasp, impatient. “I—get up here. Please, just—”

Strong hands push you up, push you back, further onto the bed until your head hits the pillows. His hair is a wild fray around his head, knotted and mussed from your fingers raking through it.

“I don’t have anything,” he says.

“I don’t care,” you say.

His knees press onto the mattress on either side of you and his eyes glance down your chest before he grips your waist and he’s turning you. Your stomach meets the sheets and you move to arch your back, to tilt your hips up towards him, but a firm hand rests on the small of your back, and keeps you down.

“Like this,” you hear him say. “Trust me.”

His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel him there, knuckles brushing the flesh of your ass, spreading you apart so his cock can press inside. The pillow swallows your wet gasp, and your eyes pinch shut against the stretch as he sinks deeper and deeper. Every delicious inch splits you open wider, further, carving out that space that’s just for him, and it’s more. Your vision blurs and you clutch at the sheets, fingers tangling in linen as Joel’s breathy groans fill the air.

“God,” he grunts. “Always so fuckin’—tight.”

You cry out as he begins to move, pressing you further into the mattress. The stretch of him is so broad—so deep—it has hot tears pricking in your eyes. Your legs are straight, almost clamped together, leaving the smallest gap for him to break through. His chest melts against your back, sweet sweat sliding from skin to skin. And his stomach is soft against the base of your spine, but his teeth are sharp where they nip and smart against the skin of your shoulder, your neck. He sets a pace that has you biting down into the pillow to muffle your groans. It’s almost overbearing how good it feels, how he surrounds you. Flat against the mattress, there’s nowhere to hide from the pleasure, no way to twist or curl your body away from how good it feels. A choked moan is muffled by the pillow.

And then his fingers are in your hair, dragging your head up.

“What are you fuckin’ doin’?” he grunts. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed and mouth ajar as you take take take. He pulls your hair harder when you don’t respond, presses his chin against your shoulder, lips curling against the skin of your neck as he speaks. “Don’t do that, not here. No more hidin’, I wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

He grips your hips and drags you upward so you’re on your knees, bracing against your forearms, and then his hand snakes around the front of your body, fingers dragging between your thighs as he begins moving again.

“Oh fuck,” your eyes widen in surprise, jaw hanging slack as he rolls his finger in expert circles over your clit. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he gasps.

“Fuck,” you repeat, mewling every time one of his thrusts sends your face forward into the pillows. “Yes, oh god.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips. “That’s it, lemme hear it.”

“Joel,” you cry out, voice cracked and broken. “So good.”

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

“You’re so—deep,” you gasp.

“I know,” he soothes.

“I missed this,” you babble, mouth moving faster than your mind. “Missed you.”

“Christ,” he spits, pulling you up until you’re leaning against his chest. His fingers are a blur against your clit, cock a fast wet shift in and out in and out.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder, mouth hanging open as you press your ass back into him.

“Missed me?” Joel says, and his cheek is warm against yours. Wet. Your face is wet. “Gonna show me how much?”

“Yes,” you moan. His free hand grips your breast, squeezing and pinching.

“Need to get my fuckin’ mouth on you,” he growls.

“No,” you beg. “Joel, don’t—fuuuck, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Wanted to,” his hips stutter against you, losing momentum for a second. “Jesus, wanted to take my fuckin’ time.” You snake a hand behind his head to grip his hair again, to press his face into your neck. His mouth latches onto your skin, spit mixing with sweat where his teeth and tongue trace your roaring pulse. Your thighs are trembling, knees weak and wobbling against the mattress as he pistons into you, unrelenting, unforgiving.

“I’m—” your eyes start to roll back. You can feel your back arch and twist against him, toes curling into the sheets. “Oh my God.”

He says your name in a panicked hiss and pulls out.

You gasp at the loss, eyes flying open in alarm. He moves your body, not wasting a second as he lowers you down onto your back presses inside again, hands gripping the underside of your knees, holding them against your chest. Practically bent in half, you tremble in his grasp, eyes blurred and wet as you sob his name.

“Lemme have it,” he goads you, voice a dull vibration against your chest. “Bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, yeah, just like that.”

And it feels like something splinters within you as heat floods your senses, vision whiting out until all you can see is the soft edges of his curls against your chest, the wet smear of his tongue over your nipple. All you can hear is the words he speaks against your skin.

I’m close, he warns, and you say yes, say please, say I want it, because you do.

“Where?” You call the shots.

And you say, Inside, say, I want it, because you do.

Because you want everything. Everything he has and whatever dark matter is left after that. And everything is a naked thought, a stark realisation, a frighteningly bare streak of madness that zips down your spine and melts in your belly, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with the enormity of it. Can feel your body squeezing and sucking and holding it holding it holding it and with black eyes, spheres of a night sky’s pitch, he stares at you. Unruly eyebrows pinched tight. Mouth slick and swollen and snarling, white teeth grit like prison bars, keeping everything contained inside himself, just out of your reach.  

“Fuck,” Joel spits, pleading, desperate. “Don’t—”

But his hips are bruising against yours and you relish in the ache. The jut of bone amidst the softness of his skin, a reminder of the coldness in him, the determination, the impatience. And you know that you can only have so much softness until there is stone. But you cannot understand don’t, you never have with him, so you grind upward. Meet him thrust for thrust, and shiver in delight as a tortured expression passes over his face. And when you come again he curses, broad palms bearing down on you, holding your frame into the mattress as he pushes you through it, prolonging that naked thought, that fearsome idea. You only hope that he cannot see how your own everything spills. How it cools and congeals around him with its palms spread open, longing to receive as much in return.

Joel comes with a shout, hips dragging backwards so his spend can spill across your stomach and the puffy lips of your sex. He grips his cock, milking himself for all he’s worth until wet ropes of his come are smeared across your thighs too. You gasp and writhe against the bed, trying in vain to keep your heavy eyelids open, not wanting to miss a second. The shine of your slick on his thighs and lower stomach is clear in the dim lighting, and you smile at the sight of it – your claim on him. Chest heaving, he follows your gaze, fingers swiping across his skin before sinking into his mouth. He groans around his fingers and you stomach lurches as he lowers his chest to the bed, mouth drifting between your splayed thighs.

You cup his jaw and hold him still.  

“I can’t,” you murmur, and your voice is cracked and broken. “S’too much.”

And he agrees, tracing the marks on the inside of your thighs with his mouth until your eyes drift closed.

Time passes slowly after that. You don’t open your eyes for a while. Too fucked out, too tired, too tender.

There’s a warm glide of something soft and wet over your stomach, your thighs, between your legs—Joel cleaning up his mess. You almost wish he wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” you mumble a few minutes later. “I’ll go in a second.” But your eyes are closed, and the sheets smell like him.

You feel the mattress dip beside you. Hear a soft click as he turns off the lamp, and darkness swells around you once more.

“S’okay,” he says, and his voice is so close, as if he were whispering against the shell of your ear, breathing the words into you. “Don’t have to go.”

And it makes sense not to go. To stay, to stay, to stay. To sink deeper into the hotel mattress, and let the sounds of his heavy exhales lull you further to sleep. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t come any closer. But you can smell him. Can feel his warmth, a radiating sun that shines across the side of your body closest, and you sink deeper still.

You think of the katabasis - the hero’s journey spiralling down into the underworld. Of Orpheus seeking the safe return of Eurydice, his love lost too soon. Of Odysseus, guided by Circe to discover Teiresias on his quest for homecoming. Of Aeneid, venturing downward to meet his father and hear his true destiny. This descent into the afterlife, into the realm of the dead, wherein upon return our hero is irrevocably changed. But to stay, to stay, to stay. So warm it is here, you think, so lovely and warm to descend wholly into this wanting, this burning, this everything.   

“Is this a good idea?” you murmur, voice a drowsy call into the darkness. “For me to stay?”

Joel doesn’t respond.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @bbyanarchist @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @@lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 @psychedelic-ink @what-is-your-wish @sugadolly @elissaaa @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul

thank you for reading! x

[mangosrar]

call it what you want pt 6.

matt sturniolo x fem reader.

mom i literally need him 😇😇😇😇😇😇😇

game day. game day. game day.

the day in tradition where the whole school gathers to watch a game of sports, played by a group of cocky, stuck up, shit eating jocks. aka: matt sturniolo.

-

“you have to wear it y/n!” he yelled.

“i don’t have to do shit! im not your fucking trophy, and i don’t want to be paraded around in your fucking jersey, just so everyone knows you’re not with jessica, i won’t do it.” you yelled back. crossing your arms, holding firm as you watched him pace the living room, hands on his head.

this argument had been going on for the last 10 minutes. he wanted you to wear his jersey, and you refused. you knew the only reason he wanted you to wear it was so he could advertise you instead of jessica, and you weren’t going to let him have that type of satisfaction.

“if you don’t wear the damn jersey y/n,” he paused before stomping over to you and coming to a halt less than a foot away from you. “i will drag you onto the middle of the rink,

in front of everyone and tell the whole school your mine, just to get the message across.” he said in a low tone, he was so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

quite frankly, you were speechless, there was something about what he said, and the look in his eyes when he said it, that you couldn’t decipher and it made your face hot, and your throat run dry.

there was a pregnant pause, the both of you just staring at each other, faces inches apart. matt was seething, his jaw was clenched and his eyes staring into yours were firm, but you couldn’t deny the low bubbling feeling in your stomach, from the way he took a small step closer, leaning down and bringing his face closer to yours. you swallowed, desperately trying to pull yourself together, but his face being so close to yours was making you swoon.

and just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, his eyes glanced down to your lips momentarily, and if you didn’t know any better, he was about to kiss you.

“we’re gonna be late”

the both of you pulled away from each other immediately. not daring to look at one another.

matt practically disappeared up his own ass, walking off into the kitchen with his head down without a second glance, and you cleared your throat awkwardly while turning to look at nick, who stood at the bottom of the stairs, with a flat expression.

“we were just um…” you trailed off, looking back into the kitchen, trying to avoid his eyes at all costs.

“put on the jersey y/n” nick said with a monotone voice.

there was no getting out of this. you just sighed before reaching for the jersey that was hanging over the back of the couch, and pulling it over your head, finally looking at nick with a frown. he didn’t even say anything. he just sent you a firm nod, opening the door and motioning for you to walk out before yelling for chris and matt to meet them in the car.

-

“why are they playing so bad?” nick exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

the game was about 35 minutes in, and so far the opposite team was up by 5 nil. they had gotten 2 penalties so far because of matts team playing dirty, or in other words, matt gets pissed off and starts pushing them around.

you could see he was visibly frustrated. he kept doing that neck roll thing, like he was trying to relieve some tension.

but where else could you look when elijah had been shooting daggers at you, from the moment you appeared in the sidelines, clad in matt sturniolo’s jersey with a huge 4 stamped on the front and back, a stark contrast from elijahs number 9. you knew he must have been furious, but it only made you wanna grab matt and smooch his face off right in front of him, just to see the look of pure rage on elijahs face. you obviously never would but, a girl can dream.

suddenly the whole crowd gasped and fell into silence, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“shit” nick muttered. you followed his eyes and saw matt, pulling off his helmet, skating towards the edge of the rink, where you and nick stood.

you examined him as he came towards you, trying to figure out what the whole crowd was stunned by.

“what happened?” nick questioned, frantically.

“kid sent the puck flying straight at my fucking face” matt replied angrily, dropping his helmet, bringing a hand to his mouth, wiping a smidge of blood, where his lip had split.

your face scrunched up slightly. but soon fell when matt turned his gaze of you, pausing for a moment, like he was thinking, before he moved closer, letting his arms rest on the barrier separating the rink and the stands.

you watched him, waiting for his next move. you could’ve swore you saw a lightbulb pop up over his head, as a smirk grew on his face.

he turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder, seeing the whole of his team, and the other team, watching, before turning back, glancing behind you, at the whole audience in a stand still, also watching, then letting his eyes fall back to yours.

“kiss it better” he whispered.

you’re eyes widened at him.

“what?”

“all eyes on you sweetheart” he cooed, shrugging with raised eyebrows.

all eyes on you.

elijah.

jessica.

caden.

all eyes on you.

you had no time to even register what was happening, it was like your body moved before your brain told it to, and before you knew it, your hands were clutching at his shirt, pulling his lips onto yours, in a searing kiss. his lips were soft, and fit perfectly into yours.

you heard nick gasp from besides you as the whole crowd erupted into applaud. matt smiled against your mouth before pulling away, eyes boring into yours before opening his mouth to speak.

“almost convincing” he muttered, before turning around and skating off back to the middle of the rink, to the rest of his team, leaving you stood there in utter disbelief.

you kissed matt. you kissed matt and the whole school saw.

but you kissed matt and the whole school saw. he got exactly what he wanted, he got to put his trophy on display, and show everyone that he wasn’t with jessica. that’s why he did it, and you weren’t sure if it was because of that reason, or because you wished it wasn’t that reason, that you felt a little pang of sadness deep in your chest.

“what. the. fuck” nick spoke, staring at the side of your face with wide eyes. you just hung your head refusing to meet his gaze.

he was right. what. the fuck.

you just completely went against everything you agreed on and let matt get exactly what he wanted and a little part of you felt disgusted with yourself.

you could feel eyes burning holes burning into the back of you. out of pure fear, of either jessica or caden, you couldn’t turn around, you were not prepared for the blazing confrontation from either one of them.

you lifted your head back up and locked eyes with matt, he was smirking at you as his teammates clapped him on the back and dapped him up, as if they were proud of him and the more you watched, the more all of that disgust turned into complete fury.

how dare he. how dare he embarrass you and put you on the spot like that. he was just proving your point of what a jerk he was and giving you even more reasons to hate the fucking bones of him.

he was hot and cold. one minute, he was calling you ugly and being straight up fucking mean, then the next he was kissing you in front of everyone like it was nothing. he had been pulling you in just to push you back out again and it had only been one week. one week of pure insufferable tension that made you want to yell in his face and slap him blind.

he knew you never wanted to take this too far, this was supposed to be a harmless agreement to fulfil a jealousy plan, and a stupid “piss off your parents” plan, but he had crossed the line. he had grabbed you by the throat and sunk his teeth into you without a care in the world.

you were furious. your face was hot with rage and you’re breathing became laboured. you weren’t sure if you had ever felt rage like this before.

nick needed to hear this. he needed to know what a head fuck his brother was, but as you turned to him, you were met with a look of pure horror on his face. he was staring at whatever was happening on the ice.

in your moment of anger you hadn’t realised the commotion going on around you, people were yelling, whistles being blown, various coaches and other team members rushing onto the ice in a panic.

and when your eyes snapped to where everyone was looking, your face fell, with eyes wide and mouth hanging open, your heart stopped beating for a second.

————————————-——————————————

lmk what y’all think is coming😏😏😏

taglist: @sturnsatlantic @biplrbitch @valerieburkens @ukyios @eyelessdemon00 @iheart2021chris @hearts4chris @leah-loves-lilies @whicked-hazlatwhore @lexihowardsgf @1201pm-blog @chrislover911 @yourmom-123456789 @x4nd3rsukz @ilovechrissturnioloposts @mattnchrisworld @leoloveeeee @jazab3lla @martyniukpl @sturnbaby @knowingnothingnoel @ilovemattstromboli @obsessedwithyou @dragonstoneshortcake @breeloveschris @biinthisbitch13 @skyteller143 @innocentfsin @mattswifue @thatcrazybitch-69 @ihateeveryone357474 @shmophsturniolo @sturns-posts @mattsturnzzz09 @sturnisposts @jenna0rtegaswife @jeffbuckleylvr27 @katelynmeier14 @sara2233445 @alexb25598 @sturniolos4lifee @st7rnioloss @kasiaslayuje @christinarowie332 @biimpanicking @savageking3 @mattybsbitch @honestlybabymiracle

if u wanna be added to the taglist comment on this❤️‍🩹

[thesassypadawan]

Puck Slut 1 (Hayden x FemReader)

Summary: It’s yours and Hayden’s favorite time of the nhl season, when your teams faceoff against one another.  The usual bet is in place, loser wears the winner’s team shirt and makes breakfast tomorrow.  This time though there’s the new, more interesting twist of…fun and cum.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because there sooo much of the smut.  Hockey, cockwarming, and Hayden’s big dick.

Notes: Hope you lovelies also enjoy Puck Slut .5, Puck Slut 2, and Puck Slut 3.5!

Also, if you can figure out what team the Leafs played (because this was a real game)…then you are my hero and you now know my favorite team.  I’ll give you all some hints.  The Leafs played them in December and that really was the final score....7-0. 

*Pregame*

- First of all, no hockey game would be complete without a tray of delicious snacks and some cold drinks. Especially one filled with all of Hay’s faves.

- “Aw, babe, you’re too good to me.” He would say all cutely, while popping a salty treat into his mouth.

- “Figured it would help cushion the blow when the Leafs lose.” You’d tease, turning his hat backwards…because he looks so damn good with it like that.

- Gives your butt a playful smack. “Oh, yeah, we’ll see who’s wearing the winning team’s shirt and making breakfast tomorrow.”

- Grabbing something tasty yourself, you’d oh so gracefully plop down on the couch beside him. “Speaking of, I’d like pancakes with some bacon.”

- You bet Hayden’s going to snatch that real quick from your hand for that snippy comment. Rude.

- But then he’d be all sweet and smooth, kissing your cheek and pulling you into his lap…your favorite seat to watch the game in. “So…care to make this game more interesting?”

- Besides getting to have his famous choco ‘cakes and seeing him parade around in your t-shirt (more like a crop top on Hay)…. All right, you’ll bite. “What did you have in mind?”

*Game Time*

- Normally you’d really be into the game. Cheering, hollering, cursing, the whole nine yards. But it’s kind of difficult to do so when your team hadn’t scored a single goal and…you were being split open by Hayden’s massive cock.

- You weren’t allowed to move or even try to soothe that burning ache deep inside of you. That was the rules, he said. Only when your team scored where you able to have some “fun and cum”.

- The third period had just started with the Leafs up by five and you had figured by now Hay would have ‘funned and cummed’ that many times. Nope, not that case.

- Sure, he would rock his hips slowly back and forth. Occasionally buck upwards, lazily thrusting even deeper inside your pussy whenever the siren sounded. But that’s as far as it went.

- You would wiggle and whimper. Begging Hayden to stop teasing as your walls fluttered desperately around him. “Please, Hay. Pretty please.”

- He’d just wrap his arm around your waist and hold you tightly against his chest. Making small talk about the game and feeding you snacks. Acting like nothing was wrong, like you weren’t drenching the base of his cock and sweats.

*Postgame*

- At last the final buzzer rang and the game ended, not before the Leafs scored another two goals.

- You’d sit there, shifting your hips impatiently and pouting up at him. “Come on, Haaay.”

- Hayden would flash you that panty dropping smile, he loves hearing you say his name like that…all needy and desperate. His big hands rub your sides soothingly, cooing in your ear. “What is it, angel? You want me to fuck you?”

- Nodding weakly, you’d squeeze around his cock and mewl. “Please, can’t last any longer.”

- His hands trail down to your hips. Giving them a firm squeeze, Hay would growl. “This is where the fun begins.”

- You were soooo making fun of him later for that. Right now though, all you could focus on was the way he slid you up and down his length quickly. Hitting that one spot inside you perfectly, making you see stars.

- Bouncing you effortlessly on his lap, with you crying out his name over and over again. Hayden’s grip would tighten as his pace becomes harsh. “That’s it, let everyone know who fucks you this good.”

- Your legs give out as the dam inside you finally breaks, clenching around his fat cock hard.

- Hay keeps up his relentless pace through your climax. Coming undone with a heavy groan. Hips faltering as he shot hot ropes of cum into your needy pussy.

- Laying your head against his shoulder, your hand tangling in his curls. The two of you took a moment to catch your breath.

- Once the feeling returns to your legs, you move to stand up. But Hayden’s arms tighten around you once more. “Where you going, puck slut? I only got to fun and cum once…and the Leafs scored seven goals.”

- Your cunt clenches around him and you let a small whine. It’s going to be a long postgame.

*Post Postgame*

- You don’t know how, but you were actually not only able to stand…you were also able to walk the next morning.

- So there you were, hovering over the stove. Busily making Hay’s victory breakfast, while wearing his very oversized Leafs shirt.

- Hayden comes up behind, wearing only his Leafs boxers. He presses against you, one hand resting on your hip and the other snaking under your shirt to give your breast a quick squeeze. “You know, my little puck slut, we play against each other again in April.”

- You shiver at his touch and from anticipation, a wicked smile spreading across your face. “Look forward to it…because that’s where the fun begins.”

- You got a hard pinch for that…worth it.

[angie-likes-to-art]

Fic Recs (Stranger Things Edition VI)

All fics are fem!reader

Marvel One Two Three Harry Potter One Two Three Stranger Things One Two Three Four Five Specific Characters Tangerine Masterlist

Bad For Business (Series, Completed) by @upsidedownwithsteve (18+ Only)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “An enemies to lovers AU. Join the team at the Upside Down Arcade, where the machines eat your quarters and the staff have some personal issues.”

hey. (Series, Completed) by @stevesharrlngtons

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “he was such a staple piece in your life, that as a child and young teen, you never saw your life without him. late night promises and pinky swears were made in blanket forts that you two would be friends until the day the sun burned out in the sky. it was just a given that’d he be there, that you never worried about the two of you drifting apart or being separated. he promised he’d always be there, and you had believed him. you now corrected yourself, foolishly believed him.”

Disappointed Revalations by @ahsokaismyqueen

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader Summary: “ After working on a school project together, you had actually started to believe that there was more to Steve Harrington than meets the eye. All of that changes after an interaction with Jonathan Byers.”

Indifferent by @stevesherdaddynowlover (18+ Only)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “you and steve are coworkers and while you try (and fail) to act like he doesn’t exist, he’s a little obsessed with you and would do anything to have your attention ”

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACCIÓN by @eddiesghxst (18+ Only)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Pornstar!Reader Summary: “eddie is short on rent this month and needs quick cash, luckily he stumbles upon an ad for casting in an adult film and finds himself shooting a porno with you”

Noisy Neighbors by @eddiesxangel (18+ Only)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader’s Girlfriend x Reader Summary: “Eddie has no idea what he’s getting into with the two new girls next door.”

Absolutly Smitten by @starryeyedstories

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “ There’s a new crew member at Scoops Ahoy and Steve might have a crush.”

the swindling of steve harrington’s heart by @stevebabey

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “you write for the advice column in the hawkins post, under the pen name gabby. you get a letter asking for advice about a first date and there’s no way it’s the same guy you’ve just landed a first date with, right? steve harrington doesn’t need help with his dates… right?”

That Guy by @appocalipse

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “After he's been to yet another failed date with yet another random pretty girl, Steve Harrington, your best friend, stops by at the diner your family owns for a late-night chat, same as he'd done a thousand times before. Steve is totally unaware of how much he's hurting you with his endless parade of dates, because after all — the two of you are only friends and nothing more, right? It's not like you have any secret feelings for him…”

Eyes Half Shut by @crappymixtape

Pairing: Steve Harrington  x Reader Summary: “hawkins high alumni always run the end of year carnival to help raise funds for the school and steve is always in charge of the alumni basketball game, but this year they’re trying out a kissing booth and who better to headline than steve harrington?”

[chimivx]

home;run -> fem!reader x mlb!mingyu, mlb!vernon, mlb!dk

College didn't work out, so you're stuck with the next best thing. Living with your superstar brother, traveling with his championship winning team, haunted by your past and heavily influenced by your present.

wc; {part two} 5.6k warnings; 18+, sexual content, alcohol consumption/abuse, bad influences around her, manipulation, her name gets taken advantage of in public media, if i missed anything please let me know!! notes; hi, i am posting & feeling shy. please enjoy. <3 dusting off my fingers for this one, i am still not feeling 100%, thank you everyone for your kind words & messages. peese n lurv. <3

Weeks ago your brother decided this Mingyu thing was good, but only in theory. Parading around with him, hanging out with him, going to bars with him, hooking up with him… All of it actually happening, not good.

DK would prefer you to have these rendezvous with someone who didn’t try to drink his body weight in liquor each time the first can hit his hand, but alas, you were brought home safe every time, so who was he to complain or pick and choose who you can and can’t hang out with.

After their first few seasons together it was clear the two had different outlooks on life, neither of them really in the wrong with how they chose to go about their time, but they didn’t match. They clashed. Your brother, after spending time educating himself on his fathers history and evidently learning that baseball wasn’t the only thing he played, he took a different approach to dating, to women. He was a proper gentleman, DK was, never using his status to acquire a girlfriend with status or money or a title, he searched for love.

A star studded, best pitcher in baseball shouldn’t have had his heart broken as many times as his had been, he should’ve been the one breaking hearts. The girls wanted his money, and they only liked him because he played baseball. His status, his money, his title. All the things he didn’t necessarily want, but had been blessed with. 

He was a good man, and he was always right, but you’d never admit that to his face. Especially after that night, after a weekend of staying at Mingyu’s. DK had sat you down, he spoke for many minutes, many dragging minutes, a monologue full of ‘Wouldn’t you prefer to do something else?’ and ‘Have your friends from Nasara come out to stay with us sometime, maybe you all can spend time in the city together.’ He never said the words, “Don’t date Mingyu,” but you know he despised the idea.

Deep down you despised it too. 

The hunk of golden muscle with a voice so pretty and persuading, he wanted to be your boyfriend. Mingyu’s asked a few times before, letting it become your decision, always telling you he’d wait for you, and that you were his no matter what, that he was here for you, he wanted to take care of you, he wanted to love you. He’d keep his word, you knew he would. It was Mingyu, he kept his promises, he spoke with utmost intent, he didn’t say shit just to say it, nor was he using it to coerce you into his sheets. That you did on your own.

His curly hair, his sappy brown eyes, you’d drown it in, in him, suffocate yourself with Mingyu, all of him until the guilt wallowing in your gut was gone. With each passing day it grew smaller. After each night with Mingyu it was easier to deal with. Like last night, like this entire trip would be.

Arriving in Haos, in the warm air that breezed over your skin like a dream when you stepped out of the airport hand in hand with Mingyu sending cameras flashing away, you finally felt like you could breathe. Away from Iloa, away from the restraints the city put on you, really your brother, this trip felt like freedom. Haos has always been a place you’ve thrived since you were a little girl, traveling back and forth on a jet with your parents and DK, vacationing for months throughout the summer, laying on these beaches until your skin couldn’t take it any longer. The air was different here, it excited you.

It invited you to dance in it, to get lost in it like you did Mingyu.

And that’s just what you did.

Waking up to sunshine peeking through the heavy grey curtains of the hotel room, washing over you where you laid in the king sized bed buried in white sheets and blankets, you didn’t even want to open your eyes. Pressing your hands to your forehead first, rolling onto your back, the ache squeezing your brain threatened your stomach, but you wouldn’t allow it to go any further. Taking a slow, calculated deep breath you lay your arms beside you and stretch, your limbs barely reaching the edges of the mattress. Muscles sore, body tired, you blinked open your eyes and scolded the light with a groan.

Moving beneath the covers, the soft sheets caressing your bare skin, you tugged them off and took your time sitting up. The weight in your head shifted, almost sending you forward. Clamping your hands to your knees, still blinking fervently in the bright sunshine, you find clothes scattered about the floor, your bell bottom jeans inside out and slung over a dresser across the room from you.

You weren’t sure whose room you were in, but the denim jacket, Nike luggage, and custom sneakers let you know where you were. Dragging a hand through your hair, the blow dry still bouncing even though your jaw ached, you took another breath and made your way out of his bed.

These headlines were gonna be good.

You scrolled, and scrolled. Instagram, Twitter, all the accounts that reported on you, that reported on Mingyu, you scrolled, and you read. Wandering out of bed, you scrolled, sitting on the toilet, you scrolled, brushing your teeth, you scrolled. The photos were cute, Mingyu’s arm either around your back or shoulders, unless his hand was wrapped around your neck or squeezing your ass. More often than not your lips were locked, the two of you ‘unable to get enough’ as one drama influencer said on her story.

You’ve been here one night and have already achieved what you came here to do.

There was a certain rush accompanied by seeing your name in posts, in headlines, coming out of peoples mouths. Everyone had their thing, everyone in your life, they had their thing. This was yours, and people were catching on. After each blow up of news, of rumors, of new photos, your follower count grew.

But where there were fun people talking about you, doing their makeup in their ‘Get Ready With Me and Chit Chat About Moon Isla…’ videos and TikToks, there were the assholes, mostly men, who spewed their worthless thoughts. That’s what DK would say. Mingyu had started saying it too, that those kinds of people had nothing better to do with their lives.

It didn’t mean their words didn’t hurt.

“I mean, she’s sloppy, she’s drinking all the time, and he’s there to carry her around,” a man with a microphone in his face and big headphones on around his head spoke from your phone. Dressed now, having read an article that informed you that you bought the entire bar shots of tequila, you attempted to liven up your face in the mirror that stretched across the bathroom wall. “His team is in Haos to train. To practice. To begin their season to take back their trophy, and this bitch is with them, dragging Kim all along Festa Street.” Slicking clear gloss over your lips, you narrowed your eyes and glared at the man on the screen.

Fair skinned, bald, with a bush on his face and all around his jaw. He had that nagging sort of voice, one that tugged on your eardrums and stabbed them thousands and thousands of times with tiny needles filling you with rage.

“Photos came out right away when the team got there, you know,” the man said, and his partner, another bald man with a Lions hat on, hummed in agreement. “Not a smile on his face. Sunglasses on, gear on his back, his hat tugged over his forehead. Now what do you think that means?”

“He’s hungover,” the partner said. The man threw his hands out to the side and cackled.

“Thank you, he’s hungover, and he has to play today.” You scoffed and snatched your phone off the counter. “They’re lucky the new first-”

“Shut up,” you groaned, swiping away to another video. A girl with long, waist length braids in her hair, each one entwined with a fun color was smiling to the camera.

“Guys,” she finally whispered after a second of staring. A giggle corrupted her, sending her face down into her pillows. The camera shook, then she picked her head back up and widened her eyes for a few seconds. “How do I become her?” She slapped a hand over her mouth, then giggled maniacally again. “How do I- Wait, hang on.” 

The camera cut and a picture showed up behind her. Your cheeks warmed. Mingyu had you pressed to a pillar in one of the bars you were in, the name unknown to you. His hands were in the back pockets of your jeans and his forehead was pressed to yours. The way he smiled down at you, god. The picture was a little blurry, a little grainy, but damn. He wasn’t looking at you like you were his dinner. Hearts engulfed his irises.

“Guys?!” The girl shrieked and you jumped, forgetting she was here. “Kim Mingyu, save me! Look at this, do you see this, are we all okay after this…” She rambled more nonsense, and you’re certain the thousands of comments were agreeing with her. On every video of girls like this the comments were full of more girls saying the same exact thing.

You dared, and you clicked.

‘how does she not die when he looks like that’

‘LORD WHEN IS IT MY TURRRRRRN’

‘Shes so lucky waht the actual fuck guys its not fair.’

‘how are they NOT DATING’

How are they not dating? How are you not dating Mingyu? How could you look at a photo like this one, all of it screaming that he loved you, how could you see this, witness this, live this, and not date him? Not want to date him?

Locking your phone, tossing it to the counter, you returned to your makeup and put on fresh mascara, not that anyone was going to see it.

Venturing out into the room, side stepping articles of clothing, you pulled on one of Mingyu's grey Lions tee’s and wiggled back into the jeans you wore last night. Your luggage was elsewhere. DK would tell you where it ended up, he’d tell you where you were staying. You haven’t seen him since you left the airport, you were not looking forward to the lecture you’d get when you met him at the field.

Sliding thick black sunglasses onto your nose, making sure your hair framed your face, you spritzed some of Mingyu’s cologne onto your neck, dropped your things into your little purse, slid into your shoes, and left his room behind.

The team was gone, they’d been out on the field for two hours already. Nearing eleven o’clock you weren’t sure who else would be left behind here at the hotel, hopefully someone you’d catch a ride with, but to your demise as you wandered the halls and rode the elevator down to the lobby, your least favorite people were here.

The WAGs.

A piercing cry echoed through the air and the glass ceiling of the lobby.

The WAGs and their children.

To the right of the main lobby, the carpeted area where large leather couches and a fireplace lived, fabulous heads of hair sat around or stood with their babies in their arms. Tight jeans, fun Lions themed jackets, the whole thing screamed WAGs and it made you want to gag. 

Then you remembered what shirt you put on and kept your thoughts to yourself.

Already regretting approaching them, you took yourself toward the couches and attempted to smile at them. In an instant their chatter quieted, their attention turned to you, and they broke out in cheesy greetings. There were only a few faces you recognized.

Seungcheols wife, Talia, who was very pregnant, had their son Tao on her hip where she stood in front of the couches. Luscious blonde hair flowing toward her waist, her full face of makeup smiled back at you. She was one of the few you actually trusted. Gesturing toward her knee high wedged boots, you shot her a thumbs up. From what you know she was weeks from popping out kid number two, so how she was walking around in those boots, props to her.

On the couch directly in front of you rocking her crying baby sat Daya, a brunette with macchiato colored skin married to the Lions second basemen, Soonyoung, or Hoshi, as the city of Iloa called him. They haven’t been married long, but their baby girl, Tora, was six months old. Hoshi was one of the reasons the team started to crumble last season. Between Daya and his new daughter, the family fought the narrative the entire off season. 

Daya sat beside Halle, a woman with curly black hair hanging at her shoulders and the smoothest dark chocolate complexion. She bounced a baby in her arms, her and her husband, Minghao, their eight month old, Sunday. Another daughter born into the Lions family, one toward the beginning of the season, the family just missing the reason for crumble rumors.

The two were best friends, Daya and Halle, just as were Hoshi and Minghao. With their chins turned up at you and their seemingly judging eyes studying what you wore and how you wore it, they smiled and shared a look.

“Isla you’re so fun,” Talia said with a shake of her head. 

Daya laughed under her breath. “She’ll be one of us soon,” she grumbled, and Halle laughed with her.

“Leave the girl be,” Jihyo spoke up as she passed by the couches, wandering behind her and Junhui’s four year old son, Jisoo. Jun belonged to the Lions long before DK had ever been traded, he was a veteran in Iloa. He and his wife, a couple of high school sweethearts, welcomed you back time and time again, treating you no differently, as if no time had ever passed. Just seeing her face was relief enough.

“Hey,” you half whispered, reaching out for her. She took your hand and squeezed it, the smile lines on her cheeks accenting her stunning smile. Talia watched your hands meet, then watched the interaction, adjusting her baby on her hip. “It’s so nice to see you.”

Jihyo tossed her dark brown hair over the shoulder of her leather jacket. “It’s so much nicer seeing you. Don’t let these girls be mean to you,” she shot Daye and Halle a glare and the two turned toward one another, “She’s a baby, she’s not having any anytime soon.” Smiling back at you, she squeezed your hand once more before returning to her motherly duties. “You came down just in time, they’re picking us up any minute now.”

“How are things with Mingyu?” Daya asked, giving you another once over. “You guys conjure quite the crowd.” You didn’t like the way her eyes felt.

Shrugging, you pursed your lips and said, “Things are great. Why?”

She and Halle spoke to one another again with their eyes, then Minghao’s wife looked up at you. “Why aren’t things official, Isla?” 

Because if things become official then you end up on the couch here with these women and their babies, maybe even with a few of your own. You become a WAG, your entire identity succumbed down into just being someone's wife, someone's mother. You’d be an extension of him, of Mingyu, it’s what he wanted you to be even if he’s never explicitly said it.

But, he has.

You’re his. You’re his whether the label is there or not.

The label.

More of their questions bounced back and forth between them. ‘Has he not asked?’ ‘You have to do something, Isla, you can’t just be his pet.’ ‘I mean, what does it look like, you traveling with him to do what, party and sleep together?’ ‘We’ve seen the photos, everyone has, you guys have something-’

“It is official,” you said with a sureness that shut them up.

The words were set in stone before you had a chance to take them back. The chatter of the wives and girlfriends in the lobby filled the air and did nothing to ease the anxiety around the next news story you just created for yourself. For Mingyu. For your brother.

Exactly what he didn’t want.

Taking a deep breath, you thought to yourself, oh well.

You’d be a different type of WAG, you’d change what it meant. You would not end up here wedged between Daya and Halle, two women unable to calm their fussy babies.

Halle smirked, shaking her curls a bit. “What do you mean it is?”

Narrowing your eyes that she couldn’t see at her, you tilted your head. “He’s my boyfriend. I’m his girlfriend. How much more official can it get? You want proof? Wanna see the pictures he took of us while he was in me last night?”

Daya threw her head backward with a holler of a laugh. Halle’s own jaw fell open, a scoff falling from it. Talia, eyes analyzing still, she started to smile. 

“No, you keep those to yourself,” Halle said.

Daya chimed in, “If you have any of just Mingyu let us know, though.”

Your heart would’ve shot out your chest if you weren’t so hungover. “I would,” you sighed, then started toward the doors of the hotel, “But, he’s mine!”

First one to get to the cars, recognizing your brother's driver, you beelined for the SUV and demanded he pull away and get you to the stadium before any other women could try to get into the car with you. Barely five minutes away from the hotel and twenty from the stadium, your phone buzzed from your purse, and then it buzzed again, and again. Pulling it out you sighed at the notifications polluting your screen, but weren’t surprised in the slightest.

Someone got their check.

‘BREAKING NEWS: The Lions Princess confirms her relationship with…’

It was too long to read across the screen.

‘Moon Isla and Kim Mingyu CONFIRMED!’

‘IT’S OFFICIAL!’

No matter who it was, no matter who sold the story or leaked it, you didn’t have time to feel bad for them, nor yourself. You were well off and doing better for yourself without the need to leak info to the press for a paycheck. You have a DK, and now you have a boyfriend, who doesn’t know he’s your boyfriend yet, but is about to find out he is your boyfriend and probably already did. 

Now you had to tell him in person.

And you had to swear to yourself that you were not going to become one of the WAGs.

As easy as it would be to just hand your whole life over to somebody, to follow them around, to have them take care of you for as long as they saw fit… It wasn’t you.

And it wasn’t going to be you.

The stadium in Haos couldn’t compare to the one in Iloa. Smaller, less sparkly and flashy, positioned directly in the sun, this stadium was lucky the Lions continued to come here to train for a month and a half. The tickets they sold within February and March were probably enough to fund the rest of the year for this company. 

To the Lions it was home away from home. A field to play on, a place to stay. Players like your brother saw it that way, he and a few others like Junhui, they had an appreciation for it. As long as they were throwing a baseball, running the bases, rolling in the grass, they were happy. You had few memories of this place, one of them being finally kissing Mingyu for the first time when you were eighteen and in Haos with your family for a weekend to watch the Lions play a series here. It was something short and sweet but all the more delicious. 

It was sneaky, in a hallway away from celebrations and cameras. The two of you had spent nearly the entire weekend together, talking, re-getting to know one another like most of the time like this was spent. He only kissed you after a dinner with the team, after a few drinks downed by the both of you, his liquid courage hands dancing along your neck gently before they took your cheeks and pulled you into him.

You started at Nasara that fall, though you longed to go back to that weekend every damn day of that grueling first semester. With little to no contact between you and Mingyu, it was easy to slip away from him, and you did so without even realizing it. There came a point in time where he wasn’t even a second thought, a side thought, a thought way in the back of your brain, he was just… gone.

Coming here, spending time at the stadium with the team you hoped that feeling would come back. That first feeling. The way nerves below your skin buzzed as he touched you, as he smiled at you and tipped his chin closer, whispering to you how he hopes no one turns the corner. His soft lips, his strong hands, his chiseled body you simply melted into… Everything about it screamed perfect.

Strutting over the concrete, a coffee acquired in your hand, sun blazing on your back, coaches, security, and other WAGs standing around eyeing you or trying to say hello, you ignored them and kept your head on straight, knowing he was at the end of this pathway. The stands of seats towered over your head, casting shadows onto the pavement, leading you toward the fence you so easily walked around with no one to stop you. Your feet quieted as the grass began, shade covering the green so lush you almost felt bad you were flattening it beneath your shoes.

The boys weren’t actively playing at the moment, the most activity happening that you could see was that of your brother and the Lions catcher Jihoon, or Woozi, stretching in the outfield together in their sponsored Under Armour get ups. Everyone else was wandering the dirt, chatting it up along the dugout, or checking out their gear. Few players stood in their positions from what you could see, everyone's backs to you as you approached the third base line.

“Isla!” His voice brought an instant smile to your face. He was heard before he was seen, scanning the different figures around you, you finally found him hurrying toward you, a big, goofy smile on his cheeks. Completely different than how those men on that podcast were describing him. 

A little bit sweaty, Mingyu wore a cut off Lions tank and matching black shorts, swapping his custom sneakers for a pair of old cleats that supposedly brought him luck while they trained. It wasn’t Spring Training if he didn’t have them on, no one would catch him jinxing the season before it even started. Some of his curls clung to his forehead, his skin aglow beneath the beating Haos sun.

“Change your mind, or something?” The way he scrunched his nose made you giggle. “Heard we’re dating now?” He made it in front of you finally, resting his hands on his hips as he caught his breath.

Pressing your lips together in a silly smile, you shrugged your shoulders and rocked on your feet. “Maybe we are.” He couldn’t tame his happiness, you were certain his cheeks would break. “Sucks I couldn’t have told you first, who’d you hear it from?”

“Hoshi.” He cocked his head backward toward the dugout. Peeking around his large frame you found the two best friends side by side leaning over the fence with their chins resting on their arms looking straight toward you and Mingyu. Hoshi, hair bleached into oblivion, and Minghao, shaggy black hair hanging down his neck. Both boys wore backwards baseball caps. “After he told me I checked to see if you said anything to me, but you didn’t.”

A pout graced your lips. “I wanted to come here and tell you, I’m sorry.”

He moved quickly, reaching out to take you by your shoulders. “No, please, don’t apologize, holy shit, Isla. If anything I’m sorry, it sucks that we can’t say anything without someone taking it and plastering it to the internet.” His thumbs drew circles over the fabric of his own t-shirt. “This mine?” He snickered.

“Yeah,” you sang, “I was in your room, Gyu. My suitcases are MIA.”

“They’re in your room,” he said as if he knew where it was.

You scoffed. “And you didn’t think to tell me where that was so I could-”

“On the other side of the hotel in one of the towers across the property by your brother.” It was all he had to say to have you both deadpanning in seconds. “Like, a mile apart.”

Laughing within a breath you leaned into him and slid an arm around his back. “Oh, agony,” you drug out, tipping your chin backward. “A mile, how ever are we going to do it?” It was too easy to make him laugh.

“DK did it on purpose,” he said quietly, bobbing his head, taking his arms around your back. “He thinks we don’t know what he does and why he does it but, it’s so obvious.” Sipping your coffee, you looked up at him and waited for more. “Does he know you were gonna do this? Today?”

Toying with the hem of his shirt you took a breath. “No, but I can tell you he definitely already knows, news travels fast around here.” The two of you spare your brother a glance, one he was returning. You’ve never seen DK mad, but you do know when his eyes have fallen upon something he doesn’t like.

“You’ll talk him down,” Mingyu nodded, gazing back down at you. “You always do, you have the magic.” 

Blinking, you turned your chin back up to him. “You could talk to him too, yanno.”

He made a face, baring his teeth, cringing. “Ah, you know how I feel about that.”

“It could potentially turn this whole thing around if you do, Gyu,” you muttered, defeat beginning to pool within you. “You want me, you gotta talk to him about it.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he reached for your coffee cup. “I have you. Watcha got in here?” He took a swing before you could answer him, his reaction making you laugh amongst the karma.

“Black coffee,” you droned, taking the white cup back. “And sugar, because someone made me do tequila shots all night.”

Snickering, he dropped down to press a kiss to your lips, one long and slow, as if he was putting the period on the It’s Official statement. Pulling back just slightly, Mingyu mumbled, “Why don’t you substitute that sugar for vodka so we can keep going tonight?”

“Aye, Kim!” A coach called out for him, the team heading back out onto the field.

Whirling around, pulling you into his side, Mingyu waves off the batting coach and ushers you into the dugout making sure you were along the fence with a good spot to watch him hit. Along the way he whispered nonsense to you, telling you what bars you should explore tonight, where you needed to go, what food you should try, but more importantly what drinks you could get and where.

“You’re gonna kill me, Gyu,” you whispered to him after he kissed you one last time. Laughing aloud, head thrown back with vigor, he took to home plate and his persona shifted. Gone was Gyu, out came Kim Mingyu, the Lions right fielder.

Sipping from your coffee, allowing it to ease the ache in your forehead and the unease in your gut, you stood up and wandered the empty dugout. Names were written on everything, the shirts, the bats, the gloves, the mits, it was adorable, it felt like when you’d watch your brother in little league and your father etched his name into everything he owned. Dragging your feet along the ground, dirt and pebbles scraping against the concrete beneath your shoes, you took a deep breath in through your nose and let the fresh air relax you.

Maybe this was a good thing.

The familiar sound of a baseball smacking into the glove of the catcher brought you more comfort than you ever could’ve imagined. Your brother was on the mound, Woozi behind the plate, Mingyu in the batter's box. The whooshing of the bat through the air as your boyfriend acquired another strike had the batting coach calling out a few things to him. With a small smile on your lips you wandered toward the stairs to the dugout along the first base line, stepping up them to lean against the post giving you the clearest view of the field.

Hangover aside, the day was beautiful. The weather was perfect, the boys were talking and laughing with one another, there was the crack of the ball hitting the bat filling you with excitement as someone shouted in the outfield. The ball Mingyu hit was foul, traveling just over right field, but it wasn’t hit long enough for their bench player whose name you hadn’t learned yet to catch it in right field. Your neck stretched, everyones did. Mingyu ran to first base, but Seungcheol would catch it before he made it down the line.

Except Seungcheol was behind home plate with the batting coach, arms folded over his broad chest, his knee wrapped in a brace.

Whipping your head back and forth, from Seungcheol eyeing the ball, to the team, then you, he shouted a name that made your blood run cold.

“Hansol!”

Every bone in your body went stiff, every muscle froze. Neck nearly breaking, you plastered your eyes onto the boy standing behind first base and your coffee cup almost slipped from your trembling fingers.

You could’ve been sick. You wanted to be sick.

Months. It’d been months.

Months of distraction, months of trying to make him go away, months of squeezing him and pushing him down into a feeling you’d only allow yourself to feel between the hours of one and three in the morning if you were any sort of sober. Even drunk, he was there, a ghost haunting your memory of what could’ve been, what you had and what you left behind. He stood here now, five foot ten, a little scrawny, a little pale. Those brown waves, they were just how you left them, fluffy, soft, inviting. His eyes, chocolate and sweet, were on you, he was looking at you, not through you, not around you, at you.

And it hurt.

Every feeling manifested into a stomach ache, a nausea so debilitating that only he would know what to do about it, like he’s done for you so many times before. The amount of times he’s held your hair, that he’s pulled it back for you. So many nights at Nasara, when he was allowed to, he would get you into your bed and make sure you’d fall asleep on your side, telling Ryujin that if either of you needed anything she could call him. He’d try to not let you drink too much, but when he couldn’t keep up with the way you’d bounce around the house he’d appear with a cup full of water and wouldn’t leave you alone until you finished it. 

He’d bring you to Blend, he’d buy you a coffee, he’d offer you breakfast, and if you refused he’d offer his shoulder and he’d let you talk. And not once would he interrupt, he’d only look away to sip his coffee, reminding you to drink some of yours between the stories you had to tell.

You’d follow him along to his practices, one of the only ones to sit in the stands, or behind home plate when he’d bat or train with his coaches gearing him up for this very moment.

When the hell did he get called up?

When the hell did the Lions get him?

Why the fuck is this the first you’re hearing of it, seeing it?

He missed the ball. It fell a few feet behind him. His teammates shouted for him, they tried to get his attention, so many shouts of a name so foreign to you only because you knew it wasn’t his favorite. He was stuck, much like you, with a thousand things to say splayed out between the two of you.

Vernon.

He was here, in Haos, playing on the same team as your brother. 

On the same team as your boyfriend. 

Holy shit, Mingyu was your boyfriend.

Mingyu was your boyfriend, words you chose to say on the same day the boy you had fallen in too far deep with appears on his baseball team.

“Hansol!”

Finally his gaze of disbelief was ripped from you, having you loose a breath you were holding. Murmurs of his voice, nothing more than a hum hit you where you were standing, a sound so incredibly comforting it had tears welling up in your eyes. You’re sure it was pleading, and apologies, and excuses for missing the easiest play for a first baseman.

He hurried toward Seungcheol and the coach, as did the team, and you hightailed it off the field while no one's eyes were on you, hurried for the closest bathroom and hid yourself in a stall, collapsing to the floor with rushed breaths, willing your heart to calm down.

home;run masterlist | talk to me | ao3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 782: The winner's parade!!

Pag 1

1: So... shall we fly?

Pag 2

4: Huh....

Huh!?

5: What's that blackboard that they showed out of that car just now?

Yeah, it's the signboard. In road races, they write the results of the race progress on that board like that to inform the other cyclists

Pag 3

1: Like, who won the “sprint” or the “mountain” and the time difference....!!

The first place...

Who's that!? Number 181?

Where is he from? Gunma!?

2: And the group behind changes its shape based on that information, just like a living thing!

Is it their debut?

Ah?

Someone like that took the first result?

What about Hiroshima!?

No but who is he! That number 181!!

3: What about Kagoshima and Kumadai!?

4: Nagoya, too

5: I mean, wait, that's not the point

Sohoku and Hakoaku should have been ahead too

6: It can't be

That guy...

Competed against those two

Pag 4

1: He defeated Hakogaku and Sohoku and took the sprint line!!

Pag 5

2: It was so hard.... but

I did it

Waaa.... I'm so happy, yon

3: Amazing!

I've never seen that jersey before!

Gunmaaa

4: I'm from Gunma!

Amazing!

Nice!

Pag 6

1: I'm so happy to hear the cheers...!!

2: Well then

3: To answer the cheers

5: Ready... set

6: What's number 181 doing

He bent forward, what is he doing!?

Is he accelerating!?

7: Hayaaa

Pag 7

1: Thank you-chai

It's a wheelie!!

Pag 8

1: Amaziing, it's the first time I see a wheelie during a race!

What's that!? It's amazing, he's only running on the rear wheel!

It's a service wheelie!!

What an amazing sense of balance!

He's waving his hand this way!

2: Ohhh he's super cool, though

He's incredible

3: He's not only strong but also cool!! He's the best...

Yoriko, shoot a video

4: He's doing a wheelie!!

Wooo!! Taa-kun, that guy you know is too cool

5: I just became a fan!

Number 181!! From now on more and more people will cheer for him

People who come to watch road racing are always looking for it!!

Pag 9

1: For an overwhelming newcomer!!

4: Dammit!!

Dammit!!

Pag 10

2: Idiot

Idiot

Idiot

3: Are you kidding me

What am I doing

What am I doing!!

4: What!!

5: I did!! Everything I could think of to become stronger, to become faster!!

Pag 11

1: Aaaaaagh dammit!!

3: I practiced... I practiced until I collapsed...

I lost last year....

4: And this year too!? What do I need to fix? Ah?

7: There's nothing to improve anymore!!

Pag 12

2: Stop screwing around, what “newcomer”

3: It's several times harder for someone to keep winning....!!

4: Even though that day

5: I

6: Watch me, Izumida-san, I'll definitely take the colored bib!!

Pag 13

1: I'll look forward to it

2: I promised....!!

3: This year I got the number “4”

In Hakone Academy it represents the ace sprinter

How important and heavy

4: is the role of the number “4” bib

5: That victory would have been a moral pillar for the team!!

6: I even changed my orders for this, and this is the outcome...!!

7: I had to win even if it meant to use up all my trump cards!!

Pag 14

2: I should have cornered him perfectly and shut him off...

4: Was I too naive somewhere?

5: No, there was no problem with you

Even from my point of view you ran well and had the perfect timing, Orange

6: San-na...!!

Pag 15

1: It must be frustrating for you too

You're a third year.... so this was your last first sprint

2: I guess you were aiming for two consecutive victories, since it's even harder to continue winning

3: Orange....!!

4: But don't worry

I promise myself

5: I will definitely not let that guy do as he wishes from now on!!

6: I'll be the one who will take the sprint line on the second and third day!! Leave it to me!!

Pag 16

2: No, I'll take them!!

3: Stop screwing around, why does it seem like I'll only finish the first result!?

Am I wrong?

Don't underestimate Hakogaku!

Ah... well, then, shall we race then?

Don't take it lightly!!

4: Hahaha but I'm an all-rounder, so I should have a job on the mountain, too!!

6: Is he joking!? Or should I correct him!?

7: H...uh? Yeah....

Let's just let it go...!!

Pag 18

1: The running order has changed!!

Gunma, who took the sprint, went ahead and is pulling the pack!!

2: I've never seen something like this

It's their debut, isn't it? Is this okay!?

3: If you take the sprint then you have to go in the front and pull – what kind of rule does road racing have? Isn't it too difficult?

4: It seems like it isn't a rule, Sonomoto-san

It's like they concede control

5: Kiji-saaan!!

Wooah, you were amazing, fou!! Kiji-san!! Everyone, follow me!!

Ichifuji is the only one who's pulling with so much energy

Pag 19

2: Doubashi-san....!!

3: Doubashi-san being defeated at the sprint is a big deal,isn't it?

That Kiji guy

4: If there's a chance to race him, please give me the order, Joe-san

No wait, you're the ace....

5: I'll crush him

Pag 20

1: Ahhh, ahhhh

2: We lost, teh.....!! What should we do!?

Kaburagi-san and Danchiku-san have.....!!

3: It's not a big deal

Since in road racing you don't have to retire just because you lost one of the midway races

4: But still, this isn't good!!

Yeah!!

5: Kaburagi-kun and Danchiku-kun lost...!!

6: Kiji-kun....!!

Pag 21

2: Puku...

He controlled it....

3: Gunma's Kiji controlled the sprint... ohh

4: What should I do?

Crush him quickly?

6: Or maybe.... make friends with him?

Puku....

Make friends!!

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Lady in Red (2) || CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x fem!reader Summary: Vegas drama Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, cheating WC: 1.75k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four

You were well accustomed to shows with your career but Las Vegas was on another level. It was all smoke and mirrors that frustrated the drivers but there was one man making the best out of the confusion of lights and miscommunication. The huge pit building was four stories high but the lack of people filling it left the top floor empty for most teams. Somewhere on the levels below, his father and girlfriend, as well as his team, were looking for him but he was quite happily distracted from it all.

You could see the Sphere from your position in the shadows of the room, its countdown to free practice also being a challenge for Carlos. Pistoning his hips faster, he raced the clock as he fucked you on an empty desk, the chaotic atmosphere drowning your delighted cries when his thumb found your clit and made you reach oblivion again.

“I think I’ll keep this,” Carlos chuckled as he picked up a feather that had broken off the showgirl outfit you wore. You had been hired to parade down the pit lane in the free practice buildup and you had taken the job just to see Carlos again. “How do I look?”

You straightened the rhinestone bodice back over your breasts and giggled at the sight of the red feather behind his ear. “Muy hermoso.”

“Stealing my compliments now, hermosa?”

You swiped the feather back with a smirk. “Well I already have to steal your time.” You both looked at the Sphere with the reminder and Carlos cursed under his breath.

“I’ll find you after practice,” Carlos said as he stopped by a closet and opened it to find a long Ferrari branded winter coat. He unclipped the feather plume from your back before draping it over your shoulders. “It’s cold out there. Don’t want you getting sick, cariña.”

You looked down at the coat as he made his way to the door. “Shouldn’t your girl wear this?”

He barely paused as he cast a look over his shoulder and grinned, “she is.”

You had no idea what was going on. Chaos had erupted, the session ended and there was talk of Carlos missing out in the next practice, whenever that was rescheduled to start, if his car could be fixed in time. Midnight had come and gone, the timezone already leaving you tired, and you struggled to keep your eyes open in the corporate lounge above the Ferrari pit.

“This could take a while, cariña. You should go back to the hotel.”

You blinked away the weariness and focused on the driver who had taken a seat on the couch beside you. It was unnatural to fight the urge to reach for his hand or lean into his side but there were still dozens of guests remaining, one of them staring daggers at you from across the room.

“I’ll be fine,” you said before a yawn cracked your jaw and he chuckled despite the turn of events he had faced.

His eyes lingered on your lips like he was contemplating kissing them but then he leant forward and dug his elbows into his knees. His hands combed through his hair as he let out a deep sigh. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” you asked just as quietly, but his eyes cut a sharp glance your way before turning to his girlfriend. “Oh.”

“I want you,” he whispered. “I want to just fucking kiss you, right now, because it will make me feel better - but I can’t.”

He rose to his feet before you could give him an answer and watched as he walked over to Rebecca. It hurt, of course it hurt to see her wrap her arms around him and kiss his lips when you knew just how soft they were. But it had been six weeks since you last saw him and you didn’t know how long it was going to be before you saw him again. There was no certainty, and that had made you hesitate.

But he had proven time and time again that this wasn’t just the one time thing you thought it was going to be.

Grabbing your phone from the pocket of the Ferrari coat you still wore, you sent him a single message: Okay.

You saw the moment he read it, the way he untangled her arms from his neck and stepped away with a suppressed smile. You knew he wouldn’t act on it right away, all break ups were carefully formulated by their PR and Social Media teams to limit the damage to their image. But Carlos was already heading straight to Charlotte who handled those affairs.

“You’re looking positive, considering how the last session ended,” Natalie Pinkman commented to Carlos as he entered the TV pen. You leant forward in your seat as his lips teased a smile that was displayed across all the screens.

“The team has done a fantastic job and the car should be ready to run in FP2, so there’s definitely a reason to be positive heading into this next session.”

“Let’s hope you can keep that positivity as I understand news just came in that the request for an exemption of a penalty has been declined. I don’t have word yet on what that penalty will be but-”

You watched Carlos’ forehead crumple at the news before someone took his arm and guided him away from the cameras to no doubt break it to him properly. It was only ten minutes later that he reappeared looking dishevelled and pacing the noticeably quieter floor with all the fervour of a captive tiger. His father held the leash.

You didn’t know enough Spanish to understand their conversation but you recognised the hand on Carlos’ shoulder as one that tried to calm him.

“I’ll be back soon,” Carlos said after a few deep breaths. “I just need a minute.”

He crossed the room to the stairwell, his eyes catching yours before he disappeared, a single finger pointing up. You waited a moment before taking your leave and heading to the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor once more. It was no wonder he took the stairs when you saw the screens inside were replaying the breaking news, and you tried to find a power button to switch it off.

“Mi amor.” Carlos’ hand reached through the widening gap and found yours before the door had even completely opened, tugging you into his arms.

“Amor,” you echoed as your cheeks heated with the meaning. “That’s new.”

“I spoke to Charlotte,” he whispered as he walked you deeper into the shadows of the empty room. “She thinks four weeks will be enough to build a public distance with Rebecca. It’s best that the fans come to their own conclusions before announcing the break up.”

“Okay,” you hummed as his lips peppered kisses across your collar.

His kiss froze. “I thought you would be more excited.”

“For what? The morals I thought I had obviously weren’t very strong since we are doing this right now, while you are still in a relationship. Nothing changes for me when you become single.”

Carlos pulled away with a frown. “Nothing changes? Everything changes, amor. We will be able to go on dates, be seen together, holiday together. Be together. That’s what your text meant.”

You stepped away from his embrace and pulled the coat back around your body as you shook your head. “I was just saying it was okay to break up with her, that’s what you wanted.”

“So I could be with you!” His growls echoed around the room and he tugged at his hair in frustration. “Don’t you want to be with me too?”

“Of course I do,” you whispered as you hugged yourself.

He smiled at the admission and took a step closer but you stepped away even further. His arms fell limp at his side and he looked sullen as his head fell forward. “Then what is the problem?”

“I want to be with you, Carlos, but I could never trust you.” You sighed and looked longingly at the elevator as the silence dragged on. “I should go. Good luck with the rest of the weekend.”

Your finger pressed the arrow down before he recovered and raced after you, slipping into the narrow space as the doors closed.

“Carlo-”

You were silenced with his kiss, his body pressing you into the wall as he took your hands and pinned them above your head. “I know I’m not a good man, I know I have made many mistakes - but I would never do that to you.”

He pressed his cheek to yours as he whispered his confession to you. “I love you, I would get on my fucking knees and crawl over broken glass for you. You drive me insane, I’ve never been reckless like this, but you make me feel alive.”

He ground his hips against you to prove just how alive he felt and your resolve weakened. “Please, don’t go. I need you here, with me. This weekend is so fucked, but I can take it. I can take the penalties and the bullshit. But I can’t take you leaving. Please, amor…”

You felt his breath on your cheek before he pressed a chaste kiss to it and pulled back to look in your eyes. Your lips parted to answer him, the words on the tip of your tongue.

Ding.

“Shit,” Carlos swore as the doors opened on the main floor, his hands still holding yours and your bodies pressed close against the wall. “Fuck.”

It could have been the late night catching up with him or the shock, but he couldn’t seem to get his body to respond to the noise his head was making.

It was you who recovered first, pulling your hands free before shoving him away from you. It felt like minutes passed but it was likely only seconds since no one appeared to have noticed what had been displayed. If it had been hours earlier then the lobby would have been full of people.

“I’ll see you later,” you whispered as you sobbed Carlod out of the elevator.

“Does that mean-”

“It means I’ll see you later,” you said with a nod that made him smile. How could you possibly leave him after that profession? You were never very good at listening to your voice of reason, your heart had far more bearing on your decisions and Carlos had carved out a place for himself in yours.

The doors closed on the elevator and you fell back into the wall he had held you against, tipping your head back with a sigh. Told you he was trouble.

Click here for part three.

[itsblasttothepast]

Do we have any info about Max and Checo before they were teammates? I remember Checo being one of the only people who was nice to Max when he joined F1. Do we have any idea about their dynamic back then? I’m super curious- thank you!

Not so much info, but those who were F1 followers like me remember many things from their dynamic since Max started in F1.

First of all, the whole 'letting a kid join the big leagues' thing. Not many teams/drivers were in agreement of Max, with only 17 years, joining F1, which led to the 'Verstappen rule', meaning: drivers could get their superlicense until they were 18 (Toto Wolff managed to change that this year so Kimi Antonelli could join Mercedes in 2025, but as an anon mentioned it, it was only so he could join pratices, as Kimi turns 18 in august).

So Max joining F1 was controversial, and to be honest, most of the old grid were kind of assholes, and also the reporters didn't help, as they kept asking if they would be 'mentors' or 'give Max advice', which most drivers said NO. They mostly ignored Max, seeing him like a kid (well, he was the youngest), but Alonso and Checo always said nice things, Checo was happy for him (he said this in many interviews, as Max was the hot topic back then) and he wished him the best. He was really nice to Max, and Max usually tended to join Checo and Nico's during the drivers parade or the paddock.

This could be also because Max's teammate in his Toro Rosso era was Carlos Sainz; Carlos and Checo were in friendly terms, as both were hispanic (they are not anymore though, such a shame), and that kind of made easier for Checo and Max to interact.

When Max was promoted to RBR and Carlos went to another team, Max and Checo mantained a nice relationship, even friendly. Something I kept noticing in several interviews around the paddock was that Max seemed to always look around for Checo (these are more my deluded impressions, but I've seen a few edits where I'm proven sort of right) and they kept laughing and having fun, so I'm pretty sure their dynamic was friendly and positive before they became teammates, and then they became boyfriends, divorced, took couple's counseling and now here we are!

I'm asking permission from a girl who makes the BEST edits in FB, so I can share them here, those will prove my point even more.

But until then, here I leave a few pictures to show how amazing their chemistry is:

Look, Maxie next to Checo, instead of his teammate! ⬆️

Here when Nico and Checo completed their 100 races, and celebrated, Maxie was next to Checo but Daniil Kvyat kind of got in the way.

Sorry if this one has watermarks, but I had to share it, look at their smiles! So adorable!

Like this one!

And I have many more, but I'm saving them for my ENOURMUS rant about Chestappen that an anon asked me like two weeks ago. Anon, I haven't forgotten, but I have so many rants, pictures and theories, that it's taking me a while.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - City Girls Part 4/8

Yeah, this chapter is not for the kids 😮‍💨

18++

Reader plays for the Man City girls academy. She struggles a bit but gets Ruben to mentor her. The the two don't hit off despite having many things in common. It all gets worse when Reader eventually catches feelings for Ruben.

Enjoy!

You've done well in training, well enough for coach to let you travel with the first team to their away game in London. If there is one thing you've gotten in bedded in your head from training with Ruben, it would be to "play with your mind." He would shout this at you every time you tried to dribble, or dribble when a pass could be made instead.

"Play with your mind, Y/N."

It was during the last minute's of Manchester City's fixture against Chelsea when their coach called you up from the bench. It was unexpected, terrifying even. But when an opportunity presents itself you take it.

"Play with your mind." You mumbled, as you ran down the field like your life depended on it. A pass was made and suddenly the ball was at your feet. You charged towards the Chelsea defenders, sweping past one without challenging the others. With a late pass to another charging City girl you managed to assist your first Super League goal whilst taking a knee to the side of your body. A price you were willing to pay for more moments like that.

"You should have seen me Ruben, I was amazing."

Despite it being a Friday night, Ruben had been more than willing to train you. "You shouldn't have charged the defender." He said. Raining on your parade.

"I got knocked down, so what? Isn't that what football is about, sacrifice?"

"You call getting injured and missing games sacrifice? I say it was a selfish move against your own teammates."

"Whatever." You scuffed.

You didn't expect anything less from Ruben. What you had gathered from spending more time with him was that he was uptight and practical beyond what was necessary. However, he did help you collect the balls at the end of every training session and for that you were grateful.

"Some of the girls invited me to celebrate the win with them, you should come." You said.

"You're going out? Tonight?" Ruben grabbed a ball, dumping it in the bag you held. He wore a skeptical look on his face, judging you.

"Just for a few drinks." You shrugged. "I thought it'd be good. Who knows, if I get cozy with the first team coach might let me play with them more?"

"Y/N, you're rated based on your performance, not your ability to socialize. Besides, you should be recovering from a game not to risk future injuries."

"Well, how do I do that?"

You tied a knot on the ball bag, letting Ruben carry it for you.

"Recover?" He frowned.

"Yes?"

Normally you'd consider a goodnight sleep the best way to recover, however, Ruben thought otherwise. "Hydration is most important, preferably water. And you must eat somthing, not less than forty-five minutes after you've exercised."

It was strange, being invited to Ruben's  apartment on a friday night. It was big. You stood in his kitchen, his dining table overflowing with healthy nutrients. The two of you were quite comfortable with each other by now, and Ruben was nothing short of a gentleman around you.

"I've prepared the heating pod to help with your blood circulation and then you can continue recovering in my message chair."

It was a passion of his, you could tell from the way he was explaining everything to you, like he really wanted you to learn.

"But first we eat?" You said hopefully.

Ruben blushed realizing that he was getting a bit carried away. "Yes, first we eat. Could you grab that jar for me?"

"Sure."

You reached up, the jar of pasta within your reach. Just as you grasped it with your fingers, a sharp pain shot through the side of your body.

"Y/N, you okay?" Ruben rushed to your side, seeing how you winced.

"My ribs." You groand.

"Let me see."

His arms grabbed your shoulders, helping you stand up straight. Your fingers trembled trying to raise your shirt, the pain too sharp.

"May I?"

Ruben asked for consent to help you. You nodded, letting him roll up the hemn of your top.

"Fuck."

You didn't need to look down to know that it was bad, Ruben's reaction said it all. He looked to you. "Ice bath, now."

Your body shivered in the cold water. Ruben had you sit in it for eight minutes, a timer going off when it was time for you to rise.

"Y/N, you alright?"

There was a light knock on the door, Ruben's voice heard on the other end.

"Yeah, I think I'm good."

"Um...I brought some clothes."

You wrapped a towel around yourself, moving to open the bathroom door. Ruben appeared in the frame. "It's just a t-shirt but it's big enough to cover..." He coughed. "....you know."

"Thank you Ruben, the t-shirt is fine." You moved to shut the door but Ruben's arm appeared in the gap. "I um....I also brought some ointment."

"Oh."

"For the pain." He said, offering you the bottle.

"Thanks Ruben, really. I just don't think..."

"What's wrong?" He frowned.

You shook your head, seeing how worried he became. "It's nothing, really Ruben. It's just that..."

"Y/N, please. If there's somthing I can do."

"Well..." You closed your eyes and sighed. "It hurts too much to lift my arms, so you're gonna have to help me apply the ointment."

Ruben froze.

"Of course, If you're not comfortable..."

"No." He protested. "only if.....you don't mind me helping you?"

Heat rose to your face, realizing what you were asking of him. Either way you nodded. "I'll be right out."

It was awkward, so fucking awkward. You stepped out of the bathroom wearing Ruben's t-shirt. It was shorter than you had expected, cutting just above your knees. Ruben sat on the edge of the living room couch, raising his head when you approached. His hair sprouted upwards as if he had compulsively been running his hands through it. "Shall we begin?" You immediately regretted uttering those words. Ruben looked unsure weather to sit or stand so he let you decide as you stepped up to him, letting him raise your shirt until he could see the bruise on your ribs. Your legs tremble beneath you, the draft between your legs not making things easier for you.

"Is this okay?"

Ruben scooped some ointment out of the bottle, applying it to you skin. He was gentle with his touch, easing up on the pressure if his movements made you wince.

"Ruben, I'm so sorry that I..."

"Sshh." He hushed. "It's okay, I agreed to it."

"Yes but..." It was really awkward, not to mention the tempting weight you felt in the pit of your stomach.

"It's okay Y/N, I'm almost done."

"Okay."

He kept his eyes above your waist, despite you practically offering him a view of the shape of you. Your legs, your thighs...your ass. He looked so focused, eyebrows furrowed and one hand held flat against  your lower back to prevent you from moving as he applied the ointment. It was strange, being taller then him for once.

"I could have challenged that defender." You said, still thinking of the game. "If I was stronge enough."

Ruben grunted. "It's why you don't see as much dribbling in the Super League or female football in general."

"What do you mean?" You frowned.

"Well, defenders are usually the fittest players on the field. They're supposed to be. But the rest of the players..."

"Ruben are you saying women aren't capable of dribblin because weren't strong enough?" An outrageous opinion, to you.

"No, not dribbling." Ruben raised his head, his chin caressing your abs. "Dribbling is easy for men and women, but getting past a defender one on one is different and not recommended in women's football. I'm sure that's why you can't get your coach off your ass. To him, passing the ball would the most efficient way to get past another teams defense."

"So you're saying there's a chance coach will let me play football the way that I want?"

Ruben chuckled. "If your willing to gain a few pounds, sure."

You frowned. The idea of gaining weight was not that appealing to you.

"I meant pounds of muscles, Y/N. Not fat." He read you like an open book. You looked down and smiled. Ruben was done applying the ointment. His hands now caressing the back of your knees, slowly, moving up and down.

"I should probably call Ester, tell her to come pick me up?"

Ruben shrugged. "Or you could stay the night?"

"Ruben."

"If you want."

He pushed you forwards, his hands moving from your legs to your ass. You gasped as his nose nudged your belly. The nerves along your spine came to life, raising the hair on your arms.

Ruben looked up, eyes drowsy. "Can I kiss you?"

"Please, yes."

You were practically begging for it, for Ruben to touch you, pleasure you anywhere that ached. He pulled you forwards his face nuzzling against his t-shirt. "You smell good."

You smiled. "I smell like you."

It felt like unfamiliar territory, a man in awe of your body, his hands moving all over you.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes."

Ruben had gone to raise your shirt again,  serenading any exposed skin with lingering kisses.

"You have to tell me if you're not comfortable with what I'm doing."

"Ruben." You raised his head, cupping his face between your hands, his rough beared between your fingers. "I want this." You nodded, not sure if you've ever wanted anything else this bad. Ruben's eyes burned in the dimmed light. "But you're hurt." He said, arms wrapping around your body, craving something that he couldn't have. Forbidden fruit.

"Fuck me with your mouth then."

Ruben looked up, his eyes batting in suprise. You met his gaze, biting your lip.

"I'm sure."

It's all he needed to hear. Ruben's hands suddenly become less gentle. They had previously moved around the area where it ached the most, but with your permission he slid a hand up your thighs, not stopping until you drew a sharp breath.

"Yes, baby. That's the spot isn't it?"

It was filthy. Whatever was unraveling between you seemed forbidden, meant to be kept behind close doors.

"Y/N, say you want this."

"I want this."

Ruben slid fingers between your folds, moving to please the aching burn that had its epicentrum at the tip of your clit.

"Tell me what to do?" He demanded, his hand not rubbing you fast enough.

"Please, fuck me Ruben."

"Fuck you how?"

You threw your head back, the pleasure immense. "Fuck me with your mouth."

It was wet and warm. Ruben's head tilted in search for your opening. Your panties had already been pushed to the side, revealing the part of you that needed his attention the most. "Yes." Your cried, almost loosing your footing to the pleasure that shot through your body, head to toe. "Yes, Ruben, just like that."

He groaned below you, his tongue helping himself to all you had to offer.

"Fuck."

Your hands went to his hair, your eyes squinting shut. Ruben had covered your clit with his mouth, gathering it between his wet lips, sucking you dry.

"Please Ruben, I'm gonna...."

It sent you over the edge, that and Ruben's rough hands reaching under your shirt, rolling your stiff nipples between his fingers.

"Yes." You cried out. Melting into a puddle of nothing as you climaxed. Ruben caught you in his arms, immediately climbing on top of you as he layed you back against his couch.

"I want to fuck you so bad right now, but I can't because you're hurt."

"No." You whimpered, your thighs wrapping around his stem, the bulge in his pants putting pressure against your sensitive pussy. "Yes, like that. Fuck me just like that."

"You sure." Ruben paused all movment, raising his head to look at you.

"I'm sure Ruben, please keep..."

You could say no more. Your shirt came off, tossed aside. Ruben then lowered his hips against yours, his hard erection aligning between your thighs. The friction between you wet pussy and his jeans would be enough to send both over the edge. And so he began, dry humping you like a horny dog.

"Please Ruben, harder and faster." You clung to him, locking your legs around his hips. Ruben groaned, his body trembling like yours. "Fuck Y/N, I don't want to hurt you."

"Por favor, Ruben, me machuque." (Please  Ruben, hurt me.)

He continued to hold back, sucking your nipples to slightly increase the pleasure. You were horny enough to be satisfied with what he was already doing to you.

"Ruben, I'm gonna...again."

Your head fell back against cuchens, mouth open, eyes rolling back in your sockets. Ruben himself moaned into the crease of your neck, with one last thrust ejaculating his load into his pants. You were both out of breath laying on top of each other, coming down from the high together. Ruben sat up once the mist of sex seized to linger. He ran a anxious hand down his face, looking less than pleased with himself. You felt strange too, a sudden need to put your panties back on. However, Ruben rose to his feet, towering over you.

"This can never happen again."

He picked up your shirt from the floor, tossing it your way. The expression on his face said it all, it was obvious regret.

"I'm calling a cab. You need to leave."

[blingblong55]

Obedient thing-Alejandro Vargas NSFW

Based on a request: Pet play with Alejandro 👀 --- F!Reader, MDNI, smut, 18+, pet play, dom!Alejandro, Sub!reader, rough!sex --- A/N: not too smutty but hope you like it and its an HC

Absolute fan of you riding his thigh as he keeps you collared to the leash he wraps around his calloused hands.

Can't convince me this man doesn't occasionally put you on a naughty step when you don't wear the pink panties he commands you to wear

He loves to have you sit on his lap when the men of his team are around and likes to parade you around like the pretty pup you are.

One time he had to bend you over his lap and choke you by the pink diamond collar because you were too needy that day

Another time he made you cry whilst slapping your ass over and over because you played with yourself without his permission.

He likes to breed you, cum inside your pretty cunt and whisper how pretty you'll look with a belly of his kids

Makes you wear tight dresses when out so everyone can see the bite marks on your thighs.

He makes you wait on your knees for him by the door or at times he makes you stick your tongue out whilst on your knees so he can cum in your mouth.

Your collar has 'Princesa' on it or if you have been naughty he takes it off your neck and denies all your pleas.

He hates to see his pup cry so he rewards those needy tears with kisses and cuddles.

When you are sick though, you are the centre of his universe, never lets you out of his sight and takes the collar off so he can kiss your neck and cuddle you.

Best believe that there are days when he makes you crawl around the house for him. After all only good girls listen to his every instruction.

Always makes you understand that you are his and his only when he makes you ride him.

No one can tell me that this man's favourite position isn't cowgirl. He loves to watch you play with your tits as you ride him.

Your ass has his mark mainly because when he takes you to the beach, all men and women know that you are owned by someone.

As much as he loves to fuck you senselessly if his pretty pet uses her safeword, this man is the most gentle human ever!

One time he made you scream out his name whilst he spanked you and also made you kiss him saying how much of a dirty slut you were.

It's rare, but he LOVES to make you wear a skirt and no panties on and wants to know that if you were washing the dishes, he can bend you over and fuck you from behind.

Not once has he ever gone over the board, he knows what triggers you and what are your turn-offs and I best believe he will never ever touch those subjects.

"Say it, mi amor, say who owns you." his fat cock deep inside your drenched cunt.

Fucking him has always been the best, that's why at the moment you are getting fingered and thrown around the bed. "I said, Dont. Fucking. Disobey. Me." he bites your inner thigh, your pink collar on the ground, your ass all ready and raw. His spit is already mixed within your cunt. You cry and beg. "You know you can stop it, you fucking whore," he chokes you with his bare hands, his cock now back inside of you. Your drool all over his hands and face. Mascara-stained tears smeared on your face. The pretty skirt and shirt you wore ripped and on the floor. All your holes getting abused by his meaty cock.

Tags: @liyanahelena @alxexhearts @saoirse06 @simpforfic @warningofeve

[wandussyfantasy]

Free Use (WandaNat)

Summary: After the events of Feeling Twenty-Two, Wanda invites you to stay with her and Natasha as long as you please. With the condition that they can have you whenever they want.

Word Count: 2.1k

WARNINGS:

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT READ & DO NOT INTERACT!!!

bottom fem reader, g!p Wanda, g!p Nat, oral, threesome, legal age gap, praising, degrading, creampie, and freeuse

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

“I just don't understand why you won't tell us where you're moving to?” Kate gripes as she moves a box of your things into the moving truck. Wanda was happy to pay for it and even offered to hire movers but you didn't want to explain something you couldn't afford to your friends. After your trip to your home town, you returned to start a new semester at school. But you couldn't stop thinking about the women who made your twenty second birthday the most memorable birthday ever. They even took care of you the next morning and you never wanted to leave but you told them you had a flight a couple days from then that you couldn't miss. They understood and Wanda made you an offer that she allowed you to think about. She didn't want an immediate answer. She wanted you to think about it.

Which you did, every moment of every day. It was an unusual offer. But it was also a very beneficial one. It took her until the end of her summer break to feel confident in an answer. She had gone on several bad dates within that time and no one caught her eye enough to have a one night stand with. But she had plenty of nights by herself, masterbating to the memories of that night. 

“Kate, will you please drop it? I’ll come visit when I can. Besides, we have a few classes together. It's not the end of the world,” you say to comfort your friend. When you finally called Wanda and agreed, she invited you to her office. She is a lawyer, so she had a few legal documents of the arrangement drawn up. There is a discretion clause, meaning that you couldn't just parade around that you agreed to be a sex object for the couple. She said that you are allowed to have outside relationships and even have friends over at the house. But until you could figure out a way to explain your situation without explaining it, you didn't want your friends and family to know anything.

“Alright, I guess I can't say anything to make you stay,” Kate throws her hands up in defeat. “Just know, it's your fault if I end up in prison.”

You laugh at the thought of her blaming you for her actions. “How would that be my fault?”

Kate shrugs, “You keep me from doing stupid stuff. Now I can do all of the stupid stuff I want.”

You shake your head, “I’m sure your new girlfriend will supervise you.”

“Yelena will be in the cell with me, excuse you,” she pretends to be offended. 

The two of you share a laugh. You look around to see that everything you own is inside of the moving truck. “I’ll see you in class next week,” you pull your now former roommate into a tight hug. 

“I’m not going to see you for a whole week!” she is upset by the idea, but you couldn't promise any sooner. Not when it's your first week on the job. 

Live-in Nanny, is your official title. They don't have kids or even pets for that matter. But it looks good on paper for when you have to get a job after graduation and employers won't ask too many questions. “You’ll be fine without me for a week,” you say as you shut and lock the truck. 

You pull Kate into a quick hug before getting into the cab of the vehicle. You are anxious to get to Wanda and Natasha’s. Wanda had messaged you that they have a special welcome home celebration planned. You wanted to be there several hours ago. 

Arriving at the mansion again, your pussy gets wet at the first memories made here. The night of fucking and the morning of aftercare. Oh how excited you are to be back here. Once you park the vehicle, a moving team is ready to unpack the truck. You climb out and look at Wanda and Natasha with confusion written all over your face. “As excited as we are for you to move in, we aren’t going to waste time with that,” Natasha explains. 

“It’s not a waste of time,” Wanda corrects her wife. “We would have been happy to help you move in,” Wanda guides you into the house with an arm around you. “We just thought it was to preserve our energy for… other things.” You shift as you think about what the energy will be spent. 

“The little whore wants to ride our dicks while the movers work,” Natasha says to her wife in a low tone. Wanda shakes her head.

“Well, she will have to wait. I made a special dinner.” Wanda surprises you with a kiss on your neck. “But don't worry, babe, we'll have fun as soon as your stuff is moved in and the audience is gone,” she promises. 

“Of course, uh, what are we having?” Walking into the dining room, your question is answered without either having to say a word. Displayed among an extravagant dining table is a full spread of delicious looking food. “You really didn't have to,” you say to Wanda. 

“We know,” Natasha says as she pulls a chair out for herself. “But that's what makes Wanda so amazing,” she blows a kiss to her wife. She blushes and you love the way the couple interacts with each other. Wanda informed you that they've been together for close to eleven years but only married for four years. You asked her why they wanted to include you if they were happy with each other. Wanda told you that they have always wanted to have a more polyamorous relationship. But never could find someone that worked for both of them. Sure, there were people that were okay with being with a married person. But there weren't many that were okay with being with both Wanda and Natasha. You are the first. 

The meal is fun and easy. You were worried that although there is a great sexual chemistry, there might not be any other connection. But, those fears fade as the three of you engage in conversation for hours without an awkward silence. The food was amazing and you made sure to compliment Wanda. She flushed and asked you to stop raving, “You can thank me later,” she continued suggestively.

“I most definitely will,” you say as you imagine what you're going to do with her once you can. 

The three of you move to the living area to watch a movie. They insist that you sit in the middle and snuggle up to you shortly after the film starts. Halfway through the movie, the manager of the moving crew informs you all that they are finished. Wanda gets up to pay the man and his team. She leads him away and once the front door shuts, Natasha nudges you onto her lap. You comply out of curiosity and feel her erection at your entrance. She tries to pull down your yoga pants but finds it difficult to do so. Annoyed, Natasha rips the pants open so that your ass and pussy are exposed. She roughly massages your ass as you continue to watch the movie while getting increasingly aroused. 

Then, Natasha unzips her jeans and pulls herself out. She rubs her cock along your entrance, getting it covered in your juices. “Of course, you're ready for me,” she slips inside and you let out a low moan. Natasha bounces you on her cock. “Oh I hate this part of the movie,” she says. 

“Yeah, it's, it's, it's not my favorite,” you respond. When Wanda returns, she has a bowl of popcorn and she sits comfortably next to you and Natasha. You get turned on even more as they go about things as normal while Natasha is fucking you. When you had signed the contract and agreed to the FreeUse clause, you had no idea just how much you were going to enjoy it. 

Natasha cums inside of you and plops you back onto the sofa. She tucks her softening cock away and they pick the next movie. Wanda takes your hand and places it over her bulge. You hungrily release her penis from the tightening pants and put it in your mouth. You love the taste of her cock, especially her cum which you are working hard to earn. Already on your first day, you have cum dripping from your pussy and cum in your mouth. You are going to love it here.

A few weeks later, you are laying on your bed as you study for an exam when Wanda enters the room. Her cock is standing out of her pants and she climbs onto the bed, hovering over your body from behind. She enters you without warning and you gasp. “Hey Wanda,” you greet as she slowly humps into you. 

“Hey darling,” she kisses your neck. “What are you working on?” 

“I have an exam at the end of the week, just getting some studying out of the way,” you say. Wanda reaches around your body to play with your clitoris, causing you to clench around her thick cock. 

“That’s great, I love how studious you are.” Wanda praises. “You’re going to make a great business woman one day.”

“Thank you, baby. That means a lot coming from you. Oooh,” Wanda picks up her pace a little bit and you start to lose focus on your notes. She rubs your clit harder and harder until your body is spasming around her cock, milking her cum out of her. 

Wanda doesn't leave before eating out the mess from your pussy, giving you another organism. She kisses you and wishes you luck with your studying. You thank her and she is gone. 

A couple days later, you are making breakfast when Natasha walks in with her morning wood. “Wanda already left for work,” she says as she roughly enters you. She doesn't have a lot of time so she pounds into you until she is ready to cum. She pulls out and shoots her sperm on your back. “That looks good, have a plate ready for me when I come back down, please.” 

“Of course,” you say as you finish making the meal. 

One day, you arrive home after class to find Wanda and Natasha fucking on the kitchen table. You drop your things to join them. Gravitating to Wanda’s cock to suck on her as Natasha rams her cock into the woman's pussy. “Welcome home,” Wanda says through gasps. “How was your day?”

You pop her cock out of your mouth to answer. “It was good, I'm happy to be home though.” You take her cock back into your mouth and Wanda's head falls back at the over stimulation of her cock and pussy at the same time. When she is cumming, Natasha swiftly pulls out of her and pulls you off of Wanda by your hair and shoves her cock into your mouth. Wanda's cum continues to shoot out, making a mess on her stomach and table. Natasha fucks your face ruthlessly until she is releasing her orgasm in your mouth. 

“We’re so happy to have you back,” Natasha says through her grunts. She pulls out of your mouth breathlessly and looks at her dirty wife. “Clean her up,” she orders you as she walks away. 

Dutifully, you nod and start to lick up all of Wanda’s cum. “Thank you, baby,” she says as she lazily strokes your hair. You kiss her belly once it's only glistening with your saliva. She looks so beautiful and delicious splayed out naked on the table. You can't help kissing the rest of the way down to have your tongue in her sensitive pussy. “Ohhh,” Wanda says as you lick her just the way she likes. “I’m so happy you agreed to love us,” she says. 

“Not as happy as I am,” you reply sweetly. “Besides, it's easy loving the two of you.” 

Your words make Wanda emotional and she sits up on the table, requesting that you stand up. She pulls you into a deep kiss as she wraps her legs around your middle and her arms around your shoulders. “Please don't leave us.” 

“Never,” you promise, because you have no plans on ever doing so. 

“Nat and I have been wondering,” she starts a little nervously. Suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “Would you start sleeping in our bedroom, with us?”

You grin, feeling giddy as the relationship progresses, “Of course!” 

Wanda mirrors your expression. “I’m glad because,” she pulls your ear close to her lips, “I want to wake up with your tongue inside of me,” you get wet at the idea of how much more access the three of you will have to each other now. You never thought when you agreed to go home with her almost a year ago that this would be your life. But you are so grateful that it is.