#whether that be on his lips or somewhere else

[oldsoul007]

Guess

older!joel miller x brat!younger!reader

summary: Joel never asked to be saddled with you—wild, reckless, and always testing his patience—but what started as a favor turned into something he couldn’t ignore, and by the time he realized he was in far too deep, it was already too late.

a/n: I never got over brat summer, forced proximity, tension, banter, kissing, suggestive scenes

joel miller masterlist

The first time I see Joel Miller, he’s scowling.

Like, really scowling. Deep line between his brows, mouth set in a firm, unimpressed line, arms crossed over his chest like he’s already exhausted before I’ve even said a word.

And that just makes me want to push his buttons.

He was older—forty-five, maybe—but damn if he didn’t wear it well. Tall, broad, built like a man who knew hard work and even harder days. The kind of man who didn’t waste words or time on things he thought weren’t worth it.

“Y/n,” Tommy grins, throwing an arm around me, “meet my older brother, Joel.”

Joel gives me a once-over, slow and deliberate. I feel his eyes drag over me, taking in my short dress, the bare skin, the slight smirk tugging at my lips. And just for fun, I shift my weight, tilting my head, letting my smile turn just a little more smug.

Tommy, oblivious, keeps talking. “Figured you two should finally meet since you’re always hangin’ around.”

Joel sighs, clearly already over this interaction. “Yeah. Great. Nice to meet you.”

I raise a brow. “Wow. So warm. So welcoming.”

Tommy snorts. “Don’t take it personal. He’s always like this.”

“Like what?” I ask, tilting my head, eyes flicking back to Joel.

Joel just stares at me, like he’s debating whether or not to entertain me. Finally, he mutters, “Serious.”

I grin. “And I’m guessin’ Tommy here told you I’m the opposite?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but the way his jaw flexes tells me enough.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

I step a little closer, watching him carefully, waiting to see if he pulls back. He doesn’t—just watches me, unimpressed, unreadable, but I don’t miss the way his fingers twitch, like he’s restraining himself.

“You got somethin’ against fun, Miller?” I tease.

Joel exhales through his nose. “Just don’t got patience for trouble.”

I grin. “Good thing I ain’t trouble then.”

His eyes flick down to my lips for half a second before snapping back up. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Sure.”

Tommy laughs, clapping Joel on the back. “She’s a handful, huh?”

Joel shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before looking back at me. “You always this much of a pain in the ass?”

I beam. “You always this grumpy?”

His jaw tightens. I know I’m getting to him. And I love it.

Something about Joel Miller tells me he’s the type to resist—to hold himself back, to act like he doesn’t want.

But the way he’s looking at me now?

Yeah. He wants.

I never planned on ending up at Joel Millers house.

But life has a funny way of screwing with me.

One busted pipe in my apartment—water everywhere, maintenance useless, and suddenly, I had nowhere to stay. Tommy was out of town, and before I could even think of booking a motel, he was already on the phone, talking to Joel.

“Just for a few days,” Tommy had said. “Joel’s got the space.”

Joel, who was already looking at me like I was a problem before I even stepped foot in his house.

Now, standing in his doorway, duffel slung over my shoulder, I give him my best grin. “Miss me?”

Joel just sighs, running a hand down his face. “Just don’t make me regret this.”

“No promises.”

His jaw tightens, like he knew I was gonna say that.

I step past him, into his space, and the second the door shuts behind me, something shifts. It’s one thing to tease Joel out in the world, to push his buttons when there’s always somewhere else to go. But here? His house?

There’s nowhere to run now.

And by the way his eyes flicker over me—quick, sharp, like he already regrets agreeing to this—I can tell he’s thinking the same damn thing.

The first night at Joel’s place is… tense. In a way that has nothing to do with the fact that my apartment is currently unlivable and everything to do with him.

He didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat when Tommy volunteered him to take me in. He just grunted, muttered something about “just for a couple nights,” and now here we are.

Joel’s house is simple. A little messy but lived-in. It smells like sawdust, coffee, and whatever soap he uses. I shouldn’t be noticing those things, but I do.

“You got a spare bedroom, or do I gotta fight you for the bed?” I ask, dropping my bag by the couch.

Joel gives me a look like he’s already regretting this. “Spare room’s down the hall. Not much in there, but it’s got a bed.”

I smirk. “A bed and a grumpy host? Wow, I’m spoiled.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand over his beard like he’s trying to summon patience. “You need anything, just… don’t.”

I grin. “Don’t what?”

He glares. “Don’t push it.”

Oh, but that’s my favorite thing to do.

—

It’s late when I finally settle in. The house is too quiet, too still, and I can’t sleep. Not used to this place, not used to him just a room away.

I pad down the hall, oversized t-shirt hanging off me, socks silent against the wood floor. The lamp in the living room is still on, and Joel’s sitting on the couch, looking lost in thought.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask, leaning against the doorway.

He looks up, eyes flicking to me—just for a second, just long enough to make me feel barely covered. He exhales, looking back at his floor. “Didn’t expect you to be the quiet type at night.”

I snort, walking over to perch on the arm of the couch. “Bet you thought I’d snore or talk in my sleep.”

Joel shrugs. “Still debatin’ it.”

I watch him for a moment, the way the lamp casts shadows over his face, the way he looks at everything except me. There’s something charged in the air, something neither of us want to acknowledge.

“You don’t like this, do you?” I tease, nudging his knee with my foot. “Having me here.”

Joel takes a slow look up at me. “Ain’t about likin’ it. It just is.”

I hum, watching him closely. “You’re so bad at lying.”

Joel’s jaw flexes.

And I know, I know, if I keep pushing, I’ll get something out of him. But for once, I don’t.

Instead, I stand, stretching dramatically. “Alright, Miller. I’ll stop bugging you. For now.”

Joel huffs. “Doubtful.”

I grin, heading toward the hallway. But just before I disappear into the dark, I hear him mutter—just low enough that I almost miss it.

���Sleep tight, trouble.”

And damn it, that shouldn’t make my stomach flip. But it does.

—

The thing about living with Joel? It’s too easy to mess with him.

I’ve been here for three days now, and I swear, every time I walk into a room, he looks like he’s debating whether or not to strangle me or throw me out. And honestly? I love it.

Like right now.

He’s standing in the kitchen, coffee in one hand, flipping through the mail like it personally offended him. His shirt is still wrinkled from sleep, hair a little messy, eyes heavy with whatever dreams he never talks about. And I? I’m perched on the counter, swinging my legs, eating the last piece of toast he made for himself.

Joel notices. His eyes flick to the empty plate in my hand, then to his own very empty hands, and then—then—he exhales so sharply it’s almost funny.

“Really?” he grumbles, setting the mail down with way more force than necessary. “You ain’t got hands to make your own damn food?”

I grin, taking a slow, deliberate bite. “Yours just looked better.”

Joel mutters something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like a curse, and turns to pour himself more coffee.

“Y’know,” I continue, voice sweet, “for a man who claims he doesn’t like me being here, you sure do take good care of me.”

Joel tenses. His grip on the coffee pot tightens.

“Wouldn’t have to if you took care of yourself,” he mutters, taking a sip.

I smirk. “Aww, Joel. You worried about me?”

He doesn’t answer. Just glares over the rim of his mug like he’s daring me to push him further.

So, of course, I do.

I hop off the counter, stepping closer, my bare feet silent against the floor. Joel watches me warily, like I’m a stray cat that might bite. I stop just in front of him, tilting my head.

“You sure you don’t like having me here?” I tease, my voice dropping just a little, just enough to make his fingers twitch.

Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. But his eyes darken just enough to make my stomach flip.

“You really wanna test me this early?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The challenge sends a thrill down my spine. I grin, leaning in just a fraction, enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Maybe,” I whisper. “Depends on what happens if I do.”

Joel huffs a laugh—one of those deep, frustrated, you’re-gonna-be-the-death-of-me laughs. Then, suddenly, his turn to get close. He leans down, voice right against my ear.

“You keep pushin’,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin, “you ain’t gonna like what happens.”

My pulse jumps. My smirk falters—just for a second.

Joel sees it. And the bastard smirks.

Then he pulls back, grabbing his coffee, walking away like he won this round.

I exhale sharply, watching him go, my skin still tingling.

I really need to stop underestimating him.

—

I know he’s awake the second I step through the door.

The lights are dim, but Joel’s still sitting on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other holding a half-empty beer. He looks relaxed—pretends to be, anyway—but his eyes flick to me the second I walk in.

I smirk. “You waitin’ up for me, Miller?”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “Just happened to be up.”

Uh-huh.

I ignore him, walking into the kitchen, feeling his eyes drag over me as I move. The dress I’m wearing is short, tight, and backless—very backless. My tattoo is on full display, the black ink running across, teasing the dip of my lower back.

I reach for a glass, pouring myself some water, letting the silence stretch, letting him look.

Finally, I hear him shift behind me. “Where the hell were you?”

I take a slow sip. “Out.”

“With who?”

I glance over my shoulder, raising a brow. “Didn’t know I had to check in with you, dad.”

Joel clenches his jaw. His fingers flex on his knee. “Y/n.”

I turn fully now, leaning against the counter, glass in hand. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” The lie is so blatant, so immediate, that I almost laugh.

I take another sip, watching him. “You sure about that?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flicks lower, over the curve of my back, the exposed skin, the ink. His jaw tenses even more—like he’s mad. Like the tattoo itself is personally offending him.

I set my glass down, smirking. “Something wrong?”

Joel exhales, drags a hand down his face. “You got no damn shame, you know that?”

I grin, stepping closer, closing the space between us. “And you got no damn claim,” I say, tilting my head. “So what’s your problem?”

Joel watches me, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.

I lift a finger, tracing a slow, teasing line down my own spine, over the tattoo he won’t stop staring at. “You like it?” I ask, voice low.

His nostrils flare. His fists clench.

Then—just like always—he forces himself to lean back, to put space between us, to shove all that tension down deep.

I take my time walking past him, making sure he gets a real good look at what’s been driving him crazy all night. I can practically feel the heat of his stare burning into my skin, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

Not yet.

Instead, I reach for my water again, taking a slow sip, just to draw this out a little more. Joel exhales, long and slow, like he’s trying to keep himself calm.

I almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

“You always go out dressed like that?” His voice is low, rough, like he’s forcing himself to sound casual.

I smirk against my glass. “You always staring at me?”

Joel lets out a sharp breath, but he doesn’t deny it.

I finally turn, leaning back against the counter, crossing my arms so my dress shifts even higher up my thighs. His gaze flickers, betraying him for half a second before he locks it back on my face.

“I just don’t get why you feel the need to—” He waves a hand vaguely at me. “—put everything on display.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Everything?”

Joel rubs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. “You know what I mean.”

I grin. “What, you don’t like my tattoo?”

He clenches his jaw. “Ain’t about the tattoo.”

I tilt my head, watching him closely. “Then what’s it about?”

He doesn’t answer.

I push off the counter, closing the space between us, slow and deliberate. “Is it the tattoo, or is it the fact that other people got to see it?”

Joel tenses. Just a flicker. Barely noticeable. But I see it.

And I know.

I smirk. “That’s it, isn’t it?” My voice drops, just above a whisper. “You don’t like that someone else got to look at me like this.”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his fists clenched at his sides. “Go to bed, y/n.”

I step even closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell the faded whiskey and aftershave clinging to his skin. “Make me.”

His jaw flexes. His hands twitch. For a second, I think he might actually do something, might finally snap and grab me, kiss me, claim me like we both know he wants to.

But then—

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before turning away from me. “You’re a damn brat, you know that?”

I grin, victorious. “And you love it.”

Joel mutters something I don’t catch, shaking his head, still refusing to look at me.

I lean up on my toes, just enough to whisper near his ear. “Sweet dreams, Miller.”

Then I turn and head toward my room, my steps slow, unhurried, knowing damn well he’s watching.

Knowing damn well he won’t sleep tonight.

Not yet, anyway.

—

Joel is a walking contradiction.

Always looking out for me, always acting like I’m some damn problem he’s gotta fix. But then, when he thinks I’m not paying attention? He watches me.

Like right now.

I’m sitting on the tailgate of his truck, sipping a gas station soda, swinging my legs while he loads up the last of the supplies he picked up. The summer heat is thick, sticking to my skin, making me feel slow, lazy.

Joel, meanwhile, looks like he’s one deep breath away from losing his patience.

“Where’d you run off to last night?” he asks, not looking at me.

I smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

That gets me. I raise an eyebrow. “You are keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel exhales, setting down a case of water a little harder than necessary. “Just know when you start trouble.”

I grin. “Who says I started trouble?”

He gives me a look.

Fair enough.

I take another sip of my drink, watching him work, the way his shirt clings to his back, damp from the heat. My stomach tightens, and I blame it on the weather.

“You got somethin’ to say?” he mutters, not turning around.

I smirk. “Nope.”

“Then quit starin’.”

I laugh, kicking my feet against the truck bed. “Oh, that’s rich.”

His jaw tightens. “What’s that mean?”

I tilt my head. “Means I see you lookin’, too.”

Joel freezes.

It’s quick. A small thing. But I notice.

For the first time, he actually looks at me, really looks. And there’s heat there, burning under all that restraint.

I set my drink down, hopping off the tailgate, stepping close—too close.

“You ever wonder what’d happen,” I murmur, “if you stopped pretendin’ you don’t want me?”

Joel’s breath is slow. Measured. He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t move.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he says, voice low, gruff.

I tilt my head, biting back a grin. “Maybe I do.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Something dangerous.

For a second, I think maybe—maybe—he’s gonna snap. Gonna grab me by the waist, drag me in, let all that tension finally break.

Instead, he just exhales, long and slow, before stepping back.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters.

I grin. “You like trouble.”

Joel shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath as he turns away.

But his hands? They’re clenched into fists.

And that tells me everything I need to know.

—

Joel’s been trying to ignore me all damn day.

Which, honestly? Fair. I’ve been making it real hard for him.

I’m leaning against the counter in his kitchen, the space between us just enough for me to feel that slow, simmering tension that’s been building up all afternoon, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of—well, that’s the game, isn’t it?

Joel walks in, fresh from a shower, hair damp, t-shirt clinging to his chest just enough to make me look. He barely glances at me as he grabs a water from the fridge, pretending I’m not there.

Like I’ll just let him get away with that.

“You ever gonna put on some damn clothes?”

I smirk, not even looking up. “I am wearing clothes.”

Joel exhales sharply, taking a long sip of water. “Not enough.”

That makes me grin. Gotcha.

I stretch, letting the hem of my shirt ride up just a little. “Oh, relax. It’s just a t-shirt.”

Joel scoffs, finally looking at me. His eyes flicker down, slow, then back up, jaw tightening. Yeah, he noticed.

“Guess,” I say suddenly, watching him.

His brow furrows. “What?”

I sit up, tilting my head. “Guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

Joel exhales, shaking his head. “Not playin’ this game, y/n.”

“C’mon.” I stretch, making sure the hem of my shirt lifts just enough to tease. “Just one guess.”

“Clothes.”

I grin. “Not much of ‘em.”

That does it. His grip tightens on the bottle, jaw going stiff. He still doesn’t turn around, but I see it—the way his shoulders tense, the way his breath goes a little heavier.

But then, to my surprise, he plays along.

Joel finally turns, slow, lazy, eyes dragging over me in a way that makes my stomach flip.

Slow. Controlled. Like he knows exactly what this is doing to me.

And I feel it—his presence filling the space, the heat between us thick and undeniable. Joel stops just a breath away, too close for comfort, but I don’t move. I won’t.

“You’re awful pushy tonight,” he mutters, eyes dark as they settle on me.

I tilt my head, not backing down. “You’re awful curious for someone who doesn’t wanna play.”

Joel’s eyes drag over me, deliberate and slow, as if he’s taking in every inch, every detail. Then, like he can’t help himself, he leans in a little more—close enough that I feel the warmth of his body, the weight of his presence.

His breath hits my cheek, and I’m sure my heart skips a beat. I freeze, barely able to keep my focus.

The space between us is thick with something heavy, something that has my pulse racing, but Joel’s not moving. He’s standing there, looking at me like he’s debating something—maybe whether or not to keep playing. I keep my eyes locked on his, deliberately challenging, just to see how long he’ll stand there before he breaks.

I know he can feel it too—the weight of the air between us. It’s thick. Electric.

But I’m not the one to crack first.

I lean back a little, letting my hands slide across the cool counter, trying to act casual, like I’m not aware of every inch of space between us, of how close he’s standing now.

Joel doesn’t say anything for a while. He just watches me—his eyes intense, like he’s studying every move I make, waiting for me to slip up.

And then, in one smooth motion, he steps forward, close enough that I feel his presence without him even touching me. Just the weight of his gaze, the pull of his body.

I freeze for a second, breath catching in my throat. Damn it.

He doesn’t rush—he never does. Joel’s always deliberate, calculating. But I can see it now, the way his lips press together, the faintest twitch of his jaw like he’s trying to hold something back.

Without saying a word, his hand moves slowly to the bottom of my t-shirt. His fingers brush against the fabric, barely grazing the skin of my thigh. The touch is light—almost too light—but it still sends a shiver through me.

I stay still, even though every part of me is aware of what he’s doing, of the way his hand hovers, teasing, as if he’s testing my patience.

“Alright,” he drawls, voice lower now. “Guessin’ you want me to say somethin’ like… lace?”

My mouth goes dry.

Oh.

I wasn’t expecting that.

I recover fast, tilting my head. “Maybe.”

Joel takes a slow step closer, his eyes locked on mine, like he knows he’s caught me off guard. Like he’s finally flipping the script on me.

“Red?” he guesses, voice all deep and rough.

I swallow. “Wrong.”

“Black, then.”

I press my lips together, refusing to react.

“Bet they even have a little bow”

Joel just huffs a quiet laugh, taking another slow sip of water, looking way too satisfied with himself.

I narrow my eyes, sitting up. “You think you’re real smooth, huh?”

He just shrugs. “Ain’t that hard, darlin’. You’re an open book.”

And then, just as I’m about to respond, he shifts again—moving in, just enough to make the back of his hand brush mine. The contact is so light, but I feel it like a damn spark.

His lips are so close to my ear now, and I know he’s teasing. He’s testing me, waiting to see what I’ll do.

But I don’t move. I hold my ground, staring up at him, willing myself not to let the heat get to me.

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “but you ain’t nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

I try to keep my cool, but there’s a hitch in my breath.

Joel steps back then, like it’s nothing. But I can feel the pull, the weight of what just happened. I know he’s not done with this—not by a long shot.

—

Joel is pissed.

I see it in the way his shoulders tense as he shoves open the bar door, his grip firm around my wrist, dragging me outside like I’m some wayward kid in need of a lesson. The humid Texas night air wraps around us, thick and sticky, but it’s nothing compared to the heat burning between us.

“What the hell was that, y/n?” Joel snaps, letting go of my wrist just to turn and face me, standing toe-to-toe like he’s ready for a fight.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. “I was having a drink, Joel.”

“You were flirtin’ with every damn guy in there,” he growls, his hands landing on his hips like he’s holding himself back.

I smirk, tilting my head. “Oh, that’s what this is about? Didn’t realize you were keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel huffs, his nostrils flaring as he shakes his head. “I am keepin’ tabs on you. Tommy asked me to keep an eye on you, and you—” He gestures toward the bar behind us, exasperated. “You don’t make it easy.”

I laugh, the alcohol warming me but not enough to dull the way my pulse spikes at his words. “I’m twenty-five, Joel. I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

“Well, you sure as hell act like you do,” he shoots back, eyes dark and burning with frustration.

That gets me. My spine straightens, my chin tilts up, and suddenly, I’m really not in the mood for this conversation.

“Excuse me?” I take a step closer, poking a finger against his chest. “I don’t belong to you, Joel. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Joel exhales sharply, like he’s trying to get a grip, but it’s useless because I can see it—the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers flex at his sides, the way his eyes flicker down to my lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

Oh, he hates this.

Hates that I push him.

Hates that I get under his skin.

Hates that he wants me.

“I didn’t say you belonged to me,” he mutters, voice lower now, rougher.

“But you sure as hell act like it.” My voice is quieter too, the space between us shrinking, the air crackling.

Joel clenches his jaw, breathing hard, and for a second, I swear he’s about to say something—admit something. But instead, he just lets out a frustrated growl, dragging a hand down his face.

“You drive me crazy,” he mutters.

I grin, stepping even closer, my chest nearly brushing his. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel goes still.

I see it—the moment something shifts between us, the way his breathing changes, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to grab me, pull me closer, do something about it.

But instead, he just exhales sharply, turns away, and runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically shake me off.

“Get in the damn truck.”

I laugh, but there’s something breathless about it, something shaky. Because if he had made a move—if he had snapped—I don’t know if I would’ve stopped him.

Hell, I know I wouldn’t have.

But for now, I just smirk, walking past him with a slow sway in my step, knowing damn well he’s watching me.

And as I climb into his truck, I wonder just how long it’ll take before Joel Miller finally breaks.

—

Sometimes, Joel does the dumbest shit, and I can't help but laugh at how he digs himself deeper without even realizing it. I've been pushing him all night, just little jabs here and there, watching him get more and more frustrated. It's my favorite game-seeing how long I can mess with him before he finally cracks.

But this time? This time, he really crossed a line.

He thinks he knows what’s best for me, and the way he treats me like some helpless kid? It drives me insane. I’m 25, not a teenager, but he always acts like I need someone to babysit me. It’s honestly infuriating.

But I guess he just couldn’t let it go anymore.

I’m standing there, crossing my arms, staring him down as he tries to come up with something to say, but all he can do is look at me like I’ve broken his favorite damn toy. He’s so damn stubborn, but right now, there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before—guilt.

Then, out of nowhere, Joel drops to his knees in front of me.

What the hell?

For a moment, I just stare at him, caught off guard.

I'm not even sure what he's doing, but the way he looks up at me-like he's some kind of punished dog-throws me off balance. He's trying to make a statement, I can tell. He's not embarrassed, but he's also not letting this go.

"I messed up," Joel says, his voice gravelly, as he slowly slides his hands up to rest on my thighs.

I blink at him, not sure how to react. The tension is different this time-this isn't about him giving in; this is something else entirely. There's no fear in his eyes. No submission. He's still the same stubborn bastard he's always been, but there's something else there too-something challenging.

He wants to make things right, but he's doing it on his terms.

"You're not sorry enough for this to work," | tease, holding back the grin that's threatening to break free.

He smirks, eyes flicking up to meet mine. He's still got that damn cocky attitude, even with me standing over him, and I don't know whether I want to slap it off him or kiss him.

Maybe both.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his hands tightening on my thighs, but there's no hesitation in his voice. "But I'm not getting off my knees until you know I'm serious."

I let out a laugh, not backing down, my body giving off every signal that I'm in control. "And what's that supposed to mean? You think this is gonna impress me?"

His grip on my thighs tightens, pulling me in closer, and now I can feel the heat of him through the fabric. But instead of giving me an inch, he's still staring up at me with that damn challenge in his eyes.

"You want an apology? You got it," he says, voice low and steady. "But l'm not some puppy you can just command. Don't think for one second you're gonna play me like that."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. I was expecting him to grovel, to at least try to show some weakness. But Joel? Joel doesn't do weakness.

"I never said you were a puppy," I murmur, looking down at him with a smile that's too smug for my own good. "But you are on your knees."

His eyes darken as he holds my gaze, not backing down, not even a little. "Yeah, and I'm here because you deserve the apology, not because I'm asking for permission."

The heat between us shifts again, and it's not the playful teasing anymore. It's something more-something a little darker, a little more real. He's not going to give in, but he's also not letting me win either.

"So, what do you want?" l ask, my voice almost a whisper, the challenge still there but mixed with something else.

Joel doesn't hesitate. "I want you to stop testing me and accept that I'm not going anywhere."

And for just a moment, it feels like he's got me right where he wants me.

But then, I realize-he's not the only one who knows how to play this game.

"Well, if you're so eager to apologize," | start, running my fingers through his hair, "maybe you can make it up to me in a way I actually want."

Joel looks up at me, his hands still gripping my thighs as his breath catches. There's a flicker of something in his eyes-something wild, but also totally surrendered.

"Name it."

The words land between us with the weight of a promise. And for the first time, I feel the air between us change completely. I step back, my body a little off balance from how suddenly he's shifted everything.

But damn, if that doesn't make my heart race.

And then—

His hands are on me.

Gripping my waist, dragging me in hard, pinning me against the wall like he can’t hold himself back another second.

“You happy now?” His voice is low, rough, wrecked. His breath is hot against my lips, his hands firm, possessive on my hips.

I grin, breathless. “Ecstatic.”

And then he’s kissing me.

It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s everything he’s been denying himself—all the tension, all the frustration, all the goddamn hunger crashing down on us at once.

I moan into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He groans, deep and low, like he needs this, like he’s craved this for so long it’s driven him mad.

His hands slide lower, gripping my thighs, lifting me effortlessly against him. I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping as my back presses harder against the wall, his body solid and hot against mine.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he growls, dragging his lips down my jaw, my neck, biting just enough to make me gasp.

I laugh breathlessly, tugging his head back up, eyes locked on his. "Took you long enough to admit it."

Joel glares at me, but there's something wild behind it now, something dangerous. "You got no idea what you just started."

I smirk, running my fingers down his chest, feeling the way his breath shudders at my touch.

"Then don't stop," | whisper.

And he doesn't.

—

It’s like once we started, we couldn’t stop.

Every touch, every look, every little moment of tension we used to ignore? Now it’s all fire.

It starts in the kitchen. I brush past Joel to grab a glass of water, my fingers barely skimming his arm, and I swear I hear his breath hitch. It’s subtle, but I know him. I know how much I get under his skin.

And then, before I can even turn around, he’s on me.

One hand grips my waist, the other presses into the counter beside me, caging me in. His body is warm against my back, his breath hot against my ear.

“You do this on purpose,” he mutters, voice low, rough, like he’s barely holding himself together.

I smirk, tilting my head slightly, just enough that his lips graze my neck. “Do what?”

Joel exhales sharply, his fingers tightening on my waist. “Brat,” he murmurs, but it sounds wrecked, like he’s already given in.

And he has.

Because in the next breath, he spins me to face him, pressing me against the counter. His hands grip my hips, his body hot against mine, and I can feel the tension rolling off him.

“You’re playin’ with fire,” he warns, lips barely an inch from mine.

I grin, dragging my fingers through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

Joel groans, kissing me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like every ounce of restraint he had is just gone. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him impossibly close, gasping into his mouth when his fingers dig into my skin.

We barely make it to the hallway before he grabs me again, pressing me against the wall, his mouth never leaving mine.

“You just can’t help yourself,” I murmur against his lips, breathless.

Joel groans, his forehead pressing to mine, his grip firm like he's staking a claim. "Neither can you."

And he's right. Because the second we're alone again, I'm on him-hands in his hair, pulling him down, both of us too far gone to stop now.

Because now that we've started?

We're never stopping.

—

I leave the bathroom door open on purpose.

And the glass shower door? Yeah, that stays cracked, too.

The hot water cascades down my body, steam curling through the air, fogging up the glass just enough to blur the edges but not enough to hide me. I know Joel’s home. I know he’ll walk past. And I know he won’t be able to help himself.

It takes a minute, but then—there he is.

I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye, the way he pauses in the doorway. I can’t see his face through the steam, but I know that look—the one where his jaw tightens, where his fists clench like he’s fighting every urge in his body.

I smile to myself and tilt my head back, letting the hot water pour down my neck, dragging my hands slowly over my skin.

Joel exhales sharply. “Jesus Christ, y/n.”

I bite my lip. Bingo.

There’s a beat of silence, thick with tension. And then—I hear him move. The rustle of fabric. The soft clink of a belt buckle. The sound of a shirt being pulled over his head.

My pulse spikes.

The shower door swings open wider, and suddenly—Joel is there.

Steam clings to his skin, droplets forming against the hard planes of his chest, his broad shoulders.

His eyes are dark, locked on mine, his expression somewhere between exasperation and something dangerous.

“You really are a damn brat,” he mutters.

Before I can reply, his hands are on me, gripping my waist, pushing me gently but firmly against the cool tile. His body is hot, solid against mine, his breath warm against my skin as he leans in.

“You left that door open on purpose,” he accuses, voice rough, wrecked.

I smirk, fingers sliding up his arms, feeling the tension there. “Maybe.”

Joel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” But there’s something else in his eyes now—something wild, something hungry.

His hands grip my hips, fingers pressing hard into my skin, and he kisses me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like he’s been waiting for this, like every ounce of restraint he’s ever had just snapped. I moan into his mouth, pressing up against him, feeling the heat of his body, the way his hands roam, gripping, claiming.

"You gonna keep playin' games, sweetheart?" he mutters against my lips, his voice rough with need.

I grin, breathless, pulling him closer. "Always."

Joel groans, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath heavy, his fingers digging into my skin like he needs this.

And then he kisses me again.

And this time, neither of us stop.

—

The first night back in my apartment should feel good. Should feel like a breath of fresh air. No more waking up to Joel grumbling in the kitchen, no more stolen flannels, no more him lurking in doorways like he’s just waiting for me to do something reckless.

But it doesn’t feel good.

It feels wrong.

I don’t like waking up alone. I don’t like the quiet. I don’t like that Joel just let me go without a damn word.

So I do what I always do. I go looking for trouble.

And I find it at his doorstep.

Joel barely reacts when he opens the door and sees me standing there, arms crossed, wearing one of his shirts I forgot to return. His face is unreadable, but I know him. I see the way his shoulders tighten, the way his jaw clenches.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks, voice low, cautious.

I step inside without waiting for an invitation, brushing past him like I belong there. Because I do.

“I dunno,” I say, throwing myself onto his couch. “Figured I’d see if you missed me.”

Joel exhales sharply, closing the door, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s already tired of this conversation. “Y/n—”

“—You didn’t even call me.” I cut him off, watching him carefully.

He shakes his head, pacing like a man who’s got too much in his head and no idea how to get it out. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

I scoff, leaning back against the cushions. “Bullshit.”

Joel stops pacing, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters something under his breath.

“What?” I push, sitting up. “Go on. Say it.”

“You know why,” he says, finally looking at me. His eyes are tired. Guilty. “I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did.”

I laugh. A short, bitter thing. “Let things go as far as they did? You mean you finally gave in? You finally admitted you wanted me?”

Joel clenches his jaw, turning away, but I’m already off the couch, already closing the distance between us.

“You do want me,” I say, softer now. “You just don’t want to let yourself have me.”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, looking like a man at war with himself.

“You think it was a mistake?” I ask, my voice steady even though my chest feels tight.

Joel doesn’t answer right away. And that silence? It kills me.

Finally, he exhales, voice rough. “I think it ain’t fair to you.”

I stare at him, disbelief creeping in. “Fair? That’s what you’re worried about? Jesus, Joel, I’m not some kid you need to protect. I know what I want.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get it—”

“No, you don’t get it,” I snap. “I waited for you to stop fighting it. I waited for you to stop treating me like I’m too young, too reckless, too much for you. And the second you let yourself have me, you run?”

Joel’s breathing is heavy now, his hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “I ain’t runnin’—”

I step closer, forcing him to look at me. “Then what the hell do you call this?”

His face twists, something breaking behind his eyes. “I call it tryin’ to do right by you.”

My chest aches. God, he’s so damn stubborn.

“You don’t get to decide that,” I say, softer this time. “You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

Joel looks at me, looks through me, and I see it—that need, that longing, that war inside him.

But I won’t beg.

So I take a slow step back, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “Fine,” I say, voice carefully even. “You wanna push me away? Go ahead. But don’t you dare pretend it’s for my sake.”

I turn, heading for the door, my heart hammering in my chest.

And I wait.

I wait for him to stop me.

But the door closes behind me, and Joel lets me go.

—

I should slam the door in his face.

I should.

But I don’t. Because it’s Joel. And even after everything—even after he let me walk out that door without a fight—I still want him.

And the bastard knows it.

He stands there, looking rough around the edges, like he hasn’t slept. He rubs the back of his neck, shifting on his feet, like he doesn’t know how to say whatever it is he came here to say.

“I fucked up,” he says, finally.

I snort, arms crossed. “No shit.”

Joel exhales, glancing down for a second before his eyes meet mine again. They’re dark, tired, but honest.

“I was scared,” he says, voice lower now. “Ain’t used to wantin’ something this bad. Ain’t used to thinkin’ maybe I could have it.”

That stops me.

Because this? This is new. This isn’t Joel pushing me away, telling me I’m too young, too much, too reckless. This isn’t him trying to convince himself he doesn’t need me.

This is him admitting that he does.

I swallow, my throat tight. “You can have it, Joel. But not if you keep pulling this shit.”

He nods, like he knows, like he’s been sitting with that realization since the second I left.

I should make him work for it. Make him suffer a little. But then he steps closer—slow, cautious, like he’s making sure I don’t shut him out first.

And when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse.

“Come back.”

It’s not a demand. Not a plea. Just Joel laying it all out, raw and real, for me to decide.

I let out a slow breath, studying him, making him wait.

Then I step forward, just enough that I can tilt my chin up and brush my lips against his—light, teasing, cruel.

His breath hitches. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s dying to touch me.

And I smirk. “Took you long enough.”

Joel groans, grabs me, and finally—finally—kisses me like he’s making up for every second he wasted.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Audacious

Logan Howlett X F! Reader

A/N: I'm ovulating and this came over me. I imagined 70s! DOFP Logan, or Worst! Wolverine but you could really picture any Logan honestly. I need a cigarette after writing this

Plot: You ghosted him, and he came back to take whats his.

Warnings: SMUT MDNI!, CNC/DUBCON (but like reader really enjoys the fight/chase), Logan gets a little dark and possessive, rough sex, Unprotected PiV, multiple creampies, bondage, reader passes out a couple times and Logan doesn't stop, mention of oral (f! recieving), Logan gets surprisingly soft and a lil embarrassed by himself at the end

Word Count: 3297

Your keys jingled as you pulled them out of your purse, sticking them into the lock of your apartment door. It’s been a long day, and you wanted nothing more but to go inside, take a hot bath, and relax for the next two days that you have off. 

The moment you stepped inside, all the hairs on your body stood up. You felt a presence looming in your apartment. It was pitch black inside, your curtains were pulled shut, and all the lights were off. This wasn’t how you left the place this morning. There was a lingering scent of cigars, something extremely familiar. A sinking feeling of anxiety floated down your stomach, as you squinted, fumbling in the dark for the closet lamp. Your hand found the string of a lamp and pulled the switch. 

“Welcome home.” 

Logan was sitting in your chair as if he made himself at home in your apartment. He leaned back, legs spread, the seams of his snug jeans pulling tight over his muscular thighs, his belt buckle gleaming from the lamp light reflecting on it. His arms resting on the arms of the chair, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, a glass of whiskey in one hand, holding it lazily by the rim. 

You yelped, dropping your bag and keys and covered your mouth in surprise, stumbling back. 

“Logan!” You yelled, your hands falling to your side, fists clenched. “What are you- You can’t be coming in here without telling me!” 

“I was just dropping by.” He says, swirling his drink in the glass, before bringing it up to his lips. The way he acted so casually made you nervous, your fight or flight instinct was kicking into gear. “Haven’t heard from you in awhile.” 

You met Logan Howlett a few months ago. You immediately fell for his charms, his smart mouth, and his sinisterly good looks. You went on a few dates and thought you felt a connection. Logan on the other hand though, couldn’t seem to be farther away from connecting to you. He acted aloof and stoic, rarely would he really try to connect with you during dates and you began to question whether this would go anywhere. You always put in the effort to call, plan the dates, and make the conversations. When you brought it up, he shrugged you off and his casual and uncaring demeanor turned you off immediately.  

So you dropped him.

You stopped calling, you stopped making the effort to see him. Honestly, you believed he wouldn’t notice by the way his mind always seemed to be somewhere else. Admittedly, your feelings were a bit hurt, you did really like Logan- you thought you saw something in him, that he would open up to you; but you refused to let a 3 month fling get to you. You hadn't even had sex yet, only having done oral on each other a few times.

It’d been a month since and you’ve begun to realize you made the right choice because he never reached out. 

Until now.

“Well, you could have called.” You scoffed. “Not break into my apartment! How- How did you get in here?” 

“Not important.” He clicks his tongue, moving to set his glass on the nearby table, atop a coaster. The clink of the glass made you flinch, as your stomach turned and you wondered about Logan's intentions because surely they weren’t innocent. Especially with the way his eyes were trailing down your body, staring at you like a predator looking at prey. 

“You- You should leave Logan. I’ll- I’ll call you.” You say, forcing a smile, as you bring your shaky hands to your chest, stepping back to your door. 

He smiled, stretching across his face, his head giving a little shake. “No you won’t.” he hums, tipping his chin up. With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the chair, and for a moment you felt relief as he walked towards you. His heavy footsteps weighed against the floor, a creak with each step as he stalked over to you. You moved to open the door for him, turning the knob and pulling it- but he slammed it shut, the press of his palm against the wood. His hand slid down and he turned the lock. 

You looked up at him with wide eyes as you took a few steps back from him. 

“You look scared darling.” He states, standing over you. He reached out, brushing some hair behind your ear. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You swallowed, your hands trembling, and your heart pounding. “Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to see my girl.”

Your face fell, and you shook your head in confusion. “What? No, no Logan, I'm not your girl.” You state firmly. “You acted like you could be any less interested in me whenever we went out together.” 

He quirked a brow, a very faint twitch of his lips. 

“I mean, I tried to bring it up to you but you brushed me off. I stopped calling a month ago, did you only just now notice?” You asked in disbelief, crossing your arms. Your nerves began to disappear, as an angry confidence began to take root. “How could you sit and call me your girl when you wouldn’t tell me if you wanted us to date? Then you show up to my apartment like you care or something?” You scoffed. You stared at him, brows creased angrily and lips turned downwards in a frown. All your frustrations came out, as you began to realize that Logan had gotten under your skin more than you cared to admit. 

“You done?” He asks. You scowled.

“Logan. Leave. We are done.” You say, reaching to turn the lock and open the door. Before you knew it, his hand was on your neck as you were pushed into the wall, as his lips crashed onto yours in a messy and possessive kiss. You struggled against him, hands coming up to try to pull him off you, before you pushed at his chest, and twisted your head away. “Logan!”

“We’re done when I say we’re done.” He mutters against your lips, his breath fanning over your face and sending goosebumps through your body. You swallowed, your body trembling as you brought your hands up to his hand around your neck, gripping him gently to try to get him to loosen his grip.

“Lo, let- let me go.” You beg softly. 

“You think I didn’t care darling?” He asks quietly in a low voice, tilting his head so his lips brush along your cheek. “That's why you stopped calling?”

A quiver of your lips, as you felt your eyes water, and you nodded. He let out a soft breath, almost like he was disappointed and he tuts. 

“I care sweetheart.” He says softly. “I’m gonna show you that I really care.” 

His lips pressed to yours, and you kissed him back- only for a moment. His hand loosened around your neck, moving to cup your jaw instead. The feeling of his lips against yours, desperate, romantic, needy. He licked your bottom lip, and you allowed him in. He licked into your mouth, against the back of your teeth, moving to press himself closer to you. 

You took the chance and kneed him in the crotch. 

“Shit!” He groaned falling back from you, you took the chance to shove him away, moving to run further into your apartment. You didn’t get far, Logan's recovery time from getting kneeled in the dick seemed remarkably fast. He grabbed your arm, pulling you against him. “That was cruel.” He says his tone was a bit more lighthearted, with a bit of humor behind it.

“You are a bastard!” You struggled to pull away from him, but he only chuckled. He moved down, kissing you again despite you fighting against him. It was pathetic, considering the man was much bigger, and much, much, stronger than you. You were merely a rabbit in the mouth of a wolf. 

“Stop struggling.” He murmurs against your lips, capturing them once more in a heated kiss. For a moment, you fell into him, feeling your mind go fuzzy at the way his hands gripped your arms, keeping you close. His beard scratched at your face, and his scent was overwhelming you. The smell of men's cologne and his natural musk mixed together. “You can’t get away from me, pretty girl. Try as you might” He moans against your mouth. 

His words spurred you on to fight again, as you struggled and shoved him away. 

“No! No Logan!” You pant. “I don’t want this, and I don’t want you.” 

The arousal that was soaking your panties said otherwise. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your veins were thrumming with adrenaline. You loved this, even if you acted otherwise. You wanted him to chase you, and you wanted him to take you, make you his girl. A few months of him not paying you much mind, of you chasing him. If he wants you, he’ll get you; but he has to work for it first. You wanted him to fuck you, and see how far he’ll go to claim you. 

He sniffed, his nostrils flaring, and his eyes turned dark as he stalked towards you. “I don’t think that’s true sweetheart.” He says in a low voice. You swallowed, stepping back into the hallway that led to your bedroom. He was inches away from you. “You’re gonna play hard to get? That’s fine. We can play.” He says a small shrug. 

His hands reached out to your blouse and a quick movement ripped it open. You gasped, your hands coming to cover your chest. “I always win though, and I’ll take what I want.” 

You turned to run into the bedroom, but he was faster, grabbing you around the waist and slamming you onto the bed, the mattress creaking as you bounced on it a few times from the force. He stood over you, his hands reaching down and ripping your bra apart in one swift motion.

“Logan!” You gasped before his hands came and grabbed your wrists, pinning them to either side of your head. His mouth came down, taking a nipple between his lips, his tongue running over the bud, stimulating you. You felt heat rush through your body, another coat of arousal. His thigh pushed between your legs, as he grinded it against your core. 

You whined, squirming and fighting underneath him as he attempted to work you over. He nipped at your peak bud, before growling in frustration at your constant squirming. He stood up, letting go of you and flipping you over onto your belly. You attempted to crawl away, but he kneeled on the bed, sitting his weight on you and keeping you pinned. 

“Since you won’t stop squirming…” He mutters. You heard the clink of his belt. Your arms were pulled back behind you, and you felt the leather binding your elbows together. Once secure, he stood from the bed and flipped you back over onto your back. 

He pushed your skirt roughly up your thighs, exposing your panties. He took a deep breath, his fingers brushing over the fabric that covered your cunt. “Fuck. Acting like you don’t want this like you don’t want me.” He shook his head. “You’re fucking soaked pretty girl.” 

He ripped your panties off, sticking himself between your legs, pushing his jeans and boxers down his thighs, his hard cock popping out, tapping against his belly a few times. 

“Normally I’d take my time but since you gotta act like a brat….” He mutters, hooking his arms around your legs, pulling you closer, “We’ll just have to skip to the good part.” 

He aimed himself against your wet pussy, and in one quick thrust pushed himself inside you. You yelped from the intrusion, arching your back. He felt so damn good. His hard cock stretches you open perfectly. He let out a guttural groan, tipping his head back. “Fuuuck yeah-” He grinned sinfully, eyes shut as he let out a hard pant.

“You’re so fucking wet-” He moaned. His hands grabbed your hips, and he began pounding into your pussy, abusing it with each thrust. You turned your head to the side, gasping and panting as he continued to fill you to the brim over and over. The bed shook violently as he thrust into you, his fingers digging into your hips and pulling you down onto him. 

You were powerless against him, forced to take what he was giving you. “You’re mine baby.” He grunted. “Ain’t no argument about it now.” 

He leaned down over you, his throbbing cock deep inside you, his chest pushed into the back of your thighs as your legs came up to your chest. You turned your head away from him, and he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. He squeezed your cheeks, making your lips pucker as he leaned forward, kissing you, his tongue shoving into your mouth roughly. Your pussy tightened around him, causing him to chuckle warmly into your mouth. “Acting like you don’t fucking like this-” He grunted, thrusting harshly into you, eliciting a pained gasp from your lips. “Your pussy does, she’s fucking squeezing me tight. You love this, don’t you? Me taking what I want from you.”

You let out a moan, tipping your head back. You finally nodded and didn’t have to look at him to see that cocky grin on his face. 

“Damn fucking straight.” He growls. “You’re gonna fucking take it all.” His thrusts became more frantic, rougher. He leaned down, biting your neck, as he slammed into you with a ferocity you never felt before. It was so much, he was too much, as you felt an explosive finish approaching quickly. “Fucking stupid, acting like I didn’t care about you. I’ve been fucking obsessed with you since day 1.” He groaned into your neck. 

The admission made you snap. Your eyes rolled back as you let out a cry of his name. Your body shook, as your pussy squeezed and spasmed around him, so tight he could barely pull out.  He grunted, slamming into you one more time, before moaning so loud you’re pretty sure the neighbors could hear, and you felt his cum fill you up. 

A moment passed, and he sat up, pulling out of you. He flipped you over, onto your belly, pushing you further up the bed. He let you lay there, trembling with his cum leaking out of you, while he shed the rest of his clothes off, and then pulled off your skirt, leaving you in just your torn bra and blouse. 

He kneeled back onto the bed clambering over you and grabbed your hips, bringing your ass into the air.

“You look good like this sweetheart.” He mumbled, his thumb brushing over your puffy pussy, before capturing the cum that was leaking inside you, pushing it back in. You whined, squirming under him, too sensitive to his touch. 

“Logan…” You gasped.

“I’m not done with ya.” He says, adjusting the both of you, and you feel his tip slide back inside you, an embarrassing squelching noise in the room as he fills you up again. 

“Ah!” You whimpered. How was he hard again already? “Lo-” 

“I don’t think you get it darling. You’re mine. I’m gonna fuck that nonsense of me not caring out of you.”

“I believe you!” You gasped, as he harshly slammed into you, the bed slamming into the wall. You didn’t know if you could take him more. He felt so good, yet your nerves felt it was on fire. You didn’t want him to stop. 

He chuckled, “You want me to stop?”

The silence was deafening. You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip as you prepared yourself. 

“Good girl.” He purred. His hand grabbed your hair, tugging it back as he began pounding into you again. A chorus of whines escaped you as he fucked you with renewed vigor. His stamina was insane. Your pussy was on fire, the way he stretched you out, his hips slamming into your ass, and you were sure you would end up with bruises everywhere. 

The rest of the night ended up a blur. Logan used you like a fucktoy, and you were fairly sure you passed out multiple times. The first time, you woke up on top of him, your head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around you as he fucked up into you. The second time, you woke to him eating you out, his tongue swirling over your swollen clit, sending shocks through your body. The third time, your wrists were tied together above your head to the frame of your bed. Your legs spread with Logan on top of you, hands on either side of your hips, as he thrusts into you slowly, almost romantically. He leaned down to pull a soft kiss from you. 

Your body felt numb, yet the pleasure still enveloped you, as you felt the honey-sweet feeling pooling in your belly again.

“C'mon baby. One more for me.” He moaned, resting his body over yours, pressing soft kisses over your face. “I know you can do it.”

He brought his fingers between your sweat-soaked bodies. There were countless bite marks and hickeys that covered your body. His fingers found your clit and began rubbing it, his thrusts still slow and soft. 

Within seconds, your legs were trembling, as your pussy tightened around him again, and he tipped his head back, his pace picking up as he felt you tighten and pulse around him. He fucked you through your orgasm once more, before finally finishing inside, a loud curse and moan of your name, as he panted, eyes shut tight as the last bit of his energy finally drained inside you. He collapsed on your chest, his arms still somewhat bracing himself up, keeping his full body weight off you. 

He sighed, pushing himself out, and you heard a snikt!, as you watched in amazement and exhaustion as sharp metal claw-like appendages came out, and he carefully cut the cloth around your wrists, your arms falling limply above your head. He climbed off you, rolling to your side, and pulling you against him, your cheek against his chest. You didn’t bother to ask about the sharp knife-like pieces that just came out of his fists and then disappeared.

“You alright?” He asks softly, his hand massaging up and down your back. “Too much?” 

“Mmm.” You barely mumbled, as your eyes grew heavy again. You were too tired for pillow talk now. 

A small chuckle. “Y’know. I really do care about you. I just…Some things are going on in my life, things I’m a part of, that I haven’t told you about. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring you into that part of my life yet. I uh…Thought you’d be safer.” 

You opened your eyes at his admission. His voice was soft, in a tone you hadn’t heard from him before. 

“I honestly was relieved when you stopped calling. Cause I was constantly wondering if I was selfish being with you. I thought it’d be easier that you broke it off because I couldn’t bring myself to do it but then I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Missed you a lot and I guess I got a little…Possessive.”

“You think?”

Another scoff escaped him, and his hand came around your arm, his fingertips softly tracing up and down your arm. “Yeah well…When you recover, we should talk about some things.”

“Like the claws?” You asked. 

“Yeah, like the claws...”

“We should talk about you breaking into my apartment too.”

“Uh…Yeah…” He says, a tone of embarrassment. “I’ll...Explain everything tomorrow.”

[star2fishmeg]

Hear me out…

sub!Luke with a praise kink after a game like last night…

Nonnie, always hearing you out, my love.

You feel the bed dip beside you, not softly but vigorously, like Luke has stripped his suit off and thrown himself down, facing the ceiling as he pulls the cover over himself. He’s not worried if he woke you, he knows you’re awake, he knows why. He rolls onto his side to face you, arm draping over your waist and sneaking under your (his) t-shirt to feel that small sense of grounding, the skin contact, the reminder that you’re real and you’re here with him. 

“Hey,” you mutter, eyes meeting his tired ones, his breathing shaking, “I know, Lu, it sucks.”

You bring your hand to his cheek, palm cupping it and thumb caressing over his cold skin, his grip around you tightening as he pulls you closer into him. His eyes are glossy, those puppy eyes that blossom a warmth in your chest. 

He croaks out, gaze set on yours still and melting into your hand, “I suck. Played like shit and I’m supposed to play again on Saturday. Not gonna be long until I get benched or worse.”

With knitted eyebrows, you perch yourself up onto your elbow, hand still very much on his cheek but you’re looking down at him, down on his slightly pathetic pouting that triggers an unfathomable craving to coddle gripping you. 

“That’s not gonna happen, pretty boy. You’re a fucking good player, everybody wants you on their team and there has not been a second where you’ve been doubted. Forget about tonight, yeah, want me to help?” You affirm, stern yet with a tint of lust crawling onto your face, pulling the corners of your lips up with half-lidded eyes. He likes when you speak to him sultry, no, he loves that bubbling feeling in his stomach whether he’s miserable or not, it’s something other than despair.

“Thanks, angel,” he whispers out, your words soaking into him, cleansing his spiralling thoughts and he feels as if you’re washing him of this feeling, “but ’m not in the mood for sex tonight, beautiful. I’m sorry.”

The curl in your lips turns to a smirk, the hand on his cheek sliding to the bottom of his jaw, taking it between your fingertips as you lean back slowly, guiding him to lean above you briefly. He leans on his forearm, curious, dazed, wetting his lips as he watches your every move intently, eyes following your hands take the hem of your t-shirt and pull it deliberately up your body, purposely teasing him. The fabric brushes over your nipples and you drop the clothing at your neck, hands taking his nape and jaw, bringing his face into the valley of your tits. He’s weak. He’s a weak man when it comes to your tits, his eyes have a sparkle in them and he’s almost drooling, allowing his body to move on its own, sliding on top of you, lowering gently - in fear of crushing you- until he’s lying flat, his nose meeting your sternum and your fingers running over his back and through his curls.

“Mmf.” He hums, sending little vibrations over your flesh and to your cunt, a smile on your lips as his muscles relax into you, your bodies melding together like wax where you can mould each other to fit perfectly. 

He pushes up slightly, scanning over your tits before latching his mouth to your left nipple, taking as much of the surface into his mouth as he can and swirling his tongue over the sensitive bud, sucking with closed eyes and letting the pleasure fog his mind and take him somewhere else. He sucks hard, with purpose and you let him no matter the marks he’ll leave behind, Luke knows how to use his mouth on you, so when the tip flickers, you’re humming out in satisfaction at the giddy sensations, back arching.

“That’s it, pretty boy. You always deserve this, hm? Tried so hard out there, I’ll always reward my Luke.” You mutter provocatively, both hands gliding over his shoulder blades in circles, nails gently running along his skin to awaken those featherlight tickles that prickle up his spine.

He moans deeply, from his throat, releasing your breast with a string of saliva and moving to the other. His large hand grabs the mound, taking it into his mouth and lying the flat surface of his tongue over your peak, slowly dragging it up just to flick the tip and swirl the wet muscle around it again. You’re breathing heavily, keeping the whines in and enjoying the whimpers tumbling from his chest as he sucks, free hand groping your other breast to ensure it’s not neglected.

You press your hand to the back of his head, clit throbbing at him entering a space that lets him relax and forget about the game. That lets him submerge himself in your chest openly, using you for his own escape with pink-tinted cheeks. You coo at him, “Such a talented skater, Luke. M’so proud of you, so young but so special. I wish you could see how admirable you are, baby.”

“Play with my hair, please.” He mutters against you, pushing your tits together and burying his face between them, sporadically placing wet kisses with nibbles and love bites, not entirely in the same headspace as you but God, do you crave that blank look on his face. Those glass eyes, pouty lips, dazed expression paired with snuggling like his pride didn’t even matter anymore. You card your nails through his hair, languidly, delicately, enough to soothe him away from the disappointment he felt before. “Hmm, yeeaah.” 

“Such a good boy. You enjoy my tits? Was I right again?” you tug at his curls lightly, pulling his head from your cleavage and lying his ear flat against the breast, so he can snuggle yet respond to you coherently, hand kneading into the other tit, “Love you so much, Lu.”

“Always know what I need, love your tits, angel. Love you more, always good for you. Kiss me?” He peers up at you pathetically, lips parted and coated in the spit that covers your chest. You nod, watching him press up from your body and hover over you, his mouth capturing yours slowly and tenderly at first, applying a desperate pressure when you moan into the kiss, hands tangling in his nape. He slips his tongue past your lips, savouring your minty flavour when he licks against your tongue before pulling away, lying sleepy back on your chest.

[r4fe-cam3ron]

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY EIGHTH; side a — the man who can’t be moved - the script | ex!s. harrington x r

w; does not follow the show ‘stranger things’, angsty at the beginning, but at the end it’s fluff an; this song is sooooo ex-boyfriend!stevie! prove me wrong.

mixtape here!

“Steve, you can’t just keep coming back here.” 

That was the last, actual, verbal conversation he had with Eddie. Or really anyone for that matter. 

Not that he cared. 

Stubbornly, he had kept coming back to this café that was your favorite and somewhere he had first met you. He had been in line when he looked towards the door when the bell rang. You’d stepped inside the new café Hawkins had added, a light in your eyes and suddenly he was smitten. 

He never believed in the ‘whole first love at sight’ thing that people spewed in fairytales. 

You’d changed his perspective completely. 

Then he had to ruin it when things were going good for him. 

There were a couple of days he had grown angry at you for an unknown and unnecessary reason. That anger had quickly turned and he grew angry at himself for even being angry at you. 

He’d started coming to the café a month ago, sitting there for hours, waiting to see if you’d walk through the door. 

He’s hoping you know he’s waiting for you — even if you had every reason not to take him back. 

Today, he stayed even longer than he usually does. There’s some flowers on the table by his arm and his eyes remain looking out the window. It’s dark out now all besides the street lights that had seemed to dim over time. 

“Sir,” A woman’s voice catches his attention. Her eyes drop towards the flowers before looking at him. “We’re closing.” 

Steve lets out a small sigh, nodding slightly as he stands from the booth. He grabs the flowers and stares at them for a moment before handing them over towards her. 

She hesitates, but grabs them from his grip. “Thanks for…putting up with me,” Her eyes lift from the flowers and glances up at him. “Happy Valentine’s day.” He gives a small, tight smile and a quick nod. Before she could say anything else, he quickly exits, a bit of frustration bubbling in his chest, the familiar feel of oncoming tears makes his teeth grit together. 

“Steve.” 

He stops and blinks quickly, his vision a bit blurry as he looks around before finally turning. 

His breath is momentarily stolen when his eyes land on you and he wants to sob — he holds it together. “Uh…Hi.” 

You begin to slowly walk over, stopping in front of him. “You’re very stubborn, you know that?” 

His brows pinch together, confusion contouring his face. “What?” 

Smiling a bit, you look down at the ground. “You’ve managed to come here for a month straight and wait without leaving.” 

He’s even more confused. “How do you…?” 

“Eddie called me,” You nod. “Told me that you were at the café waiting for me. The first day I came to talk to you, I stopped myself before I could even walk inside and talk to you again,”

“I didn’t know if that was just…show. So, I waited. And you waited too.” 

Steve is momentarily speechless before he shakes his head. “You mean to tell me you had come to see if I would keep coming back and wait for you?” 

“You deserve it,” You say simply. “You said something that…truly hurt me, Steve. I wasn’t going to just throw myself into your arms,” You shake your head. 

“I wanted you to prove that you actually did love me, whether you knew you were proving it or not.” 

He purses his lips a bit and nods. “I deserve that.” 

“You do,” You nod. “But…I’ve missed you too much to just keep watching you from a distance,” His eyes are slightly wide, soft and warm. 

“I want to start over.” 

“Start over?” You hum your confirmation. His lips pull into a smile, a small laugh leaving his lips. “Alright…” He clears his throat. 

He turns his body away from you, causing your head to tilt slightly. He finally looks at you once again, his face morphing into the same look he’d had when he first laid eyes on you. 

His hand sticks out as he turns back towards you. “Hi. I’m Steve Harrington.” 

Your eyes drop towards his hand, a small smile pulling at your lips. Your hand meets his, shaking slightly as you tell him your name. Neither one makes a move to pull your hands away. You squeeze his hand three times. 

I love you. 

A smile pulls at his lips. “It’s nice to meet you.” He squeezes back four times. 

I love you always.

𓍯 ִֶָ tags; @ali-r3n — @marchsfreakshow — @dearestjune — @sstar-ggirl — @love-quinn

𓍯 ִֶָ thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, & feedback are welcome & greatly appreciated!

[777bae]

GOD IS A WOMAN LUKE HUGHES

Summary :: In the city’s pulse, you take control of the night, shifting the power between you and Luke. With every move, you leave him breathless, uncertain, and surrendered to your lead.

Warnings :: Suggestive?

Word count :: 2.1k

The sun dips lower on the horizon, casting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The air is thick with the hum of the city, its pulse vibrating beneath your feet, but it feels distant—almost like a soundtrack to your own heartbeat. You step through the crowd, moving through the mix of voices and laughter like it’s all just background noise. Tonight, it’s not about them. It’s about you. About taking what’s yours. You can feel it in the air, that quiet sense of anticipation, the knowing that this is your moment to shift the dynamics. The night is wide open, and you’re about to own it.

Luke is somewhere ahead of you, laughing with a group of friends, effortlessly slipping through the crowd. He’s the kind of person who commands attention without even trying—like the way the world moves around him just naturally falls into rhythm. You’ve always noticed it—the way people gravitate toward him, the way he carries himself, that quiet confidence that makes him seem untouchable. But tonight, you see him differently. Tonight, it’s your turn to shift the energy, to take control in a way he’s not used to.

You can feel your heart beat in sync with the pulse of the city, your steps growing more deliberate, more purposeful as you close the gap. With every stride, you feel the eyes of the crowd on you, but it doesn’t matter. There’s only one person you’re focusing on now, and as you get closer to him, it’s like the world begins to narrow. The noise, the people—they all fade away. The city may be alive, but it’s his attention you want.

As you reach him, his friends fade into the background, their voices muffled as your world sharpens and centers on the space between you and Luke. You stop, right in front of him, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You catch the shift in his eyes—a flicker of surprise, the smallest hesitation—as if he’s taken aback by the intensity you’re carrying. You’ve always been an observer, a quiet presence in the periphery, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re standing in front of him with a quiet certainty, your back straight, your stance unyielding.

For a brief moment, neither of you speaks. The seconds stretch between you like a tightrope, and there’s an undeniable charge in the air, thick with unspoken tension. His eyes search yours, a mixture of curiosity, recognition, and maybe something else—a glimmer of uncertainty, a hesitation he’s not used to feeling. It’s almost like he’s trying to figure you out, but you won’t let him. Not tonight. Tonight, the rules are different.

You don’t wait for him to speak, or for him to make the first move. Instead, you reach out, your hand brushing lightly across his arm. The touch is soft, almost casual, but you feel the way his body tenses at the contact, a subtle shift in his posture. It’s as if he wasn’t expecting it, as though he’s momentarily thrown off balance. But you see it in his eyes—he’s drawn to you now, the space between you suddenly charged with something deeper, something he doesn’t quite know how to navigate.

Without breaking the gaze between you, you lean in just slightly, your breath mingling with his, and you say, your voice steady, firm, but laced with something that carries more weight than it should, “Let’s go.”

It’s not a question. It’s not a suggestion. It’s a statement—a quiet command that feels like it hangs in the air, undeniable. You see the shift in him, the way his lips part for just a second, the way he looks at you as if weighing the invitation, trying to decide whether to resist or follow. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s no need for words. You’ve already decided. You start walking, your pace deliberate and confident, and without hesitation, he follows you.

There’s a slight moment of pause—just a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes—but it’s fleeting. He falls into step beside you, and for the first time in a long time, you can feel the way he yields. He doesn’t try to lead the way. He doesn’t pull ahead. He moves with you, following your lead, as if something about the way you carry yourself has made him step back, has made him realize that you are the one who’s in control tonight. You can feel the subtle shift in the space between you, the slight change in his energy, and it sends a pulse of satisfaction through you.

The crowd parts as you make your way through it, and it feels almost like the city is clearing a path for you, as if it too recognizes the power in this moment. The hum of the streets quiets around you as you guide him to a quieter part of the city, where the sound of voices and traffic fades into the background. It’s like the moment itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to make the next move. The tension between you is thick—electric—but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s alive with the potential of what could happen next. There’s something in the way he’s following you, unsure but intrigued, that makes your pulse quicken.

When you reach a secluded bench tucked away by the edge of a park, you stop. The cool evening air wraps around you both, and the sounds of the city feel far off now, as though the two of you exist in your own world. The streetlights cast soft shadows, and the atmosphere feels more intimate, like the space between you has grown into something private, something shared. You turn to face him, and for the first time tonight, you allow yourself to fully meet his gaze. There’s no hesitation now, no doubt. You hold his stare, unflinching, unwavering.

He’s watching you—really watching you—and for the first time, you see the shift. His usual confidence, that ease with which he commands attention, seems to falter for a brief second, replaced by something deeper. Something vulnerable. It’s almost imperceptible, but you catch it—the flicker of uncertainty, the raw curiosity. He doesn’t know what you’re about to do, doesn’t know what you’re going to ask of him. And you love it. You love that you’ve taken him off guard, that you’ve shifted the balance and left him unsure, on the edge of something he can’t predict.

There’s power in this moment. Power in the space you’ve created between the two of you. And as you stand there, feeling the tension thrum through your veins, you know that the next move is yours. He’s waiting for you to decide what happens next—and this is exactly where you want him.

You move in close once more, your intentions clear in the space between you. The proximity is electrifying, and the tension that had simmered just beneath the surface now surges forward. Your hands, steady and deliberate, find their place on his chest. The warmth of his body pulses against your fingers, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart, fast and heavy. It matches your own. You trace the outline of his shirt, feeling the subtle strength underneath it, the muscle that lies beneath his skin. It’s a reminder of who he is, but it only makes you more certain of what you want to do.

His breath catches as your fingertips glide up toward his neck, his pulse quickening in response to the nearness of your touch. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, as if he’s unsure of what to expect from you. There’s no uncertainty in you, though—no hesitation. You are the one in control now. You’ve shifted the balance, and now you are the one who will set the rhythm of this moment.

You don’t wait for him to make the first move. You take it for yourself. Slowly, you close the final gap, your lips pressing firmly against his. The kiss is immediate, intense—there’s no room for softness here. It’s purposeful. The pressure of your lips is firm, asserting your presence, asserting your control. The kiss is hungry, urgent, like it’s been building for longer than either of you realized. It’s not tentative, not the gentle, exploratory kiss of someone unsure. It’s the kiss of someone who knows exactly what they want, and in that moment, you want him to feel it too.

For a second, he’s still, his body reacting to yours. His lips part slightly, and the groan that escapes him is low, almost involuntary. His hands find their way to your waist, but you feel the hesitation in them. His grip isn’t possessive, not yet—it’s a reflex, an instinct that’s quickly being interrupted by the way you’re kissing him, by the way you’ve taken this moment for yourself.

And you won’t let him lead. Not this time.

You pull back just enough to break the kiss, but not enough to create space between you. Your lips hover near his, your breath mingling with his, the air thick with anticipation. You look him in the eyes, and there’s no mistaking what you see in them. His gaze is intense, searching you, trying to understand what’s happening, how the energy between you has shifted. There’s a flicker of hesitation in his expression, as if he’s unsure how to navigate the unfamiliar territory you’ve opened up.

“You’ve been used to being the one who calls the shots,” you say, your voice steady, but there’s an undeniable edge to it. It’s almost cold, but there’s heat in the words that make them sear into the air between you. “But tonight, it’s my turn.”

He narrows his eyes just slightly, a sign that he’s both intrigued and testing the limits of what you’ve just said. His lips twitch, as if he’s about to respond, but the challenge is in the way his brow furrows. You can see it—he’s assessing you, trying to decide whether he should push back, or let go and fall into step with you. And that’s exactly what you want. You want him to feel uncertain, to feel the shift in the air. You want him to know what it feels like to be the one on the edge, caught in the current of someone else’s decision.

For a brief moment, the world feels still. But it doesn’t last long.

Without warning, you crash your lips back onto his. The kiss this time is urgent, fierce, as if your earlier words have only fueled the fire. He groans again, the sound vibrating through his chest, his body reacting to yours immediately. His hands, which had been hesitant before, now move with more purpose, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you closer, but still, you don’t let him take control.

This time, you don’t just let the kiss take its course. You deepen it, your tongue meeting his, guiding him, directing the pace. There’s a moment where he’s completely lost in the kiss, responding to you, falling into the rhythm you’ve set. His body presses against yours, but there’s no rush, no sense of urgency on your part. You’re the one who decides when to pull back, when to escalate, when to draw him in even further.

His hands shift, trying to find a way to take back control, but you feel the tension in his movements—a hesitation, a lingering uncertainty. He’s trying to match your intensity, but there’s a wariness in him now, as if he’s waiting for your next move. And that’s exactly what you want. You want him to feel the shift, to understand that this isn’t going to be the way he’s used to it. You want him to feel like he’s on the edge, unsure of what comes next.

When you finally pull back, just enough to catch your breath, his lips are swollen, his chest heaving in a way that betrays how deeply he’s been affected. He’s still standing close to you, but there’s a moment where he seems to be caught in the whirlwind you’ve created, trying to catch up with the new energy between you. His expression is unreadable for a split second, his eyes flickering between confusion and something deeper, something raw.

And that’s when you see it—the subtle shift in his posture. He’s still unsure, still caught in the current you’ve set, but now, he’s waiting for you. There’s a subtle, almost imperceptible surrender in the way he’s looking at you. He’s not pushing back anymore. He’s letting you guide this, letting you take the reins, and it feels as though you’ve unlocked something in him—something that has nothing to do with dominance, but everything to do with trust. Trust in your ability to control this moment. Trust in the pull between you.

“Good,” you murmur, your voice a little breathless, a little heated, but still carrying the same weight as before. “You’re learning.”

And with that, you close the distance once more, sealing his surrender with another kiss that leaves no room for doubt.

[kathlare]

promise kept

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: The night of the Grammys is full of excitement and emotions for Amelie as she celebrates her success, having just won her first Grammy.

Wordcount: 4.6 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

February 2nd, 2022 - Los Angeles, CA

The night was still shimmering in gold, the dazzling lights of the Grammys creating a stage unlike any other. For Amelie, it felt like she was caught in a whirlwind of excitement. The moment she stepped off the stage after her performance, everything seemed to pause for a second—except for Lando. His eyes were still locked on her as she walked to their table, where she was finally going to sit down and breathe for the first time since the red carpet.

The glitz of the night had been relentless—too many pictures, too many interviews. It felt like she couldn’t stop moving, always having to be somewhere, always having to smile for someone. But now? Now, she could finally relax. She dropped into the chair next to Lando, smiling at him as she adjusted the gown, the weight of the moment resting on her shoulders. She'd already won one Grammy, for Best Pop Solo Performance for Espresso, and now all that was left was the anticipation of whether she'd take home another.

Lando looked at her with that familiar glint in his eyes, his lips twitching in a mix of admiration and playful teasing. The moment their eyes met, Amelie felt it—a familiar warmth, a little electric spark between them. After everything they'd been through, the awkwardness of their early relationship, the struggles, and the breakups, here they were again. They were real this time—together in a way they hadn't been before.

—Finally,— Lando murmured, his voice low, a little teasing as he leaned toward her. He barely had the chance to say more before a voice called out to her.

—Amelie, darling! You were phenomenal!—

Amelie immediately stood up, her smile wide, graceful, but apologetic as she turned toward the interruption. She knew she had to go through this—the inevitable flow of people who wanted to congratulate her.

—Thank you so much!— she said with a laugh, giving a quick hug to the person who stopped her. She greeted a few more people, exchanging quick pleasantries, all the while feeling Lando’s eyes on her. He was silent, watching as she handled the flurry of attention with poise. But there was a visible shift in him when people started to approach. Lando wasn’t used to this kind of attention—the level of fame Amelie had acquired, the constant swarm of people seeking her time. He was still getting used to it, even after all this time.

Lando sat back in his chair, watching Amelie as she moved through the crowd, a bit of a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. He was so proud of her, but part of him couldn't help feeling out of place in this world. The sheer volume of people who wanted her attention, who saw her as this shining star, was something he was still adjusting to. Back in Monaco, it was a different world—his own bubble, his racing family, a familiar territory. But here, at the Grammys, it was like everything had shifted around him. He was a little bit of an outsider.

As Amelie turned to chat with someone else, Lando caught Alex's eye across the table. Alex gave him a subtle nod, a sympathetic grin on his face. Lando could tell what he was thinking—he’d seen it before, the way Lando seemed a little overwhelmed by the spectacle of it all.

Lando ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the feeling of discomfort. He'd been around this enough, seen it in bits and pieces—red carpets, big events. But when it was Amelie at the center of it all, it felt different. Like the attention had a different weight, a different gravity.

Amelie, meanwhile, was still greeting people—posing for a picture here, exchanging a joke there. She looked like she was made for this world, her radiance never dimming, her energy infectious. It was mesmerizing, the way she commanded the room without even trying.

The air around Lando seemed to tighten, though, as Amelie was about to head back to their table when she was caught by a particularly tall, dark-haired figure. Lando recognized him almost immediately—Benson Boone. The singer had never really been on Lando’s radar, but now, seeing him move toward Amelie, there was a certain… tension.

Benson was smiling, casual, but Lando’s instincts flared—this guy wasn’t just stopping for a quick congratulatory chat. There was something more to it, some glint in his eyes that Lando didn’t like. Maybe it was the way Benson’s gaze lingered a little longer than necessary on Amelie, or how his body language was just a touch too close. Whatever it was, Lando’s gut twisted, and he leaned forward, trying to ignore the growing irritation.

—Shit,— Lando muttered under his breath, clenching his jaw. The moment felt too long for his comfort, too drawn out.

Lando’s irritation was palpable now, his chest tightening as he watched Benson move even closer to Amelie. He had no idea why, but the guy’s presence made something inside him stir—something protective, something possessive. His hands clenched into fists beneath the table as he saw Benson smile a little too brightly, his fingers lingering near Amelie’s elbow.

This wasn’t going to happen. Lando wasn’t going to sit by and let some stranger make a move on his girlfriend—not when they’d only just gotten back together after so much, not when they were finally working on building something real.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Lando was already standing. His chair scraped loudly against the floor, drawing a few curious glances from the surrounding tables. But Lando didn’t care. His focus was entirely on Benson. He wasn’t thinking, wasn’t analyzing—he was just reacting.

—Hey, uh, sorry, you gotta give me a second,— he muttered, pushing past the table and moving quickly toward Amelie, who was still caught in Benson’s orbit.

As Lando made his way toward Amelie, his pulse was quickening, his thoughts racing. He wasn’t sure exactly why he felt this way. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of the situation—the fact that Benson, a stranger to him, had come so close to Amelie, and it made him feel territorial, protective even. He wasn’t one to get possessive, not normally. But this… this felt different.

His footsteps were purposeful, but not rushed. He didn’t want to make a scene. He wasn’t about to storm over like some jealous idiot—well, maybe he was, but he was trying to keep it under control. He just needed to make sure Benson understood that Amelie was his. That whatever he was thinking, it wasn’t going to happen.

He walked up just as Amelie was laughing at something Benson had said. Lando could feel his chest tightening, but he kept his tone cool, masking his internal struggle behind a calm exterior. He slid into the conversation seamlessly, his voice low and smooth.

—Hey, Ames,— Lando said with a casual grin, reaching out to gently tap her shoulder. The effect was immediate: Amelie turned, her eyes lighting up when she saw him.

Lando felt the tiniest bit of relief when her face softened at the sight of him, her body instinctively leaning into his as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It was a silent reassurance—one he desperately needed in that moment.

—Lan,— she said, her voice warm, familiar, like honey in his ears.

But then his attention snapped back to Benson, whose smile faltered just slightly at Lando’s sudden appearance. Good. He wanted the guy to feel even the tiniest bit uncomfortable. Because whatever Benson had been trying to do? Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

—Sorry to interrupt,— Lando said, tone polite but firm, his hand sliding around Amelie’s waist with ease, fingers settling possessively against the fabric of her gown. He didn’t grip her too tightly, didn’t make it obvious, but it was a silent message. She’s mine.

Benson’s eyes flickered to the hand on Amelie’s waist, and Lando didn’t miss the way the guy hesitated for just a beat before recovering.

—No worries, man. You’re Lando, right?— Benson asked, extending a hand.

Lando glanced at it for half a second before finally shaking it, his grip firm.

—Yeah, and you’re Benson,— Lando replied, voice still cool, still casual, but his words had an edge, like he wanted to make sure Benson knew that he knew exactly who he was. And that he wasn’t impressed.

Amelie, completely unaware of the silent standoff, smiled brightly. —Oh! You two haven’t met before, right?— She gestured between them.

—Nope, first time,— Lando said, shifting even closer to Amelie. If he could physically put himself between them, he probably would.

Benson’s smile stretched just a little wider, like he wasn’t oblivious to what was happening but wasn’t about to back down so easily either. Lando didn’t like that.

—Well, it’s nice to meet you, man. Amelie, I just wanted to say congratulations, your album was insane. I’ve been a fan for a while,— Benson said, looking at Amelie again.

Lando’s grip on her waist tightened ever so slightly.

—That’s sweet, thank you!— Amelie beamed, ever the gracious one. She was so used to these interactions, so used to handling people with warmth and kindness. But Lando? He wasn’t built for this. He wasn’t used to seeing other men look at her like that, like they thought they had a chance.

And maybe Benson didn��t actually think that. Maybe Lando was overreacting, but in his mind, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to take any risks.

—Yeah, she’s fucking incredible, isn’t she?— Lando said, his tone light, but there was a very clear subtext to his words.

Amelie turned to look at him, one perfectly arched brow raising slightly as if she could sense exactly what he was doing. She didn’t say anything, though, just rested her hand over his on her waist, her touch soft.

Benson nodded, clearly catching onto the unspoken tension. —Yeah, she is.—

Lando’s jaw tensed. He hated the way Benson said it. Like he knew it too well. Like he was too comfortable saying it out loud.

—Well, if you’ll excuse us, I finally got my girlfriend to sit down for the first time tonight, so I’m gonna steal her for a bit,— Lando said, pulling Amelie even closer, his arm now fully around her.

Benson chuckled, nodding. —Of course, man. Congrats again, Amelie.—

—Thank you!— Amelie said again, waving as Benson finally walked away.

The moment he was gone, Lando let out a slow breath, shaking his head.

—You alright there, Lan?— Amelie asked, her voice amused as she turned to fully face him, her hands resting on his chest.

Lando scoffed, looking down at her with narrowed eyes. —What was that? He was flirting with you.—

Amelie laughed. —He was just being nice!—

—Bullshit.— Lando huffed, then leaned down so that his lips were just above her ear, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. —He wanted to take you home, and I wasn’t about to fucking let that happen.—

Amelie shivered at his words, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his suit.

—Well, lucky for you, I already have someone taking me home tonight,— she murmured, tilting her head up to look at him through her lashes.

Lando grinned. —Damn right you do.—

She giggled, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Lando melted into it instantly, his hand sliding up to cup her jaw, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss.

But, of course...

—Amelie! Darling, congratulations! Can we grab a quick picture?—

Lando groaned, pulling away just as Amelie turned to greet yet another person.

He sat back in his chair, exhaling sharply as he watched her get pulled away yet again.

Alex, still seated at the table, snorted. —You’re really suffering tonight, mate.—

Lando dragged a hand down his face. —I swear, if one more person interrupts me, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.—

Alex smirked. —You do realize you’re dating a superstar, right?—

Lando sighed, glancing back at Amelie, who was smiling for a photo, looking every bit the star she was.

Yeah. He knew. And he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

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

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

The after-party was a fucking blur.

Neon lights flickered across the dance floor, casting a hazy glow over the sea of bodies swaying to the bass-heavy music. Amelie was in her element—barely on the ground, floating on the high of the night. Two damn Grammys. Her Grammys. The final missing piece to the EGOT, now forever attached to her name.

She’d done it. At twenty-three. The youngest in history.

And if the bottomless glasses of champagne weren’t enough to keep the reality from settling in, the endless wave of people congratulating her certainly were. Every time she turned around, someone new pulled her into a hug, gushed about how proud they were, told her how deserved it was.

And it was. She knew it was. But holy fuck, it was a lot.

She hadn’t even seen Lando properly since before the ceremony, and that was saying something considering he was usually attached to her hip. She could feel him somewhere in the room—Lando had this energy about him, like a magnet always pulling her in. But every time she caught a glimpse of him, someone else dragged her away.

She was wasted. In the best way.

And apparently, Lando had had enough.

One moment, she was mid-conversation with Taylor and Selena, the next, a firm grip landed on her wrist, tugging her away. She barely had time to react before she was pulled through the crowd, past clusters of industry elites and a few confused glances, straight into the dimly lit hallway that led to the more private section of the venue.

She barely registered what was happening before she was pressed against the nearest wall, warm hands gripping her waist, and a familiar set of lips crashing onto hers.

Fuck.

She melted into it immediately, fingers curling into the fabric of his suit as she kissed him back with just as much urgency. It was messy, desperate—weeks' worth of tension crammed into a single moment. He was everywhere, hands roaming over the silk of her dress, thumb pressing into the dip of her waist like he needed her closer, despite the fact there was no space left between them.

—Finally.— Lando muttered against her lips, his voice slightly breathless, hands refusing to let her go.

She let out a dazed laugh, resting her forehead against his. —You literally kidnapped me.—

—You weren’t giving me a choice.— He tightened his grip on her hips, lips brushing against hers again, teasing. —D’you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to get you alone?—

She smirked, fingers tracing the back of his neck. —I’m a Grammy winner now, baby. In high demand.—

Lando groaned dramatically, dropping his head to her shoulder. —Fuck off. I’ve been waiting all night to do this.— His lips trailed along her jaw, nipping at her skin. —And you’re too fucking busy for me.—

—Oh, poor baby.— Amelie cooed, running her nails lightly through the short curls at the nape of his neck, knowing exactly how much that drove him insane.

Lando groaned again, but it turned into a laugh, muffled against her collarbone. —I hate you sometimes.—

—No, you don’t.— She grinned, tilting his chin up so their noses brushed. —You love me. You adore me.—

He sighed dramatically. —I do. It’s fucking disgusting how much I do.—

—Damn right.—

He kissed her again, slower this time, savoring. It was dizzying, the way he kissed her. Like he was drowning, and she was the only thing keeping him afloat. His hands slid lower, fingers pressing into her lower back.

—How drunk are you?— He murmured against her lips, his voice low, teasing.

—Mmm. Tipsy. Wasted. Drunk on success, mostly.— She giggled, poking his cheek.

He snorted. —You’re an absolute menace.—

—And you love it.—

—Fuck off.—

Amelie just grinned, throwing her arms around his neck. —Say it.—

—Say what?— Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly playing dumb.

—Say you love me.—

His smirk softened, something warmer flickering in his eyes. He pulled her in, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips before whispering, softly, —I love you, Ames.—

She melted.

—Good.— She beamed, booping his nose. —I love you, too, Lan.—

A sudden voice interrupted them.

—Oh, for fuck’s sake. Can you two go five minutes without making out?—

Both turned their heads to see Alex Wolff standing there, looking thoroughly unimpressed, arms crossed.

Amelie just smirked, leaning into Lando’s embrace. —Nope.—

Lando flipped Alex off. —Piss off, mate.—

Alex rolled his eyes. —Just don’t start shagging in the hallway, yeah? I really don’t wanna witness that.—

—No promises.— Amelie teased, winking.

Alex groaned. —I fucking hate you both.—

Lando just grinned, kissing Amelie again.

She tasted like champagne and victory. And he was completely, utterly, fucking obsessed.

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

liked by dualipa, lando, and others

ameliedayman: cannot believe life had to post this in the moment but will talk to you later

View all 4,593 comments

lando: ACTUAL SUPERSTAR. LEGEND. ICON. MY GIRLFRIEND. (I win.) 🏆😭❤️ → ameliedayman: @lando stop it you’re embarrassing me 🙄 → landonorris: @ameliedayman never. I will be publicly obsessed with you forever. → ameliedayman: @lando u already are 🥱 → landonorris: @ameliedayman good. Also, u looked so hot holding those Grammys. We should get married. → ameliedayman: @lando oh my god 💀

tateszn: The chokehold she has on me is insane. GIVE US THE TOUR DATES.

stelladayman: Our little Grammy-winning gremlin 🥹❤️ → ameliedayman: @stelladayman u make me sound like a cartoon character but I’ll allow it

charles_leclerc: Back-to-back wins… just like Lando’s patience when waiting for you all these years 😭🏆 → lando: @charles_leclerc patience is key, mate. Look at me now. → ameliedayman: @charles_leclerc STOP CHARLES LMFAO → charles_leclerc: @ameliedayman I only speak facts.

mclaren: Our fave WAG’s got Grammys, no big deal. 🏆 → lando: @mclaren RESPECTFULLY SHE IS NOT JUST A WAG SHE IS A LEGEND, A QUEEN, THE LOVE OF MY LIFE.

georgerussell63: Two Grammys, a F1 boyfriend, and still not even slightly humbled 💀 → ameliedayman: @georgerussell63 never will be 😌 → lando: @georgerussell63 and what about it?? She deserves to be cocky. → ameliedayman: @lando aww thanks Lan 🥰 → landonorris: @ameliedayman kiss me rn.

ameliefanclub: TWO. GRAMMYS. TWO. GRAMMYS. WHAT DID WE SAY?! THE QUEEN OF POP HAS ARRIVED. → landostan69: @ameliefanclub And she has Lando WHIPPED omg we won in so many ways

f1gossip: Two Grammys AND she bagged Lando? The true world champion.

elysiadayman: She’s always been that bitch, this just confirms it. 😌 → ameliedayman: @elysiadayman always 🤝

madisonbeer: Two-time Grammy winner AND still the funniest person I know. Life’s unfair. → ameliedayman: @madisonbeer gotta keep u humble somehow 😌

gracieabrams: Most talented person on earth. Don’t argue. → ameliedayman: @gracieabrams says the most talented person on earth?!

f1gossip: Lando being a certified wife guy in the comments is the content we deserve. → f1stan23: @f1gossip I mean… he really got his dream girl AND she’s a Grammy winner. I’d be sick too.

billieeilish: I TOLD YOU!!!! → ameliedayman: @billieeilish YOU DID!!! 😭💖

daymanupdates: Amelie winning two Grammys and Lando being the most obsessed boyfriend on the planet… history has been made.

danielricciardo: EGOT loading… I called it first. → ameliedayman: @danielricciardo you have always believed in me, uncle danny 😭💘

jackdayman: I’ve decided to let this whole “music career” thing slide now that you have two Grammys. 🙄 → ameliedayman: @jackdayman Oh, thank you so much for your approval, dearest brother. 🙃

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

The elevator ride up to their hotel suite was a mess of giggles, lazy kisses, and Amelie nearly falling over in her heels. She was gone, absolutely wasted in the best way, still floating from the adrenaline of the night. Lando, less drunk but still buzzed, had one arm around her waist, the other gripping her hand, keeping her upright as she clung to him.

—You’re so fucking pretty.— Amelie slurred, blinking up at him as she reached to poke his nose.

Lando chuckled, shaking his head. —Not as pretty as my Grammy-winning girlfriend.— He pressed a kiss to her temple, tightening his grip on her waist.

She grinned, resting her head against his shoulder as the elevator doors opened to their suite. The second they stepped inside, Amelie sighed dramatically, kicking off her heels and stumbling toward the bedroom. —Gotta get this makeup off. Dunno how people wear this shit every day.—

Lando smirked, watching her sway on her feet. —Need help, love?—

She spun around, pointing a wobbly finger at him. —I got this, Norris. Stay put.—

Lando raised his hands in mock surrender. —Alright, alright.—

With that, she disappeared into the bathroom, humming Espresso under her breath as she scrubbed her face clean. When she was finally makeup-free and in her favorite oversized hoodie and sweatpants, she stretched, rubbing her eyes as she pushed open the bathroom door, fully expecting to find Lando already sprawled out on the bed.

But the bedroom was empty.

She frowned, glancing around. —Lan?—

No response.

Curious, she padded barefoot toward the suite’s living room, her breath catching slightly when she saw it.

The room was dimly lit, but it was impossible to miss the decorations—gold and silver balloons tied to the backs of chairs, a few floating near the ceiling. But what really made her freeze was the small table in the center of the room.

Sitting on top was a McDonald’s bag.

She stared at it for a solid five seconds before looking up to see Lando standing a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, watching her with the softest fucking smile.

—You remembered?— Her voice came out small, overwhelmed.

Lando shrugged, grinning. —Course I did. You told me years ago. Said the second you won your EGOT, you’d finally try McDonald’s. Figured tonight was the night.—

A lump formed in her throat. She’d mentioned that in passing so long ago, back when they were barely friends, just two idiots playing video games at three in the morning. She hadn’t even thought he’d remembered, let alone go out of his way to make it happen.

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, and before she could stop herself, she launched forward, throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him tight.

—Hey, hey.— Lando chuckled, catching her easily, wrapping his arms around her waist. —No crying, baby. It’s just McDonald’s.—

—No, it’s not just McDonald’s.— She sniffled, burying her face in his shoulder. —It’s you remembering something stupid I said years ago. It’s you making it special.—

Lando’s grip tightened as he pressed a kiss to the side of her head. —You’re special. Makes sense the night you finish your EGOT should be too.—

She let out a watery laugh, pulling back slightly to look up at him. —I love you, y’know that?—

He grinned, brushing a thumb over her cheek. —Yeah, I know. Love you too, superstar.—

She beamed, wiping her eyes. —Alright, let’s eat this shit. I’ve waited twenty-three years for this moment.—

—That’s dramatic as fuck, Ames.— Lando teased, grabbing the bag and leading her to the couch.

—Shut up, let me have this.—

They sat cross-legged on the couch, pulling the food out—fries, nuggets, burgers. Amelie picked up a fry, inspecting it with exaggerated suspicion. —Okay, here we go. First McDonald’s bite ever.—

Lando rolled his eyes, laughing. —Just eat it, love.—

She popped the fry into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

Then she shrugged. —Yeah, that’s fire.—

Lando snorted. —Not so bad for a fine dining girl, huh?—

—Don’t push it, Norris.— She grabbed a nugget, taking a bite. —Oh, that’s actually so good.—

Lando grinned, watching her work through the meal. It was a ridiculous moment in the grand scheme of things, but it was theirs, and it made his chest ache in the best way.

By the time they were finished, Amelie flopped back against the couch, rubbing her stomach. —That was so much food.—

Lando chuckled, shifting closer, hand finding her thigh. —Can’t have you wasting away after a big night.—

She turned her head toward him, eyes flickering down to his lips. —You take care of me too well, Lan.—

—Somebody’s gotta.— He smirked, fingers tracing slow circles against her leg. —Besides, you’re my girl. Comes with the job.—

Something warm spread through her chest, and before she could overthink it, she leaned in, pressing her lips to his.

Lando hummed in surprise before immediately kissing her back, shifting to pull her onto his lap. It started slow, gentle—then escalated quickly, Amelie deepening the kiss, fingers tangling in his curls. Lando groaned against her mouth, hands gripping her hips as she pressed against him, heat simmering between them.

—Bed.— She whispered against his lips.

Lando exhaled shakily, nodding. —Yeah. Yeah.—

Without another word, he lifted her, carrying her toward the bedroom as she giggled against his neck. The night had been perfect, but this? This was just the cherry on top.

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

liked by maxverstappen1, joeburrow, and others

lando.jpg: Grammy-winning muse 🎞️🏆💌

Some moments of her on the biggest night. The most beautiful, talented, insane woman I know. I took approximately 500 photos, but these are the ones she approved (barely). Still doesn’t do her justice.

View all 3,482 comments

ameliedayman: my favorite photographer 🥺🤍 i love you, lan. i still can’t believe u took 500 photos of me like a crazy man but honestly… understandable. → lando.jpg: @ameliedayman i’d take 500 more. and then 500 after that. actually, don’t move, i’m getting my camera rn.

georgerussell63: mate, you’ve changed. you used to be cool. → lando.jpg: @georgerussell63 no i didn’t. shut up. → ameliedayman: @georgerussell63 no but he’s soooo much worse in private 💀 help me. → lando.jpg: @ameliedayman you love it.

fan1: NOT LANDO BEING A FULL-TIME BOYFRIEND AND PART-TIME PHOTOGRAPHER.

fan2: "Muse" oh he is OBSESSED obsessed

charles_leclerc: She lets you take 500 photos? I take one and get yelled at. → ameliedayman: @charles_leclerc because ur angles are criminal. 🫵🏼

landonorrisfan37: HELP HE’S SO GONE FOR HER I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.

alex_albon: 500 pics but only 5 made the cut? Sounds about right. → lando.jpg: @alex_albon You have NO IDEA how hard it was. I fought for my life.

fan4: We waited FOUR MONTHS for a post and he drops this. WORTH IT.

fan5: The way he disappeared from this account just to come back and be the clingiest boyfriend.

danielricciardo: Posting like an art student in love. Proud of you. → lando.jpg: @danielricciardo Let me be romantic in peace. 😭

victoriadayman: You take good photos, I’ll give you that. → lando.jpg: @victoriadayman High praise, I’ll take it. 🙏🏼

fan6: Can’t believe we went from “I don’t know her” to this level of simping. Character development.

f1tea: this man has not posted a single thing on here in MONTHS and then comes back with a dissertation on how in love he is.

mclaren: This is not what we meant by ‘keep your focus during the off-season,’ Lando. → lando.jpg: @mclaren Priorities. 😌

f1wagsdaily: We have officially reached the “boyfriend soft-launching on the film camera account” stage. 🫡

lanmelieupdates: THE FACT THAT HE DIDN’T POST HERE SINCE OCTOBER AND BROUGHT IT BACK FOR HER IM SOBBING

georgerussell63: You mean to tell me you took 500 photos and she only let you post THESE? → ameliedayman: @georgerussell63 you should’ve seen the ones he TRIED to post 💀 → lando: @ameliedayman baby they were ART 😤

elysiadayman: Insufferable. Both of you. → ameliedayman: @elysiadayman this sounds like jealousy 🫶🏼

lando: I forgot to mention you’re also the most perfect human alive. → ameliedayman: @lando you’re embarrassing me in front of the entire world. keep going.

fan7: Not even trying to hide it, man’s been obsessed since DAY ONE. → fan8: @fan7 we love a loyal king.

maxfewtrell: Sickening levels of PDA, even for you. → lando.jpg: @maxfewtrell cry about it.

[meelusinee]

𝜗𝜚 the breaker | mattheo riddle

warnings: toxic!mattheo (like extremely), psychological abuse, drug use and drugging, corruption, blackmail mention, manipulation & coercion

THE BREAKER. usually it’s the heartbreaker, but you know better than that. at the end of the day, mattheo is nothing more than his father’s son. we all know how toxic he can get, sometimes people might like the toxic fantasy. but what if it got worse? more dangerous than that? would you still want him then? he’d make sure you would.

THE BREAKER. a man who’s dangerous and cunning, who knows how to get a job done when he’s ordered. and when his father ordered that he get information out of you? the pure and innocent girl who had been wrapped into dumbledore’s schemes? well, it was almost too easy for him. so in pure mattheo style, he had to make it fun. not fun for you, oh no. just fun for him.

THE BREAKER started with a clock. a ticking clock. act one of his plan was to get you to trust him, to fall in love. he’d make you feel special, like you where the only girl in the entire world. astrology dates, picnics at lunch, sneaking off in the middle of the night for nothing more than a simple hangout. he was insatiable for you, there was nothing that could go wrong. right? he’ll give you the time of your life in any way you can imagine once he has a hold of you, taking all of your firsts so nobody else could have them without you thinking of him. dancing in the kitchen? he’s pouring wine. your first kiss? already perfected his lips. any intimate moment? already crafted careful and sweet just for your tastes. tastes he doesn’t care too much about, but he’d need in the long run.

THE BREAKER who has fun playing with you once he truly gets you. you’re already too far down to notice that he’s slowly manipulating you. he’ll isolate you from friends. lie to you about things. lovebomb and blackmail you. you’d question everything about anything, whether he truly loved you. surely he did, right? he did all of those nice things. so why would he do this? surely this wasn’t the mattheo you knew. did you deserve this treatment? and anytime you’d try to leave? he’d play a game of chase, always in the woods where you end up back in his arms and your mind fuzzy with the after effects of amortentia. maybe somewhere down the line he fell for you too, though you would never truly know.

THE BREAKER who slowly starts to control your entire life. friends? gone. food? fed directly by him. classes? he could easily threaten the teachers into his bidding. clothing? all chosen by him now, pink and dainty just like a porcelain doll. he liked the innocence you had about you, wanting to preserve it in any way he could.

THE BREAKER who stole a bit of your magic in your sleep to enchant chess pieces. they represented his control over you, every move bringing him farther and farther into your mind until you had no choice but to obey everything. and once you did? you’d become his entire world. something that could follow orders and listen to commands aimlessly, something that he started to admire for those qualities. you had finally won over his affection, which only pulled you in deeper and deeper. you’d tell him secrets about everything, do anything that he asked. and when you were asked why? it’s nothing more than just pure love!

THE BREAKER who broke you so far you can’t recognize yourself in the mirror anymore. you’ve changed, a living doll for his amusement. but that didn’t matter anymore. only he needed to see you now.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

tainted love

pairing: javier peña x steve murphy

cws/tags: only one bed, when you gotta jerk off ur partner bc he can't sleep but it's just a platonic thing dw #totallynotgay, use of f-slur, frottage, watching porn together briefly, mutual masturbation, technically infidelity ig but what connie doesn't know can't hurt her

summary: steve can't sleep and he's keeping javi up, so they have to jerk off ???

a/n: homosexual activities return to my blog

thank you to @almostempty for your help w this ! i could not have done this w/o you

wc: 3k

It’s not the first time Javi’s ended up with Steve’s name on his lips and his own hand wrapped around his cock. It’s not an everyday occurrence – Javi has tons of masturbation-worthy images in his collection of sacred memories. He’s got dalliances with hookers, something more and simultaneously less with that one communist girl, even Lorraine, back when she was something other than a blurry, ever-present mistake in his periphery. But, these thoughts are finite. In desperation, he’ll search for more. 

Sometimes more is his partner, partner in work, not in sex, not really, not yet. It comes down to the way Steve looks when he’s pissed off, the way anger forces him into physical contact despite the fact that he’s not a touchy-feely guy. It’s the time he had Javi pressed up against the wall in the hallway of the DEA office in Medellin – it felt like deja vu, he’d seen that moment on an x-rated videotape that no one would ever know he rented. Fuck government secrets, it’d take a harsh interrogation to get Javi to reveal the fact that he watched gay porn by his own volition. More than once. 

It’s a sleepless night like any other except Javi’s not in his own bed or anyone else’s, he’s in a hotel room he’s sharing with Murphy. It’s not the worst thing that could’ve happened – he could’ve gotten stuck with Stechner, but Messina decided to pair up with him for a reason Javi doesn’t want to hear about. 

There’s alcohol somewhere, but not in his overnight bag – maybe in the minibar, but that’s on the far side of the room and whether it comes out of his pocket or not, the prices make him feel sicker than a hangover would.  

Though he and Steve are facing away from each other, he can tell that he’s not sleeping either. It needles at him in the dark. Steve’s wakefulness bleeding onto Javi’s side of the bed, his body heat threatening to burn through the ever present wall of masculinity that keeps him at a distance. 

Murphy tosses and turns to the point where Javi wonders if he’s doing it for attention – he’s doing a great job if so. Javi rolls over to tell him to cool it. 

“Would you cut that shit out?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Neither can I. Because of you.”

Steve shrugs as best one can in his position. 

“What do you want? A bedtime story?”

“Might be kinda nice.”

“Alright,” Javi says, like he’s really committed to the idea. “One night, there was a DEA agent who killed his partner–”

“Okay. I get it.”

“How the fuck does Connie sleep in the same bed as you?”

“I guess I don’t really toss and turn when I’m with her.” He pauses.

“She usually holds me – or I hold her. Not like a baby or anything, but you know…”

“You need to be cuddled to sleep? Seriously?”

He really seems to think about it. “No.”

“‘Cause the only way I’m holding you is in a headlock.”

“How do women sleep with you, huh? You’re wide awake and pissy about it.”

“When I said women sleep with me, I didn’t mean it literally.”

“So, you kick ‘em out of bed? Sounds about right,” Murphy says it with a smirk, like he’s gotten one over on Javi, but he hasn’t. 

“No, they know to leave. Or, I do. It’s bedroom etiquette. You wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’ve got something better – a wife. She sleeps with me for free.”

“God knows why.”

“She loves me. I’m loveable, Javi.”

That one strikes a nerve, but Javi doesn’t dare let it show.

“Maybe by her standards.”

“You saying she has low standards?”

“She could do better. She’s a very nice woman.”

“What does that mean?”

“Relax, man. I’m not trying to fuck your wife. I’m not that much of a scumbag.”

“Good. Not that I think she’d be into you anyway.”

“Plus, I can get laid without traveling to Miami.”

Steve huffs. It was a low blow, Javi’s willing to admit that.

“Okay, listen. We gotta be up in the morning, so let’s get practical here. You with me, Murphy?”

“Aye aye, cap,” he says with the least enthusiasm. 

“So, she’s been gone for a while, and I don’t see you coming to work looking like complete shit – at least, not any worse than you used to — so how are you getting to sleep?”

“I mean, I usually, you know…”

When Javi gestures to say go on, though he’s pretty sure he knows, Steve says much quieter, “Jerk off.”

“Was it that hard to say it?”

“I mean, it’s a little awkward.”

“What are you? 12? Everyone jerks off.”

“So, what? You want me to just jerk off?”

“Not here,” he says incredulously at the notion despite the fact that it does excite him. “In the shower if you have to.”

“I don’t usually do it in the shower.”

“You get to try something new then.”

“If I have to get up, then dry off, get dressed again, I think it’ll just start the whole process over.”

“So what? You want me to go stand outside and wait for you to finish?”

“The idea doesn’t sound unappealing…”

“No way am I doing that.”

Pissed off and admittedly aroused by the thought, he suggests, “You know what? Fuck it – put up a pillow barrier between us, and go ahead. Find something on pay-per-view so I don’t have to hear anything from you.”

“You serious?”

“If it’ll help you sleep.”

They fight over pillows and that’s only half the battle.

“Do you think they’ll know we’re buying–”

“Yes, so get something normal, will you? I don’t want anything weird showing up on the bill.”

“Relax. What’d you think I was gonna pick?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really think about your porn habits.”

“Well, what do you like?”

“What?”

“What do you like, Javi? We should find something we agree on.”

“So, now I’m a part of this?”

“I was trying to be nice.”

Javi stays silent while Steve rattles off possibilities. “We’ve got lesbians, mature women, threesomes…”

Javi gives him an unenthusiastic ‘sure’ to each option. 

“Oh, here’s the gay section,” Murphy says with a laugh.

And to avoid an awkward silence, Javi jokes - or tries to, “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

And Steve’s head turns around faster than you’d think was possible. “Oh, so you’ve tried it?”

“I was making a joke.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Why do you even care? Just stop stalling and pick something.”

Though he’s clearly still considering prying, he settles on whatever the most basic shit is – some blonde girl getting railed by some dude with a cock big enough to distract from his lackluster face. 

It’s about a minute of fake moaning that somehow makes things worse before Steve asks, “Do you think if we change the channel, they won’t charge us since we barely watched it?”

“Might as well try. Turn on PBS or something. That shit’s always free.”

It’s free but it’s a science documentary. Slimy jellyfish and the old men who know a concerning amount about them flood the screen. 

“Just turn off the TV,” Javi says, unable to hide his disgust.

Murphy spits into his hand, takes his cock out, and Javi is listening intently to it all. It makes him uncomfortably hard. He won’t sleep if he doesn’t get off, and at this point there’s no real shame in it. 

They breathe in tandem, each strangled sound egging the other one on, until Steve dares to ask, “So, you said you’ve watched gay porn before?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t say you haven’t.”

“Fine. Yes, I have. Can we go back to not talking right now?”

“But I’m curious.”

“Keep your curiosity to yourself.”

“Have you ever done anything with a guy?”

“Why? Do you want me to tell you a story about me getting a handjob from some guy outside a bar when I was hammered? You really wanna get off to that?”

“Maybe. If you can jazz it up a little.”

“I barely even remember it.”

That’s not entirely true. 

Sure, the memory’s faded a little over time, but he wasn’t blackout drunk like he wants Steve to believe. He was young, and a little bit desperate due to a recent breakup. It was hard to put on a face that said ‘I’m approachable and you’d have a good time if I took you home,” so the only attention he got that night was from a guy only a bit older than him, he’d guess. It was the kind of thing where he should’ve known it wasn’t friendly banter from the beginning, and maybe he did – he just didn’t want to believe that he was letting this happen, that he was engaging in it, that he was enjoying it. 

It got a little touchy-feely in a way real Texan men aren’t supposed to, unless they’re faggots. The word rings in Javi’s ear, and it’s the only thing louder than Murphy’s heavy breathing, which is far closer in time and space. 

The guy – whose name he’ll likely never know – led him outside and whatever ‘it’ was went down in an alley.

“Did you like it?”

“I liked it enough.”

Enough to cum from a handjob alone, and enough to try to give one back, and the only reason he didn’t really get to was because his hands shook, and it was summertime. 

‘You’re not used to this are you?’.

‘No, I’ve never…’

‘It’s okay,’ he said, removing Javi’s hand, gingerly, almost apologetic.

The goodbye kiss was anything but – it was tongue and teeth, indulgent. You could say it was self-indulgent on the other guys’ part, but you’d be wrong. It felt like it lasted longer than the handjob, and maybe it did, but god, that’d be too embarrassing to admit even in his own mind. It was the kind of kiss that dared Javi’s cock to spring back to life and he fought it desperately. 

‘See you around.’

But the pair never did. Javi convinced himself it never happened and during drinking games or friendly teasing he insisted that he’d never touched another man, just like every other friend of his. 

So, why would he tell Steve?

Before Murphy can ask another goddamn question, he turns it on the fucker, “Why don’t you tell me about your sex life?”

“I mean, besides Connie, there hasn’t been anyone since I was, fuck, I don’t know…”

“Is Connie any good?”

“Of course she’s good.”

Javi waits for the ‘but’ with a raised eyebrow, and it comes. 

“It just gets boring, alright? I love her, though.”

And Javi knows he does. He knows he does because Murphy can’t sleep without her in bed beside him. 

It doesn’t miss Javi that Steve’s breath falters more when Javi’s name leaves his mouth. 

“Javi…” He’s been stroking himself the entire time, but he’s not close, it’s not a plea to cum. It’s a hesitant question. 

“Yes, Murphy?”

“Why do you always call me by my last name?”

“I don’t know, Steve.”

It’s just to get a reaction out of him, which it does, subtle enough that another person might not catch on, but Javi’s waiting for it. 

And the reason is probably somewhere between the fact that he calls everyone by last name - and, come to think of it, it’s actually kinda weird that Murphy calls him by his first name - and because he feels like exchanging first names equals real friendship and somehow, that’s too intimate for Javi.

“Is that better?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Steve…”

“Yeah?”

“You want this, right?”

“If you do.”

“You gotta tell me. ‘Cause I’m not doing anything if you’re not into it.”

The distance between them dissipates. It doesn’t matter who closes the gap – if one didn’t, the other would. 

Javi looks back and forth between Steve’s cock and his mouth and tries to decide what’s right. Because he wants both, he has to find another metric to measure, to make his choices for him. 

Dive right in and take Steve’s cock in his hand to avoid the intimacy that locking lips requires? Kiss him to quiet everything including his own mind? 

He’s dumbfounded for a moment and you’d think he’s the one who’s never touched a man before if you didn’t know any better. The thing is: Javi can jerk another man off, even give a likely mediocre drunken blowjob. The difference is, this is Steve, naked in bed beside him. The difference is, he’s thought about this. The decision to do this shouldn’t be this easy when he’s sober. But his inhibitions are dangerously low because he’s dreamed about this. 

He’s played out fantasies before that he knows wouldn’t - shouldn’t – become reality. There are countless reasons not to do this - Steve is married, this could ruin both of their careers, this could compromise the most important case in DEA history. 

There is only one reason this should happen: desire.

Javi leads with his heart not his head (admittedly, his dick has influenced this specific decision to a significant degree).

His contemplation is cut off by Murphy’s lips pressed to his. The kiss is hesitant only until Javi reciprocates. Then it leans more towards animalistic than sweet but it’s needier than anything. Between the two of them desperation has only ever led to tension that boils over into fighting, but somehow insomnia is all it took to get them here. 

His brain has one thought playing on loop - the simple fact that he is actively kissing Steve Murphy. Until his mind is free of thoughts. Sex usually works like that for him, particularly with women ‘cause he doesn’t have to worry about the persistent guilt and fear of getting caught in the back of his mind, but his stress rarely fades at just kissing. Maybe they’re not just kissing. It feels like something more. Javi can’t think, but he sure as hell can feel, and he’ll feel this for days, weeks, months, maybe years if he’s really unlucky and there’s no feeling strong enough to replace this one.

The pillows that stood between them are now strewn across the floor as are the pretences. This isn’t one coworker tolerating another’s nighttime routine – at the very least, this is a friend helping a friend in a time of need. But that sounds too innocuous – too generous, even sacrificial. What they’re doing is fumbling around in the dark (even though Javi aches to turn on the lamp, to see, to savor) trying to find out how to get this over with the quickest, what will make the other cum first while learning how to drag this out, how to tease, how to get the other to the edge and no further. How to do this together. 

It starts with the kiss, with Javi lazily stroking his own cock until he dares to place his hand on Steve’s inner thigh. It’s a hesitant question and a final warning, and in response Steve’s breath hitches. They lock eyes for a moment before Javi removes Steve’s hand from his cock and replaces it with his own. There is no protest, only a low groan before he takes Javi’s cock in his hand with a firm grip that makes it feel more like retaliation than returned favor. It also feels way too fucking good. Javi takes it as an invitation for competition, his right hand is more dedicated and focused, moving faster while his left grabs Steve’s jaw and brings him into a kiss fueled by a passion that feels closer to rage than love. 

Javi takes Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugs on it slightly, as if a gentle pull in the right direction would bring Steve into Javi’s lap. It elicits a startled jump in his ragged breath - and they were long overdue to pull back for a breath - Javi takes the opportune moment to tell Steve to come closer in a voice that one uses to discipline an unruly soldier. 

Javi has to maintain a certain amount of control through aggression lest he let the mask slip and reveal his own nervousness, his curiosity, how little he really knows about how this is supposed to go, and how much he wants to press Steve flat on the mattress and take this slow. 

He finds himself moving hastily to shift himself and his partner - now in work and in sex - into a position where he can jerk them both off simultaneously, cocks loosely held together in his fist. Javi’s thrusts lead and Steve’s follow. 

Neither of them last very long. 

There’s a collective initial sigh of physical relief and a subsequent realization of what had just occurred between the two of them. 

What is he supposed to say? ‘Thanks’? ‘Sleep tight’? Is he supposed to say anything at all?

Murphy gets out of bed disturbing the relative peace in the air. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Javi asks.

“Shower,” Murphy says, leaning in the doorway of the bathroom. “Ever heard of one?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna take a shower ‘cause it would make it harder to sleep.”

And that’s how we ended up here. 

“I’m not going to bed like this,” he says, gesturing to the mess he and Javi had both left on his stomach. 

“I don’t wanna go to bed like this either, but it’s four in the goddamn morning.” They’re back to whisper yelling and somehow it feels nice to have that sense of normalcy. 

Murphy stands there waiting for a better argument, but instead he gets Javi storming out of bed straight towards him and dragging him into the shower. 

It’s not romantic, not in the slightest - they argue over the water temperature and who’s taking up too much room. They don’t wash each other’s hair or look at each other with stars in their eyes. But, they leave their clothes on the floor and slip into bed naked, not holding each other, but not wincing when their shoulders touch. 

“Did that really happen last night?” Murphy asks with a yawn, forcing Javi to confront reality after he’s pressed snooze more than once. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “You tell me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so.” He sounds more confident with every word. 

“Okay. Then, I think so too.” 

[bakubabeyy]

Want to see what I've learned?

Ridoc wants to show you a skill he's been working on with his signet.

*18+ MINORS DNI*

Warnings: Smut with minimal plot, established relationship, use of the nickname, "baby"

Word Count: ~1.2k

I sat with Violet and Rhiannon in the cafeteria for breakfast. My muscles ached from our morning run. Ridoc had not shown his face yet, but he was not one to get up early. I’ve had to wake him up on more than one occasion so he wasn’t late for formation. Violet was staring down Xaden from two tables away, swirling her food around with her fork. 

“Eat your breakfast.” Rhiannon chastised her. 

“He’s just so frustrating.” She grumbled. 

“Xaden?” I asked. 

“Yes.” She groaned. 

I couldn’t help but giggle. Those two were down bad for each other and neither would admit it. The question was whether they weren’t admitting it to each other or themselves. 

“I just wish—“ She was cut off by Ridoc sprinting into the room, sliding in next to me. 

“Hey, baby.” He pecked my lips, before leaning in close to whisper in my ear, “I learned something new with my signet, wanna see?”

Goosebumps littered my skin at his tone. I shifted in my chair, looking over our table to see if the others had noticed. By the look on their faces, they had. Luckily, they were polite enough not to comment as Violet continued with her grievances against Xaden. Her words fell on deaf ears. With the hungry look in Ridoc’s eyes, nothing else mattered to me. 

I cleared my throat, “Of course I wanna see.” 

He gripped my bicep, pulling me from my seat, “Cover for us in Battle Brief.” He did not give the others a chance to respond before leading me out of the cafeteria and back to his room on the first-year floor. Which at this point is our room. I hadn’t slept in my own room for quite some time now. 

“You’re not going to break something else in our room, are you?” I questioned him, bending my knee and leaning to the side. 

“Not unless you want me to.” He stalked towards me, his eyes darkening. 

“I thought you wanted to show me something with your signet.” I took a step, my back hitting the door. I did not think he would hurt me, but I was caught off guard. 

He smirked, “You’ll see.” His lips were on mine before I had a moment to think. My hands tangled in his hair, causing him to groan. He gripped the back of my neck, deepening the kiss. Our tongues battled for dominance, neither willing to relent. He nipped my lower lip with his teeth, pulling away gently. Leaning his forward against mine, both of us tried to catch our breath. 

“I’m not complaining but, this doesn’t seem signet related.” I smiled. 

“That sounds a bit like a complaint.” His hands skimmed underneath my thighs, prompting me to jump. 

I wrapped my legs around his waist as he attached his lips to mine once more. Without breaking the kiss, he led us over to the bed, lowering me down onto it. He smiled into my mouth. 

“What?” I laughed.

“I love you.” He said, his eyes glossy. 

“I love you too.” I giggled. 

He removed my clothes in an instant, standing above me. 

“Well this isn’t fair.” I grumbled, looking at his fully clothed form. 

“You’re so greedy.” He chuckled. 

His deep laugh sent need straight down to my core. I'd never had a man’s laugh affect me so much. Although I’d never been with a man that looked like Ridoc before. He laughed often, which meant I took him to bed often. He pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere in the room. 

“Better?” He teased. 

“Yes.” I smiled. 

I moaned as he leaned over my form and I could feel just how badly he needed me. His lips attached to my neck. Nipping and kissing in all the right places. He sucked on an extra sensitive spot. I leaned my head to the side allowing him better access. I tangled my hands in his hair, gripping tight. He groaned. 

“Ridoc.” I whined. 

He laughed into my neck before placing open mouthed kisses down my abdomen. He stopped just above where I needed him most. I arched my back as his hand squeezed my breast gently. His mouth attacked the other, swirling his tongue around my nipple before attaching his mouth entirely. I threw my head back and groaned. Then the cold crept in. Oh. My. Gods. His mouth slowly cooled down with each passing moment. His teeth grazed over my hardened nipple. 

“Fuck.” I moaned. 

While he continuously changed the temperature of my one breast, his hand twirled around the other, squeezing and pawing like a cat making biscuits. He pinched with his thumb and forefinger and I could barely contain my moans. I arched my hips towards his causing him to groan. He removed his mouth from my breast, looking up at me. 

“Was that alright?” He asked. 

“That was amazing.” I said, sounding needier than intended. 

“Good.” He laughed, “Cause I have other ideas.” 

He trailed kisses down my abdomen once more before immediately attaching his mouth to my clit. I arched into him, but he held my hips down with his arms wrapped around the backs of my thighs. He swirled and circled my bud before licking a strip up the entirety of my core. I tangled my hands in his hair, pulling slightly. He groaned against my core, the vibrations causing my eyes to roll back in my head. Two of his fingers entered me and I couldn’t help but rock against his movements. He laughed once more before wrecking my world. His mouth cooled down drastically. The sensation was almost too much on my sensitive clit. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I shouted. 

Just when it felt like too much, the cold dissipated, but his movements continued. What he did next shocked me even more. The fingers pumping inside of me began to freeze. The ice melted inside, adding more than enough lubricant. My eyes rolled into my head. 

“That feel good, baby?” Ridoc asked. 

“mhmm.” I said, unable to form a coherent thought. 

He chuckled before continuing his assault on my clit. A knot formed in my lower belly and I knew I was getting close. Ridoc found that perfect spot inside, pressing repeatedly, each time colder than the last. My mind blurred as my body heated. I threw my head back as my hips moved in tandem with Ridocs fingers, trying to gain more friction. I could stay here forever, in this perfect moment. 

“Let go for me, baby.” Ridoc coaxed. 

My back arched off the bed, a scream ripping from my throat. Waves of pleasure washed over my body. Ridoc continued thrusting his fingers inside, working me through the high. Gods, I wanted all of him. I breathed heavily, trying to come down. Ridoc removed his fingers, hovering above and pushing my hair out of my face. 

“That was hot.” I said, still trying to catch my breath.

“No, that was cold.” Ridoc winked, laughing at his own stupid joke. 

I rolled my eyes, lifting my head to kiss his lips. 

“Wanna see if I can do that with my dick?” He asked, pulling away. 

I threw my head back and laughed, “Yes, yes I do.”

[sylus-hds-7213]

Sylus’s expression shifted subtly at her words, and for a moment, there was a flicker of mild offense in his gaze. He leaned back, crossing his arms, but the playful edge in his voice remained. “A flashy dress for others to see you in? Amaryllis, do you really think I would dress you up just to make you a spectacle for others?” he said, though the hint of a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “No, I want you to wear it for yourself. Or, perhaps, for me—if you’re feeling generous.” He raised an eyebrow, studying her carefully. “It’s not about others, and it certainly isn’t about me parading you around like some prize. I would rather have you wear it when you feel it’s right, whether it’s in private or when we go somewhere together.”

There was something heavier in the way he said it, something almost possessive, though he let it fade just as quickly as it came. Leaning back, he gave a small, knowing smirk at her eagerness. “No, not an aethercore this time. The auction is for a private property. Remote. Far from here.” He didn’t elaborate further, didn’t offer the reason why he wanted it. If she wanted to know, she’d have to pry.

At her suggestion of picking his favorite vault, a chuckle rumbled in his throat.“That would be the one near my ranch. Horses, open space—it’s quieter there.” He didn’t usually share this kind of thing freely, but with her, he found himself revealing more than he planned to.

Then, just as she seemed lost in thought, he tilted his head slightly, watching her closely. His expression shifted to one of mild amusement as he continued, “Am I really in charge?” His voice was laced with amusement. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you have been running things. Bossing around Luke and Kieran, redecorating the base with plants, plushies, and whatever else you’ve smuggled in.” He gestured loosely, his tone teasing. “Remind me again—who’s in charge here, kitten?”

She doesn't say much. She's just staring at him. Eyes slightly narrowed. Like she's got something on her mind.

((hello hope you don't mind me throwing my MC at you.))

Sylus leaned back against the edge of his desk, arms crossed casually over his chest as his eyes locked onto hers. The smirk tugging at his lips was as much a part of him as his razor-sharp wit, and it only deepened under the weight of her gaze. He tilted his head slightly, one eyebrow arching in amused curiosity.

“Well,” he began, his voice carrying that familiar blend of charm and mischief, “if you’re trying to drill a hole between my eyes with that look, I’d say you’re getting close, sweetie. Though I’ll admit, it’s a lot less painful than some of the other ways people have tried to hurt me.”

He let the words linger for a moment, watching her expression carefully, like a cat watching a particularly intriguing mouse. Sylus wasn’t one to pry, not outright. “You’ve got that ‘something on your mind but not sure if you want to say it’ look,” he continued, his tone softening just enough to ease any tension. “Care to share? Or are you just going to keep me guessing?”

Sylus uncrossed his arms, holding up a hand as if to stop her from feeling pressured. “No obligations, of course. If you’d rather keep it to yourself, I won’t push. But…” His smirk returned, this time softer, more curious than sharp. “You’ve got my full attention, kitten.”

[aster-y]

thinking about all the things i cant see through his pictures and messages

[lvrsfilm]

Lieutenant Simon Riley has a favorite nurse. She's sweet as sugar and polite, stitching up every bloodied soldier with gentle words and touches so light they barely feel the push and pull of the suturing. Appreciative, whether they return the soft conversation or not. He likes the way she floats around the medical wing, the way she smiles softly at everyone, even him. He's sure she knows what he's been doing, but she isn't stopping him, so he assumes she doesn't mind.

Every morning, without fail she gets up and comes into the wing in a different colored pair of scrubs. A new color every day, never the same one twice in a week. She sits at the front desk or at another station somewhere around and sips a can of ginger ale through a straw, pretending she doesn't see Simon's eyes on her while she works.

"Wha's it t'day?" Simon says gruffly as he approaches her, bypassing the other nurses almost completely. "Blackberry," She says softly, looking up at him and displaying the can. He takes a look at her scrubs, and of course, they're a dark purple, matching the can. It suits her, he thinks. Not an obnoxious shade, one that matches her skin tone well. "Good?" He asks her, like he always does. "Not my favorite,' she says as she sets the can back down. He hums lowly in reply as his eyes linger on the fabric of her scrubs, the way the cloth dips over her soft curves.

"You hurt?" She asks him cheekily, "Or just taken an interest in the medical field?" He grunts, pulling his eyes away from her scrubs and meeting her own. "Nae," He says lowly. "Just passing by," he adds, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. Or reaching out to smooth out a wrinkle in her clothing, or tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

He doesn't know what else to say, wanting to keep her attention on him. "Suits ya," He ends up saying softly, trying to sound as gruff as possible, but his eyes are trained on hers, his hazel eyes staring into her own irises. "The purple." He grumbles, cursing inwardly because why is he acting like he's never spoken to a pretty bird before?

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She says sweetly, a nice red tinting the apples of her cheeks. Simon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Small talk hasn't ever been his strong suit, but walking away feels wrong, like cutting a thread that’s barely started to weave.

"You sure you're alright?" she asks again, but this time there's something softer in her voice. A note of genuine curiosity, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "You don’t usually linger this long."

He scowls—not at her, but at himself for being so obvious. "Dinnae know I was bein’ timed," he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You’re not. Just... noticed, is all." Her gaze flicks over him, quick and subtle, like she’s trying to piece him together without openly prying. She's familiar with Simon, knows how private he is. "Busy morning?"

He shrugs. "Same as usual. Training, Paperwork."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, but there’s a shadow of worry behind her eyes. "Sounds like you could use a break."

"Aye," he says gruffly, a hand leaving his pocket to scratch at the base of his balaclava. "Reckon this is it."

Her smile softens at that, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. There’s a weight in the air, something unspoken that presses against his chest, and hers. He wants to say more, to keep her talking, but the words are tangled up in his throat.

"Y’know," she says after a pause, "I think purple might actually suit you too."

His brows furrow softly, squinting at her a bit behind the mask, and for a split second, he wonders if she’s teasing him. But her expression is sincere, her eyes glinting with a quiet kind of amusement.

"Me?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Don’t reckon that’s in regulation."

She shrugs lightly, leaning against the desk. "Wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe a mask or something. Just a little color." There’s a playful glint in her eyes now, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself.

"Don’t think I’d pull it off," he mutters, though there’s a faint warmth creeping up his neck, hidden by the black fabric.

"I disagree," she says softly, and the weight of her gaze feels heavier than before. He looks at her then, really looks, and finds himself rooted to the spot.

"You always this cheeky with the patients?" he grumbles, trying to mask the fact that she’s gotten under his skin.

"Only the ones who hover around the nurses' station without a good excuse," she quips, her smile widening just a fraction. "But I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime, Lieutenant."

His heart gives a traitorous thump at her words, but he swallows it down and grunts in reply. "I’ll hold ya to that," he says, his voice rougher than he intends.

As he turns to leave, her voice calls him back again, soft and lilting. "Oh, and Simon?"

He stops dead in his tracks. She’s never used his name before. Slowly, he turns his head to glance at her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.

"Next time," she says, lifting her can of ginger ale in a mock toast, "you could at least bring one of these to share."

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. "Aye," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll see what I can do."

And as he walks out of the wing, he finds himself already wondering what color she’ll be wearing tomorrow.

[moonstruckme]

hi my love i’m obsessed with all your works and this is my first request!

poly! marauders and cuteness aggression. like maybe reader coming home a bit tipsy from girls night and just seeing her boys and losing it. grabbing remus’ face and just kissing all over his cheeks, gnawing on james’ biceps and playing with sirius’ hair or tracing his tattoos.

Hi lovely, thank you for requesting!

cw: alcohol

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 589 words

You leave a trail of things down the hallway that you swear you’ll pick up in the morning. Your bag, both shoes, your jacket. There’s no time to put any of it in its proper place, not when you know your boyfriends are all cozy and waiting for you in your bed. Everything else is secondary. 

The moment you get your eyes on them, it’s already too much. Remus is reading while Sirius chats to a nearly-asleep James, and you don’t know whether to scream or hug them or burst into tears. One feels more socially acceptable than the rest. 

A grin spreads over Sirius’ face as you crawl clumsily up the bed, so you go to him first. 

“Hi, baby.” You smear a kiss over his lips, burrowing your hands in his lovely, silken hair. It smells like his conditioner, smokey and heady and just slightly sweet. You wish you could snort it up into your nose like a drug. 

“Hi, baby,” Sirius says back at you, amused. “Did you have a good night?” 

“No,” you lament, though you think you might have enjoyed it at the time. 

Impulsively, you move to Remus, clambering across James to get on your quietest boyfriend’s lap. He’s already set down his book, so there are no barriers to your whims as you take his face between both hands, squishing his cheeks up and kissing them all over. You think you can hear the other boys laughing somewhere beyond your lovesick haze. Remus’ skin grows warmer with each ardent press of your lips. 

“None of you were there,” you go on. It’s impossible to articulate the full extent of this injustice. “You were here, being so lovely and perfect and lovely without me.” 

“That’s lovely twice.” Remus seems to recover somewhat from your surprise attack. His hand comes to rest in the middle of your back, a touch just for touch’s sake. “How much have you had, dove?” 

You make a petulant, whiny sound, burying your face in his neck. There will never be enough of them, your lovely boyfriends. Or maybe it’s that they’re enough, but you just can’t get enough. Regardless. You’re doomed to remain just on the brink of satisfaction. 

“Enough to know that I missed you a lot,” you say pitifully. 

“Awe, babydoll.” James’ laughter is at odds with his compassionate tone. “Come here, m’love.” 

This sounds like a grand idea to you. You wish they’d simply all squish together so you could lay your affections on them one by one, in rounds. 

James puckers his lips as you approach, readying for a kiss, and so is taken entirely aback when you forgo his face entirely. 

“Oh, well,” he says as you suck a hickey on his bicep. “I feel properly objectified.” 

You’re too pleased with yourself to be sorry. He flexes playfully, eliciting a string of giggles from you as you latch on tighter. 

“Do you think she’s been drugged?” you hear Remus ask. 

“Dunno.” James’ tone is fond. His big hand lands on the back of your head. 

“No, I sort of get it,” says Sirius. The mattress dips slightly, and then you feel him plant a wet kiss on your shoulder. “You just need to get it out of your system, yeah, sweetness?” 

You hum in affirmation. You wrap your arms around James’ middle, squeezing tight. 

“I love you so much,” you mumble into his skin. “I’m gonna kill you.” 

Your boyfriend’s frame rumbles with laughter. “Okay, lovie,” he says indulgently. “You go right ahead.”

[elliee3e]

‘primal needs’

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ logan howlett x f! reader

thinking about logan in heat/with ruts x reader who’s ovulating … ohhh my god !!

content warnings ;

piv, size difference, heat/ruts, dubious consent but it’s very slight okay mentions of breeding kink but not really ?? it’s just cumming inside but it’s implied guys

author’s note ;

guys, i’m going through a slight writer’s block urgh . but it’s christmas & so i came up with this little idea !! merry christmas to everyone & hopefully i can also get something out before or shortly after new years <33 MWAH!

the air between you two is thick and heavy as logan’s cock stretches you to the hilt like nothing else.

the sloppy mess and smell of pure, primal driven need also clings to the air — as well as the lewd, squelching sounds of him pounding into you: pulling delicious moans from both your bodies.

even after going like this for more times than you can count, both you and logan are anything but tired. and the reason for that?

logan’s in heat. all you could feel all week was him pressing up against you, whether from behind or in front, anywhere, anytime — just trying to get some friction. and as much as it pained you to shove him away each and every time, you didn’t want to risk anything in public.

however when he gets you to himself in his room, you two are all over eachother like rabid animals. he’s biting at your neck, big hands pulling at your clothes and nearly tearing them apart; not that you cared — all you wanted was to get dicked down, as your sex drive had spiked all week too.

and logan could tell. his already heightened senses only peaked when he was in heat: causing him to sniff you out from far away even, the sweet scent of your pussy dripping for him was enough to drive him to find you no matter where you were. and when he did, best believe he’ll drag you somewhere just to toy with your pussy.

“ah, look at her. always a sloppy mess for me, ain’ she?” he’d tease, lips hovering right over your neck as his hand had started to make it’s descent to slip into your panties, fingers already dragging lazy circles over your clit.

it was always a messy combination.

even in the mornings, when logan would wake up first, he’d notice you still asleep and slot his knee between your thighs and up your little short nightdress — nudging you awake by rubbing his knee against your clit through your already damp panties. by the time you’d wake up, you’d feel his warm cock already pressing against your folds, wake up to the sight of him on top of you, his arms pressed on either side of your pillow. “this okay, doll? m’ sorry, i couldn’t wait..” he’d grunt, voice still rough and tired, but you nodded in silent agreement — needing this just as much as him and feeling as he then sunk his cock into your wet, eager walls no problem — a groan leaving both him and you.

when you would wake up first, it was a little different, as you’d find yourself spreading your thighs to get onto his with a little whine. you rocked your hips against his thigh needily, awaking the man easily. he’d wake up to feel your heat rubbing up against his thigh.

“mm.. well look at my pretty princess, grindin’ like a lil puppy all over me—..” his tired voice would finally speak up as he registered the situation in his mind, his cock already starting to strain against his boxers. it made you whine for more, as his big hand shamelessly pulled your hand onto him to palm his cock — the beginning of a morning you two knew would last all afternoon.

and when i mean anytime, anywhere, i mean it. the man’s practically a dog, a dog in heat if you may. he’s absolutely rabid when in heat and will look for any excuse to get you someplace private just to get some release.

sometimes, you feel like you can barely keep up, with the way he’s manhandling you and shifting your position so he can get the best friction on his cock — for example, you could be on your back and this man, with his godforsaken huge hands, will shamelessly turn you onto your stomach and hold your head down against the pillow, slipping into your sweet pussy from behind to slam his cock against that spot he knows has you seeing stars, from the way your words turn into jumbled whines and moans.

and from that, he could also easily turn you back over into a mating press. his favorite. he’d most likely be like that for a while, until he empties his cum into you and has you doing the same all over his cock, before sitting back and starting to pull you onto his lap to ride him for another orgasm, a repeat of all week all over again.

[no-144444]

quick tweet, big problem- o.piastri

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summary: you and oscar are together, but the world doesn't need to know you're engaged. lando decides they do.

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! kravitz! reader

(context in case you don't know him: ted kravitz is a skyf1 presenter)

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“Red flag, red flag, come in,” Tom said.

Annoyance surged through him. This race was not going his way at all. He started slowing down, following closely behind Lawson. “Who’s off?”

“Colapinto,” he explained. “It’s a big one, probably a 20 to 30 minute red flag.”

For fucks sake. Oscar had told them it was too dangerous. They didn’t listen. He paid the price. Now Max was up into p2, and Lando was stuck in p5. Oscar couldn’t even do anything to help. He grunted, getting out of the car and following Tom back to the garage. 

He was ushered over to his engineers, but honestly all he wanted was to see you. Being Lando’s race engineer, Oscar had seen you around the paddock in some of his first weeks and befriended you, on top of that, he’d fallen madly in love with you and asked you out 11 months ago. You two had been going out for 11 months now, and, while he could see you between the screens as his engineers and Andrea gave him advice about the race, he kind of tuned them out, too busy staring at you.

“Jesus, loverboy, just go say hi and come back, alright? We need you thinking with your head, not your dick,” Zak scoffed, finally allowing him to see you. 

Quickly, Oscar rounded the corner of the desk and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on the top of yours. You didn’t stop talking to Lando, explaining the plan for the rest of the race. 

“But I fucking said to stay out,” Lando whined. 

“No, you told us to box you. We told you to stay out,” you explained, your voice calm. 

Lando just scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” then walked off to go brood somewhere else. 

“Shitty weather, eh?” you mused.

“Awful,” he nodded. 

“Is that sweat or rain?” you asked, feeling how wet he truly was. 

“Both,” he sighed. He knew there were about forty cameras on the two of you. Moments between you two that the public saw were few and far between. You liked it that way. He liked it that way. Privacy was something he essentially gave up when he became a public figure, but that didn’t mean you had to. “How’s Lando doing?”

“He’s just pissed away his chance at World Champion,” you took a deep breath, leaning into him. “And I’ll be the one he screams at during the end of the race. I’ll be the one having to explain it to Zak, and I won’t get home until probably tomorrow. And my dad is staring at us.”

Oscar groaned. “Fucking hate dealing with this shit.” 

You nodded. “Me too. But at least there’s no race for two weeks.” 

“We’re off to Melbourne,” he reminded you. “Have to do the family rounds, since we’re engaged,” he beamed. Over the last break, Oscar had proposed. It was the happiest moment of your lives (closely followed by Oscar’s win in Baku), and now you were on your way to visit his extended family for the first time. Since he’d met most of your family (especially considering Ted Kravitz was your father and Oscar met him before he met you), it was only fair that you make the trip and meet his.

Before that though, you had to get through today. 

“You’d better go chat with your engineers,” you took your hands off his. “Zak is giving me dirty looks.”

He rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t want to.” 

You chuckled. “Go,” you urged him. “If you get higher than p9 I’ll give you a kiss at the end of the race.”

“Good deal,” he pondered. “Or I could just kiss you now,” and with that, he pressed his lips to yours quickly, before running off to his side of the garage. 

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Lando was an idiot, but he was Oscar's idiot, so you didn't kill him. You knew it was only a matter of time before someone slipped up, whether it be your dad, you, or Oscar. You didn't suspect it would be Lando, though. You did enjoy watching Oscar shout at him though. That was pretty funny.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[rafesangelita]

rafe jerking off to one of kook!sweetheart!reader’s pictures and making a mess out of himself? 😵‍💫

warnings: reader sends pics, male masturbation, suggestive ending

[10:56 PM] sweetheart <3: 1 attached image

[10:56 PM] sweetheart <3: i just got this sample in for my next collection, what do you think?

rafe stared at his phone, utterly speechless at the sight. how was it that he was the one to receive a picture of you in the skimpiest lingerie he’s ever seen?

he swallowed thickly, his jaw clenching as he inspected every detail, every curve of your body in the photo. you were obviously in bed, the thought of him barging into your room and ripping every last piece of lace off of you before fucking you into oblivion was, without a doubt, something he was seriously considering doing right now.

mind scrambling to write a reply, rafe cursed under his breath as another picture lit up his screen.

[11:00 PM] sweetheart <3: 1 attached image

[11:00 PM] sweetheart <3: cute little detail, right?

if rafe thought he was losing his mind at the first photo, he was definitely losing it now. there, in the middle of your bra, hung a small gold pendant with the letter ‘R’, the damned thing glinting underneath the dim lighting of your room.

rafe was already a jealous hothead, so to see you put his own little mark on you willingly? oh, he was going to show you his appreciation. with his phone long forgotten next to him, rafe stroked his already hard cock, wishing his hand was your own as he brushed the tip with his thumb.

everything you did drove this man insane. the little glances at his lips whenever you two would be flirting, the way you rested your pretty hand on his thigh when he’d make you laugh, all of it— rafe felt it all boiling down to one thing. and he needed it bad.

“s-shit,” rafe shuddered, his eyes screwing shut as he imagined you on top of him, that pendent with his initial swinging in his face as you rode him like there was no tomorrow. he would bet all of his daddy’s money and tanneyhill, that you’d feel like heaven wrapped around him.

it was embarrassing to rafe how fast he felt himself approaching his high. his mouth fell open, a throaty moan falling from his lips as his hips bucked into his fist. he wondered if you’d let him cum or make him work for it, just like everything else.

the first time he tried to talk to you, you ignored him until you saw for yourself that he wasn’t in any other girls ear. everything, whether it was a peck on his cheek, or simply letting him take you out to lunch, you made his actions determine whether or not he was going to get what he wanted.

“holy fuck!” he whispered, his chest now rising and falling as the band in his stomach threatened to snap. never in his life had he wished he was somewhere else right now, that ‘somewhere’ being between your thighs, hearing your sweet cries of pleasure. rafe couldn’t decide if he wanted to fuck his cum inside of you or paint your face, but after this? he figured he’d do both.

“oh, my g-” rafe’s words were cut short when his orgasm hit him, his jaw falling slack as his eyebrows knitted together. spilling his load into his hand, rafe groaned as his cock twitched in his boxers, a hiss sounding from his lips as he continued to move his hand languidly over his length.

by this point, it’d been well over thirty minutes since rafe had left you on seen, your ego a little hurt that he hadn’t responded to any of your texts after you dolled yourself up just for him. just as you were about to call it a night, your phone dinged with a message from none other than the man himself.

[11:33 PM] ray <3: made a mess. i’m getting in the shower and then i’m making my way over there. be ready for me, doll.