#though there is a bit of that in places when they leave the hotel

[gold-onthe-inside]

no grave can hold my body down

who? emily prentiss (s7) x teacher!reader summary: your grief over losing emily is forced undone when she re-appears seven months later outside your apartment content warnings: no smut, pg13 though, def suggestive word count: 1.8k songs: tarantino by plvtinum, skin and bones by david kushner, i wanna be yours by sofia karlberg

You had never been one to kid yourself — your life was probably as mundane as it could get, the highs and lows scored by the school bell, hefting a pile of essays to correct at home with a glass of wine darker than the red you mark up your papers with. Seven months ago, you might have had company over, a certain raven-haired woman with dark lipstick and a low cut top, her handgun and badge stowed away somewhere.

You’d met at a seminar on school shootings, one that was district-wide, the appointed representive for your school, and for some inexplicable reason, you had caught her eye. She’d been the one to make the first move, obviously. Women who look and sound like Emily Prentiss always get what they want. Two drinks had loosened your lips, the magnetic charm of her dark gaze drawing you closer to her, leading to her brownstone apartment, much nicer than yours.

You let out a slow, shaky breath as you walked to your car, a blushing orange painting the sky as you left the essays in the passenger seat and closed the door behind you, and when you bit your lower lip, you can remember how Emily would have used her thumb to pull it free, tipping your chin back to kiss you smoothly. Seven months in the grave and she still wouldn’t leave you alone.

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” she had whispered and you hadn’t cared. It had feverish and each kiss felt like molasses, thick and rich, her hands running all over your neck, then down to grasp your thigh. Her fingers slowly pulled up the edge of your skirt, pushing it up as her hand slowly made its way up your thigh, all the while continuing to kiss you hard. She was so focused, so determined, like all she wanted in the world was to take you entirely as her own.

Your breath had been so sweet, the faintest taste of bourbon shared between your lips as the kiss turned hungry and demanding, Emily’s tongue pressing between your lips to taste the warmth of your mouth, a low groan escaping her lips as she grasped at the hem of your blouse.

You dropped your head on the back of your seat, running a hand through your hair — how many times was your body was going to torture you like this? It was like Emily was a part of you, the absence of her touch, of her presence, aching like a missing limb. You pulled out your phone, replaying old voicemails just to hear the sound of her voice. Calls from hotel rooms across the country, telling you that she was thinking of you. A dark and enigmatic woman turning into a soft kitten, leaving you cheesy messages about how she wondered if you were looking at the same moon as her.

You weren’t even her girlfriend, or so you kept having to remind yourself when she reappeared once a week with a book she thought you’d like. Some people collected mugs, or fridge magnets from airports. Emily brought you books, books that you’d devour and tab and text her about in your lunch hours. Who’s got you smiling like that? they would tease, and you’d reply with a smile and a shake of your head. Who was Emily to you? Someone who had snuggled into your chest, warming your heart, and then leaving you, cold and hollow. Just something to house her in until the phone rang.

Somehow, you managed to gather your wits long enough to get yourself home, a cheap place in a surburban part of DC, and you left the dusty red sedan with your bag, your essays, and your car keys, hands too full to get to your apartment keys when you hear her first.

“Need a hand?” she asked, not as cocky and self-assured as you remember and you looked up to see her standing outside your building and you almost drop your things, staring at Emily. Sure, she’s haunted you every day since you met her, but you’ve never had a full-on hallucination. Your lips parted, frozen to the spot and Emily cautiously approached you, gently reaching for your papers.

“I…” You have no words. “Are you real?” you asked, your voice barely above a breath and Emily looked so… sad.

“I… um..” she said, the sadness in your eyes breaking her heart, so she gave you a small smile. “Yeah, I’m real. It’s okay… It’s okay, I promise I have an explanation for all of this,” she said, her voice desperate. You’ve never heard her desperate, not like this, with her heart in her hands. “Can we go inside, please?” Emily asked you, stirring you from your reverie and you fumble for your apartment keys, your head buzzing in confusion, like a television with no signal.

She’s quiet as she followed you in to your apartment, helping you set your things down so she could follow you into your living room. She didn’t know exactly how to tell you everything and make it all okay, so she just sighed, her hands nervously fiddling as she began to recount the story. To your credit, you listened to her without interrupting once; the undercover assignment, the international terrorist hunting her down, her old team members being killed one by one. You listen to all of it, your chest caving in as she spoke.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” she whispered softly, her eyes locked on to yours. “I’ve missed you.”

"You missed me?" you asked hollowly, looking at her.

“Yeah,” Emily sighed softly, knowing that she didn’t deserve you, but she would tell the truth, no matter how difficult it was. “I thought about you every night, even when I knew I shouldn’t.”

Your hands ran over your face, unable to help the thoughts that plagued you every time she would tell you about her work. You don’t belong here. This whole thing was so laughable that you actually snorted a little in derision at your own stupidity. “I teach high school English, Emily,” you scoffed, unable to look at her. “God, what was I thinking, getting involved with a federal agent?”

“I know,” Emily whispered, and you can hear her voice cracking slightly. She had hurt you, and she had known exactly what she was doing when she had asked you to be her… whatever you were to her. She had only wanted you a little bit, had told you that she couldn’t give you all of her, because she didn’t trust that you could keep her all to yourself, and she regretted each and every one of those words. But her regrets wouldn’t help you, so she simply asked, “Is there anything I can do to fix this?”

"Fix what, Emily?" you asked, not quite angry but, like you had given up the fight. "Come on, who are we kidding with this? We don't... Emily, we don't belong together. An international spy and an English teacher?"

She hadn’t expected you to welcome her back with open arms, even though she’s wanted you to, especially after she thought about you every day for months, the taste of you lingering on her lips as she lay awake in bed. But the hurt she had done to you was greater than any of the good she’d done, and she just asked, “What do you want me to do? Do you want me to go?”

You looked at her, your eyes heartbroken. "I want you to stay," you said quietly. "I always want you to stay. But I just... I don't think you're the kind of person who stays."

Her throat tightens at your words and she sighs, nodding her head. She looks down at the floor, closing her eyes for a moment as she tries not to cry. “I don’t have the best track record,” she admitted softly, “but you’re not just some person. Not to me,” she whispered softly, her hand gently reaching for yours. She didn’t pull you close, but simply held your hand, giving you a sad look as she softly said, “I don’t want to go.”

You looked at your hands, taking a breath before intertwining your fingers with hers. She can’t help but smile at that and she squeezed your hand, taking comfort in the warm touch of your fingers. She’d missed the feel of your skin against hers, and she wondered if you had missed her just as much. "I don't want you to go," you whispered, looking up at her.

“I don’t want to go,” she repeated with a small smile and she pulled you a little closer, resting her forehead against yours. “Not unless you ask me to.”

"You know I won't," you murmured, closing your eyes, her heat making you dizzy.

“Then I’ll stay,” she whispered softly, and she finally leaned down, meeting your lips with a gentle kiss. You taste just as good as she remembered. You let go of her hands, cupping her face to kiss her harder. She sighed into your mouth, her hand gently cupping your cheek, pulling you a little closer to make the kiss deeper. She’s almost afraid that you’ll disappear, but with your arms wrapped around her neck, she feels safe for the first time in months.

continued... (nsfw, mdni)

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads

The Last

slow building apocalyptic thriller

an american academic is at a conference in a remote Swiss hotel when a nuclear apocalypse strands him with just 20 others

50 days in, a body is found in a watertank and he becomes obsessed with investigating to find out who did it

even though the remaining people are just trying to quietly survive as supplies slowly dwindle and the winter approaches

[velvetydream]

꒰ :🥀 [ Till death do us part ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : What if Alastors dear little darling wife, his partner in crime, the person he thought he'd never see again, turns up with Mimzy on the day of the visit of the big boss of hell.

Pairing : Alastor x fem! Reader

Word count : 1899 Words

Genre : Fluff , Drama , Angst

Warnings ➵ Mentions of death, you're shorter than

Vaggie, possessive Alastor, swearing

Prequel -> > The radio star lost <

a/n : I love this trope ngl, tried to not make him to much out of character, hope it worked.. T T

Also I'm rather new to Hazbin Hotel, so I say sorry if anythings seems wrong or out of character! ><

┌───────────────────────── ·  ·  ·  · ♡

The whole hotel was a bit chaotic right now, Lucifer himself would be visiting in just a bit and Charlie wanted everything to be perfect. Colorful decorations were hanging everywhere, a banner was hung up for welcoming the king of hell, how does one even welcome the king of hell into their hotel? Charlie was probably the most stressed of all, but Vaggie did her best to calm her nervous wreck of a girlfriend down.

The moment Lucifer stepped into the hotel was meant to make everything go down, Alastor and his Ego had somehow always a snarky remark against Lucifer. Charlie tried her best to keep them apart, introducing her other friends, before she announced how she would be needing his help. And again the banter between the king of hell and the radio demon started all over again. As if throwing insults at each other before wasn't enough already, now they were pulling at Charlie left and right, like two babies fighting over a toy.

But all things come to an end, which Charlie was thankful for right now, as Mimzy, apparently a friend of Alastor, which was interesting to know he even had any, came barging in with a grand entrance. As the woman now settles down at the bar, talking with the others, Alastor and Charlie took Lucifer on a walk around, Husker disappearing for a second too, but soon joining them at the bar again, a scowl on his face, but something else, undescribable behind his eyes.

A bang was heard through the whole hotel as the entrance door was slammed open and heard could be an angry voice. "MIMZY! You little bitch!" A demon, a slight bit shorter than Vaggie probably, walked in. A scowl evident on the face, as her eyes scan over the place, before falling on the woman she was looking for. "How dare you leave me in the shit like that?! You've got it coming if those sharks don't kill you, I certainly will!" Ignoring the questioning looks of Angel and Husker, you stomp over to the blonde, ready to yank at her hair, when suddenly a bit of debris was thrown through the window and landed beside you, barely missing you by a hair. "The fuck?" The demon's head craned around, looking out the window and there they were, those fuckers Mimzy was in debt to.

You didn't really have time to react much, as three people stormed into the entrance hall, all you could catch was a glimpse of red before the person ran outside, screams of the sharks could be heard, at least those were finally taken care of.

The loan sharks were gone and fought off quickly by that person, his voice now directed to Mimzy, your own eyes on her yourself with a scowl. She and that red demon apparently knew each other quite well, as Mimzy was walking to the door, you finally really looked at the demon. He had short red and black hair, ears sat atop his head, despite scowling Mimzy he was smiling, though a sinister smile it seems. His attire was almost completely red too, a cane was clutched in his hands, as he watched Mimzy walk off, you could only make out a small part of his face. The man seemed so familiar as if you had known him for a long time.. Your heart was running a mile right now, it was getting hard to breathe, and then...

"Thank you Alastor, really.." The long-haired blonde spoke up.. That name, it couldn't be right? Mimzy would've told you, she knew him, she would've definitely told you.. right? You must be mistaken right now.. Your eyes were fixated on the man called Alastor, the voices and sounds around you were all a mush, drowned out as your brain was going all around. Now that you could see his face, he definitely had some resemblance to him.. to your late husband, who had died before you. You were his assistant, his partner in crime, when the news hit you that he was shot, it broke your heart, but still, you continued on alone, killing. That's probably what also got you to hell, well sooner than later you were figured out and soon arrived here in hell.

"Yo smiles, this girly is gawking at you for minutes now." Slowly voices were coming back to you, the white spider beside you talked, pointing his thumb at you, the red-haired now meeting your eyes, his ears straightening and standing alert like the ones of a deer caught in headlight. What irony if he was your Alastor, the irony of dooming him with deer-like features, after getting shot assumed for a deer while hiding one of the many bodies. That day you decided to let him go alone, oh if you just hadn't done that, maybe you both would be alive or you would've at least arrived together in hell.

Alastor was taking slow steps to you, the smile on his face looking strained, yet it never disappeared, his hand was reaching out for you but stopped. Eyes moving over your form, taking in everything. Resemblance to his wife evident, but.. how did he never notice you before? Had he ever met you, walked past, maybe even taken a second glance but dismissed this feeling he has right now.

Swiftly he grabs your wrist, dragging you behind him, ignoring the calls of his name of the other residents, his mind plagued by one only thought, more like one only person.. you.

Stumbling behind him, his grip rather firm on your wrist, yet it felt comforting as if you knew he would never hurt you. Not in your lifetime and also not now in your afterlife. Eyes watching the back of his head, you were wondering what expression his face harbors right now. Was he happy? Was he confused? Disappointed? Maybe he knew where you were all this time but didn't want to meet you. No, he wasn't like this. He may have been distant sometimes while alive, but in the end, he was always a darling to you. Taking care of you, just as he vowed on your wedding day. A distant memory, yet one of the most beautiful ones you have.

A door was opened and as you were pulled inside, the door closed. Steps echoed through the room, you noticed a forest on the other side of the room, but that didn't rather faze you, eyes on him again.. and him only. "Al-" You were interrupted by laughter, the man before you was hugging himself, his arms around him, yet you still weren't able to see his face. "D-Do you know.. How often have I thought about you?!" His voice was loud, a static sound like from a radio accompanied it. One of his hands was tearing at his hair now. "That bitch never told me... I'll make sure to kill her for that.. She kept you from me.." The laughter got even louder, as if the man before you was going insane.

This behavior was nothing new to you, he used to be like this, high on adrenalin when another murder was successful.. Or when he was close to being figured out by the police and detectives, yet he always slipped away right through their incapable fingers.

"I always wondered what happened to you, if you grew old with someone new.." If you were able to see his face right now, you would be able to see the sinister yet possessive smile on his face, his eyes darting around the room.

This all ended in a second when he felt a soft hand on his. He knew this hand, he also knew the person it belonged to like the front of his pocket. "I would never, I carried on alone in your memories, yet I was never as skilled as you darling, so sooner than later they connected all the dots to me." A low chuckle could be heard again, the static radio sound calmed down again too. The tall man slowly turned around now, his hand engulfing your own, his fingers softly running over your own, before he linked them together. How he had missed this feeling, despite having a distaste for people touching him, you were different. Your touch felt warm, like the summer sun kissing his skin, it felt comforting.

"I've missed you mon amour.." His voice was soft, probably the softest it had ever been since he had arrived in hell. His hand guides yours up to his lips, as he closes his eyes and presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand, a smile, now softer, on his lips. He was never one for kissing you on the lips, he definitely favored kissing your hand, like the gentleman he has always been. "I figured with how you were talking seconds ago my dear.." A soft smile was creeping up onto your lips too, mirroring his own one. Red eyes open again, your hand still pressed to his face, but now he was rather holding your hand to his cheek. "Oh how I wished I could've stayed with you my darling, we would've been so successful.." Giggling at his words, with him at your side, you probably would have been going for a long time. "But who says we can't be successful now?" A smirk etched its way onto your husband's face, oh how he loved your daring little mind, always thirsting for blood. With you by his side again now, he would definitely be able to get everything done that he wanted.

"Shall we go back? I want to meet your friends properly." Wanting to pull away your hand, he softly gives you a tug, your head landing on his chest now. Wide eyes look the the side now, as you weren't really able to move, his arms having snaked around you and his chin resting on your head. This was unusual much physical contact, but figured that you hadn't seen each other for multiple decades he yearned for your touch just a slight bit. Your arms lying around him, embracing the hug. "Let's just stay here a few minutes more, we got enough time to introduce you to everyone down there but for now.. let me have you for myself." Nodding softly, your head rests on his chest, as your eyes close and you simply enjoy the presence of your dearly beloved husband.

"What do you mean 'married to smiles'?!" Angel, as he was introduced to you, shouted from his place on the couch now, staring at you flabbergasted. "We've been married for quite a few years before his death." Smiling you answered his question. Alastor didn't like all the attention you were getting, but sooner than later he would have you all to himself again when you two go back to his cozy hotel room or the radio tower. "So you two fu-" Angel wasn't even able to finish his question before he shut himself up as he noticed the look on Alastors face. This time he would've been dead for sure if he finished that question.

Overall everyone invited you happily into their little hotel family, it was amazing. Charlie immediately took a liking to you and if you're being honest she quickly was viewed by you like a daughter.

[kolsmikaelson]

AND THEN THERE WERE THREE…

NOTES — just saw challengers today and absolutely needed to write smth for these two! only used a gif of art because theres none of the two of them and almost none for patrick </3, i’m a little rusty with smut so bare with me

WARNINGS — 18+ content mdni, slight challengers 2024 spoilers, fem!reader, kinda dom!art, pure smut/little plot, art/patrick interactions, talk of previous art/patrick sexual encounters, spit play, oral (m receiving), tit sucking, dirty talk, mentions of anal, little bit of aftercare, not proofread, lmk if i forgot anything!

REQUEST — Pls write a smut fic with reader and Art fucking in the hotel room (with Patrick watching) and reader asking if Patrick can join them and ofc Art can’t say no because he finds the idea of this super hot. Maybe reader makes Art and Patrick make out like in the movie 👀

WORD COUNT — 1.6k

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None of you were too sure how exactly this had started. You, Art, and Patrick had stumbled back into their hotel room after leaving the beach, each of you finding your own place to sit after Patrick opened up a beer, took a swig, and passed the can to you. You’d taken a seat closer to Art, having naturally gravitated towards him more so than Patrick. And quickly, you and Art were making out, leaving Patrick to watch. 

You blamed the beer. And the fact that you found both Art and Patrick incredibly hot. One minute you’re at a party, dedicated to your best friend, Tashi Duncan, and the next you’re sitting on the beach being invited back to the guys’ hotel room, and the next after that, Art is stripping you of your clothes while Patrick takes a seat leaned up against the wall opposite the foot of the bed. 

“Can I-” He begins, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, desperation clear in his eyes. At your nod, Art quickly yanks your shirt over your head and immediately pulls your body flush against his. He’s planting soft, wet kisses up and down your neck as his fingers work the back of your bra. His eyes widen the moment it drops to the ground. 

Giving you a moment's glance he quickly sucks one nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking and biting. Feeling as though he’s neglected the other one, he pinches and tugs on the opposite nipple, smiling around the one in his mouth at the moans you let out. 

“Yeah, baby? You like this? Me with your tits in my mouth and my best friend jerking off while watching us?”

For a moment, you’d forgotten about Patrick. Your eyes shoot open, landing on him instantly. The sight of him, slouched against the wall, his hand already wrapped around his cock, with his eyes fixated on both you and Art. He looked so hot, you weren’t sure how you’d forgotten that he was even there. 

“Mhm, ‘s hot.” you admitted, turning Arts face back to you, tugging his bottom lip back into your mouth. The blond pushes you back onto the beds that were pushed together - Patrick’s idea if anyone were to ask - and begins kissing up your stomach only stopping long enough to kiss each of your nipples. He grabs your face, pushing his fingers into your cheeks, making you open your mouth, before letting a large glob of spit fall from his mouth into yours. 

“Swallow.” He smiles when you do so without complaint, even going as far as to look as if you wanted him to do it again. 

Patrick moans at that, louder than before. Sure he and Art had messed around before, when they were both single and bored and needed a good fuck, that wasn’t new, but hearing that commanding tone in the blonds voice sent a shiver down his spine. 

“God, that was hot.” Patrick sighs, laughing when Art gives him the finger. 

“Fuck off, Patrick.” Both of them know he doesn’t mean it, if he wasn’t wanted there, you or Art would’ve said something, but you didn’t. whether Art knew it or not, both you and he wanted him to stay, and keep watching.

At some point during that interaction, you weren’t sure when exactly, Art had shed his pants and underwear. He was dragging the tip up and down your slit, up and down, stopping every few seconds to slap your clit with it. When your eyes finally landed on his length, it made your jaw drop. He was big, bigger than you’d seen before, he was long and girthy with veins running along the bottom of it. 

He slowly slides into you, admiring the look of pure bliss on your face. He’d never seen anyone look so angelic. The closest comparison he could make was how Patrick looked when he’d first given him a blow job. He wouldn’t call the look on Patrick's face angelic perse, but it was hot, really hot. The reminder of that, and the way you’ve begun clenching around him, spurs him into you. His hips snapping into yours, his heavy balls hitting your ass with each thrust. It was unlike anything either of you had felt before. 

I want him to join.

You weren’t sure that the words had actually left your mouth until the blond on top of you stopped his thrusts, looking into your eyes for a moment. 

“That what you want, baby?” He murmurs, kissing sloppily up and down your neck, shivers running through your entire body at his touch. His fingers falling to your clit, flicking at it. The pleasure was almost enough to make you forget that he’d even asked a question. 

Almost. 

“Please,” Even in your fucked out state, you couldn’t help but want more. 

“Come on, Zweig. You heard her.” Patrick grins, hopping to his feet, although slightly hesitant. He wasn’t sure where to go, or what to do. But his nerves dissolved the moment Art turned around, and gave him that look, one that he knew meant that everything would be okay. It meant that he just needed to get over himself and have a good time, everything would work out. After that he’s on the move towards you, giving Art a harsh slap to the ass as he goes past him, laughing when Art swats back at him. 

Patrick all but flies onto the bed, having kicked his underwear off the moment he stood up, and his shirt is long gone, a mix of yours, his, and Arts clothes are scattered around the hotel room, sure to have lost at least one thing. But none of you had it in you to care, too overwhelmed with pleasure. Your mouth opens before he’s even fully on the bed, but he gets the message, quickly positioning his tip in front of your mouth, thrusting a few times before losing control and fucking your throat. 

The three of you move in tandem for minutes, or maybe it was hours, Art would thrust into you, rubbing your clit with his fingers, while Patrick would be pulling himself out of your mouth at the same time. It felt as though this was a regular occurrence, as though it were normal. And god did you hope it would become a normal thing. The three of you, together, making each other feel good. 

Tapping Patricks thigh lightly, you hum happily when he pulls out of your mouth, giggling at how quickly he begins to check and make sure you’re okay. 

“What? What’s wrong? Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The words come out of his mouth at lightning speed and it’s difficult for you to understand, but Art had and his thrusts slowed to a stop, hands leaving your body, giving you a questioning look as if repeating everything his friend had just said. 

“I’m fine baby,” And then you say something neither of them could quite hear. 

“Gotta speak up for us, sweetheart. Can’t do what you want us to do otherwise.” That comes from Patrick, Art nodding along with him. 

“Want you two to kiss.” The words fly out of your lips and you’re suddenly shy, pressing your face into Patricks thigh, nipping at it softly. 

Both men smirk at you before making eye contact with each other, giving a subtle nod. 

“Well c’mon man, you know how I like it.”

The combination of Arts words, his sudden thrusts and Patrick taking it upon himself to flick at your clit, push you over the edge. The power of your orgasm makes your legs shake, your mind empty of anything this isn’t you, Patrick, or Art. 

They’re still kissing, it’s all teeth and tongue and spit. It’s messy, and it only stops long enough for Arts mouth to fall open, moans spilling out as he comes inside of you, hot spurts of his come flooding your insides, leaving a white ring around the base of his cock as he fucks you through both of your orgasms. 

At this point, Patrick has taken a step back, and is watching again. He’s stroking himself with one hand, squeezing just right and out of nowhere, Art reaches out, cupping the dark haired man's balls, tugging and rubbing on them just the way Patrick likes. The added pleasure sends him crashing over the edge, he barely has the time to move and aim his cum to where you and Art are connected, spilling himself all over your cunt and Arts cock. 

Art pulls out and the three of you fall into a pile of heavy breathing, sweat, spit, and cum on the beds pushed into the middle of the room. Once you all catch your breath, Patrick is the first to speak. 

“Wow.” It was simple, but it made you all burst out laughing. 

“Wow, indeed.” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his pec, turning to do the same to Art. 

“That was fucking hot.” Arts words make you all giggle yet again. 

“Okay,” Patrick leans you into Art and pushes himself off of the bed, “‘m gonna get you two cleaned up, be right back.” He reassures you, hearing you whine at losing his presence. He comes back with a warm washcloth in hand, and a small cup of water in his other. He hands the water to Art motioning for him to take a drink and then give you some as well, while he bends at the waist, resting his knees on the floor and taking the cloth to your core, cleaning you as gently as he could before moving onto Art. Tossing the cloth to the corner of the room he pulls both you and Art into his embrace, enjoying the quiet for a moment before you break the silence. 

“Round two? Whoever makes me cum harder gets to fuck me here first.” You smile slyly, placing your hand on your ass, giggling when Patrick snatches you from Arts hold, muttering something about how he ‘got you first last time and that it’s his turn now.’

[spxfav]

Wedding Night

Summary: After your wedding, you and Spencer head out to your suíte, expecting to have a movie-like wedding night. However, that's not exactly what happens.

Warnings: Reader referred to as a woman. Nothing much, actually, this is just very sweet.

Word count: 1.8k

a/n: This came to me as I was getting ready for bed at 7 A.M. after my graduation ball, and I kept thinking how it would be a realistic wedding night lol. Enjoy <3

Lace underwear, romantic music, candlelit room and loving whispers. Champagne and strawberries, maybe a bubble bath afterwards and falling asleep in each other’s arms. That’s how you pictured your wedding night.

The reality, however, couldn’t be more different.

Spencer’s hand rests on your lower back, huge smiles on both your faces as you stumble with the key card to get into the hotel room.

“I can do it.” You say, smiling ear to ear.

“I can see that.” He mocked, making you giggle as he leaned in, placing a loving kiss on your forehead.

You cheered, cheeks red from the alcohol when the door was finally unlocked, and he laughed and placed a finger over your lips.

“Shhh, it’s three in the morning.” His voice was a hushed whisper as you, once again, giggled against his finger and walked into the room.

It was beautiful, dimly lit with flowers everywhere and a gorgeous view to the vineyard you two got married in. As you admired the room, though, Spencer could only admire the woman in front of him. His wife. He still couldn’t believe he got to call you that.

He had this lovesick smile on his face as he approached, arms encircling your waist as he bent down to pepper your face with kisses, making you giggle as his mustache tickles your skin.

“You look so pretty.” He said when you turned around, his hand moving to rest on your face.

“You already said that. A million times.” You smile, eyes shining as you look up at him.

“I’ll say it a million times more.” He murmured, looking at you like you created the Earth itself, and kissed you. It was slow, tender. Like he had no rush at all. And he didn’t. Thankfully, you were his all night, and for the next fifteen days of your honeymoon. This was the first of many, many kisses.

"Have I ever told you how much I like this?" You ask, interrupting the kiss as your finger moves up to trace the dark hair on his upper lip.

"The stash?" He asks with a cocky smile and you laugh at the word, and the way his voice sounded whenever he tried - and failed - to use slangs.

"Yes, the stash." You say, your voice slightly mocking.

"Good thing I forgot to shave." He murmurs with a smile, bending down to capture your lips once more, his smile blending with his as your arms circle around his neck to pull him even closer.

His hand finds its way to the back of your head, tangling in your meticulously styled hair that he had been oh so careful not to ruin all day. The other palm, resting on your waist, slowly pushes you back towards the wall, his lips not leaving yours for one second.

Sliding down, you feel the heat of his hand moving from your waist to your hip, then to your backside, and involuntarily, you let out a giggle against his lips.

“What?” He asks, smiling as his mouth moves against yours.

“Naughty.” Your murmur makes him laugh, eyes twinkling with amusement as he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Excuse me?”

“We haven’t been here for five minutes and you’re already trying to get freaky.” The slurring in your words, the way you said it with your brow lifted like that, simply made him laugh more. "I think it's the mustache. There's a reason why they call it a pornstache."

“Mrs. Reid… Are you drunk?” His hands were back on your waist, his thumbs caressing your skin over the dress so tenderly. You smile widely, biting your bottom lip to unsuccessfully try to contain it.

“Just a little bit, Dr. Reid” Your fingers were brought together in a pinching motion as you showed him the visual amount of your “drunkness”.

“More than a little bit.” He smiled, bringing his own fingers up to open yours and make the quantity more appropriate.

“Okay, fair enough” You laughed, but your lips were back on his half a second later, and this time, it was you guiding you both to the bed.

The dress was heavy, and Spencer couldn’t help but laugh when you sat on the fluffy mattress, the blankets blending it with the white fabric.

“What?”

“You look like a cupcake.” He says, earning a scoff from you and being attacked by a random pillow that was close enough for you to reach.

“Take it back!” Your voice was as serious as you could manage it to be, but the smile on your lips was a dead giveaway that you weren’t actually upset.

“Alright, I’m sorry. You don’t look like a cupcake.” He smiled in that charming way that makes your knees give out. Good thing you were sitting.

“Thank you.” Your face was already between his hands, and the pillow falls uselessly by the bed when he guides you down onto the mattress, his body weight pushing you down as you allow yourself to drown in his touches.

His tongue explores your mouth in gentle, languid kisses, and you were comfortable in his arms, enveloped by the smell of his cologne, laying on the soft bedding…

“Darling?” You blink, your eyes meeting his and that crushing smile “Are you falling asleep on me?”

“No…” You blink again, and this time, completely against your will, a yawn escapes your lips.

“So, you’re that kind of drunk.” His fingers gently brush some of the curls away from your face.

“Sorry. No, I’m good. I’m not going to fall asleep.”

“Sure you won’t.”

“I won’t.”

“I believe you.” No, he didn’t.

Spencer knew you well enough by now. You’ve been "happy drunk" for hours at the party, but that wave had long passed. Two more minutes in this bed and you’d be completely out of it.

“Honey” He smiles, caressing your cheek when your eyes start drooping again.

“I’m awake!” His laughter is so angelical, and you smile despite it all.

“Listen, we have fifteen days. We’re both exhausted, and I’m sure you can’t be very comfortable right now, in such a tight dress and with your hair like this. We can just sleep, it’s fine.”

“But it’s our wedding night.” You pout, and the look on his face softens.

“I know, but you’ve been up since six a.m.”

“Still. I can do this. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” He chuckles incredulously and takes your face between his hands again. “My love, you’re not disappointing me, not in the slightest. I just got married to the woman of my dreams, to the love of my life. I’ll have the rest of my life to have sex with you, one night won’t kill me.”

His voice was earnest, and his heart was light. He loved you more than anything, and the last thing he wanted was you feeling like you weren’t enough because you were too tired to give him a wedding night like the ones in movies.

“Let’s get you out of all of this, and then go to bed.” Before you could protest, he was already up, your body in his arms as he carried you bridal-style to the bathroom. Fitting.

Your laugh echoed in the room as your arms moved to wrap around his neck and hold you up.

“I can walk, you know.”

“I didn’t want to take any chances of you refusing.” He left a kiss on the tip of your nose as he placed you back down on the floor.

His fingers worked with expertise as he carefully removed the bobby pins from your hair, the pile growing and growing.

“Jesus, how many do you have in here?” He murmured, and you could only giggle as you looked at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror.

Next, came the makeup. Well, came off the makeup.

He still remembers how, every night as you wash your face, you use two products, smiling at him and saying “I have to double cleanse.”

The pads of his fingers massaged the oil on your eyes, melting away the mascara and the layers and layers of product that had been on your face since morning, reapplied to look fresh the whole time.

“You’re so pretty.”

“I probably look exhausted. I’m sure it was better with the makeup.” You smile, and his heart absolutely melts. How he loved that smile.

“Um, no. You’re pretty either way. You could be bald and painted in blue, and you’d still be just as pretty.” You giggle, but he was dead serious. In Spencer’s eyes, you were the most gorgeous person in the universe – yes, universe, because he was sure you’d still be a thousand times prettier than whatever other life form there is out there.

The zipper moves down slowly, and soon, the giant dress is on the floor. His mouth goes dry at the sight of you, his brain momentarily not working.

“See? I was prepared.” You do a little twirl, joking as you have no idea just how much the sight of the black lingerie affected him.

“I’m the luckiest man on the planet.” He murmured, almost to himself as he stepped closer, taking your face in his hands and pulling you in for another kiss, effectively shutting up whatever drunken ramble you were going on about.

This time, his lips were a little more desperate. He was a gentleman through and through, but come on, he was still a man. And with you looking like that in front of him? How could he react any other way?

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist it.” He murmurs, breathless when he finally pulls just the slightest away, the warm palms of his hands still holding your face in place.

“Don’t ever apologise for kissing me.” You murmur back, and you can feel the way the smile comes to his lips.

“Come on, darling. Let’s go to bed.” He picks you up again, and in – very pleasant – seconds, your body sinks on the mattress.

Spencer can feel the warmth of your body against his, the softness of your skin under his hands. He can feel the curve of your backside fitting perfectly against his hips, can smell your perfume and drown in the mess of your post-hairstyle curls.

“Honey?” Your voice was a soft murmur in the dark.

“Yes, darling?” His eyes were half open, his restraint holding him back from doing anything as his lips hover over the curve of your shoulder, so tantalisingly close.

“I’m not sleepy anymore.” The smile that takes over his lips is instant, his hands moving on your skin with a little more purpose once he feels your hips pushing back against his.

“Mm, that’s good.” He whispers and finally allows himself to place hot kisses on your shoulder and up your neck. “But I’ll go slow anyway.”

[postracehair]

a small request

max verstappen x reader | 2k

even world champions deserve love letters. after missing the mexico gp, you're determined to see max have a good weekend in brazil. maybe all it takes is a handwritten note.

cw: fem!reader, being in love, softness, a track-side kiss, love letters. and google translate, sorry to any dutch speakers.

a/n: was this inspired by that video from austin? yeah, it was! sue me! also, written/posted before the gp, so. no race details <3 xx

__

You miss race weekend in Mexico. It happens. You can't be there every weekend, much as you'd like to be. You're even more peeved about it after, considering you quite like Carlos and wish you had seen him earn what very well might be his last win with Ferrari. But you're mostly upset because Max, though he won't say so, could probably have used your support.

Years of experience have him calm, cool, and collected despite the team troubles. Flippant, some headlines say. Mad Max, others. But you know he's probably just tired. Tired of the media, of the FIA, of the churning conflict between him and Lando -- something you all knew was coming someday, but maybe not so suddenly. The longest season ever continues to drag and drag and drag.

"Twenty seconds was...Christ, Max," you say. You know what happened, of course. You watched what you could, saw the sharp moves around the corner and heard the radios. It never gets easier, watching him take risks like that. Usually, everyone else backs off, but McLaren can see victory on the horizon and won't let it go. You can't blame them, either of them, you just wish it was all a bit less tense.

"I know," he says, voice raspy over the connection. "I -- well, you know how I feel about it. Don't want to say anything in case the FIA is tapping my phone."

You laugh into your hand so you don't disturb the other people in the airline lounge, not entirely used to places like this, still. Max has told you over and over that it's absurd for you to spend your own money when you're coming to see him all over the world. When you told him you moved things around so you could come to Brazil, he booked you the nicest ticket, per usual.

"Oh, ha, ha," you say. "Don't give them any ideas, Mr. Community Service." You sigh. "Do you need anything? Be honest."

"Aren't you at the airport already? Your flight should be leaving in --" A pause, like he's checking his watch -- "forty minutes."

You glance up at the departures screen. He's right, but you don't give it to him so easily. "Know my schedule, do you?"

"Well, I booked your ticket, so I should think so."

"Your assistant booked it, you mean."

He hums and you picture him in his hotel room, maybe at the window, looking over the city. "I know your flight information. Don't be silly."

"I mean it, Max," you say again. "Is there anything I can do to make the weekend better?" It's a bit of a useless question and you expect him to answer with a snarky get me a new car or apply for the position of steward.

But he doesn't. He clears his throat.

"I'm just glad you're coming," he says, softly. "I've missed you."

You never doubt how Max feels about you, but he must be pretty tired to admit it like this. He's all about actions, this man. Making sure you have what you need when you're at the track, arranging your travel, remembering your schedule. He shows you how much you matter, and that's more than enough. He never wants to make you feel bad for having a life beyond being his girlfriend. And this doesn't, not really. It just makes you ache, fills your chest with the hopeless affection you've felt for him for so long.

"I've missed you, too," you reply. "But I'd like to be useful."

"Oh, I can think of a few things, then," Max says, all of a sudden all cheek. Such a boy, sometimes. A boy in love.

You can't help but laugh, face hot. "Hush, you!"

He huffs. A few beats of silence, the comfortable, well-worn kind. Sometimes, when he's halfway across the world and up late on the sim, he'll call you just to hear you breathe.

"Max?"

"I -- do you remember what you did for my birthday?"

He'd wanted something small, quiet. There was a lot of work to be done with the team but three weekends off meant you had a little time to yourselves. A few days hardly leaving his place, a dinner with some of the guys, a cake you made yourself, hand-delivered in bed. Gifts for a very wealthy man are difficult, especially since Max doesn't seem to want much.

"Oh, the pillow with my face on it?"

Max laughs. The lounge loudspeaker announces that your flight is going to board soon, so you gather your things but keep your phone wedged next to your ear.

"No, the other thing," he says. He clears his throat and summons some of that World Champion courage. "The letter."

You'd written him a fairly long love letter, thinking it would be a nice thing to carry to the races you couldn't be at this fall. It was tempting to be embarrassed about it when you gave it to him the morning of his birthday, but his cheeks had gone pink and he'd buried his face in your neck.

"Oh, that," you say. The airport is busier outside the lounge and you push your case in the direction of your gate weaving between. people.

"You could write me another, maybe."

Max is direct. He is honest, at work and at home, but this surprises you a little.

"You do know I'm about to get on a plane to see you, right?"

He huffs, and you imagine his cheeks pink, eyes bright. "You asked!"

"I'll write you another love letter, Max Verstappen," you assure him. "I'll write you a hundred."

"One is a fine start," he says firmly. "You should be boarding soon, and I've got to go to the press conference. Text me when you've landed?"

"Of course," you reply, eyes rolling though he can't see. "I'll see you soon, okay? Love you."

"Love you, liefje."

On the plane, you tear out some pages from your journal. You'd prefer to have some nice stationery like what you wrote on for his birthday, but maybe this is more romantic, more real. Making do with that you've got because he asked.

In the last one, you told him your memories of when you first met. How your stomach swooped when you made him laugh, how his blue eyes wouldn't leave your dreams. In this one you tell him about when you first realized you loved him. How absurdly early you were sure, how badly you wanted to tell him for weeks. The way you remember every second of when you blurted it out -- his face, his smile. His voice in your ear, telling you over and over, geliefde, ik houd van je, zo veel. I love you, so much.

"You're working hard on that," someone says. You look up at your seatmate, a woman a few decades older than you with a heavy accent.

You feel a little like you've been caught doing something illicit, but you just smile at her. "For my boyfriend," you tell her. "A love letter."

She flattens her palm over heart and sighs. "How lovely," she coos. "I hope he takes care of you, too."

We take care of each other, you want to say. You could tell her about how he sends you postcards from every country he goes to after you told him you like to put them on your fridge. You could tell her how sometimes you text him during his streams to make him laugh on camera. How he remembers your favorites, how he saves you his special team gear, how he sends you flowers all the time. How he likes to sit on the couch, your toes under his thigh, fingers around your ankle. How you've been learning Dutch and how he patiently corrects your pronunciation. You could go on and on and on.

"He does," you say instead.

__

The plane lands safely in Brazil, but the pilot tells you that there is no open gate and that you'll be sitting for a while. You text Max.

stuck on tarmac, will be later than expected! :(

He must be in media responsibilities still because he doesn't reply until you finally get off the plane.

go relax at the hotel. i'll see you for dinner!

You find your ride easy enough and take a deep breath. The letter you wrote on the plane feels heavy in your pocket, and you just want to see Max. To be near him again. To give him this small thing he asked for.

"Excuse me," you say to the driver. "Do you think we could go to the track, instead?"

You text Max's assistant to say you're headed there, hoping it's not too much of an inconvenience. You're told he's almost done, maybe an hour left, and when you arrive you're led to his driver rooms. His shit is everywhere, per usual. Max is quite neat except in here -- Carmen once told you that George is the same. Clothes strewn about, his race boots unlaced and left in the way, warm-up equipment in a pile. On the table are a few of his things -- his wallet, a notebook, some papers.

Wait a second. One of those papers looks...familiar. It's been folded in three, the envelope it came in nowhere to be seen. His name is scrawled on the blank side in your hand and when you tug it from the pile you can see that it's creased, the edges a little more worn than when you gave it to him a few months ago. Max Verstappen, three-time World Champion, actually carries around the love letter you wrote him. Brings it to the track. It's darling. You love him so much. You pull the new one from your pocket and set them side-by-side on the table where he'll find them.

You ask to be taken to the pit wall, please, so you can see whatever the drivers are doing on track. Some dedication, you're told. The timing ends up being perfect and you get there just as they're finishing. You lean on a gap in the barrier where, on Sunday, crew members will be holding timing signs as the drivers zip around the hot pavement. The crowd in the stands is loud, as always, and maybe you imagine it but it seems to get a little louder when you look out.

The guys are talking amongst themselves and a few of them wave at you. You spot Max as he turns away from Charles and you can't help but grin. His eyes meet yours under his cap and his entire face chances, softens, and he breaks into a jog. You lean out over the concrete ledge and meet him in a kiss that's more two smiles pressed together than anything else.

"This is a surprise," he says when he pulls away. Eyes sparkling, he shows no signs of rejoining the other drivers as they head to whatever their next thing is. Photos, probably.

"I missed you," you tell him. "I've left you something in your room."

"Oh?" He straightens the lanyard of your credentials with careful fingers.

You reach for him, palm on his cheek. His stubble tickles and he leans into it ever so slightly. It doesn't feel like there are thousands of eyes on you, not even a little.

"Yeah," you say. "As promised." Someone calls his name. "Go on, then. I'll be waiting."

He kisses you again, a quick brush of his lips on the corner of your mouth.

Later, you'll wake from your nap in the hotel room to those same kisses on your cheeks, your forehead. Max will gather you in his arms and tell you all the moments he almost told you he loved you, how he could hardly believe when you said it first. You'll tease him for how many times he's read that first letter and he'll cheekily say that's why he needs more. And you will write him more, you'll write him as many as he wants. As many as you can, for the rest of your lives.

But now, in front of thousands of screaming fans, he smiles at only you, boyish and pleased.

[oceantornadoo]

ch7 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: oral sex both ways

masterlist | next

John Price thrives on routine. His days are filled with meetings and bloodshed, negotiations and betrayal. Routine keeps him sane.

Unfortunately, that resolution crumbled the moment he gained a wife. It’s getting harder and harder to leave in the morning, to ignore the fluttering of your eyelashes as you feign sleep. That’s what he blames for this break in routine.

The morning after, he stays for ten minutes instead of five. Counts the ticks of the old clock in the corner of his room as he memorizes the scent of your skin. You always end up with your head in the crook of his neck, legs tangled around his torso. He’s never been much of a back sleeper, but now it’s the last thing he cares about. It’s the sound of your breathing, the plushness of your skin, the brush of your chest against his. When he eventually gets up, he doesn’t look at the bed until he’s ready. If he glanced back at your eyes in half-slits, shifting closer to his pillow to soak up the remaining warmth he left in the bed, he would never leave the room. 

At night, though, he succumbs to his weakness. He creates a new routine.

It’s the start of a new week after the getting-off confession. John had business in Glasgow over the weekend, lonely and cold in his hotel bed, but now he’s back.

“So Laswell sent me the contract. I definitely have enough to pay in full, but I’m thinking of paying half and then doing installments for the rest so I can have enough for immediate repairs. What do you-John?” John’s nodding along to your rant, disappearing under the covers to the place he’s been thinking about all weekend. The blanket’s a bit heavy, limiting his breathing, but it’s worth it for the sight of your clothed cunt, waiting for him.

“Keep talkin’, sweetheart.” Instead of following his orders, you peel back the cover until his head peeks out. “What are you doing?” He rubs circles into your thighs, reveling in their softness. John moves upwards, teasing the fabric of your pajama shorts. “You miss me this weekend?” He murmurs, not sure if he’s talking to his wife or her cunt. Both seem happy to see him, if that’s any consolation.

“No, I actually got the best sleep of my- hey!” He shoves his face into the triangle of your lap, sniffing with wonder. “Fuck, I missed ya.” You’re silent at his admission, but your hand finds a hold in his hair. “You did?” It’s soft and unsure, forcing him to rip his focus away from your pussy. “I did.” You bite your lip adorably. You tug him forward, gripping his scalp hard, until his face is in front of yours. 

“Maybe next time, you take me with you.” Absolutely not. He was meeting with a new prospective manufacturer, shady and dangerous. He was not putting you in any sort of danger. John shakes his head, heart clenching as your face falls. “Not the kind of place fer you, baby. Gonna let me eat you out now?” You nod, but your face is still hard with repressed emotion. He kisses your forehead, trailing down to your cheek, then nose. “Give us a kiss then.” It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed him first, the notion sending blood straight to his cock. The kiss is short and sweet. Can’t believe how quickly you’ve gotten him under your spell. Two bloody weeks. He pulls away, a final kiss laid to your jaw. “Keep talkin’. Don’t mind me.”

The new routine continues for weeks. He gets you off a different way every night, from fingers to tongue to plain old grinding. And then he goes to sleep with you tucked to his side, taking care of himself in the morning. John needs you to be the one to ask to fuck, to reciprocate. The alternative leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Plus, every time he gets you off, you fall asleep immediately, like it’s the only way you’ll go to bed. It’s terribly endearing.

A month in, he starts noticing changes. The furniture in the sitting room, for one. They used to be 18th century relics, designed to make sure a guest didn’t overstay their welcome. Except now they’re eclectic, blue and green against the cream walls. The couches look comfortable, like you could spend a whole day there. The paintings change as well, from Rembrandt to Monet and Picasso. The impressionist works, blues and greens and yellows, work well with the new furniture, making his flat seem like a home. When he asks you, all you do is shrug and say something smart about updating his old man apartment. He leaves bite marks on your thighs that night. 

It’s a beautiful Friday night when John gets home early, around 9. He usually gets text updates from Terrance, your commandeered security guard that Price assigned to you full time, about your movements. You’ll usually get home at 7, but nothing yet. Two hours late. He calls Terrance and gets his voicemail. Highly unusual. Calmly, he presses on your contact's name, and it goes to voicemail. Three times.

Fingers shaking, he calls Kyle.

“Sir?”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“My fuckin’ wife, Garrick.”

“Isn’t she with Terrance?” “No one’s answerin’ their goddamn phone.” Gaz sighs on the other end, like this is an inconvenience and not his wife they’re talking about. Keys click, then a mouse, before Gaz answers. “They’re at the bookstore. Been there since this mornin’, sir.” John drags a hand down his face, then grabs the keys to the car he barely uses. 

“Garrick, this is the last time you take more than three seconds t’ know where she is. I want a full team on ‘er at all times. I won’t hesitate t’ assign someone else as my Head of Security, someone who isn’t lettin’ their judgement take over their goddamn job. Copy?” He hasn’t dressed down one of his men, especially Kyle, but he’s tired of the man’s judgement on this marriage. What’s done is done. “Yessir.” John hangs up, too miffed to say goodbye. He’s got a wife to find.

-

Your bookstore is coming along well. It’s been over a month since you’ve been married, a month of John’s fingers and tongue loosening you in more ways than one. You swear you’ve developed stronger thigh muscles, simply from the orgasms he coaxes from you night after night. And then he just goes to sleep. You’ve felt his cock in fleeting touches, brushing against your thigh or hard in his lap as you grind on him. He never takes it out, never drags your hand in that grueling way men do with shady eyes and slimy smirks. Every night, he asks you if you hate him, and every night, your lie convinces him less and less. 

And every night, you think of how adamant he was against you joining him. His insistence that it “wasn’t the kind of place for you.” Your old problem with him has faded, a mess of childhood fears rolled into new ones. In its place are your insecurities, the word bastard floating through your head every time you think of his rejection. The clause in the marriage contract. It rolls together into a simple thought: he doesn’t trust you. That’s why he’s barely let you in on his business, content to stick with late night chats and orgasms. It should be fine, it should be what you wanted, but instead you feel a hollow hole in your heart where the word ‘friends’ lives. Even friends should share their secrets. 

But back to the bookstore. Your new baby. This first month was full of cleaning, dusting out odd corners and greasing creaky door hinges. You listed a hiring notice on online job boards, looking for an assistant to help with the grunt work. Which landed you Phil, a wonderful addition to the team. He was around your age, an American with sandy blond hair. Handsome in a basic way, something you noted and never thought of again. Terrance ran a background check on him, something you gladly consented to, and insisted on helping you interview him. It took a week of recon, but he was officially your new assistant as of two weeks ago. An amazing help around the store, handy with tools. You’d told Phil that you were the daughter of a lord, a minor lie to explain the bodyguard. He shrugged it off, the ex-pat seemingly used to the oddities of London.

Now that the space had been cleared, it was finally time to paint. Terrance insisted that he couldn’t help too much, his main duty too important, but with the help of Phil, you convinced him to paint the walls with you. You all left your phones in the half-fixed office, donning plastic sheets to protect from paint splatter. Your business plan, formed from your downtime during the day and shaped by your late-night conversations with John, was to have a store section and a community section. The community section would be at the front, with a beautiful light blue accent wall, perfect for book influencers. It would be surrounded by comfy couches and warm lighting, complete with a cafe space you intended to build out. Your idea reminded you of the library waiting hours away, with its own fireplace and furniture. You decided to recreate that cozy feeling and bring it to the public.

Farther into the building there would be bigger shelves for rows and rows of books, organized by type. The color scheme was influenced by the one in your home, as you decided to hand paint metal shelves light blues, greens, and yellows. Most would be bought, but you were planning a book drive far out for people to donate old books and get discounts on new ones. It’s an idea you had wanted to do in Manchester but never got around to.

Now that the front of the store was cleared out and bare, it was time to paint. The hours fly by as you paint the light blue wall while Phil and Terrance work on a cream wall on the other side. When you blink, the sun is already down, and your watch is flashing 10PM at you.

“Guys it’s almost ten! I think we ought to lay down the brushes for tonight.” Phil opened his mouth to respond but is cut off by a harsh pounding at the locked front door. It was supposed to be clear, but there was newspaper on all of your windows to prevent the glass from getting paint on it. Frowning, you moved to open the door, but Terrance stopped you with his arm out, his other hand reaching for his gun. “Go into the office, ma’am.” You followed his command reluctantly, Phil following on your heels as you went into the back office. It didn’t have any windows, so it was a space you did not want to be in for a while. Phil looked nervous, running his hand through his hair and tapping his foot on the ground.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Phil. Probably one of the neighbors complaining about our music.” You insisted on a jam session as you painted, blasting music from a speaker you stole from the Castle. “Shady things happen in London no matter what time, boss.” You shrug, picking up your phone to quell your nerves. A glance at your notifications explains everything.

Oh no.

You burst from the office, phone already returning one of your many missed calls. That’s when you ran into your husband, face hitting his hard chest with a harsh oof. “Christ, sweetheart, gave me a near heart attack.” John steadied your shoulders with his large hands, anchoring you in his grip. His brow was furrowed, eyes crinkling in worry as he scanned you up and down like he was looking for injuries. “You didn’t answer-” “Everything good out here?” Fuck. Phil.

“Who are you?” It was a tone you’d never heard come out of John’s mouth. You imagined it was his mafia man voice, gruff and short like he had a better place to be. John shoves you behind him, reaching for his gun. You rolled your eyes, hand covering his to stop a potential shoot-out. 

“John, he’s my-” “Assistant, sir. Good to put a name to the face, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You could practically hear Phil winking, laying on the Southern charm. You wrestled out of John’s grip, stepping out from behind his back. Phil’s hand was out for a handshake, but John hadn’t taken it, scanning the man up and down with suspicious eyes. “Funny, ‘cause I’ve never heard about you.” John tore his gaze away to catch yours, eyes slanted in anger. “I don’t have to tell you everything, John. I’ve got my own life, you know.” He looked almost hurt at your words, which couldn’t be true. Sure, you were fucking, but it’s not like this was a normal marriage. You knew he wouldn’t have wanted Phil working with you, just on the basis of him being a man. You didn’t want to be micromanaged by your own husband, so you simply hadn’t got around to telling him. 

“C’mere.” John tugged you towards the office, his grip hard. You could hear Terrance telling Phil to go home and wait for an update. Probably for the best. You imagined Terrance following him out, then debriefing with John’s driver about how much of an asshole their boss was.

“Why didn’t ya tell me?” John asked, arms crossed and face red. He’d shut the office door but remained standing since there wasn’t any furniture yet. “Because I knew you’d get like this.” You spit out, crossing your arms to mirror his. “Fuckin’ concerned fer the security of my wife? Tha’s a bad reaction?” You took a step back from him, crossing your arms tighter so you could pinch your waist, a reminder to stay strong.

“Controlling and caveman. This is my place of work, John, and you’ve embarrassed me in front of my coworker.” He doesn’t meet your eye, staring at the door so hard it might burst into flames. He looks like a predator ready to pounce, muscles trembling from restraint. “Ya don’t realize how many enemies I have. Every person needs t’ be checked.” Did he think you were stupid? “I had Terrance check him out. I know you don’t want me around your work, but I’m not an idiot, John.”

His rejection of your offer to travel with him weeks ago had stung more than you cared to admit. He clearly didn’t trust you, only seeing you as someone to fuck around with. You didn’t realize how far that lack of trust went.

“He should’ve reported it to Gaz.” John mutters. “He did. I know that for a fact.” John ran a hand through his hair, then dipped down to tug at his tie. “He didn’t fuckin’ tell me. Christ, he’s worse than I thought.” You wanted to ask what that meant, but you bit your lip instead. He obviously didn’t want to tell you.

“Look, I know I’m a bastard and you had that goddamn clause in the contract, but you can trust me. I’m not running around behind your back.” That got John’s gaze to snap back to you, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Tha’s wha’ ya think this is about?” You nod, suddenly unsure. “Sweetheart, that was Gaz’s idea. T’ see if you’d argue. I intended for you to ask fer another cheatin’ clause fer me, but ya didn’t so I let it go. ‘S nothin’ like tha’. Plus, I didn’t know ya then. I know ya now.” Oh.

“So you trust me?” What about the trip? You wanted to ask, but you figure that would show your hand too much. John nods slowly, uncrossing his hands to put them on his hips. “Don’t care tha’ yer a bastard. ‘M not fuckin’ anyone else, either. I’m just concerned fer yer safety.” He takes a few steps towards you, gauging your reaction to see if you step back. You don’t, uncrossing your arms and praying they don’t shake. He grabs your hands in his own, blue eyes swimming with openness. There are so many things you want to ask him about: your childhood, his father, the future. They all fall to the wayside when he leans down to kiss you, a gentle brush of his lips against yours. “If I didn’t trust ya, ya wouldn’t sleep in my bed.” He kisses your forehead, then cheek, before pulling back. “I need ya t’ believe me.” He demands it seriously. A sudden rush of affection hits your heart. He looks so truthful, so concerned, and you want to show him that same care back.

You lower to your knees. John steps back, unsure. “Sweetheart, ya don’t have to.” You shake your head, beckoning him to come near. “I want to.”

John tugs off the blazer he’s wearing, folding it into a light pillow. He squats down on his haunches, eyes on yours. A warm hand brushes your knees, urging you up so he can slip the blazer under them. He then stands; blue eyes dark as he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Go’on, baby. Take whatever you want.”

You reach for his black belt, unfastening it with trembling hands. It unclips with ease, and John’s hands, hairy and veiny and strong, cloud your vision as he unfurls it from his belt loops. You continue downwards, undoing the midnight black of his button. You unzip slowly, licking your lips in anticipation. His fingers brush back the creases on your forehead, trailing down to brush the shell of your ear. “Feel ok?” You nod at his question, cupping him through his boxers. John releases a sharp exhale, a heady sense of power coming over you. You work the pants down fully to give you room, petting him this way and that.

Finally, you peel down the dark fabric of his boxers. He’s hairy but well-maintained, similar to his fuzzy torso you’ve felt in bed. His cock is thick and heavy, wet with precum as it slaps against his upper thigh. You tuck his boxers down to give you room, then start exploring. Kitten licks to the base of him, his hair tickling your nose. Your hand joins you to squeeze his balls, eliciting a sharp groan. John tugs on your hair, more out of instinct than control. “You feel ok?” You throw his words back at him, a cheshire smile growing as he moans again.

“Christ, those fuckin’ hands.” He responds. You move to start stroking, licking him from base to tip. He tastes like salt and musk, but clean with the scent of pine. It’s the most addicting scent on earth. After he’s wet and leaking, you steady yourself with a hand on his upper thigh and the other on your husband’s cock.

You finally take him in your mouth, tongue swirling around his tip. You hum and his grip on your hair tightens. “‘M gonna fuck yer mouth sometime.” You let go of him with a pop, leaning backwards. “Not tonight?” He shakes his head, reaching down to pump his cock in your absence. “I’m a few strokes from cummin’, sweetheart. You look too goddamn good on yer knees.” That earns a grin from you and a renewed sense of vigor.

You suck him hard this time, your hand making up the length you can’t cover. You work yourself into an easy rhythm, up and down as he cradles your face. It’s much softer than you’ve ever experienced from a man, careful and protective. He wasn’t kidding about how close he is, harsh pants emitting faster and faster from his chest. “Where d’ya want me, baby?” You don’t respond, keeping him in your mouth. All you do is blink sweetly, willing your eyes to look bigger than usual. “Fuckin’ perfect, my wife.” That sends a jolt to your heart, and you have to stop yourself from accidentally biting down. Instead of responding, you stroke faster and faster. His abs tense, and you pull back just slightly, letting him coat your tongue and lips. It’s salty but not bitter, a marker of how fucking healthy he is. You lick your lips, swallowing thickly. His thumb brushes off a bit from your nose, pushing his thumb into your mouth. You suck hard, like you did the night he first fingered you. He continues cleaning you up, careful and quiet in his movements. John tucks himself back into his pants and offers you a hand to help you off the floor.

“Your knees sore?” He whispers. You shake your head, suddenly feeling exposed despite not having taken your clothes off. “C’mere.” He tugs you into his arms, tucking you under his chin. “We good?” He asks. You want to say no, want to ask him all the questions swirling around in your head, but all you do is nod and hold him closer.

-

In the car, John’s hand on your thigh, your phone vibrates. It’s Phil.

Everything ok?

Yep! Marital problems, all good.

Your husband is intense.

He’s a sweetheart for me, all that matters 🙂

Good to know. See you tomorrow.

His tone is odd, but you shove that thought from your mind. John squeezes your hand, and you tuck your phone away, content to focus on your husband. Phil is the farthest thought from your mind.

-

um. smut. now they're like friends with problems? idk enemies got boring.

-

@heretoreadanddrinktea

@peachyxrosie

@joufrance

@galactict3a

@exactlyyoungchaos

@trulovekay

@alleycc

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@rmikaelson01

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@the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned

@barcelonaaababe

@brokenandemptyhearts

@sleep101

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@lilynotdilly

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@polyfandom-blogs 

@burrowedinnature77

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@thriving-n-jiving

@krispymagazinepizza-blog

@grayskel

@rpgsandstuff

@hisuccubus

@lumi-kalyke

@gimmeabreak1

[nanivinsmoke]

❥ keep on comin’ back

babydaddy!toji x fem!reader

the reason he keeps on comin back.

tags: dilf toji, explicit language, dirty talking, creaming, squirting, mentions of breeding, missionary, riding, creampie, nipple play, spanking, etc.

note: shoutout to oomf who said toji keeps coming back to me, you the inspo for this.

“What are you doing here? It’s not my week—hi megs, mimi!” you diverted your attention from your baby daddy to your adopted son and your daughter, hugging their small bodies; before letting them inside of your house.

Turning back around to block him from getting in, you bring up your question again. “What are you doing here? Don’t think you’re getting any, last time was a mistake.”

“Last time we almost gave those two another sibling and I didn’t hear you complaining when you were screaming my name and scratching my back up, while i made you cum back to back.” You bit your lip as he helped you remember the last time he unexpectedly came over, which led to you having multiple mind blowing orgasms that night; and a pregnancy scare.

“well that’s never gonna happen again. now are you gonna answer me?” you stared at his green eyes, arms folded over one another—unconsciously pushing your boobs up through your black beater.

“megumi’s supposed to be having a sleepover with his best friend, yuuji, at our place, but the plumbing’s backed up for like a good week. so, he asked could we do it at mommy’s house. plus, mimi said she missed her mommy.” you cooed and looked back at your daughter and step-son, watching them play with one another.

and before you could open your mouth up to ask a follow up question, toji beat you to the punch.

“tried to find somewhere else for me to go. but, there wasn’t any hotels available. and i think it would be great for the kids to have both parents under one roof. what do ya think?” he asked and you sighed, before moving aside to let him in.

“bags are in the truck,” he smiled and kissed your cheek, turning on his heel to grab their things from his car.

being in an on again and off again relationship with each other was took a toll on you both, but it was also tough for the kids. they couldn’t understand why mommy and daddy aren’t together, however it was moments like this they were happy to have. and deep down inside, you both felt the same.

Toji returned with their bags and made his way up their stairs to the kids room, and the guest bedroom, with mimi hot on his tail. While the two of them got situated upstairs, megumi followed you into the kitchen to help you with tonight’s meal. You giggled as you watched him put on his mini apron before stepping onto his stool to watch you clean some meat for dinner.

Megumi watched with an intent stare as you moved with ease, learning from you while you cooked. “mommy? do you love dad?”

his question caught you by surprise and you nearly sliced your finger off. “yes, but not as much as i love you,” he giggled when you ruffled his raven locks before focusing back on the meal. although megumi’s mom died when he was a baby, you still loved him like he was your own. and truth be told, you really did love toji; no matter how many times he annoyed you.

“so, then why aren’t you guys married? my friend yuuji said that his dad said if two people love each, they should marry each other. plus, i saw this shiny ring in dad’s room at the other house—“

you eyes were wide. a fucking ring? there’s no way—maybe he’s got someone else in mind…right?

“mm…i don’t know. hey, you wanna have that sleepover still? go get the house phone and I’ll call yuuji’s dad.” you nervously laughed and watched him leave, before sighing out.

there’s no way, right?

—

the next couple of hours flew by, your mind was practically a blur—still caught up on the fact that toji has a ring and that he could possibly propose to you.

even though you guys broke up on good terms, parts of you missed him. real bad. you missed having him in your arms at night. missed his scent being all over you. missed him being with you and the kids. missed having him so deep inside of you almost every night.

and the reason the two of you broke up was because of him. he pushed you away, pushed you away from his heart.

yuuji came over and was having a ball with your kids, before the three of them crashed for the night, finally allowing you to have some time for yourself. you lounged on your plush brown couch, glass of wine in your hand as you caught up with one of your favorite shows, when toji’s deep voice echoed through your ears.

“knew I would find you here. what are ya watching?”

“uhh supernatural….toji can i ask you a question?”

“ya just did,” he chuckled and ducked when you hit him in the head with a throw pillow. “you know what i meant.” he nodded and you sipped some more of your wine before turning to look at him, your heart beating out of your chest; while you felt a heartbeat elsewhere.

“the ring you have, is that for me?” there was pause and his eyes caught yours. and before he could open his mouth, you spoke once more.

“meg’s told me you had it. do you really wanna marry me? do you think—“ your nervous rambling was caught off by his lips. the scar on his upper lip rubbing smoothly against yours, making you moan out. and when he pulled away, you whimpered; yearning for more.

“gotta teach him to keep secrets. damn big mouth.” he teased megumi and you gave him a slight kick, giggling at him, before he pulled you onto his lap—your plush thighs melting against his waist.

“but, yeah. ‘m gonna marry you. make you mine and pump you full of my babies,” his last comment sent shivers up your spine and you could feel your panties moisten with arousal. the tension was overwhelming and you couldn’t take it anymore. you crawled off his lap and swiftly pulled his dark grey sweatpants down to his knees, making his fat cock spring to life; before you immediately wrapped your plump lips around his head.

toji sucked in some air and tangled his thick fingers in your hair, pulling it while you worked your way down his dick. his cock was coated with your salvia, dripping down from his angry red tip—to the top of his balls, before you scooped it up and rubbed it all over him.

he was in pure bliss. basking in the sheer pleasure you were giving him. his jaw clenching as you made a sloppy messy on him, trying to suppress the moans that wanted to slip; until you swirled against his frenulum & teased his tip, making him loudly groan out.

you released him with a ‘pop’ sound echoing, your small hands jerking him off while you maintained eye contact with him, “shhh don’t wanna wake them up. now do we?” the look on his face sent a jolt of electricity up your spine and to your aching cunt, causing a switch to flip inside of you.

he watched you quickly pull your panties down, your slick sticking to the fabric, webs of your arousal following; before you squatted down onto his lap once more. “need you inside. need you to cum deep inside of me.”

you whined when you pushed him in, walls immediately stretching out and wrapping around him. this is what he missed. this is why he kept coming back…..well, one of the reasons.

his hands met your hips and helped guide you up and down on his dick, tip pressing into your cervix every once and a while. it didn’t take long for the moans to flow out freely from your mouth as you continued to bounce, stuffing you. and soon, you became even more gushy, cunt squelching while cream started form around his base—sticking to your skin while you moved.

“fuck you’re so tight. missed this pussy,” his hands collide with your ass, the fat rippling from the impact. he gripped the globes of your ass, loving the soft fat, before resting his hands on one of your cheeks.

everything about this felt sooo good. the noises you created and the touches he was giving you, was sheer bliss and you could feel an orgasm approaching. toji could feel you clenching down on him repeatedly and he groaned at the sensation. with his free hand he pulled the sleeves to your beater down—pushing it down a little—before putting one of your plump mounds into his mouth.

the warm, wet feeling of his mouth made you throw your head back; still enduring the workout of bouncing on his fat cock.

he didn’t know how he was able to last this long inside of you, especially with how long it’s been since the last time and the unbelievable head you gave him. but, he was nearing his end too.

you could feel his hands move to your waist, before your back met the soft plushness of the couch and your legs were planted at his sides. now, his cock was nestled deep inside of your tummy, hitting your spot each time he thrusted.

toji reached underneath your thighs and pulled out your wet sticky underwear, putting it into your mouth to muffle the lewd noises that left your lips. your eyes was rolling back into your head as he fucked an orgasm out of you. well, that is until he pulled you by your hair; forcing you to watch him fuck everything out of you.

“look at the mess yer makin—shit! cum for me mamas”

oh the mess you made.

specks of white blurred your vision as you stomach caved in and a stream of clear fluid splashed out, drenching his black t-shirt and the cushions underneath. you had reached nirvana, but the pleasure didn’t stop there.

toji’s grip on your hair tightened while he pounded your cunt silly—splitting you open, pumping thick white ropes of his seed inside of you.

unable to formulate any words, he just smashed his lips onto yours; hands around your neck as the two of you shared the best orgasms of your lives.

this was it. this is exactly what you wanted. what he needed. why he kept coming back.

he sat back, catching his breath while you started to come back to reality, staring at you with pure love. “guess we gotta order a new crib. hm?”

[fazedlight]

Kiss (post-canon fluff)

Fuck.

What was I thinking?

Lena stood frozen at her door, continuing to mentally curse herself, as a wide-eyed Kara stared back.

It had been a fun evening. The pair had cooked dinner together, curled up on the couch to watch a movie together, cleaned up together. Kara had teasingly splashed dish bubbles in Lena’s direction, with Lena taking the sink sprayer for a quick revenge. It was playful and domestic and everything Lena longed for. 

Well, almost everything.

That cozy and domestic warmth filled her chest, and she hadn’t really been thinking as Kara had hugged her before heading out for the night. Lena had simply operated on instinct, pressing a small kiss to Kara’s cheek.

Which led to their current predicament, staring at each other in wide-eyed shock. Friends do that sometimes, right?, Lena thought desperately, praying she would melt into the floor.

But she waited under Kara’s curious gaze, blue eyes darting between hers in silence. “Sorry,” Lena began to whisper-

But Kara leaned forward… placing her own kiss on Lena’s cheek, causing Lena to stiffen in yet another layer of surprise. “Good night, Lena,” Kara said, lingering for a moment as Lena’s heart fluttered.

Kara finally pulled away, leaving Lena wondering what did it mean? “Good night,” Lena replied.

---

They said nothing.

Monday brought its own aggravations as Lena met with a few investors for dinner. She put on the normal smile and dance, speaking decisively of profit margins and dividends, until the night was finally done. The investors filtered their way back to a nearby hotel, and Lena stepped outside for solitude and fresh air - pausing to take in the pleasant evening before calling Hector to drive her back to her condo.

“Walk you home?” came the familiar voice.

Lena turned, smiling as she noticed Kara a few steps away, holding her sneakers. “I’d love to,” Lena said, trading off her heels for the far more comfortable shoes. After a moment, the two began to make their way down the quiet sidewalk.

“I can’t wait until I stop doing this,” Lena said, “I’m ready to be done being CEO.”

“When does Andrea start?” Kara asked.

“Next week,” Lena said, “She’s in Metropolis, meeting with Sam to discuss the finances.”

Kara hummed approvingly. “I’m glad you get to focus on the engineering side again.”

Lena smiled, lightly jabbing Kara’s side. “How about you? How’s being a new Editor-in-Chief treating you?”

“Cat hasn’t changed,” Kara grinned widely, and Lena cast back a knowing look. But Kara’s face softened as she glanced ahead. “Though I realized I sort of have.”

“How so?” Lena asked.

Kara bit at her lip. “It’s harder to pretend to be things I’m not.”

Lena tilted her head in curiosity, but she didn’t press, content to walk arm-in-arm down the street with the contemplative blonde. Kara would say more when she was ready, and Lena was happy to wait.

They eventually came to her building, and then her door. Lena turned around to face the blonde. “Do you want to come in?” Lena said.

To her surprise, Kara shook her head. “I have some thinking to do.”

Lena nodded, but she was surprised when Kara tilted her head forward, eyeing the Luthor for a reaction, asking a silent question. Lena’s gaze was curious - she wondered if Kara was listening to her heartbeat - but she remained steady, shyly granting the permission Kara sought.

Kara pressed a soft kiss to Lena’s cheek. “Good night, Lena.”

Lena could feel herself flush, reaching up with a shaking hand to cup Kara’s face. She leaned to the side, pressing a kiss against Kara’s opposite cheek. “Good night, Kara.”

When she made it to the other side of her door - hearing Kara’s footsteps fade down the hall - she found herself wondering. Is this friendship for her?, Lena thought, mulling over whether the kryptonian knew how unusual their behavior was.

Was it a hint that Kara had developed deeper feelings?

Or would Kara be disconcerted to know that Lena wanted more?

---

LCorp was chaos - in the normal way that any company was with a CEO handoff - and the week passed by in a blur as a result. But Andrea was no rookie, and Lena trusted her enough to start handling the business solo.

Finally.

Lena entered the Tower that Saturday morning with a buzz in her veins. LCorp would certainly have interesting science to tinker with, but magic was still only something Lena could experiment with here. 

She opened her mother’s grimoire, poring over the ancient volume, tapping at a 31st century quantum collider that Brainy had set up in the lab. Magic has to be a form of quantum mechanics, she thought.

Hours went by as she worked. She almost didn’t notice the patter of steps behind her, but she knew who it was. “Kara,” she said, turning to smile at the blonde who brought Chinese takeout in her wake.

“You have to be hungry,” Kara said.

“I didn’t notice,” Lena replied.

The two moved over to a neighboring table, unpacking the food, passing chopsticks and soy sauce before digging in. In a way, it felt like any normal Saturday where they weren’t out saving the world.

But in another way, it didn’t.

Kara seemed almost shy throughout the meal, even as they were cleaning up, even as they made their way to the Tower couches after Lena kicked off another experiment. Something was hesitant in her stance, a small reluctance in meeting Lena’s eyes. Maybe she does feel weird about us, Lena thought, feeling a tenseness in her gut in response.

Before they reached the couches, Kara stopped in her tracks.

“Kara?”

She heard a sigh in front of her. “I can’t pretend anymore,” Kara said.

“Pretend…?”

Kara turned to face Lena, swallowing, eyes darting between her own. The look on her face made Lena’s heart pound uncomfortably in her chest, both wary and impatient for what came next.

But she didn’t have to wait long. “I’m in love with you,” Kara said, “I can’t pretend I’m not.”

Lena’s eyes went wide.

“Nothing has to change,” Kara continued, “But I need you to know how I feel when I’m with you.”

Oh, Lena thought, taking a step closer to Kara, so she did realize.

Lena’s hand fluttered up to Kara’s face, cupping the blonde’s cheek as she tensed. Kara’s eyes darted curiously between Lena’s.

Lena smiled softly, drawing a slow smile from Kara’s lips, before Lena tilted up on her toes - pressing a kiss to Kara’s cheek.

Kara responded in kind, wrapping her arms around Lena’s waist, bringing her lips to Lena’s cheek in return. “I’ve been in love with you for years,” Lena murmured, as she felt the small puff of breath against her neck before Kara tilted her head back.

“I wondered if this was all in my head,” Kara confessed.

“I wondered if you didn’t realize that this was…”

“Unusual?” Kara laughed.

“Yeah,” Lena grinned. Kara smiled back, and Lena felt her heart swell in the warmth in Kara’s eyes.

“I’d like to kiss you for real now,” Kara said softly.

Lena tilted her head in welcome, as Kara leaned forward.

And finally, their lips met.

[leyavo]

| I am my father's daughter |

💖 Dad!price x daughter!reader

| Part One |

Summary: John Price gets an angry voicemail from his ex-wife saying how his twenty year old daughter took off. He doesn’t know what he’s more angry at, the fact his ex-wife’s complaining about rent money or that you took off with her leather jacket.

But he’s going to get another call…

TW: Hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/comfort | a little bit of 141 in here too at the end. [Series Masterlist] This was longer than I planned too 2980 words.

John and his ex-wife were both sixteen when they had you. Price later joined the military and your mother cheated on him many times as you grew up.

You were the one to break it to your dad, but in your spite for your mother you ended up hurting him.

There were a few years you didn’t see your dad, your mother upheaving your life whenever she fell in love with a new guy. It never lasted long though, forced to stay in a hotel when things went south until she found a new place. The cycle would repeat.

The father daughter relationship was strained till he got married again and your now step mum stepped in to get you back in his life. The younger brother you never heard of and the wedding your mum had never told you about, let alone the divorce. She’d also been spending the money your dad gave her that was meant for you.

You visited your dad every now and then, but it was difficult with his job and you having school.

Fast forward to you being twenty and you leave with the first guy that can get you out of your mums house. She’s never forgiven you for telling your dad about her affairs. Easy money, she said being with a military man who rarely came home.

Things don’t seem to work out for you though, they never do. You’re sobbing whilst you clutched onto your phone, hoping your dad will answer your call.

You know when you can reach out to him, he still messaged you when he’s going dark on his missions and won’t be with his phone. Followed by a short text when he’s finished, a standard one that you don’t reply to anymore.

He does answer, the one person who always seems to pick up your call. Even though you haven’t spoken to him in months. Even though you’ve ignored his name lighting up your phone screen.

“Hey, kiddo.” His voice soft and low, you didn’t deserve his kindness. Part of you expected him to shout down the phone, but he just carried on talking to you. “You looking after yourself kid?”

“Yeah dad,” you said, wiping your tears away with the sleeve of your hoody. Half a lie, tonight was the first time in ages you’d looked after yourself in the right way. No making excuses for his actions and convincing yourself it was your fault.

He hummed, music cutting off in the background as he shushed whoever was with him.

“Good to hear your voice,” you said, wanting to fill the silence. It’s like being a kid again and finally getting through to him whilst he’s at the military base, to hear him and know he’s there.

“What you doing?”

A smile tugged your lips, anything to keep you on the phone. “I’m waiting for the bus,” you said, forgetting how late it was and the fact you’d missed the last one of the night.

“On your own?”

The wind whipped through the flimsy bus shelter, your bag held on your lap for extra warmth. “Yeah, I’m a big girl now dad.”

Your mind wandered back to the basic self defence moves he’d taught you at sixteen and how when it mattered most you froze instead of fighting. What would the captain think of you?

The captain, a role he slipped back into when he didn’t know how to be there for you. Spoke to you as if he were training a fragile new recruit, measured words and slight pauses keeping him safe.

The man who told you to do anything, but be backed into a corner or made to feel small.

Small, exactly how you felt clinging onto your dad’s call. “I know you are, don’t need your old man no more eh, now that you’re grown.”

At times like this, you wished your dad would drop the tough act and baby you. He always treated you like an adult, even when you were a kid. Gave you a routine, a choice when it came to discipline, knowing that you’d rather do chores than get grounded. The captain never punishing you physically or raising his voice like your mum did. She was a whole different person when your dad went back to work for months on end.

“You still there kid?”

Tears streamed down your face, your cheeks burning in the bitter cold. “I don’t know what to do,” you sobbed, twisting the cuff of your sleeve in your hold.

You’d made such a mess. There was no way you’d go back to your mum’s and you knew that asking your dad for help wouldn’t be fair on your younger brother.

“Hey, hey kiddo. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Classic captain saying whatever you want to hear, like your someone as brave as him.

You wanted him, but couldn’t bring yourself to admit it. “Are you home?” Part of you hoping he’d say no, so that you don’t have to burden him with your problems.

“Nah, down south at the base,” he said, pausing and there’s a scuffle behind the speaker before he’s talking again. “Just me though, didn’t want to pull boyo out of school. Exams and that.” Your brother, ten years younger than you.

“Makes sense,” you sniffled, nodding as if he can see you. “I’m sorry I called so late.” Your throat burnt, nose sore from wiping it on your dad’s old hanky. Something you kept for comfort, a reminder of him. A little cigar stitched into the off white fabric.

“Don’t be sorry,” he snapped, the no nonsense captain sounding more like a man of military than your dad. “You’re okay though, that’s why you called. To check in with your old man? Well we’re all good kid, you and me don’t you worry.”

The first time talking to him since you sent him that written letter. The one where you apologised for tearing the family apart, for hurting him.

“Why can’t you just be my dad?”

There’s a clink of his phone on the other side, as if he’s dropped it. A deep breath filtering through the speaker as he exhales.

“What do you need?”

“I need you, I need my dad. Everything is so screwed up, I’m looking at this bus chart randomly picking a place or getting on the first one that shows up.” You rambled on, the weight on your chest less now that you’ve released the suppressed anger and frustration.

“Send me your location. You know how to do that, right?”

You can’t help, but chuckle at his response. Of course you know, your dad taught you how and frequently scolded you to turn it back on so he would know you’re safe. You hadn’t shared anything with him in months, your finger hovering over the button.

“Please, don’t send mum…”

“I’m on my way kiddo, an hour and a half tops. There any places you can sit inside whilst you wait?”

You don’t bother glancing around, the small street turning is far enough away from the main road. From experience you walked as long as you could, taking whatever path and ending up at a lone bus shelter. If your boyfriend drove around he wouldn’t be able to find you tucked away in a quiet road with newly built houses.

He stayed with you on the phone, giving you the colour and number plate of the car he’d be in when he arrived. You don’t have an interest in cars so the make and model goes over your head, your focus on the number plate instead.

True to his word the car rolled up by the bus stop and he’s out before it stopped.

Your hesitant steps halted as he too stopped in his tracks. His gaze falling on your split lip and blood clumped in your brow and hairline. His head turned to the side, hands shoved his pockets.

“I’m sorry, I know…” you don’t get to finish your sentence, his arms wrapping around you and your face smushing into his chest.

Pulling away from his embrace, the rain pelted down on you. He swept your wet hair out your eyes, hands framing your face as he tilted it up to look at you properly. The pad of his thumb brushed against your jawline, so close to the cut on your lip, but he didn’t touch it.

“Why don’t we get out this rain,” he said, his touch slipping from your face to scoop up your hand in his much larger one.

You don’t move with him though, stumbling towards him as you tried to tug him back. “Where are we going?” You asked, eyeing the man behind the steering wheel. There’s no way you’d go back to your mums, you’d rather wait for the bus or go back to your ex.

John smoothed his moustache, his gaze following yours to the car. “Back to the base, got a place there with my team. That okay, kid? Or there some where else you want me to take you?”

Nodding, you let him guide you to the car and open the back door. You slid in, followed by your dad who shrugged off his jacket and draped it over you. Shifting in your seat, you leant your head against the cold window and clutched the warm jacket around you closer.

“You hungry, can stop off before we go back to base,” John said, his elbow leaning on your bag on the seat between you and him.

“No, just tired,” you mumbled into his jacket. The burnt cigar and gunpowder still lingering on the fabric, like he’d smoked on the journey here.

His voice turned to a distance mumble, your eyes heavy as you let sleep take you. Your dad’s hand resting on top of yours, as if he’s trying to tell himself you’re really here.

The sun peeking through the half shut blinds woke you a few hours later. You turned over in the bed, watching your dad’s chest rise and fall beside you. His hulking form taking up most of the bed, you could feel the heat radiating off him. Even in his sleep, the line between his brows remained.

You can’t believe you called your dad, don’t even remember getting out of the car. He must have carried you in and put you to bed.

He still slept with one hand on his chest, dog tags hidden underneath his T-shirt, but you could still see the outline of them near his shoulder. Nicks and scrapes curved his bicep, you’d never seen them before. Red angry marks and faded ones of pink he normally hid under long sleeves.

The bedroom like every other base you’d stayed in whenever you visited him growing up on weekends here and there. White walls, cold wood beneath your fuzzy socks as your feet padded across the floor. Nothing but a box with a bed in the middle and small drawers either side.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, tracing the medical tape above your brow. The red stains that once clung to your hairline and forehead were clean, a purple bruise forming in its place.

Picking your hold-all from the floor, you slipped it over your shoulder and pressed your ear against the door. You couldn’t pick up any noise outside, just your dad’s low snores filling the bedroom. Probably from all those cigars he’d been smoking.

The alarm clock on the beside drawer flashed eight, thirty seven. You wanted to crawl back under the covers and sleep for another five hours, but you didn’t fancy having the conversation with your dad. How everything would unravel and lead him to finding out why you chose to leave with your boyfriend, like there was no other option. Because there wasn’t.

You pushed the door open, regretting the action as your eyes fell on the man at the kitchen table. His broad shoulders shifting at the sound of your footsteps.

There’s no use sneaking out the house, not when a team of highly trained men are living under one roof. That and the security surrounding the place.

Simon Riley, the masked driver who hadn’t said a word to you. Now you know why he covered up, the scar on his jawline lead to the neck line of his t-shirt. You tried not to stare too long, your gaze flitting to the sweater hugging his muscular arms. He could crush you in a second.

“You’ll have to wait for your old man to sign you out of the base,” Simon said through a mouth full of cereal. “Cuppa on the side for you, heard you moving about.” He pointed to the counter behind you, steam still rising from the kettle next to it.

Of course he did, probably been waiting to catch you sneaking out. Loyal to their captain the lot of them. You walked over to the small kitchenette and grabbed the strong brewed tea.

The front door opened, another guy walking through the porch and kicking his trainers off. Sweat clung to his body, T-shirt like a second skin on his visible six pack beneath. You couldn’t stop staring till he opened his mouth. Thick Scottish accent as he spoke to himself, plucking his headphones out of his ears.

He looked around your age or slightly older, not as rough and rugged as Simon or your dad. You cringed at the comparison, not wanting to think of dad as being desirable to other women.

“Ah you must be the captains daughter,” he said, reaching around you to grab a protein bar on the side. “I’m Soap,” he chuckled as your brows furrowed. “Johnny, Soaps my call sign.”

“Well that’s unfortunate,” you mumbled, sitting down at the at the table opposite Simon. Hot cup nestled between your hands. “That to remind you to have a wash?”

You edged back in your seat, the stench of sweat hitting you as Soap walked closer.

Simon’s narrowed gaze flitted from Soap to you, but he didn’t say anything. His spoon clinking the bottom of his bowl as he tried to scoop up the last remnants of cereal. If you didn’t know any better he was rushing.

“What’s yours? Hawk, no… Hulk?” Your focus darted back to Simon, anything to distract you from the hot, but sweaty guy out of the corner of your eye.

He didn’t entertain your curiosity, his chair scraping back as he collected his bowl and dumped it into the dishwasher. Soap’s deep laugh rumbled beside you, shaking his Mohawk head and disappearing down the hallway.

You found yourself leaning to one side, trying to catch a glimmer of Soaps back as he peeled his T-shirt off. John Price, however blocked the way, your back shooting back against the chair.

Simon shared a brief look with your dad, clapping him on the shoulder as he too retreated from the room.

“Damned thing keeps beeping,” John said, dropping your phone on the table. “Can’t answer it, the screen’s cracked to shit,” he grumbled, rubbing his tired eyes as he dragged his feet to the kitchen and made himself a black coffee.

Classic captain.

You stared at the cracked screen, a chain of texts and missed calls from your ex. It beeped again, your mother’s name lighting the screen.

“You gonna tell me what that’s all about?” John said leaning back in his seat, his cup of coffee balancing on his knee instead of the table. His seat at the top of the table right next to you, his knee nudging yours.

The cup in your hand no long gave you that biting sting, the tea turning cold under your stare. “Things just got bad and I can’t go back to mums.” You shrugged it off like it was no big deal, not daring to meet your dad’s eyes.

“Boyfriend?” He said pointing to your face. You nodded, wishing you hadn’t as the pounding in your head grew stronger.

He peeled your left hand away from your mug. “Where did you hit him?” He asked tracing the broken skin of your knuckles. Nothing got by the captain.

“I think I broke his nose,” you mumbled, head dipping to stare at your lap and the pattern pj trousers.

The captains head bopped up and down. “That’s good, I take it he’s alright if he’s contacting you.” He might as well have asked if he was breathing.

“How is that good?” You snapped, ripping your hand from him and pushing your chair back with you.

“You were defending yourself kid, look at ya!” His booming voice startled you, his hand flinging to your face as if you needed a reminder.

On instinct you flinched at his abrupt movement. Your body freezing and eyes clamping shut.

You opened your eyes, Simon talking in hushed tones to your dad. The captain staring at you, glassy eyed and frown tugging his lips down. And once again you’ve hurt your dad, made him feel bad.

“Why don’t we get Toff, to check her over. Another women might make her more comfortable?"

They weren't even talking to you, but about you. Too consumed with a plan than you moving. "Check yourselves over," you said, snatching your bag from the floor and rushing to the porch.

The door close, but you were yanked back by the strap of your bag. You wanted to lean towards the door, anything to escape the horror of your fuck up. One flinch and you knew, the captain was questioning everything in your life that would cause you to react like that.

"One check up, if you want to leave after I'll sign you out. No questions asked," John pleaded, knuckles turning white as they tightened around the strap of your bag.

"Okay."

[Part two]

Not me thinking about Price’s daughter and Soap 😅 I think he’s the youngest out of all of them? Mid twenties. This was also a lot longer than I planned, I just kept writing more. Huge possibility there are errors as I'm dyslexic and I'm writing for fun.

👀 Do you want another part??? - Leya

[sapphic-kpop-fics]

can you do a car sex with jihyo?

Backseat (Park Jihyo x Reader)

Smut

2 am hook up with your fwb jihyo. That’s it.

It was late, the red 1:47 AM glaring at you from your bedside table as you look over. You had tried to sleep, for hours but you simply could not stop thinking.

The main thing occupying your thoughts is your friend, more so fuck buddy, Jihyo. You couldn’t stop thinking about her, and her tan skin, or her lips, and god her fingers.

Now you’re in bed sexually frustrated and you couldn’t sleep because you’re so horny. You had just seen her the other day, a similar situation to now though it was earlier in the day.

Finally you have enough and reach for your phone and immediately finding her contact to send a text.

You

Are you awake?

A few minutes pass with no answer.

You

I know it’s late

Actually never mind

Sorry

A few minutes in between each message, embarrassment seeps in especially thinking about potentially waking the woman just to tell her she needed her to come fuck you.

Jihyo ❤️‍🔥

It’s okay I was already awake

What’s wrong?

Jihyo knew why you texted, I mean it’s almost 2 am why else would the person she regularly hooks up with text her at this time but she wanted you to say it.

You

I need you

Jihyo ❤️‍🔥

Be there in 10.

You don’t even bother getting dressed out of your sweatpants and sleep shirt, grabbing your key and slipping on some shoes by your door as you make your way to the front of your house.

Jihyo refused to hook up with you in either of your own homes, either a club bathroom or a hotel usually, according to her it was crossing a line between friends and girlfriends to have sex in your personal bed, whatever that means. So you wait outside your door, a bit pathetically, for her to arrive and she does almost exactly ten minutes after her text.

You hurriedly walk to her car and get into the passenger seat, not looking at her face yet to avoid her immediately intense stare that makes your cheeks flush. But once you do look you’re captivated, her hair is down and wavy, messily resting on her shoulders. Wearing a cropped white tank top and sweatpants, showing off her abs (which you can’t stop staring at)

Her left hand is still on the steering wheel while her other arm’s elbow rests on the center console, chin in her hand as she looks at you.

“Soo…” She pauses a smirk threatening to form, “What’d you need me for?”

You roll your eyes at her before you respond.

“You know what.”

Now boldly wearing the smirk she thinks for a second, looking around and then to her backseat.

“Well.” She nods her head to the back.

“Wh- in here? We’re in the middle of my street.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“What if my neighbors see?”

“My windows are tinted.” She answers quickly, obviously eager to fuck you in her backseat.

She looking at you like you’re her next meal and, well you might be. Taking her hand from under her chin to brush the hair out of your face.

“Come on baby, you want me to fuck you right?”

You stare at her for a second, cheeks heating up at her words. You open the car door and get out, for a second Jihyo is worried she scared you off and you’re about to walk back inside until you open the back door and enter giving her a look making the older girl unbuckle and get out the front seat. First stopping to make her front seat go all the way up and then getting in the back.

A hand grips your neck to pull you into a kiss, it’s hungry, almost as if Jihyo wanted it just as much as you. Her lips wander over your jaw and neck to leave dark bruises, staking her claim even if she insists you’re just friends.

Jihyo finds her place on her knees in the floorboard when you part as she had extra space now, pulling your hand so you get the hint to sit in the seat in front of her. She’s slipping your sweatpants off in no time taking your underwear with them and placing your legs on her shoulders.

“Oh, you’re soaked baby.” A teasing voice, “is that why you couldn’t sleep?” Her pointer rubbing over your center in circles, “What got you so frustrated, hm?”

“I-fuck.” Her finger quickens the circles, “was- mm, thinking about- y-you.” It takes more time than it should for you to get the words out, Jihyo smiling up at you while mockingly nodding her head.

“Oh yeah? What were you thinking pretty girl?”

“Y-your-“ You’re cut off by a finger entering you, your words getting replaced by a gasp following by moans.

“Come on use your words.”

“Mouth. Want your mouth.” Your speech caveman like as you’re filled with need for the older girl.

Now she makes herself busy kissing your thighs, they’re messy and her teeth bite down on your skin no doubt leaving bruises but she soothes over them with her tongue. Her mouth came close to your center and you subconsciously spread your legs wider for her.

“Want me to taste you baby?”

You had never been more attracted to her, blown pupils staring up at you as she’s on her knees about to eat you out, her own saliva coating her mouth and chin from the messy kisses she left.

“Please.”

Her tongue is immediately on you, leaving no room to tease you and going straight into devouring you. Three fingers enter you without warning causing you to tangle your hand in her hair, the other gripping the back of her leather seat.

“Jihyo. Fuck.”

Your nails dig into her scalp as you pull her hair slightly causing a groan, the vibrations stimulating you even more. Her left hand grips your thigh, red marks underneath her fingers and indents from her nails.

“I missed tasting you.” Her cheek rest on your thigh as she parts to catch her breath, still moving her fingers. She had seen you less than 48 hours ago, eating you out in a random room at a friend’s house during a get together that involved way too much wine, “Want my pretty girl to cum all over my tongue.”

With that she reconnects her mouth to your core, moaning instantly at the taste.

“‘M so close Hyo.” You manage to whimper out.

“I’ve barely even touched you baby.”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, and your hips at her teasing.

“Is that really how you should talk to the woman giving you an orgasm?” A playful grin on her face.

You roll your eyes again and just as you’re about to speak her fingers curl just right, and her lips suck on your clit.

“Oh fuck, don’t stop.”

Her fingers speed up as does her tongue.

“Cum for me baby”

As soon as you do she removes her fingers so she can taste you fully, collecting all of the wetness on her tongue as you ride your high, hand on her head to keep her mouth against you as you basically ride her face.

When you finally settle, closing your eyes while catching your breath. Finally opening your eyes you see Jihyo looking back up to you with a cocky smile on her face.

“Good?” A teasing lilt to her voice, she knows how good it was.

You don’t answer besides pushing her head away so you can move to the other side of the backseat to put your underwear and pants back on.

Jihyo loved to tease you, your reactions were amusing to her. Whether when fucking you or in normal conversations.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Jihyo wiping her mouth and then looking at you, with a smile that you don’t want to unpack, it was different than usual. But it doesn’t last long before she back at smirking and teasing you.

“See you in a couple days?”

“No.” You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that takes over, no truth to what you say. You open the door and get out but Jihyo keeps it open as you walk away.

“Come on.” She drags out.

“Go home Jihyo.”

She does go home, however you do in fact call her again in a couple days to come over again. Her backseat becoming all too familiar over time.

[monster-disaster]

[tentacle] The monster under the bed

tentacle!monster x human!Reader Good to know: somnophilia, a bit of dub-con

Summary: Your aunt's house is not as empty as you thought.

A/N: For kinktober 2023, I have a new town full of monsters. Here is the masterlist.

The change in the air is thick and heavy after you leave the Welcome to Grimbrook sign behind you. You feel it in your core. It's cold and silent. For a second, everything goes quiet, and the time seems to stop. The rumbling of your car gets muffled, and the colors of the lush, green forest at your sides fade into a milky fog flowing above the ground. You can't see the tall mountains and their sharp edges in the distance anymore. The clear blue sky turns gray, and you can't find the sun anymore, either. Just a few dim rays shine down on the road in front of you, showing your way to the village next to the sea.

As you get closer, you can smell the salty scent of the water even through the closed windows of your car. It's heavy in your nostrils. The sound of the waves gets louder too. From the top of the uphill, you can see the village with its old stone buildings and the sea behind everything. It seems colorless, merging into the dark sky at the horizon. It is beautiful and terrifying at the same time. There is something in Grimbrook that you can't pinpoint but freezes your insides. The only light you can see comes from a lighthouse at the edge of a cliff. It emits a soft, rhythmic beam of yellow light that cuts through the heavy fog, casting eerie shadows over the still village. Seagulls glide through the mist above the white seafoam, waving across the dark surface.

"Okay," you hum, forcing your eyes to go back to the GPS on your phone. The blue line clearly shows your way to the house you have to reach before night falls. It leads you out of the center of the villages until you reach a small suburb with Victorian houses standing in a long row with grand iron gates and gardens.

The monotone voice of the GPS informs you when you reach the right house, and after sitting in your car for a few more minutes, you have no other option but to get out and make your way up to the porch. The wooden planks creak under your steps as you look around a bit better. The house is old, with tall walls, characterful windows, and a dark green door with a golden knocker in the middle. It's cold in your hold as you knock it against the door.

You don't get an answer, though.

The door opens, and you find yourself facing a narrow foyer with stairs on the right side. Pictures and paintings hang on the walls in dark wood and golden frames. You can see the entrance of the kitchen at the end. And on your left side, there is an arch that leads you to the living room.

"Hello?" You break the silence. Your voice is hoarse and quiet. You have to force your legs to move and not turn back to your car and leave this place immediately. "Somebody?" Your gaze lands on a small table in the corner next to the entrance door. There is a letter with your name on it.

Dear Cat, I'm sorry I can't be here when you arrive. Make yourself at home, and we will talk tomorrow. Delilah

"Great," you sigh, letting the paper fall back onto the surface of the small table.

For a second, you think about searching for a hotel or something similar to spend the night, but to be honest, it doesn't sound much better either. You know you should leave the town to feel better, but it's not an option. So you close the door behind you and wander further into the house.

You got a call a few weeks ago about your aunt you met long years ago. She died, and now you have a house. You can keep it. You can sell it. Whatever you want.

The house is old, with a lot of wood, dark colors, and golden details. There are still newspapers from months ago on the coffee table in the living room. The rug under you is faded and thin. The floor creaks every now and again. There are two rooms and a bathroom upstairs. The bigger room is still occupied with your aunt's belongings. The scent of her perfume still lingers in the air. You remember her when you were a kid. She came to your grandmother's funeral, and you never saw her again. Nobody really talked about her in the family. The only things you know are that she was kind but preferred her own company above everything else. She lost her husband in her late twenties but stayed in Grimbrook, barely leaving the town.

The guestroom is much more bare than the other parts of the house. A bed in the middle with two nightstands and a lamp. There is a drawer in front of it and a mirror on the wall. The window is slightly open, letting in the cold autumn breeze. You have a view of the street from here. It's calm and empty. The only reasons you know you are not the only person in the town are because you can see a few cars here and there and a dog barking in the distance. The fog is thick and heavy. You can't see the end of the street through it.

After wandering around the house some more, you decide to call your friend until you have no other option but to change and try to get some sleep.

Climbing up on the bed in the guest room, you settle under the thick covers. The scent of the linen is faded and mixed with dust and the night air coming through the window. It's dark outside, not counting a few lamps on the street. Their orange lights filter into the room. And everything is quiet. So quiet that your ears almost start to ring. You are not used to it. You live in the city with constant noises.

When sleep takes you, it's restless and everything but relaxing. You fidget and turn, trying to find a comfortable position as you balance between the darkness and the real world. Your head feels just as foggy as Grimbrook, and at some point, you can't decide if you are dreaming or not.

You are on your back, one arm on your stomach, and the other is next to your body. The autumn breeze caresses your skin, moving up from your feet to your ankles and calves. Shiver runs through your spine at the feeling. You want to reach out for the blanket, but even though your arms move, they do not obey your command. Something pets the thin skin of your wrist. It's soft and barely noticeable. You feel your muscles stretch as you reach up to the headrest of the bed, but you don't even know why. The cold moves up further on your legs. It curls around your flesh, spreading you in the middle of the bed. Your heels dig into the mattress. Your body tenses when your limbs don't do as you want. A frown deepens between your brows.

"What?" A hoarse grunt leaves your lips. When you open your eyes, you meet darkness, and you are not sure if you are really awake or not. Your eyelids are heavy, and not even a second later, you fall back asleep again.

The bottom of your pajama slips down on your legs. The waist stretches around your parted legs. Something slides up on your stomach under your t-shirt. It is slick and soft. A gasp echoes in your room when it flicks your nipple. The thing curls around the flesh of your tits, groping and caressing. Your nipples harden under the strange touch. Saliva? A tongue?

Where are you?

And there is something else between your legs. The muscles of your thighs tense, and the hold around you tightens.

"What?" You groan again into the silence. As you look down on your body, you see your t-shirt around your neck. Your breasts are bare. Something dark and purple curls around them, squeezing and licking. The teasing on your nipples is almost painful. At the back of your mind, you want more. Your head falls back onto the pillows, and you are asleep again.

The tentacles between your legs move up and down on your pussy. Your panties are ruined between your wet center and the slick touch of theirs. One of them flicks your clit. Your back arches at the feeling. The cold night air hits your aching pussy when the thin fabric is pulled aside. One of them stays around your clit, flicking and rubbing the hard bud. The other one goes straight to your hole.

You want to move. To get closer or farther away, you can't decide. The tendrils don't let you go anyway.

You break the silence with a sudden moan. The limb enters you slowly. It slips into you easily, stretching your walls until you can't take another inch. It fills you up.

"Fuck," you groan.

Your breasts are soaked. The slickness on your skin shines under the dim streetlights. The tentacles play with your flesh, rubbing and pinching your nipples. The pain takes your breath away every now and again until you feel dizzy.

The others between your legs move without pausing even for a second. Your clit throbs, and your walls flutter. Pleasure flares inside your veins, rushing through your body with such force you never felt before. Your lungs burn for air, and your muscles ache as you lay taut, panting.

When you open your eyes, you see the ceiling and the old lamp hanging above you. You want to force your mind to think, to panic, to do something, but your senses are full of pleasure. The only thing you can do is moan and grind against the tentacle inside your pussy. It pounds into you, reaching every spongy spot inside that makes you see stars and beg for more. The sheet under you is soaked with your mixed juices. You can feel it dripping out of your hole.

Fuck, you want to shout, but you can't find your voice. You just shake and tremble in the hold of the limbs keeping you in place on the bed. Every nerve in your body is on edge, and when it snaps in your lower stomach, you can't remember how to breathe. Your climax forces you down and stops you from moving. A thin layer of sweat shines on your bare skin. Heat burns you from the inside, and your pussy flutters and sucks on the tendril inside you. It still moves in and out. It twitches and rubs against your walls. And doesn't stop even when the darkness envelopes you again.

When you wake up the next morning, you need a few minutes to remember where you are. The sun shines through the window, casting an orange hue over the old rug in the middle of the room. As you sit up, your t-shirt falls back over your torso, but your pants are still around your knees.

"What?" You grunt out. The question is barely louder than a whisper. Your hand shakes as you reach down between your legs. Your pussy is wet, sensitive, and swollen. A moan escapes you when your fingertip slides over your slit.

Your dream is still vivid in your mind. You can feel the tentacle in your pussy, using your hole and rubbing your clit. Your center starts to throb with need at the memory. And your breasts. Your other hand grabs one of your tits. Your nipples are still hard peaks through the thin fabric of your shirt.

"Hello? Cat?" The sudden noise snaps your head up to the door of your room. The voice comes from the entrance of the house. "It's Delilah." "Hey!" You croak out. You are not even sure if she can hear you. "I will be down in a minute." "Great!" She shouts back. "I will make some coffee, and we can talk about your plans with the house." Your fingers sink into your hole. You are still stretched out. You move in and out of your pussy easily.

Yeah, you think, you need a few nights if you want to decide about your plans.

- Masterlist Grimbrook Masterlist Patreon

[midnightcrw]

Provocative

Pairing: Alastor x fem!reader

Summary: Lucifer visits the Hazbin Hotel because his daughter called him, but there he sees a good friend he hasn't seen in a long time.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of discrimination (this is fluff, by the way)

a/n: This is my first time writing for Alastor and anything related to the Hazbin Hotel, so I hope you all will like it. Please tell me if there's anything in this one shot that might offend anyone, and I'll do my best to change it or clarify my thought process.

Charlie was walking around in circles because of the fact that her dad was going to come over to the hazbin hotel for the first time.

And while everyone seemed quite unbothered, she couldn't calm down while Vaggie was currently helping Sir Pentious put up the decorations.

"You have been walking around in circles for the last fifteen minutes, darling," your voice was heard as you put a hand on Charlie's shoulder.

She stopped abruptly as she felt the weight on her shoulder and turned her head slightly to look into your eyes, "It's just been a while since I've seen him and I really want this to go well."

Her usual optimistic tone was much less energetic and confident as she started to look around, clearly avoiding your eyes.

You let out a sigh, a small smile finding its way to your lips as you cupped her chin between your thumb and forefinger, "There's nothing to panic about. I'm sure everything will go perfectly."

Your words seemed to calm the blonde down a bit as she gave you a slight nod, "I hope you're right," she muttered as you let go of her chin.

With that, Charlie made her way over to Vaggie to look at the decorations she had put up with Sir Pentious.

You just smiled at the sight when you suddenly heard a low static behind you, "She's been all over the place since the call," Alastor mused, his sharp grin never leaving his face.

Rolling your eyes at him, you opened your mouth to speak, "Let her be, she's trying her best."

"Oh, I know, my dear. I want the best for Charlie too," Alastor's words made you shake your head, knowing there was more to it, but even with you, he wasn't eager to share that information.

If you had known that you would be bound to him even in hell, you would have run as fast as you could in your mortal life.

But your 'lovely' husband had a way with words even then. Even if the two of you didn't marry for love, there was definitely something there.

Back in New Orleans, Alastor had a hard time because he was half Creole. He was always at a disadvantage because he did not fit into the standard, even though he tried his best to somehow blend in.

But radio was really the perfect solution and a passion of his. It even helped him because no one saw his face and only had to listen to his voice, which even he had forced to sound different, his usual deep tone becoming much higher to fit into the society.

And once he became famous, he even started to change his appearance. His usually dark brown wavy hair was straightened by him, while he also started to dress like the rest of the crowd.

But even then it never seemed to be enough. His tan complexion was still striking to some, as people began to gossip about him from time to time.

The prejudices against him never stopped, as people even started to question him because he wasn't married, making him out to be a cruel man who couldn't even find love, and that's where you came in, to get rid of at least one of the many talked about topics about him. At least then the people of New Orleans would know that Alastor really was a lovable man.

You really couldn't have cared less about the standards and the gossip that had made its way when Alastor started to pursue you back then. Even though he did not even reveal his intentions at first, you could still tell that there was more to it than just love in itself.

And even after he revealed his true intention behind a marriage, you accepted it. You didn't really have anything to lose anyway, and his charming words seemed to sway you somehow.

However, getting married and playing the role of a happily married couple had been a struggle. Both of you being at each other's throats, but never really being able to truly hate each other, was definitely odd.

But leaving that aside for now, there were more important matters at hand as you let go of your thoughts of the past.

"Just don't ruin this for her," your stern tone was obvious and with that you went over to help Niffty with cleaning up.

A few minutes passed and everything seemed to be perfect now, but not for Charlie.

"What if he hates the way the hotel looks?" She asked herself, her hands pulling tightly on her hair.

"He won't. You don't have to worry. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you at all," Vaggie said in a reassuring voice as she put an arm around her girlfriend's shoulder and gave her a small kiss on the forehead.

That little gesture made Charlie blush as she leaned against Vaggie, trying to calm herself, and when she felt ready, she made her way to the door.

"Okay everyone, it's showtime!" She said with a smile on her face, looking at everyone as the door was suddenly flung open by Lucifer, who said his daughters name and hugged her tightly.

Standing near the door, Alastor looked at the two of them with a crazy glint in his eyes and his never-ending smile showing his teeth.

And that's when you knew that this wasn't going to end well.

As Lucifer looked around the hotel, Alastor didn't seem happy at all, angry at the fact that he was being ignored.

"It's got a lot of character... What in the unholy hell is that?" Lucifer asked in a disbelieving tone, as a frown made its way onto his face.

Already knowing that Alastor wasn't going to hold back now, you let out a heavy sigh as you rubbed your temple.

"Just some of the renovations we had done. Adds a bit of color, don't you think?" Your husband's voice was heard as Lucifer then proceeded to ask who he even was.

And with the blink of an eye, Alastor is now at Lucifer's side. "I'm Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you, sir. Quite a pleasure," he replied as he wiped his hand on his coat.

You were about to slam your head against the wall when you felt someone tugging at your dress. "He's a bad boy," Niffty said in an excited tone, staring at the King of Hell while you just felt a shiver run down your spine in disgust at your friend being lusted upon.

"You might have heard of me from my radio broadcast," Alastor said with a sinister grin on his face as he held his microphone. Knowing him, he loves to be acknowledged and it didn't look like Lucifer was going to give him any of that.

"Nope, I guess that's why Charlie called it the Hazbin Hotel," Lucifer said, emphasizing the 'haz'.

"Hahaha! It was actually my idea!"

"Hahaha! Well, it's not very clever!"

"Haha! Fuck you!"

Hearing that, you immediately made your way to Alastor as you and Charlie interrupted them, earning a look of shock from Lucifer.

"Is it really you?" Lucifer asked, his eyes wide as he looked at you. And before you could even answer, he threw himself at you, nearly crushing you to a second death and leaving you breathless.

"It's been years!" The King of Hell shouted as he let go of you to examine your face. You let out a chuckle, "It has indeed been a long time."

The interaction between the two of you naturally caught everyone's attention, as they all had a confused look on their faces, except for Alastor, who seemed to be losing his patience by the second.

Not even letting you two continue reminiscing, Alastor put an arm around your waist, causing you to gasp in surprise, as he wasn't usually the one to show off your relationship, especially to Overlords and anyone above that position.

"From where do you know him, my love?" Alastor's static-like voice was heard loud and clear as he pulled you even closer.

Before you could answer, Lucifer interrupted. "My love?!" He asked in disbelief and disgust.

"Oh, yes. 'My love,' the beautiful woman I'm so smitten by," Alastor was really putting on a show as he even planted a small kiss on your temple.

Your arm made its way around your husband's back as you pinched his waist in annoyance, eliciting a small static screech from Alastor.

"You really have some nerve, don't you?" you whispered in a caustic tone as your face came closer to his, wanting only him to hear it.

But even with that, the man dressed in red didn't shy away to take it completely somewhere else, "Just a few minutes, my darling. Then we'll have some time alone. Oh, and how she loves it, almost shameless, isn't she?" Alastor went on talking while you cursed him in your head.

You knew he was only doing it to rile Lucifer up, but of course the rest of them didn't know that.

"So Freaky Face does fuck," Angel Dust mused with a grin on his face as Husk slapped him on the back of the head.

"You sleep with that?" Lucifer asked in a disgusted tone as he ran towards you, pulling you out of Alastor's tight grip as he took a few steps away from your husband.

"Are you sure this is what you want for your future? Are you even sure it is worth of dating?" The short man asked you, almost even praying for you.

You apparently forgot to mention that you and Alastor have been married for decades, but you definitely wouldn't tell him that right now.

"It's a he," you simply replied.

"Well, I couldn't care less about it."

[cllightning81]

Heat Stroke

Summary : Franco's thrown in at the deep end of the Singapore Grand Prix but you're there to look after him

Pairing/s: Franco Colapinto x Reader

Word Count : 1.1k

Warning/s: W*lliams Hate

Masterlist Driver Masterlist Want to be included in my tag list? Click HERE

You personally thought throwing Franco into the Singapore Grand Prix with limited heat training was a bit crazy knowing that you’d been preparing since the last Singapore Grand Prix, along with most drivers. 

The race could be brutal, and anyone who’d raced there before would know that, however, the head guys at Wililams didn’t care. You had warned Franco about it, but you knew that if it wasn’t Franco that replaced Logan, then it would be some other poor innocent guy. 

You remember when the news broke that Franco was about to become an F1 driver and you couldn’t be more mad about how it happened. 

Franco had told you to meet him in Argentina. He was going to arrive a day later than you were, and you were fine with it. You’d met his family before, and they were more than welcoming. 

Sat in their family house that evening, you had just been talking with his parents, who were more than happy to not only have you there but to include you in their family activities. Your phone was discarded in Franco’s childhood bedroom as you sat downstairs. 

It wasn’t until there was loud cheering from outside the family house you and his parents decided to get up and look outside. The street was full of people holding either handmade Franco signs or ones that they had bought previously. 

You turned to his parents confused just to see them looking just as confused. Quickly running up the stairs to grab your phone to see not only the F1 drivers group chat but all your other messages blowing up. 

It killed you. Logan was one of your closest friends, and Franco was your boyfriend. How were you meant to deal with this? 

It turned out it was easier to deal with. Logan seemed okay but annoyed he wasn’t able to show his full potential because his car never had the upgrades, and his confidence was lost. Logan had plans for after F1, knowing that no matter what, he was leaving at some point in the 2024 season. Starting off by test driving for indy, then hopefully driving for them at some point. 

But now, after the Singapore Grand Prix, you were standing in the media tent watching Franco speak to the interviewers. You’d seen him straight after the Grand Prix when he could hardly stand getting out of the car. It was a gruelling race for everyone. 

In between interviews yourself, you couldn’t help but watch him. His normal flirty attitude wasn’t there, and you could see in his face that he was in pain. The cold towel around his neck no longer doing anything to cool his body down. He needed to be in the medical tent, but the FIA clearly didn’t care. 

You couldn’t help yourself but walk over despite your own media manager's complaints about walking away from him. You didn’t care, though. You also didn’t care that you were about to expose your relationship with the newest Rookie. 

Taking your own towel from around your neck and placing it around his neck, taking his now warm one away. Your trainer had swapped your towels over, knowing that when your body was too hot, cooling it down was near impossible for him. 

Franco’s head turned, giving you a small smile, and you couldn’t help but reach up and wipe some sweat from his forehead with his towel 

“You need to go to medical” You whispered 

“No no estoy bien” You shook your head, taking his hand in your own 

“Please or I’ll get your mama involved” You raised an eyebrow, and he nodded, taking a drink of water “Thank you” You hummed, walking away back to your media manager, who raised his eyebrows at the work you just created for him 

“Honestly, how simple my life would be without you” He shook his head, and you smiled innocently, moving onto your next interview. 

Getting back to your hotel room, you went to check on Franco after dumping all your stuff in your own room. Knocking on the door, you heard a loud groan followed by shuffling and a couple bangs. You winced at the sounds before Franco finally opened the door, leaning against it. 

Sweat still dripped from his head, and he looked paler than in the media tent, earning a sigh from you. 

“Come on you” You sighed, ushering him back inside of the room. Franco sat on the bed in front of the fans he had going on in nothing but boxers as you walked towards his bathroom. Turning his shower on to cold before walking back to get him. 

Wrapping your arm around his waist as he walked to the bathroom and into the shower with you. You stepped in with him, still in team gear, knowing that it was the only way to get him in without an argument. 

“Lo siento” He whispered as you pushed some wet strands of hair out his face 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. This is definitely not your fault. This is your team's fault for not even sending your trainer here to look after you” You shook your head sitting him on the floor of the shower so you could step out for a moment. 

Texting your own trainer to bring some electrolytes and whatever else he recommended to Franco's room, knowing that at least your own team cared about their drivers and how the heat affects them. 

Going into Franco’s room to make it more comfortable for them knowing exactly what he was feeling right now because it was you last year. Helping Franco out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist before walking through to the bedroom, laying him down as there was a knock on the door. 

You walked over to it, smiling a little at your trainer. Letting him inside to help. 

“Go get yourself changed, Y/N. I know it’s warm, but walking about in wet clothes isn’t going to make you any better either” You nodded, stealing some clothes from Franco’s suitcase and getting changed in the bathroom. Walking back out once you were changed. 

Your trainer, Josh, handed you your water bottle full of electrolytes as he sat on the chair. 

“That stupid team needs to be sued” Josh muttered, and you could only nod in agreement as you played with Franco’s hair sitting next to him. Drinking your water at the same time. 

What idiot of a team decides to throw someone into a death trap of a race and then not provide support afterwards.

“Thank you for coming. I know your wife’s here” You smiled over to Josh, who shrugged 

“I get paid for being here, and she’s asleep” He chuckled, and you couldn’t help but laugh at that. Even Franco managed a little chuckle. Pressing a kiss to Franco’s head.

[aleskie]

TAKE A PIC, IT'LL LAST LONGER (ft. Quinn Hughes)

SUMMARY: You gift Quinn an early Christmas Present in the form of an...interesting photo shoot. Spoiler: He loves it.

The Xmas Album Masterlist

Warnings: spicy but nothing happens, they make out

“Babe, wait!” You dart toward Quinn, catching him just as he’s about to step out of the front door to you guys’ apartment. In your hands is a small envelope, its edges slightly worn from your earlier fidgeting. “This is for you,” you say, your eyes sparkling with a playful, mischievous glint.

“What’s this?” he asks, a mix of amusement and curiosity dancing across his face as he takes the envelope. He holds it up to the light, tilting his head as if the paper might betray its secrets.

“It’s your early Christmas gift,” you reply, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

Quinn had a packed schedule—games back-to-back, both in and out of town—all happening until a few days before Christmas. This meant no cozy nights on the couch, no late-night pillow talks, and no small, stolen moments for the two of you until at least the 24th of December. When he told you about this realization, his brow was knitted in frustration, his signature pout firmly in place. And you, always determined to ease his worries, had come up with the perfect little gesture. A bit of Christmas motivation to keep him smiling during the long stretches apart.

“Quinny, my love,” you say, drawing out the words with a teasing pout of your own as you watch him turn the envelope over in his hands, eager to try and figure out what was inside, “You can’t open it until you’re at the hotel and you really miss me.”

He looks at you and raises an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. “This is either going to be really good or really bad, isn’t it?”

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” you tease, brushing your fingers against his as he tucks the envelope into his bag and kisses you goodbye.

Alone in his hotel room, Quinn sits on the edge of the bed, staring out at the dark cityscape framed by the wide window. The sting of the loss sits heavy on his chest, an unrelenting weight that refuses to lift. Missed opportunities play on a loop in his mind, each one more agonizing than the last.

He tries to shake it off—pacing the room, taking a long, hot shower—but the frustration clings to him like a second skin. What he really wants is to hear your voice, to have you whisper the words that always seem to fit just right. The ones that soothe him, make him believe everything will be okay, that everything will eventually fall into place.

But it’s late. You’re probably asleep, and he knows you have work in the morning. He can’t bring himself to bother you, no matter how much he aches to hear you.

Instead, he grabs the book from his bag—the memoir you’d teased him about, calling it his latest obsession. He tries to dive into its pages, to let someone else’s story take him away from his own. But the words blur together, the sentences sliding out of focus as his mind drifts. He flips pages aimlessly, knowing he’ll have to start over later.

And then it hits him.

The envelope.

His gaze flicks across the room to his bag, the memory of your mischievous smile and sing-song instructions rushing back. You can’t open it until you’re at the hotel and you really miss me.

Well, he’s at the hotel. And God, does he miss you. That counts, right?

Rising to his feet, he retrieves the envelope and sits back down on the bed, holding it carefully as though it might shatter. He studies it for a moment, tracing his finger along the edge of the flap before peeling it open with deliberate care.

As the contents slip into his hand, he freezes.

Whatever he’d been expecting—a heartfelt note, a sweetly scrawled letter—it wasn’t this.

Polaroid photos of you, scantily clad in nothing but a pair of angel wings and that white lingerie set he knows drives him wild. The bra perfectly accentuates your curves, and the panty with lace so sheer and delicate that it leaves nothing to the imagination.

In the photo he’s holding, you’re wearing a playful smirk on your lips, eyes glinting at the camera like you know exactly what you were doing to him. Your hair falls just right, framing your face perfectly, reminding him of just how beautiful you looked. And your pose? Back arched and on all fours, as if crawling toward the camera, arms strategically pushing your breasts together.

The photos only get bolder from there—features of you on your back, on your side, even from behind. But his favorite has to be the one where you’re biting your lips, lipstick smudged and messy. A groan escapes his lips as he instinctively reaches to palm himself through his sweatpants, memories rushing of the nights when it was him who messed up your lipstick, when he was the reason you looked so deliciously disheveled.

A handwritten note accompanied the photos, teasingly scrawled in your unmistakable script: "Merry Early Christmas! Waiting for you to come home so I can spread more than just my wings ;)” 

Amid the mix of lust and longing, he can’t help but chuckle, his cheeks warming as he imagines you, that same playful glint in your eye, right in front of him, asking him if he’d liked his gift. And then, he pictures how you’d look when he fucks that smug attitude right out of you.

The urge to call you is almost overwhelming; his fingers twitch with the need to dial your number, to tell you exactly what he wants to do to you when he gets home. But he holds back, deciding to savor the anticipation brought by your little surprise. 

It’s the middle of the night when Quinn finally gets home. You’re getting ready for bed, the quiet hum of the apartment broken by the thud of his bags hitting the floor in the entryway. The sound of his footsteps follows, steady and purposeful as they make their way toward the bedroom.

When he steps inside, the first thing you notice is his eyes—how they lock onto you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. There’s a hunger in them, raw and unspoken, as though he’s been waiting for this moment, this sight of you, for far too long.

You’re sitting up in bed, the soft glow of your bedside lamp pooling around you. A book rests open in your hands, though you’ve barely read a word since hearing the telltale signs of his arrival. His presence fills the room, and you close the book slowly, your gaze meeting his.

“Hi honey,” you say softly, a hint of a smile playing on your lips, “How was the stretch out of town?”

He doesn’t reply right away, still standing in the doorway, his eyes taking you in as though committing every detail to memory. Without a word, he crosses the room, his movements deliberate and unhurried, the weight of the past few days melting away with each step closer to you.

He takes the book from your hands and sets it aside on the table before settling between your legs. His head finds a cozy spot in the crook of your neck, planting soft kisses that trail all the way to your jaw. His hands roam, gently thumbing along the curve of your waist, sliding up and down your sides, savoring the contrast of your smooth skin against his rough palms.

You lean into him, draping your arms around his neck to pull him even closer. The warmth radiating from him seeps into you, only getting stronger as he trails kisses down towards your chest, right above your heart. You can feel his heat, his longing—like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. It’s intoxicating, his hands exploring your body, his lips playfully nipping at your collarbone.

“Missed you,” he murmurs against your skin, sending a delicious shiver down your spine, “Loved your gift.”

You hum in response, savoring the closeness and the affection that wraps around you like a warm blanket.

His lips find yours in the most casual way, gentle as he cups your face and kisses you. It’s soft at first, teasing—like he was getting you ready for something more. And then he goes deeper, playfully nipping at your bottom lip before slipping his tongue into your mouth. It’s a delicious whirl of warmth and movement as you tangle your fingers in his hair, clinging to him like you’re scared he might pull away.

You feel the way his hands grip your waist tightly, as if he’s trying to anchor himself to you, grounding you both into the moment that’s hot and sweet and perfect. The world fades away, and it’s just the two of you lost in each other.

The whine that escapes your lips when he pulls away is almost pathetic, but the sight of him kneeling above you more than makes up for it. You watch as he practically tears the buttons off his dress shirt, eagerly reaching a hand out to touch his bare chest, admiring the fresh bruises from the last few games he’s played.

As he moves to slide your pajama shorts off, you lift your hips to help, leaving you in just your panties.

“God, you’re an angel,” he smirks, licking his lips as he takes in the sight of you looking utterly debauched—hair tousled, lips swollen from kissing, love bites dotting your neck and collarbone. He rests his hands on your knees, spreading your legs apart and exposing even more of you to his hungry gaze.

“So, what was that you said about spreading more than just your wings?”

You smirk. 

Safe to say he thoroughly enjoyed your little gift. And if you got something out of it too? Well, that’s just a bonus—definitely worth the two days of not walking.

[delulujuls]

tinder buddies | ln4

hi! i have no idea how to comment on that. i've got inspiration from the rumors that are now going on twitter and tiktok about lando and his activity in sm and i thought man, i need to write something in this narrative because sexting with him??? scuse me??? but of course all of this is fiction and and i dont have any statement on the rumors about lan, mostly because all of these are rumors and not facts. anyway, pls leave his poor papaya ass alone and enjoy this instead!

summary: when you met your tinder buddy irl and realize how indeed world is small

warnings: masturbation on cam (both male and female), bit of swearing, in general alott of sexual tention

pairing: fem!journalist!reader x lando norris

Y/N thought that she was good at what she was doing. She thought that despite her young age she fit in the world of motorsport really well. Sometimes it even crossed her mind that she was no different from her older colleagues, what's more, sometimes she even thought that she was better than them. However, she admitted this only to herself with complete modesty and behind tightly closed doors.

Apart from the fact that Y/N was a really good journalist whose career was growing at a surprising pace, at the end of the day she was just a twenty-two-year-old girl who, like many other twenty-two-year-old girls in the world, had her smaller and bigger sins.

Y/N breathed heavily as she entered her hotel room. She set her suitcase and bag aside, taking off her shoes and plopping down on the bed. It was well after midnight, her flight was delayed by several hours and she was simply exhausted by the passing day. Even though she was excited about the events that awaited her in a few hours, right now she was just tired. However, she knew perfectly well what would help her relax before going to sleep. Not so much what, but who.

The girl unlocked her phone and easily found the Instagram icon, clicking on it and going straight to the messages. She entered the first conversation and was about to write some prosaic message, but she didn't have time to type out half of the sentence when a new message appeared in the chat.

"u up?"

Y/N smiled to herself. It looked like she could count on a pleasant end to the day.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing"

The reply message appeared a moment later.

"i was waiting for you to be available. i thought the evening would be wasted"

"And yet you see, surprise"

The person on the other end smiled and untied the drawstring on his sweatpants. He quickly wrote his answer with one hand.

"wanna call?"

"I think you know the answer"

She smiled and reached for the switch and turned off the light, pressing the camera icon with her other hand.

Y/N and the boy she had been messaging with for a little over a month knew next to nothing about each other. She had a private account and a few photos, he had a black icon and an empty profile. He only knew her name, she only the first letter of his. They met on Tinder, their profiles there looked quite similar. She has a few photos, more of the body than the face, he has the same, mostly in black and white. They had never seen each other's faces, but they knew each other's bodies inside and out.

Y/N placed her phone on the table and leaned it against the lamp, which she turned on a moment later. The light from it was dim, but it illuminated her body enough. The angle her phone was at only showed her from the neck down. She was perfect at maintaining her privacy.

"New background?"

He asked, seeing that the surroundings behind her were different from those he had seen before. She pulled her sweatshirt over her head, leaving her in only a bra and a thin t-shirt.

"I'm away from home"

"Work?"

"Too many questions"

There was quiet laughter on the other side. He liked her temperament. He liked her curves even more and the sounds she made when, at his command, she pushed her fingers inside her and brought herself to orgasm. Yes, he liked that too.

"Yeah, you're right. Strip."

Y/N pulled the t-shirt over her head and her interlocutor saw a red, lace bra that he never seen on her before. He smiled and ran his hand over his crotch. He felt a chill run through him.

"You look good, baby. Red suits you"

She laughed and pushed her hair behind her shoulders.

"Is this the first time you gonna tell me to keep my bra on?"

"For now, yes. I'd love to look at it for a while" he squeezed his cock and began to lightly massage it through the fabric. "You know what to do, dont'cha?"

Y/N bit her lip and lifted her hands, placing them gently on her shoulders. She slowly moved them down her body and when she found her breasts, she slowly started massaging them in circular motions. She closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly, hearing the sigh that came from her phone. He watched her carefully, following her every move.

"Take it off," he said after a while, "It's pretty, but I think I prefer you without it."

She quickly took off her bra and threw it aside. He smiled at the sight of her breasts. Y/N returned to them, continuing their massage. As she lightly pinched her nipples, she moaned softly. His cock vibrated at the sound that came from his headphones. He smiled.

"Does it feel good, baby?"

"Mhm, yeah" she answered, looking again at her phone "But you're playing unfair again. I have to see you too."

He chuckled and shook his head.

"You don't let me enjoy you"

He replied and put down the phone, quickly pulling his shirt over his head. He fell back on the pillows and turned on the light on his phone. Y/N smiled at the sight of the familiar, slightly tanned and toned torso. Her interlocutor didn't see it, but she smiled even more when he tightened his hand on his cock, which was now clearly visible on the gray material of his trousers.

"Take off the rest of your clothes and lie down"

He ordered. Y/N obediently lay down, taking off her pants and underwear. When the rustle of fabric could be heard on the other side, he easily freed himself from his pants and tight, slightly damp boxers. He spat on his hand and spread the saliva over his cock, feeling it tighten under his touch. Fuck, what he would give if instead of his hand it was this tiny hand that disappeared between the pair of thighs he saw on the screen of his phone.

The girl complied with his command and he saw her middle finger slowly sinking inside her, only to come out after a while covered with her juices.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, "You're so wet, baby."

“I wish you were here and licked me clean.”

Y/N said, rubbing her clit. She felt that she wouldn't need much to reach orgasm.

Her interlocutor smiled under his breath, but she wasn't able to see it.

"I'm afraid that i would make you even more wet."

"Someone has quite an ego here"

"I know my capabilities, baby."

She snorted under her breath and made herself more comfortable, inserting her finger into herself again. First one, quite slowly, and soon she added another one. A long moan filled the hotel room as she began to move them, imagining that it was not her but him who was fucking her. And not with his fingers, but with his wet, hard cock.

"Yeah, just like that, baby. Keep going."

His eyes carefully followed the screen and the activities taking place on it. His hand moved smoothly over his cock, his lips were slightly opened. As he was stroking himself, the glass of his watch on his wrist reflected the light from the phone. He wore it every time they cam together. Y/N didn't know anything about watches, so she didn't know what brand it was or whether it was expensive. They never talked about it, honestly, they basically never had a normal chat. However, he once asked her about the tattoo on her forearm, just below the inner bend of her elbow. He noticed it after the first time they met on camera. When it was all over and they were about to hang up and return to their real lives, he asked about it.

"What does 33 mean?"

He asked when the girl started getting dressed.

"What?"

"Tattoo on your arm"

The girl looked at her forearm and only then did she understand what he was asking about.

"I can't tell you because you'll make fun of me"

Hearing this, he smiled. Not because there was probably some stupid story behind it, but because the girl was concerned about not looking bad in front of him. Even though they absolutely didn't know each other.

"I barely know your name, I don't know why I would make fun of you."

Y/N was silent for a moment, glancing at her tattoo and lightly stroking it with her thumb.

"Do you know Formula 1?"

He smiled and nodded. His reaction, however, was beyond her reach.

"I know a thing or two"

"My favorite driver drives with this number. Well, actually he did, now his number is 1. But for me it will still be associated with 33"

The girl explained. She felt a bit embarrassed to expose herself to him, especially with something like this. However, he did not laugh at her or comment on her confession in any negative way.

"I have a friend who is also involved in motorsport and has the same number. Actually, not anymore, because he also had to change it. But for me it will also be associated only with 33"

Y/N smiled at his words. Sometimes she wondered if they could become friends and get to know each other a little better. But then she decided to come down to earth and remind herself that she had no time for relationships or friendships. Now the most important thing for her is work and career, everything else can wait. After all, no one will satisfy her as much as herself. Right?

"Fuck, I could fill you so good, baby," he moaned, gasping for breath. He felt that he was only seconds away from orgasm "You have no idea how much pleasure I would give you."

The girl's lips were opened, her eyelids were shut tightly. She massaged her clit with her left hand and moved the fingers of her right hand inside her in quick, uneven movements.

"I'm about to- I…oh my god-"

“Yes, baby, thats it" he gasped, speeding up "Cum for me.”

She felt a wave of pleasure wash over her. The moment her back arched, she heard a long "fuck" coming from her phone. He came shortly after her, staining his toned abs with his sperm. He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back, trying to calm his breathing. There was silence on both sides for a moment, neither of them moving an inch.

After some time, Y/N sat on the bed and reached for a tissue, wiping her hands on it.

"I have to go now. I have a lot of work waiting for me tomorrow."

"Me too. I wanted to let you know that we may not be able to have a call tomorrow."

He answered, also wiping himself.

“It's okay, no big deal,” Y/N replied and took one last look at the muscled, tanned torso visible on her phone screen, “Good night. And good luck with your chores tomorrow.”

“Good night, baby. You too.”

She smiled and reached for her phone, ending the call. Exhausted from the previous day and the evening cam session, she just buried herself in the blanket and shortly after fell asleep. The next day, when her alarm went off, she was full of energy despite several hours of sleep. She couldn't wait for saturday's qualifying and all she was thinking about as she was getting ready was whether she would be able to get good material.

As she put on her red bra, she smiled involuntarily as she remembered last night. She wondered if he had already gotten lost in the whirlwind of his today's duties. Y/N quickly got dressed, gathered her things and, putting her pass around her neck, left the hotel. When she got to the track and was in the paddock, she couldn't think about anything else. Her only thoughts revolved around what was going to happen on the track in a few dozen minutes. However, for a split second she wondered what her tinder buddy actually knew about Formula 1. Maybe they could have something to talk about? Maybe she could even take him to some grand prix?

Her thoughts disappeared when she noticed Lando Norris hanging around the McLaren garage. The girl asked the cameraman to prepare the equipment and she would ask the Brit if he would be willing to have a short conversation. She squeezed the microphone in her hand and without thinking, she approached him, introducing herself and asking if it was possible to record a short conversation.

Hearing her name, his heart did a flip. He knew that name very well.

"Sure, no problem"

He replied with a smile, obviously not revealing himself, and ran his hand through his hair. The glass of the watch strapped to his wrist gleamed in the sunlight. Y/N had seen this watch before. Many times.

The girl smiled back and, hearing his agreement, gave a thumbs up to the cameraman. When she raised her hand, the sleeve of her shirt rolled up, and Lando's eyes involuntarily caught the tattoo on her forearm. A slight 33, just below the bend in the elbow.

He felt a sudden wave of heat wash over him. It's a coincidence, right? It must be.

"How's your mood before qualifying?"

Y/N asked, putting the microphone down and straightening her shirt. As she was arranging her collar, Lando's eyes caught a glimpse of her red bra strap. He smiled to himself and looked down. He wondered how many accidents and coincidences had come together in the universe and resulted in this situation.

"What? Something wrong?"

The girl asked, not knowing what made him react like that.

He shook his head and after a moment looked up again. He looked at the girl carefully. However, she was completely lost and looked at him questioningly.

"Sorry, as you can probably see, my mood is great. I'm positive about today's qualifying."

Y/N tentatively gripped her microphone. When the cameraman approached them, they started recording the footage and she had no time to analyze Lando's strange behavior. In fact, it was possible that this was their first and last conversation ever, so why should she care about it. When they managed to record a short material, Y/N thanked him and wished him successful qualifications. After that everyone went their separate ways.

Immediately after entering the garage, Lando found his phone buried in a pile of his things. He quickly entered his latest conversation on Instagram and, without thinking, decided to send the girl a message. Worst case scenario, he'll just make a fool of himself, which isn't a big deal since they don't know each other at all. At best, he would spend tonight as he had long dreamed of.

"ure even prettier than i thought, baby."

Y/N felt a vibration in her pants pocket and without thinking, she unlocked her phone. She was surprised to see a notification coming from Instagram, and she was even more surprised when she noticed who sent her the message. After reading it, she felt a cold sweat break out on her. However, she decided to think and act soberly.

"How do you know what I look like?"

"turn around"

Lando replied quickly and leaned against the threshold of his garage. The girl clutched her phone in her hands and obeyed his command with her heart beating wildly. Lando smiled at her, holding his still unlocked phone. Y/N felt a lack of saliva in her mouth. It's impossible, it's not really happening.

"Are you sure we're looking at the same person?"

She replied, having difficulty pressing the appropriate keys with her fingers. He was amused by her reaction. This whole situation didn't make sense to him. It was crazy.

"im looking at a pretty neat journalist with a mad bunda who has a tattoo with my friend's racing number. and u?"

Y/N blushed. Fuck. It's him.

"I see that your jumpsuit is a little tight in some places."

Lando snorted under his breath. The girl wasn't lying. The whole situation made quite an impression on him.

Y/N bit her lip and looked up. She'd be lying if she said it wasn't arousing.

"u know exactly why its tight"

"I guess I have to find out in real life. The camera likes to lie."

When she sent the message, she looked up again and their eyes locked. The Brit winked at her and quickly replied, turning on his heel and disappearing into the depths of the garage.

"my driver's room in five minutes. ill be happy to dispel your doubts"