#this series is so funny I’m glad it’s back
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rosetheocto · 2 months ago
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JJJacksfilms BBBingo coming back was NOT on my 2024 bingo card /pos
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ineffabledesiretobeasleep · 3 months ago
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I LOOK LIKE THE GENDER AISLE AT TARGET
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no-144444 · 24 days ago
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nothing bad!- o.piastri
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summary: the sprint pisses you off, ted's notebook catches you at a bad time, you say some things, oscar posts some things, and it ends up being one of the most popular ad campaigns in history. oops.
pairing: oscar piastri (no.81) x fem! driver! reader
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You rolled your eyes as you watched the sprint end. Bullshit. Team orders had always left a bad taste in your mouth, but this was just bullshit. You sighed, looking at Mark, and he just rolled his eyes. Oscar was on par with Lando in his second season. Yes, there were some small mistakes or issues, but he was a fucking jet engine, and he deserved a team that treated him like one. He was going to be World Champion next year, you knew it, Mark knew it, everyone knew it. 
“Fucking arseholes,” Mark cursed. “What time is your quali at?” 
“12,” you answered. “I’m going to just go talk to him, see you in a bit.” 
You stood in Parc Fermé and he came up, pressing a kiss to your lips and sighing as his team congratulated him. 
“That was such bullshit,” you sighed, following him to his driver’s room after the media duties. “Wanna fuck to get all that frustration out?” 
He nodded, not even looking at the question like it was a joke. You both knew it wasn’t. “How long until your quali?” 
“An hour,” you shrugged, pulling him into his room with a smirk. 
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When you two finally resurfaced, you made your way over to your car, ready to slot it onto the grid, as you did, you were stopped by Ted Kravitz, the man, the myth, the legend himself. 
“Y/n! How are you feeling about today’s quali and sprint race?” he asked. 
“Good, yeah. Just need to get out and up there,” you nodded. You were the number one driver in F1 Academy, and F2. This weekend was an F1 Academy weekend. You’d won every race since you’d joined the series, a sweep of total domination for 2 years. 13 wins under your belt in F1 Academy, 12 feature race wins in F2, and 12 Sprint wins in F2. And you were only 22. 
“And how did you feel about Oscar’s Sprint race? You didn’t look so happy in Parc Fermé.”
You rolled your eyes. “If Lando really needs Oscar to take a side step like that over one point, maybe he’s not ready to be champion,” you shrugged. “And that’s coming from a friend.” 
You could feel the air shift as Ted smirked, knowing what a headline that would be. 
“Thanks for your time Y/n, we’ll see you on the other side of Quali,” he smiled, allowing you to walk on. 
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Pole position, again. 
It was almost funny how easy it was. 
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You made your way back into your garage and found Oscar looking proud, but slightly guilty…
“What did you do?” you asked, putting your helmet and gloves down. 
“Nothing bad,” he prefaced. “But I may or may not have posted something.”
You looked at him quizzically. “Show me.” 
He turned his phone around and you laughed. 
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oscarpiastri
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liked by pierregasly, landonorris, y/nracing, and 839,231 others
oscarpiastri: get yourself a girlfriend who a) is intelligent, gorgeous, and awesome. and b) publicly humiliates your teammate over one point :)
comments
landonorris: low blow... i thanked you -> y/nracing: u forgot to thank beyonce.
user82: WHAT IS GOING ON IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS
mclaren: please take this down xxx -> y/nracing: if he takes this down i'll bomb mtc. -> mclaren: OH GREAT HEAVENS.
zbrownceo: we know this diva 💜
lilymhe: hold up im trying to spell gorjus -> y/nracing: OMG I FUCKING LOVE YOU DITCH ALEX FOR ME PLZ
carlossainz: at least you've got a leg up on lando... -> user22: ??? -> carlossainz: he hjas a girlfriend that loves him, lando's dumps him every four days -> landonorris: WHY AM I CATCHING STRAYS RN????
oscarpiastri: who is this gorgeous lady? -> y/nracing: she's taken bucko -> oscarpiastri: not by lando norris 😹😹😹 (even though he asked you out first...) -> y/nracing: who the fuck would pick lando over oscar?
pierregasly: WHO IS THIS DIVA 💜
charlesleclerc: glad to see my daughter in law is still insane
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“Well, I’d better post something myself, shouldn't I?” you smirked. He nodded, a bright blush on his cheeks, knowing exactly what you were going to post. 
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y/nracing
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liked by pierregasly, oscarpiastri, landonorris and 12,293,942 others
y/nracing: booo ln4. i'm into op81. oh yeah, also our skims collection is out on the 24th xxx
comments
user82: OH MY FUCKING GOD
user29: i have no one to talk to about this.
oscarpiastri: pretty girl -> y/nracing: pretty boy
landonorris: ??? ->oscarpiastri: I will actually gouge your eyes out, unlike this post right now. -> user92: WHAT HAPPENED TO POLITE CAT? -> oscarpiastri: his teammate became a bitch
user92: HOLY SHIT Y/N IS LOOKING GORG
lilymhe: my girl is beautiful
alexandrastmleux: my girl xxx
charlesleclerc: supporting! (with my eyes closed)
pierregasly: 👀 ->oscarpiastri: close them.
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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)
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bellatrixscurls · 1 year ago
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exquisite weather today, no? | part i
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warnings : smut, dom anthony and sub reader, pet names, fluff, ben and colin being little shits, reader is kind of naive given the action takes places sometime in the 1810s.
summary : anthony does not want to corrupt his innocent little wife... but what happens when his brothers lend him a helping hand?
a/n: please enjoy part one of my new series until i am done with the james and sirius fic, thank you! <3
“You are telling me that you have not slept in that way with your wife?” Benedict stops in their way down the halls, looking very much concerned. Anthony hums, checking his clock.
“But you’ve been married for almost a year now!” the younger brother exclaims, looking up at the viscount with a frown.
Anthony smirks and looks at his brother from the corner of his eye. “Not that it is any of your concern, but we do things. Together. Alone” his lie is obvious, but still, he leaves Benedict stunned in the middle of the hallway.
When he finally realises that the maids are looking at him funny, Benedict clears his throat and offers them a polite nod, before following Anthony into the drawing room.
Ah, here you are — sitting next to Colin on one of the sofas. With Anthony distracted, speaking to Daphne about the ‘Hearts and Flowers’ ball, he approaches you carefully, sitting beside Colin.
“Exquisite weather today, isn’t it?” he gives you a nod and you mirror his action, smiling, “Indeed it is, Ben.”
Colin looks between the two of you, back and forth, a confused smile gracing his lips. “This is not about the weather, is it?” he whispers through gritted teeth.
Benedict’s smile turns into a grin when the words leave his brother’s mouth. “I am, in fact, glad that you asked, Colin!” he says happily, “I came here because I need some... advice, from Y/n.”
Raising your eyebrows, you look at him in curiosity, “and what could someone such as yourself need advice for?”
Benedict thinks about it for a moment; should he say it? He means no harm but... a little fun won’t hurt... will it?
“Sex” the words leave his mouth and Colin chokes on his tea, eyes wide as he looks back at Benedict. ‘Are you mad?’ he mouths to his brother, but the second-born chooses to ignore him and look back at you. “So. Y/n?”
Benedict finds you looking up at him with wide eyes, lips pursed as you tried to search for that word in your mind, but with no results. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Ben.”
This time, it is Colin looking back at you, a deep frown settling on his face. “Pardon? Anthony is your husband, there is no such thing as not knowing what sex is.. Does he refer to it differently?”
“You know... when you’re alone, naked, and he towers over you. That thing he puts in between your legs” Benedict quips, already very much content of where Colin has taken the conversation.
“He towers over me?”
The two burst out laughing at your cluelessness and, from the other side of the large room, Anthony’s brows furrow in concern.
“His cock, sweetness. What he has between his legs. I’m sure he spoils the crap out of you with it every night” Benedict taunts and Colin laughs breathily, adding on “or maybe he does not, brother. Seeing that Anthony is so busy all the time. He has more important things to take care of, I suppose.”
At this point, your eyes are teary and your hands are shaking as you listen to your brothers-in-law tease you endlessly. You are not aware of the meaning behind it, though.
In a moment, you feel a hand wrap around your waist and pull you up against the warmth of someone’s body; Anthony. As you look up at him, his heart shatters and his jaw clenches. “I do not know what you did, but be sure that I will find out. And when I do, I hope you will be taking a walk far away from here. More walks.”
And with that, he takes you away from his brothers and rest of the family, not bothering to excuse himself or you, his face red with hatred. He doesn’t know what his brothers told you, but he is positive that it managed to hurt you... And Anthony cannot bare seeing you hurt.
His hand grips yours tightly, in a possessive manner, not hurting you. He is always gentle with you, no matter the circumstances.
Once you reach the wooden door, Anthony ushers you into the bedroom with a hand at the small of your back, following closely behind before he closes the door.
“What did they tell you, my love?” his tone is alarmed and so are his hands, twitching at his sides.
When your eyes finally meet his, they are still filled with tears, sadness pulling at your heart. “Am I a burden to you? Am I- not pretty enough?”
Anthony’s heart breaks and he realises that he’s never seen you so sad before, not even when you were merely a couple and you had family issues.
“Angel, you have to tell me what it is that they told you. I need to know” he repeats through gritted teeth, ready to walk down those stairs and strangle Benedict and Colin.
“Sex” you repeat Benedict’s words unsurely, glancing up at Anthony. “Told me you are too busy for that. And I- you have never told me of that.”
At this point, his hands fly to your waist and he positions you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your lower body as he turns you to face him entirely. “My darling- They told you that? I-” he seems at a loss for words, and finally, his lips fall into a straight line and he lets go of your hand for a second, walking away from you, and to the floor mirror in his room. You pout as you lose his warmth, and your brows furrow when you notice him pulling the mirror towards you.
He takes his hand in yours and he helps you to your feet, your bottom lip wobbling when you catch sight of your teary eyes, but Anthony notices immediately, and his hands move to hug you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.
“You are so beautiful” he says softly, placing a kiss on the side of your neck, nosing at your skin as he continues speaking, “Undress for me, my love.”
Breathing having picked up, your eyes widen anxiously as your hands find his. “Anthony-” “I want to show you how good I can make you feel. Trust me. Please” he pleads, his eyes looking helplessly into yours. You give a curt nod, your heart pounding against your ribcage.
Your shaky hands move to undress yourself and Anthony helps peel off your dress and chemise, leaving you bare and vulnerable before him.
Anthony lets out one of the most obscene sounds when he presses his clothed body to your bare one, and you can feel his erection pressing into your backside, not that you are aware of what that is. Yet.
“Your hand. Move it down your body” he commands rather softly, watching you through the mirror. Your cheeks heat up but you obey nonetheless, your left hand stopping right above your lower stomach, “Lower. Touch your pussy for me, sweetheart.”
“Alright” you take a deep breath, your hand sliding further down your body, resting at your cunt, your warm touch making you shiver. “Feels odd” you whine, eyes pleading as you find his eyes through the mirror.
He bites his lip, his eyes closing for a moment before he is able to look at you again. “It shall feel good in just a moment... Can- Do you want me to show you?”
“Yes, please” you whisper and his hand instantly reaches to your cunt, using both of his hands to spread you open, your folds damp and spread out for him. “S’pretty” you say absentmindedly, dreamily staring at yourself in the mirror.
“Yes it is” he hums, grinning widely against your shoulder. His middle finger taps your clit twice, and he smirks as your body jolts up. “See this, darling? It’s your clit, your little button... You can rub it whenever you wish to feel good.”
“Whenever I wish?” you ask, your eyes wide with curiosity.
“Yes, sweetness” he hums, his cock hardening at the thought of you wanting to touch yourself, let alone to the thought of him. “And if you want it to feel even better, you must-” with your hole dripping wet, Anthony manages to slip a digit right inside of you, causing you to gasp in both slight pain and excitement. He is finally giving it to you.
“Anthony- what is this?” you ask curiously, Anthony’s finger still inside of you, leaving you to adjust to the sudden intrusion.
“Bit of stimulation before I can give you my cock, bunny. Or, as my dear brothers wish to call it, have sex” he chuckles lowly and starts pumping his finger into you, your fragile body shaking, your knees ready to give out, but you know that he is here to catch you.
“Great” you reply breathily, one of your hands slipping into his.
“You must relax, my love” he tuts, moving his finger in and out slowly, the feeling leaving you bucking your hips into his hand, eyes rolling back. “Let them enjoy the show” he eyes you intently through the mirror.
You look at him rather confused, but his other hand moves to cup your jaw and gently turn your head to the side, towards the door.
A door cracked open. Benedict and Colin.
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starkwlkr · 3 months ago
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May I request hugh and actress!reader w/ baby olivia on set pls (love your writing!!)
baby on board | hugh jackman
an: hi!! thank you for this request!! glad everyone is enjoying this series <3
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X-Men: The Last Stand set
Baby Olivia was the star of the show. It was the last day on set of the latest X-Men and the Jackman family was visiting. While Alex and Reese took a nap in Hugh’s trailer, Hugh took Baby Olivia on a trip around the set. He showed her everything from the costume department to his chair with his name printed on the back.
“And that lovely lady is Famke. She plays Jean and in this movie she’s one of the bad guys, but don’t worry Famke is a sweetheart.” Hugh told Olivia as his co-star, Famke, approached the dad and daughter.
“Hi Olivia. Oh my god, you are so adorable!” Famke gasped when she saw Olivia wrapped in her pink blanket. “I’m guessing your boys are with their mother?”
“They’re all napping in my trailer. The flight here tired them out so for now it’s Olivia and me.” Hugh held his daughter close.
“I’ll let you two get back to your set tour. Bye, baby! I’ll see you later.” Famke blew a kiss to Olivia, who cracked a little toothless grin.
“Alright, miss Olivia, where to next?” Hugh looked around. Crew members smiled and waved to him as he passed by. They found it heartwarming and a little funny that Hugh, dressed as Wolverine, had a baby with him.
“Oh, look, that is a special chair. Wanna try it out?” Hugh looked around wondering if he would get in trouble for sitting on Charles Xavier’s chair. He didn’t see anyone stopping him so he sat on it with Olivia. Still holding his daughter close, he didn’t expect the chair to actually move when he moved the small lever forward.
“Woah, okay, hold on baby,” Hugh chuckled as he tried to steer the chair with one hand. He eventually got the hang of it and even made it to craft services where he found the owner of the chair. “Hope you don’t mind. Olivia wanted to take it for a spin.”
“Oh, don’t be like that! This beautiful girl can do what she wants!” Patrick Stewart laughed, waving at Olivia.
A crew member then came up to Hugh and Patrick holding a video camera. He recorded Hugh having fun with Olivia. After a while, Alex and Reese woke up from their nap and joined their dad and sister. Soon, Hugh had all his children on the chair, going from one room to the next and it was all captured on video. Years later, the same footage was used in the end credits for Deadpool & Wolverine, along with other behind the scenes footage.
@kellyxo1
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targaryenluvs · 10 months ago
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— UNCHARTED WATERS
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pairings: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader, percy jackson x sister!reader
summary: four months of keeping percy in the dark were over, you could only hope he’d understand your reasoning for keeping him there. or the one where percy finds a polaroid of luke and a girl eerily similar to his sister, donning not a lot of clothing.
warnings: suggestive content/photos, poor percy’s eyes, arguing, confrontation, makeups, hugs & motherly reader, protective percy
a/n: the end has come 😭 i’ve absolutely adored writing this series and i’m glad it’s here sad it’s here and sad it’s over.
taglist: @songofthesun @gayforyelena @taloulalila @honeydanny @7s3ven @sssi-nr @percabethtears @gr1mes-cc @2hiigh2cry @10ava01 @ahh-chickens @fangirl-swagg @anotherblackreader @midmourn @lovelyforesst @urfavpogue @lilacspider @mysteris-things @whoreyzontal @lunalixya @dangelnleif @wordsarelife
part i, part ii, part iii, part iv
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iv. uncharted waters
luke’s mouth was currently held hostage by your hand, tightly clamped over his as you waited for the kids to pass by. you were currently hidden behind large rocks in the pond, and half-naked. “if you lick my hand i swear i will drag you under the water, and you know i can.” you whispered to him. luke’s amusement was no where near yours, you could tell by the fact that he jabbed your side which caused you to shout.
the two campers turned at the sound of distress, eyes frantically scanning the area, before turning around and continuing their way back to camp. “that was close.” luke grinned whilst you hit him, “that was all your fault! now come on, before the sun sets.”
“why, is my girl scared of the dark? don’t worry i’m right here baby.”
“am not!”
“are too!”
“am not!”
“are too!”
“you’re so annoying luke.” the two of you made your way into the cold, clear waters. the day had been pretty busy and the idea of swimming before showering all the paint and grime was nothing but appealing to you. but your peace would only last so long around your boyfriend.
“what’s that shark movie y/n? and what does the music sound like?”
“jaws? and the sounds like, dun-a, dun-a.”
you should’ve seen it coming. luke repeated the sound, as you closed your eyes and faced the sun, he waded through the water before you looked his way. he was gone.
“luke? luke where did you—,”
you screamed as luke came up from below you, tipping you face first. “what the hell!” as much as you loved to hear luke laughing all you wanted to do was drown him. “it’s one thing to mess with me above ground, but in the water?” luke’s grin was wiped off as a wave came from behind. “wait hold on—,”
it was officially your turn to laugh as luke resurfaced, gasping for air. “not cool.” you covered your smile with both hands, “kinda cool.” you murmured as he made his way to you, hands around your waist as you looked up at him. “you think that was funny?” you meekly nodded as his hand tightened, another wrapped around your neck to draw you in.
the night was fast approaching and the two of you were currently laying on the shoreline. “i knew i brought this for something.” he whipped out the camera, “you look perfect as usual, would you do me the honour of modelling for me?” you grinned, “of course.”
luke wouldn’t stop staring at the picture, the whole way back to camp. so instead of allowing him to ogle the photo the whole night you tucked it into your jean shorts. claiming the decision to be for the greater good.
if there was one difference between you and percy, it was tidiness. he wasn’t terrible but he wasn’t as obsessive as you. so imagine his surprise when you passed out, towel, shorts and swimwear laid around. “kids these days, i tell you.” percy muttered as he picked up the clothes to be washed the next day. but as he did, a certain polaroid fluttered to the floor.
“what the?” he turned it over, and then had a heartattack.
“WHAT THE F—,”
“ow! why on earth are you shouting? and no swearing.” you groaned out loud. percy stomped his way over to you then waved the picture in your face, “what on earth is this? huh?” you snatched the picture from his hand before sitting on it, “nothing, what’re you talking about?”
percy clutched his head, before dramatically flopping down on his bed, “i think my eyes need to be rinsed.” you rolled your eyes, “stop being so silly, it’s a cute photo. just not a lot of clothes.” percy quiickly sat up, “exactly! and some guys hand tucking your hair behind your ear. i didn’t even know you were dating someone y/n, let alone taking weird photos.”
you’d been caught out, it was bound to happen sooner or later so you might as well tell him. your feet hit the floor before moving over to him, “i’m sorry i didn’t tell your perce, really. i just— i didn’t want to freak you out. i wanted you to continue getting adjusted to camp and all before i told you anything about it. it happened recently, and i didn’t mean for it to but feelings… are the one thing you can’t control. i’m sorry, i really am. and i’m so grateful i have such an amazing little brother who feels like he needs to protect me but you are my little brother. i’m eighteen, and more than capable of making my own decisions.”
percy didn’t want to understand what you were saying. he wanted to go find this guy and let riptide work it’s magic. but annoyingly enough, everything you said did make sense. “fine, i won’t go maiming tonight. i’m still mad you kept it from me, don’t you trust me?” your eyes teared up at the notion, “oh god no! i mean, yes, yes i do. i trust you with every bone in my body and that’s why i knew you’d try and hurt the poor guy. you’re so incredibly strong that you’d send him packing perce.”
percy’s lips twitched, a grin forming, “i am pretty amazing arent i?” you wrapped an arm around his shoulder, “that you are brother, that you are.” he hugged you so hard that it knocked you both back onto the bed.
“i guess i won’t hunt him down today.”
“thank you percy.”
“there’s always tomorrow.” he muttered.
“no perce!” he smiled up at you before wiggling out of your arms, “who is it huh?” you covered your face before sighing, “luke.” percy’s shoulders dropped, “stuff tomorrow.” he charged out the door as you ran after him, “no wait!” coincidentally the two of you rammed right into luke, “i heard shouting, i was concerned. are you okay y/n?” you smiled as he percy huffed, “no yeah, forget about the 12 year old you pummelled over viciously. continue focusing on my sister please.”
“he knows, i told him.” luke’s eyebrows raised, the reasoning behind percy’s jabs and stare revealing itself.
“oh.”
“you’ve got ten seconds castellan.”
“for what?”
“to run.”
“what did i do?”
“that photo didn’t take itself.” percy pulled out riptide, tapping it against his other hand as you stood behind him, watching luke laugh. “he’s, he’s kidding right?” you shook your head, “he’s giving you a head start castellan, i’d advise you to take it.” luke’s smile dropped as he began to step back, “i… you’re kidding.”
“ten, nine, eight—,”
luke’s shoes collided with the floor as percy shrugged, “countings for losers.” you reached out for him but it was too late, “cheater!” luke kept looking back as you sat down infront of the cabin, you officially had two idiots to look after.
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ja3hwa · 10 months ago
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♡ 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 | 𝐊.𝐇𝐉 ♡
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【Synopsis】 : Hongjoong wanted your first time to be special and romantic. Soft.....this is not what he had in mind. Whoops.
『Word count』 :  5.17k
-> Genre: So Much Smut. Fluffy. Romantic.
Pairing: Dilf!Hongjoong x Park!Reader
[Warnings] : I want to make this a realistic first time. It's funny, there's jokes and mistakes. It's loving. The reader is scared but not of Hongjoong. Insecurities. Oral. Fingering. Squirting. Making out. Praise kink. Bratty sub reader. Soft dom Hongjoong. Lots of lovey-dovey shit. Cute little kisses. Confessions. Daddy kink. Pet names. Unprotected sex cause these two forgot about it until after. Whoops. There is so much dirty talk and slight degrading. This is so filthy and soft and all over the place. Listen man I’m so hooked on sappy romance. And to the bitch that hated angels outfit cause it ‘not 10pm dinner date worth’, theres a part I wrote in here just for you.
Masterlist | Navigation | Part Five | Mini Series Masterlist.
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 “If you don’t get back in my car right now, I’ll drag you into it.” His words were dark, tainting on your lips. It was like a drug you’d never get enough of. Quickly, without slipping, you got back into his expensive car, your hand never leaving his thigh as he drove and your lips suckling on his neck. Hongjoong was glad it was almost two in the morning and no one was on the road otherwise he would of most likely hit someone with how fast he was going. He made it back to his apartment in no time and without another moment to spear, he dragged you towards the elevator by your hand. Fingers entangled with yours.. he pinned you against the wall in a feverish kiss, holding the back of your neck, guiding your mouth with his. This was not what he wanted your first time to be like. But god, did he need every second of it.
The way his hand crept up your dress, crawling at your hips. Feeling your frilly panties along his fingertips. His tongue raked down your hot skin, suckling a bright red mark on your neck. He was going to litter you with his marks, every part of your beautiful untouched body. Taint it like you were made for him. He was going to fuck you like it was the last thing he was ever going to do. Because you deserved every treatment he gave you.
-
You didn’t get time to take in your surroundings as you kept your lips flushed against Hongjoong’s. It was only when it was proving difficult to get your docs off when you both ended up laughing and grinning like idiots. Hongjoong was the first to pull away, pushing you slightly to lean against the hallway table so he could kneel down in front of you. You’ve never felt such a feeling like you had right now…This powerful older man, on his knees in front of you, slowly and carefully taking your shoes off. If he wanted you to feel like royalty, he was doing a bang-up job. 
“You like me on my knees, hmm? Angel?” He seemed to notice the way your mind had wandered off. Blush erupted over your face, feeling embarrassed of being caught bluntly staring. 
“I..Uh..” You looked around the hall, trying to find something to distract yourself as Hongjoong placed your right foot back carefully on the floor, having finished removing your shoes. Your sight caught the most amazing thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. “Holy shit…”
“Excuse you?” Hongjoong laughed at your potty mouth, but you walked down the hall, entering the large, dining, kitchen, and lounge room area. It was all opened with floor-to-ceiling windows. You could see almost the whole city. You’ve never been this high up before either, so it made the view even more grand. You watched in awe as the city light captivated you. You were so distracted you almost didn’t notice Hongjoong’s hands snaking around your waist, tugging at the strings on your corset, ever so slightly loosening it with every pull. his eyes never leaving the side profile of your stunning face. “It’s beautiful isn’t it.”
But he was not talking about the city view…
"It is..." You whisper. His lips inched against your neck, kissing down until he got to your left shoulder. Your shall had been forgotten long ago, most likely still in the car. And as you stood frozen watching the scenery beyond the thick glass so intensely, you felt Hongjoong finally slip off the belt around your plump hips, chucking it somewhere in the room. His fingers played with the fabric of your dress while you tilted your head to the side to give him better access. He could smell the sweet perfume on your skin. Feel the way he created goosebumps on your soft skin from the hot breath from his nose. His fingers would tangle, tug, and pull any part of your delicious outfit. The outfit he swooned over at dinner. The outfit he couldn’t help but smile at, thinking how sweet you looked, just like those strawberries that were embroidered on it. The outfit he was going to take great pleasure in taking it off you. Or maybe he’d fuck you in it first, watch how your nipples would peak through the layers of cotton. Feeling the roughness of the frills on his thighs as he thrusted in you hard. He’d keep those pretty little white socks you still have on as well. You’d be the most perfect little treat for him. “Hongjoong…”
He took a step back as you called for him. Standing so still, you didn’t dare to turn around. You could hear him move, the sound of fabric shifting, leather rubbed against jeans until… The clank of something metal hit the carpeted ground. 
“You wanna turn around Angel.” His voice was smooth, deep. Hypnotic. His words made every nerve burn in anticipation. This was really happening, he really wanted to have sex with you. Your heartbeats were hard, like a low base bashing on your chest. Thump, thump, thump. You could feel yourself become high head. Dizzy. Like your mind was slipping into a subspace of your mind you’ve never been before. “Baby.”
He called again but this time he was back right behind you, his hands on your hips made you take in a sharp breath. And without a second thought, you reached behind your body, pulling at the string that held the waist hem of your dress taught to your frame. Hongjoong didn’t dare take his eyes off your delicate fingers playing with the string, not until it was completely loose and the dress started to sag. Only having your shoulders keep the fabric up. Neither of you spoke, it was like you were both holding your breath. Waiting for the other to do something. You finally turned around.
His shirt was gone, the top button of his jeans was undone and his belt by your feet. You would never get enough of this man. The way he was built. The scars and tattoos decorated him like a human canvas. Everything was perfect. He was perfect. “H-Help me…”
He didn’t know he could move so fast, his fingers lacing under the cotton resting on your shoulders, slowly... go slowly god damn it. He screamed to himself as he pushed the fabric off you. The dress fell quickly, pooling by your feet. But he did not dare look down. No. His eyes stared into yours so desperately. he felt like he was in a dream and if he looked at your body he feared his cruel brain would wake him up. You took the ranes this time. Unclasping your bra without breaking eye contact with him. He could see the swell of your breasts out the corner of his eyes but he refused to look. The thump from the article of clothing falling to the floor made his heartbeat fall into his throat. And then his eyes widened, audibly gulping as you reached for his left, tatted hand. He felt your soft skin against his, and then he felt your hot plump chest in his rough palm. You hitched in a breath, feeling your overly sensitive nipples scrape along his hands. 
Hongjoong finally looked.
Taking in a big shaky breath, he saw you. He saw your soft curves, your juicy breasts. The way the balls of flesh rose and fell with each sharp breath. He made a mental note to kiss every stretch mark, scar, and blemish on your body. You are perfect. His other hand gripped your free breast, fondling your flesh. Your eyes fluttered close, tilting your head back slightly. Little pants would slip from your parted lips, as Hongjoong would start to leave light feverish kisses on your jaw, neck and collarbone. He would lower himself slightly, before slowly, pushing you backwards. you’d gasp loudly when your bare back would hit the ice-cold glass of the window. Hongjoong quickly knelt in front of you. Kissing between your breasts before latching his mouth on one of your nipples, while his free hand gripped your right thigh slowly, softly… parting your legs. You looked down at the older man, seeing his intense stare as he watched your every move closely. “Yes, I do….”
He looked confused for a moment, curious as to what you might be answering… and then you spoke out again. “You on your knees…I like it.” You felt like crawling out of your skin, feeling embarrassed at your words. But Hongjoong had a different expression. He growled, kissing down your pretty tummy, finding your stretch marks on the side of your hip, before kissing each and every one. He could do this for hours if he so wished, but for now, he just quickly pepper kisses a few before stopping just above the hem of your panties. He glanced back up at you one more time, slowly without breaking eye contact his fingers hooked under the soft cotton fabric before slipping them off down your legs. You were now completely bare in front of him.
“Fuck, angel. Aren't you the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. So soft.” he kisses your thigh. “So plump.” And gripped the flesh of your legs to move apart until he could see your dripping pussy. “So wet and ready for me.”
“F-fuck Joong!!” His name slipped off your tongue like it was your favourite thing to say. Fingers dug into his fluffy hair as he pressed his nose against your already sensitive clit and inhaled. You were the most delectable thing he’s ever had, and your taste was all he was craving. So he dived right in, his tongue flatting against your hole before licking all the way up, swiping over your nub. He did the same motion a couple of times before he shoved his tongue inside. He needed to prep you well. Get you nice and wet, and he was loving every minute of it. The way your head was thrown back against the glass, moans spilling from you, becoming his new favourite melody. 
He could feel you were close by the way your body started to shake, struggling to keep yourself up. He, without a second thought, pulled away, nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs at the sudden loss of pleasure. But before you could say anything, he was tugging you down to the soft carpeted floor with him. He wasn’t expecting to fuck you on the floor. God no. Not today anyway. But he wanted to make you cum a few times first before pounding you into his mattress. 
“There, there angel. I’ve got you.” His soft voice made your head spin as you laid on your back with your legs spread as far as they could go. You needed him in every way as he latched back onto your soaked cunt, sliding in a finger. You knew you were already falling over the edge. You’ve never climaxed so hard before, seeing white and hearing a light buzz in your ears. Those romance novels had seemly been correct when it was the right man, he would be able to give you everything. Including the most mind-blowing orgasms.
“Fuck, J-joongie I f-feel weird.” You needed to come again, rolling your hips against his now two scissoring fingers his tongue didn’t stop its desperate antics and then Hongjoong sucked harshly against your clit. You swore over and over as your legs began to shake, you cried a silent scream in the next breath as you felt Hongjoong sit up.
“Holy shit…” His deep chuckle caught your attention, opening your eyes you see in horror… Hongjoong was covered in a wet liquid. His chin, cheeks and chest dripping… d-did I just squirt? “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
You felt your face heat up, wiggling a bit so you could sit up. The floor was a mess, and so were your inner thighs. But Hongjoong couldn’t care less, all he was thinking about was if he could get you to do that again. “Come on baby. Let’s move to somewhere more comfortable before I fuck you on this floor.”
He spoke so casually, but you could hear the lust dripping from his tongue. He was holding himself back, wanting to restrain himself and your little bratty attitude caught onto it quickly. Smiling, you pushed yourself up on your knees, while he watched intensely. You crawled over to him before resting your hands on his shoulders, his face so close to yours. “You gonna take me to bed Hongjoong? You’re best friend's daughter?” You whispered, inching closer. “What would he think? Hmm? Tainting my innocence.”
“I’ll do more than taint your innocence baby…” He knew what game you were playing, grabbing your hair, and tugging it back, making you forcibly look up to the roof. His nose glided across your neck before he suck a harsh red mark on your soft skin. “I’m going to fuck you until your head is filled with nothing but me. My cock. The way I fuck you. The way I’d make love to you… I’ll ruin you for any other man.” He bit down hard on your collarbone surely leaving indents of his teeth. “Cause you’re mine now princess. Mine alone.”
Him saying he’d love you causes a different feeling to grow in the pit of your stomach. A feeling you know you’d have to discuss tomorrow. But for now, as he led you to his bedroom. Your wobbly legs found themselves perched at the entrance of Hongjoong’s lavish room. It was not as you were expecting. He looked like such a minimalistic man, with a simple, sleek style. But yet his room... was filled with unique forms of art, house plants—some fake and some real—an abundance of vinyls, CD’s and a beautiful vintage record player, sitting in the corner of the room. The dark brown wooden stand the record player laid on matched his spruce bed frame well, and his dark near black bed sheets screamed the mystery man you knew him to be.
There was only one thing out of place. On his desk, besides two custom-made motorbike helmets that he most certainly painted himself, was nail polish. Rows of bottles of nail polish. All different colours and brands. Who knew a big tough tattoed, ex-military businessman wore colourful nail polish. “Sorry about the mess.”
He spoke so casually as he picked up some clothes off the floor and threw them in the direction of an ensuite. His cute simple smile was so innocent as if he hadn't just made you squirt all over his floor just minutes before. “No, No…it’s perfect.”
Your smile eased his racing mind as he kicked himself for not cleaning up before. But yet again, you being here wasn’t planned. It was supposed to go so differently. But such as life goes, nothing goes the way it’s planned every time. He chuckled lightly, walking over to your figure that stood still in the middle of the room. You weren’t standing awkwardly by any means but more so like you were admiring everything. Taking in as much detail, fearing you’d never see the inside of his mind like this ever again. His hands found their place on your hips once more, tugging you lightly towards the bed. You giggle, grabbing his face with both hands, you squished his cheeks as you kiss him messily. His smile grew against your own and as the back of your knees hit the end of the bed, you fell with him causing you both to laugh. 
“God, I could get used to this.” He murmured against your lips, crawling with you until your head hit the nice soft pillows. You just hummed in approval, letting him deepen the kiss by sliding his tongue into your mouth. You couldn’t see what he was doing, but you could feel him shifting around as if he was looking for something. You had to break away from the kiss, so he could finally see what he was doing. You tilted your head back, seeing him grab a pillow, rolling it long ways until it was like a little cinnamon roll. He lifted up your hips slightly, making you eye him in confusion as he placed the pillow under your lower back.
“w-what is that for?” You help him by planting your feet on the bed before wiggling your hips into a comfy position on the pillow. 
"It's to help me fuck you better." He said with such cheek it almost knocked the air out of your lungs. He laughed at your wide-eyed expression with a slightly parted lip. "Hah, it's so you don't feel any discomfort when I penetrate you, darling. Don't worry. I just don't want to hurt you for your first time."
"Oh god." You moaned, covering your eyes with your arm. You knew he knew you weren't experienced, but him explaining the pillow made you feel like you were having an awkward sex ed class with your much older teacher. 
"Hey, It's okay. You don't know these things, Angel." He pulled your arm away from your face lightly kissing your wrist, then forearm before kissing your cheek and the corner of your mouth. "I know you're not as experienced as me. But I want you to know, baby." He gave you a peck on the lips. "I don't care. In fact, I'm honoured you want me compared to someone younger, less...me"
You knew he was gesturing to his scars. His battle wounds and how he carries a lot of trauma and PTSD from the military. You remember your father had spoken about healing and struggling with society after being in wars. But you knew Hongjoong was on the battlefield a hell of a lot longer than your father. "Hongjoong."
You grabbed his face again, gently rubbing your thumb along his rough skin. "What you went through, what you've done. It doesn't define you now. You're such a caring, sweet, sexy, and kind man. I couldn't ask for a better person to be my first."
You've never confessed such a thing a loud before. Sure you have a big crush on the older man, but you've never actually said it to him. You were falling in love with him and you wanted him to know that. He smiled, kissing you again. It was slow, passionate, and soft. You could feel his love spilling from his heart to yours, and then he pulled away. "So you think I'm sexy."
"That's what you got out of it!!" You whacked his bare chest, making him huff out a breathy 'hey'. You went to hit him again, but he grabbed your wrist this time, pinning your arms above your head. Everything fell silent after that, his lips find your cheeks once again, littering your face with kisses. 
"I want to take you out. I want to spoil you." He kissed down your neck. "I want to call you mine and be with you without the thought of anyone judging." His kisses trail down to your collarbone, than the valley of your chest, kissing every part of skin he could. "I don't care about your father. If he doesn't approve then fuck him. I want to call you mine. If you'll let me."
He gave your nipples a suck each before kissing back up to your face, locking his lips with yours. You could feel him shuffling around, using his free hand that wasn’t holding your wrists to fondle your breast. You were becoming lost in your feelings. Mind spinning as you felt Hongjoong’s tongue dance around your own. Teeth clashing against teeth as the kisses become hotter… messier. Everything was perfect, letting you slip into complete bliss until Hongjoong panted against your swollen lips “Take a deep breath for me.”
You didn’t understand but followed his order obediently anyway. that’s when you felt his warm, wet tip slip against your hole. You quivered, whimpering at the feeling. You needed him so badly, that your mind was short-circuiting. “S-sir, please. Please. Put it in me.” 
“Fuck baby, you can't say those types of things.” He moaned, resting his head on your shoulder, his hand that was needing your breasts was now stroking his cock. He had pulled his jeans down to his thighs, making you pull your leg up to help push them further down until they started slipping off his thighs and pooling at his knees. He kissed your shoulder before sitting up fully. 
"Hong—fuck...." You gritted your teeth as you saw his cock resting against his leg. He wasn't huge, but his girth made you swallow a harsh ball of saliva. How on earth was that thing going to fit inside you? You couldn’t help but take him all in, eying his whole figure. This man was built like a god if you’d ever seen one.
“You like what you see angel?” he laughs, finally throwing his jeans somewhere in the room. you sat up, spreading your legs wider so he could get a full view of your soaked cunt. Your smile was devious and dangerous. Just like the one you put on the first night, you were both together. The brat in you was showing. He had to chuckle watching you intensely with a bitten lip as you touched yourself. Your hand inching slowly towards where you needed him most.
“I don’t know. Do you like what you see, Daddy?” 
He was back on top of you with a growl in his throat. His face inches from yours and his cock rubbing against your clit. Your eyebrows knotted together as he breached your hole, tip sitting tightly inside you. You gulp, trying your best to take a deep shaky breath. His eyes never left yours as he watched you come undone. Your mouth fell open as each inch slipped into your abused cunt. Your moans were weak, breaking into a cry as he finally bottomed out completely. “Fuck, your cunt is so tight baby. So warm. You are doing such a good girl. My best girl.”
“H-Hongjoong t-too big.” Your whimpers were high-pitched and whiny. Your bratty nature out of sight. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you pushed against him slightly. It wasn’t that you wanted him off you by any means but your mind was racing. From feeling so full, pleasure surging through your whole body mixing with a sharp pain coming from being stretched out by his cock. And then there was the overwhelming feeling of having failed your father, letting his best friend fuck you…. But as Hongjoong kissed your tears that ran from your eyes. He whispered back to you lovingly, tenderly.
“It’s okay princess. You are doing so well. Keep taking deep breaths for me. Relax.” What he really wanted to say was how fucking tight you were. How good you felt around him. How he wanted to bust a nut right then and there. “C-can I move..fuck…” His pants became more frantic as you nodded your head with a little ‘please’. his hands that rested on either side of your head, now one rested on your hip and the other behind your neck, holding you in place. Your legs wrapped themselves tightly around his waist, letting him thrust slowly and deeply into your wet pussy.
His nose rubbed against yours, while his mouth left agape mere inches from your own. Your breath mixed with his with each pant and battered breath. Your eyes had snapped shut, focusing solely on his cock inside you alone. Hongjoong felt like he was on cloud nine, the way you moaned his name. Hugged him tightly. The way your body needed him just as he needed yours. Everything was just as he imagined if not more. His little angel. His sweet best friend's daughter. “Fuck, angel. You feel so good. My dirty little girl.”
“D-dirty?!” You gasped as his hand left your hip to push the pillow up more so he could fuck you deeper. His chuckle felt cold, chilling and oh-so-pleasurable. 
“Hmmm yes, my dirty...” He tilted against your ear grunting with each thrust. “little cocksleeve. So tight and warm for me, fuck.” You whimpered at his filthy words, digging your nails into his skin, fearing to draw some blood as his thrusts got sharper. Hongjoong didn’t mean to slip up with his rambles but he couldn’t help it. It just felt so right. And you felt the same.
“Yes, daddy. Please. H-Harder please.” You gasped throwing your head back. Hongjoong sat up this time, hooking your right leg over his shoulder, chuckling darkly. Your smile grew feeling his cock sink deeper inside you. He held onto your plump thigh for deal life as he humps his cock into your pussy, grunting at the feeling of your walls spasming around him. He swallowed in a sharp breath, snapping his eyes shut with a loud hiss going blind by the tight feeling of your squeezing cunt. 
“Fuck, baby. How did I wait this long to fuck this tight cunt? I should have fucked you the night we screwed around.” He lent down bending your body at an odd angle but the burn made your head spin in the best way possible. He cupped your chin, pulling your focus back to him, staring into his hot, lust-filled eyes. “You would have liked that huh darling? Me fucking you while your father is in the next room.”
“Jesus fucking christ.” You snapped, yelling at you felt the tingle in your gut grow quicker. “Yes, Joong. I wanted you to fuck me then and there so so badly.”
“Ha, See you are a dirty girl. I should punish you. Maybe I’ll wake you up tomorrow to eating this deilous pussy until your screaming me to stop.”
“Yes, Yes Yes. Please.” You babbled, squeezing tightly around him. You were so close to the edge, and Hongjoong could tell. By the way your face scrunched and how your legs started to shake. He knew you just needed a little push.
“You gonna cum baby? Come on, let go. I wanna feel you cum around my cock darling.” He growled in your ear, moving your leg back around his waist so he could move closer to you. Your lips found his against in a heated moment. Passion spilling out with each thrust as he swallowed your moans.
“Joongie please come with me. Come inside me. I wanna feel you.” You mumbled against his mouth, making him let out a groan. His stomach tightened as he tried to hold on just for a little longer. He needed to feel you come first. He needed to feel you as you tightened around him. As your eyes rolled back and you finally let go. You swore over and over again as felt him empty his load deep inside you. Your scent mixing with his as his groans harmonized with yours. 
“God, I love you.” His hips stuttered before stopping entirely. Your heart was thumping so hard against your chest that you could hear it in your ears. Hongjoong was the same, panting like he had just run a marathon. He kissed your cheeks, then your jaw and lips, littering your face in soft pecks. The silence that consumed the room suddenly felt comforting, like a blanket you’d wrap around yourself on a cold day.
You could feel Hongjoong slowly soften inside you, but didn’t pull out. Your fingers raked through his hair, scratching his scalp. You couldn’t have sworn he was purring for a second. “H-Hongjoong.”
“Yes, dear?” He hummed so casually like this was just a normal night shared with a lover.
“I-I think I love you too.” You whispered unsure if it was the right thing to say. He had blurted out the words of devotion in the heat of the moment and it worried you that he might not have meant it. But it was in fact the opposite. He had to constantly bite his tongue so he wouldn’t say it. And in the moment it felt right. His smile grew, sitting on his elbows so he could see your sweaty, beautiful face, dancing in afterglow.
“I’m glad. Cause I mean it. I’m foolishly in love with you.” He tried to act dramatic which caused you to hit his chest lightly. He sat up with that action finally pulling out of you. You shivered as he did it, feeling his cum slowly slip out of you. “Sorry about…that. I should have put a condom on.” 
He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed that he, a supposably mature man, couldn’t control himself. You sat up slowly, reaching for his bicep before rubbing him lovingly “Hey, it's okay. I asked for it. And I’m on birth control so it's fine.”
“Well in that case.” He smirked pulling you onto his lap. You hissed slightly at your sore limbs and overly sensitive sex. His arms wrapped around your waist, letting your chest rest flushed against his.
“Now now soldier. I think definitely cannot go another round without some rest.” You laughed peppering his cheek slowly. He hummed knowing you needed rest and a part of you knew he was half joking about going another round…
“shower and sleep.” He mumbled against the crook of your neck, feeling his fingers draw shapes into your back. You sighed feeling so much contentment. Safe in his arms. You both knew that what had now happened was something forbidden, and you both were going to have to confront your father at some point.
But as Hongjoong helped you to the bathroom and slowly lathered you with body wash that smelt like him with giggles and laughter echoing in the spacious shower room. Neither of you cared for the outside world. Not when Hongjoong's lips brushed against you every so often as you rinse the soap off your body. Not when he put you in one of his shirts and dragged you back to bed with his fingers tangled with yours. 
And not when he held you tightly, whispering how beautiful you are. How lucky he is and now he was never going to ever let you go.
-♡
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lowkeyerror · 7 months ago
Text
The Family Business Ch. 9
WandaNat x Reader
Word count: 2.5k
Ch.Notes: emotional turmoil, jealousy
Summary: After last night's events things only grow more complicated between Wanda, Natasha, and the reader.
An: So... I have blown through all of the pre-drafted parts I have for this and am now writing in real time the goal is to do post every monday but bare with me if I slip up.
Series Masterlist | Masterlist
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The smell of coffee is the first thing to enter your sense as you stir from your place in the bed. You can't move much as your legs are tangled with someone else’s. You can feel soft breaths tickling your face. Your brow creases, but you make no other movements.
There’s a slight shift in the bed, and that's when you begin to feel a finger dragging itself along your collarbone. It’s gentle as it draws patterns lightly tracing up your neck and jaw. A thumb ghosts over your lips, but you stay still.
“Even after this life has been so cruel to you, and you've grown this hard outer shell; your skin feels so soft. So pretty under my touch.”
You are fully awake, but something stops you from opening your eyes. Instead you scoot closer to the woman and pull her body closer to yours. Your arm flexes as you hold her in place.
“Enjoying the cuddling?” Natasha’s voice enters the room.
“She’s so peaceful like this, I don’t want to wake her,” Wanda shifts in your hold.
She maneuvers so that she's sitting up right in the bed. Your head falls into her lap, and her hands start running through your hair.
“We have to, I’ve heard from Pietro that people are already being made aware of the oil spill. They’re scrambling, he’s already at the office with Kate taking orders.”
You hear Wanda sigh, “This is nice, it almost feels domestic.”
Natasha laughs lightly, “Yes, having your wife bring you and your lover coffee, screams domestic.”
“She’s not my lover, Natasha,” Wanda’s voice sounds harsh.
It takes everything to keep your body from tensing as you listen into this conversation you aren't directly involved in.
“It’s a joke baby,” you can almost hear the smirk on the woman’s face.
“Jokes are supposed to be funny Natasha,” she deadpans.
“I agree there's nothing funny about you being in love with Y/n.”
You hear shuffling and then a quick thud as Wanda throws something at Natasha. By her exasperated sigh you can tell Natasha caught it.
“Can we save this discussion for… I don’t know, when Y/n isn’t laying in my lap,” Wanda says defensively.
“Fine, but the last thing I’m going to say is your taste in women is 10 out of 10,” Natasha chuckles.
“Fuck you,” Wanda can’t help but laugh as her wife exits the room.
Wanda refocus her attention back to you, “We have a big day ahead of us little krolik and unfortunately it starts now.”
She shakes you gently and calls your name a few times. You pretend to wake up. The sight of Wanda in the morning is something entirely ethereal. You can’t help but stare at the woman. Especially after what you heard this morning.
Your intense gaze makes the woman shift and clear her throat, “Natasha made coffee for us.”
You laugh a little, your voice groggy from sleep, “Sounds like a good thing to wake up too.”
“It can’t hurt, we have a busy day ahead of us,” she says getting out of the bed.
“Your bed is like 10 times more comfortable than mine,” you sink further into the mattress.
Natasha enters the room, “Glad to hear you slept well.”
There’s something grateful about the look you give the spy, “Thank you for that. Both of you.”
“The door is always open for you lisichka,” Natasha smiles warmly back.
With much reluctance you get out of the bed. Your feet shuffle across the bedroom floor and you scratch your head, suddenly becoming more aware of the fact that you aren’t in your home.
“I guess I should go get ready at my place,” you say stretching.
“We’ll meet you over there and head to work together, ok?”
You agree to these terms and make your way home. When you get there the composure that you usually carry yourself with slips.
The brief conversation that played out between the married couple echoed in the walls of your mind. It was a joke, that’s what Natasha said in the beginning. However after claiming Wanda was in love with you, it didn't sound like a joke anymore.
Wanda is a married woman. You know this and you’d feel confident in saying that the marriage is a happy one. Natasha is good for her, better than you could ever be. Wanda being in love with you wouldn’t make sense.
As you get ready for work it’s nearly all you can think about. Every moment where you hugged each other for too long, where her hand would find it’s way in yours, where the two of refused to break eye contact was now floating in your head.
It was hard not to romanticize it, you had feelings for Wanda since you were a teenager, and now you are being told she feels the same.
It's a heavy feeling that sits in your stomach. Every part of your being wishes it could be joy, but it’s sorrow and dread. The other accompanying thought with this revelation is, Natasha.
The woman was amazing in her own right. She deserves the same love, attention, and kindness that Wanda does. You refuse to be a home wrecker. Their love it’s organic, it’s feels true. It was enough for Wanda to bring home a wife, knowing her family wouldn’t approve. There wasn’t a reality where you’d let her throw that away.
Your thoughts don’t get to consume you any longer when the doorbell rings. You put on a face of determination as you leave your home with Wanda and Natasha.
Once you’re at the office everything seems more hectic than usual. The three of you are all whisked away in different directions, answering to the influx of calls.
The sheer volume of people you have on your line, startles you a bit as initially you thought this would be enhance the unlawful business practices, but it has also benefited the business used as a front.
This might’ve been a million dollar move. However, it truly wasn’t about the money. The supply for the family was endless. It was to regain control of the city and to assure them whether Dragos was in charge or not the Maximoff’s would be running this city.
The victory is bittersweet as thoughts of Dragos invade your mind. He should be here celebrating with you all yet he lay still in a hospital bed, using machines you couldn’t name to help him breathe. With Flora likely sitting there with him, tremendous sorrow on her shoulders and the wish that he would wake up so she could scold him.
There were bigger things to worry about aside from what you had heard this morning. The health of your father figure, the health of the business, preparing for a war, there was no room for your feelings right now and you accepted it.
“Alright, it’s time for you to go on break,” Kate knocks on your office door before allowing herself in.
“Too busy,” you mumble typing away at your computer.
“I brought you lunch, meaning you have to atop working to eat it,” Kate plops down a bag on your desk.
The smell fills your nose, making your mouth water and stomach growl. You sigh moving your keyboard out of the way to open the bag of food.
“Thanks Katie,” you say before munching on a french-fry.
“No problem, how are you holding up?”
You stretch a bit, “It’s been nonstop in both businesses. I’ve got to be careful not to mix them up as I write the orders. I’m a bit stressed, but I think this is a good stress.”
“And outside of work?”
Your face drops, “I’m barely holding on to be honest. Constantly worried about Dragos, but not just him; Flora, Wanda, Pietro, all of them. I feel so helpless, I haven’t felt this way since I was a child.”
“Y/n-”
“I feel like I’m failing, Kate. We’re fighting against a war, but it’s inevitable at this point. There’s no way Kingpin is going to take this lying down. We can’t afford to lose, but I don’t think any of us are prepared to fight.”
Kate takes your hand in hers causing you to gaze into her eyes. There’s a fire there, one that you forgotten lived inside the assistant.
“Y/n, whatever happens this family will not fall. Others might have alliances, weapons, and political power, but what every single one of them lacks is loyalty. We have people on the outside switch sides, but everyone in this building is here for the long haul. We stand by each other no matter how hard it gets. Maybe you’re right, we’re not prepared for a war right now, but we will be. You aren’t alone in this Y/n, you have a family… thee family backing you.”
She’s right and you know it. It’s a hard a reality to swallow in the sense that with or with Dragos the Maximoff’s don’t have a choice but to win. They will win, but what will be lost on the way to victory. The longer you’re in the position you understand what they mean when they say heavy is the head that wears the crown.
“Something else is bothering you. I can tell,” Kate’s voice is soft when she speaks, snapping you from your thoughts.
You can feel the tip of your ears heat at her question, but you try to play it safe, “It isn’t important and I don’t think it will ever be. We have bigger things to worry about.”
Kate rolls her eyes at you, “You’re right about having bigger things to worry about. Things that you are clearly being distracted from by what’s on your mind. So as your best friend it’s my job to sit here and press you for answers until you tell me.”
It's your turn to roll your eyes, “Can we just drop this, my food is getting cold?”
“There’s a microwave somewhere in this building,” Kate took a seat at the edge of your desk, her hand still in yours.
“You aren't going to let this go are you?”
She shakes her head a little, “Nope.”
You take your free hand and place it over your face, “I heard Natasha say that Wanda is in love with me.”
“Oh my god. Y/n that’s- what’re you going to do?”
“Nothing, I’m not going to do anything.”
Kate’s eyes widen, “Why would she say that? Did she sound mad? How did you hear this? What if she is in love with you? How would you-”
“Enough!” You raise you voice at the girl and she stops.
“Sorry, but this is crazy.”
You sigh, “I know.”
“Do you love her?”
Your eye hit the floor immediately, “I’ve had a crush on Wanda for as long as I can remember. She’s seen me at my lowest, but found value in me nonetheless. Even after all these years she just makes me feel safe and I would do anything for her.”
“But…”
“But she's married to one of the most intriguing women that I've ever met. Someone I know who feels like I do. Someone who takes good care of her and can be there for her in ways that I can’t. They’re the perfect couple. They both truly deserve each other and I refuse to put myself between them.”
It is fully intended to sound strong, but by the end of it you can feel your eyes start to water. You do your best to hold it in but tears start to fall.
“Fuck,” you attempt to cover your face but Kate just pulls you to her by your office chair.
Her hands rests on your face wiping at the tears. You lean into her touch as she begins to rub your back.
“It’s alright, you’re alright,” Kate speak gently.
There’s a soft knock on your office door that gets you to straighten up. The walls are glass so you’re aware that they could see what was transpiring.
“Is everything ok in here?” Natasha let’s herself in, knowing the answer to her question.
You look to Kate, who then looks to Natasha, “Do you want to take over?”
Natasha gives a curt nod. You watch Kate walk out of the office closing the curtains on the way out so no one could see inside. She tells you to call her at the end of your day and you make a mental note to do so.
“Lisichka, talk to me,” she takes Kates previous position. She reaches to wipe the tears from your eyes, but you flinch away.
“I’m fine,” your voice dies as you speak.
“I think we both know that’s not true.”
You glare at her, but then your eyes soften, “I’m just overwhelmed Nat.”
“Maybe it's your turn to go home early n" she suggest.
“I have to stop by the hospital before I go home.”
Natasha hesitates, “I don't think you're in the right space to be there.”
“Someone has to go check on Flora and Dragos,” you stand firm.
“Wanda and I will go,” Natasha says.
You debate for a second on telling Natasha what you heard. You wonder how she would react. However you could never do that to her , not like when she’s looking at you like this. This is the second time in 24 hours that Natasha has been there for you in a time of need.
“Lisichka?”
“I- I’ll see if Kate can take me home,” you abruptly stand from your desk.
You don’t get far before Natasha is wrapping you up in her arms. You melt in her hold, she smells good, her arms are strong. She kisses the top of your head.
“Let me know when you’re home safe, ok? We’ve got everything under control here.”
You nod before heading off in the direction of Kate’s office. When you get to her door she’s on call and you debate leaving, but when she sees you she ends the call.
“Y/n-"
“Can you take me home, please. I know I could ask Clint, but I just-”
Kate cuts you off, “Of course, let’s go.”
You stay close to Kate as you leave the office. Unbeknownst to you, Wanda watches the two of you exit. She heads to your office to find her wife in your chair.
“What happened to Y/n?”
Natasha sighs, “I don't know she wouldn't tell me. I saw Kate sitting on the desk and wiping her tears away so I stepped in. She said she was overwhelmed, but there had to be more to it. I told her to go home.”
“I just saw her leaving with Kate,” Wanda adds.
“She said she’d ask Kate to take her,” Natasha explains.
“I could've taken her,” Wanda says with worry in her voice.
Natasha shakes her head, “You have a business to run and I promised Y/n we’d stop by the hospital after work.”
“I wish she would’ve seen me before she left,” Wanda’s upset, but she contains it well.
“Jealous of Kate?” Natasha tries to tease, but there’s something in her tone that Wanda detects.
“Are you jealous of Kate?” Wanda throws the question back at her wife.
Natasha gaze lingers on her hands, “What if I was?”
Wanda carefully straddles Natasha’ lap in the work chair. She buries her head into the crook of Natasha’s neck before mumbling into the soft skin.
“Then we’d both be jealous.”
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Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25
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cheriladycl01 · 7 months ago
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Could you do fic for Peter 'Bono' Bonnington with wife chef!reader? She always brought him food because she knew how busy he could get with everything. So, she would always make him his favourite meals/pick up a guilty pleasure snack as a surprise for him. Maybe she had some surprises for him. I'll let you decide what it was. Just something fluff and cute. Thanks! :))
Lets make lunch for my Husband! - Peter Bonnington x ChefWife! Reader
Plot: You are famous on Tiktok for making videos where you pack lunches for you husband but use ingredients globally as you always travel with him of race weekends.
Credit to princemick for the GIF
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y/user
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Liked by peter.bonn, gordongram and lewishamilton
y/user: Racing in Bahrain!
Come make lunch with me for my husband who doesn’t go to Mercedes Hospitality for some reason!
Round One 🇧🇭 And we have Chicken, Rice and Veggies (a very hearty meal here) 🏎️
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fan1: I love her TikTok’s she’s so funny and Peter is just so cute!
fan2: their relationship is eveything you me
gordongram: Cooking in Style as always Y/N!
-> y/user: thanks Gords!
“Baby, lunch was amazing today! And thank you for putting the Twirl in there!” He grins as you both get back to the hotel, it had been a good race and you were both happy.
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it hunny. I’ve already made a meal plan of what I’m going to make at each race! You’ll be so happy with breakfast lunch and dinner in Silverstone!” You grin pulling him in for a kiss.
“Mmmm what have I got?” He grins, pulling you to sit on his lap on the sofa in your hotel room.
“Breakfast, of course a full English, get you all set for the day and make sure you’ve got all the protein to see you through till lunch. Then you’ve got your fave Ham Pesto and Mozzarella Sandwich for lunch. And then to round it off, I’ll invite Toto, Suzie, Lewis, George and Carmen all round for a Sunday Roast!” You say practically bouncing at the prospect of guests and being able to cook for them!
“I love you, you are without a doubt the best thing that has ever happened to me” he smiles pulling you back to relax on the sofa as you both sit there in each others embrace.
“I love you most!” You declare making him laugh and kiss your head. It wasn’t a battle he could win with you despite knowing you were wrong and he held an impossible amount of love for you.
y/user
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y/user: Racing in Saudí Arabia!
Come make lunch with me for my husband who doesn’t go to Mercedes Hospitality for some reason!
Round Two 🇸🇦 And we have my first time making Kabsa which a local helped me get all the ingredients! It’s very yummy! 🏎️
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peter.bonn: it was so nice, can’t wait to come back!
fan1: I’m living for this series, not the rich men racing!
fan2: this is so cute that she cooks for him!
“You know, the boys keep saying you need to start bringing it in for them aswell” he chides as you get into the car.
“What am I expected to cook for the 5000 now? I don’t think so, that’s why they have a paid for hospitality…” you groan, waking up early just to prepare Peter some food was exhausting you couldn’t imagine getting up to make it for more people!
“Maybe Toto should hire you as head chef here!” He grins and you laugh at the thought. You, working in Mercedes Catering?
“Baby … you know I have a … Michelin Star right?” you offer in confusion.
“Oh so your below working for Mercedes now are you?” He frowns, faking his offence on the matter.
“Oh stop being a whiny baby Pete!” You scold lightly hitting his arm, making him recoil and sigh before pulling you into a big hug.
“Im lucky you don’t have to be there 24/7. What would I do without you” he laughs.
“Probably starve as you’d forget to eat!” You hum in thought.
y/user
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y/user: Racing in Australia!
Come make lunch with me for my husband who doesn’t go to Mercedes Hospitality for some reason!
Round Three 🇦🇺 Of course I couldn’t come in and not offer fairy bread (as requested by my adopted grid son Oscar Piastri) and my famous Chicken Parm Sandwiches for the team which went down a treat!
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oscarpiastri: thank you for the fairy bread Y/N, LN understands the hype now
-> landonorris: don’t tell Jon, he said I couldn’t have any …
-> y/user: and rat out my second grid son, no way!
danielricciardo: brought back childhood memories! Thanks for coming all the way to VCARB for delivery!
-> y/user: you are welcome Dani! 🇦🇺🐨
“Thank you for the fairy bread!” Oscar said pulling you into a hug as you came back to get your container from the McLaren garage, seeing it fully empty.
“Everyone enjoy? Even though I felt like a child making it?” You laugh knowing it wasn’t exactly a chef thing to make but Oscar had asked for it, and who were you to deny the literal son you had adopted since he started.
“Yeah, Lando hadn’t ever tried it and I made it for Lily once to prove to her it was a real thing we ate but the bread kinda ended up being soggy, she preferred yours a lot more” he laughed back and you continued to talk about racing, cooking, life and everything else that just came up.
Halfway through that conversation Lando joined pulling his grid mum into a massive hug and asking her to bake him some cake or make the chicken wraps.
Fun fact, Y/N actually invented the chicken wrap for Lando. She became Lando’s private chef for a while when he lived in the UK, and he wasn’t … well I mean he’s Lando and if anyone expects him to know even know to turn on an oven you are sorely mistaken.
Eventually a group of drivers were around the woman, and it took Peter and Lewis forcing their way through to get her to come back.
“You’ve been busy!” He smiles nodding his head to the now dispersing group.
“Yeah, just talking to the kids!” You grin, nodding in the McLaren twins direction who were now messing around with each other.
y/user
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y/user: Racing in Azerbaijan!
Come make lunch with me for my husband who doesn’t go to Mercedes Hospitality for some reason!
Round Four 🇦🇿 Cooked up a storm off track today in a cooking interview and remaking one of the first dishes I learnt in school ‘Uzbek Plov’
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inthekitchen: pleasure to have you in and talking while cooking :)
-> y/user: thank you for all the fun! 🫶🏼
peter.bonn: This was nice, but I’m going to need some comfort food soon baby, these variations of meat and rice … it’ll be the end of me.
-> y/user: I thought you enjoyed my cooking!
-> peter.bonn: I DO! Just missing some creature comforts!
“You were amazing in that interview baby!” He says twirling you around as he came to pick you up on the Saturday evening. You had unfortunately missed qualifying, but you were excited to hear about your husbands day.
“Thank you, how was qually?” You ask.
“Could have been better, could have been worse” he admits looking down. He then tells you all about his frustrations with the car this season and he feels pretty helpless when it comes to advising Lewis who is getting more and more hot headed as the season progresses.
“Well I made your favourite!” You grin showing him the famous Victoria Sponge you’d made on the cooking show.
“Oh fuck, I love you!” He grins before directing you over to the car to get you both back to the hotel as soon as possible so he can have some of the delicacy in the tin on your lap.
y/user
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y/user: Racing in Miami
Come make lunch with me for my husband who doesn’t go to Mercedes Hospitality for some reason!
Round Five 🇺🇸 My husbands been getting fussier. Now in the homeland where there is no cuisine … we’ve gone for the requested creature comforts. From Breakfast to Lunch here are Peter’s faves!
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peter.bonn: best waffles ever 🧇
“Thank you, I think I really needed that meal! As much as love the differentiation with this global skills challenge. I needed something to remind me of home! The waffles were perfect. And my favourite Sandwich? I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned for Monaco next week!” He grins happily. Loving that you were cooking him something for every race.
“Ooo that reminds me. I picked you up these” you grin. Out from your bag you pull out a box of American Candy that he always wanted whenever you guys were in the states.
“In Moderation okay? Toto will murder me if he knows all these desserts are happening!” You smile kissing him before placing the sweets in his hand.
You had big plans for Monaco and you couldn’t wait!
Taglist:
@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul l @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v
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honeekyuu · 5 months ago
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take the edge off. [suna rintarou x f!reader] chapter one.
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>>You struggle with your weight and body image, but Suna extensively and thoroughly undoes all the damage done by other guys.
or
You haven't gotten laid in over a year, and your best friend takes it upon himself to fix that for you.<<
series status: [complete]
masterlist. || next.
a/n: suna has two brain cells that rub together like little housefly hands when it comes to yn and literally at no other point
[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]
---------------------------------------
“You know what’s crazy? I haven’t gotten laid in, like, a year.”
Looking back, there was absolutely no need for you to admit that.
But right now, there’s a bottle of wine in your system, and you’re about halfway through a trashy rom-com on a Friday night. It’s not shy on mature scenes, either, which is why you’d said it, your eyes trained almost wistfully on the screen as the two leads stumble through the girl’s front door together and get straight to business.
And it’s only Suna here, also a bottle of wine deep. He won’t judge you for saying it, not when there’s over ten years of moments far worse than this, very securely tying you two together.
He is, however, far more scandalized by your words than you’d expected.
Suna flies up from his sprawled position on your couch, kicking his legs off the coffee table as he turns toward you.
“I beg your most genuine pardon?” He asks, jaw dropped as he stares. You laugh into your wine glass, incredibly tickled and very tipsy.
“You heard me,” You answer, nodding pathetically. His eyes bug out of his head, and you’re glad he’s intoxicated enough to be reacting to this with his most authentic self, the one that’s kind of an idiot and about 150% more expressive than any of your friends could ever peg him to be. 
“A year ?!” He yells, dragging it out annoyingly. “There’s no fucking way, Y/n. No fucking way.”
“Tell that to my dry spell, Sunarin,” You laugh again, shaking your head. “I’ve gotten to know my fingers and also my vibrator rather intimately.” 
You certainly would not have admitted that while sober, but Suna’s just as gone as you are, not skipping a singular beat as he slumps in place.
“That’s so fucked,” He groans, dropping his head to his hands. “This has to be illegal – this is cruel and unusual punishment. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“Well, believe it,” You snort, pointing at the ongoing sex scene on the TV. “A year without rain, truly.”
“But why ?” He laughs pathetically, shaking his head as he turns fully to you and leans against the side of the couch. “ Why ?” 
“I don’t know-” You shrug, waving your hand over your own body sarcastically. “Maybe it’s got something to do with this?”
You watch as he drags his gaze down the length of your body slowly, following the trail of your hand. He shakes his head afterward, finding your eyes with unspoken confusion.
You scoff, lifting your glass to him in acknowledgement. “That’s funny.”
“What?” He tilts his head. “What’s your body got to do with it?”
You look down at yourself, wondering if you’d magically become attractive overnight. 
No, still the same. Thighs too thick, a tummy that pushes against your clothes and bunches up into little rolls, stretch marks and cellulite and all the lovely things guys hate to look at.
You’d always been a bigger girl. Food had been a happy place, a place of love and care. Ice cream dates with your dad after school, dinners out with your parents on weekends. Standing in your kitchen at the house in Hyogo – the childhood home that had come with the open doors of your neighborhood friends running in and out to play and snack on your mom’s cooking – and learning the family recipes, listening to your mom’s stern but warm guidance as she’d told you ‘ Do it this way instead, don’t add too much salt ’, the crickets buzzing loudly just outside the window.
High school had made food into a more complicated matter, because it had come with girls who’d poke fun at your uniform, bigger than theirs and still tighter than you were comfortable with. It had come with crushes on boys who would only talk to you to get information about other girls, girls who were worth their time. It had come with a strained relationship with your mother’s cooking, once so safe and kind and pure. You’d tried just about every diet known to man, and nothing had ever worked. 
You’re in a place now where you’re just happy to be able to enjoy food to its full extent, whatever the cost. Good food in the body is more healing for the soul than starving and then binging and then starving again, viciously repeated. You fully believe this, and your mental happiness is the best it’s been in a long time, 26 years old and focused only on feeding yourself with good, clean ingredients and going to bed happy. 
But it had taken a lot to get here, and you’re still recovering from the damage.
Luckily, high school hadn’t been all bad. In fact, Inarizaki High had had a weird way of changing your life. Boys and girls, nameless and faceless now, had ignored you and passed you over, only noticing you so they could use you – their personal entertainment, someone had admitted once. 
But they’d also flocked to and thrown themselves at the feet of the most popular boys in school, vying for attention. The Inarizaki High Boys’ Volleyball Club.
The team was nearly legend, despite being just a group of regular teenage boys. Each player had his own group of fans, all unhinged in their own ways. The worst, unsurprisingly, were the girls attached to Miya Atsumu.
When he’d been assigned as your deskmate at the beginning of 2nd year, you’d felt a deep sense of dread. Would he make fun of you, too? If he did it, the entire school would be pelting insults at you by the end of the week. Would his fangirls start targeting you in worse ways, in the bathroom and during lunch?
But he’d been shockingly kind. Not a word uttered about your appearance or the things you’d eat. But not ignoring you like most boys do, not passing over you like he hadn’t even seen you. 
He’d sat down that first day with a bright grin and a hand stuck out in your direction, all but yelling in your ear that it was nice to meet you and asking why he hadn’t met you before, his drawl heavier than your other classmates’ and a bit endearing, even on first meeting.
‘ I’m a bit forgettable ,’ You’d admitted quietly, but he’d just shot you a strange side glance.
‘ Says who? That ain’t nice. ’ 
You hadn’t known what to do with that.
You hadn’t known what to do with any part of Miya Atsumu, really. Not the daily greetings, screeched down the hall the moment he’d see you. Not the notes he’d pass to you during class, badgering you to become the Volleyball Club’s manager so you could become better friends. Not the way he could always kind of tell if you were upset by something someone said, because he would somehow become even louder after the fact, distracting you via sheer ear damage.
Not the way he’d become cold and detached the first time he’d actually witnessed someone bullying you, the way his bright eyes had dulled into nothing and held no guilt as he’d made a girl cry in front of the whole class.
‘ I don’t want to switch seats with you, ’ You’d told her, shaking your head. ‘ This is the one assigned to me- ’
‘ I don’t give a fuck, ’ She’d spit at you, pointing at her own desk, piled high with snacks from the vending machine. ‘ I left you a trail of food, little piggie – go follow it so that I can sit with Atsumu and give him something good to look at- ’
‘ Somethin’ good, huh? ’ He’d materialized just beside you, staring at the girl emptily. You’d almost been scared of the look in his eye. ‘ And who’s s’posed to give me that, you? ’ He’d cast a cursory glance over her, looking entirely unimpressed. ‘ You look like you couldn’t get through a single conversation with me.’
You’d gasped, eyes wide and watching as he’d flopped down into his chair and thrown his legs up on the desk, forcing the girl to scurry back from where she was leaning threateningly over you. He’d hummed, assessing her through narrowed eyes. ‘ You look like an only child. You an only child? You look it- Oh, no, I got it-’ And then he’d clapped, laughing brightly and nudging you, as though you weren’t frozen in shock. ‘ Don’t she kinda look like a girl you wouldn’t introduce t’your parents? Sure as shit not mine, at least.’  
The girl had long started tearing up, the entire room watching in varying degrees of horror as Atsumu had just pulled a wrapped onigiri from his bag and offered it to you. He’d shot the girl a look of disdain when she’d started wailing, because Miya Atsumu was sharing his lunch with you, the girl that was forgettable.
‘ Yer makeup’s running, just so you know, ’ He’d state plainly, pointing up at her. ‘ My mom’s always talkin’ bout gettin’ waterproof shit- ’ He’d turned to you, eyes wide. ‘ You know ‘bout that waterproof stuff? Mascara, er whatever? ’
‘ I-’ You’d shaken your head. ‘ I don’t wear makeup, I don’t know- ’
He’d grinned in your face, eyes beaming in that bright way again, the way that you’d thought was guaranteed. You hadn’t realized how safe you’d found that brightness before now. ‘ You don’t wear makeup?’ He’d leaned back with a smirk, drawing the final line for everyone to hear and making it clear that you were not to be fucked with again. ‘ Naturally pretty, then. That’s how I like my girls. ’ 
The rest of high school had been a surreal experience. 
You were impossible to pass over now, because everyone knew who you were. Girls were still cruel, but only in private, where Atsumu couldn’t see. Boys would still mention your weight, but only the ones who were rejecting your quiet confessions, and even then, they’d tried their best to deliver it politely.
Atsumu had never been more than a friend, of course, but he’d been a good one. The best one, really, considering that not even a few weeks into knowing you, his brother would regularly have to physically tear him away from you so they could make it to practice in time.
‘ I’m talkin’ here, Samu! We’re chattin’! ’ 
‘ Save it, fucker, we got shit to do! ’ 
You’d always found Osamu a bit easier to digest as a personality, and you’d hit it off right away – He’d been reading a magazine about baking when you’d met, and you’d mentioned wanting to try the cake on page 12, because you had the same one at home. He’d taken to you like a baby bird, asking you to try the random rolls and cakes and breads he would make at home. You’d been so shocked the first time he’d shoved a banana roll in your face that you hadn’t thought to consider calories or sugar or carbs or any of it. You’d just taken a bite and then spent the rest of the free hour taste-testing it again and again, using every ounce of your brain power to help him figure out what was perfect and what need improving.
But, if you were honest, you’d been more comfortable in the presence of his twin, in the tornado of genuine and terrifying care that was Atsumu. He’d always been honest and tactless, and – on the days when someone was unfortunate enough to have been caught saying something to you – he was cruel and mean and terrible, brutal without remorse. But he was your first ever best friend, exasperating personality and all.
And the only person worse than Miya Atsumu, really, was Suna Rintarou.
Your lunch breaks, originally alone and then suddenly with Atsumu, were even more suddenly shaken with the introduction of the VBC. To Aran and Kita and – crucially – to Suna, whose snarky demeanor and lack of a social filter was well-known by the time he’d flopped down into the seat in front of yours.
Suna, whose usual reaction to girls approaching him at lunch was to mumble ‘ Fuck off, please ’ lazily, through a mouthful of food and without ever looking up from his phone.
Suna, whose introduction to you had come with him pointing at your chopsticks, halfway to your mouth, and quietly asking ‘ Can I try that ?’ about your mother’s spring rolls. He’d leaned over the moment you’d stuttered a response – taking a huge bite right off of your chopsticks, even though you’d just met the boy 30 seconds prior – and then trading you some of his own mother’s cooking in return, half a rice ball set casually in your container.
Suna, who’d pried your phone from your slightly terrified fingers and entered his number, a steady stream of memes and YouTube videos buzzing in your pocket from that moment on.
Suna Rintarou, who wouldn’t only say something when he’d catch someone else being explicitly rude to you. He’d say something if someone even looked at you the wrong way or whispered to their friend in a way that he didn’t like.
‘ You got a problem? ’
‘ Something you wanna share with the class?’
When he’d come around the corner and find someone making pig noises in your direction or laughing at how your uniform fit-
‘ Were you not loved enough by your mother?’
‘Have you ever thought of seeking professional help?’
And when one boy had pushed at your shoulder – just a prod of his fingers, but rude all the same – you’d felt Suna’s presence more than heard it, a sudden chill hovering at your back.
‘ Apologize – on your knees – before I break that hand.’
The boy had hesitated, but he’d dropped to the floor soon after, because Suna had taken a step toward him. He’d muttered that he was sorry, and then repeated it louder when Suna had crouched beside him and whispered ‘ Again – like you mean it this time’ while smiling down at the hand he’d just threatened to break. 
You’d been properly scared of Suna Rintarou for some time after that.
He’d noticed, his eyes following you in every room you’d walked into, an amused smirk on his lips.
He’d skipped practice one day to walk you home, hands in pockets as he’d trailed after you. No words had been shared, but he’d walked you home the day after, and then again. Atsumu had yelled at him for missing practice on the fourth day, so he’d started showing up in the morning instead, leading you quietly to school.
It had been raining one morning, about a week later, and you’d been rushing around your room to get ready, wondering if Suna would even bother to wait in the rain for you. Wondering when you’d started expecting him to be there. 
You’d looked out the window, almost 45 minutes before you’d usually leave, and found him there. Under an umbrella, leaning on the gate and scrolling through his phone. You’d gasped, scrambling down the stairs with your mismatched pajamas and bedhead and yanking the door open.
‘ Suna Rintarou! ’ You’d scolded, and his head had popped up in surprise. It was the first time you’d properly addressed him during one of these morning walks.
‘ Get your ass in here! ’ 
He’d lifted his brows but listened right away, pocketing his phone and passing through the gate to your front door. Your mother had stuck her head out into the hallway, shocked at your tone.
‘ Who- ’ She’d started, but you’d just gestured in annoyance at the boy standing in your foyer trying to find a place to put his umbrella. You’d snatched it from him and leaned it on the door.
‘ This is Suna. Suna, my mom,’ You’d grumbled, realizing the state of yourself when Suna had just stared at the mess on your head and then pursed his lips to hide a smile.
‘ Oh, the stalker boy! ’ She’d clapped excitedly, and you’d barked out a laugh at Suna’s face of horror.
‘ I-No, I’m not-’ He’d stuttered, and you’d saved him by leading him to the living room.
‘ She’s just messing with you. You sit here and wait while I get ready ,’ You’d pointed at the couch and then disappeared upstairs, hurrying even more than before.
When you’d come back down, your mother had been urging him to the table to eat. He’d followed, clearly feeling out of place. 
You’d eaten with him while your mom had been preparing a second bento, loudly exclaiming from the kitchen that athletes should eat more than three times a day. He’d just smiled gratefully and then eyed you, mumbling ‘ I liked your pajamas’ under his breath and snickering when you’d tried to swing at him from across the table.
It had been monumentally humiliating when, as you were pulling on your shoes, your mother had pulled him aside and very conspicuously thanked him for looking out for you.
‘ You’re such a nice boy, taking care of my girl. Kids can be so mean .’
You’d stood with Suna’s umbrella in hand, glaring at him over your mom’s shoulder, because he’d looked way too pleased with himself. He’d followed you out, forced to run as you’d stalked off into the torrential downpour with his umbrella. He hadn’t said anything for a while, just holding the umbrella and walking beside you for most of the journey. But just as the school had come into view, he’d smirked down at you and said-
‘ You told your mom about me .’
You’d run the rest of the way to school, preferring to sit all day in wet clothes over finishing that conversation. 
You’d been forced after that to get used to Suna’s voice in your living room while you’d dressed for the day, and then the knock on your front door after practice, your mother sending him up to your room to lounge on your floor and copy off your homework. 
You hadn’t been able to get rid of him, and more than ten years had passed just the same, college finding him more often in your dorm room than his own and post-grad life finding the two of you and the Miya twins in Osaka. Atsumu had been recruited to the Black Jackals, and Suna had opened a tattoo shop, practicing on himself through college until his skin had been covered in ink and a deposit had been put down on a small shop space not too far from your apartment. 
You had formed a kind of soul-bond with Osamu over all things food-related, even with your own strained relationship with it, and you’d co-signed on an empty shop across the street from the Jackals’ home gym. You’d opened a cafe on one side, your culinary degree put to use on an extensive knowledge of coffees and teas, and Osamu had set up a bakery on the other side, the two of you decorating cakes and testing recipes for hours after closing time. Your shared shop had seen wild success, both due to your talents and due to being located in a tourist and sports enthusiast hotspot.
You’d each had your various failed relationships throughout the years, Atsumu currently in the midst of a secret situationship with Sakusa Kiyoomi, and Osamu crushing rather pathetically on Hinata Shouyou’s friend Yachi Hitoka, who runs a flower shop down the road. You’d become friends with her, at first to subtly put in a good word for Samu, but now mostly because she’s likely to appear at your counter at least twice a day to hang out and try the special of the day.
Suna had had a few short flings with girls in the area, one a model-beautiful blonde who’d, offhand in the middle of your cafe, offered to be your ‘gym buddy’, should you want one. She’d been dumped on the spot, Suna going so far as to pluck the iced latte from her hand and pour it out inside her purse while holding eye contact with her. 
The girls after her had been equally beautiful, but he’d always find something about them that was unacceptable after a few weeks. This one too loud and bossy, that one too quiet and submissive, the other one too everything , as he’d put it. He’d never been happy with any of them, and you could only watch with bemusement and shake your head, brushing it off as being one of the many things about Suna that you wouldn’t try to understand.
All of your boyfriends – a total of three in the five years you’d all been in Osaka – had similarly found something wrong with you. It had always been the same thing, and you’d known it. You’d known it in the way their eyes would linger on other girls or the way they’d be less affectionate in public, less willing to hold your hand or put their arm around you.
You’d known it in the way Suna had hated every one of them, hands left unshaken during introductions and green eyes watching how you’d interact with them.
You’d always broken things off first, finding it a bit funny that they would get mad at you for it, as though they hadn’t just been swiping on dating apps when they thought you weren’t looking. Always mad at you for putting yourself first, because they thought themselves above you and couldn’t believe you thought you’d find better than them.
That’s why you’re sitting here now, on this Friday night with a bottle of wine in your system, wondering how Suna Rintarou is not understanding why your appearance is the barrier between you and breaking your dry spell. After everything , he’s not understanding.
“Dude, you clearly know what my body has to do with it,” You laugh. “You met my exes.”
“Well, yeah-” He waves you off. “But they were morons, so I don’t count them.”
“I feel like you probably should, since they have the majority opinion on girls like me,” You smile, taking another sip of wine.
Suna laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t think you’ve been fucking with the right dudes, if you think those losers were representative.”
“Do you see guys lining up outside my door?” You offer with a bemused smile. He flops against the couch, sighing.
“I cannot believe it’s been a whole year. There’s no way- Not a single one-night stand?” He tries, almost desperate to figure this out. You just shake your head. “ Why ? Where the hell are you lookin’ for ‘em?”
You laugh wholly, reaching to put your glass down and turn back to the movie. “It’s fine, dude. I was just making a passing comment-”
“Nuh-uh-” He crosses his arms over his chest, nearly pouting. “We gotta get you laid. I’ve become invested in this.”
You roll your eyes good-naturedly, ignoring him. He nudges you with his foot. 
“Let’s find you someone at Miya’s party.”
You groan, laughing a bit. The Black Jackals had recently had a home game, one where they’d positively obliterated the opposite team and subsequently sent hundreds of cheering fans into your shop after the match. Atsumu had invited a hoard of people to his penthouse to celebrate tomorrow night. You’d already planned to try finding someone, but it’s a bit worrying that Suna’s involved now.
“Okay, you don’t have to get so invested. I’ll try tomorrow, I promise.”
“Nope, I’m invested. This is happening. You’re getting laid tomorrow – it’s been decreed.” 
You salute him lazily, mumbling ‘ If you say so’ and going back to the movie.
When Suna picks you up the next night, he’s frowning down at you.
“What is this, what are you wearing?”
You’re taken aback, looking down at yourself. You’d chosen a cute red dress and thrown a cardigan over it – you look fine.
“What about it?”
“No, no, no-” He marches into your apartment, hands on your shoulders as he leads you to your room. “What is this nice girl shit? Take this off-” He pushes your cardigan off your shoulders, wrestling you out of it. 
You cross your arms right away, a bit self-conscious. It’s a dress with thin straps, and you’re not happy with how your arms look in it. “I wanna wear something over it, though.”
“Oh, that’s fine, sure,” He starts, poking his head into your closet and knocking clothes around. “Except that this is a party, not a church retreat. You’re not wearing the sweater or the dress.”
“But this is my best-” You start, but Suna’s seeing something all the way in the back and reaching for it, eyes bright.
“A- ha! ” 
You groan, because he’s pulling out the single sleeveless dress you own. It’s a body-hugging, little black number, one that you’d bought online when you’d been feeling particularly confident. It still has the tag on it.
“I dunno, Suna-”
“Just put it on and lemme see,” He thrusts it at you, and then he’s gone, leaving you with an outfit you would never have chosen.
You put it on, staring into your mirror with a grimace. The dress is too tight – your hips are too wide, your thighs too on display. Your boobs are too big, making the material stick to your chest in a way you don’t like.
“I don’t know,” You call. “I don’t like it.” You start to reach for the zipper to remove it, since you have no intention of showing Suna. But he’s bursting into the room, a loud ‘ I’m coming in-’ warning you with enough time to not unzip the dress.
He stops short, a pair of black heels swinging from his fingers – apparently, he’d been digging through your collection of shoes at the door for good ones. They dangle at his side, his eyes trained on your body. You watch in the mirror as he drags his eyes down the length of you and then back up, his lips parted in a way you don’t understand.
When he meets your eyes, he snapping his mouth shut and swallowing, ears turning a bit red. You frown, taking it to mean that he’s seeing too much. 
“Okay,” You sigh, turning to usher him back out. He blinks rapidly and backs up. “Go. I’ll find something else.”
“What?” He stops, not letting you push him anymore. “No, you’re wearing that.”
“Suna-” You laugh, planting your hands on his chest and trying to get him out. “I look ridiculous.”
“No, you don’t.” He shakes his head, steady against you. “You’re wearing that. You look really good.”
You blink, confused. “What? Did you see what I saw?”
“I saw the exact same thing you saw. You’re wearing that.”
“Dude, no-”
“Yes-” He cuts you short, rounding you and pushing you out toward the living room. You shake your head, trying and failing to go back. “Stop arguing with me.” He puts the heels in your hand and disappears to the table for your purse. You stand in front of the mirror by the door, turning this way and that to look at yourself. You don’t see what he’s talking about.
He comes to stand behind you, and you examine him, too. He’s got on black jeans and a silver belt, with a black tee tucked into his pants and a thin chain hanging loosely around his neck. There’s a long-sleeve shirt thrown over it, and his lip ring and heavily pierced ears glint in the light. His hair hangs low over his eyes, and he lifts a hand to push it back. He’s wearing a silver bracelet you’d gotten him a few years ago for Christmas, your matching one sitting in your jewelry box.
He looks really fucking good.
You sigh angrily. “I cannot be seen with you.”
He just lifts a brow. “Problem?”
You examine him again, pointing at his reflection. “Take your top shirt off. Lessen the whole… punk-rock, skater-boy vibe, please.”
He grins, handing your purse over and then stripping, the long-sleeve tossed carelessly toward your couch.
You roll your eyes. His black tee is tight on his biceps, and all his tattoos are on display. 
“That’s great. That’s really great.”
“What?” He laughs, and you just shake your head, bending down to put your heels on.
“You look like an entire meal, feeding women everywhere, and I look like a sausage roll.”
He doesn’t answer, and you glance at the mirror, finding his eyes trained very obviously on how you’re bent in front of him, both eyebrows lifted just slightly.
“Are you staring at my ass?”
“Huh?” He jumps, blinking. “What’d you say? Sausage roll?”
You stand, leveling him with an empty glare. “Don’t force yourself, Sweetheart. I committed to the outfit already.” 
He shakes his head, looking a bit dazed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. But you most certainly don’t look like a sausage roll.” He follows after you as you turn off the lights and leave the apartment, waiting behind you while you lock the door. “ Like a present that desperately needs unwrapping, maybe ,” He mumbles under his breath.
You pause, key in the door, and look over your shoulder at him with a brow raised in amusement. “What are you doing, Suna?”
He blinks lazily at you. “Honestly? Regretting that dress.”
You roll your eyes and pull the key from the lock, following him down the hall to the elevator while he shakes his head with a small sigh.
“Whatever. What time should we come back?”
He laughs, hitting the button on elevator panel that’ll lead to his car. “I thought we agreed. Not until you’ve been fucked stupid.”
You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you at his wording. “I think that was just you decreeing things. I’m a bit more realistic.” You smile mockingly up at him, and he nudges you as you walk through the parking garage. 
“You’ll find someone.”
You start to argue, but you see where he’s parked, and you’re not happy.
“You didn’t bring your car.” 
He leads you toward his motorcycle, tossing you a curious look over his shoulder. “Nope. Bike’s easier to park on the street.”
You gesture down at yourself angrily, snatching up the helmet he’s handing you. “I cannot sit on a motorcycle with my legs spread in this dress.”
He smiles, glancing down at your thighs. “Why? Not wearing anything under?”
You smack him with the helmet. He just throws a leg over the bike and holds a hand out for you. You do your best not to flash him as you hike a leg over the seat behind him. 
Suna waits for you to adjust and re-adjust the dress until you’re sure you won’t be giving anyone a show on the way there. But when you put on the helmet and pat his shoulders to signal that you’re ready, he reaches back and wraps both hands around your thighs, dragging you closer to his back. You scream, slapping his hands, but he just pulls your arms around his waist.
“Gotta make sure you’re safe and sound,” He says, muffled through his helmet, but you can still hear the laugh in his voice.
“I hate you,” You state loudly. He just kicks the bike into life with a snicker.
The ride to Atsumu’s penthouse is a nightmare of checking your dress at red lights and praying no one’s seeing anything. By the time you get there, you’re stressed.
“What’d I tell you?” Suna asks, sliding into a narrow parking spot right outside Atsumu’s building. “Easier parking.”
“I hate you,” You repeat, letting him help you awkwardly off the bike and immediately fixing everything. He pulls the helmet gently off of you and brushes your hair out of your face. And then he smiles lazily.
“You’re so getting laid tonight. I can feel it.”
You don’t bother responding, just following him into the lobby. The front desk girl waves you through, recognizing you. Her eyes trail down your body, eyebrows raised, and you’re immediately self-conscious. But she leans over the desk, calling out as you’re reaching the elevator.
“You look really pretty!”
You blink, looking back and then up at Suna. “She talking to me or you?”
“You,” He laughs. “Definitely you.”
“Oh-” The elevator dings, signaling Atsumu’s arrival to get you up to the penthouse with his key, but you’re calling back to the girl with an awkward laugh as the doors open. “Thank you!”
“Hey- Holy shit- ”
You turn, finding Atsumu inside the elevator, staring at you with comically wide eyes and a dropped jaw. He stares so long that the elevator doors close between you, and he’s rushing to open it again. You give him a weird look. 
“What?”
He shoots you a look of disbelief. “What d’ya mean, ‘ what ’? Look at you!”
You follow Suna into the elevator, mumbling, “I regret buying this dress.”
Suna shakes his head, leaning back against the wall and addressing Atsumu. “She won’t listen to me about the dress.”
Atsumu’s still staring. “What’re you tryna do, get laid?”
Suna looks at you with lifted brows and a pleased grin. “See? He gets it.”
“Damn, if Omi ‘n I weren’t-” Atsumu shakes his head, whistling. “You’d have trouble gettin’ rid of me.”
You flush, crossing your arms over your middle. “Tsumu… I really don’t look bad?”
“No way ,” He laughs, still staring. “I might go break up with ‘im, honestly.”
You laugh, face warm as you stare down at your feet. Suna scoffs beside you. 
“Oh, sure, believe him but not me.” He smiles when you nudge him, and then he claps once. “Okay, here’s the plan. We cannot be seen together.”
You furrow a brow. You’d only been joking earlier. “Why?”
“Because-” He gestures down at your outfit. “- you came to get laid, and sticking to me all night will obviously mess that up.”
“But-” You don’t like not being able to stick to Suna – and, by that logic, Atsumu or Osamu – when you feel this vulnerable.
Suna shakes his head. “Nope. You gotta put yourself out there. Find someone you like and seduce him until you’re getting dragged into one of Miya’s spare rooms.” He points at you, eyes sharp. “Don’t leave with him, though. I don’t need you getting murdered.”
Atsumu nods along, finally peeling his eyes off of you to stare at the panel. You’re almost at the top. “Got lots of ‘em, spare rooms. Use one.”
You swallow nervously, watching the last two floors tick away. Suna pats you on the shoulder.
“You got this. Don’t come find me until you’re done.”
The doors open, leading straight into Atsumu’s living room.
You’re forced to wave goodbye to your safety net – he sends you off with a wink and a mouthed ‘ You look good ’. You square your shoulders and shake out your nerves, heading to the kitchen.
After finding a drink, you wander into the living room. Suna’s on one of the couches, talking to Bokuto. Atsumu’s sitting a friendly distance from Sakusa, looking like he very much wants to be in the man’s lap instead.
You see Osamu near the window, talking to someone you don’t know but looking across the room. You follow it, finding Yachi and Hinata, and make a beeline straight for her. 
“Hi!” You say, and they both turn to look at you. Hinata flushes upon seeing your dress, and Yachi squeals as you sit beside her.
“You look so good, Y/n!” The younger woman hugs you tight, and you flush.
“Thanks… I’m really out of my element here,” You laugh, greeting Hinata. “Hi, Shouyou.”
“H-Hey-” He coughs. “You look really nice.”
You warm again, wondering if maybe you really don’t look half bad. “Thanks! You look good, too.” You point at his arms, seeing that he’s built some more muscle since you’d last seen him. “You really bulked up.”
He’s as red as his hair, eyes flicking to your thighs and then away. Your phone buzzes in your purse, and you peek at it.
[10:22 PM]
Sunarin : believe me yet?
You find him, seeing that he’s flicking his brows and glancing toward Hinata. You roll your eyes with a smile and start to put your phone away, but it buzzes again.
Sunarin: you got the poor guy stressed out
Sunarin: look at him
You glance at Hinata out of the corner of your eye. Yachi’s talking to him about something, and he’s nodding and giving the appropriate number of ‘ Uh-huh ’s, but his eyes are drifting toward you repeatedly, gaze on your thighs and chest and hips before he’s remembering to keep his eyes on Yachi. He shifts, swallowing hard and blinking rapidly.
Your stomach flips when you realize that Hinata really is checking you out.
Would you sleep with Hinata? You really like him as a person, and you trust him enough. But you’re not sure that sleeping with any of your friends’ friends is a good idea, in case things get weird. But – on the other hand – you do trust the people that you’ve gotten to know over the years, the Black Jackals all great guys. You don’t know if you’re ready to try to snag some guy you don’t know at all – that’s more likely to end badly. 
You sigh, taking a sip of your drink. You just got here. You should wait it out, test all the waters and see what calls to you. Hinata’s very cute, but you shouldn’t jump his bones just because he’s giving you attention.
He’s a friend , you remind yourself. And the party’s just starting.
You talk to Yachi and Hinata for a long while, and – when Osamu finally builds the courage to cross the room and engage Yachi in conversation – you’re left with Hinata. You fall into easy conversation with him for almost an hour, laughing and smiling and leaning against him when your head starts to get a little fuzzy. He cracks jokes and tells stories excitedly and asks about your shop and life, and you feel incredibly fond of him.
So fond, in fact, that you’ve unconsciously decided that Hinata’s not the right guy for this. You really do like him, and you really do like the energy you have together, but that makes a one-night stand with him incredibly unappealing. You’re not desperate enough to risk the friendship you seem to be solidifying with him right now.
So when you glance up and find that Kageyama Tobio has arrived and is glancing awkwardly at Hinata while he talks to Atsumu, you smile at the ginger next to you.
“You shouldn’t let me keep you, Shou,” You say, and he smiles at the nickname. “I’m sure there’s someone here who you’d have a better time with.”
He furrows a brow, so you tilt your head in Kageyama’s direction. When he sees his old friend standing there, he swallows and flushes.
“Mm-” He laughs, shaking his head and looking down at his lap. “I don’t know.”
“I do,” You nudge him. “Go.”
He eyes you, seeing that you seem set on not letting things between you go anywhere. And then he nods, snaking an arm around you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Okay, fine. But I better hear about whose heart you break tonight.”
You laugh, squeezing his arm as he goes. And then you sigh, a bit resigned. It was the best choice, you know it.
Your phone buzzes.
[12:11 AM]
Sunarin: WHERE IS HE GOING
Sunarin: GO GET THAT SMALL MAN
You snort into your cup, eyeing him. He’s still on that couch, but he’s not speaking to anyone, just staring at his phone and glaring at you when he sees you looking.
Sunarin: he was ready to risk it all for you bro
You shake your head.
You: hes my friend, i couldnt do it
Sunarin: you wont fuck a friend?? thats like 85% of the ppl here!!
You: NOT THAT ONE
Sunarin: christ,,,, okay get back out there, soldier
Sunarin: I expect to walk past one of these rooms in the next hour and hear you having the time of your life
You: youre so heinous
You stand, heading toward the kitchen for another drink. You feel Suna watching you, but when you glance at him, he’s scrolling on his phone and ignoring everyone who approaches him. You text him when you get to the kitchen, head down.
You: should we just go? 
You: i dont wanna keep you waiting
Sunarin: i mean this in the nicest way possible
Sunarin: stop being stupid
Sunarin: bc i will block you
You: hello??
Sunarin: idgaf how long i sit here
Sunarin: find a man and fuck him
Sunarin: that is your assignment
You: sir yes sir
You look up, intending to scan the room for your liquor of choice. Instead, standing in the corner by the other doorway, in a group of four guys, is one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen. You have no clue who he is, but he’s got dark hair and a cool smile and piercings, and you are utterly stopped in your tracks.
He catches it, glancing over at you and nodding in greeting. You smile tightly and move to the counter, pouring out the first thing you can find. You text Suna discreetly, something incredibly elegant.
You: AHAAWEFJAWOIFEJKAE FUCK
The counter where you stand is actually a bar with beams on the side, so the living room is entirely visible from here. You see Suna perk up, his head lifting as he peers over someone’s head to meet your eyes. He glances over your shoulder at the group, but you go back to pouring your drink while you calm your nerves, so you don’t see his reaction.
There’s fervent whispering behind you, and then footsteps. You spot three of the guys passing into the living room, so you glance back. 
The beautiful man is still leaning against the opposite counter, but he’s got his phone out, invested in something he’s looking at. You see the three guys looking generally in your direction, and you wonder if maybe they’ve left their friend here on purpose. You glance at him again and then steel your nerves, turning carefully.
“Whatcha drinking?” 
The guy’s eyes flick to yours, his brow lifting. He lowers his phone but doesn’t put it away, and he smiles at you. “Rum and coke. You?”
“Uhm-” You laugh. “I have no idea. I think there’s tequila in it.”
He grins easy. “Oof. Tequila always gets me. Kinda scared of it.”
You smile into your cup as you take a sip. 
Across the room, Suna watches you talk to a guy he doesn’t recognize. There’s a weird feeling in his chest, the kind of bad feeling he’d always get around your exes. He watches the group of guys that have just come out, seeing that they’re eyeing you and whispering. 
Then one laughs, and he knows this isn’t good.
He stands, moving toward Atsumu without taking his eyes off of you. You’ve stepped a little closer to the guy, and Suna feels his heart hurt a bit. You’re putting yourself out there, and the guy you’re doing it with is bad news.
“Miya,” He says, cutting Atsumu off where he is struggling to keep a good distance between himself and Sakusa. The blond looks up, clearly drunk.
“Hah?” 
“Who are those guys?” He points with his cup, and Atsumu stands, squinting.
“Oh, I dunno. I think they’re friends of Bo’s.” Atsumu points toward Bokuto, who’s telling a story excitedly to a large group of people. “You know how he is. Always meetin’ people and makin’ friends. I let them up like 20 minutes ago, maybe?”
Suna swallows, watching how the guy you talk to lifts a brow at you. You must have tried to say something flirty, but he’s not taking it well. He’s starting to look like he’s looking down on you. 
Atsumu hums, seeing it, too. “Want me to go over there?” His voice is clearer than it had been a minute ago.
“No, I got it.” Suna’s gone before he finishes the sentence, moving quickly.
Atsumu watches him go and then finds his brother in the crowd, sitting with Yachi. Samu’s looking over his shoulder, trailing after Suna, and then he turns. The brothers lock eyes, sharing a knowing smirk. Samu just shrugs, and Atsumu shrugs back.
Whatever Suna’s about to do, there’s no stopping it.
In the kitchen, you realize that this guy’s resolutely uninterested in you when a girl comes into the room and his attention is entirely gone. 
You look, seeing that this unassuming girl is exactly what you’d expected. You glance at the guy again, finding a hungry gaze that trails over her body. Your stomach drops a bit, and you look over your shoulder toward his friends. 
They’re standing at the bar, peeking at you and snickering to each other.
Oh. 
Right.
You stare down into your cup, wondering when you’d let your guard down. 
It hurts a little more than expected.
You smile up at the guy one last time, raising your cup to him.
“It was good to meet you.”
“Uh-huh,” He mutters, not listening. You blink and turn away, heading to leave. You can’t help but look at the girl as you go, seeing how beautiful she is. She looks up, smiling kindly at you, and you smile back. She seems sweet.
You go to pass her, leaving the way you came in.
“Y/n.” 
You jump, turning back. Suna’s standing at the other door, by the guy you’d been talking to, his face relaxed but his eyes sharp. Only now do you realize they kind of look alike.
What is he doing?
“Oh-” 
“There you are,” He smiles easily, stepping into the room. 
Huh?
“Uh-”
“I’ve been looking for you all night.”
The guy looks between you and Suna. You look between him and Suna. The girl leaves with her drink, entirely unaware.
“Oh… Really?” You look out toward the living room, finding the other guys also watching Suna with confusion.
“Yeah. I was hoping you’d come,” He replies easily, stepping toward you. 
His eyes flick down toward a spot on the floor that’s closer to him, and you drift there, eyeing him. He moves around you and reaches for a bottle on the counter, pouring himself a drink. He offers it to you, too. 
You watch him glance over your shoulder at the group of guys, and you realize he’d turned you around and put himself in view of them. So they could see him.
Why?
“Sure,” You say, curious to see where this goes, and tilt your cup toward him. “Thanks, Suna.”
“Rin,” He responds, tilting his head to smile down at you, flirty and cheeky in a way you’d never seen from him. “You can call me Rin.” 
You almost snort. “Okay. Rin.”
“I missed you last weekend,” Suna says, making a point to drag his eyes down the length of your body before he takes a sip of his drink.
You lift a brow, smirking up at him. He’s the only one who can see the teasing look you give him before you respond, playing into his game.
“Really? I couldn’t tell by the five missed calls. I was sleeping, by the way. It was one in the morning.”
He smiles at your line, and you can tell it’s genuine. He shrugs, holding eye contact and leaning in a little. “What can I say? I know what I like.”
“What you like…” You smile down into your cup, nodding. “And what would that be, Rin ?”
“Well-” He swallows, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he eyes you. “This dress, for one.” And then he slides his free hand over your waist, playing with the material. “It looks really good on you.”
His eyes have darkened by the time you meet them again, and it makes you a little nervous to realize that you’re unsure if it’s real or not. Your mind flashes to how he’d watched you bend over in front of your mirror earlier. Your fingers start to tingle.
Someone comes in behind you, and you use it as an excuse to look away from Suna and glance over your shoulder. The guy you’d been talking to is still there, but he’s got his eyes on your dress, interest lingering around your thighs.
You quirk a brow and turn back to Suna, feeling annoyed that this guy had only found you worth looking at once another guy had. Suna eyes you briefly, and you read the expression.
Want me to leave you with him?
He doesn’t look happy about the idea – you’re not happy about the idea – but you can tell he’s hesitating to continue, because the guy is paying you attention now.
He must not realize that you’d lost interest in that guy the moment his gaze had drifted. It’s Suna’s attention you’re nervous about now.
Still, you know that he’d only come to show that group of guys that you’re worth considering, so you tamper the feeling and lean into his game again.
You step close to him, watching how his eyes light up a bit, and slide a hand over his bicep. You make a point to trace the outline of one of his tattoos there, watching with a smile as goosebumps form wherever you scratch your nail gently against his skin.
“Is there something you wanted, Rin?” You look up at him through your eyelashes when you ask, wide and innocent.
You see the exact moment that something changes.
Suna’s eyes widen marginally and drop to your lips, green eyes heavy on you as he pulls his lip ring between his teeth and plays with it. His hand tightens on your waist, fingers pressing into your lower back and pulling you toward him.
“Just…” His gaze flicks between your mouth and your eyes. “Wanted to see if we could make up for lost time. Maybe somewhere more private?”
Suna Rintarou means to pull you into one of Atsumu’s spare rooms. 
You blink, a sudden flush rising on your cheeks as your stomach flips. You squeeze his bicep, anchoring yourself to him. He just stares at your mouth.
You nod after a moment, poking your tongue out to wet your lips. He watches it. “Okay… That sounds good.” 
His eyes snap to yours, suddenly filled with something that hadn’t been there before. When he sets his cup on the counter and steps around you, hand finding yours and pulling you after him, you realize it’s urgency. You barely manage to put your drink down without spilling it. 
All four guys watch you get dragged out of the room and toward an open door not even 15 feet away. 
You have absolutely no idea what’s about to happen. 
You step into the room, closing the door with your free hand. “What are we-”
Suna spins, planting both hands on your hips and pinning you hard against the door. You gasp, eyes wide, and he lifts one hand and sets it on the door next to your head. 
“I want to kiss you,” He says bluntly, breathing out hard. “Do you want to kiss me?”
You blink, lips parted, searching his face. You only find heat in his eyes, and it makes a spot under your navel tingle. 
Do you want to kiss him?
“Yes,” You whisper, nodding shallowly. “Yeah-Yes.”
He breathes slowly, eyes dropping to your mouth. 
There’s a moment of nothing, one where all you can hear is the muffled music and laughter through the door, the space between you and Suna Rintarou completely silent.
And then he’s surging forward.
You cannot, for the life of you, understand why you hadn’t thought of doing this before.
He pushes his lips against yours with force, full and impatient. You throw your arms around his neck, angling your head. The hand he has on the door comes to cup the back of your head, holding you tight against him, and you card your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, scratching your nails against his scalp.
Suna pulls back with a sharp inhale, his mouth hovering over yours. You blink hazily, your head fuzzy and warm.
“ Oh… ” You mumble. 
“ More? ” He breathes, sounding just as shaken. The hand on your lower back pulls you flush against him, and you feel something pressing against your thigh. Your skin hums with anticipation, and you nod, your eyes still half-closed.
“More’s good…” 
Your back hits the door and your hair’s being tangled around his fingers, head pulled to the side as his mouth finds your throat. The ring on his lip is cold between your flushed skin and the burn of his mouth, and his tongue passing over your pulse as he nips at the spot has a weak whimper falling past your lips.
“ Louder ,” He murmurs, the vibration echoing through your throat and down to your toes. He sucks harder on the spot just under your jaw, and you moan properly and in his ear. “Good, just like that,” He bites down and then swipes his tongue over it, soothing and warm. “Want them to hear you.”
Your heart pounds, and you cling to his shoulders, letting out a noise of confusion. 
“Who?”
“You know exactly who.”
You remember that you’d just been talking to some other guy, that his friends had been making fun of you. 
You’d already forgotten.
“Why do you-” You gasp, shuddering when he pulls your hips toward him, pressing his own against you. He’s hard– He’s already hard, and you haven’t done anything. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “Why do you want them to…”
Suna suckles at a spot under your ear before lifting his head and planting his lips on yours. His hand leaves the safety of your waist and slips up past your ribs. You push your chest out, silently urging him to keep going.
“I want them to-” He swears under his breath as his hand closes around your breast, fingers kneading gently. He kisses you hard. “-know what they’re missing. How badly they fucked up.” 
You’re out of breath when he pulls away, and you circle your arms tightly around his neck so you can lift onto your tiptoes and kiss him again. He touches you urgently, thumb brushing over your nipple once and then again when you mewl into his mouth. He drops his lips to your throat again, freeing you to make as much noise as you need.
You sigh loudly, because his other hand is falling to your waist and tugging at your dress. The material slides up your body, exposing your thighs and then even more to him. He leaves it around your hips, fingertips dancing down to your panties. 
“Can I-” He hooks two fingers into the band, mouth hot on your skin as he heaves out an unsteady breath. You nod furiously, not a single thought of how you look or feel passing through your head. Not a single thought that he might not want this, because you can feel so plainly against your bare thigh that he does. 
Later, you won’t be able to name a single other time you hadn’t been self-conscious in the exact same situation with different men.
He tugs your panties unceremoniously down to your thighs, fingers trembling just slightly when he presses them against your inner thigh. You whimper as he pushes your thighs apart, cold air rushing against your core and sending a jolt of realization through you. 
You haven’t been touched by someone else in over a year.
“Wait, Suna-” Your protest is muffled against his lips. “I’m not gonna-I won’t last long-”
“Good,” He breathes, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth briefly. “Fucking good . I don’t want you to last-” He pushes his mouth to a million different places in quick succession, almost like he’s losing his mind just as fast as you are. His fingers hover between your thighs, cold against your heated skin. “Just want you to come, just to take the edge off.” He kisses you forcefully and murmurs against your lips. “ Just want you to come for me .”
He pulls away just in time for a moan to fall past your lips, ringing through the room. It’s embarrassing how loud it is, how desperately you’d reacted to his words alone. But Suna just smiles breathlessly down at you, face open and honest and eyes gleaming with a wicked anticipation that makes you tremble a bit.
He’s still holding eye contact when he presses against your core, his two middle fingers sliding through your folds.
You gasp so loud that it spills into a moan, and your head falls back against the door with a hard thump , his name ripped from your throat in something close to a scream.
“ Suna- ”
“ Fuck, ” He groans, dropping his head to your shoulder and sliding his fingers against you again. “Fuck, you feel so good-”
“S-Suna-” You cry again, fisting the sleeves of his t-shirt with white knuckles. “Oh, my God-”
He latches onto the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking the skin there as he swipes the pads of his fingers against your clit. “Don’t call me Su- fuck -” He cuts short, because your hips are moving on their own, rocking against his fingers. The tip of his middle finger catches on your entrance, and you gasp loudly, pushing your chest against his as you stare up at the ceiling with wide eyes. 
You don’t understand. You don’t understand why this feels so good, why you can’t get this feeling on your own. Why the thought that the man doing this to you is Suna Rintarou makes your nerves tumble and twist and tug at the coil that’s warping under your navel, under his touch. You hadn’t thought to want him before, not really, because he’s Suna . Your Sunarin, your piece of home.
And he’s making you feel something no one before him ever had.
You don’t think you can come back from this.
All rational thought flies from your mind when Suna brushes his middle finger against your entrance again, with purpose this time. You gasp, clinging tight.
“ Su- ” He shoves his mouth against yours, murmuring his own name, murmuring ‘ Rin, call me Rin’ against you, suckling on your bottom lip. He pulls away to watch you again, to find your eyes like he had last time.
And then he pushes his finger into you, slowly and then all at once.
“ Oh, ” You gasp, your eyelids fluttering. “Rin- ” 
He pulls out, crooking his finger, and then slides back in, nodding as his palm slaps against your clit. “ ‘s good, baby ,” He mumbles, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “ Again, just like that .” 
You think the scream of his name when he slams his fingers into you repeatedly is loud enough to be heard over the whole party. He laughs against your throat, humming, and pushes a second finger in, drawing another moan out of you as his fingers reach places that yours never can. “That’s it, let them hear you.” 
The coil in your navel twists viciously when something cold and metal slides against your thighs with each thrust of his fingers into you, because you’re realizing that it’s the bracelet – the bracelet that you’d given him those handful of years ago, the friendship bracelet that you have in your jewelry box at home.
You don’t think your past self would ever believe this is where that bracelet is now.
Suna pants against your skin, still rock hard against your thigh. “Let them hear how good I make you feel ,” He breathes, and your heart skips, that coil yanking.
“Oh, I’m gonna-” You gasp, fumbling to tug at his shirt, to tell him. He lifts his head to look at you.
And then he promptly yanks his fingers out of you.
You jerk at the feeling, and your heart sinks as your orgasm starts to fade. All you can do is stare up at him with wide eyes, the disappointment written all over your face, because you don’t know what you did to deserve that.
It turns quickly to confusion when Suna spins you around, and suddenly your face is pressed against the door, hips pulled out toward him. You gasp, planting your hands on the door to steady yourself, your face rushed with heat at being bent over in front of him.
That moment in front of your mirror had not prepared you for this.
“What-”
“Please-can I-” He asks, the clink of his belt and then the zipper of his jeans loud as he yanks on it, and you nod against the door.
“Yes, yes please,” You beg, pushing your hips back more.
“ Shit ,” He swears under his breath. “I wanna do this better-” You jump when something hot brushes between your thighs, something hot and incredibly hard. “-Later, when we get home, I wanna-” He pushes the head of his cock gently through your folds, and his groan mixes with the choked moan you let out against the door. 
“Just wanna get you off once before we go, just wanna make you come once around me,” He finally gets out, hissed through his teeth as he guides himself to your entrance. “‘s that okay? Can I?”
You whimper loudly, nodding again and throwing his own words back at him, desperate and begging. 
“ T-Take the edge-jus’ to take the edge off- ” You stutter through it, your heart doing leaps and your nerves on fire. You push your hips back against him, whining when he brushes against you again.
Suna groans, and he pushes his hand against the door by your face as he drops his forehead to your shoulder, that bracelet staring you dead in the eye.
“Fuck ,” He whispers, shaking his head. “Fuck , Y/n. You-” 
He slips the head of his cock past your entrance, sliding into you slowly. 
You stop being able to feel your legs.
Suna moans your name, low and in your ear, and your eyes roll back into your head at the sound.
Why had you gone so long without hearing him say your name like that?
“ Rin ,” You whimper, and he presses a kiss to a spot behind your ear.
“You’re driving me insane,” He murmurs. “Why didn’t you believe me earlier? Why couldn’t you believe me? Can’t you see now how badly I want you?” He starts to pant in your ear, because he’s drawing his hips back with a hiss and then pushing back in slowly. “Fuck, you’re too-” 
You suck in a breath when his fingers find your clit, his hips stilling. You moan, feeling yourself clench around him. Feeling, for the first time in a year, truly full in the way that you’d craved. 
You clench around him again, and he groans into your neck.
“You’re gonna make me come if you don’t stop doing that,” He pleads, breathing hard against your ear.
“ Why won’t you move ?” You whine, unable to help it.
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your skin. “You want the romantic answer or the realistic one?”
You can’t help but giggle, because he’s making a stupid, Suna-flavored joke in a moment like this. “The romantic one.”
You feel him smile wide, even as the pads of his fingers slide against your clit, the little bundle of nerves that makes you twitch. 
“I just wanna get you off, I don’t care about myself right now.,” He tries, laughing a little. “It doesn’t matter – all that matters is you, and I can get you off just like this.” He circles your clit again, and your laugh is breathy and sensitive.
“And the realistic one?” You smile when he bites down on your shoulder briefly.
“You’re so tight that it actually hurt when I tried to move,” He explains, and you clench unintentionally. “Come on , Y/n, don’t do this-” He swipes his fingers against you faster now, trying to get you close.
It doesn’t take long, not with Suna’s fingers on the most sensitive part of your body. Not with him buried inside you, throbbing and twitching with every whine and moan that falls past your lips. Not with his mouth pressed to your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine and his quiet groans making your toes curl.
“ Come on, baby, ” He whispers, pushing his fingertips against you. “ Let me take the edge off, just like you said. Let me do this for you. ” 
Your moan comes out as more of a sob, and your eyes feel a bit wet. The coil in your navel tightens and pulls with every word.
“ Come around me, Y/n. I wanna feel it– I wanna feel you- ”
You gasp, your nails scratching against the door as your fingers curl into fists, and your voice is clear and sharp for the first time in a while. “Su-Suna, I’m-”
-close, I’m close-
“Fuck, I think I am, too-” He admits, even though he hasn’t moved an inch. He shudders against you, breath shaky. “You first, so I can pull out-”
“ Mm-mm- ” You protest. “ ‘s safe, ‘s fine, I’m- ”
You don’t have the time or energy to explain that you’ve been on birth control for years, but it doesn’t matter, because he groans. He understands. 
“Are you sure-” He chokes, and you hear a low whine in his throat. The sound pushes you to the edge, and you teeter there, sobbing.
“ Please, please, I’m-Suna- ” 
You gasp sharply, because he’s lifting his chest off your back and straightening you up, pulling your back against him. He clamps his hand down tight over your mouth, turning your head so you’re forced to look up into his eyes.
“ This one’s mine ,” He breathes, his fingers swiping viciously against you as he holds that cursed eye contact. “ No one hears this but me .”
The coil snaps, and your eyes roll back in your head.
Your vision goes white, and your ears ring, the sound deafening as your body jerks, your fingers scratching and digging into his arms for stability. You feel the scream in your throat, but you don’t hear it, can’t hear anything except the low, muffled groan Suna presses into the side of your head. He twitches inside you, and then you’re warm as he comes, filling you in a way that steals the last gasp of breath from your lungs.
He holds you tight until you both come down, arms wrapped around you. The hand on your mouth falls, curling around the side of your head and cradling you against him. The shuddering breaths you let out mix with his, and he sets his mouth on yours, unable to put the effort into kissing you properly. 
After a moment, your arms fall limp, dropping away from him, and your head slumps against his shoulder. He slides carefully out of you, holding you steady when you whimper and sway a bit. Then he reaches down, tugging your panties back up your legs and fixing your dress. 
You turn in place, forehead pressed to his chest, and straighten him out with your eyes half-closed. He shivers when you wrap your fingers around him and tuck him back into his pants, and his hand cradles your neck, a kiss pressed to the top of your head while you button and zip his jeans.
When you lift your head to look at him, there’s no need to ask him to kiss you. He drops his head without a word, lips just as soft on yours as they’d been the first time. 
“How you feel?” He asks, quiet against your mouth.
“Boneless, ” You say right away, and he smiles against you before pulling away.
“ Boneless, or tired ?” He prompts.
You shake your head. You don’t feel tired at all, your nerves still humming under your skin. “Just boneless.”
“Then,” He starts. “Can you find your bones on the way down to my bike?”
There’s a jolt in your body when you realize what he’s saying. That he’s taking you home.
“Yeah, I-” You swallow, meeting his eyes.
He doesn’t look tired, either.
“I think I can manage that,” You whisper, staring up at him.
A grin spreads across his face, wicked and terrifying in the way that only he is.
“I’m ready when you are,” is all he says.
You cling to him as he leads you out of the room and to the elevator, unable to process anything but him. Unable to process the way Hinata whispers ‘ Heartbreaker ’ warmly to you as you pass, or the way the twins give you matching grins of pride when you find them across the room. Definitely not the guy that you’d tried talking to, staring down at you when Suna shoves past him and all but carries you into the elevator.
All you can do is hold tight to him and trust that he’ll get you back to his place. 
He kisses the spot under your ear when the elevator reaches the first floor.
“Come on,” He mumbles against your skin as the doors slide open. “I still gotta fuck you stupid.”
Your face burns as he drags you out of Atsumu’s building and to his bike, unable to imagine how what had just happened doesn’t count as fucking you stupid.
What’ve you just gotten yourself into?
309 notes · View notes
wosoamazing · 5 months ago
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Mini Football & Leah
Blurb | Diabetes & Love Series
Let me know if you have any blurb or one-shot requests/ideas for this series. Also hope you are enjoying reading them, as I am enjoying writing them.
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“Less go home, I’ll take y/n to her practice tonight,” Leah told your Mum
“No, but it’s her first one and I don’t want to miss it,” your Mum croaked out.
“I will take lots of photos and videos I promise, and plus, I’ve never had a mini Russo date yet, Lotte has, Beth and Viv, Steph, Lia, Katie and Caitlin-” Leah was interrupted by Alessia breaking out into a coughing fit, which had her running to the bathroom, Lotte going after her. 
“Leah, we’re going home,” Lotte told Leah as they walked back out of the bathroom, “you promise you all good to take her?” Lotte asked
“Yes of course, I promise,” Leah replied.
“Please call if you need anything, even if you are slightly uncertain about something, I don’t-” “I know it’s scary Less, it’s her first time playing a sport and you don’t know how much that affects her, but I promise I will keep an eye on her. I’ve got her, you just make sure you get better,” Leah told your Mum as Lotte packed up all their belongings.
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“Right, that’s you dressed, you’ve got your boots?” Leah asked as she checked she had everything you needed in your bag.
“Yep,” you replied, before taking Leah’s hand she held out for you and walking out the door with her.
-
You were definitely the most ‘professional’ looking one at training, most likely a consequence of having the Lionesses’ Captain getting you ready, Leah helped you tie your bright pink boots before taking heaps of photos for your Mum.
Before you went onto the mini pitch she pricked your finger to check the reading match your sensor which it did, doing the same thing during your break. Just to give herself the reassurance. She continuously watched your sugar levels whilst making sure to get some photos here and there to show your Mum.
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“Le, I feel funny,” you told her as you sat down in her lap, leaning into her, training having just finished.
“Okay, let me check your sugars,” Leah finger pricked you and mumbled ‘shit’ under her breath, you were sitting at 3, she had been checking your blood sugar consistently.
“Hey, is everything okay?” your coach asked as she approached you both.
“Um, she just has Type 1 Diabetes, and her sensor is saying she is in range but her blood sugar is at a 3, her Mum is going to kill me, I said I would watch her carefully,” Leah rambled.
“Oh, her sensor might’ve fallen loose during training, it might be a good idea to think about taping it for next time,” Leah looked at her in awe, “sorry if I’m overstepping, both my children have TD1 too, if you want I can take you both into the club house and help you change her dexcom, I’m assuming you have a spare one?”
“Um, yeah, it’s in her bag somewhere. Um,” Leah said as she started to pack everything up, she followed your coach into the club house where she sat down at a chair. Your coach did everything so smoothly just like your Mum did, and you were glad she was helping you.
“Thank you so much for helping, you’re a lifesaver,”
“It’s no problem at all, have a good night,” and a good night was not what Leah had at all, well it was a good night until you were asleep, she let you sleep in her bed, however she didn’t sleep much. Too worried about you getting a high or low blood sugar and her not being awake to deal with it, she didn’t think she could ever look Alessia, or anyone else for that matter, in the eye again if something happened to you on her watch.
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“Good Morning,” you said beamingly as you arrived back home, before running into the kitchen to help Lotte with breakfast.
“Are you okay Leah? Did you sleep last night? Did something happen?” “No, no nothing happened during the night, and no incidents other than the sensor, I just couldn’t bring myself to sleep, I was too worried about something happening to her,” Leah admitted.
“Oh, I’m sorry that’s my fault, I was meant to message you, she doesn’t usually go low during the night and she actually thankfully will wake up and wake me up if her levels go high or low,”
“I don’t think I would’ve been able to sleep even if you told me that,” Leah sighed.
“Go up to the spare room. Sleep. I’m not letting you back behind the wheel like this, I’ll wake you in an hour or so,”
315 notes · View notes
weltraum-vaquero · 18 days ago
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Swan song
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Professor Viktor x TA Reader
[PART 1]。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆[PART 2] ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆[PART 3]
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆[AO3 link] ⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。
Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.
Tags: Modern AU, SFW (for now…), DILF professor Viktor, romanticizing and eroticizing borsht, lab shenanigans, reader being filled with equal parts shame and lust
Word count: 7.8k
Notice: This fic is written with a transmasculine reader in mind, but that won’t come into play at all until the final third chapter of this mini-series.
Notes: A little something something while we await season two ;] The draft for this post deleted itself twice now. If the formatting looks wonky (especially in the texting section), NO, it doesn't. Shut up.
He didn’t lie. 
Which is all the more shocking, considering you attend his 8AM lecture on the very same day, and he seems more bright and alight than you’ve ever seen him.
When did he find the time?
Though there isn’t a daunting amount to your thesis just yet, you still want to believe you’ve written something quite substantial over the past months. 
You toss one glance around yourself before you follow him into his office after his lecture, and you find the stack of papers you’d left on his desk last night looking positively devoured, in the most… academic way possible. Scribbles and notes litter the margins, the edges of the papers are already somehow lightly worn. 
He must have read it multiple times.
“Coffee?” He offers.
“Yes, please.”
As he gropes the machine in search of its switch again, he cocks his brow at you. “And what was that for?”
You frown. “What was what for?”
“That… glance, before you followed me into my office.” The switch clicks, the light comes on. “Looking around like you were being followed.”
“Oh,” caught in the embarrassing act, you shrug. “I don’t know. Being cautious, I guess. Students have been looking at me a little funny, lately.”
“Much too late for caution, I’m afraid.” 
Uh oh. 
As he retrieves two paper cups, you’re left wondering what exactly that should mean.
“Why’s that?”
“I thought you were well aware of the fact that rumors would start, um… circulating the moment I made it public that I had hired an assistant.” Coffee trickles into the cups, a soothing little melody. Viktor leans against the wall beside the machine as he watches the cups fill.  “I’ve always been adamant about not needing one. It is natural for people to have questions — and to come up with, eh, answers — when I suddenly do.”
The notion of the answers students might have come up with swirls around in your brain. 
You wish they were right.
You’re glad they’re not.
You look at Viktor.
“Do you mind it?”
The coffee stops pouring. Viktor does that thing again, spreading long fingers apart to grasp both cups. And he’s quiet — for a beat longer than he should be.
“No. There are more important things to worry about than… gossip.” He sets the cups on the table, then takes his seat. He hesitates for a brief second, craning his neck before he fixates on you, motionless. Waiting. “Do you?”
“Trying not to.”
The answer makes him… deflate, somehow. It’s barely visible, for just a fraction of a second his chest sinks, before his tone is back to his composed cadence.
“You will get used to it,” he assures. “Now, onto more interesting matters — your work.”
Thank god. You don’t know how much more of the awkward tiptoeing you could have handled.
“Yes.” Your heart leaps into your throat. Acting normal has never been so difficult. “What did you think?”
“Very impressive.” He slides the stack of papers towards you. “I have made some… suggestions here and there, should you wish to take them into consideration. But, I think you struck gold with your hypothesis. Should you need a conversation partner, guidance, anything at all — I would gladly be at your service.”
“Thank you, Viktor. I really appreciate this.”
At the sound of his own name coming from you, something in him shifts. Shifts with an unfamiliar near bashfulness, he stifles a little smile into the rim of his paper cup, the corners of his eyes crinkle, he settles into his seat a little further.
“But you never held up your end of the bargain,” you point out. That snaps him out of it.
“Ah, yes. I did not.” He continues to hide behind his cup, before he finally seems to decide to take a metaphorical leap, as he sets it down and stares down at it. “I fear the unfortunate truth may be that when it comes to research, I either work better with a partner, or that… Cecil is right and I need to slow down. Though I’d guess the former is more likely.”
“You used to work with, uh…” you’re not sure how to approach the topic, “Talis, didn’t you?”
“The five basic principles of applied arcanism are commonly referred to as Talis’ princies, you do not have to feign uncertainty to appease me.”
So you drop the attempt to tiptoe around the subject, and ask, plainly:
“Why wasn’t your name added on?”
Viktor scoffs. “Talis-Sidorov-Sviboda has a terrible ring to it. Or so he’d said. And admittedly… I was more of a conduit than the co-author of his idea. He said we would name the next big thing we would discover after me, but… well, you know how it is. I dedicated myself to teaching, he retired to lead a quiet life in his gaudy mansion with his sports cars and his purebred German shepherds after he married some businesswoman.”
Though his story does line up, those aren’t necessarily the rumors you’d heard. There’d been talk of more than just a mild dispute of names, and… well, there had been… something between Talis and Viktor. But that’s about all you know.
Under your gaze, Viktor grows suddenly uncomfortable — both with the subject and the fact that he might be able to tell you know more. He’s quick to redirect the conversation.
“As for my research: I have been studying the laminal hexoin cascade in stabilized hexgems in various matrices. And though bold, I have been attempting to figure out the ideal matrix — something that will allow for close to a hundred percent energy renewal and render all other sources of energy obsolete.”
”That is bold,” you say. Your other thought, you keep to yourself: it also sounds impossible. You suppose stabilizing hexgems 20 years ago was also something thought impossible — and yet, Viktor hadn’t shied away. If anyone is apt for the job, it is him. “Any luck so far?”
“Partially. They have been yielding favorable results, but not enough to be viable energetic alternatives as of now.” He takes his cup again, bringing it to his lips in a rushed movement, drinking a mouthful, rather than a sip. Once Viktor sets it down, his hand remains on the table, fingers tapping on the shiny surface once, twice— “I could use a theorist to assist me with a few things.”
The implication dizzies you. Is he…?
But then he slides another one of his drawers open, and retrieves a stack of papers. Slanted handwriting, barely legible — you’re by now intimately familiar with it: his cursive. It litters the pages, in different inks and in pencil, diagrams, sketches… just looking at it makes you hungry to read it.
He smiles as if he’s read your mind, again.
“I was thinking it could be you.”
You’re invited to his office for lunch break the very next day too. And though he assures you there is no pressure in having to read through his notes by then, you disregard it.
It takes you a reread to be able to make sense of all his scribbles, but… it’s brilliant. He’s brilliant. 
It should stop surprising you by now — his ideas, his drive, his curiosity, his mind — but with every single time Vikror impresses you anew, he becomes something more distant.
As you’re marveling at his intricate weaving of concepts, it strikes you, unpleasantly, that this is the same man you’d wanted to devour just days ago. The man who’s made you coffee, the man whose sharp eyes fold at the corners when he smiles. 
You’d have deified him, had he been your teacher. You still do, especially now, after you’ve seen more of what his mind is made of. The mere notion of him becomes terribly out of reach, and you’re plagued with guilt for that night. Guilt for having tainted such a man with your thoughts. 
And yet, you still can’t help but think of his neck, the soft pink of his chapped lips, the hollow of his cheeks. You wonder what his mouth tastes like, and you want to slap yourself on the wrist for it. You should have, because minutes later, you wonder about worse things too. The scent of his skin, the coarseness of his body hair, how far up under his navel it might reach.
And when you finish reading his notes a second time and bring the paper to your nose to sniff it — hoping for a trace of him — you realize you have a problem. A serious one.
It torments you for the rest of the night, through the hours you spend writing up some suggestions and ideas, all the way to when you switch off the light, and hug whatever pillow’s within reach close.
When you get the urge to tilt your hips against it, you decide to get up and splash your face with water.
And you wish you could do the same thing the very next day on your lunch break, when you’re standing in the doorway of his office and he’s eating borscht. The sweet-tangy smell of vegetables, beef and beets makes your stomach growl, but your physical hunger is long lost on your otherwise preoccupied brain.
The beet red of the soup has pigmented his lips. They look kissed raw, puffy, ripe. A lavish speck of colour on his otherwise pale face, it draws your gaze and does not let it stay somewhere more respectful.
You want to taste them.
He does it for you, raspberry pink tip of his tongue darting over the plush of his lips before he swallows and finally greets you.
“Sorry,” you say, and it comes out tense, near horrified. You’ve caught him eating soup, for chrissakes, not being bent over his table. Oh, god. Why did you have to think about that? ”I’ll come back later.”
“No,” Viktor gestures to the empty seat across from him. He screws his thermos shut, and puts it away. “Please, I’ve been waiting for you. Sit.”
And you do, like the dog you feel like you are right now.
“Did you manage to find the time to read my notes?”
Oh, did you.
“I… followed your example and made some suggestions of my own. But on separate pages. Here.”
His reaction is more than what you’d hoped for. It’s more than the impressed raise of thick brows that had kept you fueled last night, it’s more than the smile you’d been hoping for. 
“You are unbelievable,” he grins, and takes what you offer, pushing his glasses up his nose before he starts reading. You selfishly use the distraction to stare at his lips again. He mutters to himself as he reads, pink mouth molding around whispered jargon, nodding. “Yes, this… this is exactly what I’d hoped for, when I’d asked for your assistance. Your fresh set of eyes is invaluable. I hadn’t thought of approaching the modification from that angle.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the page for even just a moment, flipping it surprisingly fast, and taking it with him as he leans back in his seat. 
And decides to torture you.
Viktor traces the pad of his own thumb over the curve of his bottom lip as he takes in your handwriting. The give of the flesh under his fingertip hypnotizes, the slight drag of rough skin on soft pink one, your mind is long gone.
You think of rough fingertips on his lips, on his chest, rough fingertips on the pasty white of his gaunt lower stomach, rough fingertips in coarse hair. Rough fingertips dipping between his milky thighs, rough fingertips on where he runs just as pink as he does on his lips, rough fingertips dipping, slipping on slick skin—
You need to stop.
And you most certainly need help.
“Is something the matter?”
It feels like you’ve swallowed your own brain whole when he speaks, because your skull rings hollow when you try to come up with a reply that isn’t incoherent babble.
“Wh— me? No. Why?”
And because embarrassment loves to stick around once it has made its presence known, the stars align for the next social disaster: your stomach growls. Loudly.
“Did you not have lunch?” Viktor asks.
“I… didn’t get around to it,” you admit.
“I won’t take up too much of your time, then,” he assures. If he knew just how much of your time he’s started taking up — and the fact that you wish you could give him what is left of it to him, too.  “I would like you to work alongside me on my research. But if you don’t feel like you can squeeze another project into your presumably busy schedule, I understand. I would be glad to have you merely as… a colleague to consult with, as well.”
Is that even a question? He’s offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. You would be an idiot not take it. 
And an even bigger idiot to turn down more time spent with him.
“You don’t even have to ask,” you joke. “Yes. I would be thrilled, Viktor.”
This is his first smile you witness when his pretty boyishness doesn’t shine through. It’s a gentle quirk of his lips, no teeth to be seen, just tenderness. It makes your heart leap to be the cause of it.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Thank you.”
Silence.
Just as you’re about to breach it — he does it first.
“Would you be free for lunch tomorrow as well?”
He watches you from below long, dark lashes as you give a breathless yes.
“I brought you something.”
It’s the last thing you expect as you step into his office at noon, upon exchanging hellos.
You’re alight. With curiosity, above all else. And with worry — why would he bring you something? What will you do to reciprocate? 
“Thank you,” you say, though you have no idea what for just yet. “What is it?”
“I saw you eyeing my borscht yesterday.” There’s a glint in his eye that suggests more, so much so you can’t decide between flirting or digging a hole for yourself in the hardwood floor of his office. 
The middle ground is standing in his office awkwardly as he unzips his backpack.
He retrieves two thermos bottles: the one you’re already familiar with, and another that looks older, more worn, and sorely lacks the sticker you’ve so come to love and fixate on and dream about. “I, eh, I made you some. In case you wouldn’t get the chance to eat before you came here.”
Your chest swells so much it hurts. 
He made you soup?
“You… Viktor, this is… thank you. You shouldn’t have.”
“I wanted to. Have a seat.”
You practically jump into the seat across the table from his — a seat you’ve come to associate as yours, in spite of being well aware of the oppisite.
As he screws the bottle open and pours some steaming soup out into a paper bowl — god, he’d brought paper bowls — his eyes flick to you.
“But if you don’t care for borscht, you don’t have to—“
“I do care.”
And that rings true not just for the borscht.
It rings true for the soup he brings you the next day too, it rings true for every word that passes his lips. And it rings true for the time you start to spend in the insane coffee shop queue to surprise him with his preferred order and a slice of cake (a different one each day, until you figure out his favorite: cinnamon coffee), it rings true for the dark blue roughed up thermos he lets you take home the day you don’t finish the soup he brings you because you’re just so busy talking.
It’s November before you know it.
As the days grow colder, it’s not rare to be finding warmth by lavishing in Viktor’s attention as you ramble on about ideas — either for his research, or your thesis. All while he intently follows your thoughts with a smile, stopping just to shave another mouth-half-full’s worth off his cake of the day with his plastic spoon.
And once he savors the last bite, Viktor almost always flips it hollow side down, sliding it down the swell of his tongue within his mouth, removing it from between puckered lips. His cheeks hollow, he holds eye contact all the same, and it’s a mental image that haunts you. A mental image you project in your mind, nestled between the apex of your thighs. The thick of his tongue. The cushiony seal of his lips, the suction of his cheeks. 
It never becomes any less distracting than the first time it happens. 
You startle when Viktor speaks as he sets down the plastic spoon into the now empty packaging. 
“I would like you to accompany me to the lab sometime soon. When would you be free?”
You’ve been before — but just a handful of times. Mainly for him to demonstrate or disprove certain guesses, or test conclusions you’d reached together. 
“I’m free right now,” you suggest.
Viktor shakes his head. “I have a lecture in an hour.”
Right. 
“I mean… I think we could make it in an hour.”
“I prefer to take my time.” Viktor leans back in his seat, stares thoughtfully at the clock on his wall for a moment. “Would seven PM work for you?”
“Uh…” you mentally go through your schedule for the day, “yes. It should. I might be a little late, though. How about… seven fifteen-ish?”
“Good.” The flow of the word is syrupy, yet his next sentence comes out surprisingly peppy with excitement: “See you then.”
Though you’re well into the final week of November, it never stops bothering you just how quickly the sun sets. By the time you get to the lab, the air’s gone cold, dry, and the darkness is heavy and thick.
Viktor waits for you just outside the university lab, under the halo of the street light — perhaps just a hint overdressed for the cold, in your opinion. It’s certainly trench coat season, though his is surprisingly long, reaching somewhere along the middle of his shins. The hand he hasn’t tucked in his pocket holds his cane and is clad in a leather glove. Around his lengthy neck, a red knitted scarf lays in chunky, impenetrable layers, reaching almost all the way to the swell of his top lip and his ears. You can hardly see his smile from underneath when he spots you — but his eyes give him away. 
“Right on time,” Viktor’s tone has just as much pep to it as a few hours ago, perhaps even moreso. He rolls his shoulders, before he subtly nuzzles further down into his scarf, shying away from the biting cold. “Let’s get inside.”
He leads the way into the building, its warmth embracing you the moment you step in. The tip of your nose and your fingertips feel like they’re beginning to thaw, tingling just a hint. As you go to take off your coat, you notice Viktor isn’t in a rush. He rests his cane against the wall before he unwraps the thick, wide scarf from around his neck, folding it. He sets it on a nearby table, shucking off his trench coat, slender shoulders under a wool sweater. You watch closely as he then takes his scarf and stuffs it into the sleeve of his coat before he hangs it up. 
There’s something stiff, painful, about how he moves. You wonder if it’s the cold.
“What?” He watches you with appeased amusement.
Caught red-handed, you jump, still halfway clad in your coat.
“Nothing,” you reply, scraping for a way to deflect from your obvious staring. “Not a big fan of the cold?”
“Never.” He says it like it’s a very serious matter. “I still don’t know how I made it through my first eighteen winters in St. Petersburg.”
“You grew up in Russia?”
He laughs through his nose like you’ve told him a half good joke. “What gave it away? The accent? The surname?”
“No, I just thought… Svoboda is a Czech surname.”
With how his smile turns knowing, self-satisfied, you’re suddenly back in his office again, uncertain and nervous and asking for a job as his assistant. He could taunt you with the knowledge that you’ve looked up his last name, embarrass you a little, play with you.
But he isn’t that man anymore — not to you. This time, he feeds your curiosity, albeit just with crumbs.
“My mother’s,” he clarifies. “Sidorov is Russian — my father’s.”
Oh.
“It’s nice that they used both their names. I’m assuming that wasn’t… common, back then, and back there.”
“It wasn’t, and they did not.” Viktor waits for you to hang up your coat, watchful gaze making your every movement feel loaded with static that’s about to snap. “I added hers when I changed my name.”
Changed his name?
The image of the sticker on his thermos turns up fresh in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder…
“Well? I was hoping we could discuss more in the lab, but if you prefer the coat hanger…”
Goddamn it. Focus. You need to focus.
“Sorry.”
You catch up, then slowly follow Viktor down the hallway, into the small lab he has been assigned. It’s one of the less grand ones, but it has all it needs — from a pretty new hexion accelerator to a humble whiteboard. It smells sanitized, sterile, ozonic.
You assume your usual seat by the whiteboard while he sets up. It still doesn’t feel… right to let him do all of that by himself, but he insists upon it, so, you stay out of his way. Viktor tidies up the space just a little, finding his goggles among the mess. He slips them onto his head, elastic pulling back his soft hair into a fluffy grey and brown mess. His cane thumps against the linoleum with every hurried step — though he doesn’t seem to be hurrying on account of you being there as much as excitement to show you.
Once he’s done, he sits in front of the accelerator, slipping his goggles on, and nods for you to come. Which you do — you’d be at his beck and call beyond just the academic context. For a moment, you pluck the inviting tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips out of their context, and you plant it atop your own bed, him in just a loose shirt, underwear, lax with freshly received pleasure. More comfortable than he’s ever been, all because of you. Beckoning for you. Come here. Smiling at you when your knee dips into the mattress, tucking his index under your chin as you crawl to him, reeling you in for a kiss.
“Come closer.”
God help you.
You comply with a wildly beating heart, stepping forward until you’re close behind his sitting form, watching the accelerator over his shoulder. 
He smells nice. Like an indistinct, aromatic cologne, covering up the natural, gentle musk of his skin. You have to resist the urge to dip your head down and trace the tip of your nose along his spine, from where the bones of his neck show to where the scruff at the back of his head goes thicker, fuller. You wonder if he’d shiver as you let the scent of him imbue you… you wonder if he’d lean into it, if he’d tilt his head for you, let you dip your face into the slope of his shoulder, where his scent’s more potent.
The mere thought of him, vivid in your nostrils and clinging to your palate and the floor of your brain, rattles you with a shiver.
“I thought I’d rather show you than tell you,” he explains, wrapping both pale, bony hands around the handles of the accelerator. Steam hisses from the exhaust, flooding the room with more ozone, and gently, but certainly, the gem starts to spin behind the glass panel, beginning to levitate out of its socket, illuminating the room. 
God, you should have put on goggles too, it’s making your eyes hurt. It’s a welcome reminder as to why you chose to spend most your days staring down a blackboard rather than the thing itself. The screen right above it is more of a familiar sight to you: numbers, reading the rotations per minute, as well as energetic output, steadily increasing. 
It whirrs, magic static whirling up around the blue orb, electricity crackles. 
You can see the appeal of this over a blackboard. But you’d still take the chalk. Especially considering the deafening noise. 
Nevermind the damn goggles. You need to remember to bring some ear plugs.
“Watch the panel.” Viktor raises his voice over the hum of the machine, and turns to you, watching you from behind foggy lenses with a smile. You wish you could see the way his crow’s feet deepen. It rumbles harder, so much so Viktor almost has to shout the next thing he says, which is a shame, because his usually playful lilt is lost in the noise of it. “Not to… spoil the outcome of this experiment for you, but I implemented the conclusions we came to last week, and, it is safe to say…”
With a well-timed click and tug on a lever, the machine disengages, and the gem drops back into its socket under the influence of gravity. Its violating light returns to a faint, blue glow, like an artificially lit aquarium; fluctuating and undulating gently in its intensity. The potential energy indicator’s numbers climb back up, steadily, but faster than what you’ve seen before. 
Much faster.
You can’t help but grin with excitement. “It’s regenerating fast.”
Viktor smirks at you over his shoulder like you’re sharing a sacred, intimate inside joke. 
“It is.“
You await the verdict with a bated breath.
“How much?”
Viktor’s smile only grows, like he’s about to give you a present. And, all things considered, this is going to be one, in months’ or maybe even years’ time.
“A thirty-seven percent recovery after usage within an hour.” Viktor spins in the lab stool to face you with the theatrical self-satisfaction of a magician who just sawed his assistant in half and is waiting for the applause. You nearly forget to step back to give him the space for it, so much so your knees knock together. But there is no chance for you to apologize, Viktor is unbothered, sliding the goggles up his forehead enthusiastically, his show of complacency ditched in favor of pure excitement. “That is more than I’ve ever achieved thus far. Thanks to y—” 
His voice sticks in his throat, turning into a pained hiss.
His hair’s tangled in his goggles.
“Oh, wonderful,” he grits out sarcastically. 
A frustrated half-sigh half-groan rumbles in his chest as he pulls again and only makes things worse.
“Could you get me a pair of scissors? I should have some in the third drawer over there.”
“Wait. At least let me try first,” you insist. Reluctantly, you step closer, and after a moment’s hesitation, Viktor lowers his head for better access like a feral animal letting itself be pet for the first time. He sits still, the sound of both your breaths suddenly loud in the tall, quiet room as you’re forced to step even closer. “Could you…”
You nudge his ankles apart with the tip of your shoe.
He listens.
After a stuttering, fragile exhale, Viktor spreads his thighs. 
You take the space offered. And you try not to think about kneeling, about making a home for yourself between his thighs.
“Do you think you can do it?”
You wish he’d asked you that about any number of things, except for the goggles tangled in his feathery, soft hair.
But yes. You think you do.
It would have been a terrible shame to cut it — though some shorter, bluntly cut hairs that sit a little further back near the top of his head tell you his suggestion was not the product of a new idea. Carefully, you pull whatever hairs are looser from between the lens and the bridge of the goggles, though a strand remains stubborn. 
You try to ignore the warmth of his breath on your shirt, the intoxicating, soapy, yet distinctively human smell of his scalp, and the mesmerizing ratio of grey to dark brown, the subtle heat on the sides of your palms and wrists, resting on his head for stability.
As you separate another few hairs from the stuck strand and accidentally tug at them, Viktor has no reaction. Beyond swallowing thickly, and sitting through it dutifully. 
You wonder if he’d act just the same, had you bunched his hair into the spaces between your fingers and tugged — simply biting his tongue and chewing through the pain — or if he’s leaned into the force, moaning with it, and god, you’ve hurt him, and you haven’t even apologized.
“Sorry.” You sound twice as genuine — mainly because you apologize for much worse than the inflicted pain. “Almost done.”
“The scissors would have been faster,” he half-jokes.
His voice sounds different. A hint more… strained. He shifts in the seat, wipes his hands on his slacks.
“Would have been a shame, though. You have pretty hair.” The last part of the sentence positively escapes you, and once you hear it, you freeze. Your brain scrambles itself trying to add something that will fix the inherent following awkwardness, the horrifying realization you just called your boss pretty, the fact that it’s true, the fact that—
Viktor flinches with another accidental tug of his hair, and so do his thighs — jumping with the surprise, clenching together until they squeeze around yours. But they’re gone just as fast, flinching away with horrified urgency. Before you get to savor the supple flesh pressing into your own in another new perverted way, before you get to imagine his ankles locking behind you, tilting and rubbing your hips into the hug of his thighs.
You need. To get. A grip.
“Sorry.”
You continue on in silence, and thank everything above he at the very least can’t see the way your hands shake, because he’s staring at the floor like he could drill a hole into it with just his eyes. 
You should have gotten the damn scissors. As if through divine intervention, the rest of his hair comes loose not soon after.
“Okay. All done.” You smooth the slightly crinkled, but now free strand back down into the rest of his soft hair. 
Viktor’s dainty features come into view from below his face framing pieces as he tilts his chin up. His lips quirk into a gentle smile, his eyes sparkle in the faint blue glow, soft shadows under the hollow of his cheeks and the swell of his lip and the tip of his nose and the bone of his brow. You wish you could immortalize him in whatever way he’d let you — a sculpture, a painting, a poem. He looks ripe for kissing, eyes half-lidded and twice as dreamy as he peers at you.
You’re going to see him like this in your mind’s eye later tonight.
Nestled between your thighs, or kissing down your stomach, molten gold under long, dark lashes, sitting atop carved marbled bone.
“Thank you.” He says it quietly — like it would break the sudden holiness of the moment to say it any other way.
He’s so warm. 
You could kiss him. See what the ozone of the room tastes like in the slick of his mouth. You wonder if he’d let you, if he’d suckle your tongue into his mouth in a show of submission, or if he’d bite your lip, licking your teeth, pressing, pushing, make you earn the privilege to taste him. 
You wonder if he’d hold you, or if his curious hands would roam, tracing the front of your stomach, or your spine, or press to the middle of your breastbone like he wants to see where you’d split open for him down the middle like a ripe peach. You wonder if he’d let you dip a hand down the front of his slacks, you wonder if he’d tilt his hips into it like he’d been aching for it, aching for you. Scorching your hand with want, materialized in slick or straining hardness. You wonder which it’d be.
From where you’re standing, the distance between the apex of his chin and the space where his slacks stretch between his thighs is small — and your gaze takes the leap, searching. But the material dips and curves in such a way that you’re left none the wiser, and with nothing but a disgusting realization.
You’re staring at your boss’ crotch.
You step back from the heat between his thighs, painfully awake, aware. It squeezes and wriggles in your chest like you have a parasite lodged in the chambers of your heart. 
You’re disgusting.
You need to put an end to this.
“You’re welcome, professor.”
With that, you’re practically bolting from between his thighs, to stash the scissors away again.
You’re neglecting your job, you’re putting it in jeopardy. Putting yourself in jeopardy, risking all the rumors circulating becoming a shameful truth, you’re risking the first man who ever kept up with you, followed you where you wanted to go and took you further — you’re risking it all because he makes you unbelievably fucking horny. 
And it’s absurd. Embarrassing. You need to get a hold of yourself. 
“I was… thinking, actually,” you begin, and want to punch yourself over how Viktor perks back up from where you’d left him. “About some things regarding my thesis that I’d like your thoughts on.”
“Oh. Of course.” You have got to be imagining the subtle disappointment in his tone. The second you let yourself believe it’s more than just a figment of your make-believe, is the second you will be doomed. 
Viktor, with all his years and experience, would and does know better than to fall for his assistant. You know he does.
“What’s on your mind?” He prompts after your prolonged silence.
If he knew the half of it.
You’re late.
And it’s a direct, shameful consequence of last night’s lusting, the time you’d spent frustratedly tossing and turning and thinking of his mouth and his eyes and his scent, before you’d given in past midnight, and humped your hand into completion.
Thinking about him under you, about pressing your face into his neck, about pressing him into the mattress and rutting into him until he gushes and his tired body sings for you and his voice cracks. Until he breaks for you, until pleasure itself oils and unscrews all the biological cogs of his body and he comes out unstrung, reborn.
Viktor’s in a wheelchair. 
And he looks worse for wear than you’ve ever encountered him before, slumping in the chair and massaging his eyelids with his thumb and index, seemingly gathering his thoughts. He’s dressed even warmer than usual, in a loose but thick, dark red sweater. There’s a colorful knitted blanket folded and set over the tops of his thighs. 
Viktor doesn’t acknowledge you when you come in and sit near the whiteboard, simply resumes his lecture as he regains his mental footing. And he goes on for a while, not sparing you a single glance, as he goes through powerpoint slides today, instead of his usual writing and hand drawn diagrams. 
He’s at it for a while, not as fast as his usual pace, but undeniably concise, certain. Until…
“The energy output increases proportionately to the spin, and, with powerful enough matrices, some hexgems can create force fields of their own. This is a particularly common phenomenon in unstabilized gems as well, though with the activation of their force field, those tend to also create… eh…”
Viktor stops, sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He frowns, mumbling something in another language, which, judging by the heavy consonants and squeezed vowel, you’d assume it’s Russian. The word must be slipping his mind, so you decide to help out.
“A shock wave.”
Viktor’s gaze cuts. He’s looked at you with disinterest before, sure, but this… 
He doesn’t even turn his head to look at you, just eyes you from the corner of his vision like something unworthy of acknowledgment. You wish you could swallow your words back up.
“Yes,” he says. “Thank you. A shock wave.”
You don’t say anything again for the rest of the lecture. 
Once the door falls shut behind the last few students who have left the room, Viktor turns to you. You wish you could shrink; and it feels like you do, when he finally speaks.
“I appreciate your intention to help — but do not interrupt me again. I know what I’m trying to say.” He sounds utterly unlike himself, both spent and angry. “I don’t need help. Especially not in the middle of a lecture.”
“Sorry.”
That alone softens him up a hint. He looks away, rubbing his thumbs against the wheels of his chair, before he speaks again. Calmer. 
“Just… do not let it happen again.”
As he slumps in his seat, massaging at his temples, you understand that his anger… might not have been as directed at you as you’d initially thought. He’d been snippy when his back hurt — having switched to a wheelchair must mean he’s in a lot more pain now.
And you understand his frustration. He’d just gotten himself an assistant a few months back, and started a new project — looking like he requires help in front of his students is certainly not doing his reputation right now any favors. 
“But if there’s other things I can do to make your day a little easier, I’d like to do them.”
“No, thank you.” He shakes his head, before he grabs both wheels and advances to where he’d left his bag. As he starts packing his things, he stops again, quietly groaning somewhere in the back of his throat. “Where did I put my pen…”
Viktor eventually finds it right behind his water bottle on the table, tossing the both of them into his bag, shutting it tightly. You expect him to wheel himself over to the ramp that leads to the exit, but he just hangs his head, massaging at his temples again, before he looks at you.
“Actually, I’d like it if you went to my office and got me a silver tin box in the… fourth drawer on the left side of my desk. Do you have the key with you, or should I give you mine?”
“I have it. I’ll be quick.”
“Thank you.”
And you deliver on your promise. You don’t run, but you power walk there, and you’re back with (hopefully the right) tin box in the same lecture hall before his break ends.
Viktor takes it from you gladly, popping it open. It contains two foils of painkillers, one already half empty, a small ziploc bag of… gummies, and at the very bottom, some dark chocolate. 
You must have pulled a bit of a face at the contents — particularly the gummies — because Viktor cocks a brow at you, before he faintly chuckles under his breath and pops three painkillers in one go.
After depositing the foil back in the box, he fishes out the dark chocolate bar. It looks to be the expensive kind, something Belgian — Viktor breaks off a piece, putting it in his mouth, before he holds it out to you.
“Peace offering,” he clarifies when you hesitate. 
You’d be a fool to turn him down. You take some — it’s rich, buttery, and melts on your tongue. It coats your mouth with its taste, dark and aromatic and unfortunately not as sweet as you thought Viktor preferred. He’d always favored the almost disgustingly sugary cakes.
“Didn’t think you’d like something so bitter,” you say.
“I do not. It sometimes helps with my migraines,” he tells you. “Sugar makes them worse. A very… devastating discovery to make, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
You wonder if right now is the right time to be curious — and you decide it might be.
“Do the migraines also affect your leg? Or the other way around?” 
“No.” Viktor shakes his head, popping off another piece of dark chocolate. “This,” he gestures at himself, the wheelchair, “was just a very unfortunate… overlapping.”
“Oh.” You grimace in sympathy. “Fun.”
“A punishment for it, more like.” 
What’s that supposed to mean?
“Let’s hope my migraine eases up on me throughout this lecture.” He smiles at you — and for the first time you’ve known him, he looks old doing it. Exhausted. The face of a man who’s seen enough hardship for a lifetime, but has yet to cave under it. 
You wish you could hold him. You wish you could melt it away, kiss it better, love it better. Whatever he’d let you.
You surprise both him and yourself when you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and let your thumb rub a small circle over the wool. 
Though he flinches at the first contact, once something in his brilliant mind unfurls and settles, so does he. Through the cracks, tenderness shines under the fatigue. Viktor can be soft — in spite of everything im his body and his past that protests against it. “Thank you.”
You take your hand away sooner than you’d like — but at the ideal time to keep it from being anything more than a friendly touch.
“I’m glad I could help,” you say.
Viktor isn’t there at all next week. 
You come in on Monday to find his office empty during lunch break, and when you attend his lecture, it’s another professor from his department teaching it. The students don’t seem all too excited about the change either — and you leave before it even starts.
Heimerdinger is none the wiser about Viktor’s situation when you talk to him — in spite of their shared history. He simply tells you he’d taken the week off and had arranged for substitutes.
You consider messaging him… and ultimately end up doing so, after some internal debate. You simply text him to get well soon and that you hope he’s getting some well-deserved rest. He replies with just a plain thank you.
Tuesday is quiet. You receive a stack of midterms you need to get through from the substitute, and you do, by Thursday morning. Which is when Heimerdinger messages you.
Dr. Prof. Cecil B Heimerdinger
Good morning! I’m well aware this is on very short notice — but the substitute professor has unfortunately suffered a minor car accident. Not to worry; they only sustained small njury. However, I am finding myself forced to task you with Viktor’s lectures today. Do you think you could take care of that? Thank you.
-Cecil B. Heimerdinger
9:32
Just the thing you needed — teaching two full lectures, entirely unprepared.
Alright. You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You just need to find out what’s even on the agenda for today. You could text Viktor, right? If he answers on time, that is… he’s sick, he might as well be asleep right now. You could call, but… he said only to do that in the case of an emergency when he gave you his phone number. 
Would this count as an emergency?
Your phone beeps.
Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda
There should be a black flash drive in the third drawer on the left in my desk. It has all my lectures.
9:34
Today’s topic is LHC segments naturally occurring in unstabilized gems. Feel free to use my work laptop to familiarize yourself with the presentation before the lecture.
9:35
Me
Thank you so much! 
9:35
His answer comes a few minutes later, just as you fish the flash drive out of his drawer, and plug it into his laptop.
Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda
Good luck 👍 
9:42
It would be a lot easier to get caught up in the desire to snoop around on his laptop if you didn’t have less than 20 minutes left until the lecture. His background is disappointingly the default image, but some of his folders look undeniably tempting — not just the scientific ones, which take up most of the space. There’s some photo albums titled with the year and location: Germany 2011, Czech Republic 2009, among many others. There’s also a photo album titled Persichka. 
Who is that? 
You almost click it. But then you check your watch again and realize you only have 15 more minutes until the lecture, and decide against it.
For how utterly unprepared you are, it goes surprisingly well. You stumble, once or twice, but you’re glad to see that even by the end of the lecture, you still have most students’ attention.
After you dismiss the class, you don’t expect questions. But a good handful of them, a little under ten, approach your desk, whispering among themselves, before a hastily appointed representative emerges. 
“We were just wondering,” she awkwardly begins, “if professor Sidorov-Svoboda is alright. And when he’s coming back.”
“Oh.” You hope they’re asking because they understandably prefer him, and not because you did a particularly shabby job. “He texted me just today — he’s doing alright. But I can’t give you an exact estimate for when he’s coming back just yet.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
With that, all of them turn to go. After the last student has left the room, you reach for your phone, and pray you don’t see any other day-altering messages today. 
Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda
I did not mean for you to have to do this. 
10:11
You unlock your phone and jump straight into the chat.
Me
Don’t worry, it’s alright. I handled it :)
12:02
Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda
I knew you could.
12:02
Thank you.
12:02
Me
Focus on resting up and getting well soon! 
12:03
Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda
I have been. I actually feel well enough for company now. Coincidentally, I’ve gotten some ideas for your thesis and I would like it if we discussed them sometime. Would you be free this weekend?
12:05 
He wants to meet? Outside of the university? Undoubtedly for academic purposes still, but your heart squeezes and bounces and pops with the implications. 
No. You shouldn’t let yourself hope for more than just a few formal, at best friendly hours spent together.
Viktor doesn’t want you. He would never want you — he knows better. You know better.
Me
I’d like that! Saturday works for me. Where would you like to meet?
12:05
Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda
If you’d prefer somewhere on academy grounds like my office or the coffee shop, either would be fine.
12:06
My apartment is also an option.
12:06
The choice is obvious.
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magicvicky1 · 7 months ago
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Sooo unfortunately, I’m back into my Disney Ducks hyper fixation, so I’m sorry for anyone that followed me for S/t/h but I will be posting a lot of ducks here 😔✌️(on tumblr at least, my twt will still be about the funny hedgehog that runs)
Its actually funny because I used to be super into Ducktales reboot back when it was airing, then after some time my interest kind of died down and I moved on to watch other things…However, on twitter I saw a post comparing Scrooge with Mr. Krabs and that was when it hit me that “Oh wait, I need to finish watching that serie!”, so that’s what I did xD And while I do have some of my issues with it (mostly regarding Donald’s treatment on the show), I still enjoy it a lot and I’m glad that I decided to finish watching it uwu
About the drawing, along with watching Dt17 I also started reading some of the old comics by Carl Barks and there are pretty fun to read! So I redrew some of my fave Scrooges from the comic as the Dt17 one. In a way it’s funny how different these two versions of the character can be, as the Scrooge from the comics tends to be a looot more greedier and scummier compared to the one from the show xd But I love them both regardless lol
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giuseppe-yuki · 3 months ago
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I really love your shapeshifter series, i’m honestly just wondering how the conversation between the reader and the drivers would go when they find out about her ‘special talent’ 🫣
Also is the shapeshifting thing genetic, like is it passed on from the parents or is it totally random like a mutation?
i'm glad that you liked it! :) to answer your question about the origin of the shapeshifting thing in the au, i'm going to be honest and say i actually haven't thought a lot about the specifics 😭 i think i'm just going to leave it up to the reader's own interpretation!
about the shifting ability, let's just say some of the drivers had quite the shock, and some the complete opposite...
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ka12, cl16, lh44, aa23, mv1, ln4
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andrea kimi antonelli
“you’re kidding!” kimi exclaims, raising his head from your lap. 
"i'm not," you reply nonchalantly, like you hadn’t just dropped the world’s biggest bomb on him. you continue to scroll through your phone with one hand and comb through his messy curls with your other. 
he scrambles up, batting your hands away from him. “no! i don’t believe you- you have to be lying! 
you gently place your phone next to you on kimi’s soft bed, and direct your full attention at your confused boyfriend. “why would i be lying, kimi?” you ask. seeing his nervous expression, you smile at him in a teasing way and continue, “what, you scared of tigers?”
he responds a little too fast to be telling the truth. “no! i’m not scared of tigers, i swear!” he backs up from you the tiniest bit, but you still notice. “their teeth are just a little too- um- sharp for my liking.”
you scoot off of kimi’s rumpled bedspread and distance yourself a little bit away from the bed. keeping your eyes trained on your boyfriend, you shift into your tiger form, making sure to exaggeratedly yawn, showing your sharp teeth. 
kimi immediately starts shaking like a leaf, eyes wide. “mamma mia-“ he stutters out, unable to believe that there was a huge white tiger standing in front of him where his girlfriend once stood. 
you let out a low growl of amusement towards your boyfriend, who promptly bolts out of the room. 
after sending a quick thanks to the heavens that his parents weren’t home, you carefully pad out of the room towards the direction he ran out. your sharp nails noisily clack against the wooden floorboards as you saunter forwards. almost immediately, you hear his heavy breathing in a coat closet near the front door of his house. wow, he is lowkey kind of bad at hiding, you think. you raise your paw and bat open the closet door. 
he cowers in the corner, face half covered by his pillowy merc-logoed jackets and his mother’s thin patterned shawls. “please don’t eat me!” he mewls out. 
it was pretty funny seeing your pretty boyfriend scared half to death, but you didn’t want to go overboard and give him ptsd.
you quickly shift back into your human form, jump through the coats, and into his arms inside of the cramped closet.
“aww, kimi,” you tut, brushing back some of his curls from his face. “don’t be scared, it’s just me!” 
he lets out a shaky sniffle, still in shock from the scary tiger that you just turned back from.  “i definitely believe that you can shift now,” he says sullenly, “and i promise you that i’m never gonna doubt you again.”
you reach over and place a small kiss on his cheek, leading him to smiling shyly at you. 
suddenly, his mother pops up into the intimate scene- she must have come home when you were distracted. 
shooting you both questioning looks, she gestures towards the piece of furniture around you.
“so… why are you kids hiding in the closet? and kimi, are you crying???”
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charles leclerc
"YESSSS!" your boyfriend shouts, partly deafening you.
pleasantly surprised and just a tiny bit relieved at his positive reaction, you smile at him. "i hope yo-"
before your sentence is even finished, he excitedly cuts in.
"what can you shift into? a crocodile? oh, i bet something really cool like shark or something so you can eat arthur when he's being annoying!”
flash him an unamused look. "i tell you that i can shapeshift and your first response to this newfound information is to ask if i'm a shark so i can eat your brother?"
charles blinks at you, slowly, big brown eyes wide with innocence. "er yeah?"
“wow,” you mutter, pouting jokingly. “is that all i’m good for?”
he immediately surges forward to comfort you, wrapping your body in his muscled arms. “no, mon coeur! you are so smart, and pretty, and done so many great things-“
you stop him by pressing kisses along his jawline while laughing. “i’m joking with you, charlie!”
a relieved look crosses his face, and he smiles at you looking up at him adoringly.
it’s a simple, sweet moment, something you cherish, until he opens his mouth again. “you don’t have to eat arthur if you don’t want to, baby.”
you push away from his embrace, crossing your arms. “i shift into a hedgehog, charles.”
seeing the cogs turning in his head, you quickly add on, “and no, i’m not going to poke him to death or whatever outrageous plan you are thinking up.”
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lewis hamilton
“yeah, i know,” lewis says simply, continuing to chop the tofu into small cubes. “baby, will you also get the soybeans out of the fridge for me?”
you don’t move, body frozen in lewis’ state-of-art kitchen, trying to process how your boyfriend found out your carefully guarded secret.
“love, the soybeans please??” he exclaims, wildly stir-frying the tofu and vegetables. “it’s going to burn!”
shoving your questions aside, you turn to the gleaming silver fridge behind you and pull out a bag of organic soybeans. you toss it to him in a perfect arc, bag spinning in the air. he catches it with one hand, rips open the package with his teeth, and pours it into the pan in one smooth movement. watching him cook shouldn’t have felt so spicy and passionate. once he plates the dish on a sparkling white plate, wiping away the excess sauce, you decide that it would be a good time to bring up his surprising reaction.
“so…what did you mean you know?” you question him carefully.
lewis slides your portion across the island counter, along with a serving of rice.
“well,” he replies, “it wasn’t that hard, since your fur got literally everywhere, and you tend to forget i’m downstairs when you get the zoomies in the upstairs bedroom.”
“oh,” you respond. it kind of made sense, considering the mysterious packages of lint rollers and trinkets that could double as dog toys that were constantly being delivered to your house. he wouldn't tell anyone, though, would he?
he spears a couple of cubes of his stir-fry and raises it to his mouth before answering your internal question. "don't worry, baby. i won't tell anyone- as long as you give me something in return."
you watch in amusement as he wiggles his eyebrows seductively at you. abandoning the hot food on the table, you seize one of his tattooed arms. "i will be more than happy to," you giggle, before unceremoniously dragging him to the bedroom upstairs.
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alex albon
it was not an ideal situation. you were currently flitting near the ceiling, fighting for your life to not get smacked by the dusty old broom that your boyfriend was hoisting.
talking about said boyfriend, he was jumping up and down on his driver room sofa, yelling and screaming with his broom in his hand like a witch that was one second away from going mentally insane.
"there's. a. fucking. bird. in. my. room." he yelps, swinging his weapon-like tool a little too close to your fragile body.
you originally planned on surprising your boyfriend and revealing your special talent by transforming from bird to human. you naively thought your sweet boyfriend was going to scoop you up ever so softly, place a kiss on your head, and you would have a nice talk about you both were going to move on with this piece of information. but no, the moment he saw you perched one of his spare race suit, he started swinging. where he even got a broom, you didn't know.
when you spot a moment of hesitation from alex, you take your chance and quickly fly towards to the opposite side of the room from where he was, feathers whipping in the wind. you land on his desk and shift back to your human form. you take a chance to catch your breath, chest heaving. if looks could kill, your glare at alex would probably put him six feet under within seconds.
he gapes at you, broom now forgotten on the floor. "w-w-what? but.. the bird- you-?"
"i was the bird, you twat!" you snap, pushing yourself off the table. "you almost murdered me!"
he rushes over to you, wrapping his long arms around your body. the familiar scent of his cologne and clothing detergent almost makes you forget that he tried to kill you a moment ago. "i'm sorry!" he stammers, petting your head. "i didn't know you could-" he lowers his voice to a whisper- "shapeshift!!"
you smile into alex's team kit, head still buried against alex's body. "i guess i forgive you," you mutter.
alex takes a look around the room, your extra feathers littered across the floor and room in disarray from him leaping around, and hugs you tigher. "oh, i'm so glad i didn't accidentally end my own girlfriend."
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max verstappen
"hmm," was all your boyfriend said when you nervously exposed your life-changing secret to him on a random saturday morning.
you stutter nervously and wring your hands, trying to decipher the look on max's face. "a ragdoll cat, to be exact- like um, i can change whenever i want, like this-"
shifting into your cat form, you blink your signature blue eyes at him. your boyfriend looks at your form on the ground curiously, and then pulls out his phone. immediately, thoughts race across your mind. what if he hated you? was he exposing your secret to this internet right now? what if he was so disgusted that he wanted to break up with you?" thoughts overcoming you, you high-tail it in between max's legs underneath the sofa.
a few minutes later, you watch as max's socked feet approach the couch, leading you to shrink back more. his face appears a moment later, eyebrows creased with worry. "schatje, come here!" he encourages, large hands beckoning you forward. "i won't hurt you, i promise."
padding forward cautiously, you place yourself within his reach.
true to his word, he softly slides you out from under the couch, and holds you close to him, patting you comfortingly. once your initial fear subsides, he places you softly next to him. you awkwardly shift back, trying to ignore eye contact with max. "you're not mad at me?"
he tilts your head towards him, and grabs your hand. "baby, i would never be mad at you! i'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me your secret! i was just processing everything."
"really?" you sniff, looking into his big blue eyes.
"positive." max says candidly.
you nod, satisfied. "okay then."
he shoots you a small smile, and then gives you a light kiss on your cheek. after he pulls back, you ask him one last question.
"so, why did you pull out your phone then?"
surprisingly, he lets out a laugh. "oh, that!" he pulls his phone out of his jeans, and tilts the screen to show you. multiple luxury pet supply websites were pulled up, showcasing the latest beds and scratching posts. you think you could spot a $7,500 gucci pet beds in one of the tabs which you will probably have to forbid max from buying later. he shoots a grin at you. "now i know your secret, i feel like its only fair that i have to spoil you within an inch of your life!"
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lando norris
"you what?!?" lando says, jaw practically on the floor.
"i can shift into a ferret," you repeat, watching your boyfriend try to grasp the meaning of your words.
"like, the animal ferret?" he questions, still unbelieving.
you sigh exasperatedly, "no, everybody's favorite fruit, the ferret- yes, the animal ferret!"
climbing off of the high stool in lando's kitchen, you walk towards your stunned boyfriend on the nearby couch. sebastian vettel yaps about the bees on the tv in the background. as you come closer to lando, you shift to your ferret form, and scamper onto his lap.
looking at you with wide, glazed eyes, he hesitantly extends his hand towards your furry figure.
when he fails to make contact with your soft fur, you push your head upwards so he rests his hand on the top of your head. taking it as an invitation, he strokes your fur and inspects your little paws. he even pokes your stomach, which you rebutted by snapping your jaw at him.
once you feel like he had enough "examine the ferret" time, you jump off of his lap and shift back into your human form.
"wait no, go back!" he begs, "i didn't get to see your tail yet!"
you shoot him an annoyed look. "you are not allowed to be going anywhere near my tail today."
he pouts, scowling at you. "this is so not fair!! why do you get to be a ferret? i want to be something too!"
it was clear that your boyfriend never had the experience of being snatched out of a bush by random kids on the street and straight up being squished and prodded at by their inquisitive hands.
"yeah, you are something," you shoot back. "a clown!"
lando jerks back and places a hand on his heart. "that was mean!" he protests.
"okay, okay," you give in, "sorry..."
he mutters lowly and sneers at you before whipping out his phone. fingers flitting across the keyboard, he rapidly searches something up.
you slightly lilt your body and peer onto the screen. catching a glimpse, you burst out laughing.
"lando, there's no way you just googled, 'how to turn into a ferret!'"
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a/n: if you liked it, make sure to check out the au series that this blurb takes place in :)
shapeshifting!reader au blurbs
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pearlessance · 4 months ago
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Locked Doors - Idle Threats [ii]
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Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.
Chapter Summary — You leave your front door unlocked. The devil invites himself in.
Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader
Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt
SERIES MASTERLIST
[crossposted to AO3]
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In truth, Joel is glad to be rid of you.
Not because he didn’t enjoy himself, but because he’d enjoyed the night with you too much. The two of you had fallen into an easy, respectful energy for the remainder of your watch. 
Joel discovers you’re quite funny when he isn’t the butt of all your jokes. And he knows you’re beautiful, painfully so—but when you smile at him, truly smile, it lights up your whole face and ignites a warmth inside him he can’t explain, that he doesn’t even want to think about. 
So, yeah, it’s a bit of a relief when the next two watchmen take over and you go your separate ways. Joel sleeps real heavy that night, more relaxed than he’s been since he set foot in Jackson.
Until Tommy knocks on his door that afternoon, that is. The moment Joel opens it his brother asks, “What the hell did you do to her last night?”
Joel feels his anxiety spike. Tommy knows him better than anyone else, and he’s not sure why he thought your tryst in the tree blind would ever be kept secret. And he knows he shouldn’t lie, but he’s too embarrassed, too afraid of his brother’s judgment. So he shrugs and says, “We…had a conversation.”
“Conversation?” Tommy laughs and shakes his head, pushing into Joel's house. He sits at the kitchen table beside Ellie, who’s shoveling a bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth. “Nah. Nah, I don’t believe that.”
Hesitantly, Joel asks, “Why not?”
“That girl has been a pain in my ass every single day. Someone has a complaint about her, or she’s hollerin’ about something or other. Never does as she’s told—fights Maria and I on everything.” 
You listened to him real well last night. Joel resists the smirk that tugs on his lips.
Tommy continues. “So, I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when she comes knockin’ this morning asking Maria if she can take the rest of Mike’s shifts. After she threw a big tantrum about having to cover one of them.”
No. No. Joel’s mouth goes dry. 
He can’t spend another night with you. He can’t. He’s not strong enough.
Ellie’s brows furrow together as she looks between the two brothers. “Who?”
“Strawberry scone,” Joel supplies with a casual wave of his hand.
“Oh, my future wife,” Ellie corrects. Then she turns to Tommy with a scowl. “Be nice when you talk about her.”
“She ain’t nice,” he counters. 
Joel remembers how nice you’d been, begging him for mercy, begging for his hands, his mouth, his cock. How nice it sounded when you apologized to him, using that warm, wet tongue of yours as a weapon. He swallows. “We just talked. That’s all.”
Tommy eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t push the subject and Joel’s grateful for it. Instead, he says, “Yeah, well—maybe y'all can have a conversation about her giving Maria a break. She’s been back from that run for a month and she still won’t even talk to her. Maria’s tried, but she pretends she can’t hear or see her. Like she’s invisible.”
Ellie chuckles but quiets herself with another bite of eggs when Joel turns and scowls at her.
It’s a valid concern, Joel thinks. Maria and Tommy have been good to the people of Jackson, have been good to you. Given you a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, the protection of monitored walls. All in exchange for a little physical labor. 
Joel doesn’t know what happened on that run for Maria’s barbecue flavored chips, but he understands being angry. Complete and total silent treatment is a bit harsh, however. And for weeks at a time? It’s childish, absurd—bratty. He gives his brother a reassuring nod. “I’ll…see what I can do.”
Tommy thanks him, steals a forkful of Ellie’s eggs, and bolts out of the door as she yells after him. 
Once he’s gone and the noise has quieted, the panic begins to set in. 
He can’t be in there with you for another night. Joel knows he has to do something, find someone to cover his watch. Maybe Bonnie will be willing to switch him for a day or two. Just until Mike returns, until Joel can control his errant desires.
“I’ve got some stuff to get done today,” he tells Ellie. 
“Stuff?”
“Yeah, just…don’t go far,” he says, evading her question. “And don’t go alone, either. Stay with Dina.”
He half expects her to make some witty remark, but she must see something in him that stops her. Ellie nods slowly and asks, “Everything okay?”
No, it wasn’t. Not even close. But there’s no subtle way to explain his turmoil, no words to make her understand that Joel was currently at odds with himself and his morals. That perhaps he’d damned himself, damned you, all for a single night of perfect bliss. So he shrugs and says, “Fine.”
Bonnie’s house is a short walk from his. And when she opens the door, Joel can see her son lying on the couch in the living room. His cheeks are red and he’s got his thumb in his mouth, staring off into space. He can’t be older than four, and Joel begins to feel guilty before he can even say a word. “Joel? Everything alright?”
God, what was with people and that question today? Joel looks away from the little boy on the couch and instead at his mother, who has the same blonde curls. 
He has to ask, doesn’t he? He has to. This is about more than just his peace of mind. It’s about your safety. Safety from him. And you deserve that, after all. Being a brat doesn’t mean you deserve to be preyed upon by an older man. 
So, Joel swallows and forces the words out. “Hey, Bonnie. I was just wondering if maybe you could switch with me tonight. I’ll take your watch today if you’ll take the night shift.”
Please say yes. Please say yes. 
Her green eyes soften, and Joel knows the answer before she speaks. “Oh, I…I’m sorry, Joel. It’s just that Sammy is sick, and…and I feel bad enough being gone all afternoon, you know? And I don’t want to leave him during the night. You can understand, right?”
He nods quickly, not wanting to make more of a scene than he already has. “No, yeah, of course. Completely. I’m sorry I asked.”
They say their goodbyes, and Bonnie suggests that he ask Greg instead. 
But that thought unnerves him even more than being alone with you himself. 
Greg is older than Joel by almost ten years, pushing sixty-five. And he doesn’t think he’s that type of guy—but Joel didn’t think he was that type of guy until he’d been left alone with you, either. 
Maybe he’s wrong, though. Maybe Greg has more morality. Maybe he’s not as bad a man as Joel. Maybe he has more resistance to the forbidden fruit.
Maybe you’re safer with him.
It’s because of that particular thought Joel winds up on Greg’s porch.
And Greg gives him that same sympathetic look Bonnie did, and Joel’s back to square one. “I’ll ask around, though,” Greg says. “See if anyone else is willing.”
Joel thanks him, and busies himself in the stables, in the armory, in anything that keeps his hands busy and his thoughts far from you. He sends a prayer to whatever god may exist, hoping Greg will find him and let him know someone is interested in his shift. Not that Joel would be deserving of forgiveness nor a favor— especially from anyone worth praying to—but it doesn’t hurt to try. 
Nightfall comes too soon and eventually, he decides that maybe it’s better to seek out the source of the problem. To tear out the rot by the roots.
You answer the door after the second knock. You’re leaning against the frame, wearing those jeans again—that dark wash denim that’s skin tight, a gentle stitch of gold down the seam of the pockets.
Joel wonders where you found them, wonders how it’s possible that he’s been reduced to finding so much sex appeal in a pair of jeans, for Christ’s sake. Your black t-shirt is cut into a low V shape, and your breasts are pushed up because of your bra, providing him with a view so tempting it hurts.
“I hear you’re trying to get rid of me,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “If you didn’t like me, the least you could do is say so. Kinda shitty I had to find out from Greg, of all people.” You turn away from him and walk inside, leaving the door wide open. 
It’s an invitation. But Joel hesitates, because he knows, he knows what happens when he’s alone with you. Knows just how far he’ll go, how much he wants it. He’s not sure if it’s desire or shame or excitement that coils around his spine, gripping tight.
But it’s rude, isn’t it, to refuse? It’s not like you’re doing anything to tempt him apart from existing. Joel can handle that, can’t he? He’ll just explain himself. Have a quick five minute conversation about why he needs to avoid you at all costs, why you cannot—cannot—be on watch duty with him for another day.
And then he’ll leave. Wipe his hands clean of the guilt, the sin, of you. 
Joel walks inside and closes the door behind him. “You need to tell Maria you can’t be on watch tonight,” he says. 
Your house is small but cozy, more personalized than the other homes in Jackson. Cluttered with things you no doubt picked up on some of your runs—framed photos of landscapes, whimsically shaped, half-burned candles, a crinkled and slightly water damaged band poster that reads The Bravery. The kitchen on his left is quaint, the counters occupied by stacks of old, worn books. There’s an old vase with a faded picture of a cat sitting on the stove, filled with mismatched utensils. A small, square table sits in the corner with two upholstered chairs and in front of one of them, a leather-bound journal sits with a pen beside it.
Joel suddenly, more than anything else, wants to know what’s in that journal. Thinks about sneaking in late at night to flip through it. It’s well loved, and he knows even from several feet away that inside of it is you. The parts you don’t share with others, the parts he desperately wants to unearth. 
“And why would I do that?” You follow his gaze and casually move to close the journal. You wrap the leather cord around it twice, pick up the pen, and toss both into an inconspicuous drawer.
“Because I said so,” Joel says sharply. He’s standing by the front door still, and his skin prickles as you close the distance. And for good measure, he adds, “Because you’re not feeling well. You’re sick.”
You’re standing so close now he can feel the heat of your skin, beckoning to him, pulling him in. You’re so magnetic that he doesn’t pull away when you grab his hand and place his palm against the side of your neck. “Does it feel like I have a fever?”
Feverish? No. Warm, soft, addictive? Yes. Joel can feel your pulse beneath his hand, strong and steady. He can feel himself losing the battle already. He pulls his hand away and closes it into a fist behind his back. “Stop,” he says. “We can’t do this.”
You snort but turn away to give him some much needed space. “You can’t, you mean.”
He steps forward on instinct and freezes. He can’t bring himself to retreat, but he has the strength still to keep from going to you, from seeking you out just to feel you in his hands. That has to be enough. Joel knows he needs to say what he has to say and leave, before his resistance withers into nothing. “People are already starting to talk.”
“People,” you mock. “You mean your brother?” When he doesn’t deny it, you continue. “Let me guess—he said something this morning, asking about what we did all because I said I would pick up a couple of extra shifts.”
Joel doesn’t mention the other things Tommy said, about you being a pain in his ass. Joel can relate to it. “He also said you’ve been blatantly ignoring Maria.”
“No fucking shit I’ve been ignoring her,” you snap. But your eyes widen as Joel’s whole body tightens, seeing the mistake. 
But he isn’t here for that. He’s not. If you’re going to be a foul-mouthed brat, so be it. It’s not his place to discipline you. It can’t be. “You need to give her a break. Maria’s done right by all of us.” 
“Why? Because you said so?” You laugh, and it’s a sick, maniacal sound that grates against his nerves. So different than the soft airy giggles he’d heard last night. “Cut the shit and be honest with yourself, Joel. You want me to be nice to Maria so you don’t have to hear Tommy bitch about me anymore and you want me off watch duty with you because you’re afraid of me.”
“Afraid? Of a little girl?” Joel thinks you're joking at first. But you’re not laughing anymore, and when he realizes you’re serious he lets out a long sigh of frustration. It releases the tension in his shoulders just enough to keep him from losing it. “You think you know everything, but you don’t.”
“Well I’m not wrong,” you say, brows raised. 
It’s the attitude that gets to him, the contempt. Joel can’t stand it. He wants to take you by the throat and force you up against the wall. But he doesn’t, using the last of his patience to keep his feet planted firmly on the welcome mat.
“It was so good,” you say, the cadence of your voice lowering to a near whisper. There’s a warmth in your eyes that makes his chest ache. “I know you felt it too. You can’t tell me you didn’t. And even if you did, I wouldn’t believe you. I don’t believe you, Joel.”
The sound of his name in your mouth is nearly his undoing. It’s so pretty, you’re so pretty. Joel swallows hard, suddenly aware that for all he defiled yesterday, he’s never kissed you. Not truly. 
He’s kissed your forehead, your cheek, has tasted your skin and the wetness between your thighs. But he’s never once tasted the inside of your mouth or felt your tongue against his.
Joel clenches his teeth. 
He can’t. He shouldn’t.
But he has to. Good fucking God, he has to.
Joel reaches you in two strides. Your eyes widen in fear, but the moment he places his hands on either side of your face you’re melting, becoming pliable material for him to manipulate. Joel tilts your head up and leans down, crushing his mouth to yours.
You’re gripping his brown leather jacket, trying to keep your balance. But he’s crowding you, forcing himself into your space, into your mouth, pressing himself against you as if every inch of separation pains him.
Joel thinks you taste like bad decisions, like pomegranate seeds and glowing apple slices, like poisonous peach pits, like something so tempting it’s forbidden for good reason. He bites in anyway, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and dragging it out. You moan at the deviation from heaven, and he grabs a fistful of your ass and drags you impossibly closer as a low growl leaves his throat. 
He knows you can feel his cock through his jeans, pressing hard against your belly, but Joel does his very best to ignore it as he licks every soft part of you. He wants to remember this, to savor it, because he promises himself it’ll be the last time he ever takes advantage of you.
When he pulls away, Joel’s gasping for air like he’s never been kissed before. Like this is his first time, like you’re his first. It’s certainly the only time it’s ever been like this, heavy and weighted, hot and desperate and sacrilegious.
Your eyes are glassy and beautiful as you look up at him, fingers still clutched in his jacket. “You’re afraid of me, Joel,” you repeat, snaking a hand between you and rubbing his cock, squeezing softly over the denim. “You’re afraid of how good this feels because you’ve never been able to hold onto anything good in your entire life.”
And, distracted by the soft feel of your mouth, by your hand, he’s able to listen. To rid himself of guilt, of shame, truly hearing you. Joel silently wonders if you’ve been the conductor of this mess all along, if you’ve somehow seen behind the scenes, if you are, impossibly, the one who’s manipulated him. Because how else would you be able to rip those razor-sharp truths out of him? Truths he’s never faced, truths he’s never planned to. 
“It slips through your fingers every time, like smoke,” you say. 
Joel can’t pull himself away, can’t reestablish that distance he so carelessly erased. You feel too good, touching him, sighing softly between words as if he were the one touching you.
“And so you’ll push me away, so far that you can forget whatever it is you feel for me. And it’ll work. For a little while, anyway.” You rise to your tiptoes, swollen lips a breath away from his ear. “But one day you’ll be laying in bed with some lovely, soft spoken, age-appropriate woman, and you’ll look over at her and you’ll imagine me in her place. And I think you’ll miss bossing me around, and teaching me how to behave for you, and how good it feels to be inside of me.” His cock throbs in his jeans, and he feels you smile against his skin. “I think you’ll miss me real bad, Joel Miller.”
The picture you paint is a dreary one, and it leaves Joel cold. Even colder when you finally step back and he can’t feel the warmth of your skin anymore, the heat of your breath. But he doesn’t say that, because this feels like a goodbye—the goodbye he came here for. Joel steels himself, pushing that God-forsaken image far from his brain. “Tell Maria you’re sick,” he orders. 
And then he’s leaving, and it hurts to slam the door behind him, but he does it.
For the first time in days, Joel feels a drop of redemption trickle back into his bloodstream. 
Thankfully, you don’t show up to the tree blind to relieve Greg and Bonnie. But no one else does either, and Joel knows that you never even attempted to speak to Maria. A last-ditch effort at defiance. 
When they ask about you, he lies easily and says, “She’s running a little behind. Go on home, you’ll probably pass her on the way.” 
And they do as he suggests, leaving Joel in the tree blind alone with his thoughts. 
It’s almost as dangerous as being alone with you, because your words echo in his brain. I think you’ll miss me real bad, Joel Miller. 
He will. He does. Already, he misses the way your body feels against his. He misses the taste of your soft tongue. He misses your sweet laughter and carefree demeanor. He misses the innocence in your eyes when you look up at him like he has all the answers. Joel wants to give them to you, wants to take care of you. Wants to make you feel good, to protect you, to keep you safe. 
But you’re right. Goddamnit, you’re right. He is afraid of you. Terrified, in fact—because it could so easily turn into more than just physical need, more than just sinful desire. That one day you spoke into existence could come and he’d miss more than how it feels to be inside you, he’ll just miss you.
Joel knows how dangerous that is. It’s bad enough he’s gotta worry about Tommy and Ellie. Why would he want to add another name to that list? Another person he’d die for, another person he’d kill for.
It’s no good. He’s no good. 
Joel feels the ghost of your mouth against his and can’t resist pressing his knuckles to his lips, hoping to cement your DNA there so he can keep the lingering taste of you forever. 
But if not him, who else will take care of you? It’s dangerous outside these walls.
It’s only then he remembers his conversation with Tommy and Maria, who wouldn’t let Joel be on watch alone. Yet they let you go on runs alone, and often. 
The realization has his blood boiling.
Because if not him, then who? Some other, older man? Someone capable of enduring your fury, your foolishness, of knowing when to have a heavy hand and when to touch you softly? No. 
Fuck no. 
By the time his shift is over and the next two patrolmen come to relieve him, Joel knows right where he’s headed. They ask him where you went, if you ever showed up—and he covers for you. Saying, “I cut her loose early so she could get some sleep.” 
At first, he’s not sure why there’s an innate desire within him to lie for you, to keep you safe from ridicule or consequence. 
But as he’s walking to that white house on the corner of the street, Joel realizes that it’s because he doesn’t want anyone else to punish you—ever.
That’s his job.
And, Christ, does he have plans for you. 
Joel freezes a second before he bangs his fist against the door. The night is quiet and cold. The air is still. And, through the thin walls, he can hear you.
Can hear those sweet, soft moans. It’s faint, but it’s there. And Joel knows because those cute little sounds are forever embedded in his memory. 
All the blood in his brain rushes south at the image his mind produces. He can almost see you; sprawled out on your bed, legs parted with your hand between your thighs. He wonders what you’re thinking about and selfishly hopes it’s him. 
His hand shakes as he lowers it and reaches for the doorknob. You wouldn’t be so stupid, would you? 
The question is quickly answered when he twists the handle and encounters no resistance. Joel suddenly thinks of a quote his old, southern pastor once told him when he was a kid. Fittingly enough, he’d used it in a sermon about abstinence. 
Temptation is the devil looking through the keyhole. Yielding is opening the door and inviting him in.
But what is Joel to do when the devil leaves the door unlocked and wide open with a bratty little girl on the other side of it? How is he supposed to resist the forbidden fruit knowing just how sweet it tastes? 
He just can’t help himself. 
Joel eases his way inside, carefully closing the door behind him. He shrugs off his jacket and flannel, laying it over the back of the worn leather couch as if he belongs here. Your house is dark, but he’s able to follow the sound of your whimpering down the hallway. He pushes your bedroom door open as silently as he can—and what he finds is somehow a million times better than what he’d imagined.
You’re sitting in the center of your bed, straddling a pillow that’s folded in half between your legs. You’re facing the doorway, head tilted back and eyes closed in euphoria. Joel can see everything from here. The curtain over the window is open, the moonlight casting a purplish hue over your soft skin. 
His whole body tenses up as he watches you, eyes stuck on the wet spot between your legs. Joel almost doesn’t believe you’re real, nearly convinces himself you’re some sort of backlit, demonic little thing. Sent to him by the devil himself to ensure his damnation. As if it somehow wasn’t already a guaranteed thing, because Joel doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life, watching you desperately try to get yourself off.
You tilt your hips back and forth, moaning at the friction. The sounds you make are so beautiful, and Joel is thankful at this moment that you have little consideration for others. Because you’re moaning and whimpering loud enough that you don’t hear the wooden floor creak beneath his feet as he closes the space. 
In a sick, sinister way, Joel enjoys the fact that he’s watching you, so close he could reach out and touch you, and you have no idea. Pretty, stupid little girl. Joel is a bad man, you know. Real bad. And he could do whatever he wanted to you right now. Could cover your mouth with his hand so you can’t scream, could force you to your knees and have his way with you.
You let out a sweet sounding gasp, and Joel knows you’re close, nearly there. He would bet your clit is throbbing against your pillow, pussy just aching to be filled.
More than anything, more than teaching you how dangerous it is to leave your doors unlocked in the dead of night, Joel wants to help you. Wants to make you feel good. Wants to show you that yeah, one day he may be lying next to another woman thinking of you, but he will be the only man to ever satisfy your sadistic cravings. No one will ever be able to touch you again and make you feel as good as he does. 
He wraps his hand around your ankle and squeezes, anticipating the terrified cry you make in response. Joel holds tight, wrapping the other hand around your calf and pulling you to the edge of the bed. 
But not before you reach behind, pulling a serrated sawback knife from beneath the sheets. It’s clutched tight between your fingers as you hold it towards him. Your frightened eyes soften as recognition comes. He can hear your breathing settle, but your chest is still heaving. He doesn’t think you notice as his hands begin to slide up your legs, over the softness of your thighs. “Joel? What are you doing? Did you break into my house?”
There isn’t a single trace of alarm in your voice anymore, even though you’re still pointing that knife at him. “Didn’t have to,” he says, completely unfocused on the point of the weapon. Joel leans forward, running his hands over the swell of your hips, your ribs. He takes both breasts in his hands, unable to hold back the groan at the heavy feel of them. 
“I thought,” you swallow hard, inhaling a ragged breath. “I thought…you said—”
“I know what I said.” Joel takes the knife from your hand with ease and lays it on the battered nightstand. And the second he’s no longer under threat, he forces your back against the mattress and crawls between your legs, pulling them up over his hips. 
He pushes his hard cock against you, the denim of his jeans rough against your bare, sensitive skin. He watches the way you immediately soak the fabric, evidence of your near-release. You prop yourself up on your elbows, brows knitted together, the cutest little pout on your lips. “Wait,” you say, and he does. “I just…I don’t understand.”
Joel sees the concern etched on your face and thinks you’ve never looked so vulnerable in front of him as your eyes search for an explanation. He doesn’t have one that makes sense, that justifies his being here, justifies his hands as they roam freely over your skin. He pushes his hand through your hair, gently scratching your scalp. “You don’t have anyone to take care of you,” he mutters. “I’m gonna keep you safe, baby. Real safe.” 
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you argue. “I can keep myself safe just fine.” He twists his hand in your hair, pulling lightly. His free hand comes between you, and Joel forces you to watch as he runs his thumb through your folds, spreading you open.
He doesn’t reply to your proclamation because he doesn’t believe it and he doesn’t think you do, either. He speaks as he circles your clit with the pad of his thumb softly. “But I gotta keep you safe from me, too, sweetheart. Can’t let an old man touch you like this. You’re just a little girl.”
Your back arches, pushing against his hand. You’re grinding against his cock over his jeans, and Joel can feel himself leaking at the warmth of you. You breathe his name, begging for more, begging for him like he knew you would.
Joel slides his thumb down further, smirking at the groan you let out as he pushes it inside you. “Precious little thing,” he whispers to himself. He switches his thumb for his middle finger, turning his hand palm up so he can press hard on that sweet spot inside of you. Your legs immediately start to tremble around him, and Joel smiles to himself knowing he’s barely touched you and already he’s accomplished what he set out to do. “I know, baby,” he says. “No one else can make you feel this good, huh? Not that pillow, not your hands, no other man but me.”
He releases his hold on your hair, letting you relax against the mattress. Your spine is still arched at the base, allowing him easy access to where you want him most. When he slips another thick finger inside of you, your hands clutch the sheets and your pleading gets a whole lot more convincing. “Joel, please—please just… mmm, Oh, God—”
Even though they burn his throat, Joel forces the words out before he loses the courage. “This is the last time, pretty girl. The last time I’ll ever touch you, okay? I promise. Gotta keep you safe…startin’ tomorrow.”
He almost wonders if you heard him, so lost in your satisfaction as he fucks you with his fingers. But then you lean forward, pulling eagerly at his leather belt, and he hears you say, “Liar.”
Joel knows you don’t believe him, but it’s true. He just needs to get it out of his system—to be inside of you knowing it’s the last time so he can savor it properly. To memorize it so he never forgets. He watches, enraptured, as you unbuckle his belt. Your hands are so much smaller than his, trembling lightly as you pull his cock out. He chuckles darkly as you lick your lips and hurry to line him up at your entrance. His middle and index fingers are still buried deep inside of you, hooked upwards right where you need him. “You want it now, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” you say so quickly he laughs. “Please, Joel, please.”
With his free hand, he knocks yours away and presses his tip into you between his fingers. “Right now, huh? So fuckin’ needy, can’t wait one more minute. Just wanna be so full’a me you’re beggin’ for it, s’that it?”
He inches in further, leaving his fingers inside of you, watching the glorious stretch it makes, relishing in the whine you let out in response. 
“Wait,” you say, fear laced in your voice as you realize his intent. Joel does—giving you the option to deny him, to say no. But you don’t. Of course you don’t. Instead, when your pretty eyes meet his dark gaze, something heated and curious appears on your face. 
Joel sinks into you further, even as you toss your head back and force the air from your lungs in a ragged exhale. He knows it must feel so full —because he can feel every inch of you, squeezing him like a vice. 
“It hurts,” you hiss, wincing. “Joel, I can’t—!”
“Yeah you can, baby,” he encourages. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Joel pulls back out slowly, cock glistening with your slick. “You say it hurts but this pretty pussy is just cryin’ for me, little girl.” When he pushes in again, stretching you slowly, he lets out a low groan at the feeling and doesn’t stop until he’s all the way in.
“Oh my God,” you whine, hooking your legs around his back. “It’s too much.”
“Is it?” Joel mocks, rocking his hips slowly. He can feel your body react immediately—walls fluttering around him with every movement. You’re a trembling, moaning mess, making an even bigger one all over the dark hair above his cock.
A single tear falls from the corner of your eye, and Joel leans forward to kiss it away. He presses his lips to your forehead and gently strokes the side of your face with his free hand. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
“I…it’s just,” you pause to let out an elated sigh as he thrusts in deep. “If this is the last time you—ohh, God, Joel—please, you’re gonna make me—”
“I know, little girl, I know,” he says. Joel thrusts his hips forward hard—once, twice, until your legs are shaking so bad he knows you’re one stroke away from combustion. And then he pulls his cock out of you, lips curling into a smirk at the whine you give in protest. “S’okay, baby, don't cry,” he promises, dropping to his knees and pulling you to the edge of the bed. “Wanna taste it, sweetheart.”
His mouth is bliss when he puts it on you, licking long, gentle strokes through your heat with his soft tongue. He uses both hands to spread your legs wide, holding you still even as you squirm, and his chest rumbles in satisfaction as he drinks you in. Joel wraps his lips around your clit and focuses his efforts there. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he groans against you as you tangle your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding against his face as if you can’t get enough. 
Joel understands. He really, really does. Because even when your body pulls tight and you moan his name over and over, soaking his facial hair, his chin, his mouth—it’s not enough. He wants more, wants you impossibly closer, wants to hear nothing but your moans for the rest of his life. 
He doesn’t stop until your muscles begin to relax and your breathing slows. He releases your clit from between his lips and you shudder as he licks through your folds, devouring any trace of your orgasm left behind. The urge to praise your behavior rises in him, wanting to tell you how good you’re being, how perfect. 
But this—tonight—is about Joel. It’s a selfish act, his taking you. It’s for his memory, for his satisfaction. Which is why, when he crawls back over you, Joel rests his calloused hand against your neck and crushes his mouth to yours. You open up immediately, giving him an all access pass to your tongue, moaning at his reverence. You taste so fucking sweet, and Joel knows just how easy it would be to find obsession in kissing you.
With his free hand, he reaches down and pushes his jeans off the rest of the way, the metal belt buckle clanging to the floor. He pulls away for only a second to grip the back of his shirt collar and pull it over his head, discarding it quickly. 
And then he’s turning you over, grabbing your hips, and forcing them up. The sight of you with your face against the mattress and your arms braced in front of you, the enticing slope of your spine, your glistening, needy pussy—it’s almost too much. Joel’s cock throbs painfully, desperate to be inside of you. He runs his hands over the perfect globes of your ass, spreading you open. “You’re so pretty, baby. The cutest little girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, and your whimpering in response to his compliments is so cute it warms his heart.
You arch back for him, and Joel can’t resist his grin. You’re just so eager.
He gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip between your cheeks, watching it slide down your pussy until it reaches your clit. He lets out a sigh of relief as he pushes back into you, can’t resist leaning over and pressing sweet kisses to your spine. He won’t last long—not like this, buried so deep inside you there’s no end of you or beginning of him.
“Tell me how it feels,” he says. Joel’s thrusts are punishing and relentless. He slams into you, holding you down against the mattress with one hand and using the other to paw at your ass, pulling you back onto him every time he retreats. “This what you wanted? Hm? Wanted to be bent over and fucked like a whore, huh?”
“Yes,” you choke out. “It feels so good, Joel—fuck—”
His hips still. He fists his hand in your hair and pulls you up, back against his chest. His mouth is at your temple as he asks, “What was that?”
“I’m sorry—don't stop, don’t stop, please,” you beg. The words are desolate and frantic, but there’s a knowing, arrogant smirk on your face. 
You’re playing him, Joel suddenly realizes. Playing into his games to get what you want—you clever, bratty little girl. His palms twitch with the urge to force you into true submission instead of whatever this forgery of it is.
But he can’t do that in a single night. And so Joel decides to give you exactly what you want instead.
He wraps one hand around your throat, squeezing lightly as he presses your head to his shoulder. He uses the other to reach down and stroke your clit in soft circles, thrusting up into you all the while. “Aw, baby,” he tuts. “Look at you. You’re so fuckin’ easy. Doin’ whatever I want you to. Lettin’ me fuck you however I want.”
“Oh God, oh God, oh God—Joel I’m gonna—!”
Joel thrusts harder, circles your clit faster. Arousal pools low in his belly at the delicious way you say his name. “Give it to me, baby. Yeah, there you go. Mmhm, thaaaat’s it.” You squeeze him hard, and Joel has to close his eyes to hold himself back. 
Your moans are music to his ears, pretty little sounds that urge him on. His hand doesn’t stop, his hips don’t slow, and his mouth never quiets, filthy words sending you to immeasurable heights.
“Pussy was fuckin’ made for me. It’s soakin’ me so good. This what you like? Hm? Like to be fucked real rough, treated like a fuckin’ slut. That’s what makes it all wet, baby? Don’t you worry. I’ll give you everything you need, exactly what you’re beggin’ me for.” Joel feels your muscles go slack, but his hand on your neck only tightens, holding you upright. He doesn’t stop even as your hands fly to his between your legs, pulling at his wrist, needing reprieve.
“Joel, oh my God, please—I’m finished, I’m finished—!”
He presses your clit harder, fucks you deeper. “Ain’t this what you wanted? Didn’t want me to stop. Real sensitive, isn’t it?” His tone is so mocking, so mean. “Gonna fuck you till it hurts, pretty girl.”
You’re writhing in his hands, the cutest little tremors rocking through you. “It does, it does, Joel, please, it hurts so bad,” you cry. He kisses your tears away, savoring the taste of saltwater on his tongue. 
“Tell me who’s pussy this is,” he whispers in your ear. “Tell me baby, who’s pretty pussy is it? Huh?”
No answer comes right away. You’re too fucked out, fucked stupid, thoughts emptying out of your head. But Joel is there, right at the precipice, and he has to hear it before he follows you.
“C’mon little girl, use your words. Tell me,” he gently urges.
“Yours! It’s yours, I swear, Joel, fuck, fuck—!”
He pulls out of you just in time to spill his come onto your back, his cock sliding against your ass. Joel feels satisfaction down to his bones, knows that it’ll be easier to resist you now that he’s succumbed to his indulgences.
But as the euphoria fades, the guilt slowly starts to seep in. Joel lays you gently against the mattress, chest heaving.
“Don’t move,” he says. And then he’s leaving your room, picking up his flannel from the back of the couch. When he returns, he wipes away the mess he made, cleans up the lingering wetness between your legs.
While you climb up the bed and slide your shaky limbs beneath the thick comforter, Joel starts to pull his clothes back on. When he’s dressed in his boxers and t-shirt you ask, “Joel? Can you…can you stay? Just for a little bit?”
Your voice is so timid, so mousy, as if you’re embarrassed to even ask. He’s never heard you like this before. It tugs on his heartstrings, makes him feel the beginnings of exactly what he’s been trying so hard to avoid. 
That feeling chokes him, makes him feel covered in sin. Because you’re so young. So young that Joel should know better. He does know better. He’s just really, really bad at resisting temptation. Astronomically bad, in fact. And he doesn’t want to hurt you—truly, he doesn’t. Despite all he’s done and all he’s said, Joel has your best interest in mind. And he has no place there.
But, fuck, he wishes he did. 
Words don’t come easily to him. They never have. Especially when he has so much to say. “‘Course,” is all he manages.
Joel climbs in bed next to you, shoulders relaxing for what feels like the first time in a very long time as he pulls you close. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, rests his cheek against the top of your head. He’s so warm, like a big cocoon of heat and safety. 
The silence stretches on. And he thinks you may have fallen asleep already. But before you do, he says into the dark, “I didn’t mean it, you know. All the…the stuff I said. I don’t think you’re…”
You lift your head, turning those spellbinding eyes on him. He doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly isn’t for you to give him an award-winning smile and say, “Good to know Joel Miller doesn’t think I’m an actual whore. If he did, whatever would I do?”
He doesn’t pick up on your sarcasm right away. And you must see something on his face that’s real amusing—because you burst into a fit of girlish giggles and Joel can’t help but mirror your grin. 
“I’m kidding,” you say. And then you lean up and press a chaste kiss to his jaw. “Goodnight, Joel. You can let yourself out when you’re ready.” 
He waits until you fall asleep, until your breathing evens out and you turn away from him on your side. Joel gathers his things quietly and leaves through the front door. 
This time, he locks it up tight.
[part one] [part three]
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harrywavycurly · 12 days ago
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Hey I loved the bachelorette party in Malibu for Lonley series but can u do one where Harry has a bachelor party and yn stuck at home please I’m obbsed 😂💕
Hiii lovey!!! I’m glad you enjoy the series!!! I hope you like this, it was fun to write because the difference in how the two of them handle time away from each other is very funny😂💖
Find all things Lonely series here✨
CW: Language and mentions of drinking
Tag List: @blckburd @fangirl509east @ell0ra-br3kk3r @youngpastafanmug @mattieshattuck1
A/N: Harry is away for his bachelor party weekend while you’re at home and you get a surprise visitor, enjoy drunk Harry as well as some classic bestie banter✨
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You let out a sigh of content as you get comfortable on the couch before bringing your coffee mug up to your lips so you can take a sip, the house is quiet minus the gentle humming sound of the ice maker in the kitchen and the air conditioning that kicks on every now and then and you can’t help but sit there and enjoy the peacefulness of the quiet, at least while you can. You look at the clock on the wall in the kitchen and know that Harry should be landing in Vegas soon, Gemma having booked a morning flight so she could get in a few hours at the spa and a well timed nap before the nighttime festivities begin, most of which you have no idea about minus one little detail but that’s only because she drunkenly let it slip during your bachelorette trip a month ago.
You smile at the thought of Harry being surprised with a spa day, something you know he enjoys and will help him relax and the more relaxed he gets the more fun he will have as the evening goes on. That’s the thing with this weekend, you truly want Harry to have fun because he’s been spending way too much time fussing over you and the upcoming wedding recently that a night out without anything or anyone to worry about is what he deserves. And even though you had to practically drag him down the front steps to the car that was taking him to the airport this morning because he was “gonna miss you too much” and almost bought you a ticket on the spot to join him in Vegas, you know he’s going to end up having a good time.
You take another sip of your coffee when suddenly you hear a light beeping sound signaling to you that your front gate has been opened. You raise an eyebrow as you quickly lean over and place your mug on the coffee table before standing up and heading towards the kitchen so you can look at the fancy little tablet that shows all the security cameras, something Harry made sure to show you how to use before he left since this is technically your first time alone overnight in the house since moving in together. You mentally prepare yourself to see the same black SUV you watched him leave in this morning pulling into the driveway, but when you look at the screen you scrunch your brows together and bring the tablet closer to your face to get a better look at the car.
“What the-”
“Your fuckin’ gate hates me.” You look up from the tablet in your hands as Niall walks through your front door with a duffle bag. “I type in the code it gets all mad and beeps at me so then I type it in again and then it flashes red at me. So then I do it a third-why the bloody hell you got that thing so close to your face? You going blind or somethin?” He stops in the doorway of the kitchen with a slight look of concern on his face as his eyes land on you standing in the middle of the kitchen still holding the tablet a few inches from your face trying to see if that really is Niall’s car in your driveway or not.
“What are you doing here?” You watch him roll his eyes as he walks through the kitchen and into the living room where he drops his duffle bag down behind the couch.
“I live here.” Is all he says as he heads back into the kitchen and grabs himself a mug before going to the coffee pot. You just place the tablet back down onto the counter as you watch Niall make his way around the kitchen while making his coffee.
“Does my fiancé know that?” You ask with a hint of playfulness because you know Harry would have a field day if he heard Niall tell you he lived here, having reached a whole new level of jealousy ever since the two of you got engaged when it comes to your friendship with Niall.
“Oh what that lanky lad doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides it’s just for the weekend because I know he’s gone and you’ve never been alone here before so figured you could use the company.” You know he’s leaving something out as he gives his coffee a good stir before taking a sip of it all while looking everywhere but at you in the process.
“You didn’t get invited did you?” Niall’s face drops as he places his mug on the counter and lets out a sad dramatic sigh making you have to hold back a laugh.
“No.” He says with a groan. “Gem said she didn’t wanna risk Harry not having as good of a time with me there because he might be worried I’d run off and tell you everything but we both know that’s a load of bull because the man is gonna end up drunk off his ass by ten tonight and callin you up and telling on his own fucking self.” You put a hand over your mouth to try to hide your laughter but it’s no use because Niall just rolls his eyes as he grabs his mug and heads towards the living room.
“So you decided coming over here for the weekend was the best alternative?” You question as you follow him into the living room. He just shrugs as he sits down on the couch, placing an arm on the back of it so you can sit next to him and lean into his side for a little cuddle that you know he needs more than you do in this very moment.
“I figured no use in both of us being home alone when we could just be in your house together eating all Harry’s snacks and watching trashy telly.” You smile and you rest your head on Niall’s shoulder as he brings his mug up to his lips. “This coffee is gonna keep me awake for a week you absolute caffeine fiend.” He teases before taking another sip. “Tastes good though.” He mumbles as you reach for the remote so you can turn the tv on allowing the two of you to start your day of watching horrible reality television.
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“If she picks him then it proves she’s just after his money because it’s clear she doesn’t even like him she just tolerates him.” You huff as you cross your arms over your chest in annoyance making Niall let out a laugh from the kitchen.
The two of you have spent the day and a good portion of the evening watching some dating show and only have one episode left so Niall decided it was only fitting he make some cocktails to go with watching the finale and honestly having put up with the dramatics of the show and watching the main woman send home people the two of you thought were decent catches has made him need a drink or two. He is in the middle of squeezing a lime into your glass when he hears the sound of something vibrating against the marble of your kitchen counter, he raises an eyebrow when he notices your phone sitting there plugged into a charger near the coffee maker. Now Niall has been your bestfriend for quite a while, so he’s no stranger to checking your phone for you so he doesn’t think twice before he’s drying his hands off and walking over to see who’s messaging you but what he sees on your lock screen makes his eyes go wide.
“You have forty six unread-sorry now it’s forty seven unread texts? What the hell? Oh fuck now it’s fifty.” You let out a sigh as your head falls to the back of the couch while Niall unplugs your phone from the charge and heads into the living room with it in his hand.
“I don’t want to respond because then he’ll keep texting me and I want him to have fun and not be thinking about me.” Niall would agree that in theory your plan would work on anyone else but this is Harry you’re talking about and he knows how obsessed the man is with you and clearly based on the evidence of the amount of texts he’s sent without a single response from you, your plan is in fact not working.
“Right well I think that’s sweet and all that you want him to have fun but looking at these-uh he seems a bit stressed? Like proper freaking out.” You sit up and turn to look at Niall as he begins to read some of the texts Harry has sent and when you watch him roll his eyes you know they are probably a bit on the dramatic side. “Oh he’s totally drunk off his ass and it’s not even half past eleven.” He states as he scrolls down towards the last few messages he sent you.
“What’s he stressed-”
“And now he’s FaceTiming you.” You stand up and walk around the couch and reach for your phone but Niall just gives you a playful smirk and you instantly know what he’s about to do.
“Niall do not answer that.” You warn as you hold your hand out for him to hand you the phone but Niall just ignores you as he heads back into the kitchen and holds the phone up before he answers Harry’s FaceTime call.
“Baby-what the fuck’er you doin in my house?” Harry’s voice is low and a bit rougher than normal and you immediately know he’s working his way towards a nice buzz. “Why do you have my wife’s phone?” Niall rolls his eyes as he places your phone against the sink so he can go back to fixing the two of you some drinks.
“She’s not your wife yet mate and I’m here because that sister of yours didn’t invite me to your little weekend away so I came here to keep my bestfriend company.” You run a hand over your face as you hear Harry let out a groan at Niall’s correction of him calling you his wife.
“You don’t like spa days so you’d’ve hated it so far.” Niall sends Harry a glare as he grabs the bottle of tequila making Harry raise an eyebrow at him when he watches him pour more than a shots worth into each glass. “You tryin’a get her drunk?” He asks as you stand on the other side of the island watching Niall make your drink and making sure Harry can’t see you, at least not yet.
“You’re in the city of sin and all you’ve done is have a bloody spa day? God you’re such an eighty year old nan.” You can’t help but laugh making Niall shoot you a playful wink but that only causes Harry to let out a whine like noise because he can hear you but can’t see you which makes Niall roll his eyes. “I can’t with the sad puppy noises you’ve got to take him.” Niall says as he picks up the phone with one hand and hands it to you but with the screen still facing him. You send him a glare before you stick your tongue out at him making him laugh before he returns the gesture.
“I don’t want to see your tongue Niall-”
“Hi Harry.” You watch Harry’s face go from disgust to pure happiness in a matter of seconds when you turn the phone around allowing him to finally see your face.
“Baby I’m so happy you’re alive.” You just ignore Niall’s laugh as you make your way back into the living room to get comfortable on the couch. “You ignored me all day and s’not nice to ignore someone you love.” His voice is a mixture of playfulness and a bit of sadness as he pokes his bottom lip out in a dramatic pout.
“I wanted you to worry about having fun not about what I’m doing.” You explain as you take a moment to try to get a decent look at him through the screen but the way he has his phone in his hand all you can see is his face and a bit of the collar of his shirt. “Where are you right now?” You ask when you notice red strobe lights in the background, Harry turns his head and looks around as if he’s looking for the name of the establishment on the walls or anywhere near where he’s currently at.
“Uhm m’not sure? S’a bit dark in here but the people are very lovely.” You smile at the blush that appears on his cheeks as his eyes wonder over to something that’s going on in front of him that you can’t see.
“That’s code for the girls are topless and the tits are nice.” Niall whispers in your ear as he leans over the back of the couch to hand you your drink, you just laugh but Harry even in his half drunken state heard Niall’s little joke and sends him a glare through the screen.
“He said people so I’m assuming it’s not just girls in this club.” You explain and Niall just shrugs as he takes a sip of his drink.
“Right so the guys are brief-less and the cocks are decent.” You nearly choke on the sip of your drink that’s in your mouth at Niall’s statement making him laugh as he reaches over and rubs your back a bit. “Jesus no wonder you two are getting married. Neither of you can handle your liquor.” He teases before he heads back into the kitchen to give you and Harry a few minutes alone.
“Harry why don’t you go and enjoy yourself? You can call me in the morning if you want?” You don’t want to sound rude but you know if you don’t get him off the phone soon then odds are you’ll be on FaceTime with him for the next few hours or until Gemma notices and takes things into her own hands.
“I took s’mthing of yours to help me get through the weekend without you.” Harry admits quietly as he looks around as if to make sure no one is looking before he reaches into his suit jacket pocket, you feel your whole face get hot when he shows you what he took of yours and you silently thank your lucky stars Niall decided to go back into the kitchen. “They’ve helped so far but still miss you.” He adds as he clutches the item in his hand while staring at you through the phone.
“You are such a freak.” Harry just shrugs one shoulder and gives you a sneaky little smirk as he begins to put the object pack into his pocket.
“Tell me those aren’t your knickers he’s shoving back into this pocket like some sort of sicko.”
“M’not a sicko for having a pair of my fiancé’s-”
“Do not finish that sentence Harry Styles you are in public.” You hear a scoff come from behind you while Harry also makes a similar sounding noise making you send Niall who’s now resting his forearms on the back of the couch next to where you’re sitting, a glare over your shoulder before looking back at your phone to give Harry the same look.
“Babe he’s surrounded by bouncing boobs and swinging pricks you think anyone’s gonna give a rats ass if he’s got some worn out knickers in his sleeve?” You scrunch your nose at Niall’s choice of words regarding your undergarments making Harry chuckle.
“How’d ya know they’re worn? You been in my nightstand you wonky kneed twat?”
“You have a panty stash in your nightstand you lanky fuck?”
“And if I do? S’none of your concern you hobbit sized asshole.”
“Ya know for a family all about treat people with kindness you Styles lot sure love to be mean as fuck to the Irish fella who’s job it is to make sure your beloved future bride makes it down the aisle.”
“The bloody hell s’that ‘posed to mean?” You let out a sigh as you just sit there and let the two of them argue as you normally do, knowing that eventually you’ll have to step in but for right now it hasn’t reached the level of any serious feelings getting hurt. Harry’s eyes are a light shade of red and his cheeks are pink letting you know his drinks are starting to catch up to him.
“It means that you overgrown toddler of a man best start being nicer to me or I might just have her accidentally get lost on the way to the venue or better yet just let her sleep in and be so late you’ll have to cancel the whole thing and reschedule it for next-”
“Okay that’s enough.” You snap when you see Harry’s eyes start to get watery as Niall’s threat starts to sink into Harry’s slightly alcohol clouded mind. “Niall go into the kitchen and make me a snack please.” He just lets out a huff but he does what you say because he can tell by your tone that you’re in no playing mood and besides he is starting to feel a bit hungry himself.
“I don’t want to reschedule.” You feel your heart sink a bit at how sad Harry’s voice is as he looks at you with a frown.
“We aren’t rescheduling anything Harry he’s just being mean that’s all.” You give him a reassuring smile that just makes him nod. “I love you and I want you to go and have fun okay? Do some weird stuff and tell me all about it when you get home or if you don’t want to-”
“M’gonna call you in the morning.” He corrects you and you just smile at his face because you know he’s trying his best to look serious but he’s failing due to the corners of his mouth pulling up into a smile. “I love you so so-so fucking much even though you ignored me.” He half mumbles and you can’t help but giggle at how cute he is when he’s drunk and trying so hard to keep it together.
“I love you too.” He gives you a dimpled grin at your response. “Now go have fun or I won’t answer your call tomorrow.” You know it’s probably not nice to threaten him but you figure it’s a good way to get him to actually do what you want and by the way he rolls his eyes and lets out a huff you know it works.
“Fine I’ll go and find m’sister and have fun.” He says with a sigh while you smile and blow him a kiss before saying you love him one more time and ending the call.
“Has he always been so damn needy?” Niall asks as you walk into the kitchen with your drink in your hand. You just shrug as you take a sip while you take a seat on one of the barstools at the kitchen island so you can watch Niall cook, he decided a proper meal was what the two of you needed not just a lousy snack since there’s still a dating show finale to watch.
“I don’t know but I also don’t mind.” You answer with a smile making Niall quirk a brow at you as he stirs in the cheese sauce for the Mac and cheese. “I’m happy to be the one he needs.” And it’s the truth because while Harry might be overly clingy and a tad bit more needy than he normally was when the two of you were just friends, you love being the one he wants to cling to and feels the urge to be needy with because it shows the shift that’s taken place and how in love with you he actually is.
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