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submalevolentgrace · 2 years

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Hi! I'm very interested in attempting to write a disabled character (not for this blog, I assure, for an book I'm writing) in which the story doesn't fetishize/objectify her prosthetic limb. I'm in many writing circles and have been for a long while, but I've never seen this issue brought to light which I realise is a very important one. I have much to change in my thought process, and thank you for bringing this issue to attention.

I'm curious, and I apologise if this has been asked before, but what sort of design could you see for a functional prosthetic that doesn't go for a plainly aesthetic appearance, or is soully to please others? I do note that you said prosthetics are generally... not that helpful. So is there a way that it could be? Or do you think it would always generally be better to not use a prosthetic, as its mostly for aesthetic purposes, as you said?

I apologise if this ask is too outright or anything, and I don't mean to intrude. Thank you for your time and have a beautiful day!

okay, i want to answer this as in depth as possible, because whenever i talk about having a prosthesis, someone will always tag some variation of "#writing reference" and i do wonder what message they're taking away, and i want to get as much of my experience out as possible to maybe help shape how this is all portrayed in the future. and yeah… this is gonna be one of those rambly smg posts that the expand feature was invented for, so i'll start with the very abridged TL;DR:

if you're writing a character with an upper limb prosthesis; don't. arm amputees are unicorn level rare even compared to leg amputees, and i've never interacted with or even heard of an upper limb amputee that regularly uses a prosthesis, let alone relies on one. fiction has lied to you for the sake of cool aesthetics, don't repeat the cycle. more in depth writing advice including nuance and "but i waaaant to" will follow.

that said, grab your donning parachute and let's get started...

context for everyone involved: i am an upper limb amputee that rants a lot about how prostheses suck, i lost my right hand roughly five years ago at roughly the age of 30 after a very rough decline in health… it was pretty rough. this question is being asked in the context of a previous rant post of mine, and i checked that the ask is about an upper limb prosthesis in particular.

the situation regarding the usefulness of lower limb prostheses is totally different; i am definitely no expert, but by all accounts, prosthetic legs are incredibly useful for many people. getting a good leg can be absolutely life changing and more or less necessary for day to day life for some; mostly because infrastructure and society is just so fucking hostile to wheelchair users. being able to walk - at the cost of pressure sores and rashes and increased residual limb pain - is a preferable option to many people than being unable to fit through a doorway or in a bathroom stall or find out that the key to unlock the only elevator is in the admin office up three flights of stairs (true story).

but upper limb prostheses… see, the thing is, hands are incredibly complex organs that rely on a lot of immediate haptic feedback to work at all. hand dexterity is all about control, you need fine granular movements of the digits yes, but you also need the subtle sensations of pressure and proprioception in order to adjust your movements on the fly. i speak from experience, in the years leading up to the full loss of my hand, i was slowly losing function of it, usually swinging between numbness that made it clumsy at best, or screaming overstimulation from moving it at all resulting in unpredictable spasms… and let me tell you, a half working hand is infuriating to try and deal with. you can never know if you have a good grip on something or if it's slipping because of the wrong amount of pressure, and there's only so many smashed bottles of pickles on the floor before you give up using it all together… so amputation wasn't a great loss there, i had time to adapt.

a prosthetic hand of any kind has all of those issues and more. they're heavy and bulky, the cosmetic faux fingers or gripping claw have crude movement at best, and there's zero feedback (put a pin in this). 100% of the time you're using a prosthetic hand you have to keep your eyes on the grip and visually guesstimate whether or not the thing you're carrying is held tight enough but not too tight, that is if your "heavy duty" prosthesis can even support the weight without the servos disengaging or the wrist attachment socket just busting loose. i dropped a whippersnipper on my foot last week when my socket couldn't take the weight and i think that was the final straw in me desperately trying to prove to myself that there is a single task my prosthesis actually helps with.

this is usually where fully two handed people start talking about bleeding edge DARPA tech, and how we just need to invest more,research more, develop more. better tech, more tech, neural integration, more more more. okay i promise the writing advice is coming! for starters on tech, my experience is already with a mid-to-high end ottobock terminal device: i've got a myoelectric nerve-signal operated proportional control heavy duty greifer; about the only upgrade left for me to get would be a rotating wrist joint if i could coflex. it's not military, it's not "rockclimber that owns a prosthetic company", but it's quality tech. it still fucking sucks. secondly, that high level military tech exists primary for PR purposes so they can say they treat their discarded casualties well, "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" style. every war vet i've read about or heard from that's been gifted that high level tech also abandons it for the same reasons; it's imprecise, there's no feedback (or the haptic interface has to be fully recalibrated every time they put it on), but mostly they're more capable without one.

okay, the transhumanist ableds say (i should know, i used to be one), what if we did more ~research and development~ and got that neural feedback working? then we could have fireproof superhumanly strong robot arms to fix up everyone! here's where i take out that pin we put up before and i tell you that a class of prosthetic arms/hands already exists that has perfect proportional control, fine motor control, and physics perfect pressure feedback piped directly into the patients' existing sensory systems! they're called body-powered prostheses, and they were invented in like the 1600s. you strap a whole bunch of stuff to your arm and shoulders shoulders, and control the operation of the terminal device and elbow through cable tension by flexing your shoulders. they do take a considerable amount of training to operate - though hell i spent 18 months training to use my myo - but based on everything i've read, body-powered prostheses are the best option if you're an upper limb amputee and absolutely need a second hand for some reason.

but they don't look cool and futuristic, and according to my prosthetist, most people give up on using them too. we all give up on our prostheses, no matter the type. my rehab OT was impressed i lasted the 18 months of my training. towards the end, they even asked if the clinic director could drop in to one of my sessions to see my progress; he expressed genuine amazement at me casually using my bulky robot claw to use a brush and dustpan, and made an offhanded (hah) comment about what someone can achieve "if they stick it out to the end", implying it was somewhat of a rarity for me to have done so. several years on, and yesterday i wedged the dustpan between my ankles to sweep up into it, awkward but exponentially less effort than putting my dusty robot arm on. which, by the way, is a whole thing. look up some videos, they're all awful to don. i don't actually know the official technical name of what my clinic calls a "parachute" but it's a bitch to use! have you ever tried to pull back with your arm whilst also pushing it forwards at the same time, and simultaneously lean in to and away from an external force pulling on you? that's how you get a myo socket on.

bare with me, i promise writing advice is coming, and i promise it's more than the tl;dr. but. remember when i said a half working hand is infuriating to deal with? any prosthesis, from fancy myo tech to pirate-era body powered, will only ever be half as good as a working hand, and being juuuust within capability to do something but not quite able to is maddening! but you know what works way better than a half working hand? no hand at all. using whatever residual/vestigial limb you have - whatever "stump" you have, i hate that word - is pretty much always better than trying to use a prosthesis. i can use the inside of my elbow to grip and carry things, i can use the nub of my arm to apply pressure to hold things, open doors, use a computer mouse, turn on taps and lights, if i put a glove over it i can use it to prep for cooking. i have full proprioception and pressure feedback with skin contact, i don't think i've ever dropped and broken anything from my elbow, unlike countless things slipped from my greifer - which, by the way, absolutely will start clenching as tight as it can if i get even slightly too sweaty around the electrodes, which has both broken things i'm holding and also injured me, because surprise surprise but servo operated robot claws have pinch points on them right near the "emergency disengage" lever for some reason!

but i am exponentially more capable without it on than with it. no, i'm not fully independent, i rely on housemates and loved ones to help me out with some tasks that simply just need two handed dexterity, but none of those tasks are things a prosthesis makes me able to do anyway. i used to imagine my prosthesis would be like a bra; a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but i'd wear it throughout the day because it's helpful and take it off in the evening to decompress. in reality it's actually exactly like a bra: an absolute bitch to put on one handed, unbearably uncomfortable because it never sits right, ugly af unless you're a millionaire, and absolutely useless except for the fact that i get gawked at and judged by strangers if i leave the house without it on.

and if you really want to discover how far "no hand is better than a half working hand" goes, brace yourself, and look up the patient's stories (not medical system stories) of people that have had hand transplants. the first man to receive one hated it, he was promised a return to normal function, and what he got was a nightmare worse than being one handed; he wanted it removed again but the doctors refused because it would undermine their grand achievement of the first hand transplant. the doctors and society wanted him to be fixed, they wanted him to be normal, they wanted him to be abled. they failed. they made him less able to do things, denied his autonomy, and left him with someone else's hand slowly rotting on him, prioritising the idea of "scientific progress" and "two hands good" over the physical health, mental health, and ability to function of this man.

he's not alone; every story from the patients' perspective about hand transplants that i've read goes this way, including a woman who was born quad limb different and was promised hands would improve her life, pressured into a double hand transplant, only to find herself after the surgery essentially experiencing disability for the first time ever, because she had lived her whole life getting by just fine with her 'underdeveloped' limbs, but half working hands are worse than useless. you can try to find these stories yourself, but i'm not going looking for sources on any of these cases, because if you look back through enough of my posts you'll get a glimpse of the horrors and abuses that i too was put through by doctors who prioritised trying to "fix" me at any cost, rather than providing me the best quality of life, and in turn traumatised me and left me more broken than any loss of limb on its own could. dear goddess, i promise the writing advice is coming.

so. why do upper limb prostheses exist at all? if they're so terrible and useless, what is their function? i want to borrow something someone else left in the tags of a previous rant here, from someone who i believe works in prosthetics and/or rehab, cleaned up and anonymised at their request:

"upper limb functions are wildly more complex than: 1) bear weight static, and 2) bear weight moving. but every single upper limb amputee i know has a fancy expensive prosthetic just gathering dust in the closet because there is literally nothing it can do like a few years of adjustment and if needed non-dominant hand retraining can't do. the existence of forquarter prosthetics to begin with is just kind of silly and useless and entirely to make OTHER people feel comfortable, especially considering they universally are UNcomfortable for the amputee. i hate the notion that as soon as you get the amputation the prosthetic is The Thing That Will Fix You And Make You Feel Normal again because it universally isn't! but every forequarter person i know had like this ideal of Being Fixed By Magic Prosthetic that they were then obviously wildly disappointed by and had to do yet another grieving process with, versus if the dominant narrative were just one of: yeah. it'll take time, there is no magic fix."

and i think that really nails down what the actual purpose of upper limb prostheses is: they're not for the user, they're for the sake of other people. and not just their comfort when looking at our bodies, although based on the pressure for both amputees and people born limb different to get functionless cosmetic plastic hands, there is a lot of that. but it's not just that.

i fully believe that the reason prosthetic hands exists is to comfort the fears of the two handed. "don't worry", they say, "we can fix you again. you don't have to fear becoming Disabled, you don't have to worry about adapting or your life changing. we can make you Normal™ again."

you would not believe the number of people that have approached me to shower me with pity, to tell me how horrific my life is, how they can't imagine it. people have told me, apropos of nothing, that they'd kill themselves if they lost a hand. indirectly, that my life isn't worth living. unless, of course, i happen to be wearing my cool as fuck looking robot prosthesis! then they tell me how wonderful it is, how lucky i am, how glad they are that we have the technology to fix me. that's what a prosthetic hand says, what all the happy fishing photos on limbs4life posters at the rehab clinic say: don't worry, we can fix you. that's what the bleeding edge DARPA flexi-whatever fully articulated neuro-feedback hands say: don't worry if you get IED'd while hunting civilians for us to drone bomb, if you get hurt, we will fix you, we will fix the fuck out of you, we will motherfucking adam jensen you into a cool as fuck cyborg that your son will idolise; come on boys, don't you wanna enlist just for the chance at being as cool as this? join the bomb squad for a ticket to the upgrade lottery.

and so we arrive at fiction. as much as his dialogue options protest, adam jensen loves his robot arms, they punch through walls, turn into fucking swords! they make him the most special man in the world. what would he do without them? learn to cope? grieve? practice acceptance? take up poetry? just, be disabled? there's no power fantasy for ableds in that.

in fact, can you think of a single fictional character that's an upper limb amputee that's, well, just an amputee? they all have robot arms. not realistic prostheses, not medical devices; robot arms. sleek or bulky, top of the line or broken down self built, steampunk or nanomachines or magitech automail; they're never without them. never just an amputee. never born limb different either! there's always that element of tragedy to overcome, always suffering and misery porn, always focus on the pain and the helplessness without the absolutely vital robot arm that makes them Normal and Whole. the closest amputee example i can think of is furiosa from mad max, who iirc fucking punches max in the face with her residual limb like a motherfucking badass! i can barely lean on mine wrong and she punches a guy! but she still apparently needs a dieselpunk robot hand to drive a truck, something you can do one handed so easily most drivers don't even notice they're doing it! please don't, by the way

and so many disabled fans love to point to robot armed characters as disability representation; the winter soldier, luke skywalker, edward elric, misty knight, that genderswapped furry girl from ratchet and clank, jet cowboybebop, finn the human, and yes, adam jensen…. these are all characters that someone disabled i know has told me they love because they "represent disabled bodies"…. and i know nobody wants to hear this, because i've been screamed at for saying it before, but… they do not. they are not disabled, functionally or within fiction. they are either perfectly able bodied Normal people with chrome paint on an arm, or tortured misery porn we are supposed to pity and feel lucky we're not them. sometimes both!

also you ever notice how it's basically always arms? lower limb amputations are orders of magnitude more common than upper, my prosthetist said i was probably only the 4th or 5th upper limb she'd worked with in her career, with literally hundreds of lower limb fits. but fiction doesn't seem to reflect that, huh? or any other part of the reality of disability. it's always cool as fuck robot arms, never cool as fuck wheelchairs or crutches or dialysis machines or colostomy bags. a fair few "i was blind but now i can see with Robot Eyes and also infrared and xray" around, which again, plays into that "we can fix you and make you cooler" propaganda.

by the way, up above when i was describing body powered arms, if you wondered to yourself why i went with a myoelectric one instead when i clearly believe body powered is better… yeah. i am not immune to propaganda! i too wanted to be cool as fuck. i spent years with deteriorating function in my hand for reasons that are still unknown, was misdiagnosed and medically neglected to the point that removing my hand seemed to be the only option left to offer some relief, and even that was a clusterfuck that left me worse than ever… of course i wanted to believe in the power and prestige of a cool robot arm that fiction promised me.

but fiction promises fantastical lies. and so.

we get to the writing advice portion of the novella that is this post. you asked for advice on how to write a disabled character with an upper limb prosthesis. you've read the tl;dr, you've read everything above i assume, you know i don't want you to do it. the obvious twist is that it's been writing advice all along, me trying to share my perspective on what it's like being an amp with a robot arm and how shitty it is, implying how almost any fully realised and realistic character that's missing an upper limb would give up on a prosthesis at all. you can already tell that every value judgement in me says "don't give her a prosthesis, no matter how functional or cool you make it. don't try to make the tech better to justify it, just let her be one armed, one handed. just let her be disabled, but not helpless. let her show off her elbow or underarm carry strength. let her love interest appreciate how soft and squishy her residual limb is in a moment of tenderness. let her natural disabled body be respected and valued."

but that's a personal value judgement from me, and you are the author of your own work. i know it's trite to say, but you are! even the act of deferring to someone with lived experience in the hope of doing a better job at representation is a value judgement, a good choice in my opinion, but one you needn't necessarily take. maybe you do want to write a character that has a cool as fuck unrealistic robot arm as a power fantasy, or a comfort blanket… i did.

i've been slowly writing my own probably terrible scifi epic for over a decade now, and when my arm was giving me hell back then, i'd take great comfort in this fantasy of my protagonist with her chunky robot arm, the terrible traumatic suffering of her loss, overcoming, the power and ability her advanced prosthesis gives her over others, that she alone has access to, because others are not willing to make the sacrifices required. inspiration porn. awful stuff to me now, but empowering to me then. as i grew and gained direct experience, i slowly reimagined her, rewrote her, ship of theseus'd her into an entirely new character; a reflection of me now, bitter at the whole thing, spiteful that her natural flesh arm evokes fear and distrust, but unwilling to suffer the pain and frustration of her unnatural prosthesis just to make others comfortable and respect her as "whole", however artificial that whole is. and as with the ship of theseus being two ships, once i realised the transformation, i re-added the old protagonist back in whole cloth as a separate character; proud of her robot arm and its power, but in new context, as a foil and antagonist, an in-universe military prosthesis propaganda figure to reflect how i now feel characters like her exist to us, the readers.

i'm not just sharing that as egotistical self promotion, but to highlight that, even if i sit here begging you all up and down not to write characters with robot arms for how bad and unrealistic they are; there's still something genuine and true that their inclusion can say. the great thing about the story that you're writing is that only you can write it, as they say. but i whole heartedly believe that to write to your best, you have to be aware of what you're writing and why. as tempting as it is to feel these characters form naturally in us and therefore we're averse to changing traits about them that feel organic and self evident; as authors we have omnipotent control over the text, every trait and detail is a reflection on us, so we'd sure as hell better understand why we're choosing to write a character with this trait. because anything you write without being aware of intent will take on its own meaning in the space between.

and on that note, if i don't say this, i'm leaving it to be inferred: i definitely don't want to appear to come down on the side of saying "you cannot write an amputee unless you are one", because we are rarer than single young bisexual unicorns! and it would be a tragedy if anyone read through all this and then turned away in fear, deciding to never write an amputee character (with or without robot arm) because they feel they can't do it justice… believe me, no matter what anyone says, some hack writer somewhere is going to keep writing adam jensens and winter soldiers. don't let them be the only voices in fiction! just try to do your best.

so my ultimate advice on the topic of writing a character with a prosthetic limb is to ask yourself one question in two different frameworks, and meditate on what you feel the answer is:

why does she have a prosthesis?

from a doylelist perspective as the kids say, as an author with omnipotent control, why are you choosing to write about this topic? why are you choosing to give this trait to this character? what does it say about how you view ability and disability, what makes a person normal, and what our society values? will you let her be in her natural body? or will you give her a prosthesis, force her to wear it by authorial fiat, or author her a meaningful reason to choose to? if yes, be sure you know; why did you give her a prosthesis?

and from a wastonian perspective, diegetically, inside the story, why does she choose to wear a prosthesis? what does it say about her inner character, and how she interacts with the world? how does she feel about doing it, is she prideful and loves the attention she gets, or does she resent whatever necessitates its use? how do people in this world view ability and disability, what does this society value? and above all, whatever the answer to these questions, whether or not she uses a prosthesis or is badass without one, how does she deal with the eternal freezing cold that every amputee ever feels constantly in their residual limb and why does nobody make a heat pack that fits over a nub without drafty gaps???

i can't outright tell you how to write a good upper limb amputee, but if you at least know why you're writing one and for what purpose, you're on track to write the best character that you can. that's the best advice i can give… other than, like, this whole rambly mess.

and, as a reward for reading this far, please have a very blurry cryptid photo of my cat doing his old man sit:

#prosthesis #prosthetic #disability #ableism

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barcaatthemoon · 1 month

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can you write an alessia x reader fluffy blurb for 23. "This sounds like an interogation." and 68. "When did you become an expert in this”, please? where reader is a guest on the tooney & russo podcast? thank you!

special guest || alessia russo x reader ||

"alright, now it is time to introduce our guest for today's podcast," vic said as all three girls glanced over towards you. you had been sitting in a chair next to alessia, who had been struggling to keep her eyes off of you. the internet knew that you were friends, but not anything more than that. most of her teammates didn't even know how serious the two of you were getting. to them, you were just a fan at emirates who came to see arsenal play a few times.

"ah yes, we have a very special guest today. some of you may have heard about her team being promoted into the wsl, and we wish her the best of luck. more importantly, you have been dubbed the internet's top expert on fish and chips in london, what do you have to say about that?" ella asked. alessia looked so proud of you when your team's promotion was brought up that you had to look away.

"when did you become an expert in this?" alessia asked with a laugh.

"well, my mum and da' do run manchester's best fish and chips stop," you said. alessia fought a losing battle against rolling her eyes. ella smiled as she watched the two of you, being one of the only people who knew how much alessia loved you. "we aren't here to talk about that though, are we?"

"no, i was just curious," alessia teased. you sat back in your seat and crossed your arms over your chest. ella and vic asked you a lot more questions than you had expected. you had sort of hoped to sit there quietly and occasionally chime in whenever alessia asked you to.

"there are several rumors of other wsl teams looking to sign you. are there any that you've been looking towards?" ella asked. this was the last place you wanted to tell alessia your news, so you were quick to divert.

"this sounds like an interrogation, and if so, i'd like my lawyer present," you told her. ella put her hands up at the pointed glare from alessia. "that's not the sort of thing i'm at liberty to talk about, but if my club wants to sell me, i guess i've just got to see who wants me. i'm not much special really, but i'm flattered."

"mate, i've got it on good authority that barca's been knocking your door since the everton days," ella said. she wasn't wrong, but you had your eyes set on a specific club. they had yet to make an offer, and you really didn't want to have to wear blue just to stay in london with alessia.

"tooney, drop it," alessia warned. that was the last of the transfer talk until the cameras had cut and alessia was the one to bring it up to you instead. "you've heard something, haven't you?"

"arsenal is being stubborn and the club won't accept the offer, so it looks like i'll be in blue," you told her. alessia bled red for arsenal, not unlike her england captain, leah, and you could see her face fall immediately. "i can go somewhere else, but the distance..."

"no, you go where you want to. if chelsea is what you want, then i'll support you. just not where anybody else can see." there was a bit of a jovial tone to alessia's voice, one that you appreciated greatly. signing for chelsea had been beating you up for weeks, but it felt like your only chance to stay with alessia and in the wsl.

#answered #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x reader

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brickmvster · 5 months

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please don't go (i'll eat you whole) | Leon Kennedy x Reader

synopsis: You make love to Leon before he leaves you.

word count: 1,906

warnings/tags: leon kennedy x fem reader, established relationship, smut with feelings, angst, pre-spain or just pre-mission in general, some light fluff if you squint kinda (i'm sorry), p in v sex/penetrative sex, unprotected sex, aftercare

author's note: i'm gonna be honest. i am a little nervous. more so than usual bc this is my first time writing for leon! i love him so much, he's definitely one of my comfort characters, and i wanted to write something angsty but also kinda bittersweet like this for a loooong time and i finally got around to it. i really hope you guys enjoy, comments are always appreciated <3 this has been proofread more than once, but just in case, any and all mistakes are mine! also, just fyi, i wrote this with re4r leon in mind, but you can imagine whichever leon floats your boat if you really want to lol.

p.s. it's not written in here but pls pee after sex 😭

minors do not interact, please and thank you!

You clung to him for dear life; as if he was going to disappear in front of your very eyes.

You were above him, peering down into his deep eyes. His eyebrows were knitted together in pleasure and his lips, which were currently rosy and swollen after the frequent kisses you had given them, were ever so slightly parted as soft groans emerged from his throat. His large hands never stayed still for longer than a minute – he gripped your waist before sliding them down to your ass, kneading the soft flesh before moving them up toward your breasts, squeezing gently, before bringing them back to your waist, where he helped with guiding your languid movements. You moved your hips like an expert, riding him as if you’d never have the chance to again.

With the rain pattering against the window and a sliver of moonlight filtering through the room, it was almost like a scene from an erotic novel. The room carried the scent of sweat and sex and was filled with the noises that spilled from your lips non-stop. You didn’t even know how much time had passed – but you knew it was late. You knew Leon had to be up in the morning. But you wanted to prolong this moment with him for as long as possible. Leon wanted to as well, as every time he got you close to your peak, he slowed down, dragging out your orgasm in a way that was almost painful, but you enjoyed every second of it.

You were growing tired, your legs beginning to shake as your rhythm became a bit off-kilter.

“Leon…” You moaned, his name coming out so softly it almost wasn’t audible. But Leon, ever so attentive, heard you loud and clear, and he knew what you were trying to tell him.

He flipped you over with ease, while he was still inside of you, spreading your legs further apart and starting up a steady pace. All you could do was grip the bed sheets, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he drilled into that spot that made you see stars. He wasn’t aggressive or rough, but his thrusts were certainly hard-hitting and relentless, and you knew you only had a few minutes.

At some point, you closed your eyes as you tried to focus on your impending orgasm, feeling as if you were in a complete haze – but Leon’s voice pierced through your foggy mind.

“Please look at me.” He said, his low voice sounding a bit strained and even a little desperate; who were you to deny him of what he wanted?

It took a momentous amount of effort, but eventually you were able to open your eyes and keep them open, looking up at him. Leon lowered himself a little, allowing you to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. The slightly different position made his thrusts feel even deeper, and you cried out into his neck, your fingers going into his shaggy blonde hair.

“Keep looking at me. Please.” He said softly, and so you did, maintaining eye contact with him the best you could as he continued to piston his hips into you. Suddenly, Leon was becoming blurry; you could feel the wetness on your face as tears began to fall. Leon often made you cry during sex – he was a fucking god in bed after all and usually made you feel so good that he’d leave you sobbing from the intense pleasure after multiple orgasms. And while that was definitely the reason you were crying now, you also knew that there was an underlying reason for your tears. Leon knew the other reason, too.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He asked you sweetly, still keeping up his quick pace. All you could do was nod fervently, digging your nails into his back. He always loved when you did that.

“Yeah? My sweetheart is gonna cum for me?” He urged, and the pet name that rolled off of his tongue only made matters worse.

“Fuck, Leon–please, give it to me.” You said, your voice trembling. You felt all of the telltale signs. There was a tight coil forming in your lower stomach, ready to pop like a balloon. Leon could sense this, could hear it in your voice and could feel it in the way your pussy was squeezing around his cock. He raised himself just a bit, lowering his hand down between your legs, using his thumb to rub your clit in circular motions while he continued thrusting.

Leon’s name emerged from your throat so loudly that you even drowned out the rain. Your eyes squeezed shut, your back rising off the bed in a beautiful arch, your climax hitting you in waves. You felt like you were in heaven, the tears falling even more freely from your eyes now. Leon just ogled at you like you were a work of art. In his mind, you were.

He was also close, and mere seconds after your orgasm his own came crashing down on him too. With a few more sloppy thrusts he found himself stilling inside of you, his release filling you to the brim. The feeling of being so full of him was one that you would never grow tired of.

Eventually, you came down from your peak, your limbs feeling like heavyweights. All you could do was lay there and cry some more, letting every single emotion overtake you completely, your sobs shaking your entire body. Leon was comforting you in an instant, pulling out gently and lying next to you, allowing you to bury your head into his chest. The two of you laid like that for several minutes, with Leon cradling your head and rubbing your back.

You did calm down after some time passed, and that’s when Leon tried to get up, but you clung to him again.

“Please don’t go.” You said, your voice small and hoarse. “Don’t go, Leon, please.”

“I just wanna clean you up, okay?” Leon replied, wiping away the wetness on your cheeks. You didn’t even care that his cum was leaking out of you and making your thighs a mess – you just wanted him to stay by your side. But you knew he was just trying to take care of you, so you reluctantly released him.

Leon kissed your cheek before getting off the bed and going to the bathroom. While you waited for him, you tried to keep your eyes open. You didn’t want to sleep, because falling asleep meant that morning would come quicker, and truthfully you didn’t want the morning to come at all. You knew it would be coming no matter what, though – but goddamn it, you tried to prolong it the best you could, even when your eyelids were growing heavier by the second.

Leon came back, now clothed in his boxers (that you didn’t even notice he had thrown back on), a small washcloth in hand, and a glass of water that he set on the bedside table. He pushed your legs apart yet again and wiped you clean, touching you so gently as if you were some kind of porcelain doll. It only made your heart grow fonder. You were going to miss these moments of tenderness.

He made you sit up, just enough so you could drink the water that he had prepared for you. You took a small sip, to which Leon encouraged you to “drink a bit more, sweetheart,” so you did, and when he was pleased, the glass returned to its spot on the bedside table, and shortly after he was crawling underneath the comforter with you.

The warmth of the comforter and Leon’s body next to yours made it even more difficult for you to stay awake. Leon saw you struggling, catching the way you would doze off and then immediately wake yourself back up.

“Please, rest.” He muttered into your hair. You hugged him tighter.

“Do you have to go?” You asked him, even though you knew the answer.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Was all Leon could say in response.

You felt a lonely tear roll down your cheek yet again. But you were far too exhausted to cry some more. Instead, you sat up, looking at Leon intently. He returned your direct eye contact, sitting up himself to lean against the headboard and match your height.

“Promise me,” You started, holding out your hand. Without hesitation, Leon held it, locking your fingers together and giving your hand a slight squeeze.

“Promise me you’ll come back home.” You asked him, like you always did before he left for a mission. Every single time, he would give you the same answer.

“I promise.” He replied firmly. You knew deep down that asking Leon to make promises like this was unrealistic. He never fully understood what he was getting himself into until he arrived at the mission location – and you knew that despite his skills as a trained government agent, accidents always happened, and there was no way to know when things would go awry when he’s out in the middle of nowhere. But hearing him utter those two words before he left eased your worries just enough.

Trusting Leon was always easy.

“I love you.” You said softly, fitting back into Leon’s side perfectly, like you belonged there.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Leon replied, before tilting your chin up with two gentle fingers and kissing you with a fiery passion. You two lazily kissed each other until sleep started pulling you into its dark embrace. You didn’t fight it this time, resting your head on Leon’s chest and drifting away to the sound of his steady heartbeat.

The next morning, the two of you shared one last breakfast. You mostly sat in comfortable silence. You asked a couple questions about the mission, but didn’t get straight answers – it was confidential. You knew that already but always liked to ask questions anyway.

Right as Leon was about to walk out of your door, you stopped him. You took a few moments just to stare at him – he was as handsome as the day you fell in love with him.

You brushed some hair out of his face, kissing him slowly, savoring the feeling of his lips on yours for these last few minutes. When you pulled away, you were sporting a warm smile, feeling your eyes sting as tears threatened to spill. You kept them at bay.

“Don’t you dare–” You paused, your trembling lips making it difficult to speak. When you collected yourself, breathing in and out, you continued.

“Don’t you dare ruin this jacket. I love it on you.” You said, referring to the brown leather jacket that Leon had bought himself recently and was currently wearing. He had a tendency to ruin clothing items on his missions, and you hoped this one would survive.

Leon chuckled. The sound immediately filled you with warmth. You were going to miss that sound; God knows how long you’d have to go without hearing it everyday.

“Copy that.” Leon replied, a laugh bubbling out of your throat.

You shared one more embrace. The final hug was one the both of had trouble ending. But it had to come to an end eventually.

And then, Leon was gone. All that was left was a memory.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil smut #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil 4 #re4 leon

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roosterforme · 2 months

Text

Covering the Classics Part 7 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Just when Anna starts to feel settled, a simple cookout at her friend's house turns everything upside down. Her jealousy shines through, and there's nothing she can do to try to take it back.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, masturbation, eventually 18+

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Things with Bob felt like they shifted back to normal again, and Anna was thankful for that. Every book she let him borrow was returned with a note folded up inside. Some of them were short and simple. When he handed back Love Letters of Great Men, the note simply said The dog eared pages are going to make me cry. But some of them were longer and more elaborate.

She was running a little late to meet him at the usual coffee shop, worried he would already be there. He seemed to end up paying for her drink every single time, which was honestly really sweet of him, but she felt like such a nuisance. When she walked inside, he was there, at a table with two steaming mugs in front of him and his nose buried in a book. In one of Anna's books. In her copy of Wuthering Heights.

Her whole body felt too warm as she thought about how much she would love to have Bob read every single one of the hundreds of books she owned. Maybe even read some parts out loud in that deep, soothing voice. She would love to hear his take on each plot and watch him blush as he called her the expert and asked for her opinions. She would love to take the book from his hands and pull him down into bed with her.

But she couldn't do that. They were just friends. So instead, she dropped down into the empty seat across from him and said, "Hi, Bob," with a smile she hoped wasn't as sad as she felt.

"Anna." Her name sounded like golden perfection when he said it, and she shivered. "This book... I can't stop reading it. I read it twice already," he said with a little laugh. "How in the world do you always know exactly what I'm going to like?"

Because she felt undeniably drawn to him and his preferences and everything about him.

"Because I'm a professional."

He laughed a little more as his pretty lake-blue eyes followed her cup as she brought it up to her lips. When the ceramic touched her, he looked away as his cheeks grew pink. He pushed the book across the table, and when she reached for it, he said, "Uh, just read that note later, okay?"

When she saw the edge of white paper sticking out from the worn pages, she said, "Sure, Bob."

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. "Did you hear about the change of venue for tomorrow?"

Anna ducked her head. "Yeah, the girls told me about it at lunch yesterday. A cookout? Bradley wants to show off his new grill?"

Bob nodded and said, "Could be a nice change from the Hard Deck for once."

While he wasn't wrong, Anna hated that she still barely had enough money to make ends meet. San Diego was expensive, and when she asked Advanced Calculus what she could bring with her to their house to contribute to the meal, her friend said to bring hot dog and hamburger buns. Anna was already trying to figure out how to scrape together the ten dollars that would be required when Jessica said she already bought some along with chips and pretzels. When she didn't quite meet Anna's eyes, she knew for a fact that Jessica had figured her out.

"Yeah. I suppose," Anna told Bob. But at least at the Hard Deck, Penny didn't usually even charge her for the three dollar ginger ales. And if she did, one of the guys just put it on their tab like it was nothing. When she showed up empty handed to the cookout, she was going to feel awful that Jessica had covered for her.

"You want another coffee?" Bob asked, standing with his own mug, but Anna shook her head. She couldn't let him pay for another thing. Perhaps deleting multi millionaire Dev Borah's phone number wasn't her best move. Not that she would ever take advantage of someone for their money. Not after what Kevin did to her.

"No. But thank you. I actually can't stay very long today."

Bob nodded before saying, "No worries. I have dinner plans with Suzanne before Mickey picks me up for D&D anyway."

And there it was once again. The reminder that Bob didn't think about that kiss nearly as much as she did. "I hope you have a great time."

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

It was late on Saturday night, and he should have been in bed, but Bob had his computer out. He reasoned that he could sleep in as late as he wanted tomorrow before heading to pick up the burgers Bradley asked him to bring for the cookout. He could stay up as long as it took for him to finish this poem and finally post it on PoetsAmongUs after looking at it for weeks.

If anyone knew he was writing about Anna, he would probably die on the spot. But nobody in his life knew he wrote anything in his free time, let alone the fact that he wrote poetry. And this poem was getting close to needing a 'mature' label if he was going to post it online.

"What are you doing?" he asked himself softly. Somehow he believed that writing about her specifically would cleanse him of these thoughts, but now he knew he was wrong. He proofread and posted his poem anyway while his skin prickled with need. He'd never experienced the kind of love his friends had, and in spite of all of her hesitations, he could imagine it happening with Anna. If anything, he liked that she seemed cautious and contemplative, he just wished she wasn't still that way toward him.

She made him want to keep leaving her notes in the books he borrowed from her, but she also made him feel like an idiot for wanting to do that. It was maddening. He needed to sleep, but he was too warm, imagining Anna once again in place of his faceless lover while he touched himself. He almost couldn't wait until the day when someone else would take her place in his mind, even if it meant settling.

The next day, he drove his old pickup toward the coast with the burgers and a six pack of ginger ale in tow. The Spanish revival style house that Bradley purchased before he and his wife made things official again was cute with desert landscaping, but she was the one who really made it a home. There was art hanging on the walls in every room, including a panoramic watercolor of the scenery of Virginia. The front bedroom had been turned into her home office, and for some reason, she had Bradley's fraternity paddle hanging in there. The house seemed more lived in now, and Bob knew Bradley was much happier for it.

"Hey, thanks man," Bradley told him, taking the bag of burgers when he got there. He was wearing his hideous Grateful Dead shirt and holding two cans of beer on one hand, but he still managed to give Bob a quick hug. "Sugar's out back, setting up some snacks and just generally looking hot. You want a beer?"

Bob held up the ginger ales in response and said, "Thanks, but I'll just have one of these for now." The last thing he wanted was a hangover like he had after their New Year's Eve party.

"Hi!" Jessica said as she and Jake walked inside, and she made a beeline right for Bob. "Have you given any more thought to how I should paint my barbarian?"

He just smiled as she started to push him through the kitchen toward the back door. "We just played yesterday. I didn't know you'd still be in the mood to talk about your ridiculous D&D character."

"Please," she practically whined. "You know how sensitive my barbarian is."

Bob snorted; truly he never would have expected he and she would have had so much in common, but even Jessica couldn't keep his attention once he saw who Bradley's wife was talking to. Anna had some freckles on her thighs. Her cutoff denim shorts went high enough up her legs that he was treated to the sight of freckles everywhere. And that wasn't all. Not even close. The deep "V" of her shirt revealed that there was a pretty good chance the freckles even trailed down inside her bra.

He wasn't going to survive the cookout if he had to look at her all afternoon. Her red hair was clipped up on top of her head with some sort of claw-shaped thing, and her skin was just everywhere. Her neck and her legs and the swell of her breasts. Her fingernails were burgundy again, just like the first day he saw her. She hadn't even noticed him yet, which was terrible, because if she had, he would have looked away by now. Instead he was given ample opportunity to memorize the way her legs looked as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, shuffling her beat up sneakers a bit along the patio.

"Oh," Jessica whispered, squeezing his bicep gently when he stopped responding to her. "Yeah, that'll do it." Her tone sounded slightly sympathetic, and it made Bob so self conscious. "Let's go say hi."

He shook his head jerkily and muttered, "In a second." Anna was currently laughing, head thrown back in delight, and Bob got the briefest peek at the strip of skin above her shorts and her bellybutton, and his brain actually stopped functioning. When she tipped her head forward again, an overjoyed smile still on her lips, she met his gaze. His brain jump started again as her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and he took a step in her direction before he could reconsider.

"Hey, Bob." She sounded a little breathless as she said his name while Bradley's wife smirked at the two of them. But he and Anna were just friends, and he needed to remember that.

"Anna," he replied softly, slipping his hands into his jeans pockets. His palms were sweaty, and he knew he was blushing. He'd never make it out of here alive. Not when she was looking at him like that.

She smiled and said, "I came up with a few, slightly more obscure book recommendations for you. I was thinking maybe we could go back to the bookstore and look for some of them that I don't currently own? I might be fun to-"

Bob was already about to agree with whatever she said, because it sounded exactly perfect to him, then he heard someone screeching his name.

"Bob!" There was a brunette flash streaking across the small backyard, and then Natasha Trace was in his arms. She was giggling next to his ear where she kissed his cheek three times in a row, knocking his glasses askew.

"I didn't know you were coming home today," he said in surprise.

"I didn't tell anyone except Bradley. Did I surprise you?" she asked.

"That's an understatement, Nat," he replied, hugging her tighter when she refused to let go. "I missed you."

Her familiar laughter was comforting as she said, "You have no idea how much I hate flying with anyone other than you." When she finally started to pull away from him, she added, "Now we can pick up where we left off before my deployment."

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

Anna couldn't believe how incredible her friend's house was. It was huge and beautiful, and she had a yard. A yard! In California! There was colorful art on the walls, which appeared to be a collection of things that she and Bradley enjoyed. Her office was something Anna could only dream about, and the kitchen was bigger than her whole apartment.

After a tour of the interior, she stood on the patio in the autumn sunlight in a pair of shorts, something she would have never been able to do in New Jersey. Every day seemed to get better than the last, assuming she could keep the intrusive thoughts about Kevin away. And also assuming she could figure out what she was supposed to do about Bob and the growing collection of feelings she seemed to have for him.

"You have to hear what happened in my Differential Equations lecture on Friday afternoon," her friend was saying as they stood near the new grill that would soon be the centerpiece of the afternoon. "You won't even believe it."

Anna listened for a minute to the wild story, bursting into laughter when she learned how her friend thought she was going to have to call the fire department while she was teaching. Then she saw him. Bob was here with his tidy hair and his adorable glasses and his big hands, and like always her brain filled up with the beautiful poetry she loved so much. Somehow it seemed to go together with him. Those stunning words matched the way he made her feel.

She had to bite her lip in an attempt to calm herself down. "Hey, Bob," she managed to say as his cheeks flushed pink.

"Anna."

Oh, she was a mess. She thought about him way too frequently, even taking the time to compile the titles of some books she had read and loved, convincing herself he might like some of them too. "I came up with a few, slightly more obscure book recommendations for you. I was thinking maybe we could go back to the bookstore and look for some of them that I don't currently own? I might be fun to-"

But she stopped mid sentence when she heard some excited chatter behind Bob, and then a woman came running out through the back door. A beautiful woman. Calling his name. Jumping into his arms. Anna was treated to the sight of the woman's lips brushing against Bob's cheek while he held onto her like he was just reunited with the only person he ever cared about. She had to watch as this other woman ran her fingers gently along his skin in exactly the way Anna fantasized about. And when she looked around, nobody seemed concerned by this turn of events, rather they all acted like it was perfectly normal that Bob and this woman were whispering intimately to each other.

Then Anna heard her say, "Now we can pick up where we left off before my deployment."

Oh. Well. There was a sour taste in her mouth as she took a step backwards as the rest of the group greeted this mystery woman. Anna was going to have to have words with Advanced Calculus and Advanced Physics after this. Maybe they tried to set her up with Bob, because they didn't like this other woman? That idea vaporized as soon as she saw Jessica embrace her with a bright smile on her face.

Anna felt like her chest was growing tighter by the second, and then Jessica started to pull the pretty brunette toward her. "You have to come meet the newest faculty member from the English department! Dr. Anna Webber."

The woman looked her up and down with dark, appraising eyes and a little smirk set firmly on her lips. Then she stuck out her right hand and said, "I'm Natasha Trace."

The last thing Anna wanted to do right now was shake hands, but Jessica was looking at her with concern, probably wondering why she was just standing there. "It's a pleasure," Anna said with as much conviction as she could muster, shaking hands as briefly as she could.

"You teach at San Diego State too?" Natasha asked as her smirk bloomed into a bigger smile. When Anna nodded, she laughed and added, "What the hell do they put in the water at that school?"

Jessica was beaming now as she said, "Anna gives book recommendations to Bob all the time."

"Really? Is that so?" Natasha asked, still eyeing Anna like a predator would their prey, when Bob appeared with two cans of ginger ale. He gave one to Natasha and then tried to hand the other one to Anna as Natasha said, "I actually read a phenomenal book last month, Bob. I'll write down the title for you."

He kind of smiled, still holding out the other can toward Anna who felt like she was on the verge of screaming. "No. Thank you," she told him, taking a few steps away as she clocked the hurt expression on his face. "I don't want any."

The uncomfortable feeling was overtaking Anna's whole body now when Natasha leaned a little closer to Bob and softly muttered, "Let me guess... you have a little crush? This happened in my absence?"

Anna turned and went inside, searching for the bathroom she'd seen on the house tour. That woman was mocking her. Anna didn't want to hear any more of that conversation, because it was making her skin crawl. And worse still, she was finally able to identify this feeling as she closed and locked the door and leaned on the sink vanity.

Jealousy.

She was more jealous of this petite brunette who seemed to think Bob's personal space was hers for the taking than she ever was about Kevin and Alyssa. She was beside herself at the idea of another woman giving Bob book recommendations and making fun of his stupid little crush on her.

This was exactly why she should have never let herself have feelings. When she looked in the mirror, she saw tears in her eyes. "Shit," she whispered. She didn't have a car, so she couldn't just discreetly leave. Plus she'd been looking forward to eating something other than one of her sad sandwiches for days.

The jealousy gave way to anger as she wiped her eyes with a tissue and dropped it in the trash can. Her new friends invited her here, and she was going to stay. She wasn't going to let her feelings for Bob Floyd dictate her mood or what she felt she was allowed to do. She wasn't going to let another man run her life like that ever again.

With her head held high, she walked back outside, making it a point to avoid Bob and Natasha at all costs. She willingly had a thirty minute conversation with Jake and Mickey about the Marvel Cinematic Universe as an excuse to keep her distance. Then she and Bradley discussed the extensive musical catalogue of the Grateful Dead while she slowly sipped a beer to try to take the edge off. Then he turned on the grill, and the smell of food cooking had her excited enough that it was becoming easier and easier to ignore Bob.

When she accidentally looked his way, he was already eyeing her with a confused expression. She could pretend all day long that she didn't care what he thought and that she wasn't jealous at all. She could be so stubborn about this. At least all they had between them was that one awkward, fumbled kiss in his truck. It wasn't like she'd slept with him before he ditched her for the much better looking Natasha.

She was still doing a fine job of ignoring both of them when Bradley announced that dinner was ready. Anna took a plate of food and scooted all the way to the end of the rectangular patio table, snagging the spot across from Jessica. She was willing to talk about anything right now, even her friend's physics curriculum that she could barely comprehend, but then Bob was right next to her.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked cautiously, setting his plate next to hers. Anna just shrugged, and then she was enveloped in his clean scent as he eased himself down in the seat with his knee hitting her thigh. She quickly crossed her legs before scooting her chair a few inches to the side away from his. "Are you okay?"

Anna almost laughed as Natasha found a spot on the other side of the table. "I'm just fine," she said before taking a huge bite of her burger and avoiding looking at either of them.

"Right," Bob whispered, frowning down toward his plate as she gave him side eye. "I just... feel like I did something to upset you."

Anna shook her head, and when she was done chewing the delicious food, she said, "Not at all. You're free to make the decisions you want to make. And I'm free to keep my books to myself since you've got other ones now."

Bob looked at her and asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

But Anna was well on her way to starting a conversation with Jessica that could probably last for hours. She ignored him as she asked, "Hey, Jess, what's up with that physics professor who just started wearing a toupee?"

"Dr. Leeland!" she screeched before launching into an animated conversation on the topic of her colleague's hair piece just as expected.

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

Bob was so confused. He had been about to jump at the chance to hang out at the bookstore in North Park with Anna when Natasha arrived. At that point, he honestly thought this was going to be the best day he'd had in a while. Anna seemed happy to see him, and one of his best friends was finally home from deployment. But as soon as that thought entered his mind, Anna started acting like she wanted nothing to do with him. So much so that she asked Jess about some guy's fake hair? Bob sat there and listened to the conversation while he ate, trying to interject, but Anna just wasn't having it. She had even rejected his ginger ale.

What the hell did he do wrong? All he wanted to do was talk to her about books and look at her freckles. She was sitting right next to him, but he may as well have been on Jupiter with the way she seemed convinced that he wasn't even there at all.

As everyone started to finish eating, Bob washed his food down with the rest of his ginger ale. Maybe he should just head home early. He'd be spending all week at work with Nat, so it wasn't like he was going to miss out on much there. And being around Anna when she wasn't even looking at him made him feel like an idiot for secretly writing poems about her. He sat at the table alone for an extra minute with his head cradled in his hands, then he took his trash inside the house.

Of course Anna was the only other person in the kitchen, helpfully washing the grilling utensils and other things Bradley left in the sink. She glanced his way briefly before continuing with her task, and Bob headed for the trash can. He had the perfect view of the freckles on the backs of her thighs, but he didn't feel like he should be looking now. He stood quietly for a few seconds before deciding that he'd give this one last try before heading out.

"Anna," he said just loud enough that he knew she could hear him over the running water. "Can we talk? I just feel like I did something to upset you? When you started to invite me to the bookstore, I was going to say yes. Obviously I'd love to go with-"

She looked at him over her shoulder, and he went silent at her glare. "Why don't you just go with Natasha instead?"

His brow furrowed in confusion. "That's not the kind of thing she and I usually do together."

"Oh?" she asked, her voice dripping with something that made Bob's skin tingle with goosebumps. "Does she usually recommend books while you're out to dinner? Or do you take her to see her favorite movies?"

She turned off the water and faced him without bothering to dry her hands. His lips parted as he watched the furious looking blush that crept along her chest, up her neck, and to her cheeks.

"I don't really do those things with her either," he said slowly, trying to puzzle his way through this. She sounded almost jealous of Nat, but that couldn't be. That didn't make any sense at all. Anna made it clear she didn't want to be with him.

"Well, you're free to do whatever you want, Bob," she said with a shrug, chin held high. "This is why we're just friends. You've already got plenty of women to choose from, like Suzanne and Natasha, and I'm not about to get caught up in another attractive man who seems too good to be true."

She started to duck past him, but Bob blocked her path. "Whoa, whoa! No, you've got it all wrong." She doubled back the other way, but he stepped to the side until she bumped into him. "Suzanne is my elderly neighbor. And Natasha and I are friends," he said quickly, and he was rewarded with Anna's brown eyes snapping up to meet his. "I've known her for years. She's the pilot I usually fly with."

Anna took one stumbling step backwards toward the sink. Her teeth sank into her lip like earlier before she whispered, "Oh." She swallowed hard, drawing Bob's gaze back to the freckles on her neck as her blush grew deeper. "So you're not... into her?"

His voice sounded deep even to his own ears as he promised, "Not even slightly. Not like I'm into you."

The kitchen went so silent that Bob could hear laughter filtering from the patio through the open door, and Anna's expression softened as she took a tiny step forward. Then another one. Then one more before she was launching herself into his arms. Bob could feel her damp hands in his hair as their lips met, and it was nothing like the way they kissed in his truck. She wasn't tentative, and he didn't pull away as she kissed him harder. This time her body was pressed to his, and she moaned softly when he let his hands settle on her hips.

Anna coaxed him impossibly closer with her fingers in his hair and on the back of his neck, and soon he had her pinned against the edge of the counter. He could feel denim rubbing against denim as she parted her lips and wiggled slowly against him. When Bob swiped his tongue along her bottom lip, Anna let him taste her before her lips drifted along to his neck.

"Fuck," he grunted, squeezing her hips in his hands as his index finger met the soft skin of her lower back. She was sucking gently on the spot just to the left of his Adam's apple, and there was no way she couldn't feel how hard he was getting for her right now.

Those burgundy fingernails were scraping gently along his scalp as he rolled his hips one time against her body. When Anna licked his neck, he forced himself to ask the question that was fluttering around the peripheral of his aroused brain. "Are you going to tell me this is another mistake? Like that night in my truck?"

Anna pulled her lips away from his pulse point long enough to whisper, "It wasn't even a mistake last time. I just couldn't help myself."

Then Bob kissed her lips until she was clinging to him with her back arched against the counter and her hips held tightly in his hands. When he could tell someone was coming inside, he pulled himself away, panting as she tried to chase him for more. He could see the questioning look on her face as he stepped aside just before Mickey and Jake walked inside, arguing about who ate the last hot dog.

Anna turned back toward the sink as she blushed, and Bob was aching to kiss her again. Dying to confirm that she wasn't going to write him off again. He cleared his throat and asked, "Will you let me drive you home later?"

Bob heard her soft laugh and whispered, "Yes." Then with a smile, he took the last can of ginger ale from the refrigerator and set it on the counter next to her. She looked up at him, eyes filled with need as he excused himself back out to the patio where he started to count down the minutes until he could suggest it was late enough to leave.

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

Anna, you are living the dream, baby! Let him love you the way he wants to! And once again, in Natasha we trust. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 8

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#bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd imagine #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd x oc #robert floyd fanfiction #robert floyd fic #robert floyd #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #covering the classics

426 notes · View notes

velvetures · 11 months

Note

Hi!!! I saw your post about taking some requests so I thought that I'll give it a shot. If it's possible, could you maybe do a Captain Price one? I haven't seen a story about him yet on your page, so I hope that this request can finally add one to your masterlist.

So here it goes: A Price x virgin!reader one. I feel like he's the type of guy to be really gentle and slow when he realizes that the reader is inexperienced, mostly due to his calm and caring nature. But once they start to get comfy, he'll get kind of rough in some way? And aftercare, I just know that this man would be an expert at it. Would help in washing them up in a tub or even cooking them a meal after. I could see that he's also a sucker for cuddles and just being close to them in general.

So yeah, I really hope that you'll consider this request and possibly write something out of it. If not, that's totally okay!!

Side note: I just wanted to say that I love your stories and that it brings me comfort, too:))

I Knew, Sweetheart

A/N: I'm so sorry this is so fucking looonngg!! I just couldn't get it right and I ended up going for "better is more" in the hopes that it'll hide the god-awful writing. :( Anyways, please don't burn me at the stake. It's my first Price fic, and I've still not got his voice or character dialed in. Summary: Reader is Price's gf, and while they've been together for a little while... sex hasn't come up. Nor the fact that the reader is a virgin!. Reader goes about bringing it up a little unconventionally, and things progress. T/W: virgin!reader, fem-reader, NS/FW 18+ ONLY, p-in-v sex, fingering, unprotected sex (don't do that IRL), established relationship, a little bit of an age-difference?, cursing?, first-time anxiety?, aftercare, probably missed something else. proofreading is for people w/ friends of which I have none.

John Price set himself apart from most of the men that he often worked alongside when it came to matters of his personal life and the ways in which he operated. A lot of people would often make jokes, saying it was nothing more than his being an “old man” who couldn’t adjust to the newer ways of life. But fuck, he wasn’t that old when it came right down to it, and yes he liked going along with the traditional ways specifically when it came to relationships, at least when he had the chance to. He’d been a lot younger at one point, not seeing how detrimental his actions could’ve been affecting the women he associated with or spent a few hours in bed with just to leave without another word sent their way.

Captain Price knew he’d made many mistakes when the heart was involved. He threw away a lot of advice he’d been given growing up -some good and some bad- all because he thought he knew better or had enough intelligence to figure it out as he went. Much of that changed when he started realizing that he wasn’t fulfilled in the slightest. For a few years, he was bitter over the emptiness. Not understanding where it came from or how the fuck he could get rid of it. Unraveling layer after layer like a frayed pair of jeans, John kept questioning how he’d come so far just to be that alone. Praying his mistakes hadn’t destroyed his chances of finding a little sliver of humanity outside of his work to motivate him. Keep him sane in the most bitter of hours, and soft when everything and everyone else around him kept adding brick after brick into never-ending, emotionless walls.

Then you showed up out of nowhere, sitting on a barstool in one of the pubs he frequented when he had some time away from his work. Close to home and nowhere near busy enough to call a bar or club; John immediately thought you looked like you’d taken a wrong turn and wound up in an old man’s hangout. It took him a few hours of watching out of the corner of his eye to finally weigh the options of being shot down, or possibly making something out of a whole lot of nothing. His offering to buy you a drink led to taking a few puffs off of his cigar outside. From there he learned just about everything about you within the first few weeks of seeing you or calling here and there.

You liked to talk, a lot. Something John was thankful for since he developed a bad habit of just staring at your pretty face instead of listening like he knew too. Fuck it made him feel ten years younger. And that was something else that made your relationship feel unusual to the Captain. More than six years in age difference didn’t sound all that significant on paper. Yet it was more interesting than either of you thought it would be initially. Aside from just simple pop culture references and enjoyment of music and other low-stakes things, your lives were on different paces. John was stable… at least as stable as his work allowed for. While you’d finally got the job you’d been dreaming of, and hadn’t been working for a full year when you met him. Everything all together challenged John, and you as well, with figuring out what you wanted from each other. How you planned -or wanted to- go about making that happen. And if being serious was something that you shared an interest in.

A few months of going on dates and John walking you home was traded for him sharing half the dresser drawers in his bedroom with you. He was gone nearly all of the time, which put a damper on things but he liked having peace of mind that you were safe and in his home. Besides, it was a short drive from his house to your work and you could stop paying half your paychecks on rent and start saving it up for anything you really wanted. At least… anything John hadn’t already bought or given you. Well… there was one thing John hadn’t given you. And it began gnawing at your mind harder and harder every time he went away for a mission and came home without the slightest inclination to do more than give you a kiss.

John Price still hadn’t asked or hinted at wanting to have sex with you.

At first, you thought it was refreshing. Seeing a man old enough and patient to understand that sex wasn’t just given but earned. Yet every time you thought there would be a moment after a date or a ‘welcome home reunion’ where he’d finally bring up the topic, your expectations fell short. Plenty of excuses floated around your brain, including the more rational ones: he was just very respectful. While others were much more self-conscious and saddening: he was getting it somewhere else, or he could see that you weren’t experienced. The age-old struggle of being a virgin past the age of eighteen.

Too old for half the population, and far too young and inexperienced for the others. Sheltered didn’t describe you. You had toys and knew how to give head as well as having been on the receiving end. But going “all the way” eluded you by some miracle or curse. Looking at John in comparison to yourself was just as attractive as it was intimidating. You knew better than to think he didn’t know his way around the bedroom. He was just too smooth. Far beyond any man, you attempted a relationship previously. You wanted to think he respected you, but at the same time, waiting for much longer for him to make a move just felt like another eternity you lacked the patience and confidence to endure. So after a long night of overthinking and wondering how you could even go about bringing it up, you made a decision that when he got back home from his latest mission, you’d be the one to bring it up.

God your hands were sweating. He was supposed to have been home two hours ago and there was still no sign of his truck in the driveway or a single message from him on the phone you had gripped between your damp palms. Everything had been just fine all day, until the sun began to set over the hillside in the backyard, leaving you less than six hours away from John coming through the door. Worried didn’t even begin to explain how your stomach was tied in knots with a low burning fire in your throat. John had been nothing short of perfect -save for being gone so often- and you knew there wasn’t a single reason for you to be so overwhelmed at the mere thought of being an adult and asking him to have sex with you. Of course… You made up your mind to omit that you’d never done it before and just hoped the Captain would be too preoccupied with something else to notice.

Noticing the details quickly got turned around on you when the front door creaked open on its hinges and you hadn’t the slightest clue that John was standing halfway through the threshold with bags slung over his back and a small look of curiosity on his face. His pretty little thing, sitting on the couch with her arms wrapped around her bent knees and a deep stare somewhere far away from the both of them. He had to admit it wasn’t the first time he had caught you sitting with your eyes “comfortable” as you liked to call it; however, it was the first time he’d seen you wearing something quite that lacy for no damn good reason before.

Some kind of black, strappy, and frilly little number. It hardly left anything to the imagination, and John had to force himself not to go into deep thought about how you’d even got into the thing without instructions. It made your figure that much more eye-catching, and after staring at nothing but rain and mud for two weeks you were a sight for sore eyes. Even a Captain had to admit his biggest weaknesses to overcome himself and improve, but he wasn’t sure in that second if he could ever overcome -much less forget- how divine you looked. Honestly, he didn’t even know you owned it to begin with. But by the way, you kept spinning your phone in your hand, he had the vague gut feeling that you had something on your mind. A little more than dinner or fussing over the possible injuries he could’ve sustained while gone.

“Waiting on someone?” He asked lowly, trying his best not to startle you too much. Right away your eyes locked on his and widened. Almost like a little rabbit cornered by a fox and no hole to scurry into. He watched a flash of sudden panic overtake you and how quickly you reached for one of the throw blankets at the end of the couch to hide behind. Price chewed his tongue, forcing himself not to smirk at you at the moment. Wanting so badly to tease you a little bit for looking so sexy in that bodysuit, but acting nothing short of the little shy church girl getting kissed on the cheek for the first time.

“J-John,” Your voice sputters on his name a bit, forcing a smile to his face. He couldn’t help it after being away for this long without the chance to hear you even over the phone for a few minutes. “You’re home a little late.”

He nods, guilty. “Delayed flight. Weather kept us from movin’ out on time.”

Careful, he dropped his bags off at the front door without the slightest concern about how long they’d sit there. More important things were swirling around in his head. Trying to decipher if you were planning something and just backed out, or if you just needed a little bit of coaxing to not be so shy. Hostage negotiation wasn’t something he thought would ever come in handy when it came to interacting with you, yet John found himself rounding around the chairs on the other side of the living room from you, and planning each step he made to ensure he didn’t spook you. That lingerie wasn’t for nothing, and he desperately needed to know what you planned on doing with it.

He licked his lips, taking a steadying breath. “What’s under the blanket, sweetheart?”

You swallowed thickly, “N-nothing… I thought - I hoped it’d look nice,” Fumbling pathetically for an excuse, you finally spit one out all under the very soft and lightly amused eyes of one John Price. “It doesn’t fit.” The second it left your lips, you internally cursed yourself.

John’s eyebrows raised, instantly grabbing onto that loose thread and pulling on it. “I’m sure you’re wrong about that…” He came closer, standing just in front of you on the couch with his hands on his hips. “Come on, why don’t you let me have a look? I’ll give you a second opinion.” His words made your heart stutter, and you weakly shook your head in response.

“I should just return it.” You mutter, scooting over to the side of him and attempting to sneak off with your protective blanket.

You’re not even close to getting away from John when he chuckles, one arm curling around your shoulders and the other getting a firm grip on the material you’re hiding under. Naturally, you don’t exactly fight to get away. But a furious blush breaks out over your cheeks and neck, feeling the preverbal trap tightened around your throat. He’s turning around and sitting down on the couch with a nonnegotiable silent order for you to take a seat straddling his lap. That alone is enough to drive you up a wall with anxious feelings. Not that you’d never sat on his lap before -actually it was quite common- but under these circumstances, there was a lot more than just a little bit of heat passing between the both of you. Very slowly, John found the edge of the blanket and slipped a hand under, searching out for your skin and eventually landing on a little bit of the lacy material stretching in a high cut over your hip. You can actually see his eyes darken, tracing along the hemline and mentally picturing what was under his fingers. Touch alone was making you squirm, avoiding eye contact and trying to keep quiet so as not to embarrass yourself even more than you already felt.

“Oh, sweetheart… fits like a fuckin’ glove.” He whispers lowly, hand palming your asscheek and toying with the thin little string that disappeared into the cleft.

“It’d be a shame for you to get all dressed up… go through all this trouble… then not let me see your hard work.” His voice lulled slow and steady, swaying your fears just enough for you to feel your head nod up and down a couple of times before letting the blanket fall off your shoulders and pool on Price’s lap. The front of the bodysuit had been well-hidden up until now, with you sitting so lady-like in his lap. But the thin straps just crossing around your tits and holding them up without a single stitch of material covering them totally, John thought he’d been shot right through the chest. Between the innocent look in your eyes, and that damned outfit making you appear about as sinful as hell, he couldn’t keep from letting out a low growl and squeezing your ass just hard enough to make you gasp.

“This is what you were trying to hide?” His breathlessness couldn’t be masked, nor could the frequent shift in his eyes between your practically bare chest and eyes. John chuckled, hands drifting towards your hips and up to rest on each side of your ribs. Pushing your tits together just a little bit, almost bewitched by the sight of you like that on his lap. “Oh, you’re such a pretty girl…” He muttered, almost to himself.

Shifting in his lap, you tried to keep your growing arousal and nervousness under control. Each touch set you on fire, and with John moving this slow you couldn’t be sure you’d live long enough to see another day. It was too good feeling a man actually appreciated a woman in front of him. Not just finding the small bits and pieces he preferred and overlooking the rest. You knew being nervous was natural, but the more John rubbed and soothed, it was getting harder and harder not to whine or ask him for just a little bit more to satiate you. Right away, John’s eyes darted up to you, and something you couldn’t quite describe flashed through his eyes just long enough for him to lip his lips and sit up a little straighter, pulling you to sit straddling just one of his thighs.

“I think I know what you want, sweetheart.” He smiled so damn affectionately that it made your heart jump. “But just so I know… why don’t you go ahead and tell me, that way I don’t miss anything. I don’t like to disappoint.” Toying with the zipper of his sweater, you suck in a nervous breath to steady your nerves.

“I want you to, have sex with me.” You hardly whisper the second part, still drawing your own attention towards anything minute that could serve as a focal point with your body shaking so badly.

“Hmm…” His thoughtful hum sends shivers up your spine, and the feeling of his hands massaging your hips makes it hard to breathe. “So I was right,” A smile crosses his face. “Well then, how about you go ahead and take care of this.” He growls a little, his fingers slowly tracing over the barely-there strip of fabric covering your core, already soaking wet with your arousal. Your little moan slips out before you can even try to cover your mouth, and John’s fingers slip away like he was purposefully trying to be mean and deny you a taste of relief.

“John, please…” You whimper, hands resting on his shoulders hoping he’ll take mercy on you.

He just shifts down to rest against the couch a little more and bounces his knee a few times, sending jolts of extreme sensation right up your clit into your lower stomach. You didn’t get it at first… what he wanted you to do. But now you did, and John almost grinned when he saw the realization, followed by the shy look you gave him. Encouragement was needed, and he was more than happy to deliver. Slowly rocking your hips back and forth along his pants, purposefully having settled you on the side that his thigh-holster was strapped to, adding two extra ridges that instantly began working to overstimulate you. It was too good, and not enough. Pushing your inhibitions just a little further out of focus and forcing you to really focus on how nothing more than his thigh was getting you to a release quicker than any toy or trick you’d tried on yourself. Impeccable alone, it was his low voice right in your ear that made everything outside of John Price holding you on his lap disappear.

“Doin’ so good, sweetheart…”

“Making me feel bad for not helping sooner… If I would’ve known how needy you were.”

“That’s it, love. Keep going, want you to let go. Right on my lap, then I’ll take care of you.”

His lips suffocated your moans and whimpers, swallowing each little pleasure and claiming it as his own. John hadn’t taken his time like this in years, but damn it was special seeing you -his pretty little thing- so needy and whining his name. So sensitive to the texture of his cargos that he was actually wondering if you could withstand something more… purposeful. God, he hoped you could. He wanted to tase you so bad after feeling just how wet you were. Fuck, even the dark khaki color of his pants was getting darker with each little jerk and grind of your hips. Thighs twitching and clenching around him like you couldn’t get the right angle, and were slowly getting more pathetically and innocently frustrated. He needed you hungry though… wanted to ensure that this was done properly. And if it meant withholding from you just enough to make sure you were desperate, he’d bite back every urge he had to give you everything right away.

John knew right away that you were a virgin. Either by just his ability to read people or by the way that you didn’t particularly use sex appeal to draw him in right when you first met. You weren’t innocent of how you looked though, and always dressed and acted much to the benefit of being seen as the valuable woman Price always believed you to be. Yet it didn’t escape his curiosity as to how you’d been able to slip through the grasps of so many disrespectful and predatory men who would’ve done anything to have taken their chance at you. Fuck, he was thankful beyond belief. He hated thinking that you could’ve needed to experience pain or discomfort at any point… but he never asked you simply out of respect and the knowledge that at some point the topic would come up. Only, it didn’t come to fruition quite like he expected. In fact, he never imagined that you’d had your first orgasm with him riding his thigh while sitting on the couch in his house. He wouldn’t change it for a goddamn thing, though.

In the moment, he’d wanted nothing more than to hear you. After hearing so many little whines and pleas for his help, he knew you’d sound so beautiful. But his own intentions fell to desire when he crashed his lips to yours, taking those cries of pleasure for himself. There would be plenty more to come for him to bask in the sound of. The first one though? He needed it. It was his to taste and keep forever. Alongside the taste of your pleasure, he relished in your shaking legs and the harsh bite of your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to feel through two shirts. He felt your desperation just as deeply as his own, and while his cock straining against his zipper was not totally lost to his attention, John could easily stave off his own needs to make sure you were satiated just as thoroughly as deserved for coming on his pants like the good little things you always were.

“Good girl… You did so good for me, sweetheart.” His rough voice rumbled against your ear as his kissed you softly.

Petting your hair and rubbing his other hand down your quivering thigh. As much as he wanted to keep you right here and not disturb your come-down, he wanted you in bed. Needed to see you laid out like he pictured when jerking his cock after weeks of pent-up stress needed a release. Fuck he wanted to take you slow in his bed and wake up in the morning with you wrapped around him and the smell of sex on the sheets. Before you could really even catch your breath, John had you spread out on the bed with him staring down at you almost astonished. You were just as affected, seeing the heavy outline of his dick parallel to his zipper and ending just at his belt. His eyes caught your lingering, and he chuckled, biting his tongue with his back teeth before squeezing himself and shrugging like it wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever seen him do. The little gasp you let out only gave him that much more confidence to keep teasing you as much as he’d been.

Slowly, painfully, stripping off one piece of clothing at a time and letting it drop to the floor. Eyes locked on yours like he was getting off to how you reacted to each little inch of skin that was bared to you. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought he enjoyed all of the attention on him. When in reality, he was just mesmerized by how in awe you were of him, looking like a war-torn soldier with his scars and hardened body. You were holding your breath for the moment he pushed his underwear down off his hips, standing downright predatory with his fist tight around the base of his thick and glistening cock. If you ever had a moment of hesitation about doing this with John, they dissolved in that single moment. Because your next movement was to reach your hands out, wiggling your fingers for him to come closer.

“What would you like?” He asks, coming to stand at the foot of the bed just out of your reach.

“You.” You answer a little plainly, making him chuckle.

“Not quite specific enough, sweetheart.” His eyes drop to your body hugged in that black outfit and he bites at his cheek. “But as much as I love you in that, I’d like to see you take it off.” A very easy request. Had it not been for your inability to reach the little snap at the back that kept you tied into all of the lace and straps. So, you very politely raised up and sat on your knees with your back to John and gave him the sweetest look you could manage.

“Give me hand, Captain?”

He nearly ripped the fucking thing off.

The moment he had your seduction tactic of clothing balled up in his fist, he felt the first little surge of his common sense holding him back a little bit. Base instinct screamed for him to sink into you as quickly as possible. But feeling your hands rub over his chest and your shy little kisses to his neck reminded him of circumstance. Pinned against your belly, his cock twitched in response to your teeth grazing accidentally over his collarbone. You were about to whisper an apology when John wrapped a hand around your throat to tilt your head up and suck hard just under your jaw. He liked when you did that… The thought gave you a little bolt of satisfaction. One that progressed into your hands sliding down his stomach until your fingers curled around his thick shaft, earning a warning sound of a moan deep in his chest.

“So fuckin’ soft…” He murmured against your shoulder, kissing it hotly and slowly rocking his hips against your hands. Teasing himself. Edging closer to try and raise a little bit of resistance so he wouldn’t spill his load on the bed long before he was damn well ready. Your silky little hands spreading his arousal over his length only lasted for a few minutes before John was pulling you away with heaving breaths and a flush breaking out over his cheeks.

“Too much?” You ask a little giggly when he lays you back and crawls up to kneel between your spread legs.

His reaction is one of raised eyebrows and a devilish kind of smile that makes you feel like you just made a little too accurate of a joke to be laughing. John gives you a little warning ‘tsk tsk’, shaking his head like he could try and hide the lust and affection swirling in his dark eyes at the sight of you giggling, and all spread out for him like a five-course meal the Queen of England couldn’t afford to buy. A wiser man might’ve believed himself worthy of you, enough that his dirty hands could touch you and try to give you pleasure in the way they assumed to know best. Yet John leaned over you with the knowledge that he was one of the most unworthy men on the planet, and you had so much grace and love inside of you that it didn’t matter. One little touch and you could cleanse him of every blood stain he’d not been able to clean or sinful act of revenge he couldn’t resist committing. Above all else, you’d decided in all your innocence of the world that you trusted him with your body as much as you’d already handed over your heart and mind.

John kissed you. Hard. With everything he had to offer in return for the invaluable

With that, he’s, hauling you up against him. He wants you laying right on top of him so he can sleep soundly with you right against him. He’s very quick to give you more praise and ask again if you’re feeling okay mentally and physically. You mention feeling just a little insecure, despite all of his very purposeful care throughout the whole process, but Price won’t have it.

Right away he’s kissing you softly, hands rubbing over your back and butt affectionately. Letting you know just how special he feels that you trusted him, as well as just how lucky he was to find someone like you in the first place. Holding the back of your head and gently cradling you against his lips; Tongue licking into your mouth and groaning softly when you mirror his movements, even going far enough to nip at his tongue. Using that same little hint of him enjoying your teeth on him. Just like before, you’re met with another warning sound of a growl, and John is pulling back and moving his head between your legs with a careful watch on your reaction.

“Can’t wait any longer, sweetheart.” He kissed your inner thigh sweetly. “Please let me taste your sweet little pussy.”

His words shock your body, and your head falls back with the little bit of erotic pleads overwhelming you. God, it was making you drip onto the sheets feeling him so close yet waiting for your answer. Pathetically, you couldn’t get the word ‘yes’ out of your mouth for a few long minutes. Just enough time for him to lovingly suck bruises onto your inner thighs and mean you scream out his name, squirming under his hands to try and get some real relief.

John takes pity on you, stopping long enough to let you catch your breath. “Come on pretty girl. Just say the word… I’ll make you feel so fuckin’ good.”

“Yes, yes, yes… please. I need more!” Your airy pleas fall like angel’s trumpets on his ears, as his mouth descends hungrily onto your cunt.

Licking through your slick folds and growling your own name back against your core with the sweet and alkaline flavor. Your hips buck up and you cry out, feeling his tongue lash over your clit for the first time and right away he’s got one forearm over your hips to hold them steady with the other hand held tight with his fingers intertwined with yours. His mustache tickles against your skin and you can feel him resting his head against your thigh, almost like he’s getting comfortable for an extended stay with his tongue in your cunt.

Another orgasm is ripped from you without warning less than ten minutes into John’s unyielding assault on your sensitive clit. And it’s this time that John ensures your thighs can’t wrap around his head for the sole purpose of hearing your loud and raw scream of his name. Blissed out, and shaking once again, John smiles against your pussy; Lapping up any remaining release he’d missed mere seconds before and feeling the dull pressure of your heels digging into his back.

“God, you’re so good for me sweetheart,” His praise blows cool air over your folds and you jerk a little, whining when you feel his lips return back down to you. Slowly, teasingly, he began all over again just as he did the first time.

It takes a couple seconds for you to realize he doesn’t plan on stopping. But when you do, crying for him to stop when he begins using his thumb to tease your clit while his tongue fucks slowly in and out of your clenching hole. John almost laughs, darkly and amused with your little cries and moans. Feeding off of your pleasure just to give it right back to you in the direct motivation of making you come on his tongue and fingers this time.

“F-fuck - John! Sh-shit,” Your stuttered voice falls into an unabashed groan when he teases his finger at your entrance, and slowly slides it deep into your fluttering pussy, squeezing around it tightly. Hungry for more, and weeping with each small curl of the digit hitting on your upper wall.

Your eyes roll back, and you attempt to push John’s head back to try and ease the stimulation, just to feel his hand holding you back and in place. It’s maddening, feeling so good that it’s almost bringing tears to your eyes, having already come twice -more than you typically gave yourself- and no sign of him letting you escape.

God, John was pushing you to the boundary of everything you knew about your own body, as well as giving you the first, raw, experience of just how good sex could be. Lifting your head up just to try and get a small glance at him, you catch the sight of his eyes, fiery and intense looking right back up at you with your own come soaking his mustache and the entire lower half of his handsome face. You clench around his digit again, being pushed that much closer to the edge just at the visual alone.

Your third release came as quickly as the first two, this time resulting in the delicious stretch of John’s three fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, literally slurping up your release; Almost dragging it out of you like he couldn’t stand the thought of not swallowing every drop. He whispered your name so gently as he came to rest on his forearms overtop of you, kissing your forehead with his wet lips and feeling his hair stick against your sweaty forehead.

“Sweetheart…” his tone had softened to the smallest whisper you’d ever heard from him. “Are you sure you want this? We can stop here if you’d like.”

Opening your eyes to see his handsome face and the slight of his hair in a total mess, you knew getting away with not mentioning your lack of experience was impossible. Your John… wasn’t nearly as unobservant as you’d wanted him to be. Without more than a tired little smile, you nodded. Raising your head weakly just far enough to kiss him gently, tasting yourself against your lips and feeling the slight quiver of his breath.

“Please, I want this. I want you John.”

Initially, no matter how much he’d taken care to prep you there was still a deep stretch as his thick cock began slowly entering you. Sweetly, he worked you through each little discomfort, giving you kiss after kiss and running his hands through your hair. Distracting from the little sting that had never been present with your toys, and praising you until his hips pressed flush against yours.

“Fuucckkk yes,” Price couldn’t hold back the loud groan as he looked down to see your pretty little cunt taking every last inch of his dick and squeezing so hard he could barely think straight.

“Takin’ my cock so good… Such a pretty girl, my good little thing…” His murmurs and curses slowly devolved the further you progressed.

Your body slowly adjusted to the intrusion and the gentle thrusts John made the moment you began squirming and pleading with him to move through your little hiccups. The unusual feeling of John moving inside of you slowly began to coax moans and praise from your mouth every time the crown of his cock rubbed deep against a swollen, textured, spot inside of you that built up pressure so quickly that you needed to wrap your legs around his hips to keep them from shaking uncontrollably. Each stroke got harder and harder, with John eventually pounding his cock deep inside of you, moaning and using one arm to wrap around your waist to hold your lower body still so he could bring both of you closer.

“J-John…” Your voice jolted with each snap of his hips as you tried to warn him.

Feeling that familiar yet almost destructive power of another climax rushing through your lower body. Convinced you didn’t have enough left in you to come again, you felt tears pricking your eyes, overwhelmed with immense pleasure skyrocketing you towards a final orgasm you kept denying until John’s fingers reached between you and expertly began rubbing tight circles around your clit, violently tossing you into whited-out vision, and muted hearing.

Above you, John found his own release and shared it at the same time as yours. Fisting the bedsheets to keep from grabbing ahold of you too tightly and bruising you; his cock getting squeezed so tightly from your climax that it was almost painful to stay seated inside of you. With so little arm strength left, he fell nearly full-weight on top of you and only propped himself up by his elbows to keep from suffocating you.

Utterly wrecked, and feeling more than you’d ever experienced more than you’d felt in your life, it took minutes before you could open your eyes and actually have enough of the mental capacity to realize that John was gently stroking your head, kissing your forehead and your nose, and holding you tightly to him as the strong muscle jerks and twitches in your body began to die out.

“You here with me?” Low and comforting, you smile dazedly with your eyes heavy and trying to focus on him.

You merely nod your head yes and give what you assumed was a ‘mhmmm’ but might’ve sounded more like a small animal being choked or drowned. Naturally, John’s lips spread into a very happy and amused smile, cupping your cheek with his hand and pressing a kiss to your lips softly.

“Come on, sweetheart…” John whispered, pulling your head up to his chest and gently easing himself out of you with a low sigh.

You’re once again lifted up and whisked away, this time, into the bathroom just off to the side of the bedroom where John carefully sits you down on the edge of the bathtub and starts running hot water with the lights dimmed low. Certain he’s got everything for your bath within your reach and the water is high enough for you to really sink down into in and relax, he gives you a soft kiss and promises to return after just a couple minutes.

He returns before you even work up the desire to wash your hair, and immediately takes over the task of getting you cleaned up himself. In between the lulls of soaps, and conditioners, John will pose quiet questions, asking how you’re feeling and wanting to know if there was anything that hurt you physically or was bothering you mentally. His care was intense and very personal, giving you much more confidence and comfort after having such a draining experience. Of course, you felt fantastic throughout, but when he asked if you were tired, there was a feeling that he already knew you were and expected you to tell him how he could best support you.

Other than letting your head rest against his chest. Leaving not one inch of your body neglected, from your face to your feet. Throughout the process you watch through sleepy eyes, seeing a very peaceful sort of look on his face while soaping you up and helping you rinse off and step out of the slippery bathtub into a warm towel you could only assume he’d thrown in the dryer just for your comfort.

Holding the towel around yourself, you peck him on the lips and smile, too tired to really say anything of real value. However, you’re certain John understands by the way his arms wrap you up and hold you tight to his bare chest while running his fingers through your wet hair, helping get out some of the little tangles your conditioner couldn’t quite take care of alone.

“I love you, John. More than anything.”

He drops a kiss on top of your head, rocking your weights back and forth in the dimmed light of the bathroom. Admiring your little form in the darkened silhouette of his much larger one.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

“You’re my best friend.”

He chuckles, finding that so very endearing.

“You’re mine too.”

yeah... the "you're my best friend" part, me and my husband do that <3 so.... that's a thing.

#john price #captain john price #captain price #mwii #cod mwii #john price x reader #john price smut #captain price x reader #captain price smut #velvetures #velvetures writes #velvetures answers #cod #anon <3

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multifandomgirl08 · 10 months

Text

Through Max's Eyes [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader (Established Relationship)

Photo Credit: Pinterest

Format: Social Media

Summary: Max's Instagram posts about Y/N, and a small life update from the couple.

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

maxverstappen1

Liked by lewishamilton and 387,549 others

tagged: ynlnusername

maxverstappen1 This is my girlfriend Y/N who had to stay up until 3 a.m. to finish up a release for work.

Not only does she have to manage my schedule and Nico's, but she also has a time consuming job. I took her and Nico out for lunch today as a thank you for all of the things she takes care of when I'm not home.

You keep the apartment clean, take my son to school, and at the same time work a full-time job. I don't know how you do it my love...

ynlnusername You won't even give yourself credit for taking those photos? Max!

maxverstappen1 It's International Women's Day. I'm letting you have all of the spotlight.

yourbestfriend We love a girl boss moment

fan45 How do I get a Y/N?

fan26 He is simping so hard on main.

March 8, 2024

ynlnusername

Liked by maxverstappen1 and 441,858 others

ynlnusername First vacation since I moved to Monaco. Also first vacation with the boyfriend. We'll see how it plays out.

📸: maxverstappen1

maxverstappen1 Plays out? You live with me. You help me pay the bills.

landonorris Is Y/N sleeping on the couch until further notice?

yourbestfriend No, mostly because my girl is an expert at crisis management, or did you forget?

maxverstappen1 How can I, when there is a three year old living with us. Lol

fan86 I love that Y/N brings out the silly side in Max. It really makes you understand that he is so much more than a f1 driver.

fan96 I feel like Max had a secret .jpg account and it's just photos of Y/N and Nico.

July 30, 2024

verstappen1.jpg

Liked by danielricciardo, ynlnusername and 134, 757 others

tagged: ynlnusername

verstappen1.jpg Starting off the summer break right

danielricciardo Since when did you start posting thirst traps of your girlfriend?

landonorris My eyes! How dare you sir! 🫣

ynlnusername Lando, you've seen worse. Remember Barcelona. landonorris Why do you have to bring that up? I told you it was an accident. maxverstappen1 Doesn't mean that we believe you.

fan87 What is Lando talking about? Did Lando walk into Max's motorhome without knocking or something?

fan38 OMG! Max had one of these too? Following right now!

fan96 I was right! Called it!!

August 1, 2024

maxverstappen1

Liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 538,735 others

tagged: ynlnusername

maxverstappen1 I could say something cheesy like you are P1 in my heart. But instead I think I just need to tell you how much I love you, and I love that you've welcomed me and my son into your life with open arms.

Thank you for everything that you do. Going to races, cheering me on and making my hectic schedule work so that we can spend time together as a family.

I know that Nico already sees you as his mother. I couldn't ask for a better mother for my son then you.

I love you, soon to be Mrs. Verstappen.

View all 865 comments

danielricciardo Happy for you mate. @ynlnusername he spent over an hour picking out that ring, wear it with pride.

landonorris Official mom of the paddock, I'm calling it.

fan28 How is Max who is two years younger than Pierre now engaged and Pierre still only has a girlfriend?

August 15, 2024

taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr

#mini verstappen series #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #social media au #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au

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dicenete · 14 days

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I repainted his face more times than probably necessary but something always caught my eye and still does, but it is done. is done. It's fine. xD IkePri Tagteam:

@scummy-writes @goustmilk @solacedeer @m-mmiy @mxrmaid-poet

@pawnkyyy @ludivineikewolf @violettduchess @floydsteeth @wistfulwanderingone

@sh0jun @lorei-writes

A little bit of rambling of him below the break, spoilers (Keith's route, and little bit of Nokto's route) and such :0 so you have been warned.

TL;DR: I enjoyed the route despite its questionable elements. MC is too forgiving at times, but other than that, romanctic route was cute. Licht, the third wheel, was funny but sad.

Okay first about Keith's visual design: I really love how his design is the most asymmetrical from the suitors. Like the jacket and the vest he has. The jacket is very interestingly layered, almost like you aren't sure which part is the main thing and what is the accent. The green or the gold? The host or the alter? : D Same with his vest. His duality is battling in his clothing too hahaha

Keith's route was interesting. I had heard lots of differing opinions about it and I had my own reservations.

One mainly about the portrayal of DID and how the route does it. First things first: I'm not an expert at all. I won't even humor the idea that I had any say in anything regarding it. But overall, it could have been worse? Of course it might be very extreme in the way Alter Keith is hostile towards Host Keith. And of course you shouldn't take this as the only way the alter systems work. But as I said: I'm not an expert.

I had heard that the dramatic route follows Alter Keith and romantic route host Keith. I picked the romantic one. I had my personal reasons for that tho. But aside from that, it was nice to be with Keith that who struggled with self-worth. It was nice to see him grow as a character and find that strength to stand up for himself. (The fact that the host Keith seems to think that he is inferior to Alter Keith and that people would prefer the alter over him. The amount of stress that will bring. )

Keith's uncle was your very generic villain/antagonist without any real depth. He was a spoiled noble and so on. But since this was more about Keith inner journey I thought it was fine that it was like that.

The drugging scene… Well. That's a… a topic. Hmm… Host Keith himself felt very guilty about it and was full of remorse. Not that it was his choice to do it. Alter Keith well… He might justify it because he was gathering information about a rumor that might endanger his home country and people if it were true. I kinda can see where he is coming from, but also...IT CERTAINLY WAS DESTROYING OF TRUST. Like that time when Nokto "accidently" gets MC drunk. but hey ho. Since there is limited time frame for the chapters, I do understand they can't really jam all the things there, but I wanted Belle be more angry with him with Alter Keith for longer.

Maybe that's what bugs me sometimes. That Belle/Emma/MC is sometimes too forgiving and too much of a doormat. It works in routes like Yves and Licht (from the routes I have played, Leon seems like the most respectable gentleman too), because they are not being insulting towards her. I would even think that she works with Clavis, tho I would love to see him with someone who shares his chaotic gremlin energy. But with characters like Chev, Silvio or Alter Keith the their "power" doesn't feel balanced. MC seems to be completely on their mercy even if they stand up to them in some way. (Gilbert is another can of nasty things.)(With Chev's route, well, that is also a rambling for another time. But I haven't finished his route yet. so I will keep my ramblings to myself for now.)

Is Keith's route more about acceptance then? Accepting the good and the bad of a person? Possibly. I would think that is a good way to put it. Both Keiths have good and bad sides. And it seems that they are working on them.

#ikepri #ikemen prince #keith howell #ikepri keith #dicenete is rambling again #cottagecore king

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number1mingyustan · 5 months

Text

Just in Case ☾

bestfriend!seungkwan x fem!reader

Warnings: kissing, cursing, explicit smut, marking, mentions of cheating, protected sex, riding, mentions of oral (f.)

Summary: It was always gonna be you

Word Count: 2.9k

_______________________________________________

(a/n: i really meant it when i said I was planning to be more active. school is still kicking my ass and I've been so unmotived to write I'm sorry. i still have a bunch of unfinished drafts but there's no telling when I'll actually finish them)

You first met Seungkwan in December 2019.

You’d gone out to the club and accidentally spilled your drink on him. In a drunken panic you tried to help, but only ended up making the situation worse and staining his clothes.

However, he didn’t get upset. He just chuckled and told you it was fine and joked about how it wasn’t his best shirt anyway.

You offered to buy him another drink to make up for it, but he politely declined and made another joke about how you’d only end up spilling it on him again.

You apologized again and went your separate ways thinking it would be the last time you saw each other. But of course, fate has a weird way of bringing people together.

Less than 4 hours later he would find you, sneaking out of his roommate's room in his apartment with your dress on backwards.

It wasn’t unusual for Jeonghan to bring a girl home, but he never could have expected it to be the clumsy girl who spilled a drink on him just a few hours prior.

Jeonghan was the first to leave the club with you and Seungkwan went back home later that night with Seokmin.

He got up to get a glass of water before going to sleep and you were there, tiptoeing around his apartment and trying to go unnoticed.

You were doing a horrible job at being quiet, but luckily Jeonghan was a heavy sleeper. Such a heavy sleepover that he didn’t realize you and Seungkwan spent the entire night talking.

Conversation came naturally to you. He was shocked initially, to say the least. But he said one thing to you and the conversation ended up lasting for hours leading into the morning.

There was something so familiar about you. It felt like you’d known each other your entire lives and you could talk so easily. You talked about any and everything together like old friends catching up.

When Jeonghan finally woke up and saw you in the kitchen chatting it up with one of his housemates, he’d assumed you’d woken up just before him. Even now it remains a secret between the two of you that you never slept that night.

Since that day, Boo Seungkwan has been your best friend.

After that night, he invited you to roller skating after finding out it was something you both enjoyed. The two of you hung out more and more over time and you were eventually adopted into the friend group.

You got comfortable with all of them, Joshua, Jihoon, Seokmin, Seungkwan, and even Jeonghan. Despite the very one time hookup, you still consider Jeonghan to now be one of your best friends.

But you’ve always been closest with Seungkwan.

————

“We’re gonna get so fucked up!” You scream to Seungkwan over the loud music in the club.

He shouts back at you in agreement before taking your hand in his. He drags you through the crowd, navigating like an expert and ensuring that you stay close to him.

You make your way to the bar and order your drinks. The bartender is nice, but a little flirty. You can admit he's cute, but he's a little touchy and you're not really feeling him all that much.

Seungkwan can sense your discomfort and nearly startles you when he touches your waist. As soon as you realize it's your best friend, you melt into his touch and all your discomfort has dissolved.

"Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted him to get the message."

You nod. "I understand, thank you." You smile.

You both down your drinks easily and continue with your night out. You spend the new few hours dancing and singing along to the generic club music. Your best friend stays close to you and he looks out for you like he always does.

"You don't have to stay attached to me all night you know, it's your first night out as a single man in a while." You bump your shoulder against his playfully. "I don't wanna scare off any opportunities for you to meet someone."

"You know I didn't come here looking for anything," He gives you a soft smile.

"That doesn't mean you can't find something," You muse, raising an eyebrow.

He takes a sip from his drink. "Thanks, but no thanks. Let's just have fun tonight."

You shrug, bumping your glass against his before downing the rest of your drink.

The next few hours were spent dancing, laughing and drinking. It was nice to see your best friend let loose again, but the night eventually came to an end and he ordered an uber.

The ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. The two of you sat leaned against one another in the backseat. The ambiance was comforting, set by the music playing quietly from the radio and the lights from the city surrounding you.

You two enter his apartment together and you immediately throw yourself onto the couch with a sigh of satisfaction. Your eyes fall shut and a smile appears on your face. "My feet were killing me."

Seungkwan crouches down in front of you wordlessly and helps you take off your shoes. You thank him quietly and he disappears into his bedroom.

When your eyes flutter open, he's re-entering the living room with something in hand.

"Here," He hands you a t-shirt of his. "So you don't have to stay in that dress either."

You mouth a 'thank you' before stumbling into the bathroom to change out of your clothes.

"You know," You plop down on the couch next to him. "You still haven't told me why you guys ended things.

Seungkwan sighs. "I know. It's nothing though, don't worry about it. Things just weren't working out, you know?"

"Yeah, it's a shame."

"You didn't even like her," Seungkwan chuckles.

"That's only because she didn't like me first!" You defend. "Never even understood that."

"She was just... nevermind. Doesn't matter now."

"No," You sit up and frown. "Tell me."

He sighs. "She was just kind of jealous of you. Ended up driving the whole relationship into the ground."

A beat.

"You guys broke up because of..me?"

Seungkwan leans his back against the couch. "Like not really... but yeah."

You frown. "Why would you do that?"

"You already knew she didn't like you Y/n."

"Yeah, but you ended a two-year-long relationship. What the hell?"

"Things just weren't working out."

"Yeah... because of me!" You sigh.

"You didn't do anything. She was just jealous and insecure. You ended up being the topic of conversation way more than needed and it was so frustrating. It was a constant argument for those two years and I got exhausted."

"I knew she didn't like me, but I didn't know it was that serious. I feel guilty as hell now, like I ruined your entire relationship."

"You didn't."

"But I did," You frown.

"Do you know how exhausting it was? For two years I had to put up with her turning everything into an argument about you. I was constantly being accused of something and then I'd have to be reassuring her and coddling her like a baby. It was like a never-ending cycle about the same thing Y/n. I could only do that so much before I lose my mind."

You frown. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you didn't do anything wrong." He pats your head softly. "Seriously."

"I know I just... feel bad. I feel like I compromised your happiness" You pout.

"You could never. You're my best friend." He gives you a reassuring smile.

He rises to his feet.

"I'm getting tired, are you ready for bed?"

You remain silent, giving him a small nod. About 10 minutes later you find yourself laying in bed next to him. The lights are dim, but you can still make out the features of his face clearly.

You don't know why your heart is suddenly beating so fast. It's so quiet in the room that he just might be able to hear it.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"Huh?" You mumble. "Nothing."

"You know you can't lie to me," he grins.

"I don't know," You sigh. "You just feel so like... close right now. I don't know."

"Oh," He breathes out. "Do you want me to take the couch? It's never been an issue before."

"No!" You say a little louder than intended. "No," Your voice softens. "I just... what you told me earlier about Hayeon. Like, what if she's right?"

"That there's something romantic between us? I'm not sure I understand you Y/n."

"I mean, you just said it yourself. It's never been a problem for us to sleep in the same bed, but isn't that kind of weird? Like you and I have always been close... but maybe this is too close?"

"I think you're drunk and still hung up on my stuff with Hayeon.

"You're drunk too," You frown.

"Yeah, but I'm not speaking a bunch of nonsense right now." He pushes your hair out of your face softly. "Go to sleep Y/n."

"No," You protest.

"Y/n–"

You weren't really thinking when you kissed him. It just sort of... happened. Granted, he wasn't really thinking when he kissed you back either.

It felt so natural, like you were kissing a lover of 10 years. it was easy to melt into his touch, everything was just so easy with him. Your hands are in his hair, tugging lightly at the blue-tinted strands atop his head.

You let out a soft moan against his lips, pressing your body against his.

You feel like you're floating and drowning all at the same time. Floating on a cloud of bliss while simultaneously drowning deeper and deeper in him.

He pulls away, breathless with swollen lips. You both lay on your side, staring at one another. Neither of you really know what to say. Your heart is still beating out of your chest as you lick your lips slowly, relishing in the lingering taste of him.

"What the hell Y/n?"

"I'm sorry! I don't know," You panic, covering your face in embarrassment.

He sighs, falling onto his back. "Why did you do that?"

"It's not like we've never kissed before."

"Yeah, but not like that. The worst I've ever done with you was barely a peck. That was different."

"You felt it too?"

"What?"

You fall silent. There's a million things running through your head and they're all circling back to him.

"I don't know!"

"That's not a good enough answer.

"That's not fair to me," he frowns.

"Of course I have," he huffs out. "From the very first moment I met you, you made me feel something. It's been what, 5 years? When you left the bar that night, I couldn't stop thinking about you. I was convinced I'd never see you again. And then I did! Yeah you had just fucked my roommate and it was somewhat heart breaking, but from the moment I met you I knew I wanted you in my life. You were just... I don't know. You were shining a little brighter than anyone else in that club. You've got an aura about you that's hard to ignore."

You sit there, completely speechless.

"I know that I felt something for you since that night. I don't know if it really ever went away. I know I loved Hayeon when I was with her, I'm not saying I didn't. I don't know if I've been ignoring what I've felt for you, or if I really did get over it. But you suddenly deciding this now is confusing for me." He frowns.

For the second time that night, you act before thinking yet again. Your lips are on his and you find yourself melting into his touch. He kisses you back, pulling your body on top of his.

You don't know what you're doing or why you're really doing it, but it feels good. It feels right, like it's something you know you won't regret even though it may be confusing.

You straddle his lap and his hands rest comfortable on your lower back. His kisses are addictive, leaving you breathless with a fuzzy head.

You pull away to catch your breath, staring down at him with lust in your eyes. Wordlessly, you feel his shirt off your body and toss it onto the ground.

His eyes go wide and his breath gets caught in his throat. "Are you sure?"

"Never been so sure in my life. I want this... if you do too," you breathe out.

"Course I want this," He responds.

He pulls you back down and reconnects your lips with fervent passion. You grind yourself against him slowly, body moving on its own accord with his.

You tug at his shirt lightly and he breaks the kiss again to pull it off of his body.

"Shit," You breathe out. "Do you have any condoms?"

He nods. "In the drawer."

You reach over to his nightstand and open the drawer. You fish out the small gold package and tear it open with your teeth.

"You know, it's not safe to do that." he muses. "Could poke a hole or something."

"Oh well," You smirk, disposing of the gold packaging. "Maybe you'll just have to knock me up."

He raises an eyebrow at your statement. "Knock you up? But you're my best friend."

You let out a scoff and lean back, rolling the latex on his length. "Don't think.." You lift your hips, slowly sinking down onto him. You wince at the initial feeling. "Don't think I'd be on top of you like this if I was just your best friend."

He breathes out, tilting his head back into the pillow. His nails dig into your hips as he feels himself stretching you out.

You both let out a gasp as you start grinding down on him slowly. He holds you steady by your hips as you start to pick up your pace. you tilt your head back, gripping onto the sheets for support.

"Shit," he breathes out.

Your breathing grows heavier and you find yourself getting lost in the pleasure. It feels so good, so right. It's not fully processing in your head that you're riding your best friend right now.

"Should've done this sooner," You mumble to yourself.

Seungkwan can only nod in agreement. He's in awe watching as you bounce on his cock. The room is still dimly lit, but there's just enough moonlight seeping between the blinds for him to see how gorgeous you are.

He wants this image of you forever etched in his brain. He slides one of his hands from your hip to your inner thigh. Your pace is disrupted when you feel his thumb pressed against your clit.

"Oh fuck," You curse out.

He smirks to himself as he picks but the pace with his finger. You match his movements, falling back into your rhythm as ride him. He leans back deeper into the bed and pushes his hips up to meet you halfway.

His cock now brushes deep inside of you, hitting the same spot that has you struggling to stay quiet. Your nails are digging deeper into his bedsheets and you're whining out loud.

His thumb draws quick circles on your clit and his eyes never leave your frame. He watches you bounce on his cock, filling yourself up and cry out his name.

Fuck. He really regrets not doing this sooner.

He knows he won't last much longer. The intimacy and pleasure of it all is too intense. He applies more pressure on your sensitive bud, causing you to moan louder.

"Close," You warn him breathlessly.

He sits up on the bed, pulling your frame closer against his. His head falls into the crook of your neck. He sucks on your skin, nibbling softly and ensuring he marks you. He knows he might regret this in the morning, but he can't help himself. He has you now and he can't help but want a little reminder.

Moments later you're falling apart in his lap. You gasp your air pathetically as your hips lose rhythm and you tighten around his cock. He's losing his fucking mind.

You squeeze around him, driving him into his own orgasm and milking him for everything he's got. He groans into your skin as he spills his load into the condom.

Both your chests rise and fall against one another as you tap back into your senses. He places one last kiss on your cheek before he lifts you off his lap and lays you on the bed. He disposes of the condom and lays down next to you.

The room falls silent and neither of you is really sure what you should say.

You break the silence. "Now what?"

He shrugs.

"I feel like, like we need to talk about this."

"We should."

"Okay.... so.." You start.

He shushes you lightly, placing a finger on your lips. "Later."

You blink at him slowly. “What?”

He ignores you, pulling you in by the legs. “Later.”

“Is now a bad time?” Your voice is filled with confusion.

"No, it’s just you know…," he strokes your arm softly. "If we wake up tomorrow and decide this isn't for the better, I want to have at least had a taste."

You eyes go wide.

He smirks at you, pulling your body closer to his. "Just in case, y'know?"

You bite your lower lip, meeting his suggestive gaze.

"Yeah," You lean into his touch, allowing him to pin you down on the bed. "Just in case."

_______________________________________________

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #seventeen #seventeen angst #seventeen drabbles #seventeen seungkwan #seungkwan #seungkwan smut #seungkwan fanfic #seungkwan x reader #boo seungkwan #kpop

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merakiui · 3 months

Note

sk!manager!azul who offers to eat you out after you get very stressful from idol activities 😳😳😳😳

👁 👁 he gives you the whole "benefits of being sexually active as proven by science" spiel so you're more likely to agree. That, and it would be much harder to do this with just anyone or someone just as famous as yourself. No one has to know. This will be a secret between idol and manager. Even though you seem somewhat hesitant, he insists you'll feel better. Just let your manager soothe you. You're in capable hands. <3 he's so trustworthy! And hasn't he only ever wanted what's best for you?

Now his head is between your legs and he's lapping and suckling at your clit like an expert, working you open with two fingers. He alternates between fingers and mouth, and any reluctance you may have felt in the beginning quickly withers away. Within no time, you're burying your fingers in his hair and clamping your thighs together to keep him trapped there. He's removed his glasses so they won't get in the way, and every now and then the both of you meet each other's stare. You've never noticed just how beautiful his eyes are. So striking. So hypnotic,,, your brain is mush by your third orgasm, and you're panting and gasping, begging him to keep going. Not like he intends to stop. He's wanted this for years and now he finally has it. Of course he's going to be greedy!

You're not really listening to yourself when you ask him if he's dating or married. You never hear much about your manager's personal life even though he seems to know so much of yours. Azul hums against your slick cunt. Would you be upset if he was? Would you like to put a ring on him? Should he just propose to you now?

If only all of those loser fans of yours knew what you were getting up to right now. All of that nonsense about being a pure idol free of romantic entanglements and here you on squirting for him like the slutty idol you really are. :) you're just too cute. He wants you all to himself, and soon he'll have you. Soon the two of you will live a peaceful life in isolation. Somewhere quiet and slow by the sea. Doesn't that sound marvelous?

He's killed for you. Stalked you. Fucked into his hand while listening to the voicemails you'd leave him on his work phone: "Hi, Azul! Vil and I are thinking of doing a collab. Could you help me arrange something?" or "Azul, sorry for calling so late. I just remembered something important. Can you review my schedule with me again? I think I'm forgetting something you mentioned earlier today..." or "Would it look weird if I started studying to get my driver's license? Do you think that would get me in trouble? Actually, maybe we should just meet up and talk about it in person... Thanks anyways, Azul!"

You're just so perfect. Even these strictly professional voicemails are hailed as the sweetest songs. He's so depraved. Nothing like the composed, cordial manager he masquerades as. Would you hate him if you knew that? Would you look at him differently? Would you stop saying his name in that sweet, breathless voice of yours as he brings you to your end once more? Maybe it's best if you don't know. He's worked so hard to get to this point. It would be a shame to ruin things now.

Besides, what you don't know can't hurt you.

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw #he's so fine orz

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thorniest-rose · 10 months

Note

Stevie the little diner waitress ON ROLLERSKATES (because when has he ever worked somewhere without a dumb gimmick) which he said he was an expert in using so he could get the job but has never actually worn before, so he obviously falls into eddie's lap the first time they meet

oh my gosh!!! A meet-cute where Steve literally falls into Eddie's lap??? I LOVE IT.

Steve would be so clumsy on rollerskates too, like all deer legs, and he'd be a terrible waiter, like dropping things all the time and falling over and the manager would be like "..." but Steve doesn't get fired because he brings in a lot of customers and he tends to work the late shifts anyway.

Then one day a group of guys come in and Steve goes over to serve them, taking down orders for huge stacks of pancakes and milkshakes etc and he shyly asks if they're a biker gang because of their leather jackets and matching t-shirts and because the leader has long hair and tattoos. They all think that's hilarious and absolutely hoot and howl about it while Steve's standing there, and he gets really annoyed and he's like "great I'm a laughing stock" and the main guy's like "no, no, you're fine, cutie, it's just we're a DND club" and Steve's like "okay..." because he has no idea what DND means, maybe it's biker slang, and brings their order to the kitchen, trying to ignore how much the long-haired guy keeps looking at him.

He gets so shy about it, it makes him even more clumsy and when he's skating back, he trips and winds up falling into the guy's lap, splayed over him with milkshake all over the table and floor. He stares aghast at him like, "oh my god, I'm so sorry," but Eddie just smiles, cheekbones painted in a pink flush and says, "I didn't realise you were on the menu too, do you cost extra?" while all of Hellfire are giggling around them. Steve extracts himself, his hair askew and milkshake all over his uniform and says, "you can't afford me" and all of Hellfire YOWL WITH LAUGHTER while Eddie looks at him with a little spark in his eyes, dimples popping as he gives Steve a little smile, like he's a challenge he wants to take on.

#asks #steddie

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bruciemilf · 1 year

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A crack treated seriously concept that I have just swimming in my mind;

Runaway sugar baby Bruce Wayne AU.

Here's the thing; Bruce and Harvey are married. Bruce may not realize they are! but they are.

Oblivious fucker really went,

" yes, I will have children with my best friend, raise them together happily, occasionally have sex, and wear this cool ring he gave me. Platonically, of course."

I think it all started when Tim came home from school, wearing a bit of a guilty expression, asking with a pinch embarrassment if Bruce could pretend to be a doctor for career day.

Bruce blinks, " I am a doctor, darling." Graduated with flying colors, mind you!

"Well, yeah, but...You know, not anymore. "

True. Ever since he adopted Jason and Tim, he just found it harder and harder to leave home. They were just too precious and he didn't want to miss a moment!

"I just don't understand why he'd lie about it."

"I can," Harvey looks so handsome, arranging his tie. He does a mess of it, but he doesn't look less tantalising,

" Little brats would be...Yknow, mean. They get finicky when they see a weak spot."

He knows it's Harvey because there's no accent melting like whisky on his mouth. " Weak spot?"

" doll, cmon, --"

" I do work, Harvey. Just because it's not defending criminals doesn't mean it's less vital."

" I knowthat. But you're also a rich guy who, let's face it, wouldn't need to work a day In his life. And that's fine by me. "

because Harvey HATED seeing his mom break her back to support their family when his father was drowning face down in debts.

He wouldn't put anyone through that, let alone his pretty little husband. But Bruce doesn't take this well.

" well! I'll show you! I'm more than capable of making it on my own, I'll prove it!"

Now. Bruce doesn't think too much. He's not an expert in it. Man can stitch up a 5 inch incision with floss, but his own well being? Leave it to Alfred.

But he'll make them proud. So next time, they don't have to lie.

He just packs up way too many luggages, packs Damian up too, and leaves while Harvey's at oh his back breaking, gruelling office job.

It's only when he's on a bus that he realizes he forgot the rest, but that'd be cruel! Their boys loved their father.

Dick, who's in his I Hate Dad phase, is extremely hysterical while they leave to find Bruce. Only stopping occasionally to fix his eyeliner, then start over again.

Jason, Harvey's second oldest, drives beside them on his motorbike.

He guesses its an extra middle finger to him to not wear a helmet. His beloved little hellion, raised on the devil's edge.

"Listen to me; If I find him, I'm moving back home. If I don't, I'll put you in the ground."

" I'll let you."

Now; Bruce does find a place. It's a little town with big characters.

Harley has a diner that she's more than happy to welcome him in, even if Bruce, Spoiled Spouse of the Year, can't quite pick up.

Anything for old roomies.

But there is someone in there who catches Bruce's attention. Towns mechanic.

Clark, his name tag says, who played with Damian behind Bruce's back while he talked to Harley.

He smells of salty motor oil; Fresh sweat, smoked apple pie. His eyes are dreamy blue, rendered with sharp cleverness. And Clark likes him.

Clark recommends him a good motel, brings Damian some toys to play with, even brings his own babies so they can have a playdate. " They're not mine. The toys! These two are. I have a receipt from the hospital."

"...A birth certificate?"

He's delightfully awkward.

When Harvey comes to pick him up, when Bruce jumps in his arms, claws at a pristine shirt stained with his brand new blisters and cracks and worked hands, he's not awkward.

He's disappointed; Like Bruce strangled the joy from his soul.

"You're...Married?"

When Bruce and Harvey respond, in perfect, consice sync, " Oh no, darling,--" " Yes he is, four eyes--" they're ALL confused.

"Oh, dear..."

#bruce wayne #dc #dc comics #dick grayson #tim drake #harvey dent #clark kent #bruharvey #superbat #runaway sugar baby au #no capes au #text #text post #batfamily #batfam #jason todd

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turbulentscrawl · 7 months

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Identity(V) Headcanons: Frederick Kreiburg

Frederick's headcanons got a little more...medical than some of the others I've done so far. I'm no expert in this stuff, but I do my best to be comprehensible and respectful where certain disorders have to be mentioned. As always, hope you guys like it!

-Ashes of Memory states that Frederick was diagnosed with ‘psychasthenia’ at some point in his childhood, but this isn’t used as a diagnosis in modern medicine. Instead, it’s a term used to describe a collection of symptoms commonly associated with disorders like OCD. It includes anxiety, obsession, compulsions, depersonalization, nervous ticks, and can even affect one’s memory.

-Personally, I also think he has synesthesia. Frederick mentions colors in relation to music a lot (especially gold), and while this could just be something relating to his other condition, I prefer to take it as literal. It’s part of the reason he was enamored after hearing his father play, why he obsessed with music. Frederick grew up in an onslaught of overwhelming chaos, colors bursting and fading wildly across his senses incomprehensible in his day to day, enhancing his anxiety…but when the recital started there was only the song. One symphony of sound and color, appearing before him in a long, unbroken stream. It was peaceful. And he became obsessed with that peace.

-This also explains his “un-Kreiburg-like skills.” His music is not like what the rest of his family composes because he’s writing it to suit both sound and color. He can perfectly identify pitch and can play most songs entirely “by ear” after hearing them only once or twice, but he’s obsessed with the stream of colors keeping a certain rhythm to them, which doesn’t always lend itself to “traditional” Kreiburg music.

-Frederick’s personality is very affected by the above struggles/disorders. He’s a very kind person at his core, as well as very earnest, but he is plagued by fear, anxiety, and extreme self-criticism. He becomes overwhelmed easily. He is entirely aware of all his struggles, his failures, and wrestles every day with the knowledge that he’s a disappointment to his family. Sometimes his situation brings him to tears, sometimes to destructive wrath.

-Frederick has come to accept his need for appearances, that people mostly like him because of his looks and his familial relations. But on his worst days he can’t even rely on that much because his communication begins to break down. His speech becomes disjointed and frantic, he’s tense and twitchy, a look of horror sinks deep into his face. To protect what remains of his reputation, he hides away during these times.

-When he is with people, he behaves as a gentleman should, albeit a reclusive one. He’s terrified of being judged further, but craves understanding and praise, so he maintains personal distance while remaining remarkably enthusiastic about musical discussion. He’s never told anyone but his family about his diagnosis or his synesthesia. They are both sources of shame for him.

-When at his most anxious, he has a tendency to pull at his hair. Whole clumps of his long hair have been lost to the worst of his fits. He’s not particularly sensitive about any resulting bald spots on his scalp, but he does try to cover them with his normal ponytail style because he knows they would affect people’s attraction to him.

-He despises the sound of dogs barking. Which is a shame, because he does like dogs. Their barking is just burry, red fireworks right in the middle of his vision. It always startles him and makes it impossible to do or focus on anything.

-His love language is Gift Giving, and the “gifts” he gives are, predictably, usually songs. It’s his primary skill, of course, so as far as Frederick is concerned, he has nothing else worth offering besides music made in the name of his loved one. He’d be devastated if these musical gifts weren’t appreciated; Frederick can’t take much more rejection. His favorites Love Languages to receive are Word of Affirmation and Acts of Service. He’s secretly a bit desperate for praise, and any actions you take to support his work or help improve his reputation as a musician are better than gold.

-He likes to match his clothes to the primary colors he sees in the songs he’s performing. During his recitals, he changes coats often.

-He’s a picky eater with a powerful sweet tooth. If he could have it his way, he’d subsist mostly on desserts.

#idv x reader #identity v x reader #frederick kreiburg x reader #idv composer #turbulentscrawl

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russellsppttemplates · 10 months

Text

Trust me (Lance Stroll)

Lance's recovery plan after his mountain biking accident leaves you even more concerned

Note: english is not my first language. Here's another piece to help complete my mission of including Lance pieces in my masterlist!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: Lance's mountain biking accident, mentions of hospital setting and recovery

"Are you sure you don't want to join us?", Lance asked one last time, checking if he had everything they would need, "I have some stuff from work to do, and besides, mountain biking isn't really my thing", you shrugged, not feeling too bad that you were missing the activity.

"Alright then, if you need anything, just call me, okay?", your boyfriend noted, kissing your forehead before he walked out of the door, "be safe, guys!", you yelled before the door closed.

Through the wonders of remote work and your job, you found a way of spending some of Lance's time off the races with him, and when he suggested that you should join for him trip to Spain before the season began, you only had to arrange a few things around to be able to join him.

It was supposed to, despite the fact that you were still working, a relaxing time and a needed change of scenery. And was it a change of scenery indeed when you got a call saying that Lance had been injured and was being taken to the hospital by the emergency team. You packed all the documents you could think of and made your way to the hospital, thumbs fiddling with one another since you had yet to understand the extent of your boyfriend's injuries.

Sitting in the waiting room, your foot tapped o the clean grey floor, your eyes moving to the double doors everytime a health professional walked out, hoping they would come looking for you and take to see your boyfriend with an update on his health status. His trainer was with him and he had been the one to text you briefly about what had happened and the hospital he had been taken to, but once they went into the examination room, he had grown quiet and his messages had ceased, until a brief one stating that someone would be coming to bring you in as Lance had finished his medical exams.

A young doctor came to you, presenting himself and explaining to you a brief outline of what happened, as far as he was aware, and what the medical team had been doing given the concerns and problems that arised. While you were not a medical expert, Grey's Anatomy was your comfort show and the amount of exams and the words you recognised meant that your boyfriend had been way more serious than you had hoped.

Entering the room, your eyes flew immediately to Lance, seeing his bandaged up wrists and some of the same material around on his right toes, "hey, you", he said, eyes droopy from what you can imagine was a mix of medication for the pain and also from the steong lights and the fuss around him, "hello, my love", you said, looking at the nurse taking notes on her iPad in a way to ask for his permission to approach your boyfriend, "how are you feeling?", you asked, him, your hand touching his cheek softly, afraid of touching somewhere where it would cause more damage.

"I'm a bit uncomfortable from the pain, but it's manageable", he smiled a tight lipped one, looking at the doctos who were discussing some of the films and scan images, "it seems that Lance has a fracture and displacement in his right wrist, a fracture in his left wrist. We also see what looks to be a partial fracture in his left hand", the doctor said, showing the scans, "and another fracture in the big toe on his right foot", he finished.

"And is there a plan for it?", Lance asked, "the season is starting in two weeks", Lance noted.

"You said testing is next week? So from the 23 to the 25?", the doctor asked, "yes, and the first race is on the 5th", he trainer added, looking at the calendar on his phone.

The doctor was silent for a bit before he excused himself, looking at the scans and discussing a few points with his colleagues while you looked at Lance, sensing his mind was filling with negative thoughts and pressures about his recovery already, "I can only imagine how scary this is, but you'll be alright, okay? We'll do everything we can to get you better as soon as possible", you tried your best to reassure him despite the heavy feeling in your chest.

"Our opinion, and this comes from having participated in many cases where the injuries were sinilar", Dr. Javier Mir explained, "is that the timeline for testing is, unfortunately, not enough for everything to heal like we would like", he stated, "and, realistically, I would count that you miss the first few races", he finished.

After informing that they were going to have a meeting to discuss the surgical plans, Lance's trainer left to call the Aston Martin health professionals to catch them up with the situation, leaving you and Lance alone in the hospital room, "are you feeling any pain? I'm sure we can get the nurse to kick these up", you pointed to the IV bag next to you, "I'm good, I just feel a little pressure on my wrists, nothing more", he tried his best to smile, wanting to see you ease too, "I'm sorry this happened, my love", you tempted, seeing him pucker his lips and welcoming his to touch your own lips, craddling his face and taking the opportunity to scratch his cheeks, thumbs rubbing the skin.

The next day began with Lance getting ready to go up to surgery on his right wrist, "I'll be here when you wake up", you smiled, kissing his forehead before they wheeled him up, "try and get some sleep, yes, darling? I know you haven't slept all that well", he winked, "I love you".

While Lance was in surgery, you kept texting his family, trying your best to be a calming and sure figure and also answering their questions and updating them on how everything was going, "is he okay? Given everything, that is...", Chloe said during the videocall, "he's handling it, I guess. He's obviously disappointed that this has happened, and that this has happened so close to the beggining of the season", you offered, "but he's keeping to himself?", your boyfriend's sister completed, "yes, I think. You know how he is. He's shared some of his thoughts but he's trying to stay as positive as he can be, and everyone here is on the same page, too. They've been very reassuring and hopeful", you smiled, your attention caught by the surgeon you recognised from Lance's team, "I'll text you the news, okay? Dr. Mir is here", you bid Chloe goodbye, ending the call and getting up.

"Miss Y/N, we just finished your boyfriend's surgery, and I'm glad to say it was successful", he smiled, seeing your relief, "my colleagues have lifted the anesthesia and they're taking him up to his room, you can join him as soon as you like", he finished, accompanying you to the lifts to take you up as well.

Thanking Dr. Mir, you texted everyone that had kindly asked you to know when the surgical intervention had finished, reaching the room as soon as you sent the last text, knocking on the door to see a young doctor type on her iPad, "Hi, you must be Y/N, right?", she asked and you nodded, "he's still a bit loopy and sleepy from the medication, but he asked for you just now", she smiled sweetly, taking note of some of the numbers on the screen before saying, "Dr. Mir will come back once he's done with the op notes to inform you, but so far, everything is going well and like it should".

Lance moved in the bed, opening his eyes at the noise, you presumed, "hey", you whispered, brushing the hairs on his forehead, "how are you feeling, bub?", you smiled, seeing his brown orbs look back at you, "I'm tired, but otherwise good", he mumbled as he tried his best to kiss the part of your hand closest to his lips before he was interrupted by his surgeon walking in.

"Hi Lance, glad to see you're doing well. The surgery went as it was supposed to, and I think, if you work hard, you'll be back for Jeddah. Bahrain, maybe, I don't want to be too optimistic, but it would be doable", he smiled, explaining the next few steps.

"Unfortunately, the fractures in your left hand and wrist, and also your toe for thay matter, aren’t suitable for fixation, so we'll have to go about it on a more conservative approach to heal those other injuries", he explained, gathering Lance's trainer while they all discussed recovery plans, your hand sitting on his leg while they spoke.

While you were in hospital, things had been as good as they could be: the medical staff had been amazing with everything, caring for Lance and teaching you the smaller things you could do at home in terms of dressing the area and helping it heal faster, even if it was something simple as holding his hand and twisting it like you're dancing.

The first few days at home, and even though Henry was with Lance for a good part of the day for all the different approaches to improve the mobility on his hands and wrists, "I need to shower", Lance gulped, "and while it is usually different when I say this, I really need your help", he smiled shyly, getting up and approaching you so you could both head to the bathroom.

When you were back in the bedroom, with Lance already tucked into bed with his medication already taken just watching you get ready for bed yourself while you tidied the room, "Y/N", Lance called, grabbing your attention while you put the dirty clothes on the hamper, "are you okay? Do you need me to move the pillows? Do you have an itch somewhere?", you urged to his side, ready to help, "None of that, no. I'm perfectly content and comfortable, and that is because of you. Thank you", he chuckled, "I don't think that there are any words or expressions that I could use to show my appreciation and gratitude for you", he beamed, "I'm even more in awe of you. You have been here everytime I've needed you, even if it's just a mundane task that my wrists don't allow me to do. You're always there cheering me on whenever a session doesn't go well and there to congratulate me and celebrate with me whenever it goes well", he smiled.

Sitting next to him on the bed, careful of his wirst, and kissed his lips, "we always said we would be here for eachother, right? Besides, I enjoy caring for you", you cuddled him, helping him to lay on top of your chest while you put something on the TV, your hand landing on his torso.

While you couldn't go to Lance's appointment as you had work responsibilities, you were eager to see him arrive back home

"I was speaking to the team today, and Dr. Mir also gave his opinion, and they think I can race this weekend in Bahrain, things are really looking up", and that was enough for your nervousness to come back.

"And do you feel ready to go? I mean, you're still doing ice after every session, the bruises are still there too", you tried to reason, knowing from previous days that it was nearly to no use. It wasn't the first time his medical team had forwarded the option, and while it was a good sign that his recovery was going well, it still concerned you that it would be too painful for him.

"I'm more than ready, I miss driving. Tomorrow I'm driving on the simulator to see if I can handle it", he smiled as he took a water bottle out of the fridge, his smile fading when he saw the crease between your eyebrows, "I have everyone looking at every movement I do and how I do it, my love. I'll be fine", he attempted to soothe your worries, kissing your forehead, "do you want help with dinner?", he wondered looking at the pots, "I can stir this!", he cheerfully suggested, pointing the wooden spoon at you and managing to make a grin break on your lips, nudging his side while you joined him at the stove.

Seeing Lance need help to get out of the car made your fears even clearer, "I don't like this", you mumbled, feeling Claire-Anne's hand on your back, "me neither, sweetheart", she mumbled back. Sighing, you realised that you were not the only one filled with worry. While Lawrence, Lance himself and everyone on the team said he would be okay, you couldn't help but let your thoughts travel to a dangerous place. What if something went wrong? What if he crashed and he couldn't get out of the car safely? The questions plagued you to the point where you excused yourself, smiling and thanking all of the Aston Martin team members you passed until you reached Lance's driver's room, closing the door before you sat down, waiting for him to come back from the interviews.

It didn't take long before he was back, seeing Henry walk in with bags of ice on his hands, "Hi Y/N", he smiled, setting the bags on top of a box before he exited, "Lance will be here shortly". When Lance arrived, he kept talking about how it felt to finally be in the car, "it's incredible. The team back at the factory built an amazing car this year, it's a pleasure to drive! I- Hey, everything alright?", he questioned as he fastened the ice bags around his wrists, "I'm happy that you're happy, Lance, don't get me wrong. But, is it safe for you? And I'm asking genuinely and I want an honest answer", you finally let out.

Sitting next to you, Lance placed his hand on your thigh, "it's medically safe. Does it hurt? Yes, but not to the point where it will take me out of doing it", he stated, "I'm worried for you, I mean, you couldn't even turn the wheel around with both of your hands, I saw it on the onboard", you spoke your point, "I promise I'll be careful, okay? I understand your worry, and I appreciate it. I'm sorry it causes you this much distress, but I promise you I'll say it whenever it's not okay, yes?", he held his pinky out, making you nudge it slightly, "C'mon, my love, give me a real pinky promise!", he teased you, lacing his finger with yours with some applied strength.

The cars were on track getting ready for the formation lap when you were walking bag to the garage, bumping into Mick on the way, "Y/N! I haven't seen you in a while, how are you?", he greeted you with a kiss on each cheek, "Hi Mick!", you greeted him back, "how have you been? We've been dealing with the whole wrist situation", you shrugged your shoulders, "I've been good, change of scenery for the season, but it has been a big opportunity to learn and it's only the start. I've heard, Lance's keeping you on your toes, hm?", he giggled.

"Yes, a lot. I trust him and the team, you know? But I can't help feeling nervous. These past two weeks have been the craziest in my life, I think", you smiled, "but it's all in good efforts, I think, the car looks promising. I think Sebastian's legacy is doing some magic", you finished, "if he says he's good, trust him, yeah? I'll see you around, Y/N", the German driver smiled, patting your arm as he left the green coloured garage.

Picking up your headset, you sat next to Lance's mother, getting ready to watch the race while you crossed your fingers for everything to go well, "this is even more stressful", the older woman confessed, "if he says he's good, we should trust him", you repeated Mick's words like a mantra, earning her nod as she squeezed your hand on top of the small table like compartment.

With Fernando finishing on the podium and Lance finishing in 6th place, there were many reasons to celebrate, "above all of this", you gestured to the celebrations that were being held by the team dinner party, "is that you're safe and sound, here with me", you smiled, kissing your boyfriend's lips, "I told you to trust me, didn't I? And it was fine", he mused, "you should have seen her during the race, though. There was a time I felt she would make them stop it all just to go and give you an ice pack", Claire-Anne mentioned, smiling at her son's happy relationship.

#lance stroll imagine #lance stroll fluff #lance stroll × reader #lance stroll fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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