#this song is my mood every single night | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jamminvroomvroom · 8 months ago

Note

4k celebration

congrats on 4k love - your writing is absolutely worth all of the hype and even more!!! i adore your work and so look forward to even more people discovering it.

i was hoping to request a lewis fic?? i’m such a slut for a good enemies to lovers situation, so maybe along the lines of reader is a fair bit younger than lewis, but there’s been all of this tension btwn them and it all boils over one night (smuttyyyyy) 🥴

we made up.

LH x fem!rival reader - 4k celebration

in which you can never just bite your tongue

eeeeek i love this request! thank u sm anon for ur sweet words, ur so lovely i hope i’ve done this justice for you! writing for lewis terrified me so this might not be my best work but we move! more lewis requests to come, let me know what you think <3

songs to set the mood: stargirl interlude by the weekend & lana del rey

warnings: 18+!! minors go away!! smut, swearing, degradation, praise, dom!lewis, some switch!reader, implied age gap, slightly inexperienced reader, enemies to lovers, blink n you’ll miss it size kink

2.6k words

you hide admiration with a scowl, curling into yourself, as far away as you can get from him. the couch seems to get smaller and smaller with every overly intelligent, carefully thought out word he says. each sentence seems to be coated in a thick layer of i don’t give a fuck. you don’t know how he’s so good a toeing the line.

after six years in f1, you still couldn’t work out why you didn’t like lewis hamilton.

maybe it was his cool confidence, the way he never lacked composure, while you were called an unhinged, delusional woman by every incel on twitter for so much as breathing. maybe it was his sky high stack of trophies, championships, podiums, wins. you weren’t even halfway close to touching his records. maybe it was the way he was diabolically, inhumanly gorgeous, a truly breathtaking creature. you paled in every single way compared to lewis, so how could you even begin to like him?

it was silly, really, pathetic even, feeling such childish disdain just because he was better than you. he was older, more refined, iconic in every single way that you weren’t. perhaps you’d get there one day, but you simply weren’t there yet.

you’re sat beside him in the press conference, sharing the couch with him, alex, lando, charles and max. it wasn’t the worst combination in the world, but anytime you had to sit in front of a gaggle of hawk-eyed journos and a million cameras with lewis, something unfortunate usually happened. never by design, but you just weren’t very good at saving face in front of the mercedes driver.

“do you think the podium is a possibility this weekend?” someone from autosport whose name you can’t remember asks.

“i’m hoping so, just need to keep the mercs behind us again, but i don’t think that will be that hard.” you respond, without even a sliver of a filter. the material of the sofa shifts as lewis tenses up beside you, inhaling sharply at your blatant disrespect. somewhere beside you, lando sniggers, and max is rolling his eyes.

it was no secret that you didn’t have the softest spot in the world for sir lewis.

“that’s assuming your car makes it to the end of the race.” lewis clears his throat, speaking with confident conviction. you turn you head to glare at him, painfully unable to take what you give. alex slaps his hand over his mouth.

“at least my car isn’t so bad that i’d rather go and learn the alphabet down at ferrari.” you scoff. you avoid the eyes of your comms officer, because if looks could kill, you’d be six feet under already.

“i think we’ll leave it there.” tom clarkson suggests, and you stand from the panel and storm away on trembling legs with a terrible ache throbbing between them.

there’s something about the pettiness, the reasonless back and fourth you two always seem to partake in that leaves you in need of a cold shower.

turns out, you have to apologise.

you spend the better part of an hour being bollocked by your press team, who, for some reason, don’t find it particularly amusing that you’d somehow managed to insult the lewis hamilton, ferrari, and mercedes in the span of two sentences.

so, there you were, begrudgingly trailing towards lewis’s hotel room. it’s on the top floor, because of course it is, it’s him. he oozes expensive exclusively, naturally above the rest. you twist your rings nervously, increasingly terrified of being in a confined space alone with the gorgeous brit. your knuckles rap gently against the wood of his door, intentionally weakly. you pray he won’t hear you and that you can just disappear back into the elevator and into your room, to pathetically let you hands wander between your clenched thighs.

but god laughs, and the door swings open. lewis seems startled by your presence, just for a moment though, leaning cooly against the doorframe. his lips pull into a faint smile. two things alarm you. first of all, he’s shirtless, bare from the waist up, a plethora of delicious tattoos on display for you to feast your eyes on. secondly, and somehow even worse, he’s panting, clearly just back from a work out in the gym. he glistens with sweat, and your mind goes blank, apologetic words die on your tongue.

“something to say, angel, or are you just here to stare?” lewis teases, the words rolling off his tongue smoothly. you pray for the ground to gape open, swallow you hole, suck you into hot lava.

“well, i was gonna apologise but i don’t think you deserve it.” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest accusingly.

“didn’t think you knew how to apologise.” lewis grins sarcastically, mocking you.

“has anyone told you how arrogant you are?” you bite back, eyes narrowing.

“why don’t you come in here and i’ll show you just how arrogant i can be?” his voice has dropped a few octaves, seductive and low.

the proposition, the suggestion behind his words makes you fold immediately. you’d wondered for far too long about what he was like behind closed doors and under thick bedsheets, and if you had the chance at finding out, you’d be imbecilic not to take it.

you shove his muscled chest, pushing him back into his room. his hands find your waist, pulling harshly at the material of your loose t-shirt. he’s watching you intently, mesmerised by the angry flush on your cheeks tinging you pink. your eyes convey hunger, matching his, and you’re forcing him down to sit at the foot of his bed.

“why are you such an asshole?” you hiss, slotting your knees on either side of his so that you’re straddling him.

“probably the same reason you’re such a little bitch.” lewis growls, tugging you forward harshly on his lap. you feel his work out shorts ride up on his thighs, the material sensitive on your skin.

your pupils blow wide at his words, and you’re kissing him hard, teeth and tongues clashing messily. his lips are so soft, pillowy as they brush aggressively with your own and you lick wetly into his awaiting mouth. he’s addictive, minty, and you fall against his bare chest as he leans back into the mattress.

“i think you need to be taught some manners.” lewis grunts, flipping your bodies over like you’re nothing, and slotting against your body like a missing piece.

“i think the same could be said about you.” you breathe, sliding your hand under the waistband of his shorts. he chuckles quietly, the rumble reverberating through your own chest, cracking you open.

“try your best.” he whispers. your eyes roll back.

truth is, you’re not the most experienced person in the world. yes, you’re in your mid twenties, but a long term relationship with the worlds biggest loser and dedicating your life to a career in a boys club meant that you didn’t have the time to develop broadest set of skills. you didn’t have the luxury of letting loose in a nightclub with a stranger because if that information got into the wrong hands, you’d be slut-shamed off the face of the earth. so now, you found yourself a little bit lost under a literal sex god.

as if he can hear your thoughts, lewis pulls back.

“what’s the matter? do you want me to stop?” he’s softer than he ever has been with you, melting away in your hands, but you draw him back in, tightening your grip on the band of his shorts.

“no, no, i just…” the words die on your tongue. something in your eyes gives him all the information that he needs.

“do what feels right, good.” his nose brushes your jaw, kissing over it and you settle back into the moment.

“teach me a lesson.” you whisper, empowered in his hands, and he springs back into action, his demeanour slipping right back into what it had been.

“is that why you’re so bad in interviews? just want me to fuck some respect into you?” his lips tug amusedly when you nod rapidly up at him.

an experimental roll of his hips makes you keen, hand slipping into his braids and pulling hard. his eyes fall shut, lips parting to let out a soft groan, his eyebrows pinching from the rough pleasure. your fingers graze over the skin of his toned belly, finding sensitive skin that makes him shiver.

“you distracted, lew?” you taunt, with the only intention of riling him up.

his eyes snap open, hard and lacking any sort of warmth, and he tears your hands from where they rest on his firm body, swiftly pinning them above your head with one hand. he plants himself on one knee, balancing himself so that he can fiddle with the button of your shorts. he makes quick work of removing them, forcing the zipper down and skilfully manoeuvring them with just the one hand.

once they’re gone, along with the lace of your underwear, he forces your thighs apart, and slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt, slicking them up. you’re soaked and he momentarily falters, but he doesn’t let himself get too visibly affected.

“fuck, you’re so wet. been thinking about me, angel?” he teases mercilessly, as he rocks the first thick digit into you, twisting and curling until he finds the spot that makes you buck your hips.

“nothing to say now, hm?” lewis tuts, wetting his lips. the feeling of you squeezing so tight around just one of his fingers makes him choke out a moan. you can feel his hot breath fanning over your face, your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of him filling you up.

“more.” you breathe, stuttering over just one word. he revels in how he’s managed to reduce you to this so quickly.

“you sure you can take it, angel? so fucking tight.”

“make me.” you plead, parting your strained thighs even wider for him.

he lets go of your hands, snaking down your body to get himself closer to where you’re dripping already.

“keep them there.” lewis orders, and you grip tightly onto the pillows to exercise restraint.

lewis presses his forearm over the plush of your belly, holding you down as he adds a second finger, watching in awe as it slips so effortlessly into your pussy. you’re mewling, fighting to buck your hips but the firm press of his muscled arm keeps you in place.

“so pretty for me, angel, soaking my fingers.” he notes, entranced at how responsive you are for him.

“want you inside of me, lew.” you whine, knuckles paper white where you’re fighting off the urge to reach down and touch him.

“wait.” he snarls, ramming his fingers even harder, grinding against the soft spot buried deep. “you’re gonna cum like this first.”

with that, he removes the barricade of his arm, bringing his spare hand to your clit, the pad of his thumb drawing calloused circles into the bud. you lose it, grinding down on his fingers like a woman possessed.

“that’s it, sweetie, fuck yourself for me.” lewis encourages, voice gravelly and low.

sparks shoot down your spine, nothing but white behind your eyelids as he lights you on fire. you can’t warn him, the words lost to the tense air of the room as you barrel towards your first release. he eases you through it, not letting up even a little bit, but it pays off when you can’t help but writhe against the cream of the bedspread.

“god.” you croak, flopping limp as he pulls out, crawling over you.

“learned your lesson?”

“not quite.” you flash an exhausted grin, abandoning your grasp on the pillows to slide them down his thick frame.

you trace the lion adorning his shoulder, the compass, each piece driving you further into utter delirium. your hands graze his waist, snaking around his abdomen until you reach the cross, tracing it until you reach words that keep him going.

still i rise the cursive reads, and he shivers as you rake your nails over it.

“fuck me.” you purr. your hands slide under his shorts once more, gripping at the curve of his ass. you push the material down over his thighs, and he happily kicks them away, his inked hands roughly spreading you even wider.

“desperate little thing, bet you go home after every race and fuck yourself silly wishing it was me, hm?” he adjusts himself between your legs, his thick cock nudging against you entrance, drenching himself in the mess he’d made.

you gasp out a moan as he slides deep, taking his sweet time. you can’t even comprehend his words, totally consumed by the brutally enticing stretch of him, your thighs shaking at the delectable intrusion. he hisses at the sensation of your tight warmth, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck. lewis licks over the sensitive skin, trailing open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth, gentle nips making you shudder on his cock.

“don’t leave a mark.” you choke, and lewis seems to get it, so he skims his teeth lower, sucking purple just over your heart.

you clamp down around him, allured by the tweak of pain, and it seems to spark something in him, his hips rolling into yours experimentally.

“you feel so fucking good.” lewis pants, his breath warm and wet on your neck.

“need you to move.” you plead, turning your head to capture his lips in an urgent kiss.

he pulls out, slamming back into you roughly, your tummy twisting with anticipation. lewis finds a rhythm that suits you both, hips hitting yours with every thrust, each one leaving you full and spent.

“gonna make sure you feel me for days.” he promises, yanking your legs over his hips. as he does, he hits deeper and you yelp, stars in your eyes. “when you sit in the car tomorrow, you’re gonna feel me and remember how to be a good fucking girl, not an attention seeking brat.”

you ramble his name, eyes flooding with tears of overstimulation, dumbfounded at how he seems to hit a new spot with every slide of his cock. he’s digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs, pulling your hips impossibly closer to his as he drives into you, as if he wants to become a part of you, moulded for an eternity. with the way your stomach knots, butterflies and adrenaline coursing through you, you’d comply; you’d let him do whatever he wanted to him anytime he wanted.

“‘m so close.” you whine, pulling on every part of him your hands can reach. a refreshed sense of determination builds in his eyes and he presses hard on your navel.

“so deep, can see it.” lewis slurs, eyes fixed on your belly.

those five words make you unravel, sending you hurtling over the edge. he can’t help but fuck you through it, hammering home while you spasm around him so tight that he struggles to move.

“fucking addicted to this pussy.” lewis groans, burying himself as deep as he can go.

you’re utterly enchanted as you watch him reach his release, gnawing at your bottom lip when his part in a moan, allowing gentle puffs of air to escape. his long eyelashes rest delicately over his cheeks as his eyes fall shut, your name spilling out of his mouth like a needy prayer.

you’re warm from the inside out, flushed and full when he settles, pressing his body weight into you completely.

two weeks later, you’re in japan, bored senseless in yet another press conference. lewis sits further down the couch, and you have to cross your legs every time he speaks. no one seems to notice, except him, of course.

when it’s your turn to speak, and you’re asked all about your little spat with sir lewis back in australia, you shrug, smirking.

“we made up.”

oof

taglist

@mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin @formulaal @carlandoxlestappen

if you wanna be added or removed lemme know! :D

2K notes · View notes

withleeknow · 2 months ago

Text

lifeline.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort kinda?, slice of life?; unedited don't look at me lol word count: 0.7k listen to 🎧: lifeline - the rose note: weeeee it's been a good few months since i last wrote a plotless baby drabble so i might be rusty. in my head this is a companion piece to happy place :) wrote this v randomly bc i was in a mood lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

There’s a touch that Minho is familiar with, one that makes him drop whatever it is that he could be doing just to be there for you.

When your fingers dance across the back of his hand until you reach his wrist, wrapping your fingers around it so you could feel his pulse under your fingertips, he knows to take you into his arms and keep you there until you’re ready to let go.

It’s at the crack of dawn when you’ve just woken up from a bad dream, or in the middle of the dark, dark night when you’re plagued with bouts of uncertainty and your chest feels too heavy to fall asleep. Your hand tentatively traces over his pulse point, and Minho brings you closer, your legs tangled together in the sheets, his lips pressed against your forehead and his voice humming the melody of your favorite song.

It’s on the couch on a stormy evening, the room filled with the neverending patter of rain against the window, loud enough to drown out the trio of cats snoring in the background. You aren’t entirely there, your head is somewhere far away but you still absentmindedly reach for him, your thumb on the underside of his wrist. Minho lets you count the beats for a minute or so, before he pulls you into his lap, no questions asked. He tucks your face into the crook of his neck as he cards his fingers through your hair, gentle against your scalp, soothing when they rub the back of your neck.

It’s right before you both leave for a week-long trip with friends, when he’s hauling your suitcases to the front door but you tug him back by his wrist, and Minho knows that the airport can wait a few more minutes. He’s wrapping you up in his arms in an instance while yours wound around his neck, holding him flush against you as you breathe in his scent, your favorite in the whole wide world.

And it’s even when he’s putting groceries away that you come up to him from behind to hug him close. He rests his hands over yours where your fingers are securely fastened around his middle like a seatbelt, and you instantly untangle them in search of that familiar destination again. You press your forehead against the defined muscles in his back as you feel his pulse, beating steadily right under your thumb. A couple of minutes, it’s your little routine.

When Minho twists his body around in your hold to look at you, he scans your face for traces of discomfort, for any sign that you need him to ground you.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” you say with zero regard for the potatoes and onions that have been abandoned to roll around on the kitchen counter.

Then you’re guiding him down by the neck, a sense of urgency in your movement when you press your lips to his. He kisses you back just as eagerly, not wasting a single second as his hands find their rightful place on your waist.

You kiss him until you’re both breathless, until your cheeks are tinted with the rosiest shade of pink. When he opens his eyes, Minho finds you already looking up at him like you’re wonderstruck, your gaze doused in so much love that it proceeds to knock some more air out of his lungs.

“What was that for?” he manages to ask.

“Just… thank you.” You smile softly, nudging your nose against his before you press another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth for good measure. You’ve got more to say, he can tell.

The thing is, you two aren’t overly vocal about your affection for one another. He doesn’t have to tell you he loves you every hour of every day, and you don’t write him love letters like this is some kind of sappy romance novel.

What you lack in words, you make up for with actions, with an understanding that transcends the kind of love people often dream about. Whenever you search for him in your darkest moments, reaching for him and feeling his heartbeat against your fingertips like that is simply enough light to anchor you, to bring you back home, Minho knows that he’s your lifeline in every way that you are his.

And when you speak again after a brief moment, your voice gentle yet firm, he knows that it isn’t an exaggeration. He knows you mean it.

“I think you saved my life.”

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

515 notes · View notes

soobnny · 4 months ago

Text

dating him | seo changbin

❝ everyone pay attention…. i love my girlfriend ❞

okay hear me out

hear me out …..

seo changbin biggest kisser 🙁🙁🙁

i can just imagine him kissing u all the time

every chance he gets

forehead, chin, neck, cheeks, forehead, lips, WHEREVER.

nowhere is safe

he just thinks u are so beautiful

also just a hunch but he probably is a big thigh kisser i feel like he loves thighs !!!!!

have fun thinking about that

changbin is giving me best friends to lovers type beat

either that or strangers to lovers with a miscommunication twist

picture him accidentally getting ur food order cos u got the exact same thing

and the waiter’s like .. “are u (name)?”

he’s confused at first bc huh no i’m changbin

and then u come over

AND NOW HE IS SO EMBARRASSED

this is embarrassing

this had to happen to him in front of a pretty girl … you … why

that’s the beginning of ur love story

wait i just suddenly thought of something

OK SO here’s an alternative meet cute

you

well…

you can’t park for the life of u

and he’s next in line to u

so he helps u 😭😭😭

like gets out of his car and parks it for u

u offer coffee as thank you

who was he to say no

ANYWAYS fast forward to the present

i feel like ur dates are either dinner cruises or dollar dates

like either extremely expensive

or cute, fun, and cheap

it depends on his mood or the event

he loves spoiling u tho

mention one thing u want and he probably already bought it for u

he just knows u that well

either that or he’s rushing to buy it immediately

OKAY NOW

here are some of the things he does for u

changbin special #1 —> opens all ur jars for u

having a hard time opening ur bottle of water? no worries

changbin to the rescue

want a pickle out of that jar? he’s already grabbing it and opening it for u

u will never touch a jar in ur life anymore

changbin special #2 —> shares his food w u

i feel like food can be one of his love languages

he just wants to be sure u’re eating well and good when you’re with him

PLUS i just watched their interview where the members say he doesn’t share

but with you he does ok !!!!! with u he does

he’d share anything with u 🥹🥹🥹🥹

changbin special #3 —> “saw this and thought of u” text messages

and it’s the cutest things ever

or the most random things

no in between

it’s a coin on the floor or a little squirrel

speaking of texts

he’s the type to spam u with cute messages and emojis

i miss you baby 🥰🥰🥰💗💓💝💘💖💕💕🩷❤️❤️💞💓💞💗💕💘💝💝💖😍😘😘😘🥰😍🥰🥵

changbin special #4 —> piggyback rides

u will never ever have to worry about being tired bc changbin is there to the rescue

he loves it too bc he gets to have u close and he can also hold ur thighs

changbin thigh obsession agenda

he loves running with u behind him

honestly i can def see him as playful at times

but not too fast

he couldn’t risk making u fall

one time it happened and he doesn’t think he could ever forgive himself after seeing the TINIEST scar on ur knee

cleans it up for you and everything

moving on

now here are some of his favorite things to do WITH you

he loves when u guys r just chilling and he has u on his lap

if he could, he would keep u there 24/7

would be the type to pull u on his lap during movie night with the boys

EVEN THO THE COUCH ISN’T EVEN FULL

cue playful vomit noises by the boys

he couldn’t care less

at the end of the day, it’s HIM who has YOU on his LAP

so who’s rly winning

he also loves doing chores to ur favorite songs

mini dance breaks in between

he’d use the broom as his mic

now you have a personal concert from the boy

loves doing girly pop songs

yes he’s singing that boy is mine by ariana grande

yes he’s also doing the tiktok choreography

and YES HE’S ABSOLUTELY EATING IT UP

yes btw, he would film tiktoks with u

you’d send him a like and he’s just down every single time

you’d even catch him trying to memorize the choreo on his free time

u know that yeah glo tiktok .. yup he’s rapping

just ANYTHING with u

and ofc how could i ever leave out gym dates

the first time u accepted to go to the gym with him, he was convinced he could die right there

he would die a happy man

he’s happy u’re sharing his passion w him

(even more if u aren’t rly a gym person before him so he appreciates it even more)

HEART EYES when he sees u in ur gym fit

buys u everything

all the outfits and whatever u need

becomes protective at the gym

but he does everything for u

cleans the equipment before u use it

spots for u and things like that

anything for u

princess treatment fr

side eye at the guys looking at u

u would suddenly feel a figure behind u

don’t worry, it’s just changbin trying to show everyone that he’s the lucky guy that got u

he’s quite ltrly ur watermark

he also loves that cliche push up thing where u’re underneath him and he kisses u everytime he goes down

oh did i tell u he has one of those ‘i ❤️ my gf” shirts

and he LOVES wearing them in public

he’s so cheeky with it

hmmmmm what else

OH he rly enjoys making silly faces at each other from across the room

he always makes u laugh

and smthn i see happening is him trying to do legos with u but he rage quits

changbin also gives me healthy communicator

but like

u have to give him a bit of space first

he can get angry so the moment he does, he asks u for a moment

cos i feel that he’s easy to upset

when he’s sure he won’t take it out on u

and when he’s sure he’s a bit more level headed

he’ll ask if u two can finally talk abt it

good job changbin

anyways

at the end of the day

the boys are sick of u two

they know everything about u

PLUS he always has a stupid smile on his face whenever he talks about u

I LOVE LOVE !!!!!

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

711 notes · View notes

darlingdaisyfarm · 27 days ago

Text

cigarettes after sex

tags: mullet!stan pines, fem!reader, mentions of alcohol and smoking, nsfw, sexual themes, depression, ptsd, drunk sex, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, inspired by cigarettes after sex songs, so I recommend to listen some while reading that :)

Stan hasn't been himself since the portal swallowed Ford up.

His life is ruined, his mind is ruined, everything is ruined. Every single night, he’s hunched over the journals, Ford’s stupid, cryptic notes that Stan can’t figure out, can’t understand, but wants to. It's like trying to read in the dark. He knows there’s something in them, some answer, but it’s out of his reach and every time he thinks about his brother being gone, his chest tightens, that guilt slamming into him so hard he feels like he can’t breathe so he drowns in his own tears.

Stanley knows he’s not the smart one, never was, and now it feels like he’s lost every chance to make things right. The lab is his prison. The cigarettes are his only escape, one after another until the ashtray overflows, the smell of smoke permanently clinging to everything in this place. His eyes burn from lack of sleep, the bags under them deep and dark and he doesn’t bother to clean himself up anymore. What’s the point? He’s all alone. Again.

Tonight, something changes. He can’t sit in that goddamn lab for another second, can’t stare at those useless pages with his head spinning. So, he stumbles out into the cold and ends up at the bar down the street — the only place still open this late.

When he walks in, he’s already halfway drunk and you spot him immediately from across the room. It’s not hard; the guy’s a walking disaster. His coat is rumpled, hair a tangled mess, and his eyes are empty, hollowed out like he’s already lost something far more important than money. You've seen a lot of people sink to the bottom, but this guy sank even lower than most.

Stan doesn’t notice you at first. He barely notices anything as he stumbles up to the bar, hands trembling as he grips the counter. His cigarette hangs loose between his fingers, half burnt and about to fall, but he’s too out of it to care. He leans heavily against the bar, head down like the weight of his own body is too much.

“Whiskey,” he grumbles. “whatever’s cheap.”

The bartender glances at him, sizing him up with a frown. Stan looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, hasn’t eaten much either. It’s written all over him, the sag of his shoulders, the unsteady sway when he tries to straighten up.

The bartender slides the glass toward Stan, but before he even picks it up, he’s already mumbling something under his breath, little grin pulling at his lips. “Don’t think I got the money for this, pal.”

He downs the drink in one go, barely wincing as the burn hits his throat and for a moment, you think he might get away with it. But the bartender’s patience is wearing thin. He scowls, leaning in with narrowed eyes, clearly not in the mood to deal with Stan’s shit tonight.

“I’m not running a charity here,” the bartender snaps. “you pay or you leave.”

Stan grins, and it’s the saddest, most pathetic thing you’ve ever seen. “What, no freebies? Guess I’ll have to put it on my tab.” he laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

The bartender looks about two seconds from throwing Stan out on his ass and for some reason, you find yourself moving before you even realise it. Sliding off your seat, you walk over. Stan doesn’t notice you until you’re standing right next to him, and even then, his gaze is unfocused, blurry as fuck.

Before things get ugly, you step in, sliding a couple bills across the counter, “I’ll cover it.”

The bartender takes the money without a word, though you can feel the tension of the situation, he’s definitely bothered and not in the mood. Stan looks at you, bleary-eyed, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re real or just another hallucination. His mouth twists into that lopsided grin again, but there’s something softer about it this time, like he’s genuinely surprised someone bothered to step in.

He’s too drunk to notice the bartender’s scowl as you grab him by the arm, hauling him to his feet. He stumbles, almost dragging you down with him, but you manage to keep him upright, though just barely.

“Hey, thanks, sweetheart,” he slurs, blinking at you like he’s trying to clear the fog in his head. “didn’t know I’d be gettin’ free drinks tonight.”

He tries to stand up straighter, but the alcohol’s got a firm grip on him. His body sways dangerously so you reach out, grabbing his arm to keep him steady. He’s heavier than you expected, way too much, his body leaning against yours as you pull him away from the bar.

“Come on,” you mutter, dragging him toward the door. “let’s get you out of here before you piss off anyone else.”

Stan stumbles along beside you, his steps unsteady, barely able to keep himself upright. He’s mumbling something under his breath, words too slurred to make out, because he’s so fucking drunk, but you can tell it’s nothing good. Outside, the cold hits you both like a slap to the face. The winter air is brutal, biting through your clothes and cutting through the haze of alcohol that’s been clouding Stan’s head.

“Jesus, it’s freezing out here,” he mutters, blinking against the cold. His breath comes out in visible puffs, his flushed face suddenly looking even redder in the harsh chill. Then he looks at you. “So what, you my babysitter now?

This time you have to shove him back against the wall just to keep him upright. His back hits the cold brick with a dull thud, and he lets out a low, drunken laugh, his head tipping back to rest against the wall.

“Ohh, you gonna pin me here? gotta say, I’m not usually into this kinda thing, but for you, sweetheart, I might make an exception.” his body sags, leaning heavily into the wall as he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. “or are you just waiting for me to do something stupid?”

Your brows furrow at that, irritation flaring in your chest. “What are you talking about?”

He’s a mess, a complete disaster, but there’s something about him that makes it hard to walk away. Maybe it’s the way he’s still trying to crack jokes, even when he’s clearly drowning in his own misery. Maybe it’s the way his hands tremble, even though he’s trying to play it off like he doesn’t care.

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes half-lidded as he stares up at the sky. Stan chuckles. “Well, I could just. . . y’know. Throw myself off a cliff. Put an end to all this crap. What’s one more dead Pines, huh?”

He’s not joking anymore. There’s something raw in his voice, he sounds way too hurt, too honest, too broken that makes your stomach twist. You don’t really know what to answer on that. You aren’t that good at supporting people, but supporting drunk guy? He’ll barely hear what you’ll tell him.

You pull a cigarette from your pocket, lighting it up with quick movements, because cold air stinging your fingers. Stan watches you through half-lidded eyes, his breath visible in the frigid air.

“Hey,” he mutters. “mind if I bum one off ya?”

You hand him a cigarette without a word, and he takes it, his fingers still shaking from cold or. . . as he lights it. He leans back against the wall, the smoke curling around his face as he exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.

Neither of you speak after that. There’s nothing to say. You don’t know how to start a talk either. Is it even needed?

Stan’s a complete mess, the kind you don't want to get too close to. But as you stand there, cigarette smoke curling between your fingers, you can’t tear your eyes off him. He’s slumped against the wall, looking like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders or maybe that’s just the whiskey. You wonder why the hell you bothered to drag him out here in the first place. He’s a disaster and his weird comments aren’t helping, they just disturb you.

You take another drag, feeling the bitter taste of nicotine hit your lungs, and for a moment, you think about just walking away. He’s not your problem. You’ve done your good deed for the night and the cold air is starting to bite at your skin. Just leave him here. He’ll figure it out, or. . . he won’t. Either way, it’s not your concern.

But just as you’re about to turn and go, Stan mumbles something under his nose. It’s faint, too quiet to catch.

“. . . should’ve never messed with the damn portal.”

You blink. Portal? The word echoes in your mind, that’s surprising, intriguing. What the hell is he talking about? You glance at him again, but his eyes are fluttering shut, his body slumping further against the wall.

“Hey,” you say, stepping closer. “what did you just say?”

Stan’s lips move, but no sound comes out, he’s completely out of it. Your eyes widen in shock as you say “hey, man” louder to get him back to his senses, but before you can react, his knees buckle and he collapses, dead weight against the cold ground.

“Holy shit!” you drop your cigarette, your hands immediately going to his shoulders, trying to shake him awake. His head lolls to the side, completely out cold

Of course. Of fucking course! He’s drunk off his ass, hasn’t slept, probably hasn’t eaten anything substantial in days. You run a hand through your hair, staring down at him, your mind racing.

You’re not sure what the hell to do with this guy. You don’t even know him. But something in your gut twists, something telling you to stay, to not leave him lying here like this.

***

He’s strange, sure. But why does that word “portal” keep sticking in your head?

Days pass, but your thoughts keep drifting back to him. That night, his ramblings, the look in his eyes before he passed out. You shouldn’t care. He’s just some guy, a random drunk you stumbled across. But you’ve always been a curious person. You keep thinking about how broken he looked, how utterly wrecked he seemed and you wonder what could’ve driven him to that point.

You’re out in town again, aimlessly wandering the streets of Gravity Falls, and without even realizing it, you find yourself back at the bar where you met him. It’s the same cold winter night, what makes your body shake from chill no matter how many layers you’ve got on.

You stand outside with a cigarette, your breath mixing with the smoke. Your mind’s still on him, on that weird stranger. You can’t help but wonder if he’s alright. Probably not? Guys like that don’t bounce back easy.

You take another drag, exhaling slowly, your thoughts swirling. You think about how he stumbled around, barely able to stay on his feet, and for some reason you smile. It’s ridiculous, really. He’s such a loser. But there was something strangely. . . cute about it all. God, why are you even thinking about him

Suddenly, the door to the bar swings open, and a familiar figure stumbles out into the cold. You blink, and sure enough, it’s him. That drunk weird guy. Same red jacket, same disheveled look, but this time he doesn’t seem quite as far gone. Still drunk, but not teetering on the edge like last time.

The bouncer gives him a shove, muttering something about not coming back without cash and Stan nearly trips over his own feet before catching himself. He stands there for a moment, muttering insults and then his eyes land on you. His gaze lingers, squinting through the haze of alcohol, and recognition slowly dawns on his face. He straightens up, well, as much as a guy like him can, and adjusts his jacket, trying to look somewhat presentable.

“Well, well, if it ain’t my guardian angel,” he says with a grin.

You raise an eyebrow, flicking the ash from your cigarette. “didn’t know angels had to drag drunks out of bars.”

Stan laughs, but it’s more of a low chuckle. “do I know you? I feel—“ he hiccups. “fuck, feel like I should know your name. . .”

“I never told you, dummy.”

Stan stares at you for a moment, processing that, and then he smiles wider. “Ah, right. Guess I can’t forget what I never knew.” he winks, but it’s sloppy, and you can’t help but smile back.

He takes a step toward you, leaning against the wall beside you. “Y’know, I gotta thank ya for payin’ for me back there. ‘Specially since that whiskey was crap. Worst I’ve had in years.”

You snort, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Yeah, and that’s why you drank all of it, right? real convincing, man.”

He chuckles again, running a hand through his brown hair. “What can I say? Gotta give every drink a fair shot. Even the bad ones.”

You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. The guy’s a mess, sure, but there’s something oddly charming about his complete lack of shame. He’s so human. Flawed and ridiculous, but human. And funny.

For a while, neither of you say much, just standing there under the night sky, the snow crunching beneath your feet as you walk slowly down the street. The cold bites at your skin, but it feels less harsh with him beside you, talking about nothing in particular. He rambles about the bar, about the bartender, about how he’s been kicked out of worse places, but there’s an ease to it, like he’s just talking to fill the silence.

And for some reason, you don’t mind it. His company is strangely nice. Despite everything.

As you walk, you glance over at him, still trying to figure out what it is about this guy that’s gotten under your skin. He’s weird, yeah. Definitely not what you’d call put-together.

He catches your gaze and smirks, a little lopsided but softer this time. “What, you like what you see?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not even close.”

***

Over time, you start to see Stanford Stan more regularly. It's never planned, never some formal arrangement. He’s just there, outside that same dive bar, smoking under the dim streetlight or wandering down the streets with his red jacket pulled tight against the cold. And every time, you find yourself walking beside him, talking about nothing and everything.

It’s not like you’re close, not really. He doesn’t open up, never gives you much more than surface-level comments or dumb jokes to deflect anything too personal. You only know what he lets slip, and even that feels like more than you should. He insists his name is Stanford, though something about it always sounds. . . off.

Stanley thinks he’s idiot. It’s a role he’s playing, a mask he’s not ready to take off, won’t take for for the next thirty years.

One night, after you’ve met up for what feels like the hundredth time, you finally ask him why he’s always drunk when you see him. It’s been bugging you for a while, how every time you meet, he reeks of whiskey and stale cigarettes, eyes glassy, speech slurred, sometimes flirting with you or winking dumbly at you. You’ve tried to ignore it, but tonight the question just slips out.

Stan pauses, cigarette halfway to his lips. You think he’s not going to answer, but then he takes a drag, exhaling slowly before speaking. “Helps me think,” he mutters. “keeps the noise out.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Noise?”

He shrugs, leaning back against the wall, his eyes scanning the street. “Yeah. The crap up here. Some people got quiet minds, y’know? Not me. Gotta slow it down.”

It’s vague, cryptic. You don’t push for more. You’ve learned by now that pressing Stan doesn’t get you anywhere. He only shares what he wants, and even then, it’s always layered in something else, sarcasm, a joke, some offhand comment that makes it hard to tell what’s real and what’s just him deflecting.

Nevertheless, there is something in the way he says it that does not leave you indifferent. The way he looks when he mentions his thoughts, as if there's something more hiding under the surface that booze and cigarettes can't hide. You wonder what’s rattling around in his brain, what kind of shit he’s trying so hard to drown out.

Time passes, and your strange friendship, or whatever it is, continues. Nothing changes. You meet up, you talk, you walk through the streets of Gravity Falls, smoking and trading stories. Stan makes jokes, you laugh, and somehow, despite everything, you find yourself growing more comfortable around him.

But he never lets you in, not really. You can only guess at what’s going on in his life, at what’s driving him to the bottom of a bottle every time you see him. It’s frustrating in a way, how closed off he is, how he seems determined to keep everything buried. There’s a part of him that’s afraid to let you see the real him, afraid to show just how broken he really is.

You start to ask him more personal questions, though he always dodges them with some half-assed joke. Like the time you asked him about his hair. His mullet, to be specific. It’s a mess, now unruly and overgrown, and you can’t help but wonder why the hell he refuses to cut it.

“Why don’t you change a haircut?” you ask teasingly. “you look like you haven’t touched it in years.”

Stan just grins, flicking his cigarette into the street. “Ah, what can I say? Chicks dig the mullet.”

What you don’t know is that Stan’s too scared to look at himself in the mirror.

The way he avoids mirrors, the way his eyes flicker away if he catches his own reflection for even a second. It’s not about the hair, it’s about something deeper. Every time he sees his reflection, it’s not his face he sees, it’s Ford’s. If he cuts his hair, changes anything, he’s worried he’ll lose himself completely, that he’ll become the brother he’s spent his whole life running from. It’s not something he’d ever tell you, though. That’s way too deep for the guy who lives behind a wall of bad jokes and alcohol.

Stan never talks about his past. You’ve asked, but he always deflects with a joke or changes the subject. The most you’ve gotten out of him is when something goes wrong, he drops something, or his stupid car won’t start, or even when he just stumbles over his own feet. He’ll shake his head, muttering to himself, “Screw-up. Always been a screw-up.” It’s weird, like it’s the only thing he knows how to be.

It bothers you. You don’t get it. Yeah, he’s a mess, but this weird obsession with calling himself a screw-up, like it’s some kind of mantra, doesn’t make sense to you. You don’t know where it’s coming from, but every time he says it, you see a flash of something bitter in his eyes, like he’s heard those words so many times they’ve become part of him.

What you don’t realize is that those words are burned into him. His father used to call him a screw-up, over and over until it became his identity. And then there was Ford, his golden child of a brother, the smart one, the successful one. Stan’s always felt like the lesser of the two, never quite measuring up, always stuck in his brother’s shadow. He’s spent his whole life trying to live down to that title, like it’s all he’s worth. Stan was a kid, who heard those words over and over until they stuck, until he couldn’t see himself as anything else.

You can’t fix what’s already broken. But that doesn’t stop you from trying. Something about Stan makes you want to help, even though you know you can’t. He’s too far gone, too buried in his own mess. Still, you keep coming back. Maybe out of curiosity, maybe out of some sense of hope.

***

Another night, another round of drinks. The two of you sit at the bar, glasses clinking against the wood, the air is filled with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. Stan’s already a few drinks in, and you’re not far behind. You laugh at something he says, probably another dumb joke, but you’re not really paying attention. Your mind is clouded, your body is hot from drinking, and before you know it, your gaze slides over his lips.

It’s stupid. You’re both drunk, and this is Stanford, the guy who can barely keep his life together, let alone maintain a relationship. But the way he looks right now, disheveled and messy, his lips curling into that cocky grin, makes your heart race.

His lips. Your lips. Apocalypse.

The kiss happens fast, messy, without warning. One minute you’re sitting there, and the next, his lips are on yours, rough and dry. It’s not graceful, not soft. It’s desperate, like he’s been holding something back for too long, and now it’s all spilling out at once.

The kiss deepens, but you don’t care. His mouth moves against yours, hungry, needy, like he’s searching for something, like that’s what he needed all those years. Human touch and someone else's warmth.

You’re both drunk, of course. Maybe that’s the only way it could’ve happened.

Stan tastes like smoke and cheap liquor, the bitterness lingering on your tongue as his hands slide up your back, pulling you in. You can feel the heat of his body, the way his chest presses against yours.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is a mistake, stupid drunk accident. But then he kisses you harder, his hand tangling in your hair and all thoughts of logic fly out the window. This isn’t about fixing him. You don’t care about anything except the fact that Stanford, the complete disaster of a man you’ve somehow gotten tangled up with, is kissing you like the world’s about to end.

His hands are rough, clumsy as they cup your face, and it’s all heat and desperation, like neither of you know what the hell you’re doing, but you don’t want to stop.

You’re not sure how it happened so quickly, one second, you were sitting at the bar, laughing, your lips crashing into his, and now you’re pressed against the cold wall of the bathroom. The neon lights of the bar barely make their way out from under the door, flooding the room with a dim glow as Stan presses you against the sink.

Stan kisses like an animal, like he’s trying to lose himself in the moment, drown out everything that’s weighing on him. Like he’s searching for some kind of escape. The alcohol has dulled his brain, but not enough to make him forget. He needs something more, something real to pull him out of the relentless spiral of thoughts, of portals, journals and the constant gnawing guilt.

Stan needs to lose himself in something, anything else. And tonight, that something is you.

His big hands are on you, one sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair, tugging you even closer as he deepens the kiss. He groans into your mouth and you feel how his hard cock presses through his jeans as he pushes you against the sink in the bar's bathroom. You feel like you’re burning from the inside out, every nerve igniting under his touch, his mouth trailing down your jaw, leaving a scorching path along your skin.

You barely notice when the door creaks open, someone stepping into the small, dimly lit room.

“Bathroom’s occupied, unless you wanna watch, but that’ll cost you.” Stan snaps, irritated as he glares at the stranger. The man stutters away quickly and the door slams shut with a loud bang.

Before you can say something, he’s kissing you again, hard, desperate, rough, demanding.

You moan into his mouth, tangling your finger in his brown hair, tugging him closer, and the word slips out between your breaths. “Stanford. . .”

Stan freezes and that name seems to knock all the alcohol out of his blood. It feels like something heavy and wrong between you, Stan's gaze is blank, like he's not here at all. It’s his brother’s name, the one he’s stolen, the one he’s buried himself under. You look at him and see something in his eyes. Regret. Guilt. That endless pain that’s been eating at him for as long as he can remember. You don't know what's going on, but you want to solve this damn mystery so badly. What's wrong with this man?

But then it’s all gone, replaced by that cocky grin.

“Stan’s fine, sweetheart. Trust me.”

His hands fumble with your pants, yanking them down roughly, desperately, his fingers massaging and rubbing you through your underwear. You’re already soaking, practically trembling from his touch, and he groans when he feels it, his fingers sliding through your wetness.

“Shit, you’re so wet for me,” he growls. “fuckin’ perfect, baby.”

You moan, head tilting back, the sensation overwhelming as he slides two fingers inside you, rough and fast. He’s not gentle, not tonight, there’s no time for that, no point for that too. He’s desperate and it shows in the way his thick fingers pump into you, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit in the most delicious way.

“St-Stan—“ you moan, looking down at his fingers thrusting into you.

“Please, don’t say it, don’t say that name,”meanwhile, Stan thinks, hoping your drunken mind has figured it out.

“—fuck me,” your last words make him breathe a sigh of relief. Good girl. And then he’s yanking your panties down as he have you bent over the sink, your palms pressing into the cold porcelain and you barely have time to register the sound of his belt hitting the floor before you feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he lines himself up. “I’m gonna fuck you right here, right now. And you’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

You moan, nodding, pressing back against him, desperate for the stretch, to feel him inside you because your brain can't think of anything else but getting fucked hard in the bathroom of a bar. “Please, Stan— please, use me!”

And he obeys, slamming into you, burying himself deep in one rough, brutal thrust that actually hurts, but your drunk state doesn’t care much. You gasp, his cock fills you so completely you can barely breathe, you cry out, your body arching, but Stan's hand is holding you back, pressing on your back to keep you in place and he groans. It’s overwhelming you, a mix of pain and pleasure and you can’t stop moans that escapes your lips as he starts to move, his cock sliding in and out of you with rough thrusts.

“Huh, oh jesus fuck, baby, yer tight,” Stan grits out between ragged breaths, his voice hoarse. He pulls back only to slam into you again, harder this time, his hips snapping against yours with a brutal rhythm that has you gasping.

“Staaann—!” you whimper his real name again, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink for dear life, his cock so deep it’s like he’s claiming every part of you. “Oh, fuck-fuck-fuck!”

“my fucking god, baby,” he groans, his dick hitting that spot deep inside you that has your body trembling. His fingers find your clit, rubbing in quick circles as he fucks you harder. “you feel so fuckin’ good, doll, so tight around my cock.”

Of course, there's a mirror hanging over the sink, and Stan glances up, wanting to see your fucked-out expression, how gorgeous your face looks when he's pounding into you like this. But, almost spitefully, his eyes land on himself instead. He wants to look away, he should look away, but something makes him stop. For the first time in years, the reflection staring back at him is someone else. Not his twin. Not his nerdy brother. No, not Stanford. Ford would never end up like this. Never get so fucking dirty.

Stan sees himself for what he is. What he's become. Hair disheveled, drunk, filthy, fucking in a bar bathroom. Ford would never be like this. Stan, you piece of shit, you're a disgrace to your brother's name, Stanley thinks.

But then your moans reach his ears, pulling him back, reminding him where he is. Thank God the bar music is loud enough to cover you. He blinks, realizing he's let the pace slip, and his hands tighten on your hips, his grip hard enough to bruise, grounding himself.

You’re a mess of moans and gasps, your body shaking, your warm walls tightening around him as the pleasure builds. “Stan— fuck, I’m gonna—”

Stan leans into you as much as the position allows, one hand tangling in your hair, tugging hard enough to make the roots sting, though in your drunken haze, you barely even feel it.

“Do it,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck. “Cum for me. I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

And you do, the orgasm rips through you, your body convulsing as you cry out, your walls squeezing around him what makes Stan groan, his fingers digging into your hips, thrusting harder, faster, chasing his own release. You can feel him throbbing inside you and then he’s pulling out, his hand wrapping around his cock as he strokes himself, his cum spilling hot and thick onto your skin.

***

The days began to stretch into weeks. Time wasn’t something you paid attention to anymore, not since that night. You could still feel him sometimes, his rough hands ghosting over your skin, the taste of whiskey and cigarettes lingering long after he’d left, his groans, the way he said your name. It hadn’t been anything gentle or romantic that night, just bodies lost in drunken hunger. And after that, you hadn’t seen much of him since, not like before.

You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe that night had ruined something between you. Maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe he’d felt nothing, and you’d been stupid to think it could’ve been anything more. The way his lips had pressed against yours, hungry, desperate, hadn’t felt like love. He was drunk, did he even know who he was kissing? Your anxiety was growing, your thoughts were fighting one another. It wasn’t love. It had been something else entirely, it was raw and messy. You knew it wasn’t love, just a night. It wasn’t tender or slow; there were no whispered promises of endless love, marriage, kids, whatever “all happy” people have. Just a desperate fuck, not some grand confession of feelings. Whatever had been between you before — it felt like it was ruined, as if that thing in the bathroom had burned everything else to ash.

Stanford had disappeared, leaving you with silence and your own thoughts, and you believed that he regretted it. Maybe it was just too much for him.

However, Stanley, he couldn’t shake the feeling of your lips on his, the way they were so warm, because no one had ever kissed him with that kind of passion before. He wasn’t used to that, to being touched like that. His entire life, he believed nobody really liked him. Not like this. Hell, even his own family had given up on him at some point. Except for his mom, she’d always tried to love him, even when he couldn’t love himself.

He tried to ignore the way his chest ached when he thought about you, tried to drown it out with more cigarettes, more drinks, he tried, but failed because nothing worked. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. Stan was getting attached to you, he knew it, even when he didn’t want to admit it. Even without alcohol, without the nicotine to calm his nerves, he knew he wanted you and your presence. It wasn’t just lust. It was something deeper, something that scared the fuck out of him because he wasn’t used to it. And maybe that’s why he’d been avoiding you. Because how the hell was he supposed to deal with feelings he didn’t even know how to name? Stan always felt that people didn’t love him, they tolerated him.

With you, for the first time in a long time, Stan had felt like he mattered. Like he was seen.

It scared him a lot.

***

Spring came early that year, and with it, the world outside the window seemed to come to life. Gravity Falls blossomed with colors you hadn't noticed before — the world is painted in bright greens and soft pastel tones, flowers made their way through the ground, as if the whole town was shaking off the cold and waking up. And that's when you saw him again.

You weren’t expecting to run into Stanford like this, not here, not in daylight, when spring is blooming around you. He was standing at the edge of the road, hands shoved into his pockets, a slight frown on his face like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be here. But then his eyes met yours and he didn’t look away this time.

There was no alcohol, no bar lights casting shadows on his face. Just sober Stan, the man who had kissed you with so much need that it had nearly broken you.

“Hey,” he called out and you immediately responded with excited “hi!” you smiled, he stood there, waiting for you to come closer. When you did, there was a long pause, neither of you quite sure what to say. His eyes flicked down nervously and you noticed it then, the subtle change, not too noticeable. Had he fixed his mullet a bit? It wasn’t much, but it was. . . cleaner. Neater, like he’d put in just a little more effort. Like maybe he had been planning on running into you.

“Uh, you wanna grab some coffee or somethin’?” Stan asked, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to play it cool, but the way he shifted on his feet betrayed him. He was nervous. Actually nervous. You hadn’t seen that in him before. “I figured we could, ya know, talk. Maybe. If that’s somethin’ you wanna do, of course.”

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That’s how two of you ended in a small café nearby, the conversation light at first, both of you avoiding that specific term about. . . Doesn’t matter.

It was much easier to talk about the weather, or the weirdness of Gravity Falls, or how spring had made the town feel alive again. But every now and then, your eyes would meet and you exchanged awkward laughs and smiles.

“So, uh. . . I gotta ask,” Stan started. “did ya notice somethin’ different?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think for a moment before grinning. “Your hair? you mean you actually put effort into it?”

He smiled back at you. “Yeah, well, figured I’d try to clean up a bit. Y’know, look a little less like a bum.”

You laughed, feeling warmth blooming in your chest. It was such a small thing, but it felt significant to you. Like he’d actually cared enough to try for you, impress you maybe. And that meant more than you could say.

***

Nights bled into days and days slipped back into nights. Time seemed to blur together, the moon swapped places with the sun over and over. And here you were, tangled in the sheets of Stan’s bed, staring at the ceiling, while the moonlight filtered through the triangle-shaped window, the soft glow of it lays over your face, feels like the world outside was holding its breath just for you.

Things between you and Stan had shifted in ways you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t quick or loud. At end, Stan let you get closer, but piece by piece, he was afraid you might notice if he let you too far in all at once.

The first time Stanley let you hug him, really hug him, was late in night. You weren’t sure how it had happened, it wasn’t planned, you reached for him first. You didn’t even think about it, just pulled him close. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him carefully at first, waiting for him to tell you to stop. But he didn’t. Stan stiffened at first, because the idea of being held was foreign to him, something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to do. Then his face buried against your shoulder, and at first, you thought he was just tired, resting, taking what he needed and nothing more. But then you felt it. The dampness against your skin.

You realized with a sinking heart that Stan was crying.

It wasn’t loud. No sobs, no gasping breaths. Just silent bitter tears soaking through your shirt, his grip tightening on you like he was afraid you might disappear, just like his brother. His body trembled slightly, now he couldn’t hide anymore. It broke something in you, seeing him like this, this man felt so small in your arms.

He clung to you like a child, because no one had held him in years. No one, no one had hugged him like this since he left his family.

You sighed and held him tighter, feeling his tears soak into your skin. Stan wasn’t just crying about tonight, he was crying for all the years he’d spent running, for all the times he’d pushed people away because it was easier than getting hurt. He was crying because, for the first time in so long, someone was holding him, and it wasn’t just physical, it reminded him of what it felt like to be cared for. To not be alone.

Your hand gently stroking the back of his head, letting him melt into you like the child he probably hadn’t been allowed to be in years. Decades, maybe. For the first time, Stan didn’t feel like the tough man you knew him as. He felt small, fragile, like he was that little boy again, the one who had been left behind, pushed out of his family and told to figure it all out on his own.

Stanley pulled back, wiping his face roughly with the back of his hand, embarrassed as he looked down. But you didn't give him time to think again and regret his actions, you didn’t let him feel that shame for long. You reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table, handing one to him without a word. Stan took it and you lit it for him, the soft click of the lighter the only sound in the room.

You sat together in that silence of the night, both of you smoking. You weren’t drunk this time and that made everything feel more real, clear. It wasn’t about the cigarettes, though. It was the quiet between you, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel uncomfortable or awkward. Stan wasn’t running anymore, he could finally relax, finally let himself breathe.

He looked up at the night sky, at the Milky Way stretching above you and smiled then, just a little, but it was there. A real, sincere smile. You hadn’t seen that on him before, not like this. It wasn’t the cocky grin he wore after dumb compliments or the smirk that followed some joke. This was softer. Stanley stared at the stars, his eyes reflecting the distant light and you wondered what he was thinking about. But while he was smiling, you were calm.

Stanford, real Stanford, he’s always been somewhere up there. In the stars, in the galaxies, in other world, always lost in science and mathematics, in things Stanley never really understood.

Nights passed like this more often, where it wasn’t about the rush of everything. He didn’t have to keep running anymore, didn’t have to keep pretending he didn’t care. He’d gotten soft around you in a way that surprised both of you, but it felt right. He could relax now. He could let himself be vulnerable.

One night, after the smoking had long stopped, after the silence had stretched between you in that comfortable way again, the two of you ended up in his bed. Not in the desperate lust way you had before, but in a way that felt natural. Like this was where you both belonged, in each other’s arms.

Stan was lying on your chest, his head resting against you as you calmingly ran your fingers through his hair, the brown strands slipping through your hands. He let out a long, contented sigh, relaxing into your touch.

You felt his breath against your skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest in sync with yours, and that made you understand just how fragile he really was. He never was the tough guy he always tried to be. Stanley Pines was was just a man trying to figure out how to feel again.

Stan’s arms wrapped loosely around you, holding on but not out of desperation this time. Just out of comfort. Out of need.

You smiled softly, your fingers still tangled in his hair. “I’m not going anywhere, Stan.”

And for the first time, he believed it and smiled.

***

It wasn’t in Stan’s nature to lay everything out in some big, romantic gesture, not now. This will happen later when he gets older, much older. So there was no official conversation, no ‘what are we now?’ that hung awkwardly in the air.

It happened one evening, at dusk, because at this time of day people always become more sincere and honest, the two of you sitting on the back porch, sharing the silence in the way you’d grown to love. He had that usual cigarette between his lips, the glow of the ember flickering in the dark and you were watching the stars. That's when he said it, which in his language meant “I love you”:

“I think I like you best when you’re just with me and no one else.”

That was his way of telling you. You didn’t need him to say the word love. You understood him well enough by now to know that what he felt was real and that was all you needed.

You didn’t ask him to clarify, didn’t push for more. Stan was never someone you could push. Instead, you waited. You knew he would tell you everything in time. He just needed to get there on his own, at his own pace.

Sometimes he’d disappear into the lab, working on some thing he barely explained, shrugging it off with that typical grumble about science and mathematics. “It’s all bullshit anyway,” he’d say, tossing his hands in the air. “I ain’t ever understood that crap.”

“Not like my brother, he’s the smart one.” Stanley continued in his thoughts.

Then you started noticing the small changes. The way the bottles that once cluttered his desk and the corners of the shack were fewer now. He still drank, yeah, but not like before. He wasn’t drowning himself in it anymore. It was like he was learning, little by little, how to exist without that forever haze of alcohol clouding his thoughts, feelings and memories.

Stan was still scared though. He was scared of a lot of things, scared you’d leave, scared you’d find out something about him and realise you couldn’t stay. And then there were the nightmares. The ones he never talked about, but they were all the same, repeating every time. You’d wake in the middle of the night to find him tense beside you, his breathing uneven, his hands gripping the sheets as though he was trying to hold on to something slipping away.

That haunted him. The portal, always the portal. He’d never say it, at least not now. He’s not ready yet. He’s terrified that somehow, you’d be pulled into it too, just like Ford. That one day you’d be gone and he’d be alone again, abandoned forever.

But when your lips touches his in slow kiss, when you brush your fingers through his messy hair and kiss his forehead, all these fears are washed away. You’d hold him close, feel his body relax against yours and slowly, slowly, his breathing would steady as the nightmares faded. There he stops dreaming about portals and disappearances. Instead, he sleeps deeply, peacefully, like a normal human being.

In the mornings, he’d stay in bed longer than you, his eyes still closed when you slipped out from under the covers. He’d stretch, arms reaching out lazily, that rough voice of his so sleepy. “Sweetheart, come right back,” he’d mumble. “i’ve been waitin’ for you to slip back in bed.” he’d smile when he’d feel your warm body next to his.

That’s what made you fall in love with him harder.

The way he was always a bit softer in the mornings, not yet fully awake and not needing to be. He wasn’t running anymore. Not from you, not from himself. For the first time in what felt like forever, Stan was learning what it meant to just be. To exist in the quiet moments. He still smoked, but it wasn’t to escape anymore, it was just a part of him, something familiar, habit.

Stanley had spent so much of his life running, from his past, from laws, cops, states, from his brother, from his mistakes. But with you, for the first time, he wasn’t running anymore. He was staying.

#stanley pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls smut #x reader #gravity falls x you #stan pines x reader #stanford pines #gravity falls #stanley pines x you #stan pines smut #stan pines #stanley pines #grunkle stan #stan pines x you #stan pines x oc #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls fanfic #mullet stan #gravity falls fanfiction

385 notes · View notes

berryyuni · 9 months ago

Text

jake as your boyfriend headcanons

pairing - bf!jake x gn!reader genre - est. relationship, fluff wc - 646 warnings - skinship, pet names, mention of jealousy, kissing

౨ৎ reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated !! <3 ✧˖° ... (library)

jake always carries a picture of you in his wallet. he likes the idea of being able to bring you everywhere he goes. it works to his benefit if he's away on tour. whenever he's buying something, the first thing he'll see is your face. a smile grows on his face every time which earns him a stare from the cashier.

jake's locksceen is a picture of either you or the two of you. if he's lucky enough - meaning that if you let him, he'll have a matching lockscreen with you. just to show off that fact that he's taken, he'll purposely turn on his phone just for it to display his lockscreen.

speaking of photos, jake has so so many pictures of you. candid, silly, cute, you name it. he'll most likely have them. he also keeps an album dedicated to you and only you. yeah, he's down bad.

he's very big on having matching jewelry with you specifically rings and bracelets. it makes him feel giddy inside.

he LOVES to spoil you. as much as you tell him to not, he WILL insist so there's really no point in arguing. he's always thinking about you so of course he'll buy you things when he's in another area.

if he's feeling extra romantic, he will by you prada and tiffany & co products (buddy has to stay loyal to his brands)

jake is absolutely head over heels in love with you. you're his pride and joy. his everything and it shows.

he knows every single thing about you and he low-key flexes that to everyone he talks to

adding to that, he mentions you very often and will gush over you.

jake sends you good morning and good night messages. if he forgets, he'll feel so bad about it and you always reassure him that it's okay.

he makes you a playlist of the songs that remind him of your relationship.

jake gets so giggly around you. something about you brings out the inner school boy in him. AND he gets super smiley and giggly whenever you kiss. he's in love.

he's your golden retriever (and babygirl).

jake will stare at you every chance he gets. he could actually stare at you all day if given the chance. because of this, he is able to notice even the slightest change in your appearance.

jake HAS to touch you at least once a day. he's very attached to you. your space = his space.

jake's low-key a jealous man. he doesn't like it when other people show any sign of romantic interest in you. because what do you mean you want my partner? but at the same time he loves it when you get the attention you deserve. he will show you off but remind everyone that you're his.

of course he has nicknames for you. very heavy "my love", "baby", and "princess". and he will get butthurt if you refer to him as his actual name. you have nicknames for a reason so call him by it :)

jake is a big cuddler. he loves having you in his arms and he loves being the little spoon from time to time.

he's a sucker for neck kisses although he is quite ticklish. he also loves to give you neck kisses.

with jake being absolutely whipped for you. your mood heavily influences his mood. when you smile he smiles, when you laugh he laughs, when you're sad he's sad.

princess treatment all the way. his job is to make you happy so he will do anything and literally anything to achieve that.

jake is your designated hype boy. no explanation needed.

jake never raises his voice at you. he's always speaking to you in a soft tone. he's a whole different person when he's with you honestly.

jake dates to marry so a proposal will be coming eventually.

©berryyuni 2024. all work is written by me. do not copy, translate or repost

903 notes · View notes

asapeveryday · 5 months ago

Text

YOU BELONG TO SOMEBODY ELSE

Pairing: Nika Mühl x Reader

Warnings: smut, cheating (not on reader tho!!)

Summary: having a crush on someone who’s taken is complicated. Doesn’t stop you though! (I’m sorry)

A/n: was gonna be a Paige fic buttttt I’m in a Nika mood. ALSO PLS DONT HATE ME FOR THIS. It’s based off of a request +this song, I thought the concept was entertaining. I love Nika and her bf. This is fiction. Pls chill on me.

HER BREATH, harsh against your neck as she presses herself against you is enough to make your head spin.

She’s leaning half her weight on you, laughing against your skin at how you stiffen up. To Nika, it’s probably because she’s gross and sweaty. She doesn’t know it’s more because her touch prompts you to think thoughts you can’t shouldn’t think of her.

“You’re slow today.” She says cheerfully. “Don’t tell me you’re slacking now, baby.”

You almost shudder at the pet name but recollect yourself. “Since you’re so pumped up you shouldn’t need my support.” You scoff, playfully shoving the Croatian girl off of you. She fakes a stumble but gracefully catches herself.

“Careful! If I get hurt then you’re gonna hear from Geno.” She smiles.

You just shake your head, grinning to yourself. “Your bitching and moaning is ten times worse than the old man.”

The two of you walk around for a while. This was your usual routine, running your favourite trail twice a week, then walking for a bit before grabbing a bite to eat. Routine or not, it also happened to be your favourite part of the week.

Why wouldn’t it be? Seeing Nika like this; tight shorts stopping mid thigh, sports bra exposing her toned body and flashy belly piercing, hair pulled into a tight ponytail, giving you perfect access to the beauty that is her face.

Running with her meant being able to look at her without others around to notice, it meant listening to her breathing quicken and slow, or holding your own breath when she’d slightly pull up the edge of her shorts to examine the accumulating colour on her already tan skin.

To say you had a crush was an understatement.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “when’s your next game?”

Did you know when the next game was? Of course. You knew when all her games were.

“Day after tomorrow.” She grins, tilting her head signalling you to prepare for a question. “Am I gonna see you at this one?”

“Nika..” you force out a sigh. “Such bad timing. I have a thing.”

She raises her perfectly shaped eyebrow now, the look in itself is not alien to you yet still incites a drop in your stomach. You hate disappointing her time after time.

“Seriously? How do you manage to have a thing every single time I have a game?”

You shrug. “I’m sorry, Niks.” You frown, not lying. “I wish I could go,” again, not lying “but stuff just keeps coming up.” ok, now you’re lying.

She doesn’t say anything, just eyes you suspiciously.

“I might be free after though.” You sneak in hopefully.

“Fuck yeah!” She squeals, slapping your back. “Cus’ when we win imma need you right next to me partying.”

You smile at her hand on you, at her happiness with your presence.

“Wanna go eat now?” You ask. “I’m starving.”

A car pulls up by the curb the two of you walk through and lets out a slight honk.

Now Nika’s face scrunches up. “Oh (Name), totally my bad, I forgot to tell you I’m going out to eat with my man today.”

Fuck your man. “Thats okay Niks.” You say. “All good.”

“It’s alright anyways. I’ll be seeing you Friday night after we win, and hey, at least try to watch the game online!”

And with that you watch her scurry off towards the passenger seat and happily jump in, kissing her boyfriend on the cheek and buckling her seatbelt. Her boyfriend waves at you slightly, aware of your friendship with Nika but not so aware of your infatuation. You want to scowl, but you force a smile.

You’re there standing, watching as the car pulls away and starts on the road. You don’t miss how Nika turns around to hold your eye until the car fades out of your vision.

You don’t know how much longer you can do this.

How much longer can you go on with this? With overthinking every lingering touch, restraining yourself at the sound of her voice, finding ways to run into her, knowing her schedule, being there for her wins and losses, wishing ill on her perfectly boring friendly boyfriend.

With every stride of her muscular legs beside yours, matching your pace, synchronized breathing, eyes meeting each other on perfect timing every time, you refuse to miss how she begs for your presence at important events. She refuses to miss how you freeze at the sheer mention of her partner.

She’s moody when you arrive at the bar. It’s different from the usual post-game celebration spot, less frat-like and more artsy. Warm lighting, hip hop blasting, decor littered fittingly with NBA and WBNA players.

You can see her clearly, leaning against the bar with her arms crossed, her drink half full on the counter behind her. She smiles when Paige shoves her playfully, but it fades as soon as the blonde turns her back.

You swallow the thought that she’s like that because she thinks you’re not gonna show. You know if you encourage things like that, it’ll only get ahead of your better judgment.

That being said, you were sure to dress exactly how she likes sexy. Hair done with intricacy that almost warranted a breakdown, makeup natural and with intention, clothing showing off how hard you’ve worked on those long runs. The way her lips slightly part at the sight of you is enough to short circuit your brain.

Ignoring how her friends seem to share looks at your presence, you slide up beside her as smoothly as possible before taking a sip of her drink.

“Good game.” You smile.

“You watched it?”

“I always do.”

“Yet you never come.” She scoffs.

“I can’t.” You say through gritted teeth, and it’s the truth. If you saw her play in real life it’d only make you want her more. “But I’m here now.”

You bump shoulders with her. “I’m here to celebrate my Nika.”

“Your Nika, huh.” She turns to you, lips turning upwards into a dangerous smirk.

Before you can respond, Paige is beside you. Her cheeks are unnaturally pink and she’s laughing up a storm that only screams intoxication. “Last I heard this was a team celebration.” She grins. “We love you and all, but why’re you here?”

You’re embarrassed and unsure what to say, but Nika immediately speaks up.

“Cus’ I want her here.” She quips, not too hostile but still enough to get the message across. With her quick words and beautifully furrowed brows she’s practically written BACK OFF in sharpie on Paige’s forehead.

“Aight, aight.” Paige chuckles, hands raised in surrender. Her teammates just shake their heads, and soon enough everyone disperses.

Getting drunk with Nika was a rare but amazing once in a while occurrence. She was not the type to be irresponsible, but the two of you were approaching a dangerous zone after an hour or so of talking and drinking. She couldn’t get a word out without laughing, and you couldn’t stop bouncing your leg to distract yourself from pouncing on her right then and there in front of all the other college kids.

“Have you ever thought of cheating?” She finally manages to hack out between giggles. You’re in a daze at the question, it’s too much to handle combined with her flushed face and batting eyelashes.

“Cheating…like on my partner.”

“Pfft, yes, who the fuck else?” She throws her head back. “Have you even dated? I never see you with anyone.”

“I’ve dated.” You say curtly, downing your drink and ordering another. “My last girlfriend was five months ago.”

“You had a girlfriend when we met?” She asks, eyes wide.

“I did.” You scoff. “We broke up, hic, like a couple weeks after you and me started running.”

“Huh, weird timing.” She mumbles. Your heart literally skips a beat, and you almost choke on your own spit.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She rushes, waving her hand dismissively. A beat of silence passes between you and her.

“I have thought of it.” You sigh. “Of cheating, I mean. It’s kinda why I broke it off with the last girl. I felt bad.”

“You’re better then me.” She grumbles, rubbing her forehead.

“Oh?” You smile teasingly, leaning into her slightly. “Trouble in paradise?”

“He’s great.” She says, the words a frantic mess leaving her mouth. “He treats me good. I just have….” She says, trailing off.

“I just have doubts about him. And interests in someone else.” Nika exhales, lips attaching to the rim of her drink and eyes flitting to yours. She’s saying something to you with her expressions alone, dissecting her words was a whole other job.

“And does this person share your interest?” You mumble, shifting in your seat.

“I dunno.” She shrugs. “I see em’ a lot. She looks at me like she’s interested, but she doesn’t get too close.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Nah, she doesn’t.” Nika shakes her head ever so slightly. “I’ve tried to get her with me more. Y’know, good seats at my games, drinks with my friends. She’s always busy.”

You can’t help but shudder at how she licks her lips in between words as her eyes search your face for any sort of reaction.

“Maybe she’s thrown off by that boyfriend of yours.”

“Do you think if she knew the boyfriend wouldn’t stop me, she’d still give it a chance?” Nika says slyly,

“Hm.” You say, legs pressing together. You can feel your pulse in your pussy and it’s getting hard to ignore. You consider your options before settling with “with a grand gesture to prove it, I don’t see why not.”

“Grand gesture, huh.” She leans into you, her lips just grazing your ear. “I might have something in mind.”

And with that, you’re on your feet and being led by hand through what feels like masses of people. You almost stumble at one point, head slightly spinning from the alcohol in your system and the speed she’s pulling you, but she doesn’t stop. There’s a twinkle in her eye that excites you to your core.

You’re embarrassed immediately when you enter the washroom and there are two girls by the sink touching up their makeup. You and Nika stand by the door excruciatingly awkwardly, her hand tight around yours.

The girls notice the shift in the air, or perhaps it’s Nika’s hazel eyes shooting a glare only opposing teams usually see that causes them to exchange a knowing look and leave as swiftly as the two of you came in.

In an instant her lips are on yours. You find yourself wishing you weren’t so drunk, you’ve only been fantasizing about this kiss for the five months you’ve known her and the three months prior you noticed her around campus. Despite the speed you hope to remember every breath in excruciatingly slow detail.

It’s a rush so aggressive you wonder if she’s making up for lost time. Your back hits the wall for a moment before you’re hoisted up onto the sink. When you let out a gasp she finds opportunity to meet your tongue with her own, deepening the kiss.

“Do you actually want me?” You whisper between kisses, feeling her brows furrow at your question. “Or is this just something to get back at your little boyfriend.”

“Don’t even start.” She snaps, pulling away from you ever so slightly. Her calloused hands are firmly planted on your hips, and her lips are hovering just above yours. It’s impossible to for you to hold any eye contact at this proximity, but she doesn’t struggle at all. “Why d’you think I always want you with me to celebrate n’ not him?”

You just shrug, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over you now.

She places a chaste kiss on your lips, different from the ones before. “I’ve never asked him to come with me to a bar with the girls. I’ve never asked anyone who isn’t on the team except for you.”

Now her kisses are trailing down your neck, she’s licking spots softly before sucking on the supple skin so tenderly, unmatched compared to the earlier feverish pace. “I’ve literally been begging you to come to my games, babe, begging.”

Now you scoff. “Are you serious? Do you think that makes it obvious you want me?” You say, attempting to keep a steady voice though it’s so hard when she’s nipping at you and tainting your skin purple and pink with lovebites.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, her breath now warm between your thighs. “Can I make it up to you?”

You stare at her, pouting. You want to say no so badly, you want to push her away and tell her she’s awful for this, but you know you’re no better. You know your touches linger too long on her back, you know the way you think about her makes you just as guilty, which is why when you see her begging between your legs there’s no possible answer you could give other then yes.

And with the utter of your approval Nika is diving headfirst into the current you’ve both been swimming to avoid, her skilled hands holding your skimpy underwear to the side as her lips plant kisses near and on your pussy. You open your legs wider for her, and to thank you her tongue swirls manipulatively around your clit.

The bathroom is starting to blur through your vision, throwing one hand over your mouth to stifle too-loud-sighs while the other hand grasps Nika’s brown hair.

With every huff, whine and jolt she sends through your body you feel a growing sensation in your core. The brunette girl laps at your folds, sucking on your clit while her fingers tease your entrance. The combination of her fingers and mouth turn your sighs to whines and quiet cries of her name.

“See how sorry I am?” She mumbles between your legs. “So, so sorry baby. I shouldn’t be playing with you like that and assuming you know what I want.” Nika smiles, every word spoken sending shivers down your spine.

“S’okay.” You exhale. “Don’t stop.”

Once her fingers find the perfect pace she rises to meet your lips. Her kisses are passionate and messy, you couldn’t care in the slightest though. With every bite of your lip and curl of her finger you feel closer and closer to the edge.

“You close?” She whispers, and you nod timidly in response. Nika gives you the sweetest smile as she pumps in and out of you, your breathing is frantic and somehow in sync with hers. You think about how many times you’ve been so synchronized, but never like this. She bares a triumphant look, maintaining eye contact when you climax all over her fingers. Nika presses sweet kisses to your lips and you bask in the realization of what has just happened.

For a moment, just a moment, you forget she belongs to somebody else, because in this moment she is yours.

#Spotify #fanfiction #fanfic #uconn wbb #rpf #nika muhl x reader #smut #nika mühl smut #nika muhl smut #nika mühl #nika muhl #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #uconn x reader #dej loaf #jacquees

593 notes · View notes

todomochi-uwu · 1 year ago

Text

Who (1/?) -J.Y & S.M

Pairing: Poly! Jeong Yunho x reader x Song Mingi

Genre: Angst, Smut

Warnings: This content is for a mature audience

Synopsis: You can't remember when was the last time you spent time with them, the last "I love you", the last time any of them kissed you.

Other chapters: Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee ☕

"Mingi, please. I think we should talk; I don't feel good and…" He was quick to cut you off.

"Y/n not right now, I'm tired."

You are always tired these days…

"Yunho, love do you want to go out and check out that new cafeteria? I heard they have…" He was quick to cut you off.

"Y/n not right now, I'm busy."

You are always busy these days...

Things haven't been the same in a while, always in a rush, always in a mood. You can't remember when was the last time you spent time with them, the last "I love you", the last time any of them kissed you. It was a type of routine you had grown accustomed to, and even if it was killing you inside, the idea of being without them was way worse than the pain of their neglect. Cold, endless nights laying in a bed that was way too big for you; tasteless dinner plates that would end up in the trashcan or at the back of the fridge rotting. A home that was crumbling from its foundations, one that you had so desperately tried to patch up and fix by yourself. But in the end, you just had to face the cruel reality, that they don't care. You were not a priority; your relationship was at the bottom of their list.

That's how you ended up at Chan's apartment, in the middle of the night, with so much as your phone in your pocket and your heart in your hand. He had been your main support the last weeks, anything you wanted, anything you needed, no questions asked. Whenever you woke up crying, whenever you broke down in the middle of the day, Chan was always there to comfort you. And so, you laid there, in his chest, the aftermath of a movie night in which you had only cried twice, an important milestone.

The constant buzzing in the pocket of your pyjamas was making it quite hard for you to continue sleeping. You knew exactly who dared bother you so late at night, it had been the same callers every single night for the past month.

"Don't answer it." Chan's groggy voice filled your ears. He was right. You declined the call and turned off your phone.

But said-call had already done its job, you couldn't stop thinking about the phone, well the people behind it. Your phone was full of texts and missed calls, eight people behind them, because their friends were loyal like that.

They are so sorry.

Please talk to them.

Yunho is drowning himself in work.

Mingi doesn't even talk to us.

Funny it is. A few weeks ago, it seemed they could live perfectly fine without you; they could go on with their day without even glancing your way. You gave them every single piece of your being just to get crumbles in return. But at the same time, your heart is weak, it can’t help but break every time you read one of their texts, wondering if they miss you that much, if they are sorry, if maybe, just maybe, you should go back.

“Y/n… you are overthinking again.” Bang Chan said, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“I know, I just feel bad, Chan. Maybe I overreacted, maybe if I tried a bit harder to talk to them…” There you were again, trying to justify their actions. Chan gave you the same stern look he had been giving you for weeks, every time you blamed yourself.

He got up, not mentioning the subject anymore. Tired of going on about the same subject, “Hey, are you hungry? I can make you something or we can order in.”

It would be a lie to say you were not enjoying Chan’s presence. Having someone to talk to, someone to have a meal with, even someone who sits next to you without being on their phone or computer, you miss not feeling alone. And even though you were heartbroken, you felt warm on the inside.

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

While you might be doing somewhat okay, the other parts of your relationship were not. The house was in complete silence, no matter the hour, no matter the day, no one would dare say a word, their mouths too busy sobbing every single time they remembered their sins, taking you for granted, neglecting you, breaking you.

Yunho would keep himself busy at the hospital, the idea of going back to a broken home simply made him nauseous, and even if the lack of food and the stress were killing him, he much rather endure that than face the harsh truth. Mingi wasn’t any better, endless nights spent in the office, acting as if he was reviewing cases, but the reality was that he just wanted a place to cry without anyone noticing him. Even the love between them was running cold. Fight after fight, they spat cruel words and thoughts trying to get all the hurt and anger out of their chests, blaming themselves, blaming each other. How did they not notice things were so wrong? How could they let things get so wrong?

“Oh, don’t act as if I'm the only one who wasn’t here, you slept at the office almost every day. I came home late, but you didn’t even come at all.” Yunho said, venom in his voice and a glass of whiskey in his hand.

Mingi scratched his forehead in frustration, he could feel the bile going up his throat. “Forgive me for trying to pay the bills, someone has to pay for the house, the student loans, the fucking food that’s on the table.”

“Fuck off, don’t you dare say I’m not bringing any money. Besides, you know that this is temporary while I finish my residency…”

And there the cycle began once again, a screaming match of arguments that never went anywhere, masking the true cause of their pain. Tears ran down their faces, their voices broke down more and more with each word they let out, Yunho's body trembled so much it hurt, while Mingi’s chest felt as if it was about to explode.

“I’m not okay, Yunho.” It was the first time any of them said it out loud, his voice was much raspier and heavier than the usual one.

“I'm not either, Mingi.” He whispered, fearing he would break down even more if he admitted it much louder.

“She left three weeks ago.”

Yunho could only nod.

“She’s not coming back, is she?”

“I don’t know, Mingi.”

#yunho angst #yunho smut #yunho x reader #mingi smut #mingi x reader #mingi angst #jeong yunho #song mingi #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez angst #ateez

1K notes · View notes

puckinghischier · 7 months ago

Text

Boyfriend!Nico Headcanons

these pics are gonna get me everytime, i fear

just some soft nico thoughts floating around in my noggin. enjoy :)

- boyfriend!nico coming home from morning skate and tiptoeing into your room, careful not to wake you so he can lay back down and nap with you

- boyfriend!nico waking up about an hour later to an empty bed, huffing because you didn’t wake him up, only for you to walk in the room wearing one of his t-shirts carrying two cups of coffee, a grin breaking out on his face

- boyfriend!nico suggesting you both shower together, even though he showered at the rink, simply because he loves when you wash his hair (and so he can use your products so he can smell fruity like you do)

- boyfriend! nico asking girls that approach him when he’s out with the team or on the road where they get various parts of their outfits/jewelry because he can’t stop thinking about how good you’d look in them, writing every store down in his notes app so he can take you there the next time you two go shopping

- boyfriend!nico who looks for you in the stands of every home game during warm-ups, needing to know you’re there watching before puck drop because he swears you’re his good luck charm, but also looking for any and every reason to impress you when he’s on the ice

- boyfriend!nico who buys you a custom jersey with his name and number on it, but with small four leaf clovers embroidered on each sleeve so everyone knows you’re his good luck charm, not the team’s

- boyfriend!nico who enlists jack’s help in surprising you with the golden retriever puppy you’ve been begging Nico to agree to adopting, making the poor kid drive three hours one-way to pick up the dog and then sneak the puppy into your shared apartment so Nico can keep you distracted and occupied, wanting to see your face when you open the door and the little furball comes running towards you

- boyfriend!nico who rushes through every post game interview he can because all he wants to do, win or lose, is go home and watch whatever current netflix show you’ve roped him into while eating whatever take-out you were in the mood for that night

- boyfriend!nico putting you on speaker in the locker room before games because the team overheard one of the pre-game pep talks you gave him earlier in the season, so now they all like to hear your encouraging words and how well you inspire each and every one of them to play their best (what jack refers to as your mrs. cap duties)

- boyfriend!nico who has to explain to his teammates why he can’t bring you along to every event the team has to go to because you have your own job and responsibilities, only for the team to whine and grumble about how nico hogs you and they never get to see you (just for him to facetime you halfway through the event so he can pass his phone around for everyone to say hi a few of them asking you to blink three times if nico was holding you hostage)

- boyfriend!nico who arranges for flowers and various treats to be delivered to your door every. single. day. that he’s gone during the season so you know he’s still thinking about you and he misses you, even if he only leaves for a day or two

- boyfriend!nico who listens to the playlist you’ve made for him anytime he’s traveling because he loves hearing whatever new song you’ve found that day that reminds you of him

- boyfriend!nico who begs you to take a bath with him because he’s so sore from a nasty hit earlier in the night and wants to just relax with you and your peach smelling bubble bath with one of your vanilla scented candles burning (but he’ll never admit he loves your sweet, scented candles)

- boyfriend!nico who will always trade a puck or a stick for anything that a fan brings as a gift for you, heart swelling seeing that the fans love you as much as he does

- boyfriend!nico who always wears a wrist full of friendship bracelets you make for him at warmups so he can trade them with the female fans that bring handmade bracelets for the players, so “they always feel included and welcomed at the games, despite what the grumpy old men have to say about it”

#nico hischier #nico hischier one shot #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier x you #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier fanfic #nico hischier imagine #nhl oneshot #nhl blurb #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #new jersey devils #hockey imagine #hockey

458 notes · View notes

sturncakez · 7 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞 ෆ

contains: bsf!chris, plot, smut, oral (fem receiving), n fingering.

reader discretion is advised.

christopher owen sturniolo. your bestfriend, but also the love of your life.

you’ve known him and his brothers matt, nick, and justin ever since you were little.

your father and jimmy have been extremely close since they grew up with each other, and of course passing the tradition along, they wanted their children to do the same. despite you being an only child.

you loved all of the boys equally, of course. but you seemed to gravitate towards chris. growing up you couldn’t tell why, but as you got older it seemed to be more obvious. i mean, look at the boy. he’s perfection.

there were so many reasons why you used this word to describe him. but you couldn’t even wrap your finger around just one.

was it the way his beautiful blue eyes shined in the summertime? or was it the way he was so calm and caring, only when it came down to you? perhaps it was the way you guys treated each other, almost like you guys were soulmates, but with no real feelings attached.

you can go on and on about him. his soft and dark locks that seemed to shine with no effort, his listening skills, eye contact that could and always easily melted your heart away, the way it felt like you guys could talk for ages for hours, or even days. in your eyes he had zero flaws, and as you got older, you realized you were in love with your bestfriend.

ྀིྀི

you’re seventeen now. junior in highschool. you peaked quite early to say the least. you’ve had confidence ever since you were young, but as the years went by it’s gotten better and better.

what type of person would chris be to not notice that? he was your “bestfriend” of course.

you had your own sense of taste and style, and your personality wasn’t like the rest. the last thing you would want to do was fit in with any girl at somerville.

little did you know that this is what made chris fall inlove with you. but you being oblivious, you payed no mind to that. thinking that there was no way in hell that your best friend of 15 years would ever feel the same.

one thing you really liked about yourself was your music taste. you had at least 6 favorite artists, but the neighbourhood being your absolute fave. you listened to them all the time. getting ready, in your car, during class, whenever.

one of your favorite songs by the band was softcore. it was your comfort song growing up, and you felt like you could relate to some of the lyrics given the situation with you and chris.

‘..you’ve been my muse for a long time

you get me through every dark night..

i’m always gone, out on the go

i’m on the run and you’re home alone..’

the lyrics touched you physically when you listened to that song for the first time. it was true. chris was your muse. he did get you through every single dark night. when your parents were fighting almost every single night as a kid, or that time they were so focused on your grades instead of your mental health. you were way too young for all of that to happen to you. chris was the one that got you through all that. no one else. it’s almost like if you didn’t have him you would break.

another reason why you felt so touched by those lyrics is because you were almost always out of the house.

it was an escape from reality for you. whether it was walks in the park, going to parties, or sneaking out. chris on the other hand, was the exact opposite.

ྀིྀི

it was friday, but today was different. you weren’t in the mood for anything today. every few months your body gave out from all of the constant going out you would do. you decided maybe tonight was the night you would be an average teen girl and just stay home and watch movies. you were pretty tired anyway.

you decided to just binge watch 2000’s movies and fall asleep watching baylen levine. those plans seemed to be interrupted though, as you heard a ‘ding’ noise coming from your phone.

confused, because your phone always seemed to be on do not disturb, you checked to see who it was. forgetting that there was only one person that you allowed yourself to get notifications from.

it was chris.

chris: Hey

Was just wondering if you wanted to come over, nick n matt are gone for a bit and i’m pretty bored 😭

If not it’s fine tho

your heart began to pound in your chest as you stayed staring at the message. realizing you had your read receipts on you immediately jumped back into reality and began typing away a reply.

should you say yes? or should you say no? you told yourself you wouldn’t let your crush change anything between you guys but something felt different today..

a feeling lurking inside of you telling you that you couldn’t hold it back.

you started to type away.

you: ofc i’d loved to come over

just give me like 10 mins to get ready

chris: Alr np, just text me when you’re otw

you received a sick feeling in your stomach getting that last text. nonetheless, you got up out of your bed and began getting ready.

you threw on a cropped white tee and comfy sweatpants. it didn’t really matter what you wore around chris, and you didn’t think much of what he thought either. because of this you decided to not throw on a bra thinking it wouldn’t matter, but oh were you wrong.

after throwing on your outift and popping your gold hoops and remaining jewelry in, you put your hair in a low half up, got your belongings, and headed out while texting him you were on the way.

it wasn’t that far of a drive to chris’s, his house only being a few blocks away. you parked in the driveway and contemplated going in.

ྀིྀི

finally, you knocked. letting him know of your arrival.

you could hear his footsteps on the other end of the door, and the clicks and clacks of him unlocking it.

“heyyy! i missed you kid!” he exclaimed joyfully, pulling you into an embrace.

“i missed you too, chris! how have you been?” you replied back, feeling as safe as a baby in their mothers arms with him.

“bored outta my mind honestly man. nick and matt have been out for hours, and fortnite was started to get boring believe it or not.” chris said back as he pulled you in, shutting and locking the door behind you.

“surprised to hear that coming from you chris. so was hanging with best friend of fifteen years a last resort or what?” you said in a playful tone while taking off your shoes.

“kinda didn’t wanna bother you ‘cause i thought you had better things to do” chris replied.

you chuckled and looked up at him. “okay so what now?”

chris sighs. “movie?” he says with a cheesy smile on his face.

“gosh you know me so well” you respond back to him.

“kid i’ve known you since we were 2, ‘course i do.”

silence lingers in the air for a while as you both just stare at each other. a smile starts to creep up chris’s face as he full on lunges towards you and picks up right off of the ground as if you weighed nothing. you squeal “CHRIS WHAT THE FUCK PUT ME DOWN!” as he begins running up the stairs to his bedroom and throwing you down onto his bed. this was one of his many ways to mess with you. “calm down kid i wasn’t gonna throw you that hard.” he replies and starts to laugh his ass off as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

you just start to look at him as he laughs, loving the way his smile is, and adoring the sound of his laugh — which most may call obnoxious.

“you’re insane i hope you know that.” you reply.

after he calms down from his laughing fit that seemed to last ages, a moment of silence begins to brew again. lasting longer than the first time. this time was different though. the eye contact didn’t seem like ‘friendly’ eye contact, but at the same time you never really had that eye contact with each other in the first place.

you start to look down at his lips. and right now, in this moment, they looked as delectable as ever. something about them. the rosy pink color they had, the same one displayed on his cheeks. the way they were plump and looked kissable. so kissable.

a feeling started to brew in your stomach. butterflies.

you could tell chris felt the same way. he looked down at your lips, admiring the brown and pink colors. before you could even get a breath out, his lips collided with yours. the kiss was perfect, more than that. they fit so well together, like a mold. he held your the side of your face as you began to straddle on-top of his lap.

but suddenly, you stopped. “wait chris..i’m not sure if..we should be doing this.” you said as you catched your breath, realizing what had just taken place seconds ago.

“baby it’s fine, i’ve been wanting this, wanting you, for as long as i could remember. you’re fine, i promise.” chris replies.

something about the way he said that..his words. its like you could feel them in your heart. you replied a shy “okay” and smiled as you started to kiss him again. this time the kissed last longer, and began to get steamier and steamier.

chris quickly dominated the kiss, interlocking his tongue with yours. it was messy but you loved it. and it definitely made you wet. chris on the other hand was going insane. more blood instantly began flowing to his dick, making his already erect cock even harder. struggling to hide it, he knew he had to do something. he broke the kiss, making you whine in disappointment.

you got used to the feeling of his pillow soft lips. “i know baby, i know.” chris said as he instantly understood how you were feeling. he began to kiss the side of your lip, then your jawline, moving down to your neck. he started to kiss and suck the soft skin and went harsher and harsher as he went lower and lower.

“can i take this off baby?” he said, motioning to your shirt. “mhm.” you replied, making him frustrated. “i need your words mama.” “yes chris, you can take this off!” you said chuckling a bit. chris’s eyes began to wander and they immediately went to your nipples. them being hard as it was cold in his room. “such a fucking slut not wearing a bra around your bestfriend hm?”

as if you weren’t wet enough, his words immediately had your panties even more soaked. chris dipped his head down as he started to swirl his tongue around your nipples and suck. he began to leave dark purple marks all over your skin, letting you know you were his. a thought began to linger in your mind. were you too young for this? i mean, you guys were only seventeen.

but all thoughts were swept away as chris added stimulation to your clit, using one hand and using the other to massage your right breast. you’ve had only two sexual experiences in your life so far, the first one being a girl and the second a guy, neither being able to satisfy you right. but chris, chris was different. “take your pants off for me ma, panties too.” you immediately obeyed his directions and looked back up at him eager to see what was next “so perfect for me baby, all just for me.” your heart melted.

“lay down f’ me.” you laid down on the bed as you patiently waited for his next move. chris began to take his shirt off and started to kiss all over your body again. starting from your neck down to your stomach, and making the kisses slow and sensual, making sure you were blessed with the right amount of satisfaction. you began to let out whines and moans signaling you wanted more than that, the feeling already being beyond immaculate. chris started to kiss lower and lower and pried open your legs.

he stared for what felt like hours, but was probably only seconds. “oh my fucking gosh ma, you’ve been hiding all this from me?” chris said as he began to lick and suck on your thighs, devouring all the remnants of your arousal. you began to whine even more. that’s when chris ducked his head even lower and began to lick at your entrance. “mmmmm” he groaned at the taste, tasting sweet and saltiness.

he began to flatten his tongue against your clit, making you moan as loud as ever. before you could even get a word out he began to fuck you with his tongue. “h-holy fuck chris!” he started to slurp and suck repeated on your weeping pussy. you looked down at him seeing a mess of your arousal and his spit forming on his face. “yes yes yes! oh myyy, oh my fuck baby” you moaned loudly. “hmmm you like that ma?” chris groaned into your pussy, the vibrations immediately going straight to your core, making you wrap your thighs around his head.

chris instantly put his head up and stared into you. “keep your hips down or i’ll stop. understand?” chris said demandingly. you’ve never seen that side of him, but oh did it turn you on even more. “ ‘m sorry baby just please, please keep going..” your wish was his command as he immediately went back to eating you like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. like a starved lion. the dirtiest slurping, slushing, and gushing sounds could be heard from chris’s room. “ohhh my godddd” you moaned, feeling your orgasm start to build up. chris started to suck faster and faster, it was inhumane at this point. he groaned repeatedly knowing it would go straight to your core. “fuck chris i can’t- i can’t take it!” as soon as the words left your mouth and whipped out his fingers, stuck his head up and said “spit.” in the most devilish tone.

you spat into his hand. “good fucking girl.” chris said, as he stuck two of his fingers into your hole that was practically begging to be fucked with his fingers. maybe even his cock. his began to thrust into you slowly letting you get used to the pain, and then started to go faster, as if there was no tomorrow. you squealed and moaned out of intense pleasure not knowing how much longer you could take it for.

not even being able to think straight, chris added a third finger. he stared at your convulsing body and groaned “take it. take my fucking fingers in that tight fucking pussy of yours like the whore you are.” and that was it. those were the last words you heard before you saw flashing of your squirt exiting your body and your vision going white.

chris enjoyed seeing this, knowing that the pleasure he gave you was so intense that you couldn’t even signify him of when you were about to cum. letting you ride out your high, he slide out his fingers and sucked them, moaning a bit. you looked up at him with the most fucked out look in your eyes. “that was. the hottest. thing. i’ve ever seen.”

“i don’t know how i’m still alive after that. that was amazing chris.” you replied in awe. “you’re amazing.” chris said as he began to lean in and kiss you. “you like the way you taste huh?”

you moaned into the kiss signifying your answer. he broke the kiss saying “you did such a good job for me baby. so so good.” you looked at him and smiled. letting out a small “thank you.” “so..where does that leave us now?” chris says.

he didn’t get to finish yet.

- rosa speaks

hi guys this is my very first fic anddd smut. it is loosely based off of the song ‘softcore’ by my favorite artists of all time the neighbourhood!! this is for @annamcdonalds67 writing comp so when i saw this song up there i was so fucking happy. pls lmk what u think of this n if u want a pt. 2 i’ll happily make one.

- also sorry to all the ppl i tagged that don’t like 2 be tagged if they aren’t notified beforehand, i finished this way later than i was supposed to and i was supposed to dm ppl n ask if they wanted to be tagged but i don’t have time. sorry again but i hope u guys like it! ALSOOO COMMENT A PINK HEART IF U WANNA STAY ON MY TAGLIST FOR THE FUTURE 🩷🩷🩷

@musegyra @recklesssturniolo @stunza @sturnphilia @sturnsdoll @pinksturniolo @suyqa @thesturniolos @hoesformatt @mattscoquette @sturnrockwell @sturn777 @slut4chriss @thenickgirl @m9ttsverse @medilovesmatt @stars4chratt @slutz4sturniolos @mattbf

#chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #smut

566 notes · View notes

whatifitis · 1 month ago

Text

♡ I knew it, I know you - FC 43 ♡

Based off the song: I knew it, I know you by Gracie Abrams

Summary: You and Franco dated but when things took a turn with your career, your world got turned upside down.

Author's note: i was told i should add additional parts to this plot so lmk if that's something you guys would like to see <3

WC: 3309

CW: fights, brief mention of a car crash, a bit of angst i think

You swore to god, you hadn’t thought of him in ages. But there he was, plastered all over social media as a driver for Williams for the remainder of the season in F1. The man who absolutely destroyed you. But you had also destroyed him. You had destroyed each other towards the end of your relationship.

You and Franco dated back when the two of you were in F2 and F3. The two of you had hit it off almost instantly, already so drawn to each other. You weren’t gonna lie, the two of you almost weren’t a thing. You are terrible at not only initiating, but also keeping conversations going. But the fact that Franco was so bold and carefree, he was able to stick with you till you opened up out of your shell, which was truly insane to you. And you’re grateful for him and everything he has done for you, no matter what went down all that time ago.

The two of you were always there for eachother, whether one was winning races or not. You would always scream the loudest when he won. Every single time he was on the podium, you’d be so incredibly proud of him, standing there watching in awe, tears streaming down your face. You’d never met someone so perfect.

He was so different from anyone you’d ever met. He was valiant, hilarious, strong, and so beautiful, on the inside and out. He knew you’d often struggled with your mental health and maintaining relationships, whether platonic or romantic. But he stayed, he actually stayed, through all your faults. He loved you anyway. He was the best thing that ever was yours.

But now it’s like he’s on another planet, you wonder how the weather is there.

While you were proud of him for making it to F1, you still couldn’t help but feel a bit of annoyance. The two of you would often talk about the future together. The plan was always to work your asses off and make it to F1 together. He was gonna be the first Argentinian driver in ages, and you were gonna be the first woman in ages to drive in F1. During this time, you guys were gonna save money and buy your dream home together. He’d always wanted a big patio where you two could do barbeques together, where he could bring his family. He also wanted a pool where everyone could enjoy their time together, away from the cameras and chaos.

But now those dreams are just that. Dreams.

The breakup wasn’t necessarily mutual or on good terms. Franco initially wanted to work things out and talk but you didn’t think it’d fix anything. Things were already getting rocky as your racing career was coming to an end. After a bad accident all those years ago, you weren’t able to get back in the car. And for that, you were so angry. Racing was all you could do, you didn’t have a backup plan. Your anger got the best of you and you were taking it out on those around you. Franco got the worst of it though wanting to do his best to help you, but all it did was make you feel pitied.

Things just kept spiraling from there, til you officially ended things with him.

It was the night after the F2 race in Monaco. You had been there the whole weekend, cheering on all your friends. You were making your way to see Franco but you were stopped by a journalist. You weren’t really in the mood to speak to a stranger but you decided it wouldn’t do any harm to stop for a minute or two.

The journalist was a young man, about your age and a bit taller than you.

“Hello, thanks for taking a moment to speak with me.”

You simply smile at him, still not feeling all that sociallike.

“I just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright.”“Sure. Hit me.”

“My first question is, how does it feel to have had to drop out of racing due to your crash back in Australia?”“Oh well, you know, it didn’t feel great. I’m super disappointed in my performance from that day and of course not being able to race again has been a big struggle. I miss it a lot, but there’s nothing I can do now besides keep going. I’m still gonna come to some of the races and cheer on and support my friends.”

“Amazing. Now, how does it feel to know you won’t be the next woman in Formula 1? To know that you’ve essentially let down so many women, young and old, with you leaving the sport?”

You were honestly baffled by that question. Why the fuck would he ask that? Who in their right mind asks that?

You seriously had no words, so you simply nodded your head and walked away.

When you reached Franco, he could practically smell the rage emanating from you.

“Amor, what’s wrong?” going to touch your arm, before you quickly pull away.

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

Your shortness with him wasn’t new at this point, so he stayed quiet till you guys reached your flat.

Once you guys had walked in, he was quick to ask what happened at the track that led you to be stomping around with smoke coming out your ears. You told him everything that happened with the journalist, and he was nothing but sorry that something like that had happened to you. He knew how hard your transition was into a life without racing.

“Baby, I know things are hard right now, but we can figure it out. This isn’t the end.” Franco tried to reason with you. But all you could see was red, feeling an intense pressure and heat in your chest.

“You don’t even get it. My career is over, everything I’ve worked towards is gone. I have nothing left.”

Your words hit Franco, like a knife. You had nothing left? What about him?

“There are so many things you can do. We’ll find something that works for you. Stop being negative and actually try.”

“Fuck you. I am trying, you don’t understand how hard this is. Everything’s working for you. Your life is perfect and amazing. Stop pitying me. I’m not a child.”

Somewhere in the chaos in your mind, you had lost all sense of where you were and who you were talking to. All you knew was that you were screaming everything you felt.

Your mind was racing, you weren’t making total sense.

After the race today and having dealt with you these past few months, he was tired. He wasn’t gonna coddle you and go easy on you anymore.

“Well you’re sure acting like one. You need to grow up. Shit happens and you have to deal with it. Not everything will work out in life, you just have to deal with it.”

“Easy for you to say. Your life is perfect and you have everything you want.”

“If I had everything I wanted, then I wouldn’t have a girlfriend who’s giving up. I’d have a better girlfriend.”

What? Did he really just say that? I hate when we fight, sucks when we fight.

“I can’t pretend I’m sorry, when I’m not sorry. All I’ve ever done was my best when it comes to you and us. Unfortunately your girlfriend is awful.”

You looked him in the eye one final time, “Get out. We’re done.”

“That’s it? You’re gonna give up so easily?” he lets out a huff, “Typical of you to give up, again. Let me know when you’ve grown up.”

With the slamming of the door, he was gone. That was the last time you saw him.

After a few days of radio silence from you, Franco felt abandoned. He’d already felt lost when you told him to leave, the second the door slammed closed, he almost went back in through the door to fix everything. It felt as if you didn’t care about his feelings, like he’d been cut a thousand times. Franco actually struggled to keep it together. He didn’t realize how much he needed you in his life. He didn’t realize how he depended on you, on your support, your touch and how it kept him sane and stable when everything around him was just pure chaos.

It was hard for him to race after that day. And words could never describe how his heart hurt when he got called up to F1, when he got a seat. He immediately thought of you, he was living your dream after all - he couldn’t even share the experience with you, you weren’t by his side anymore. You were gone.

Until now.

Since that day, you have been working on yourself. You were in therapy now and continuing school to become an engineer. You thought, maybe since you can’t be in the car, you could work around it or with it. Things had been looking better. You started to surround yourself with love and support from your friends and family.

You were on a work trip in Texas, helping a company work on a new up and coming project that could be innovative, when you got a call from an old friend. Oscar had seen through social media that you were in Texas, and invited you to see the race at COTA. When he initially offered the invitation, you almost didn’t go since you didn’t think it’d be a good idea, considering how you and Franco had left off. But it had been years, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. You would be able to go and support the rookies and maybe make up with Franco.

It’s not like you didn’t feel love for him anymore. Maybe you two could work things out and get back to where you were. So you told Oscar you’d be at COTA.

“That’s great! I’m so glad you’ll be able to make it. It’s been so long and I’m sure Lily would love to see you too.” “Omg, I’m so excited to see her again! I’ve missed her so much.” “Yeah. So, I’m sure you’ve heard. Franco is driving for Williams for the rest of the season, so he’ll be at COTA. Will you guys be able to keep it civil if you run into each other?”

“I can. I’ve lived a lot and I’ve let the rain in since everything. It’s just a matter of how he’ll react.” “I’m not gonna lie, I think he’s been waiting for an apology from you. Er, at least he did for a while.” “Yeah, he deserves one from me. I was pretty shitty to him, I know that now.”

“I’m glad you were able to sort everything out on your end, hopefully you two can be friendly again.” “Maybe. I gotta go, Osc. Talk soon.”

“Talk soon.”

The amount of various feelings flowing through your body was making you physically shake. You were excited, nervous, happy, and everything mixed into one.

You pull up Franco’s contact, thinking it’d be better to reach out and arrange a meeting rather than bombarding him at the track.

You must have typed and deleted about 50 messages before settling on a simple “hey”

Franco didn’t expect to see your name show up on his screen. He chuckled bitterly at the irony of life, bringing you back onto his path after being the one to send him away. He doesn’t even know how he feels about you anymore.

“Hey” he replied

“How are you?”

“I’m okay. You?”

“I’m okay”

Three minutes pass, you simply just stare at the screen, not knowing how to proceed. You watch as three dots float on the corner of your screen.

“What do you want?”

Damn, harsh much?

“I was wondering if you wanted to meet up sometime this weekend? Oscar invited me to watch the race and I thought maybe we could talk. I think I’ve calmed down since the last time we spoke.”

“Sure. I don't know when exactly I’ll be available but I can text you closer to the weekend”

“That sounds good. Thanks for being cool about this.”

“No problem, see you soon.”

He was quick to cut the conversation. Maybe he's just busy. You decide to put your phone away and focus on some work stuff.

The weekend comes around quickly and you find yourself wandering around the paddock alone. You weren’t able to make it Friday, but at least you’re here for qualifying. You managed to get a few minutes with Oscar and Lando, catching up a bit before they had to get ready for qualis. You made your way to where you were gonna watch the race, texting Franco at the same time.

He was letting you know he’ll be able to meet up with you after the race today. You were so incredibly nervous because you wanted things to work out between the two of you. You missed him. He was your best friend, and you guess that was the worst part of losing him. If he just said when, you’d play again because you felt more in brief moments with him, than with anyone else.

You sat down and watched the qualifiers, screaming and cheering everytime one of your boys passed someone or did something impressive. You didn’t realize how much you’d missed this. Watching and cheering on your friends from the sidelines. It felt good to watch them achieve their dreams, even if you couldn’t reach yours. Franco ended up in P6, which was impressive considering he’s only raced a few times in an F1 car, and he’s in a Williams car.

After about 20 minutes, Franco texted you, letting you know to meet him in his driver's room. You made your way to his room after getting lost for about 8 minutes, when someone eventually felt bad for you and pointed you in the right direction.

You walked up the steps to his room, standing there for a minute, nervous about seeing him. It’s been about 2 years since you last saw each other. You wonder if he looks any different now. Of course you’d seen his pictures around, but sometimes the cameras don’t catch certain things. Like how his eyes are essentially a kaleidoscope of everything you’ve ever loved, how his nose crinkles a bit at the bridge when he’s happy.

Fuck it, enough stalling. You knock on the door and wait there for a response. After a minute, you don’t hear one so you assume you didn’t knock loud enough. You raise your hand to knock again when the door swings open. When it opens, your eyes quickly find his.

He looks deep in your eyes, trying to find a glimpse of the past in them, a recollection of the memories you shared together, but it’s like you’re not there anymore. Sure, you’re standing right infront of him, but the you that he knew, the one he fell in love with, is missing.

“Hey” he said softly.

“Hey”

You two stood there in silence for a moment, sort of processing that you’re seeing eachother again in person. As if your brains are trying to decipher whether this is real or a hallucination.

The silence breaks when Franco shakes his head and clears his throat,

“Come in.” he says, holding the door open for you.

You walk in, brushing past him.

The room is spacious, quiet, yet suffocating.

You walk to the middle of the room, feeling a bit self-conscious. Turning back to face Franco, you watch as he closes the door and turns his body to you.

“So’’ he says.

“So”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to catch up, see how you’re doing. A lot has changed since the last time we saw each other.” you look down, swallowing a gulp before continuing, wringing your hands together, “I also wanted to apologize, for everything. The way I had acted all those years ago, especially towards the end. I wasn’t being fair to you and all you wanted to do was be there for me.”

“It’s fine.” he replies, leaning against a counter, crossing his arms over his chest, not giving you an ounce of emotion.

The burning sensation he feels in his chest now isn’t love anymore - instead it’s a mixture of pain and anger, feeling a riot form in his emotions. He’s wasting time on listening to someone who kicked him to the side without caring about how you had let him down when he needed you the most.

Well, you didn’t know what to expect, but it surely wasn’t that dry and short answer.

“That’s it? I came all this way to come and see you and apologize, and all I get is ‘fine’?!”

“I said ‘it’s fine’ actually.”

Why was he being like this? You get that you fucked up a lot and that you had hurt him, but if this was how he was going to act, you weren’t sure if you wanted to continue this conversation.

“Why did you even agree to talking to me, if this is how you’re gonna act?”

“How am I acting?” “Like you don’t give a fuck. Like you just wanna gloat, see how badly I was doing. You don’t know how to step outside yourself.” “You think so little of me? It’s not my fault you can’t sit with the hard thing.”

“Well when the proof is in the pudding then yeah. Are you even sad about the fact that we don’t talk anymore? That all we had is gone?”

“I’m not the one who ended things, you were. You’re the one who ruined us.”

“I blew all my plans, just to get to talk to you today. I’m trying to fix everything that I broke but you’re not letting me.” “Maybe you aren’t trying enough.” he says as he pushes off the counter and walks towards you, stopping a few inches from you. Close enough that you can feel each other's breathing.

“Not trying enough? Or not enough for you? For your deluded self?”

“I’m not the problem here, especially considering I’m the one driving in F1.”

“I should be the one with this chance, not you! All you have is an inflated ego and your shallow thinking.”

“I was the one who worked my ass off to get here. I’m sorry you couldn’t join me in this like we had planned, but it’s not my fault that things fell this way.”

“I should be in your seat, not you!”

“No, you don’t deserve this seat. I actually put in the work to be here.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I earned my way through those races. I was one of the best.”

“Keyword: was.”

“You know that crash stopped me from driving. I can’t get back in the car.” “Can’t or won’t”

“Can’t”

“No, you’re just a fucking pussy. You’re too scared to get back in the car cause you know you can’t do it. You can’t amount to anything.You know that even if you get back in the car, you’ll never get a seat in F1.”

You stand there for a beat. You never knew he could be so mean. Maybe you brought it out of him.

It’s all your fault. You’re the problem.

You feel the tears threatening to spill. You take a breath before saying, “I thought you thought of me better, someone you couldn't lose.”

He looks you up and down, lip twitching, “I guess I lied. I had the wrong idea about you.”

An all too familiar sight, his back, as he walks out the door, again, because of you.

You really thought you would get what you wanted. But what did you want?

#f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto angst

182 notes · View notes

jamminvroomvroom · 10 months ago

Text

something in the orange.

ln x fem!reader

in which lando can’t always have what he wants. and neither can you.

i’m so back! missed u xoxo i kinda hate this with a passion but i had to force myself to write something bc i was getting the writers jitters lmao. pls tell me what you think and what you want next! hugs

inspired by: something in the orange by zach bryan (ouch)

songs to set the mood: call out my name by the weeknd, all of evermore actually, leave the door open by the silk sonic

warnings: 18+!! minors, BEGONE!! smut, angst, wee bits of fluff, language, alcohol mentions, inappropriate workplace relationship (reader is an engineer @ mcl), slight age gap (r is older), mutual pining, mutual denial (kinda), unprotected sex (L bozo)

3.2k words

the first time it happens doesn’t really count.

you’re drunk and lando’s worse. tensions boil over at some after party, neither of you can bare it, and he’s shoving his key card into the slot of his door while he sloppily kisses your neck. you cannot take

any responsibility for your actions that night and disregard it as a write off.

explaining away the morning after, when you fuck him again, sober and begging, is a different story.

oh, well.

it happens again. and again, and again, and again.

different cities set the mood and the danger turns you on. you trade your mclaren administrated work shirt for lingerie, and your inhibitions for good sex.

he’s younger, just a couple of years between you, but he doesn’t show it. he makes you forget it, every single time he rearranges your spread limbs on a mattress. he makes you forget his age, and the fact that careers will be over as soon as another soul finds out what you get up to when the chequered flag falls.

lando makes it easy. a flick of the wrist and a curl of the tongue makes you sob, and he smirks into the crease of your thighs every time. and when it’s over, and you’re both spent under linen sheets, you can’t even regret it. not when he makes you laugh until you cry and keeps you warm as you drift off to sleep on the rare occasions that you let yourself stay.

it can’t continue. it can’t, you tell him and yourself. every morning after is punctuated with promises that this is the end. and every time, you manage without each other until the next race weekend, when he looks at you in that knowing way that makes your thighs clench.

lando can’t think straight.

he never can when he slides between your thighs. it feels like home.

you’re somewhere in the middle east, he can’t actually remember where right now, not when he pushes deeper and you clamp down around his cock, so hard that he chokes out a shaky breath.

“how do you feel even better every time?” lando groans, grinding into you nice and slow.

you slur out a moan in response, tipping your head back even further as you do. it gives him the perfect opportunity to burrow into your neck, kiss over your collarbone, rock into you harder.

everything is warm, slick. this whole situation, it’s a well oiled machine now. lando sends a text and you turn up five minutes later. he ushers you into the room and then, clothes leave a trail from the door to the foot of the bed. what was once a place holder, a way to get some after a shitty race, had become something to look forward to, something that made his heart race. the anticipation, the danger of you made him weaker than he ever had been.

at first, he hated the hold you had on him. it didn’t mean that he could end this, though, not when he couldn’t help but stare at you in the garage. not when he was transfixed by the glimpse he’d get of your collarbone under your work blouse, or the stray hairs that fell over your face when you were concentrating on the data screens.

“lando, i need- i need…” you gasp, trailing off as you arch even further into his sweat glistening body.

lando smirks, sliding a hand down your

body, pinching your nipple on the way. he already knows what you need. he finds your clit, teasing over it a couple of times.

you lock eyes, warning him to give you what you want. he just grins, licks his lips and continues faint glides over the bud. it sends shockwaves over your body, and you convulse underneath him. you writhe, and writhe, and whimper and keen as your orgasm washes over you. his eyes snap shut, barrelling into you as the pleasure hits.

then, there’s silence.

he lays on top of you while you both return to planet earth, no sound but pants of breath and a soft hum from you when he finally pulls out. you smile softly when you rise from the bed, swinging your shaky legs over the side to stand.

“you staying?” lando breathes. he’s laying on his front, arms flexed as they cross beneath his head.

“not tonight, lando.” you tilt your head apologetically, voice soft and sweet. he frowns. you ignore it, and search for you underwear.

“come on, stay.” he sounds desperate to his own ears, cringing at the way the words come across, but your filter it out. you’ve become an expert at navigating - and more often than not, ignoring - the emotional strings that he tugs on. the ones that attach to your cold, cold heart.

“can’t. you’re gonna have the team here bright and early. ‘m not risking jon seeing me here when he comes to wake you up.” you explain, jumping into your jeans as you tug them up your legs.

“he won’t care.” lando argues, childlike in his negotiating.

“i care.” you scold. you hear the soft thud of his head hitting the pillows. you know you’ve won this round.

lando’s quiet for a while after that, letting you dress yourself. as you’re searching for the bag that you can’t remember if you brought or not, he springs from the bed, making a beeline for the door. you think he’s being gentlemanly, but quickly realise you’re being foolish. the fucker is blocking your exit.

“lando.” you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms, unimpressed.

“i know, i know, i’m gonna let you go. i just…” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, pondering his next words.

“you just…” you usher him along.

“i’ll let you go if you promise to have dinner with me over the summer.” he smirks.

“are you… have you lost the plot?” your eyes almost bulge out of your head.

he tried this, sometimes, tried to get you to go on a date, or get you to do something alone that didn’t involve engineering or a surface that you could fuck on. you’d naively thought he was past this.

“can we just try?” he gives you a look somewhere between i want you so bad and the infamous lando norris puppy dog eyes. lava heats your cheeks and your belly, and the butterflies come out of hibernation. you couldn’t deny, you wanted to try. but, at what cost?

“text me.” you murmur, gesturing for him to move.

“so, that’s a yes?” lando questions.

“text me, and i’ll think about it.”

he decides that he’s gotten the best possible answer out of you, and finally let’s you make your great escape.

you almost collapse on jelly-like knees the second the door shuts behind you. standing your ground with him was getting too difficult, too tiresome. the boy was hard fucking work, and he always got what he wanted.

you’d often daydreamed about him taking you out, getting dressed up nice to sip wine and eat too expensive food, and eventually getting undressed. you realised, however, that those kinds of thoughts were to be banished, after you got caught up in fantasies during a race and almost had the pit crew put mediums on during a bout of rain.

wanting him was dangerous. it could be career ending, reputation destroying, heartbreaking.

one date wouldn’t hurt, just to satisfy his appetite. he’d probably get bored eventually. you wouldn’t let it get further than one meal, one last night with him, and then it would stop.

one more time. just one.

you’re waiting on your sofa for the text that tells you he’s arrived.

your hair is curled, messy. just how he likes it. you’re wearing something short and black. your high heel taps against the floor as you bounce your leg nervously.

he’d texted, just like you’d told him to, and then a date was set. just one dinner, one time only. you were gonna tell him that, too.

it’s a bit of fun, you think. dinner and shag. companionship. it was lonely on the road, and sometimes each other was all you could have. it made sense, you figured, that he had honed in on you. you’d done the same to him.

just when you think he’s late, there’s a knock on your door. you were an expecting an “i’m here” text, not the full package. after all, this date was just a formality, right?

you try not to shake as you make your way to the door. lando looks so good that you almost cave and say, “sure, let’s give this a go, eh?”. he’s wearing a shirt that fits painfully well, clinging nicely to a delectable frame. the buttons he’s left undone provide a gorgeous window to his collarbone and the necklaces that hang from his thick neck.

“you look beautiful.” he compliments, rakes his eyes over your body.

“don’t look so bad yourself.” you try to tease but it comes out flustered. you ignore the way his eyes light up.

“you ready?” he asks, you nod.

your heart flutters when he effortlessly takes your hand in his.

the restaurant is in the middle of nowhere, and you’re the only two people dining. maybe it’s because of the ‘closed’ sign that gets placed on the door when you arrive. so, he’s gone all out, you think. you’re shocked at how hard he’s tried to keep this private. maybe this isn’t the formality you think it is, maybe this isn’t his way of feeling better about meaningless sex. maybe it wasn’t as meaningless as you pretended it was.

he had you belly laughing within minutes, laying the charm on thick. wine and conversation flowed effortlessly and you were quickly regretting saying yes to this. you were in danger.

in a moment of silence, you catch his eye from across the table.

“you know, this is a one time thing, right?” you almost whisper. you almost kick yourself, why would you say that now? it doesn’t even phase him.

“that’s what you think.” he grins, devilish and stunning.

“i mean it.” you smirk.

“sure you do, honey.” he says, it sounds a lot like ‘game on’.

you stir, eyes slowly fluttering open. orange light washes over you, dancing in the pair of eyes you find staring back at you.

the eyes watching you sleep belong to the same person whose strong arms are wrapped around you, nice and secure.

you croak out a good morning, and he grins at how hoarse you sound. it was all his fault for making you whimper and scream, begging and crying for a release.

the date had gone really well.

“coffee?” lando offers.

“just the one, need to get home.” you bring things back to reality.

two coffees and four orgasms later, you head home.

the blurry pictures of you and him leaving the restaurant make you ill.

no one can quite tell it’s you, not yet anyway. twitter is ablaze.

faceless accounts call the blurry woman in the pictures the cruelest of names. you cry for hours, and then you stop for a bit, cry some more. rinse, repeat.

you pull on a jacket, scramble for your car keys. this time, you’ll mean what you say.

there’s a knock on the door.

when he opens it, you shuffle inside like you always do, coat hangs on the hook with a scarf to match. silence lingers until you reach the kitchen. the kettle hisses. you didn’t even know that he knew how to use one.

“this has to stop.” you say. emotionless. inside, agony sinks into every emotional cut and scrape. you don’t let him notice.

“i know.” he agrees. he’s seen the pictures, too. “okay.”

the kettle is forgotten, two mugs abandoned; he carries you to bed.

one last time.

two fingers loosen you up for him, drawing you steadily over the edge. he doesn’t stop there, no. he slows right down, letting you ride out your high, but only for a second. he speeds up once again, grinding his fingers into you at godspeed, and you feel your eyes dampen with tears.

your entire body glistens with sweat and your release, the overstimulation making your toes curl and your back arch. you wonder if the tears streaming down your face are just a result of the way his fingers are curling so deliciously against your walls, so good that it hurts, or if it’s because you know this will be the last time he gets his hands all over you.

“lando,” you cry, grasping at nothing. he’s got you naked in the middle of his bed, and he’s still fully clothed, kneeling between your spread thighs like a man on a mission.

his motivation is to make you stay, to make you regret the fact that once this is over, you’re choosing not to come back. his need for you, that raging desire that fuels your every encounter, it has only increased tenfold since the night of your date. but lando isn’t stupid, he knows that after those photos were published the brakes were on this… thing. this was his only chance to convince you to keep this going, but he was fighting a losing battle.

“what do you want, honey? you want me?” lando grunts, speeding up even more. you didn’t think that what he was doing was humanly possible, but the stars you saw and the way your body was practically levitating off the bed said otherwise.

“only gonna have me one last time? is that really what you want, baby?” he continues to run his mouth, crooning over you. you call out his name, begging. begging for another release, begging that you could stay here forever. with him.

and then you see white and god, and you convulse until you’re collapsing into the mattress. your vision is blurry from the tears and the haze and the unwavering emotional torment.

you grab at him, languidly pulling him in. it takes all the strength you have left to secure him, your feet shoving his jeans down his hips while your hands rip his t-shirt off. you’re keening, too sensitive and too needy. you’re agonising over his touch, you need him to sink so deeply into you, so that you can feel him when it’s over and you’re far away from what almost feels like home.

his breath shakes and his eyes gloss over when he pushes into you.

“let me stay like this, just for a minute.” he chokes out. you nod rapidly, your eyes squeezing shut. he kisses into the crook of your neck, panting and mumbling sweet, painful words over and over.

your hands run over golden planes of warmth and muscle, memorising every dip and crease of him. he slowly rolls his hips and your belly clenches, veins set alight. one of his hands scoop up up your wrist, and the motion creates a deep grind unlike anything you’ve ever felt. your wrists are pinned above your head and lando hovers over you so that he stays level, continuing that slow grind, hips hitting yours hard and slow.

he draws a low whine from the back of your throat, one that makes his hips stutter and your pussy clamp down on him as a pleasurable result. you can feel fingerprints forming around the tender skin of your wrists and you want him to dig in harder, slip into your veins and become a permanent part of you.

lando’s eyes are greyer than you’ve ever seen them, boring into your own. you don’t think you ever break eye contact, staring deep into his soul as he stretches every possible part of you. he doesn’t want this to end, you can’t pretend that you do, either.

he changes his angle slightly, long strokes replacing the short drags, but he keeps hitting deep. something possesses you to lean in, as much as you can given his hold on you, and you capture his lips in a kiss that takes him aback for a second. he melts into it, though, and then you’re chest to chest. tongues meet, and moans meld, your legs snake around him like vines.

“need you to come for me, honey. one last time, yeah? need you to feel good for me, baby.” lando mumbles into your mouth, wet and hushed. it’s overwhelming, and everything goes blank. all you are aware of is the burst of pleasure, his hold on your limp wrists, and two grey green eyes that are begging you to stay.

you get dressed quickly, whisper goodbye, and disappear out the door. something stops you, and you need clarity, for him more than for yourself.

you peek round the door, finding his unwavering gaze. your forehead creases, awkward anguish. the way you’re looking at him, deep and sympathetic, it makes you ache. this may well have to be the last time you look at him this intently. it stings.

“it’s better this way, you know?” you murmur.

lando nods, begrudgingly, yet obediently in defeat.

and then, once more, you’re gone and the latch on the door clicks somewhere far away in his apartment. he sinks into the bed, drowning in bed sheets and agony. his head thuds against the pillow and he stares out the window. the orange sunset makes his eyes burn. there’s something about the colour that makes him nauseous now that you’re gone.

a few days later, you’re in a meeting that you can’t focus on. he’s sat opposite you, not that you spare him a glance. it’s too painful.

you’ve been here for hours, your body becoming one with the office chair that you’re sinking deeper and deeper into.

yes, the car needs to be faster. yes, your heart hurts. yes, we need to up the strategy game.

you zone out, for the umpteenth time, losing yourself in the dark orange sky. it’s getting late. you crave sleep in your lonely bed. while you stare at the swirls and hues of warmth, you shiver.

lando, on the other hand, hasn’t heard a word said since he sat down. not when his eyes instantly find bruised wrists on the other side of the table. they match the bruises on his heart, the ones that you’d left behind when you’d grabbed it, stolen it from its solitude cage.

he watches you watch the sunset, and then the meeting is dismissed and everyone rushes home for dinner.

“who was that you took for dinner, then, noz?” one of the mechanics jeers at lando as you’re leaving the boardroom. those damned fucking photos would never let you sleep well again.

you’re a couple of steps ahead of them, ears perked up. you’re nauseous.

“no one you know.” lando laughs uncomfortably, waving it off. he sounds exhausted.

you fight with the revolving door and rush to your car. you scream as soon as the door slams and you’re in the drivers seat. you thrash against the steering wheel, and then you scream again.

when you compose yourself, and pull out of your parking space, you notice lando’s range rover ahead of you. when you get to the end of the drive, he will turn left, towards london, and you will turn right.

the devil on your shoulder murders the angel in cold blood, silencing the only voice of reason you had left.

when you reach the junction, you turn left, too.

yikes. anyways lmao

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane

removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3

1K notes · View notes

french-goodbye · 1 year ago

Text

in the low lamplight

summary: your boyfriend is perfect, except for one tiny little detail.

warnings: conversations about sex; dry humping; consensual slapping and chocking; praise kink; fingering; p in v sex. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+.

notes: i'm tired of experienced steve and virgin reader all the time. i want steve and confident slutty reader who's more experienced than him and blows his mind. also a little praise kink bc i feel like my boy would be insanely into that. also my first time writing smut!!! i! am! nervous! title from work song by hozier.

it's not that steve is bad in bed, it's quite the opposite actually. but he's just... extremely vanilla. and you totally get it. most of his sexual experiences were with young suburban girls in the back of his car or in his room when his parents weren't home. he was a couple of girls' first time and knowing steve, he probably put their own comfort above his wants. not probably, definitely.

you just wish he was... kinkier. nothing too intense, just something a little more exciting. and it's not that you don't get to cum, you totally do. he knows exactly how to move inside of you, the spots that make your body burn in need and he gives the best head ever, which is a nice bonus.

but after three months together and having sex everytime you have the opportunity to, because you're still in the honeymoon stage of the relationship, it's getting kinda repetitive. it's always missionary, maybe you on top if you're in a particularly bossy mood. but he nevers puts you on all fours or asks you to sit on his face or even sixty-nine. nothing.

you know steve's attracted to you (he isn't exactly shy to tell you how much) so you know that's not the issue, so you've tried so hard to subtly ask him to be rougher, you've tried placing his hand on your neck and squeezing, you've tried guiding his hands to your ass, but you've had no success so far. every single time he'll respectfully pull his hand away and press them to your shoulder or keep them there but not do anything.

but tonight. tonight is the night, you've decided. his parents are out of town (as usual) and it's just you two in the house, you've made sure he's free the whole day the tomorrow (no driving little shits around or shifts at the video store) so you'll have the whole friday night and the next day to yourselves.

you even splurged a bit and purchased a set of overpriced lingerie, way too expensive for just two little scraps of fabric and shaved, exfoliated and moisturized your entire body the night before. you still haven't approached the subject with him, but you've already planned a careful yet objective way to approach the subject and even practiced what you'd say in the mirror and bought a cosmo magazine. you're not exactly proud of yourself for that last one.

your plan is finally set in motion after you and steve get home from work and throw yourselves on his couch, half watching a movie and eat leftovers from the dinner you cooked the night before. when you're both done, you tell him you need a shower, where you use that lavender soap he likes and spray on the perfume he gave you on your birthday. after you're done, he's waiting in his room for you, halfheartedly flipping through the book you're currently reading.

"you can take your shower now" you tell him distractedly, holding the towel you've wrapped around yourself tightly to your body. he finally looks up and realizes your state of undress, his eyebrows shooting up.

"what are you doing?"

you stop going through your over night bag to throw him a confused look, "what are you talking about?"

"you used that soap i like, and that perfume i gave you that you only use on special occasions..." he stands up from the bed and stalks to you, watching you from narrowed eyes, like he's suspicious you're planning his murder. "what are you planning?"

you fake surprise, your hand coming up to clutch imaginary pearls. "me? why would i scheme something against my dear loving boyfriend?"

he looks at you unimpressed and you stand on your tip toes to rest your hands on his chest, his hands coming to support you on your waist and you whisper next to his ear, "okay, maybe i do have something planned... why don't you go take your shower and find out?"

he glances at you one last time before squeezing your waist and letting you go.

"fine..." he sighs dramatically, "i'll go"

once he's locked the door behind him, you put on your recently purchased underwear and bra on. you throw on one of his old highschool t-shirts since he once mentioned how much he likes seeing you wearing them.

by the time he gets out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam surrounding him, you're sitting on his bed, rubbing lotion on your legs and he's shirtless, wearing only gray sweatpants, that hang low on his hips, his hair half dry as he finishes towel drying it.

you tsk and shake your head disheartened. "oh- wow, okay, harrington"

he glances at you once and goes back to drying his hair. "huh?"

"the chest, the scandalous dick print..." you explain and gesticulate towards him. "are you trying to seduce me or something?"

"why are you looking at my dick? you interested?" your stomach burns with insinuation but you ignore him, simply tucking your lotion back into your bag.

"i mean... it's hard not to notice when you're whoring yourself around" you shrug with fake nonchalance.

he scoffs loudly at you, going back into the bathroom quickly to hang both of your towels and getting on your way when you're about to climb on the bed after having dropped your bag in the corner.

"i'm whoring myself?" he looms over you, hand resting on your shoulder to snap the strap of your bra that's peeking from his shirt "you're the one wearing a new bra babe."

you don't answer, simply slapping his hand away and climbing on the bed, intentionally giving him a peek of your ass as you finally sit near the foot of the bed, with your legs crossed.

"why don't you turn off the lights and come take a look?"

he earnestly complies, almost tripping on a sweater he left on the bedroom floor earlier that day as he does what you asked. he lights the lampshade on his bedside table and walk towards you, leaning down to reach you when you stop him.

"no" you say firmly. "go sit on the bed, near the headboard."

he complies, but not without giving you a look. "ooh, bossy"

you turn to watch him and can't help the spark that lights up in your tummy. he looks ridiculous attractive, hair fluffy from not being styled properly, his hairy chest all on display for you and his thick spread legs giving a privileged view of his dick in those sweatpants. it's almost criminal, but you swallow it down and keep going with your plan.

you crawl to him on all fours, purposefully, until you're between his legs.

"i don't know about bossing " you run a long manicured fingernail through his thick chest hair. "but i was thinking about something i'd like to try with you..." you only stop when your fingers are almost at his waistband and you swirl your fingers around his bellybutton. you glance at his face and he almost looks dazed, eyes following your finger avidly.

hook, line and sinker.

your boyfriend was almost too easy sometimes.

"yeah, babe... whatever you want" you hold back your laughter and finally climb on top of his legs, his eyes following the curve of your hips and your bare legs as you straddle him.

"how do you feel about chocking?" you ask, making his gaze shift to your face.

"chocking? are you serious?"

"yeah, i think it'd be really good to have your hands around my neck" his fingers dig tightly on your hips, but you can tell he's still unsure.

"what if i hurt you?"

"if it makes you feel better, we can have a safe word and we can immediately stop if one of us says it. no questions asked"

"what if you can't speak?"

"then i can just tap you three times, like this?" you demonstrate, tapping his shoulder. "is that okay?"

he nods quietly, so you ask: "what if i do it on you first so you know what it feels like?"

"yeah, sure"

you gently put your hands on his throat, not applying pressure yet, just resting there.

"you just have to make sure you squeeze the sides, not on top so you don't stop airflow" you explain, spreading your fingers so they're on each side of his throat and squeezing carefully. steve himself is more surprised than you when his breath stutters and he lets an almost groan out.

"did you like that?"

"fuck yeah, that's super hot" he tells you breathlessly, surprising you with a forceful kiss. he manages to distract you, his tongue slipping into your mouth and brushing against yours as his fingers squeeze your hips and start guiding you to grind on his lap. you let him call the shots for a moment, slowly moving your hips against his now half hard cock and sinking your fingers on his hair to scratch his scalp lovingly.

however, when his hands start to wander underneath your borrowed shirt you bite his lip softly, letting it slot back in place as you pull away.

he's about to complain, big brown eyes staring at you and almost pouting. you press your pointer finger to his lips, silencing him, hips still moving at a torturously slow pace against him.

"there's one more thing, actually" you move your finger away and trace his bottom lip carefully.

"more?" his eyebrows raise in question.

"what about you... i don't know, maybe you can be a rough with me? like slapping me a little bit"

"slapping?! babe, i don't wanna hurt you and i don't-"

"you slap my ass all the time!" you accuse him, reminding him of all the times you'd walk past him or bend down and he had slapped your butt teasingly.

"yeah, jokingly"

"babe, i trust you" you grip his face, forcing him to look at you. "i know you'd never hurt me if i didn't ask you to. i just think it'd be really hot, and who knows... maybe you'll like it too. and if you really don't like it we'll never speak of this again" you shrug, gently pushing his hair from his face.

"you sure?" you nod and press a quick kiss to his lips.

"if you wanna stop just say red, okay? anytime."

"yeah, i like that"

"you'll tell me if you wanna stop, right?" you press another quick kiss to his lips in thanks.

he nods eagerly "you too, okay? just say the word and we'll stop" you nod in agreement. "okay... but now what? do i just... jump right into it?"

"no... what about we start the way we always do before having sex?" you smirk, starting to move your hips in slow circular motions again and his hands slide down your back to slip under your t-shirt again.

he laughs huskily next to ear, making you shiver. "we're really good at that", his lips make contact with the skin of your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses there. you keep moving on top of him, hands sinking into his hair and keeping him there.

"fuck, steve" you whine when he sucks at a sensitive spot on your neck, his hands squeezing your thighs roughly, moulding fat like dough underneath his fingertips.

suddenly you feel a sharp sting on your backside as steve slaps your ass. you whine deep in your throat and your hips stutter in their rhythm against his lap.

"oh, you really like it when i do that"

"god, i do" you breathlessly tell him with a smile, tugging his hair harshly to guide him to your mouth. "you like this too, don't you? just wanna give me what i need, huh baby?"

"i do, i do. just want my girl to feel good" he whines against your mouth, while he spreads your ass and digs his fingers into your skin.

you kiss him some more, until you can feel his now hard cock against you, through the lace fabric of your underwear and his sweatpants. his hand lift up your t-shirt and carefully takes it off of you.

"god, you're gorgeous" you push on his chest gently until his back is against the headboard so you can show him the whole thing, from the intricate lace to the small straps keeping everything together. "you got this for me?" he teases you, his hands playing with your underwear, pulling it and letting it snap against the skin of your hip.

"yeah..." you answer distractedly, his cock rubbing in a very nice spot near your covered clit. his hand moves up to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing your pebbled nipple through your bra. "you like it?"

"fuck yeah, i love it" one of his hand cups your breast, while the other pushes the fabric of your bra down so he can pull and twist your nipple.

you're already a mess on top of him, feeling the wetness on your underwear sticking to your folds, when he lowers his head to suck your nipple into his mouth and his hand plays with your other breast. the nails of your left hand dig half crescent moons on his bare shoulders while the other tug on his hair to keep him there and your head drops back in pleasure.

his hand stops massaging your breasts and you're about to complain when you feel it start to slip down your stomach and hook under your underwear to rub his fingers through your wetness, his knuckles grazing your clit. you hold him tighter, a loud moan leaving your lips when he sinks two fingers inside of you.

"yes, yes, yes, baby" you whine, hiding your face in his hair as he realeases your nipple with a lewd pop.

"you're so fucking wet" he rasps against you and sucks a mark on the swell of your breast, pumping his fingers in and out of you as the palm of his hand rubbing on your clit everytime he moves. "god, you feel so good around my fingers. can't wait to have my dick inside you."

you're lost in the rhythm of it, his palm brushing your clit at every stroke, the feeling of his lips sucking on your chest and his hips bucking underneath yours occasionally. but you finally reach your peak when his free hand slips down your back and slaps your ass again, harder this time, palming it underneath his fingertips.

"that's it... come for me, baby" you pull him to your mouth again as you come down and he guides you through it, still feeling yourself clenching on his fingers as you twitch in his lap.

"god, you're so fucking hot" you whisper against his mouth, still breathless. "you're so good to me, baby. such a good boy"

suddenly, he's holding you tighter and manhandling you, roughly dropping you on your back and looming over you between your knees. before you can react, he's ripping off his sweatpants and throwing it on his bedroom floor.

he stands completely naked in front of you, helping you spread your legs. you eye him lustfully, from his mussed hair to his throbbing cock standing tall, the tip pink and dripping with a little pre cum.

"can i go down on you?" you ask him avidly, starting to lift yourself up but he stops you, holding your wrist above your body.

"nuh-uh, baby. i'm gonna blow my load if you do that" he denies and you giggle, about to complain when he licks the palm of his free hand and strokes himself one, two, three times, shutting you up real quick. he's starting to align himself with your entrance when you stop him.

"wait, wait" he stops immediately.

"what? what's wrong?"

"i want you from behind"

he groans, dropping his head on the curve of your neck and letting go of your wrists. "you really can't say shit like that to me if you want me to last"

you giggle and tap his shoulder sympathetically, "you'll live". you lightly scratch his back, sliding your hands from his shoulder to his lower back and wrap your legs around his hips, feeling the tip of his cock nudging your inner thigh. "now... why don't you put me on my knees, handsome?"

he quickly moves to reposition you, helping you lift yourself up and pushing your spine down gently when you get on your knees. you lower your torso all the way until your chest is pressed against his bedsheets, lifting your ass up.

"fuck, baby. you look so good like this" he says when he slots himself behind you.

"maybe you should listen to me more, harrington" you tease, looking at him from over your shoulder as he kneads your ass.

"maybe i should, pretty girl" he answers distractedly, and you feel his thumb spreading your entrance. "look at this pretty pussy"

you moan and try to wriggle in the hold he has on your hips, "steeeve-"

he laugh mockingly and starts rubbing the head of his cock against your folds. "you this desperate babe?"

before you can answer he starts sinking himself inside, both of you sighing at the feeling. when he's finally inside you can't help the moan that escapes you, his big cock filling you up beautifully and the stretch in this position making you feel so full. however, his strokes are slow and languid and while that's nice, it's not exactly what you need.

"come on, babe" you grumble, trying to rock your hips against his grip. "fuck me like you mean it"

he scoffs and speeds up, his hand wrapping around your hair to press your face against his mattress and to keep you still, changing the angle slightly and pressing right against your spot inside of you.

"is this how you want it?" he huffs, slapping you again.

"oh god, yes. right there!"

he pulls you up until you're both kneeling on the bed, his hips slapping against your ass. his free hand climbs up your chest until it's resting on your neck. "do you want-?"

"yes, i want it. please, please, choke me" you interrupt, begging him to keep going, begging him for more. his fingers carefully start squeezing you throat and you wrap your hand around his to guide him until the pressure is just right.

"squeezing my cock so tight, baby. should've told me you wanted this sooner."

you don't get to answer, his free hand suddenly slipping down to rub circles on your clit and you're gone, your orgasm hitting you like a fright train. he helps you ride it out, until you gently pull his hand away and bend down again, resting your weight on your elbows.

"your turn, baby" you tell him, tilting your head slightly so you can see him.

he starts babbling and pressing you harder against the bed, a clear sign that he's close himself. he bends down, his chest against your back until he can stretch his hand out to hold yours against the mattress and he can babble against your ear about how good you feel, how perfect you are for him, how much he loves being inside you.

"that's it, babe. you made me feel so good, it's your turn now" you tell him, still slightly breathless and sensitive around his cock. "please come, need you to come so bad"

"god, i'm gonna cum" and it's all it takes to feel him pull out and finish himself off on your back. you're both still for a second as you catch your breath and he squeezes your hand still intertwined in his gently. when you turn your face to the side to see him, he presses a kiss to your cheek.

he taps your hips gently as he gets up and goes to the bathroom, coming back quickly to wipe you and himself clean with a wet washcloth. when he's done he throws it on top of the rest of his dirty laundry, still thrown on his bedroom floor.

when he finally turns to you, you're finally laying on your back and getting comfortable on his pillow. steve throws himself next to you and his arms immediately wrap around your waist. you hug him back, guiding his head to rest on top of your bare chest, now littered with purpling marks.

"you had fun, pretty girl?"

"you couldn't tell?" you laughter, his head shaking slightly against your chest as you comb his hair away from his face and his breath against your skin.

"god, i'm obsessed with you" he complains, hiding his face on your boob. you laugh, gently coaxing his face away so you can see him.

"that's good," you smooth the messy hairs on his eyebrow. "i'm pretty obsessed with you too"

"we're pretty perfect for each other then"

"you should keep me forever" you tease, tracing his features gently. he presses a kiss to your sternum and gets comfortable against you.

"maybe i will"

it sounds like a pretty good deal.

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington smut #i wrote this instead of working on my thesis 😃#i wasn't sure if i should post this but i got so much love on my last fic it made me braver so 🙃#mine

1K notes · View notes