#i’m falling in love with one of my friends

[formula-nyoom]

I'm Proud of You

Pairing: Platonic!Grid x Fem!Driver!Reader

Summary: Being the youngest and newest driver to the grid is not an easy adjustment to make and it ends up taking a toll on you. Thankfully some of the other drivers on the grid are there to look out for you.

A/N: Was going to wait till Saturday to post this, but I had a shit day today so I decided to post it now. Hope you enjoy!

~~~

No one really knew what Mercedes was thinking when they announced that they were signing you, an F2 rookie who placed 6th in the Formula 2 Championship, as the one to take the 2nd Mercedes seat. Everyone expected you to be named a reserve driver, so that you could prepare for the jump to F1. Yet here you were, jumping straight into the deep end. Even after you heard the news that you would be racing in Formula One, you were left more with shock and confusion rather than excitement. 

Sure, you had done a couple of test drives for Mercedes and had participated in an F1 practice session or two, but you didn’t think that was enough to put you in contention for a Formula One seat. 

But the media thought otherwise, and so did Mercedes. 

Both your friends and family tried to reassure you that you were good enough to race in Formula One, and you had seen countless interviews of Toto Wolf saying that he had made the right decision in signing you.

But none of that could take away the fact that all eyes were now on you. 

The first female to race in Formula One, and now the youngest on the grid.

The season hadn’t even started and yet you felt like Atlas holding the world weight of pressure that was placed upon your shoulders. You now have something to prove. And everyone was waiting for you to either fly or fall.

Maybe that’s why you couldn’t find the courage to cross the turnstile that led into the paddock during the first race weekend of the season. Crossing over would make everything real. And you would be doing it alone, as both your family and your manager weren't able to get to the track till later in the day. 

“Did you forget your badge on the first day?” A voice said from behind you. You turned to see Charles and Pierre.

 “You can just jump over the gate. Yuki does it all the time.” Pierre said. 

 “No, I have my badge…I’m just nervous to enter the paddock.” You said, motioning with your head to the turnstiles.

 “What makes you so nervous?” Charles asked.

“There’s a lot of people. And cameras. And people with cameras. I feel like I’m gonna get swarmed as soon as my foot crosses the entrance.” You said.

 “You’re not wrong. The media doesn’t really know the definition of personal space.” Charles said, taking a sip of his coffee. “If you want, I can act as a buffer and draw the attention away while Pierre helps you get past.”

 “Would that work? I just want to get to the Mercedes hospitality.”

“Oh trust me, the media loves Charles. They’ll be too focused on getting pictures of him to see us walk by.” Pierre said. You looked back at the people past the entrance and there seemed to be more than when you last looked. 

 “Well…if you’re sure it will work then we might as well try.” You said. Charles smiled and gave you a nod. He then took the sunglasses that were hanging on his hat and put them on before entering the paddock. Immediately, the people that had cameras flocked to Charles and started to take his picture as he tried to walk through the paddock. You and Pierre waited a couple moments to build enough distance between you and Charles before the two of you entered the paddock. You clutched the straps of your bag tightly, expecting the nearby paparazzi to turn around and immediately start taking pictures of you and Pierre, but they were too focused on Charles.  

Pierre’s hand hovered over your shoulder as he tried to block you from most of the cameras while guiding you through the paddock. While the two of you managed to pass Charles without getting noticed, you couldn’t help but feel a bit claustrophobic, seeing Charles surrounded by so many people trying to take his picture. Eventually, you and Pierre managed to make it to the Mercedes hospitality building.

“Is it always going to be like this?” You asked Pierre.

 “Unfortunately, yes. Especially since you’re the newest on the grid. I recommend you invest in a good pair of sunglasses. But I’m proud of you for getting past your first swarm of paparazzi.” Pierre said, ruffling your hair. You laughed and swatted his hand away as Charles walked up to the two of you.

 “Whew! Thank god Lewis walked in. I felt like those reporters and paparazzi would never leave.” Charles said.

 “Sorry for making you go through that.” You said, feeling a bit guilty. 

“Pas de soucis. I’m used to it and know how to handle them. Though I will advise that you never enter the paddock by yourself. The reporters are like vultures.” Charles said. “Anyway, we will see you at the press conference, no?”

 “Yep. I’ll see you there.” You said. Charles patted your shoulder before him and Pierre headed to their own team's hospitality. 

~~~

You were beginning to hate the press conferences that you had to go to. Any question that was directed towards you involved your performance on track, or lack thereof as some reporters like to put it. You were getting tired of having to answer questions that made you feel like a failure.

“This question is for (Y/N). We’re now five races into the season and you’ve been continuously out qualified and out placed by your teammate, George? Is there a certain struggle that you’re having with the car that may be the cause of this?”

If you could walk away from this question, you would. But instead you stayed in your seat and picked up the microphone next to you. Damn Mercedes PR training.

 “There’s still some learning with the car. The engineers have said that the car isn’t up to the standards they want it to be, so I am struggling a bit on track.” You said, giving your best PR approved answer that you could manage.

“But would it be safe to say that you are under performing at Mercedes in comparison to your teammate?” The reporter asked. You tried to steal your expression and act like the comment didn’t bother you.

 “What kind of question is that?” It wasn’t you that asked it, but Lando, who was sitting to your right. You looked at him with some confusion. So did the reporter.

“Is there something you would like to add, Lando?”

“Yea. You can’t say she’s underperforming when she’s a rookie that has only completed five races.” Lando said, an upset expression clear on his face. The reporter cleared his throat.

 “I’m just saying, some have doubts that Mercedes were too hasty in signing an F2 rookie and I wanted to know if that was being reflected in (Y/N)’s driving.” The reporter said, trying to control the situation

 “I think we already know your opinion on Mercedes' decision based on the questions you ask.” Carlos said, who was sitting next to Lando. “I agree with Lando that it’s unfair to judge (Y/N) based on her first five races.”

 “I’d say she’s actually doing pretty good for a rookie, considering she’s been able to score points in two out of the 5 races she’s done so far.” Lando said.

 “Much more than you have ever done.” Carlos said to the reporter. You tried to hide the smile that was slowly forming on your face but inevitably failed as you picked your microphone back up.

“To my two fellow drivers points, I think you’re discounting me too early. I will admit that there is still a learning curve and with the continuous upgrades that Mercedes keeps bringing to the car, I am constantly having to adjust to all the new additions while also trying to get used to driving a Formula One car every other weekend.” You said, making direct eye contact with the reporter. “But I will eventually get used to the car. And when I do, I think I will be able to match George and possibly start out qualifying.”

That seemed to silence the reporter, as he sat back down. It also seemed to signify the end of the press conference as reporters started to pack their things and you and the other drivers sitting on the couch with you got up and left the room.

“Mate, I’m so proud of you and how you handled that reporter.” Lando said once you were out of the room. He placed his hand on your shoulder and pulled you into a side hug.

 “I was ready to walk out of the press conference when I heard that question. Why do these reporters always have to compare me to George?”

 “Because that's what they do. All of us get compared to our teammates because our teammates are seen as our biggest competition.” Carlos said. “You’re gonna get it more because you’re new.”

“Just remember that you can refuse to answer any questions that make you uncomfortable.” Lando said. 

 “Even the sexist ones?” You asked. Carlos and Lando nodded their heads.

“Especially the sexist ones.” Carlos said.

 “Better yet, I’ll answer them for you in the most ridiculous manner so that way they’ll stop asking you questions like that.” Lando said, making you laugh.

~~~

So many more races. Too many races. How does a Formula One driver get through all these races and have a chance to calm down? You were used to things going fast, but lately you just wanted a chance to slow down and breathe. 

That’s how you found yourself sitting on the floor in an empty VIP room, looking out the window at a mostly empty racetrack. Phone in hand. Staring at the clock that displayed the timezone back at home.

2:00AM. Your parents are definitely asleep right now. It’s not a good time to call them, no matter how much you want to. 

You were so focused on staring at your phone, you didn’t notice that Max had walked in.

“Sadly I don’t think drivers count as VIPs at the races they have to participate in.” Max said as he sat down next to you, a Redbull in his hand.

 “It’s the only place that I can find privacy and some peace and quiet.” You said still staring at your phone.

2:01AM.

You turned your phone off and let out a sigh, placing it down next to you.

 “Something the matter?” Max asked. You hesitated. You didn’t want to burden a 3-time World Champion with your upset thoughts, that was for your non-existent therapist. But then again, maybe talking to someone who has been in your position before may make you feel a bit better.

“I haven’t found a good time to call my parents since the start of the season.” You said. “They were able to make it to my first race, which was amazing. I was really glad they could come…but with so many races on the calendar, it’s hard for them to come to all of them, and all the changing time zones makes it hard to find a good time to call them.” You told him. “I miss talking to them.”

Max looked at you, took in how you were hugging your knees. Max sometimes forgets that you're now the youngest driver on the grid. On the track he sees you as competition, but now he sees you as the overwhelmed rookie that you looked like right now.

“I understand what you're feeling. It does get overwhelming a lot of times.” He said. You turned to him.

 “How do you deal with it?”

“No matter what country we are in, I try to find a day or time where I can get the farthest away from being a race car driver. A spot that’s farthest away from the track where I’m not “Max Verstappen, The Red Bull Driver”, but just “Max”.” He said.

 “Don’t you get recognized wherever you go?” You asked

“Absolutely. But being away from the track, even for an hour, makes me less overwhelmed. And in regards to wanting to talk to your parents, yes finding a time to communicate is hard, but sometimes you just have to throw timezones out the window and call your parents. Even if you can only talk to them for five minutes, it’s still five minutes that you get to talk to them.” Max explained. 

You thought about what Max said. It would make you feel a bit guilty, waking your parents up in the middle of the night just because you wanted to talk to them. But at the same time, sometimes they’re the only people that could make you feel better. You looked back down at your phone.

2:05 AM

You’d be ok with just five minutes.

 “I think I’m gonna call my parents.” You said to Max. He smiled and gave you a nod before standing up.

 “I’ll let you have your privacy. But my driver’s room is open if you want to talk about anything except racing.” Max said before leaving the room. You smiled at him before calling your parents.

~~~

Finally you had finished a race with what you thought was a good race result. P6 was your highest placement so far this season and it was something you should be proud of. But even if you thought it was a good result, you knew that people were going to comment that George had gotten P4, placing ahead of you again. To you, it felt like no matter how high you climbed up the grid, if George finished in front of you, your result wasn’t something to be proud of. 

You were knocked out of your thoughts by someone bumping your shoulder. It was Oscar walking alongside you. The fact that he was looking directly at you made you assume the bump was intentional to get your attention.

“Proud of you.” Oscar said. “This was just like that one season of Formula 2 we raced in together.”

You scoffed but smiled.

 “Yea, except I now have the knowledge not to shunt the car into the back of yours.” You said. You spent most of thid race chasing Oscar’s rear wing and were glad that you didn’t do what you had just said.

“That time was an accident. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” Oscar said. The two of you stopped walking as you got closer to where the podium interviews were taking place. The two of you watched as Charles was getting interviewed about his winning result. 

“So am I gonna see you up on that podium this season?” Oscar asked. You didn’t want to shake your head, but your body acted on instinct. You have been shaking your head a lot these days.

 “That seems unlikely. I haven’t been able to match George’s pace at all and he keeps out qualifying me.” You said. Oscar looked at you confused.

 “What are you on about? You were only 2 seconds off George and that was only because I was in between the two of you.” He said. You sighed.

“Yea but it was still 2 seconds behind George. It doesn’t matter how much time is between the two of us, if I’m behind him that’s all the media is going to care about.” You said. “I’ll never have the pace to pass him.”

“Hey!” Oscar grabbed your shoulders so that you would face him. “You have the pace. You’ve been building it up this whole season. At the start you were what? 10 seconds behind him? Now you’re two. Soon there’s going to be no gap because you’ll be ahead of him at some point. It’s bound to happen.”

Maybe it was the adrenaline finally wearing down, or the fact that Oscar was saying something you had been wanting to hear from your race engineer, or your team princpal, or hell, even it’s something the media should be noticing: that you’re catching up and proving your pace. Oscar’s words were making you feel like you belonged on the grid.

 “You think so?” You asked, needing the confirmation. 

“I know so. Screw what everyone else says.” Oscar said. “Are you proud of your P6?”

 You looked back at your car, then at the car of your teammate’s before your eyes landed back at Charles. You’d be in his spot at some point this season, you just knew it.

 “Yea. I’m proud of myself.”

#formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #platonic grid x reader #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #pierre gasly x reader #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x reader #oscar piastri x reader

[randombush3]

cool about it

alexia putellas x reader

summary: you can't find inspiration for your play

notes: this was rotting in my drafts and then i got drunk and finished it lolz

i refuse to read it back so have fun

The first time Alexia sees you, you are with your friends; sleeves rolled-up, wide smile on your face, a pool cue in your hand as you wield it like a weapon the minute one of the women beside you opens her mouth. She is drawn into observing, craving the knowledge of what you are being told; what is making you blush so furiously. She sees your mouth open, a blackhole that draws her in without mercy, and she barely survives the sound of your loud, raucous laughter

Suddenly, in the universe of football and media events and her little sister’s embarrassingly active love-life, you appear. Like a new star, burning bright, big and hot and… “You’re staring,” says Mapi with a smile. She knows not to tease, and she treads lightly. “You’ve been staring for a while.” 

“They’re speaking English.” It’s an incriminating sentence, but it would have been futile to deny Mapi’s accusation anyway. 

“I saw her at the bar. She spoke Spanish then.” 

“You’ve been stalking her.” 

Mapi nods, and holds Alexia’s drink in a silent push to get her over to the pool table. To you. “Because you’ve been staring. I was only making sure she wasn’t a psycho.” 

“Thanks,” she scoffs, but, in truth, she is grateful. 

As she saunters over (a newly regained skill, months down the line from her traumatic ACL reconstruction surgery), her confidence a believable façade, she decides that she is going to be Alexia Putellas. She is going to be cool about it, and she is going to impress you, and she is going to make you laugh so that she can hear that sound again. 

Again, again, again. 

“Yeah, sure, you can take over for Soph,” you say, nodding towards the woman who had been on the receiving end of your light prodding with the wooden stick all of friends regret allowing three-drink you to be in charge of. “So you’re spots, I’m stripes. I’ve got two left until I can pot the black, and you, er, you might be at a disadvantage here.” You rub the back of your neck as you peer at the balls on the table, almost all of them left behind by Soph’s inability to play pool. “How about we just, um–” 

“Está bien.” Alexia pretends to understand a lot more of what you said than she really does, regretting her choice to approach you in English, but she gets the jist. And, although you make her feel as though life has only just begun, she remembers her competitiveness very, very clearly. “Voy a ganar,” she scoffs. 

She holds in her celebration as you break out into a grin, immediately rising to the challenge, glad your friends have tired of the pool table so that no one can interrupt the battle you are about to commence. A battle with a very pretty woman, you must admit. 

You lose. 

You blame it on Alexia – she tells you her name as she pots three balls in a row – and try not to acknowledge the taunts from your friends at the bar, most of them having watched the entire game from afar to have something to talk about tomorrow. “You win,” comes your pitiful concession after a brutal defeat. “So, what will your prize be?” 

It’s an easy answer. 

That morning, throat hoarse from the cries that left it the night before, eyes red and tired and way too sensitive to light for you to consider drinking a drop of alcohol ever again, you wrap your arms around the warm body in the unfamiliar bed, finding the intimacy to have lived on longer than it should for a one-night-stand. Barcelona is warm and sunny, the day one to be enjoyed, and the company the best you have had in a while. 

It isn’t just that Alexia is a goddess. It isn’t the Amazonian ridges of her stomach and the firmness of her thighs, nor the softness of her hair or the deft movements of her fingers against your scarred skin. No, that is not what has, in just one evening, made you fall in love with her. (You bite your lip as you are overcome with emotion, chest filling up – with which feeling, you do not know –, heart pounding into your bones as the rhythm of your desire to be in Alexia’s life sets into the very framework of your being.) No! How could it be that? How could it be that when there is more? 

The coarseness of her determination; the slippery confidence, delicate and sharp, as though it is both the petal of a rose and the thorn that will prick you. Her humour, mistranslated at times, but always ready to make fun of idiots (most often, a specific idiot with a neck tattoo, as you come to realise). 

Personally, you believe it to be unfair that Alexia, Alexia Putellas, is simply ‘all that’. 

Getting to know each other fails to feel awkward, though you spend a lot of time waiting for the tension to appear. 

She discovers who you are, how you have moved to Barcelona for inspiration, finding that very thing lacking in dreary Leeds (the most depressing place on Earth, you could argue). She learns of your dream, although you label it as your ‘plan’: to write a play and to see it on the stage, preferably a grand theatre in the West End. Or in Stratford, where upon lies the greatest soil from which a playwright can grow. 

You show her your empty pages, devoid of black print marks. White and white, that goes on until it is clear that you have tired of pressing the ‘enter’ button as though it will ignite a story within. A story that hasn’t yet come, mind. 

“Do you think it will work?” she asks you, her accusation carrying nothing but curiosity once you see past the abrupt manner in which she interrupts your lengthy monologue about your severe case of writer’s block. 

Maybe you intend to be a little vague, for the sake of your racing heart and your delicate emotions, because you only shrug. You have already found your inspiration, not that you are going to tell her. 

Alexia is forward in the sense that she checks how temporary your presence is in her city before asking you out on a date. Your answer of ‘however long this shit takes’ is enough for her to be sure that she wants a second. A third, too. 

Then, before you know it, it has been a year. 

A year of Barcelona, a year of Spanish sun, and, excitingly, a year in which you have been cured; fingers blessed with movement and ideas and words on the tip of your tongue that run free in Alexia’s ear as you talk and talk and talk. She listens and listens and listens, and switches into the focus of your pairing when you go with her to watch her team play and play and play (why the fuck does football have so many matches?!). The final stage direction, all curling italics and sentimentality, sits at the bottom of the page. 

The end of your play. 

It is finished, it is done, and, soon after you have revised it one last time, it is sent to your producer friend with a nervous click of the ‘new email’ button and the hope that he is thankful for the times at university when you cared for him when he drank himself so silly that he barely made it to his lectures two days after the night-out. 

“It feels good,” you tell Ingrid, the girlfriend of the idiot with the neck tattoo, beaming as she inquires about your work. “I feel like I lived through it to get to this moment, you know? All that’s left to do is for him to read it and decide whether he’ll pick it up. Then, table reads and funding, of course. I’d want to direct, but, also, I’m not going to sell this one. Leasing it and taking a percentage of the royalties will make me loads more, because, Ingrid, this one is the best thing I’ve ever written.” 

There is a moment, usually, that comes after you have finished writing. A brief, sharp sort of panic, where you question your worth and your talent; you wonder if you have been lied to your whole life, and that your version of the same twenty-six letters of the alphabet, jumbled up on a white canvas as though you are (after a sleepless, usually) Picasso, is terrible. Or, worse, bad. 

Bad. Bad is so… plain. If it is just ‘bad’, you have failed as a writer. If it is not outrageous or unbelievably horrible, or, as one obviously hopes, incredible and amazing… if it is just ‘bad’, well: “Alexia, I’m terrified.” 

Alexia kisses your neck (you do not feel the finality of it, or maybe it is that you do not want to) because she knows it isn’t bad; she is more than aware that your play, your new creation, is really rather good. Brilliant, even. “Tranquila, mi amor,” she murmurs in your ear, bringing her arms to rest on your tense shoulders, a hand closing your laptop on its journey. “Le va a flipar.” 

“You think so?” 

“Sí.”

“Are you saying that because we’re together and you love me?” Your voice is small and unsure, and its teasing lilt is thrown off-kilter by the croak of your anxiety. “Or do you mean it? Please, I hope you mean it.” 

“I mean it.” She hates that she does. “Yes, of course I mean it. I love you and I am proud of you.” She hates it, she hates this, and she hates the talent your mind wields; something that is going to rip you from her grasp. It was bound to happen.

Your phone rings; soft, electronic trills dancing in the space between you and the coffee table it has been placed on. “I think that’s him,” you whisper, the volume you had intended to speak at smited by the nervous lump in your throat. Alexia nods mournfully, but you are too busy accepting the call to see.

“Let’s do this,” he says. 

…

The first frost of London comes that January. It’s unusual, the locals claim, because the city exists in its own polluted microclimate, but their statistics do not stop the layer of ice from freezing onto the windshield of your car. You are glad London feels just as cold as you do. 

Your play is beloved by the actors who speak your words, and the critics amongst your friend group, who for once, have no criticism to give. There is promise here. It is going very well. 

You drive to the theatre, ready to sit in on another rehearsal. Though your original intention had been to direct, you pawed off the role to an old school friend upon her return from Broadway. Your decision, you tell her, comes from a lack of experience in direction. You pretend to have had an epiphany: you only want to write the plays. 

In truth, this is a lie. 

Of course it is a lie. 

But how can you direct such happiness, such love and romance, if you know that the very thing that inspired each line has ceased to exist? 

Alexia feels like she has ceased to exist. 

On the outside, she seems relatively fine. She trains well, plays well, makes appearances where she should, says what you’d expect of her, hopes to make the world a better place. She walks Nala as though the Pomeranian does not whine for you to hold her leash, and she visits her mother and sister even though they continue to ask her why she did what she did. 

At night, she scrolls through social media, fingers always leading her back to you; your life; your work; your experiences that you no longer share with her. She cries, then, usually: a common occurrence nowadays. 

There is a gaping hole in her chest that has been made by her sticking her fucking foot in it. 

She has questions, naturally; each directed hatefully at herself. Why? Why, why why? Why on Earth did she tell you never to come back? Why did she blame you for leaving? 

You were always going to leave! Alexia knows that, hates that she knows that. 

You came to Barcelona because you couldn’t write, and you wrote. You wrote, you made her fall in love with you, and, when you had finished, you discarded the life you had unexpectedly built all because of some stupid, stupid play. 

A play titled–

A play. 

A… Alexia can’t even bring herself to think about it. 

No, all Alexia can think about is how insignificant she feels when you are no longer in love with her. You: sophisticated, intelligent, brilliant, adoring. Her? 

“Lex, you can’t mope if you’re the one who broke it off.” The words leave Alba’s mouth in jest but Alexia recoils as though she has been whipped by her sister’s tongue. 

“I’m trying to be cool about it,” she replies like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

It seems as though the globe has spun a full circle on its axis by the time Alba formulates her response, dumb-struck by such fucking idiocy. 

Alba hopes her sister feels like a fool – she hopes Alexia looks at herself in the mirror and… laughs, at this point. The whole thing has been ridiculous, in her opinion. 

First, her sister claims she is in love with a playwright with no plays to her name (Alba is examining the facts objectively, here, because she did quite like you); then, poof! Like a rabbit in a magician’s hat played in twisted reverse, away you go, and it somehow isn’t even your fault. 

She’d like to hate you, for her sister’s sake, but she finds herself loathing her own blood as it thins and thins until it trickles just like water. 

Okay, maybe she is being a little dramatic there, but she is still annoyed with Alexia. 

Alexia – whose existence as more-than-a-footballer is fading as she loses herself to waves of futile guilt – hates that she cannot hate you. She is plagued by emotional constipation, and though she tries to squeeze the situation for a drop of cruelty from you, she fails to discover a gram of relief.

It would have been kinder for you to have been cruel. Mercy is getting Alexia nowhere, and she would run to you if it were fast enough. Mercy is what renders her in a perpetual state of regret. Mercy is what keeps her up at night, but maybe mercy is what she likes having because it is yours and, in that way, she carries a piece of you with her. 

To confuse herself even more, to skew her mind further onto a path of unconventional self-destruction, she silently begs the mercy you have left behind to disappear so that she can learn to do without it. It’ll become a crutch and she wants it ripped from her grasp so that she can learn to walk on her own. She’s capable of that, she tells herself. 

(It probably isn’t true.)

…

Opening night. 

You’re wearing something far too nice to be comfortable, and there has been a champagne flute in your hand since the lunch held by the investors of the production company. The bubbles have served their purpose, clouding your mind with thoughts that weren’t to do with Alexia and her Alexia life and her Alexia smile and her Alexia way of making an Alexia-shaped cavity in your heart. 

It gushes quite a bit, because Alexia is strong and big and capable of damaging you to this extent. You reckon your surprise is foolish but fuck off, you’re trying your best. 

Comfortingly, not one scrap of red velvet is visible once the audience is ushered inside the theatre. 

It’s beautiful here; small, old. The perfect place to fall in love, just as you did. Or at least, experience the good part through deliciously talented actors and a stellar script (your horn has been tooted enough times for you to give it a go). 

Fear creeps up your legs as you take your seat in the front row, guarded by friends and family and proud English teachers who’d believe in you, but you take another sip and it simmers down. 

“Careful,” whispers your mum, shoulder nudging yours as you place your plastic cup (no glass in the auditorium) on the patterned carpet just as the show is about to begin. “You’ll not remember this if you don’t take a break.” 

And you’re halfway to announcing you don’t want to remember anything at all when the curtain goes up and a woman walks onto stage. 

It’s sobering. 

The audience is restlessly quiet, anticipating the brilliance they’ve been promised with an impatience that demands to be sated, but the actress takes her sweet time. 

She walks from stage left to stage right, then up and down. She’s passively searching for something. 

Someone. 

(It’s the fucking point, and you knew this would happen because you typed out these exact stage directions once upon a time. Alexia had misplaced a sock – a lucky sock, she claimed – and her passion, her desire to discover it, had weirdly morphed into a scene you could see being played out on a stage.) 

“Figure this out later,” speaks the actress with a satisfied smile, folding her arms over her chest. Finally, the audience’s breaths catch, enraptured by the vaguest cop-out of opening lines you could’ve chosen. 

They love it, though; they lean forwards in their seats as they are plucked from London and dropped into the middle of Barcelona. It’s mildly unnerving that you can’t escape the journey, clearly a member of the audience even if you don’t need to be told the story, but you land without the masses in the rows behind you. 

You land right into Alexia’s arms. 

There she is before you, in all her glory, proudly displaying the blue and red that she is so admirably dedicated to. Muscular and tanned, beautiful in the way that she always is, but shining brighter than just that. 

And you fucking hate it. 

When you imagine Alexia, you imagine her crippled and bed-ridden. Cracked knuckles come to mind, too, and she can barely speak without descending into rattling sobs that hack on and on until she somehow falls into fitful rest. 

You come prepared for absolution, expecting to see her dying just as you are, so it’s no wonder that your fists clench at her blasé declaration of “no regrets”. 

(By the way, Alexia’s not really there. You’d been stalking her Instagram and so that’s why she’s wearing her training kit, and… and you’re drunk!)

There are many things you’d like to say to her. 

Alexia had always been apprehensive of your relationship. She was closed-off to new people, and though she was certain of your importance to her, she was untrusting of much else. It happens when you’re famous; there are many wrong turns to take. And she needed to stay on the right path. 

It was impossible to pass Alexia’s test. 

For you, that is clear. Broken up with, told to leave and never come back, and begged to find someone else are not descriptors of the winner, nor she who achieved full marks. You’re a bit of a stranger to failing, but you’re trying to forget about it so that it never happens again. 

You’re breaking a sweat trying to banish her from your brain, barely registering the applause rippling through the theatre as you reach the interval. Trying to get her out of your head is like tugging at your intestines – a hand down your throat renders you dumb, and pains sears through your stomach as you are emptied and left to be a carcass.

“Is it good?” you ask your mum as you head to the bar in the foyer. 

“I wish you had let me meet her.” 

…

Alexia has never been to London outside of football before. She’s played in the north and in the south – she’s won every time – and it’s summery enough right now, but she is still a foreigner in the city. 

It’s fitting, this feeling of being lost, and it’s acceptable to feel it here because she has an excuse. Lost in Barcelona would be ridiculous. 

(But she is.) 

Why is Alexia in London when she could be in Spain? 

Well the only answer is that she has a ticket to a play in a theatre just off the West End that reminds her of someone she once loved. 

She thought it might help, seeing as she hasn’t scored a goal in four weeks with no assists to excuse the drought. Her manager gladly gave her the weekend to recharge, and she escapes matchday seven of Liga F under the guise of illness. 

While sleeping with your pillow, your t-shirt, she must have absorbed whatever the fuck you were on. By osmosis. 

That block. 

And now she has to act like she can’t read your mind. 

Her ticket, acquired last minute by a friend in high places as a massive favour, means that she has a front row seat to a damned play. She is well-prepared for the dread that wrenches her gut. 

The silence settling over her is uncomfortable and impatient, and the lights go down with a sense of impending doom. It’s a bit like being on death row, Alexia thinks. Here she gets to see the good things – a last meal of whatever she would like (you, of course that’s you) – but it is only because of her inevitable execution that this happens. 

The necklace hanging from her collarbones is a noose, the seat is a wooden box about to be kicked out from underneath her, and she needs to make her decision now: does she scream? Should she– 

She’s pulled out of her insanely dramatic spiral by a woman walking onto the stage. 

Her shoulders are hunched slightly and she has that look in her eye; that pang of hunger. 

The actress is recognisable, sure, but that is not the familiarity that strikes Alexia. 

It’s the character. 

It’s you. 

Walking from right to left, towards the back, down to the front, the actress is desperately searching for something. 

Inspiration, Alexia assumes, a smug smile briefly brushing her lips as the opening line breaks the tense silence. 

“Figure this out later,” you say. 

The actress is experienced but she has never read a script like yours before. It moved her to tears, though you claimed it was very happy. 

She lies awake at night, furiously envying those who could love like you do. 

She pities you, partly, because it’s no secret that the story of this love ended when you came here to put the show on. 

She has had to fall in love with someone – method acting, according to the director. 

It’s not quite the universe exploding and stars being born that your relationship must have been, but it’s alright and she is glad to see him in the audience. 

He’s next to a woman who does not seem to be enamoured by the beauty of the plot. 

A woman who seems absolutely fucking horrified. 

Her eyes are wide, fists clenched.

You – the real you – are watching Alexia with curiosity, more interested in her reaction to the play than the play itself. You wonder if she knows the significance of tonight; the reason you are here once more. 

In one month, the set and costumes will be packed up in boxes and taken onto the main street. 

It’s a dream come true. 

You’re here to announce the good news at the end of the show. 

…

“Alexia.” 

She tries not to turn around but she does. 

The night is cool and fresher than she’d expected the London pollution to allow, and the lamp posts are scarily looming over her as she forces herself to not run into your arms. You don’t wear a coat, although your year in Barcelona has borne a certain nostalgia for a warmer climate, but Alexia is wrapped up warm. 

“How… how are you doing?” 

You cringe at how apologetic it sounds. She broke up with you. 

There is a year that will be forever lost to love and happiness, bliss in Barcelona that was always going to be too good to be true. 

There is a year that you will never get back, but there is a breakup you must deal with. 

It’s not a brick wall, it’s a hurdle to jump over. 

Breaking up won’t be the end of your worlds. 

Knowing this, despite the weakness in her knees and the aching of her heart, Alexia lies. For your sake, she lies. 

“I’m good. It’s nice to see you.” 

You’re drowning but you’ll eventually remember how to swim. 

“You too,” you say with formulated sincerity that one day will grow naturally. “Score a goal next time you play, though.” 

#woso x reader #woso imagines #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #randombush3

[sunrizef1]

Birthday Blues

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

Authors note: finished this yesterday but tumblr deleted it xx

Warnings: none, for once

Word count: 5.9k

Requested: yes/no

Max was tired. He’d been at this charity event for hours, sat to the side sipping at some drink he’d been handed as he watched coworkers and acquaintances mill about, spreading joy he didn’t have.

He’d came alone, contrary to most of his friends who all danced and laughed with their partners, swinging around loosely under the evening lights, faint music guiding their hearts in a loving dance.

He’d come under the notion that he’d get to hang out with Daniel or Charles, maybe even Checo. But they were all whisked away with the brush of a gentle hand and a lipstick kiss, leaving with the merry call of their lovers giggle and leaving a disgruntled and lonely Max in their wake.

So here he was, his friends preoccupied and in love, a frown gracing his face and the ideal of charity being the only thing keeping his perfectly clean dress shoes cemented to the tile floor.

He takes a big swig of whatever drink was in his hand, grimacing as the bourbon burned his throat on the way down. He vaguely considers leaving, debating how much his presence would be missed by those happier than him when one of the few people in the same boat as him comes bounding up.

“Maxie!” Max winces at the volume of Landos voice as he stomps happily up to the Red Bull driver, a toothy grin on his slightly intoxicated face. Max disregards the awful nickname, choosing instead to humor the McLaren driver.

“Hi Lando,” Max smiles, unable to truly be displeased around the ball of absolute joy in front of him, “Enjoying yourself?”

Lando laughs, although Max isn’t entirely sure what’s so funny. He doesn’t mention it though, tilting his head in the Brits direction.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fun,” Lando starts, moving to lean against the wall Max was standing on, “Seems to be more romantic than usual, though. Not exactly my cup of tea.”

This causes the frown to reappear on Max’s face, his lips forming a firm line as he’s reminded of his loneliness in the face of the romance that surrounded him. Max simply hums in response, suddenly wishing he had another drink. He turns to grab one from a nearby waiter, eyes trailing after them as they walk away. As he traces their path, his gaze finally catches on you.

You were stood a few yards away, your form perfectly blocked by the way Lando had been standing. After seeing you, Max wishes he’d pushed Lando out of the way much sooner. His gaze traces the features of your face delicately, scrawling over the expanse of your flowing dress, the red shining beautifully against your skin. Max wishes for nothing more than study the freckles that dot said skin, knowing he could makes the most beautiful constellations if given the chance. Your hair falls perfectly around your face, framing it as if it was a work of art. Even after one look, Max isn’t sure that you, in fact, aren’t one. He’d certainly pay good money even if your face was the only exhibit.

Lando, even in his drunken state, catches on to Max’s staring and turns to catch your attention, calling out your name in the loudest of fashions. Max finds himself mouthing your name to himself the second it leaves Landos lips, hoping he’d have to use it a lot in the future.

You turn and smile as you spot the pair, taking the few steps it takes to reach them. Lando slings an arm around your shoulder and Max is suddenly struck with the terrifying idea that you were dating the small, insane, terrifyingly unromantic Brit next to you. It would certainly be strange, considering Lando had just dismissed the event for being “too romantic”. But as you lean into his hold, Max has to stop himself from frowning.

“Maxie, this is my friend, Y/N. She’s just moved here so she’s crashing with me while her place gets furnished or whatever. She’s just as boring as you so I’m sure you’ll get along great,” Lando grins. You don’t seem offended by his words, probably both aware of the amount he’s drank and understanding of the joking connotation behind his rude statement.

“I don’t go out to a club with you one time and you decide to write me off for being boring ever since,” You roll your eyes, a charming smile on your lips. Max lights up at the realization that you’re not, in fact, dating the extremely talented McLaren driver next to you.

Lando snorts unceremoniously, swaying the two of you side-to-side, “Maybe you should’ve come out, then? It was sick, you would’ve loved it.”

“I was watching a movie, mate,” You laugh, ruffling the hair of your friend, “And I was sick!”

Lando laughs, finally releasing your shoulder from his grasp and falling back into place beside Max, “Yeah, yeah, whatever princess. Just be glad I brought you chicken soup the next day. Even with my nasty hangover and two hours of sleep!”

You smile warmly at the memory before something seems to strike you, “You fell asleep on my couch and then woke up and drank all my coffee!”

The thief in question holds his hands up in surrender, seemingly started to slowly back away from your accusatory glare, eyes scanning for an escape route, “Uh, why don’t you talk about that with Max, I’m gonna…”

His eyes finally catch on something on the other side of the room, his feet speeding up below him, “Go talk to Oscar! Bye, Y/N!”

You and Max turn to watch Lando speed away, careening into the back of Oscar, the Aussie stumbling forward from the impact. You look away, turning back toward Max with a slight laugh. As you face him, Max thanks the heavens for the atmosphere provided as the setting sun through the expansive windows combined with the soft lighting from above shine down on the side of your face, enlightening the curve of your lips as they open to release the soft melody of your voice.

“He’s so weird.”

Max laughs at the statement, his head moving on its own to agree with you, “He definitely is.”

You look up toward his face, your eyes quizzical and your head tilted slightly, “I’m so sorry, I don’t think Lando even properly gave us a second to meet. I’m y/n.”

Max nods, “Max.”

You smile, grasping a flute of champagne from a passing waiter into your perfectly manicured hand. Max takes a large gulp of his own glass, grateful for the temporary respite from his growing thirst.

“I know you, Max,” You smile, taking a sip of Champagne, “Been to a couple of races with McLaren. Congrats on being completely dominate by the way.”

Max laughs, ducking his head slightly as his face flushes red for a few moments, “Thank you.”

You nod, satisfied, as your eyes go back out or stare at the party flowing smoothly in front of you. Max leans slightly closer to you, causing your attention to snap back to him.

“If I’d known you’d been at a race I would’ve asked Lando to introduce us sooner,” Max smiles, liquid courage clearly causing excess confidence to bleed into his words.

You flush at his words, biting your lip in an attempt to cover your obvious grin. Max’s eyes widen warmly as you turn your face away, covering your warm cheeks with your free hand before turning back to him. Max is just happy he got you to laugh.

“Is that so?”

“Of course.”

You take another sip of your champagne, fully angling yourself toward the Dutch man, looking up through your eyelashes at him. Max isn’t sure on how yet but all he knows is that he won’t let this end, the party he once detested now becoming the most interesting thing he’d entertained in a while.

Max scans his eyes over your figure, gaze catching on a stack of bracelets sitting delicately on your wrist. A charm bracelet lays gently with a stack of bangles on top and, finally, a few ornately stitched thread bracelets are mixed throughout the stack.

“I like your bracelets.”

You perk up at his words, glancing between him and your wrist before lifting your wrist slightly up toward him, “Really? They’re from this brand in Greece! They’re all custom made and personalized however you want them to be.”

Max just watches as you fidget with some of the dangling charms on your bracelet, Max spotting a wave and a bird as they clank against the blue and gold thread of your other bracelet. He listens as you explain the lore behind the stack, a small grin forming as you get lost in your mind.

You’re not sure how long you’re stood there, conversing quietly as the party progresses without you. The sun sets in the time you talk, the only light now being the soft glow that the floating chandeliers cast onto your faces. You’re also not sure on how the topic comes up but you suddenly find yourself discussing your birthdays, Max shocked to find out you have the same one.

“September 30th, yeah?” You ask him, bright eyes widening as he nods. You seem to grin wider at his confirmation, another thing you have in common being added to the ever-growing list, “Any plans?”

Max is suddenly struck with the fact that, for once, he didn’t have any plans for his birthday. It wasn’t a race weekend so Red Bull wouldn’t be doing anything, he was grown enough where his family wouldn’t be organizing anything and this was the first year in a while he didn’t have a girlfriend to at least keep him company. He pauses at the thought, the absolute depressing notion of a thought causing his eyebrows to furrow.

“I guess not, no.”

You seem to catch onto his mental dilemma, gently reaching a hand up to rub small circles onto his shoulder. He tries his best not to move suddenly as your warm hand makes contact. He glances over, sporting the sympathetic smile on your face.

Not wanting to rain on your parade, he really tries to force a smile but it seems to come out as more of a grimace as you pat him, your hand dropping away, “You could always come to my birthday. Landos renting a boat. Id love to have you there.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude or anything-“

You stop him, shaking your head with your persistently charming smile, “Nonsense, it’s a big boat, you wouldn’t be intruding anything. It’s your birthday too!”

He doesn’t seem fully convinced, though, and you roll your eyes, leaning fully toward him. You swing both arms around his neck, hands connected behind him and your body weight now fully leaned against him. Max, not wanting to knock you both over, rests his hands against your waist, hoping to save your balance.

You look up at him, biting your lip to stop the laugh threatening to escape your lips, “If you don’t want to share a birthday party, then I’m cordially inviting you to my birthday party as my friend.”

Max looks down at you, gaze soft as he stares at your gentle and genuine expression. He could tell you weren’t going to let this go, even if he turned down the invitation. So, despite his best judgement, he finds himself nodding as a yes, a grin starting to peak out on his usually stoic face. You laugh happily, leaning out of his grasp to sway merrily.

“I can’t wait to see you there,” you grin at the Red Bull driver, elation seeping into your voice, “Maxie.”

Max groans at the nickname but, for once, maybe feels a little charmed by it as it seems to bring you so much humor. You set your now empty glasses down on a nearby table, leaning forward to grasp Max’ hands in yours and practically tear him away from the spot on the wall he’d taken up for the past few hours. You start to lead him away from his corner of solitude toward the heart of the party which was still beating healthily despite the late hour.

“Come on, let’s dance,” you bounce on your heels excitedly as you pull him along, “You can help me plan what party information to feed Lando over the next few months. He still thinks it’s a surprise party but we live together and he’s anything but subtle.”

Max just smiles, following along behind you as he listens intently to your echoing voice. He sticks close to you, following your every step despite the fact that the idea of dancing at this party made him want to throw up. The idea of doing it with you and being able you hear you talk animatedly for a bit longer making the idea bearable enough for him to endure it. For your sake.

A few months later, Max finds himself on the deck of a yacht, sun shining down brightly onto his shoulders as the deep blue expanse of the Mediterranean stretched out in all directions below him.

He’d seen a good amount of people from the second he’d stepped onto the boat that morning, both people he knew and some he’d never met before. He knew Lando was around somewhere, his loud voice bouncing off the edges of the boat.

He hadn’t seen you yet but he wasn’t completely alone. Lando had taken the liberty of inviting Oscar who’d dragged along Logan, the two blond drivers having been sat on the upper deck since before Max had arrived.

It’s not that Max felt lost but he did feel a bit out of his element. Your friends milled around, wandering throughout the boat, conversations (and alcohol) flowing smoothly.

Just as Max moves to head up to where he’d seen Oscar and Logan hanging around, he’s frozen by the sound of your voice ringing out from a few yards away, “Max!”

Max’s eyes turn toward you, drifting over your body as he takes in the red swimsuit hugging your skin, the fabric the same shade as the red dress you’d worn at the gala all those nights ago.

Sunglasses sit perched on your nose, your hand moving to push the bridge of them back up from where’d they’d starting to slip down. Sunscreen sits atop your sun-kissed skin, casting a soft shining glow as the sunlight bounces off it.

“Hi, y/n,” Max smiles gently at you, still not completely at ease on the boat, “Happy birthday.”

You grin, quirking your head at the driver, “Happy birthday to you too, Maxie. I’m glad you decided to come.”

Max squints slightly as the sun beats down, rays of light sneaking into his unprotected eyes, “I didn’t want to miss your party, Lando even invited me himself.”

You laugh, head dropping back at his words. You both knew Lando was still under the impression that the whole party had been a surprise to you that morning. You were considering a career in acting with how Lando had believed your reaction.

“Well, make yourself comfortable, Landos paying so…” you trail off, shrugging your shoulders as you glance around, eyes tracing between the ocean and the sight of your friends lounging around before they land on the bar, drinks already being handed out, “We’ll set off in a few minutes, I think we’re just waiting on one more person.”

Max nods as you continue to look around, his eyes being dragged back to you.

You’re notably missing any jewelry, no doubt not wanting to lose it when you swim later. Max does notice the fresh set of nails you’ve got on, white and gold decorating the ends of your fingers.

You seem to notice Max’s attention on your hands and you grin, lifting your hands toward him, “You like? Got them done yesterday, I was more excited to spend the day with my mom than actually getting the nails. I’d usually get blue but I thought white would match my swimsuit better, you know?”

Max nods, grateful to, once again, hear your joyful rambling, “I like them, they’re really pretty.”

Your face forms into a satisfies smile, glancing over the nails in question before you look back up toward Max, “I’m glad you think so.”

Max smiles his first genuine smile since stepping on the boat, eternally grateful to have you here in front of him. Just as you’re about to say something, your eyes catch on something over Max’s shoulder and your mouth falls closed, a small exhale leaving your mouth as you seemingly hold back a laugh.

“Max!” A voice calls out from behind him. When Max turns, he’s met by the sight of one Daniel Ricciardo bounding down the dock, wearing a giant grin and a familiar burnt orange hat. Max’s eyes widen at the sight of the Aussie as he jumps onto the boat, his toned arm coming to swing around Max’s shoulders.

Daniel looks down at you, a humored smirk on your face, “Hi y/n, happy birthday.”

“Hi Danny,” you hum, looking between the pair of friends.

Daniel looks around, his eyes quickly catching on Lando, no doubt doing something stupid. He pats Max on the shoulder before peeling away, “Happy birthday Maxie, I’ll see you in a minute.”

Daniel bounces away, echoes of Landos name being shouted out of his mouth, the Brit quickly enduring the tackle of the older Aussie. Max laughs as he watches the attack, eyes crinkling and shoulders shaking.

Max looks back toward you when he hears your own melodic laugh ring out beside him, “You invited Daniel?”

You turn your head toward him, smiling shyly as you nod, “It’s your birthday too, didn’t want you to be too lonely.”

Max shakes his head, although he can’t fight the warm laugh that escapes him, already having a better birthday than he’d expected to.

“Now that our final guest is here, we can finally set sail,” you say, walking away from the boats entrance. Max, not entirely sure of where Daniel had gone, decides to follow you.

Max isn’t sure what he’d expected from the party but whatever was currently happening was exceeding that.

With the arrival of Daniel, he was officially friends with over 50% of the guests in attendance. After a few drinks, it was pretty easy for him to befriend your brothers as well, especially when he found out they were both huge sports fans.

As the boat sailed idly around the open water, the party roared smoothly, new and old friendships forging deeper bonds. Music played from the speakers, Landos playlist quickly being switched out for your own.

After a few hours, the boat stopped and Lando was quick to throw himself overboard, his happy shouts echoing as he hurtled toward the water below. He’s followed by Logan who reaches the water with a surprisingly elegant dive, his departure causing a begrudging Oscar to jump after him.

Then comes your brothers, the pair of them roughhousing the second they both come up for air.

You roll your eyes playfully as you watch them all come down, you and Max having been already laid out on the lower deck, the water lapping at the edge of the boat just a few feet away.

You snort as you watch a couple of your own friends push eachother into the water, your head turning back toward the sun above you when you hear the splash of them entering the water.

Your eyes stay closed as the sun shines down on you, the warmth spreading through your skin. Though your eyes do shoot open when you feel water splash over top you and a loud laugh rings out next to you.

Max watches as you sit up, your eyes locking on Daniel who’d just stepped over you in order to cannonball into the ocean, successfully converting both you and Max in the cold water. Max was fighting the urge to laugh, scared he’d end up being pushed in if he laughed too loudly.

You scowl playfully at the Australian who laughs before diving under for a few seconds, shaking his wet hair as he comes up and getting even more water on you.

You stand up, flipping him off before moving to walk away. Max stands up after you as you toss your sunglasses on a nearby couch, “I’m getting a drink, Max.”

Daniel, though, calls out toward Max, happiness coursing through his words, “You coming in, mate?”

Max glances between you and Daniel before quickly taking a few steps to cut in front of you just as your about to enter the heart of the ship.

“Hi, Max,” you smile cheerfully, no idea what was in store for you in the coming moments.

“Forgive me,” Max mumbles as your furrow your eyebrows.

“What?”

Before you can even ask for clarification, Max scoops you up in his arms and starts to walk back toward the water.

“Max!” You laugh loudly, arms threading around the back of his neck and tightening as he jumps off the edge, both of you hitting the cold water shortly after.

He can hear Daniel’s nearby laugh even under the water, the sound coming through muffled as he pushes his way to the air above, your arms still intertwined behind his neck. As soon as he reaches the top, he can hear you laugh freely, the loud noise rivaling the beauty of the sunlight above.

“I hate you,” you quiet a bit as you say it, though there’s no venom behind your words. In fact, there’s a toothy grin on your face, accenting the sight of your wet face, hair now soaked and dripping as you try your best to stay afloat.

The water runs down your skin in rivulets, catching the rays of lights from above as it drips down, causing you to glow more than you already did under the Mediterranean sun.

Max hums, “I don’t think you do.”

You quirk your head, eyes narrowing as you look closely at him, “I don’t.”

“Y/N!” Your lean away from Max as your name is called, your attentions being drawn over to Logan who seemed to be attempting to drown Oscar, the Aussie trying his best to fight back. Max watches as Logan goes to speak again, Oscar successfully managing to get away, “We’re gonna do the jet-skis!”

You push away from Max and start to paddle toward the younger drivers, Oscar having started to attempt his revenge on the American. Logan, though, is unfazed by the shorter driver, turning to tackle him as you make your way over.

Max’s eyes stay on you as you swim away, watching as you intervene in the fight, pulling Oscar away. Max can’t help the dopey smile that forms on his lips.

“You like her,” Daniel sings, swimming his way to where Max is leaning against the edge of the boat.

Max rolls his eyes, the smile dropping off his face, “Shut up.”

The hours pass by, your friends eventually being pulled back onto the boat in order for it to set sail back home again.

You all come back together for dinner, sitting around on the deck as you dine. At one point. Lando pelts Oscar in the face with an empty water bottle. Oscar, who wasn’t looking up when it happened, mistakes the thrower for Logan and decides to start fighting him again, Lando sitting back with a grin on his face.

Now that they don’t have to stay relatively sober in order to swim, drinks flow much quicker.

As the sun sets on the horizon, your friends spread out across the boat, relaxation seeping into their bones, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to them.

Max laid out on the lower deck with you, watching as the sky explodes with hues of orange and pink. You both watch the sun lower down, a bottle of champagne laying between you.

Max doesnt think he’d even felt so at peace. Or had such a perfect birthday.

Your peace is interrupted after the sun has fully set, making way for the stars to break through and shine next to the moon above you.

You turn around as you hear a chorus of voices shout loudly, “Happy birthday!”

Your met with Lando standing just a few yards away, a cake held tightly in his hands, a few sparklers and candles sticking out of the top of it.

“Awww,” you laugh, standing up to face your friends, “Please don’t sing.”

This causes a laugh to spread through the group, Lando piping up to respond, “I don’t think that would go very well even if we wanted to.”

You snort, walking over to the cake, looking closely at the words written on top. Max sits back as you walk away from him, standing up after a few moments just to observe.

You look a bit closer at the cake before turning around to face Max again. He raises an eyebrow as you beckon him over, one of your hands swinging out to wave him toward you.

Max isn’t entirely sure why you were interrupting your own candle blowing to call him over but he agrees anyway, making his way to your side.

He glances down at the cake, a grin splitting his face as he reads it.

“Happy Birthday

Max & Y/N”

Max laughs slightly, the alcohol currently coursing through him inhibiting him from feeling any amount of embarrassment at the amount of eyes on him.

You turn and grin at him, the soft light of the candles reflecting off your shining eyes. Even in the dark of the night and with salt water stuck in your hair, Max still thinks you look rather beautiful.

You gesture down at the cake, candles still alight on each half, “You wanna blow out the ones on that side?”

Max doesn’t want to look away from your face but he does eventually manage to pull his eyes away, nodding as he spots the candles. You smile, leaning down toward the cake in Lando’s outstretched hands. Max leans as well, and you both are quick to blow out the candles to the cheers of your friends around you.

Lando walks to put the cake down on a table, leaning over to ask your brother to find the plates and forks. As you move to watch the recording of the small celebration on Logan’s phone, Max walks over to the Brit.

“Thanks for the cake thing,” Max says, picking up an abandoned water bottle and taking a quick swig.

Lando quirks his head, rubbing the back of his neck absently, “Thank y/n, not me. She told me that if I were to, hypothetically, get her a birthday cake, she wanted your name on it as well. All hypothetically of course.”

Max laughs, his face softening when he thinks about your conversation about dropping birthday hints for Lando to pick up on. But from Landos recount, this specific hint was a bit more obvious than the other ones. He turns his head to see you laughing at something Logan had said, Oscar looking closer and closer to sleep as the conversation went on.

Maybe if he’d been completely sober, Max would’ve felt a lot warmer at the thought of you thinking about him even for your own birthday party. But he wasn’t completely sober so the only thought he had when he looked at you was just how pretty you were.

Your brother comes back with plates pretty quickly, Lando cutting pieces in the most even way he can, unceremoniously plopping the largest piece down on your plate with a giggle.

Once everyone’s eaten their cake and properly disposed of their plates, it’s just a waiting game until the boat docks again.

You all lay out on the outer decks of the boat, looking up and watching the stars above you. Max can vaguely hear Daniel’s light snores, signaling the Aussie had fallen asleep from where he laid a few yards away.

Once you do dock, all your friends start to make their way off the boat and back to their own homes. Max watches as Logan carries an inebriated Oscar on his back, the Aussie sporting a brand-new, bright red sunburn on his face.

Lando vaguely follows them, the pair having crashed in his place for the weekend considering neither of them resided in Monaco.

Your brothers take the liberty of waking Daniel up, the driver walking tiredly off the boat.

As the rest of your friends leave, Max is left alone with you on the deck of the boat, the moonlight bouncing off the water and lighting up the space between you.

You’ve got something clutched to your side, Max is too out of it to question it.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Max starts, a genuine smile on his tired features, “I’d probably be sat alone on the sim right now otherwise.”

You laugh, not entirely aware of how much truth there was behind his statement, “I’m glad you came, it was really fun.”

Max hums, an absent smile crossing his face as he gazes softly at yours. He’s too busy looking at you to notice you bring your hand up from your side, a small box clutched in your manicured hands.

“I got you something,” your eyes light up as you push the box toward him, glancing between his face and the small white box, “Happy Birthday, Maxie.”

Max accepts the box, though he shakes his head as he does, “You didn’t have to-“

“No, but I wanted to,” you interrupt quickly, grinning and pushing the box closer to Max’s chest.

Max looks at you for a few seconds longer before glancing down toward the box, his hands moving to open it, the top swinging on its hinge to reveal what’s inside. With the amount of alcohol still in his system, it takes a few tries but he does eventually get it open.

Max freezes as he sees what’s inside.

A bracelet, not unlike one of your own, sits gently in the center of the box. Orange and gold thread twist around to form the circle, the threads shining under the distant street lights. Right where the threads come to an end and meet the clasp, a few small charms are clustered together. Max looks a bit closer at the charms and sees a thirty-three, his initials and, lastly, a small lions head.

When Max doesn’t respond immediately, you seem to assume the worst, words falling out of your mouth in a tipsy ramble as you start to pick at a patch on your skin, “If you don’t like it, that’s fine, really! I should’ve asked. Is it too much? I should’ve done one instead of thirty-three, I’m sorry max-!”

Your voice cuts off abruptly as Max’s hands wrap gently around the side of your face, the bracelet being shoved into his pocket. Your eyes widen under his touch, looking up into his own. Max takes a breath before speaking, liquid confidence fueling his words, “Can I kiss you?”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, seemingly searching for words you cannot find before it ultimately falls shut. You nod your head instead.

Max leans down to capture your lips in his, your hands moving to tug gently at his salty hair. Max grins against your mouth before he dives back in, one of his hands sliding to tug your form closer to his. Max feels almost light-headed, the spark of your lips against his causing his brain to practically short-circuit.

When you split to take a breath, you lean your forehead against his. Max’s opens his eyes to glance warmly at your flushed face. When your eyes fall open and lock on his, you lean away, a loud laugh echoing from your lips.

You gaze over him as he brings you back close to him, your hands clasping behind his neck. Your thumb rubs passive circles on his skin as he goes to speak.

“Thank you,” Max says, bringing your attention back to his face, “For the bracelet. It’s perfect.”

You hum, lips turning up into a blushing smile, “I’m glad you like it.”

Max looks down at you with stars in his eyes, watching the way the moon light shines off the side of your face, your features looking even more striking under night sky, “I do. I really, really do.”

At his words you tug him down toward you, leaning your face up to kiss him again.

Just as your lips brush, a loud voice shouts out from off the boat, “Y/N! We’re leaving! If you don’t come now you’ll have to get your own car!”

You groan loudly, shoulders sagging as you rest your forehead against Max’s chest, eyes locked on the ground. Max has to struggle to hold back his laugh, his teeth sinking into his lip. Watching your despair, Max is struck by an idea.

“You could stay with me?” Max suggests, grinning as your head pops up.

“Could I? I don’t want to deal with Logan and Oscar, especially not while hungover,” you brighten as you ask him.

Max, instead of answering, grabs your hand, pulling you off the boat. You speed up for a few steps in order to fall into his side, his arm coming up to wrap around your shoulder.

As Max leads you up toward the street, you’re met with Lando stood at the open car door, tiredness clear in his stance. If Max were to lean forward, he’d see Oscar and Logan passed out, limbs tangled in the cramped seats.

“You coming then, mate?” Lando asks you, pushing his glasses up on his face. Max isn’t entirely sure why he was still wearing sunglasses in the dark of the night but he chose not to question it.

You flush, leaning into Max’s grasp, “I’m staying with Max.”

Lando smirks, raising his glasses to look between the two of you with a nod, “Don’t have too much fun tonight.”

You roll your eyes, leaning out of Max’s grasp. Max finds himself missing the feeling of your body next to his. He doesn’t have to miss it for too long, though, as after you plant a gentle kiss on Landos cheek, you fall right back into Max’s hold.

“Thank you for the party, Lan. Love you.”

Lando rolls his eyes, sliding his glasses back down his face as he shakes his head, “Yeah, yeah, love you too. I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow, you should bring your boyfriend.”

It Max’s turn to blush, a chuckle leaving his lips. Instead of replying, you both walk away from the Brit, Max laughing loudly when he hears Lando mumble something about “birthday shagging” from behind your backs.

You both continue to walk away, Max bringing you closer to his side and your head falling against his shoulder.

Max leans over to press a kiss to your temple, your skin warm against his lips, “You ready to go home?”

You pause, looking up at Max as he looks down at you. You state warmly up at him for a few moments, simply taking in the look on his face. Your smile widens as your cheeks flush, “I’d love to.”

—————————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

#scheduled #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #max Verstappen x fem!reader

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Eddie asked you on a date. Maybe. Possibly. But you definitely accepted. (5.6k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, mentions of sex, Reader wears a miniskirt, drinking, tipsiness, idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter ten: this foolish lover's game

“I’m telling you: it’s a date.”

Nora flicked through the items on the clearance rack, searching for something in your size. She pulled out a floral shirt, wrinkled her nose, and promptly put it back. 

“It’s 1993. A guy and a girl can hang out without it being something romantic,” you retorted, trying to ignore the fuzziness that filled your head at the potential classification of your upcoming night out with Eddie as a ‘date.’

“Very true. But that’s not the case here.” Nora sighed at the limited clothing choices and at your stubbornness. She stalked over to a rack of regularly-priced skirts, evidently on a mission. “And you know it, too, which is why you asked me to help you choose a new outfit.”

You had done that, though you definitely regretted it now. It had been so long since you’d actually gone out with friends that you really did need new clothes, but you had no idea where to start. 

Enter Nora: best friend extraordinaire. She was just as great at finding clothes that flatter your figure as she was at being a study buddy. Her opinion mattered to you; it was necessary, especially considering the way you currently teemed with self-doubt. 

She plucked a denim miniskirt from the lineup and held it against your waist. “Go try this on,” she said. You reached for the price tag, almost certain that it was out of budget, but she clamped her hand over yours. “My treat. Now, go.”

There was no arguing with her, not while she was shooing you into the dressing room. She clasped your shoulders as she steered you towards a curtain, yanked it open, and shoved you inside. “I’ll wait here,” she said.

You closed the curtain once again, unbuttoning your shorts and letting them fall to the thin carpet below you. 

The skirt hung on its hanger, buttons all along the front, and it was impossible not to imagine Eddie being the one undoing them. His nimble fingers would dance across the seam as he positioned himself between your legs. You could practically feel his hands as they crept further upwards towards that dangerously sensitive part of you—

“Can we stop by the food court when you’re done? I’m dying for one of those cinnamon pretzels.”

The sound of Nora’s voice instantly cooled your heating skin. “Y-Yeah, sure,” you stammered. 

Focus on that, you silently reprimanded yourself. Focus on Auntie Anne’s or Orange Julius or Panda Express—not Eddie tracing his tongue along your inner thighs. 

You stepped into the skirt, warding off any lingering Eddie-related thoughts. Monday night would be like hanging out with Nora or Ben. There was no need to worry about your hair, or your clothes, or your makeup. Eddie was a friend, and only a friend, despite what absurdities your other friends planted in your head. 

With the last button fastened, you allowed yourself to glance at your reflection in the mirror. The denim hugged your curves delicately, providing just a hint of what laid beneath without giving too much away. It looked odd paired with the old t-shirt you’d thrown on this morning, but the right top would make a world of difference. 

Nora clapped her hands together the moment you opened the curtain. Her brown eyes lit up, and a soft squeal of excitement emanated from her throat. 

“You’re gonna have Eddie eating out the palm of your hand,” she declared, reaching out to give you a little spin. 

You gently pulled away from her as though it would offset the fluttering low in your stomach. “I told you, it’s—”

“Yeah, I know. Just two friends going to the bar, pretending they don’t wanna bone each other.” Nora rolled her eyes, already sick of the will they-won’t they song-and-dance. 

You ducked back into the fitting room to change out of the skirt. “He doesn’t wanna bone me.”

“But you wanna bone him?” 

It came out as a question, but you knew she meant as a statement. 

“First of all, stop saying ‘bone.’” You hissed, tugging your shorts back over your legs. “Second, Eddie and I are friends, and he’s taking me out for graduation. End of story.”

Nora’s sigh was audible from the other side of the curtain. “Not ‘end of story.’ You didn’t answer my question. Do you wanna b—have sex with Eddie?”

Your hesitation was enough of an answer for her, and though you couldn’t see her face, you were certain she was grinning when she announced, “I knew it!”

“It’s not like that,” you protested. The fitting room was suddenly far too crowded and depleted of oxygen despite you being its only occupant. You threaded the teeth into your shorts zipper and grabbed the skirt, now heavy in your hand. “Yeah, he’s pretty cute, but—”

“But nothing. C’mon, just admit it: you like Eddie.” You could detect a hint of exasperation in her tone. Frustration, even, or confusion as to why you continually denied yourself life’s small pleasures. 

You couldn’t answer that, either. 

Protest died with the subtle twitch of your lips that gave away the truth. You hated your tells, the ones that swiftly uncovered the feelings you worked diligently to stifle. And you knew that if Nora kept pressing you about this crush, you would eventually break down and divulge it all. 

Not just your burgeoning romantic feelings towards Eddie. Not the way you told bad jokes just to see his lopsided smile and the nose crinkle that often accompanied it. Not the multiple occasions when you caught yourself staring at the muscles in his arms and ached to kiss right along the hardened edge of his biceps. 

Once you said those thoughts out loud, gave them the weight of spoken words, they became real. Able to hurt you when he inevitably didn’t reciprocate them. 

And that terrified you. 

“You have a big ol’ crush on him,” Nora continued, “and he has one on you.”

“He doesn’t have a crush on me,” you mumbled, purposely averting your gaze from hers.

Through peripheral vision, you could see her raise one brow. “Says who?”

Says the song lyrics about his ex-girlfriend. But that was too much to explain, so you slapped on a tight smile and shook the thought away. “Never mind. Let’s just pay for this.”

Nora swiped her credit card with an ease that only comes with the luxury of not having to worry about paying the water bill. She never had to dip into her own savings to keep the lights on. Buying her friend a miniskirt for a maybe-date wasn’t going to affect her grocery budget. 

“I have the perfect pair of Docs to go with this. You can borrow them,” she said, pointedly adding “for your date.” She was either oblivious or didn’t care that the cashier was eavesdropping on your conversation. 

“Not a date.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Nora plucked the bagged skirt from the cashier, flashed her a grateful smile, and shoved it in your direction. “Just answer one question for me—are you gonna wear lace panties underneath this, or cotton?” 

When you once again failed to look at her, her grin widened.  

“That’s what I thought.”

On Monday evening, you found yourself poised in front of the mirror, still fogged from your shower. The inky blue sky leaked into your room through the time-worn blinds, the sun almost fully faded into nighttime, which meant that Eddie would be knocking on your door at any moment. 

The hem of your black fitted t-shirt met the waist of your skirt, the slightest gap between the two fabrics. It wasn’t scandalous by any stretch of the imagination, but it still conveyed one message: you wanted Eddie to look at you. Wanted him to notice your soft skin the way you noticed his flexing muscles, with awe and more lust than you cared to admit. 

Did it all reek of desperation? What if Eddie was wearing the sweatpants he’d donned to remove the wallpaper? Just the possibility of him looking at your own outfit, at the effort you put into your appearance, and realizing you’d interpreted a friendly gesture as a date had you cringing. 

No, this was a bad idea. You had to back out, now. Claim that you weren’t feeling well, maybe even take some ibuprofen in front of him, and promise a raincheck. You did feel the familiar throbbing that accompanied a tension headache, so it wasn’t a total lie—

Knock knock. 

Sweat overrode the antiperspirant you’d lathered on, flooding you with a nervous heat. You frantically wiped your slick palms on the bed sheet like a cat at its scratching post and opened the door. 

Eddie's eyes widened and his tongue brushed over his lower lip. There was no hiding the way his gaze dropped to your exposed thighs, drinking in every ounce of visible skin as though it was the only sustenance he’d ever need. His stare was hungry, if only for a moment, before his words broke the trance. 

“You look…good. Pretty.” He swallowed thickly and forced himself to meet your eyes. “Sorry…just not used to seeing you all dressed up.”

Pretty. Eddie Munson thought you were pretty. The notion sent serotonin surging through you, a soft giggle passing through your lips. It was embarrassing, this schoolgirl crush, the way a simple word from him rendered you pathetically speechless.

A barrage of compliments perched themselves on your tongue, waiting to be untethered. He looked good, too; beyond that, he looked handsome. His cream colored shirt was baggy around his torso but clung to his biceps, drawing your attention to the vein that ran up his forearm. 

You willed yourself to say something, anything, to reciprocate his kind words.   

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, mirroring your nervous energy as he gently rocked from the heel to the toe of his Reeboks. “We should get going,” he said.

Opportunity slipped from your grasp; anything you said now would seem like pity. Your only response was a nod as you locked the door and started towards the lobby.

Pretty. Pretty. Pretty.

Mom stood behind the desk, flipping through the check-in sheets with the  cap end of a pen clenched between her teeth. She looked up, blinking in rapid succession when she saw you and Eddie approaching. You weren’t sure what surprised her more: you going out, or the man accompanying you.

“Well, don’t you two look nice!” She grinned, though the smile didn’t quite reach her tired eyes. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just getting a drink,” you said as casually as you could. “Celebrating my—the wallpaper.” It was a lame finish, one that Mom didn’t quite believe, but she lacked the energy to push further. 

Guilt panged in your chest, not just at the lie, but because part of you felt like you were taking advantage of her exhaustion. You couldn’t tell her the real reason for the celebration; bile rose in your throat at the thought. Instead, you smiled and promised to be home before the start of your shift. 

“I’ll make sure she behaves,” Eddie added with a mischievous edge, not sexual in nature but still had your stomach doing somersaults. “I know she can be quite the troublemaker.”

Mom laughed at this, so pure and genuine that you were half-tempted to ask Eddie if you could stay here and talk with her all night. Maybe he could break the news to her, since they seemed to get on well enough.

You felt her watch as Eddie opened the door for you and gave the tiniest bow to let you pass, though you didn’t dare look back at her. Not because she wouldn’t approve—just the opposite. Looking at your mother would confirm what you already knew deep down: she’d be beaming at the sight of you going on a date. 

If that’s what this was. 

Eddie shuffled to walk right by your side, sneakers scuffing against the broken pavement. A flicker of hope ignited within you that he would do something to confirm that this was, in fact, a romantic endeavor and not just two friends getting a drink. Perhaps an arm slung over your shoulder or a hand laced with yours. 

There was only the gentle brush of his fingers against yours, knuckles grazing one another as they nearly slotted together. It was taunting, the way they could be a perfect fit if given the chance. 

You almost went for it, almost grabbed hold of his hand yourself, but fear had you in its own grasp. Even if the benefit outweighed the risk, you couldn’t stop picturing him tugging his hand away from yours in a humiliating show of rejection. 

“You okay? You’re not, like, mad at me again, are you?” Concern creased Eddie’s brows, and your heavy heart realized that the last time you were this quiet around him was after the argument. 

“Not at all. Sorry.” You shot him a reassuring smile. “Just lost in my own thoughts.” You sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t ask you to elaborate on those thoughts. 

Luckily, he just tilted his head towards you, his eyes taking on an even more doe-like quality than usual. “That’s the problem with you smart people: you’re always thinking too much.”

You laughed as you nudged him, your right shoulder colliding with his left. He stumbled slightly, quickly catching himself before he could fully lose his balance. 

“Hey!” He yelped, rubbing his upper arm. The muscles beneath it flexed at his touch. “Don’t damage the merchandise.”

“I wouldn’t dare. I…” You shook your nerves loose and faced him, speaking before you fully lost yourself in his full, waiting lips. “I’d never damage merchandise as priceless as you.”

Eddie stopped in his tracks, the compliment seemingly rebooting his brain. Was it too forward? No, it couldn’t have been; he’d called you pretty just moments before. And it wasn’t as if you’d been forward enough to say he was sexy (though he was) or accidentally emasculated him by pointing out how adorable his soft dimples were (another fact). 

His exhale was a disbelieving chuckle. “I, uh, don’t think anyone’s called me ‘priceless’ before. ‘Worthless,’ maybe, but…” He trailed off in an attempt to contain it as a lighthearted joke, but it was anchored by an undeniable truth. 

If you could, you would wash away the ego-marring stains left behind by those who hurt him. Scrub and scrub until it was once again pristine as though they’d never been tarnished by self-doubt. 

“Priceless.” You said it definitively, leaving no room for further argument. 

Eddie ducked behind his hair, letting the curly locks dangle over his mouth to mask his flustered smile. You were willing to bet that a blush was spreading across the apples of his cheeks. 

Curiosity loosened your inhibitions enough for you to reach out and tuck a few strands behind his ear. Sure enough, a delicate pink tinged his skin. You wanted to kiss it until your lips grew swollen from where his stubble scratched them raw.

Doing that would require something far more potent than inquisitiveness. 

There was a decent crowd that night, not as packed as the weekend would have been, but there were enough people that only one empty stool remained in front of the bar. Eddie gestured to it, offering you the seat just as he had on the subway last week. 

You tucked the denim fabric of your skirt behind your thighs as you sat. Eddie watched every movement, an unreadable desire darkening his expression, as if he wished it were his fingers on your skin. 

Your smile seemed to snap him from his trance. He waved down the bartender, who held up her forefinger to signal she would be right over. 

A shadow draped over you as you scanned the liquor-cluttered shelves, bathing you in a welcoming darkness. Protection. Eddie’s arms framed your torso, his hands planted firmly on the bartop. And when you lightly grasped his wrist, your thumb rubbing against the soft hairs on his arm, you could have sworn you felt the tension leave his body in one swift exhale.

“What are you gonna get?” The grainy pop music playing from the speakers and a cacophony of neighboring conversations muffled his voice, and he had to shout just to be heard. 

“A vodka tonic.” Simple, classic, and most importantly—not expensive. Though you probably should let him be the judge of that, considering it was his treat. “If that’s okay?”

Eddie laughed softly and nodded. “It’s your night, Heiress.” The tip of his tongue swiped over his lower lip. 

He ordered your drink first, then placed his order for whatever beer was on tap before declining to open a tab. Your chest went slightly concave; you should have followed his lead and ordered the cheaper option. 

As if sensing your guilt, Eddie pulled back enough to look you in the eye. “It’s your night,” he repeated, grabbing your short, stout glass and placing it in your hand. He raised his own taller mug, proposing a toast. “To a badass future social worker and all of the lives she’s gonna change. For the better,” he added quickly. 

Before he could clink his glass to yours, you locked eyes with him. The brown eyes that steeled themselves against you the night he first checked into the motel were now pillow-soft, beckoning you to fall. He may not have even been aware of it himself. 

“To the coolest rockstar I know,” you said, allowing the lips of your glasses to touch. “And the second-coolest guest to ever stay at the motel.”

Eddie raised a brow. “Second?”

“You really think you’re cooler than Phyllis?”

“Touché.” He relented with a smirk, taking a swig of his drink that left a foamy mustache on his upper lip. Without a second thought, he licked it away. 

The movement enraptured you: his tongue swiping over his skin, leaving no residue in its wake. That same tongue that peeked out from his mouth when he was focused, a simple muscle, but it held your attention for a beat too long. 

“Are you…” Eddie gestured towards your vodka tonic, and you realized you hadn’t even taken a sip. 

Cheers to embarrassing yourself ten minutes into the date. Non-date. Whatever it was. 

The vodka’s bitterness and the bubbles from the tonic water seeped into your tongue. You savored the burn as you swallowed. It had been so long since you’d had a drink, and just the first taste had you buzzing. If you didn’t pace yourself properly, you’d be tipsy far too soon. 

The sound system crackled and microphone feedback shot through the bar. You and Eddie winced in unison, each taking a gulp of your drinks. 

A man in his mid-thirties, balding with a goatee, stood at a makeshift stage at the back of the bar. “Welcome to Music Mondays here at The Brink. That’s right…it’s karaoke night!”

There was a smattering of applause that didn’t  match the emcee’s enthusiasm, but he remained undeterred. 

“Sign up here with your name and your song, and we’ll get started in a few minutes. Drink that liquid courage and come on down!” The microphone screeched once more as he slid it back into the stand. 

You turned to Eddie, your eyes wide with mischief. “You’re gonna do it, right?”

Eddie scoffed. “Fuck, no. I’m not getting up there and making a fool of myself.”

“But it’s my night,” you reminded him. “You said so yourself.”

He looked poised to argue, one hand gripped tightly around the mug’s handle, his mouth ready to say no. But then you batted your eyelashes and pouted, all in jest. A dramatic showing that you didn’t expect would convince him. 

A wry smile betrayed his tough exterior as his thumb ghosted your lower lip. Lightning crackled at his touch, soft as it was, illuminating your bones and surging through your veins. When he pulled back, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, a light red stain tinged his skin. If he noticed it, he made no attempt to wipe it off. 

“It is your night,” he mused, gaze flickering to your mouth before promptly returning to your eyes. When you lit up in anticipation of him conceding, he couldn’t help but grin back. “One song. And I’m choosing it.”

You couldn’t argue with him, not when his touch still lingered on your lip. He disappeared for a moment to add his name to the list. As soon as he was out of sight, you took a much larger gulp of your drink. A trickle escaped out of the corner of your mouth, and you haphazardly swiped at it with the back of your hand, lest it ruin the shirt you’d picked out especially for the date. 

This isn’t a date. The reminder was as harsh as the vodka itself. You lifted the glass once more and drained it until the half-melted ice cubes clicked against your teeth. Whatever this evening was, you needed to relax. Enjoy Eddie’s company without reading too much into his every move. 

You turned your attention to the TV mounted above the shelves, engrossing yourself in the scrolling closed captions. A weatherman announced that this summer was going to be a ‘scorcher,’ and though he said it with a plastic grin, you inwardly cringed at the impact the air conditioning would have on the electric bill. 

“I’m up third.” Eddie’s voice broke in, turning the upcoming weather into a distant memory. He raised his brows when he saw your glass, now empty on the sticky bartop. “You finished that already?”

“Mhm.” Your smile was sloppier than you intended, your head starting to float from your neck as tipsiness crept in. 

Eddie breathed out, shaking his head with a glimmer of a smirk. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or impressed, and you didn’t have time to ask before he waved over the bartender. “Just water, please.” He nodded his thanks when she slid it over. “Drink,” he said to you, and you dutifully obliged. 

“What song did you pick out?” Something that is supposed to be screamed more than sung, you assumed. 

He just shook his head again and swallowed more beer. “It’s a surprise.” His eyes twinkled when he said it, and you wondered if his choice erred more on the side of Madonna than Metallica. 

A woman got up on stage and began her rousing rendition of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. 

Peppy? Upbeat? A great way to kick off karaoke night? Absolutely. 

On-key? Not even close. 

“If you ever start a new band, you should ask her to join.” You chinpointed towards the woman currently butchering the Cyndi Lauper classic. “She’s got that star power, I think.”

Eddie snorted but composed himself quickly to play into your joke. “I’m worried she’d outshine me.” He widened his eyes in faux concern. “Go solo and leave me behind, y’know?”  

“She’ll probably steal all of your groupies, too,” you added, tutting as if to say, what a shame. 

“Even you?”

You cocked your brow. “Who said I’m your groupie?”

He leaned his elbow against the bar, mouth slackjaw at your rejection. Disbelieving laughter left his throat in a huff. 

“I take you out, treat you to the best watered-down drink this city has to offer, and this is the thanks I get?” His curls brushed against his cheeks when he shook his head. “Who would you be a groupie for? Wait, no; lemme guess.” He tapped his finger to his chin. “New Kids on the Block? Boyz II Men?”

“I think I’d die if Joey McIntyre so much as looked at me.” You hadn’t meant to say that aloud. The watered-down or not, the alcohol was certainly turning sober thoughts into tipsy words. 

Eddie chugged half of the beer, watching as the woman on stage finished her song and left with a triumphant bow. “Pretty sure your shitty taste in music is what plays at the gates of Hell,” he said to you. 

Your response was a mere flick of your middle finger. 

A man in a suit took the stage next, loosening his tie as he positioned himself behind the microphone. A group of similarly-dressed men started hooting and hollering obnoxiously the moment the opening chords to Don’t Stop Believin’ blared through the sound system.

You looked back to Eddie. If he was nervous about singing karaoke, he didn’t show it. His shoulders were relaxed, his posture much less tense than on the walk to the bar. Maybe the alcohol loosened him up as it had you. 

“What about you?” You asked. “Whose groupie would you be?”

“Easy,” he said, not missing a beat. “Joan Jett. Total badass, killer musician, and hot as hell.” He nodded to confirm his choice before leaning in and loudly whispering. “Bad Reputation was basically my secret anthem in high school.”

You laughed. “Did you imagine it playing in the background when you walked down the halls?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Eddie grinned and polished off his beer. 

His confession warmed you—or maybe that was just the vodka working its way through your bloodstream. Regardless, you were intrigued by the glimpse into his past and found yourself hungry for more. 

“Can I ask you a non-groupie related question?”

“Shoot.”

Your tongue was heavy, the resulting slurring softening your words. “If your hometown is so shitty, why are you trying to go back?”

He loosened a chuckle, glancing at the shelves of booze before looking back to you. “My uncle still lives there. He, ah, he raised me after my dad split and my mom…y’know.” Eddie cleared his throat and managed a small smile. “Why? You want me to stick around?” 

The hair on his forearm tickled when he slid it over to nudge you, his pinky finger overlapping yours. 

Of course you wanted him to stick around. You’d smear honey all over the motel’s siding to lure more bees, tempt them to build their nests among the sticky sweetness, just so he would have a reason to stay. 

The man on stage belted out his final “don’t stop believin’” as his buddies enveloped him in drunken hugs. 

“All right!” The emcee bleated into the microphone. “Next up, we have…” He checked the sign-up sheet. “…Eddie! Let’s give him a hand, folks.”

A smattering of applause echoed throughout the room, the excitement of karaoke night already dwindling. If Eddie noticed, he didn’t show it. 

“This one’s for you, Heiress.” He winked and sprinted towards the stage. 

Eddie pressed his foot on the microphone stand, adjusting it so it was level with his lips. His fingers curled around its neck, dramatically tugging it closer as the instrumentals piped through the sound system.

Well, since my baby left me Well, I found a new place to dwell Well, it's down at the end of Lonely Street At Heartbreak Hotel

His hips swung back and forth, the gyrations not quite as precise as Elvis’s, but he still snapped them in time with the staccato guitar chords. The right heel of his sneakers tapped the floor as he continued, voice dipping into his lower register.

Where I'll be, I'll be so lonely, baby  Well, I'm so lonely  I'll be so lonely, I could die

Free hand pressed to his heart, Eddie leaned in your direction and tilted the mic stand while he sang. The movements were reminiscent of how a man would dance with someone he loved, impassioned yet graceful. Charisma oozed from every pore, his natural command of the stage an enduring reminder of his brief foray into rock stardom.   

The other patrons faded into the background as his eyes fixed on you, a personal serenade rather than karaoke night amongst a sea of drunks. Easiness weaved through each note he sang, his body loosening and his lips curving into a smile when you let out a vodka-fueled whoop of admiration. 

Now, the bellhop's tears keep flowin'  And the desk clerk's dressed in black  Well, they've been so long on Lonely Street  Well, they'll never, they'll never look back

Eddie pointed to you when he referenced the desk clerk, the crowd following his every move. The heat of their stares only exacerbated the warmth that the alcohol already sent coursing through you, but you felt no need to hide. The rich timbre of his voice was a magnetic pull, drawing you in until it echoed deep in your bones. 

Although it's always crowded  But you still can find some room  For broken hearted lovers  To cry there in their gloom  Where they get so, they get so lonely, baby  Well, they're so lonely  They'll be so lonely, they could die

He ended the song with one final swing of his hips, one foot turned inward in an Elvis-esque pose. If anyone else applauded for him, it couldn’t be heard over the sound of your cheers. 

He made a beeline for you. “Did that live up to your expectations?” Sweat dripped from his flushed forehead and down his temples. 

“Exceeded them, actually.” 

The bartender slid over two shot glasses filled with amber liquid. “On the house,” she explained when you and Eddie looked at her in confusion. 

You shouldn’t. The TV set that broadcasted the news showed that it was nearly nine o’clock and you were already tipsy from the one drink. Adding a shot—and subsequently mixing liquor—was a recipe for disaster. 

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t wanna,” Eddie said. “I’ll take them both.”

With a shake of your head, you took the glass nearest you and downed it, the whiskey burning stronger than you had anticipated. Tears reflexively welled in your eyes, leaving you clinging to the hope that you had blinked them away before Eddie could notice.

He let out a soft, low whistle. “Well, okay then.” His own shot disappeared past his grimacing lips.

A familiar synthesized beat replaced the idle hum of conversation as a middle-aged woman began her song. Eddie threw back his head when he heard it, groaning as though the ‘80s hit left him in agony.

“You’re such a music snob,” you lamented, reaching out with both of your hands to grab onto his. If this is what liquid courage felt like, you were more than happy to ride that wave. “There’s more to life than heavy metal.”

“I just sang Elvis!” He protested, but his efforts were all in vain as you hopped off of the barstool and led him away from your empty shot glasses. “Heiress…” His tone was a warning, one that you promptly ignored.

You let your gaze meet his, the vodka-and-whiskey combination working overtime to stifle your nerves. 

“Dance with me.”

Eddie laughed. “You’re tipsy.”

“I’m tipsy and I want you to dance with me.” 

“You wanna dance, huh?” He laughed again when you nodded. “All right; let’s dance.” 

Eddie’s hands slid down to your wrists and adjusted your arms so they draped over his shoulders, his curls tickling your fingers when they clasped behind his neck. He hesitated for a second before letting his own fingertips rest on your waist, careful to avoid dipping below the small of your back.

Watching, I keep waiting, still anticipating love  Never hesitating to become the fated ones  

The current performer was marginally better than the first two, but her voice wasn’t nearly as polished as Eddie’s. She kept getting too close to the mic, the lyrics muffled each time her purple-lipsticked mouth grazed the cover. 

You inched forward, your chest against Eddie’s as the two of you swayed in tandem. His fingers flexed before tugging you closer, evidence that you weren’t the only one affected by the shot. 

“Can’t remember the last time I heard this song,” he mused wistfully. “Probably my senior prom. The last one, anyway.”

“You had more than one senior prom?”

His cheeks, already pinkened from the liquor, flushed a deeper shade of red. “Yeah, it, uh, took me a few tries to graduate,” Eddie admitted. “But I did it.” A sheepish smile still held a twinge of pride. 

“You did it.”

“Yeah.” One arm reached back to grasp your hand and twirl you around, and you breathed an audible sigh of relief when the room didn’t spin with you. “But tonight,” he grinned, “is all about you.” 

You. Not the motel or its crumbling financial infrastructure. Not the guests or your parents. Not school or exams or term papers. Just you. 

An involuntary giggle wriggled its way up and you ducked your head to hide it, your forehead brushing against Eddie’s lips. Did he purse them slightly in a hint of a kiss, or was that a figment of your imagination?

Turning and returning to some secret place inside  Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say  Take my breath away

“You okay?” Eddie asked, a smile in his voice.

“Mhm. Just happy.”

“Yeah? Good.” His forefinger tucked under your chin and tilted it upwards, granting him a better look at you. The tip of his tongue parted his lips and swiped over the whiskey-scented residue. “You deserve to be happy.”

You did deserve to be happy. You deserved joyful moments in your life, people who surrounded you in sunshine even when rain poured.

My love, take my breath away  My love, take my breath away

You deserved Eddie.

Standing before you, his eyes never strayed from your form, flicking from your face to where his hands gripped your waist. His chest rose and fell in time with the music. 

“I…” You swallowed your fear, already tempered by tipsiness, curling your fingers into the back of his ribbed t-shirt collar. 

Desire rippled down your spine and you leaned in to close that godforsaken gap, already tasting him on your tongue. 

But not before he pulled away. 

--

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[elaci]

You spur Art onto a rougher persona in the bedroom, and in turn make Patrick a very jealous man.

cw; voyeurism, f receiving oral, public sex.

Art Donaldson, Patrick Zweig x fem!reader | The Rule of Thirds masterlist | talk to me!

Art Donaldson is good with his tongue.

He speaks well, calls you nice things and praises your every action. You’ve learnt over the past month that he’s glad to have someone to coo over, someone who isn’t there to correct him but rather be connected to him— you sit and watch his games in supportive adoration rather than in scrutiny. He isn’t afraid to fuck up, isn’t afraid of your loss of attention, isn’t afraid of you. He thanks you for your companionship with his tongue; whether it's a sweet word rolled off the length of it, or a deep kiss in which he traverses your mouth with it, or a solid few hours spent lapping at your pussy like a thirst-driven man.

You thank him for his tongue with a memento to keep, a photo or three of his devotion to you. He keeps them in his bedside drawer, all titled differently, all of depraved things that should never see the light lest he wants to lose any chance at publicity.

Though some of the photos are sweet. There’s one in particular pinned to a posterboard in his dorm room, one you let him take of you after he had taken you out for food one night, your face messy with dinner and your grin wide at Art’s proposal of ice-cream for dessert. It’s a blurred photo, but he’s getting better at capturing you in the right light, he enjoys it, even. Some days you’ll return from class to find a new pack of film on your bed, Art almost more eager than you to fall subject to your artform.

He takes care of you, he’s sweet beyond belief. You aren’t dating, you don’t think so at least, but he treats you like his girlfriend— holds your hand as you walk through campus, holds your hand as you cum on his dick, holds your hand as you cuddle after the fact. He loves your hands, how they fit in his, and he loves your eyes too, and your voice and your ass and your—

“I’ll be there tomorrow morning, we can go eat before your match.”

Patrick’s voice is a little static through Art’s phone, especially with it being on loudspeaker. Art struggles to hear his friend through the phone that sits on his bedside table, he blames the shitty service he gets from his dorm room, but the fact that you’re sitting on his cock and biting at his ear might also be the cause of his hard hearing.

“Sorrywhatwasthat?” Art manages, furrowing his eyebrows as he tries to focus on Patrick’s voice rather than the roll of your hips atop his and the feel of your hands on his chest and your tongue trailing across his jawline.

“I’m in Stanford tomorrow. For your match. Are you okay?” There’s a tone that laces his voice even through the static, Art can hear the growing smile on his lips.

“Yeah. Sorry, uh,” Art has to use both hands to hold you down on his cock to stop your incessant bouncing so he can think for a moment. “Shitty service.”

You frown against his neck, where you kiss languidly, and lean up a little to whisper lowly into his ear, “I want you to cum on my tits and take a photo.”

“Fuck,” Art bites his tongue only after the words spilt from his lips.

There’s silence, and then a sudden burst of laughter from the phone. “Are you jerking off right now?”

“No.”

“You are. You’re jerking off, I could fucking hear you.”

You grin, but Art cups a hand over your mouth before a word falls from your lips. He clears his throat and blinks a few times. “I’m not jerking off, Patrick, I’m just tired. I’ve been training all day.”

“It’s lunchtime, Art.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Art says, giving you a look as you dart your tongue out to lick the palm of his hand that covers your mouth. You try and roll your hips some more, find some friction you desperately need with Art’s cock, but all it does is make his grip on you tighten. With you still, he's able to focus on Patricks words and muster up something that resembles a conversation. "What time will you get here?"

"Early," you can hear Patrick shuffling around through the phone. "Do you know if Tashi's busy? We could meet for breakfast, make it a double date."

Art catches the furrow of your eyebrows and uncovers your mouth to lean forward and give you a kiss in lieu of the distraction your tongue is offering. You almost let yourself get lost in the kiss, you almost let your mind empty, but Patrick’s words ring in your ears and within a moment you’re turning your head and plucking Art’s phone from the bedside table.

“You’re dating Tashi Duncan?” You speak into the phone, very suddenly making your presence known. Art tries to grab at his phone, but you hold it away from him and frown at his attempts.

“You didn’t tell her?” Patrick speaks to Art rather than you, and you can imagine the dumbstruck look on his face.

Art takes a moment to look between you and his phone, silently debating whether he should try and reach for it again, but ultimately decides against it. Instead, he shrugs, sweat sticks his hair to his forehead— “It never came up. She’s been away for like… two weeks now.”

“Wow,” you and Patrick say in unison, though Patrick adds a ‘hi, by the way’ on to the end for good measure.

“Hi, Zweig,” you speak into the phone.

“Are you mad? Tashi is fine with me seeing other people if that’s—”

You cut him off with a laugh as Art's hands wrap around you and roam over the expanse of your back. “I’m not mad,” you say. “More like jealous: Tashi Duncan is the hottest woman I’ve ever seen. I’d kill someone to know what she tastes like. God, the photos I could take…”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. You wonder if Patrick is blushing pink like Art is right now, lips curled into an almost relieved smile. You wonder what runs through their heads, whether they too are imagining the sight; Tashi Duncan in front of your lens, something angelic.

“Wait, are you two fucking right now?”

Art chokes out a laugh, forehead falling to rest on your shoulder as you grin, despite Patrick’s inability to see it. You had almost gotten so used to the feeling of cockwarming Art that it felt natural, like chasing a climax is unnecessary when you feel so full and whole just sitting on his cock.

“Yes, and I was close to finishing before you called, so thanks for that.”

You’re about to click Arts phone off and return to business when you hear a shuffle from the other end of the line, and then Patrick speaks. “Leave the phone on.”

A moment of contemplation, Arts eyes meeting yours. He shrugs, unopposed to letting his best friend listen in on your intimacies— the ball is in your court.

“No,” you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “You’re in time out, you should have told me about Tashi— bye!”

“Hey wait don’t—”

The line dies and Art’s phone is thrown haphazardly onto the bedside table. He smiles when you turn back to him, those pretty lips of his curled upwards in amusement at your ways.

“You’re evil,” he smiles into the kiss he gives you, sweet as always. “He’s probably rock hard and hating life.”

“Hope so,” you joke, leaning into Art and rolling your hips again, relighting the burning need in both of your chests. Art groans as you hold onto his shoulders, slide up on his cock and then push your weight back down. Your movements are halted, however, by Art’s hands on your waist.

“Wait,” his words are breathless. “I’m sorry for not telling you about Tashi. I didn’t want you to—”

“I’m not mad,” you roll your hips. "It's not like you're the one dating her, and I'd assume you aren't thinking about her rather than me right now—" you pause. "Unless you are doing that. Is that why you're apologi—”

“Jesus Christ no,” Art chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “It's just.... we had something last year, me and Patrick... with Tashi. Now it's just them."

"Oh," you raise your brows in curiosity. "Lucky you. So you have a habit of fucking the same girl then?"

Art rolls his eyes, catching on to your teasing tone. "We didn't fuck," he assures you. "We just... made out. We had a match the next day, Tashi gave her number to the winner."

You nod and hum quietly, biting your lip to keep yourself from laughing out loud. You can hear Art's stuttered laugh exhaling through his nose and almost break into laughter at the thought of his face losing a match with stakes like those. "I'm sorry," you cover your mouth with your hand to try and stifle your laughter. "I'm not laughing at you I just, that must have been the worst fucking day of your life."

Art laughs even harder than you do. "Don't rub it in, I'm over it."

"So you aren't in love with Tashi Duncan?"

Art shakes his head. He pauses, his laughter subsiding. "...No."

"She's hot, Art. Hot like the sun," you sing Tashi's praises. "Who wouldn't be infatuated? How could you resist her? She's sexy."

Art swallows, his grip on you tightens. There it is, that warmth in your chest, that tightening in your stomach. Art tries to hide his face, press a kiss to your shoulder, but you card your fingers through his hair and pull his gaze back to meet yours. "You're too sweet on me, Art. I'm hurt," you tease, watching as his eyes flit from yours to your lips, to your tits and rolling hips. You test the waters; "do you think Patrick is this sweet on Tashi?"

"What?" Art's eyebrows furrow, but you can feel his cock twitch inside of you at the image forming in his head.

"Patrick isn't a sweetheart," you shake your head. "I'd know. I think he fucks Tashi how he fucked me; mean. Mean and selfish. And I think she's worse in return."

Art bites back a moan, lets you start moving up and down on his cock again, closes his eyes, relishes in the thought. It makes him ache, that image in his mind, but he can see it so clearly: Patricks pace, the possessive grip he has, that way he groans when he's breathless and nearing the edge. Fuck, he can hear it, he can hear her, he can hear you.

"Do you think he fucks better knowing he has what you don't?” you ask, your voice dropping lower, your hips moving quicker. “That you lost?"

"Shh," Art whispers desperately. He starts to rock his hips up into you, "just shut up."

You grin, "you like this, don’t you? This jealousy. You like knowing that if you got the chance, you'd change her mind— I've never seen you like this."

"Well I am—" Art mumbles, pressing wet kisses to your throat, to your collarbone, "—with you, not her, not him."

"Are you with me?" you breathe, arching your back as Art continues to grind into you. "Where are you in that pretty head of yours? Here, or with them?"

He looks up, eyes hooded, and his expression is unreadable. It's like he's searching your eyes for the answer you want him to give you.

“I’m not your girlfriend, Art. You don’t have to pretend to only have eyes for me, Patrick fucks good and Tashi probably fucks better.”

"Fuck you," his words are sudden, less angry than desperate. He's wrapping an arm around your waist and rolling you onto your back in just a second flat, pushing himself deep into you as presses your body into his innerspring mattress. He pushes forward and his thrusts are harsh, powerful and unforgiving. You gasp at the change of pace, but don't protest. You want this: the burning passion, the anger, the newfound pulsing in your cunt as Art drills into you. The heat of him is intoxicating, and it feels almost foreign at this pace. Like a new sensation and a forbidden thrill: it fills your whole body, every single vein, every single cell, every single inch of skin until there's nothing left behind but Art. His name on your lips and his sweat on your skin, his body heavy atop you. All encompassing, all consuming.

You're not sure if it's him or you who comes first, but Art is ordering his name from your lips like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth, to reality. He fucks you senseless, near bruises your cervix with the way his hips snap into yours even through your shared orgasms. Still, though, through the heavy-weighted feelings and sinful fantasies you share, Art takes your hand in his and holds it tight as you come undone. He may be acting like Patrick, but he's far from.

He stays seated deep inside of you once the waves of ecstasy wash away from the two of you, his chest heaving against your own. He doesn't move his hand from yours, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the side of your knuckles as he catches his breath.

"God, Art," you mutter, running a finger down his spine with your free hand. "I need to poke at your jealous side more often."

Art snorts, briefly into your eyes. "You want me to think of other people as I fuck you? Cuck."

"Cuck?" you parrot, smirking. You tilt your head towards him and lick your lips with interest before kissing him. The kiss is fleeting and chaste, yet still somehow filled with everything you've felt since he pulled your legs around his waist and buried his throbbing cock into you. "I'm not the cuck," you breathe against his lips. "Patrick is."

"What do you mean?" Art presses an unknowing kiss to the corner of your lips. You laugh breathily as he slides out of you gently, allowing your thighs to fall off from his hips. You hold his gaze still, the ghost of mischief pulling at the corners of your lips, and Art slowly puts the pieces together in his head. His eyes snap to his phone on the bedside table, screen still lit; ONGOING CALL.

"You hung up though?" Art scrambles to grab his phone and hold it to his ear. He's met with songs of Patrick's laughter, along with the sound of rustling clothes as he moves. "Patrick? Seriously? Did you jerk off to that?"

"What makes you think that?" Patrick replies through the phone, voice breathy and husky, the low timbre sending shivers down Art's spine despite his embarrassment. "I'm not a perv."

Art has to bite his lip to stop laughter from breaking out of his chest. "You absolutely are a fucking perv."

"Sorry, what was that? I thought I heard you say 'Patrick, I just came to the thought of fucking my girl as good as you fuck yours', my mistake."

"I took him off speaker," you loll your head to the side, watching him for any signs of genuine anger. Besides the pink tint to his cheeks, something tells you that he's enjoying this, maybe the fact that his cock is already growing hard again. You can feel a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips when Art gives you a look of hushed approval.

"Goodbye Patrick," he speaks sternly into the phone, and then hangs up before his friend can beg to bear witness to round two. Art sighs, looks at you for a moment and then grins, "you're evil."

You shrug, biting your lip to try and contain yourself. You push some of your hair from your face and watch Art turn to rummage around next to the bed. You wonder for a moment if he's actually mad, if you've crossed a line you didn't know existed, but a sudden flash cures your racing mind. Art is smiling, your camera in hand as he looks at the image he had just taken.

"Hey that's my good camera," you huff as he tosses your Canon onto the mattress next to you.

"I know," Art grunts a little as he lowers himself to his knees between your legs. "I want him to know I've tasted more of you, and you can't email Polaroids.”

"But—"

Art bites the inside of your thigh, hard. "Shut up and take your photos, baby.”

SIX YEARS LATER

"I'm sorry, but we've decided to go with Rikki. We saw the shots she took for the Donaldsons’ wedding and just fell in love; have you seen them? Such a photogenic couple, we're hoping Rikki will capture us half as well."

You don't realise there's a sour look on your face until the couple standing in front of you both frown. Their faces match each other, but not in a cute married-couple sense: they look like siblings. The same nose, the same boring eyes and shit-smearing obsession with the fucking Donaldson's and their stupid fucking destination wedding shoot you've flicked through thirty times in the last two days.

"So I drove an hour to get fired," you say, rather than ask.

The wife, who wears a frilly top with so many sequins stuck onto the hem that they're starting to fall off in patches, nods. "Oh honey," she pouts. "Don't be sad! You aren't even a wedding photographer, are you? You wouldn't understand how exciting these things can be!" She grabs her fiancé by the elbow. "Right, darling?"

Her fiancé replies in a grunt of agreement, though you doubt he had much say (or interest) in who takes the photos as long as they can get the right angles to slim him down a bit. You try not to roll your eyes, fingers drumming on the café table that separates you and the soon-to-be-weds.

"So have you seen them?" The woman looks giddy, smiling at you from across the table.

"Seen what?" You ask, watching as she pulls her phone from her pocket and starts tapping on its screen.

"The Donaldson's wedding photos, John and I are huge tennis fans, I don't know if you know of them? Gorgeous couple, If I were a few years younger I'd be fishing to be their third!" She lets out a loud cackle at her own statement and slides her phone across the table for you to see, there on her screen, a gorgeous wide shot of the wedding party. In the middle, surrounded by groomsmen and bridesmaids you've never seen before, Tashi and Art kiss. Husband and wife, till death or retirement do they part.

You look up from the photo to look into the woman's eyes. "Never heard of them," you shrug. "Should I have?"

"I'm telling you, dear," she swoons. "Tennis players are something else."

God forbid you show her something else these tennis players have featured in.

Your phone rings before you can let your tongue get you in trouble, and though you thank god for the interruption, you’re less enthused when you see who’s calling. Still, a way out is a way out, you’re apologising for ‘simply having to take this’ and ducking out of the café, camera bag in tow, in less than a minute.

The outside air is good for your lungs and sullen skin— you take a moment to breathe before sliding the answer button over on your phone and holding it to your ear. You don’t say a word, and instead wait for the poor excuse that could warrant calling you.

“Look, I didn’t mean what I said in the email, shit still just stings, alright? I was second favourite to Art for a long time back then.”

Patrick Zweig gets straight to the point, always has, and you aren’t sure if you like that about him. A ‘hey, how are you? I miss you,’ isn’t the worst thing to hear when you’ve just lost a job and been reminded of your college woes.

“I told you not to call me,” you say, glancing back into the café to see the couple packing up to leave. “I was with clients.”

“Right, sorry,” Patrick says, though he sounds more rushed than apologetic. “How’d that go?”

You almost laugh. “They’re laying me off in favour of Rikki Leanne.”

“Who?”

“She was Art and Tashi’s wedding photographer, they saw the photos and ‘fell in love’—absolutely had to go with her, or something.”

There’s a pause, Patrick probably hadn’t expected you to speak so lax about Art and Tashi after all this time. Though if he’s surprised, or upset, he doesn’t show it in his voice— “so you’re free for a job then?”

“What?”

“I’m wanting some photos taken, you can stay here if you want, I can pay you in dinner and good booze.”

You frown and parrot a line from an email he sent the other day. The first one had been normal, though of course laden with cocky callbacks to the days you’d photograph him in exchange for an orgasm or three, but as you talked back and forth the emails had moved from reconnecting to remembering the fallout between the four of you. “Sometimes I wonder if you did what you did because you thought taking tennis from us would level the playing field.”

Your words are cold, though they were his first— you speak verbatim from an email he sent at four in the morning, littered with typos and missing words.

“I’m an idiot, I know,” Patrick says. “I didn’t mean it. Well actually yes I did, at the time— but I’m trying to make up for it now, okay? Look, I’m sorry if I made you feel guilty for what happ—“

“I didn’t do it, Patrick. I’ve told you, I told Art, I told Tashi— it wasn’t me.” Your voice catches and you swallow. “It happened, but it wasn’t me and I won’t take the blame for it.”

“Okay, okay.” He breathes out, and his tone softens a little. “Just… tell me you’ll come and see me.”

“I can’t, Patrick, it’s been six years.”

“Yeah but—”

You shake your head and interrupt. “No, listen, I’m busy. I’ve got work, a life, I’ve changed too much for you to even think about trying to get me back in your bed.”

Patrick laughs. “I never said anything about fucking you, I think that’s more on your mind than mine… maybe you haven’t changed that much.”

A smile plays on your lips despite yourself. “Maybe not,” you admit.

There’s a rustle on the other end, and then a sigh. “Come see me,” his tone is softer this time. “Please.”

You hesitate. “I… Alright, fine, I will.”

“Cool, cool, good, I’ll text you my address,” there’s a moment of silence, long enough for the words to start to sink in and the idea to become solid. “Hey,” he adds on, “it’ll be fun.”

No ‘I missed you’, no ‘I’m sorry’, nothing. Just fun. That’s all you’ll ever know from Patrick Zweig— fun, you guess. Still, though, despite the growing pit in your chest, there’s something pulling you to oblige. A fresh start, maybe, or a glimpse back to when life was exciting.

“Alright,” you reply, falling right back into the same circuit that ate your college experience. “It’ll be fun.”

SIX YEARS EARLIER

Four prints sit side-by-side on a table in the photography lab in front of you. You like the shots, all of Art, your newest muse, on the tennis courts. You wonder if sports photography is your new niche, or you just enjoy capturing the beauty of Art Donaldson doing what he loves. Though no matter how nice the photos came out, they’re still the reason you’re missing breakfast with Art and Patrick.

You’d have liked to be stuck between them at a breakfast table.

You remain alone, however, with photographs for company and a dull ache in your thighs from Arts second and third turn at you the day before, you spent the late afternoon sleeping off your exhaustion in his arms and missed your chance at finishing your photos then. The lab is cold and you regret wearing a short skirt, the fluorescent lights hanging overhead do nothing to warm you as you pick up and examine each image carefully, checking for blemishes or smudges you might have missed before printing them out. The clock above the door reads nine twenty-four, Art's game starts at ten, so you need to hurry and finish up if you want to find Patrick and a seat before it begins.

You're just reaching for a peg, ready to pin up your first photo, when you notice a movement at the edge of your vision. At the sound of footsteps behind you, you spin around quickly— just to find yourself pinned to the steel table where your photographs sit. Two strong arms and an all-too-familiar smile keep you in place; you can't help but stare, mouth parted while those sinful eyes of his bore into yours. Patrick Zweig.

"Jesus, I didn't hear you," you breathe out, your cheeks hot. You try to move back— away from him— only to bump into the tables' edge with your lower back. The photos of Art shift as the table rattles. "Where's Art?" You glance down at the hand Patrick places on your hip, riding your shirt up enough to rub circles onto the skin of your torso.

"Do you care?" Patrick leans down, presses his lips to your ear, sending shivers across your neck and through your body. "You should," he adds huskily. "He won't forgive me."

You exhale something similar to soft laughter, unable to fight against the way he pulls your hips forward, into his. "Forgive you for what?"

"Getting you alone, you're his. He lets me play with you on his terms, right? I fucked you facing him, I came twice listening to him ruin you, then a third time to those fucking photos; lights camera action, really?”

You laugh, "he came up with that, and I'm not his anything. If he wants to own me, he can ask first. Plus, he's probably fucked you too, right?"

Patrick shakes his head, and thumbs the hem of your skirt, traipsing his fingers up your bite-and-bruise ridden legs.

"Well then he wants to," you laugh, and then near scream as suddenly, Patrick dips down and grabs the back of your thighs to lift you up onto the photography lab table. Your head nearly hits a light and the cold stainless steel jars against your bare thighs, skirt hiked up around your waist and panties promptly pushed to the side. You kick your legs in protest, but the hold Patrick has on you keeps you from putting any distance between him and you. Patrick stands between your parted thighs, your feet dangling freely off the table— one of his hands on your thigh, the other on the tabletop. He takes one of your photos between his fingers, one of Art hitting a ball, and clicks his tongue at the sight.

"I forgot you take normal photos, too. I bet that shot isn't going to sell as well as your others would." His thumb caresses your skin, stroking over the bitemarks along your inner thighs until the pressure becomes near unbearable. You share a breath, his face moving in close to yours as you rebut.

"Lucky for both of you, I take those pictures for pleasure, not business."

"You don't have any shame," he says, smirking. A finger traces over another bruise that was just visible under your skirt. "You really deserve to suffer, but you told Art yesterday that I'm not sweet."

"You aren't," you scoff, "I think you're an asshole."

The corners of his lips quirk up at that. "And yet here you are."

"I never said I didn't like it," you tease, and press your lips together when his fingers swipe through the folds of your exposed pussy; from entrance to clit and back again.

"I can be sweet," Patrick insists, dipping two fingers further into your heat and watching you take a lip between your teeth in response. "As sweet as you taste."

His words make you smile. "Patrick, you're this close to letting me fuck myself on your fingers and you haven't even kissed me yet: you're not sweet."

He looks momentarily discomfited by your honesty, then shrugs. "Okay, maybe I'm not, open your mouth."

You oblige, and Patrick pulls his fingers from between your legs. Your hips buck up at the loss of contact, which makes Patrick laugh as he takes the back of your neck in one hand and presses his two fingers, slick with your lust, against your tongue. You wrap your lips around the length of his fingers and suck, tasting yourself on him, and for a moment wondering whether you’d taste the same licked from the length of his cock instead.

Patrick slides his fingers from your mouth and uses that hand to cup the side of your face, his fingers wet against your cheek; you make a face in turn. He stops, though, and opts to hold your face for a moment. His voice is unusually soft when he speaks, softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“I don’t want you to think I’m only interested in sex with you,” he says, words a door to that soul of his you’ve never seen.

“Aren’t you?”

Patrick Zweig shakes his head, unable to find the words to convey a simple ‘no’. Instead, your question is answered with a slow and tender kiss to your lips, a sweetness to the way his mouth melts against yours. Like you’re the sun, or the water in which he strides under the sun for a drink of, or the holy ground on which he walks.

He kisses you like Art does, who had spent the day prior kissing you how Patrick normally would. They melt into each other, personas shifted in an attempt to fulfil your aches and yearnings. You wonder if they realise that two is, in fact, better than one.

“I don’t want you to be Art,” you speak against his lips. “You can play sweet all you want, Art can play rough, I like the switch, but you play better together than apart.”

Patrick bites at your bottom lip. “Are we talking about tennis?”

You laugh in response, take Patrick’s wrist and redirect it back between your heated thighs. “I’m never talking about tennis.”

It’s like his knees bend at your very words. Patrick is dipping his head down between your legs instantaneously, spurred on by the hand you snake into his curls. One of his fingers slips deep into your cunt, and you almost scream. Almost. It takes effort not to curse Patrick out for his pace when the next finger pushes into you— slowly and purposefully.

He latches hips lips around your clit in apology, though, tongue teasing the sensitive nerves as he pumps his fingers into you, a rhythm forming in tandem with the ministrations of his mouth. He’s good at it, you wonder how often he goes down on Tashi, probably not nearly enough for how reverently that girl should be worshipped by tongue and touch. And yet, you find yourself growing more aroused despite the thought of him pleasing anyone but you.

It’s then, when he’s working inside you, fingers pressing at your swollen walls, that you finally lose your composure. You grip the edge of the table, knuckles tense as your hips move faster, bucking against Patrick’s mouth, desperate for more of him. He looks up at you, pretty eyes locked onto yours as his tongue moves in circles around your clit. His long fingers curl upwards inside of you, stroking your wet walls with a practiced ease. You reach down to brush his hair away from his forehead before grabbing fistfuls of it and urging him closer— you can feel him smiling against your clit as he complies. With each stroke, with every sound his lips make, you feel more and more undone. You’re close. So close.

“God,” you breathe. “Please—”

You fall silent when a wave of intense pleasure surges throughout your entire body when Patrick quickens his pace even more. Your vision gets blurry, and soon tears spring into your eyes— they pool in your lashes, stain your cheeks as they fall— and you’re lost, consumed by him and every tormenting movement he makes. Patrick’s thrusts become harsher as you begin shaking, and you cry out, the last part of your restraint leaving you as you come against Patrick’s mouth. A shudder runs throughout your whole body when his fingers leave you and you watch him bring them to his own mouth to clean off like it’s nothing but an afterthought.

Patrick stands, his hands on either side of you now, and leans down to capture your lips in his. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, licking at your lips until you open for him, welcoming his entry and savouring the sensations running rampant through your mind. Your eyes flutter closed, you fall victim to his faux sweetness once more, until he’s pulling down his shorts and pumping his hard length with his hand. His kisses leave your mouth and travel down the expanse of your neck, biting and sucking and swirling his tongue over the marks left behind by his best friend.

“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes against your skin. His voice sounds so breathless, so wrecked, that it sends a shiver down your spine. Maybe you would have given in, let him fuck you regardless, but when your eyes open, they catch sight of the clock above the door— 9;57.

“Fuck,” you scramble to push at Patrick’s shoulder, “Arts game, it starts in three minutes.”

He groans. “Shit,” you can tell he’s debating missing it entirely, making up some stupid excuse Art won’t believe so he can fuck you here and now. You shake your head before he can vocalise said idea, and he groans again. “Okay, okay.”

He’s taking a step back, pulling his shorts up and tucking his boner into his waistband as he watches you push yourself, albeit shakily, onto your feet.

“You gonna make it?” he asks, a wicked smirk gracing his features.

“Shut up,” you flatten out your skirt and give him a stern look. “Get moving.”

He doesn’t reply, simply gives a mocking bow, and turns on his heels towards the door to the lab. You take an extra moment to wipe down the lab table you just came on, because you aren’t a heathen, and follow Patrick with weak legs.

You’re taking your seats under the bleating sun as Art steps onto the court. He scans the audience for you, and smiles widely when he lays eyes on you, sitting in the back row of seats far enough from anyone else to consider yourselves alone. You don’t have your camera with you, as far as Art can tell, but he chalks it up to you wanting to enjoy the match and shrugs, stretching a few times and testing the racket in his hand.

You sit, uncomfortably needy, on the hot plastic chair as Patrick readjusts himself endlessly besides you. It makes you smile, the constant shuffling to find a position that soothes the strain of his hard cock against his shorts, though his face is contorted and you almost feel bad. He had been sweet, after all.

Art serves, a tall ginger playing against him that you really don’t pay attention to. You’re secluded, and everyone in the crowd has eyes glued on your Art Donaldson. You watch heads turn with each hit of the ball, and as Art scores his first point, your hand reaches down to palm Patrick through the thin fabric of his shorts.

Patrick’s head snaps to yours. He’s never one to shy away from a public endeavour or two, but anyone could turn their head to find your hand slipping past his waistband and toying inside of his pants.

“The fuck are you doing?” he near hisses as you squeeze at his cock.

“Shut up,” you cross one leg over the other and settle into your seat, circling your thumb over his aching tip before stroking him down to the base. “Just watch Art’s game, be a good friend.”

Who is Patrick to argue? He has to bring a hand to his mouth, act as if he’s dutifully interested in the match at hand as he bites down on his own skin, revelling in the languid pace you stroke him at. It’s ruinous, what you’re doing to him, and the fact that with each hit of the ball Art whines in a way much akin to what he heard over the phone last night, doesn’t help much at all.

With each point Art takes, you speed up. Patrick hopes the sun is enough to justify the sweat beading at his forehead, though he’s not so concerned when the feeling of your hand, wet now with his precum, is so tight around his cock that he can’t think straight. He bucks his hips up a little, coughing to hide a strangled moan as he watches his best friend on the court.

Art plays well as always, lean and flexible and at home on the court. Patrick thinks he can see it, that look of adoration in his eyes as he plays, as he scores again— one more to win the game. You speed up again, and lean over just enough to speak lowly into his ear. You whisper obscenities only just loud enough for him to pick up on, filth spills from your lips and goes straight to his pulsing cock. The audience collectively readies themselves for celebration as Art hits the ball with such force his opponent misses it by a long shot.

Everyone cheers, Art raises his arms in celebration and revels in his win. His eyes lock back onto yours, sporting the widest grin that you can’t help but return tenfold— though his eyes drift a little to the left, and he’s met with the stomach-tightening sweet sight of Patrick Zweig cumming in his fucking pants.

#art donaldson smut #challengers 2024 #challengers smut #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader #art x reader

[deerlino]

DENYING THE OBVIOUS

— “i'm not falling in love,” he says, while he's actually falling the hardest. minho's in such deep denial, it's like he's drowning in the nile.

words ༯ 0.8k / pairing ༯ lee minho x gn!reader / tags ༯ best friends to lovers (kinda), childhood friends, mutual pining, fluff, humor, teasing & banter, arcade games, unspoken feelings, slice of life / content warnings ༯ fluff and more fluff !

a/n ༯ eh, this one's not my top-notch work, had a few bumps and hiccups, but hey, it's alright. took me ages to write tho. 😭 wanted to really nail that denial part, but i guess it's decent enough. hope you still got a kick out of it ! <3

“I’m not falling in love,” he says.

You stare at Minho, half-smirking, half-annoyed. He’s sprawled out on your bed, flipping through one of your old comic books, pretending he’s way cooler than he actually is. His hair is a mess—he’s too lazy to even run a hand through it properly. You roll your eyes.

“Sure, Minho. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you say, tossing a pillow at his face. He barely dodges it, laughing. It’s that laugh that makes your heart skip a beat, but you refuse to admit it.

“Why would I be falling for you?” he teases, grinning. “You’re like... my best friend. And you’re a pain in the ass.”

You snort. “Right back at you, loser.”

He sits up, crossing his legs and leaning forward. “Let’s be real. If anyone’s falling, it’s definitely not me. I’m the epitome of self-control.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, right. You cried watching Toy Story 3.”

“Hey, that was emotional!” he protests, eyes wide in mock offense. “Andy grew up, okay? It’s relatable.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, shaking your head. You grab your phone and plop down beside him, scrolling through your messages. He leans over, way too close, trying to peek at your screen.

“Who’s texting you?” he asks, curious.

You nudge him away. “Nosy much? It’s just my mom.”

“Tell her I say hi,” he says, leaning back on his elbows.

You do, and your mom’s quick reply makes you giggle. “Tell Minho he’s still grounded for breaking my favorite vase last year.”

“Mom says you’re still grounded,” you say, showing him the message. He laughs again, this time falling back onto the bed, clutching his stomach.

“Man, your mom’s got a long memory.”

“Yup,” you agree. “So, Mr. Epitome of Self-Control, what’s the plan for today?”

He sits up, his eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint you know all too well. “Let’s go to the arcade. I bet I can beat your high score on Dance Dance Revolution.”

“You wish!” you exclaim, jumping up. “You couldn’t beat me if your life depended on it.”

As you both head out, the playful banter continues. At the arcade, it’s as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s just you, Minho, and the flashing lights of the game machines. You watch as he concentrates intensely on the dance mat, his tongue sticking out slightly. You can’t help but think he looks kinda cute like that. Not that you’d ever tell him.

“Ha! Beat that!” he shouts, pointing at his score. It’s higher than yours by a mere point. You roll your eyes.

“Beginner’s luck,” you mutter, stepping up to the mat. He watches you, that goofy grin still plastered on his face. You nail the moves, one by one, beating his score by a landslide.

“Told ya,” you say, smugly.

He pouts, crossing his arms. “Okay, okay. You win this time. But next time, you’re going down.”

As you both leave the arcade, he drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. It’s a casual gesture, something he’s done a thousand times before, but tonight, it feels different. Warmer. More... significant.

“Hey, you hungry?” he asks, steering you towards the diner down the street. It’s your usual spot, a place that holds countless memories. As you slide into your favorite booth, Minho immediately starts teasing the waitress, who’s known you both since you were kids.

“Two milkshakes, please. Extra whipped cream for her because she’s extra,” he says, winking at you.

You stick your tongue out at him. “And fries. Don’t forget the fries.”

When the food arrives, you both dig in, talking about everything and nothing. It’s easy, comfortable. But there’s an undercurrent of something more. Something unspoken.

“Do you ever think about the future?” he asks suddenly, looking at you with those deep, thoughtful eyes.

You pause, a fry halfway to your mouth. “Sometimes. Why?”

He shrugs, looking away. “I dunno. Just wondering what it’ll be like. If we’ll still be... like this.”

“Like what?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He fiddles with his straw, avoiding your gaze. “You know. Best friends. Hanging out all the time.”

“Of course,” you say, nudging his foot under the table. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

He finally looks at you, a soft smile on his lips. “Yeah. You’re right.”

You both finish your food, and as you walk home, the silence between you is comfortable. His hand brushes against yours a few times, and each time, your heart skips a beat.

Back at your house, you sit on the porch, watching the stars. Minho leans back, propping himself up on his elbows, looking up at the sky.

“Thanks for tonight,” he says quietly.

You glance at him, surprised. “For what?”

He shrugs, not meeting your eyes. “Just... for being you.”

Your heart flutters, and you find yourself smiling. “Anytime, Minho. Anytime.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, it’s as if the world stands still. Then he breaks the gaze, looking embarrassed.

“Okay, seriously, I’m not falling in love,” he insists again, more to himself than to you.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Keep telling yourself that, idiot.”

But as you both sit there, the night wrapping around you like a warm blanket, you know the truth. And maybe, just maybe, he does too.

© deerlino (est. 040624) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3

#lee know x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #lee know fluff #minho x reader #minho fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz imagines #lee know x you #stray kids x you #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #lee know fanfic #*writing

[hcsiqs]

wait “bad idea right?” was cute 🥹🥹🥹 i need more kate x singer!reader! perhaps singer!reader moving her life to go live with kate in vegas? 🥹 please please pleek and thank you !

| we really were timeless

• pairing: kate martin x fem!reader

• summary: reader is on tiktok live showing her new home in las vegas and her fans get a glimpse into the life of her and kate.

• word count: 1.1k

• find part 1 here

“Heyy!” you waved into the camera with an unknown background behind you, that your fans had seemed to question as soon as they noticed the room. “No, I’m not in Iowa” you laughed, setting the camera down in the bedroom you and Kate shared. The bedroom was decorated with plants and books all along the room as well as small photos and polaroids the couple had taken of themselves as well as photos of their friends.

“I moved!” you said dramatically using your hands to show off the room behind you in all of its glorious adornments that you and Kate had managed to set up in the past few weeks. “I’m a Las Vegas girl now” you smiled, standing up from the bed, “What if I give a house tour? But, mind you we have barely had time to decorate anything, so it’s a little bare!” you giggled, holding the phone close to your face as you walked through the house. You moved your head out of view as you entered into the living room and lowered your voice to a whisper as you spoke to your blonde girlfriend, “I’m gonna do a little house tour, alright?”

“Wait, can I be like the tour guide?” Kate asked cheerfully as she looked up from her phone and put her full attention to you.

“Mhm” you nodded, biting your lip trying to hold back a smile. Kate then got off the couch and planted a soft kiss on your lips off camera. “Ok guys I have a special guest for y’all!” you smiled, hovering your finger over the flip camera button. “Kate!” you exclaimed, turning the camera around to proudly show off your girlfriend, who did a stupid little dance causing you both to fall into a fit of laughter.

they are my favorite couple ever

stop kate is so cuteee

“Ok, ok!” you laughed walking towards the front door.

“So, when you first enter the house we have this lovely bench where you can take your shoes off” Kate spoke displaying the area, before you turned the camera around to face yourself, “Because we don’t want no one’s nasty shoes on our floor,” you turned the camera back around to show a nodding Kate who was in agreement.

“Then straight off there is our living room!” the blonde announced, showing off the plush couch that sat in the middle. “This is y/n’s favorite part” Kate pointed down at the green rug on the floor. You just rolled your eyes behind the camera because the rug was fully Kate’s choice because she said it would be perfect for the house. “But yeah, not much in here yet beside the PS4, so I can play games, and the couch,” Kate shrugged.

“And if you come this way,” Kate used her hands to direct you and the camera to follow her, “our kitchen! I know it’s all white and bland at the moment but we’re working on it” she laughed showing the kitchen island and then walking over to the fridge and opening it, “Oh!” you both let out as the fridge revealed to only hold some take-out food from the night before and a thing of pink lemonade.

“We’re working on grocery shopping” you laughed from behind the camera.

“Yeah, we’re doordash feens” Kate responded, pointing her finger at you. She then closed the fridge and brought you over to the small table you two had bought the other day. “This is our newest addition,” the blonde smiled, showing off the table that had been set to look fancy.

The tall girl kept showing off the home until getting to a room she thought that you should take over and show off to the viewers on live. “Babe, you wanna show them?” Kate’s voice was in a whisper, but it could still be heard by viewers, which caused the comments to go crazy.

DID Y’ALL HEAR THAT???

UGH I NEED WHAT THEY HAVE

“Yeah” you nodded, handing the phone over to Kate and appearing in front of the camera for the first time since the start of the live. “Kate was so kind to let me use our spare room as a little music room!” you said with a smile never leaving your face, as you opened the door and revealed the soundproofing pads on the walls and the different music equipment showering the room.

“This is where all the magic happens,” you said, running your hand across the piano, allowing random notes to be played. “Guys! This right here is my most prized possession!” your face glowed as you pulled a guitar off the wall and showed it to the camera, “It was signed by the one and only Taylor Swift! I still can’t believe it” you shook your head slightly recounting the memory of when you had met her.

“Still jealous you met her and not me” Kate said behind the camera, clearly showing her jealousy.

“Maybe, I can pull some strings for you, hm?” you cocked your head to the side resting your hands on your hips. Your eyes caught a glimpse of Kate’s blue ones from behind the camera and you found yourself wanting to look into them forever, but you knew you needed to move on with the tour. “Anywho! Let’s continue!” you laughed dragging Kate out of the room to have her follow her.

After a couple more minutes of the tour and being on live you decided it was time to go, so that you could spend time with Kate before she had to head off to practice.

You two were sitting on the couch, your legs draping over Kate’s as a tv show played quietly on the tv. “I’m so happy you’re here with me” Kate dropped her head into the crook of your neck, as her hands found their way around your waist.

“I’m so happy to be here with you,” you giggled, feeling her breath on your neck that almost tickled. She then began to place small kisses on your neck and exposed collarbone, that sent a shiver down your spine. “Kate, you have to get to practice” you groaned.

“But, I wanna stay here with you” she whined, still leaving kisses on your shoulder.

“Come on, time to go,” you got off of Kate and held your hands out to pull her off the couch. Her hands reached up to yours and you pulled her off the couch. She placed a small kiss on your lips before walking over to get her keys.

“See you late, love you” she smiled, circling the keys on her finger.

“Love you too” you smiled back before she walked out the front door to head to Aces practice.

allie’s corner.

i hope you like this!! they’re so cutie

#iowa women’s basketball #kate martin #las vegas #las vegas aces #money martin #wnba #wnba basketball #kate martin x reader #kate martin fluff #kate martin fanfic #singer #fanfic #fiction #oneshot #iowa wbb #iowa news #university of iowa #lv aces

[berry-potchy]

Dad's Best Friend!Miguel part 2

Summary: Your dad shows up unannounced, interrupting your romantic dinner with Miguel. He plants seeds of doubt in your pretty little head that Miguel is more than happy to snip off

Tags: DBF!Miguel x F!Reader, age gap, college age reader, P in V sex, size difference (smaller reader), brief under the table footjob, spanking, insecurities, vague mention of Miguel’s past relationships, uncomfortable relationship talk with your dad who means well but ends up making you feel like shit anyway

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Surprise! The second part actually exists. It’s been almost a year since part one and I kept teasing part 2 but I couldn’t think of a way to end it. I considered just abruptly cutting it off and post it but I just couldn’t do it. BUT HERE IT IS NOW. Hope you guys still enjoy it!

Part 1

It has been a week since Miguel has caught you masturbating to the thought of him. A week since you found out that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. A week of absolute depravity that you thought only happened in porn. He fucked you all over the house; no room, furniture, or surface was left untouched during your vigorous lovemaking.

Unfortunately, his “sick leave” had to come to an end and so did your self-imposed break from uni. He’s going back to work the next day so you decided you were going to do something special and make the most of the last evening of his leave. Of course, there’ll be more times to fuck but you feel the need to give him something special before he goes back to his workaholic mode. Maybe it’ll encourage him to start coming home earlier.

You had everything planned. You and Miguel had a lovely early dinner that he helped you prepare. The way it was so easy to fall into a domestic routine made your heart flutter. You’d have to ask him if you can do this with him more often when he’s not so busy with work. You also had wine that Miguel picked out for both of you. You trusted his mature tastes even though you knew he preferred hard liquor. And for dessert, well…

“That’s it, gatita,” Miguel grunted in your ear, a deep growl rumbles from his chest as he rams his fat cock relentlessly into your greedy cunt. “Taking my cock so well. I’m gonna miss this when I’m at work tomorrow. Gonna think about your tight little pussy while I’m in a boring meeting.”

You can’t form any coherent words from how aggressive his thrusts were. Each thrust drove his cock deeper into you, his tip kissing your cervix, knocking the air out of your lungs and the words out of your little cock drunk brain. Your legs were wrapped around his waist and your arms holding his broad shoulders for support, hands desperately clawing at his back. You clung to him tightly as he fucked you standing up in the middle of the kitchen. He took full control of your body, his large hands on your waist, moving you up and down his cock as he pleased, like you’re his personal living cocksleeve.

“My little slut can’t even talk anymore,” he laughs at your pathetic whimpers and whines “Taking my cock like a good girl. Going to make sure you feel it until tomorrow.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck panting, mumbling “please” over and over again against his skin. Your tits are pressed against him, sensitive nipples rubbing against the dusting of dark hair on his chest with every movement. The burning knot in your stomach is threatening to come undone.

“You’re gonna cum for me, princesa?” he said as his thrusts grow frantic. “Wanna feel your pussy milk my cock dry. She’s so greedy for my cum. Sucking me in so good I can’t even try to pull out.”

You arch your back as you feel your orgasm rip through you, making you see white for a second. Miguel catches you, an arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders to keep you from falling over as he keeps on rutting into you to chase after his own climax. He pulls you closer to him to capture your mouth into a kiss as you feel his hot cum coat your velvety walls. You moan against his lips, giving his tongue access to your mouth, making you melt in his arms.

You reluctantly pull away to catch your breath, resting your sweaty forehead against his. He coos at how absolutely wrecked you looked, the pretty makeup you did for him all smeared and messed up. The red of your lipstick is no longer on your lips but all over Miguel – on his lips, cheeks, neck, chest, trailing all the way down to the red ring near the base of his cock.

Miguel sets you down on the dining table, hands keeping your knees apart to watch his cum dripping out of your sloppy hole. Your hands grab your breasts, squeezing them together for his viewing pleasure. Miguel moans at the sight. You are so perfect to him.

“I’m going to see your dad again in the office tomorrow,” he says, kneeling in front of your spread legs, ready to eat his dessert. He licks his lips and rubs his large hands up and down your thighs “I’m sure he’s going to have questions. I’ll make sure to tell him how good you were, taking care of me and making me feel so much better.”

He was about to dive in when the doorbell rang. You hear him growl a string of Spanish curse words under his breath as he reluctantly stands up from where he was kneeling. He tries to calm down and you sit up to wipe the sweat and lipstick off his face. You help him put on his shirt, straightening it out as much as you can with your hands as he tucks away his half-hard cock in his sweatpants. You brush his messy hair back away from his forehead, trying to make him look presentable for when he answers the door.

“I’ll be quick,” he sighs, kissing you on your temple as he pulls away and walks out the room. You can’t help but be a little curious as to who is looking for Miguel this late in the evening. You try to stand up, snatching the silk robe you were wearing earlier to peek at the visitor when you hear an all too familiar voice echo in the halls.

“Miguel! You look like shit!” The loud booming voice of your father makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were coming over?” Miguel said, trying to act normal as you hear him letting your dad in. “You should’ve called.”

“Well I did try to but neither you nor my daughter were answering,” he said “Anyway where is she? I brought you guys your favorites for dinner. I’ll even set up the dinner table for you.”

That got you to snap back to reality. Shit, shit, shit!

You start running to your room, careful not to leave a trail of Miguel’s cum on the floor. You try to wash off any traces of sex with a quick shower and change into a simple shirt and unfortunately with a bra and shorts on this time. Can’t have your dad know you parade around the house half-naked for a man twice your age.

Downstairs, Miguel’s boner is fully killed. He didn’t even get to clean you up with his tongue. Shame. Your dad is talking about work stuff but he’s only half-listening. He helps him set the table for your second dinner of the evening, not able to turn down his best friend lest he gets suspicious. He eyes a few white drops on the table and reluctantly wipes it with the hem of his shirt. His eyes meet yours as you enter the room, drying your hair with a towel. You give him a tight-lipped smile before going in to greet your dad.

You have an okay dinner together: Your dad did most of the talking, which is usually what happens between him and Miguel anyway. He also is still under the impression that Miguel was actually sick so he got a pass. You however have to pretend you aren’t annoyed that the night you planned is ruined as you answer his questions about uni.

“No boys? Partners? I told Miguel not to let you bring any around,” he says smugly to which Miguel smirks, taking a sip of the whisky your dad brought over.

“Dad, please,” you groan, sliding down on your chair, which makes him laugh out loud. You steal a glance at Miguel, pouting, and he’s laughing along. Traitor.

“I just wanted to be sure my baby’s focusing on her studies,” he says, putting his hands up in surrender before adding “and that I don’t end up a grandpa too soon.”

They keep laughing but thankfully, Miguel changes the topic. You give him a look of relief and rub your foot on his leg as a silent thank you. He keeps talking to your dad, pretending not to feel your foot stray further up until it rests on his inner thigh, the tip of your toe toying with the outline of his cock. He grabs your ankle but doesn’t stop you. He instead moves to sit a little closer to the table so you can rub the sole of your foot against his clothed length.

You’re playing a dangerous game. Your dad is right there he could look under the table and find his precious daughter giving his best friend a footjob in front of the dinner and alcohol he so graciously brought over. But you were feeling petty about your ruined plans and Miguel doesn’t seem to mind the attention to his cock.

You bite your lip, feeling his cock harden under your touch. He must feel sticky and uncomfortable under his sweatpants after not being able to wipe his dick of your combined fluids when your dad barged in. You wish your dad decides to leave early so you could get on your knees for Miguel and lick him clean.

Miguel eventually excuses himself, coughing that he needs to go to the bathroom, probably to jerk off and shower. You start clearing up the table and your dad offers to help.

“So,” he starts wiping the table “I see the way you look at Miguel.”

You freeze, trying not to drop the stack of plates you’re holding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You start loading the dishwasher, trying not to make it obvious that your hands are shaking.

“Hey, no need to get defensive. I know what I saw,” he says “And I mean, you’re a young single lady and Miguel is this handsome, cool, older guy that’s a constant in your day-to-day. It’s not wild to have a crush on him. I’m just…”

Silence.

“Sweetie, I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to get hurt when he doesn’t return your feelings,” he sighs as he leans his hip on the counter next to you. He’s trying to look you in the eyes, trying to let you know that he’s being sincere. “Believe me that man has no time for romance. He’s all busy with his work. Plus I’ve seen the women he slept with before. All supermodel looking and yet… well they never last long.”

“Thanks for the confidence boost, dad,” you roll your eyes at him, trying hard to ignore the feeling of wanting to throw up. You don’t want to think about that. About the specifics of what you and Miguel have going on. You’re just trying to enjoy Miguel’s attention right now. For the longest time, you didn’t even think you had the chance. Is it really that bad to just accept what he’s willing to give right now?

“I’m not saying you’re not beautiful, honey! Of course, you’re beautiful! You’re my daughter,” he tries to lighten the mood but turns serious when you don’t laugh. “Just might not be his type. Besides, he’s twice your age. He's too close to your old man’s age. Are you sure that’s something you’d like? In a few years, he’d be just as uncool as me while you’re still young and should be enjoying your life.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder and pulls you into a side hug. You both stay silent for a few moments. You think about Miguel and try to look for signs. Signs that say he just wants sex or that he wants something more. All you can think about is how sweet he always was with you even before you had sex. Even more now. You blush remembering how Miguel peppered your face with kisses this morning to wake you up because he wanted to cook breakfast but didn’t want to leave you in bed.

“Okay, but what if he does?” you countered, suddenly gaining a bit of confidence. “Would you be okay with that? If we get into a relationship?”

A painful few seconds of silence that felt like forever.

“I know that look in your eyes,” he finally says, shaking his head, and sighing. “It’s your “I’m going to get what I want” look you got from your mom. You’re gonna get hurt.”

You cross your arms and pout, never one to back down.

“And if he does end up liking you,” he starts again and you side-eye him “well… good thing he doesn't.”

You groan as your dad messes up your hair, laughing as he sees Miguel come back, fresh from his shower. Your dad finally decides it’s time to head out and let the sick man rest. He gives you a tight hug and a kiss on your forehead before leaving.

You’re left alone with Miguel again in the kitchen. The earlier conversation with your dad soured your mood and left you zoning out. Miguel slips himself between your parted legs as you sit on the kitchen counter, large, warm hands kneading your thighs, fingers slipping under the hem of your shorts.

“What’s on your mind, princesa?” He leans in to press his forehead against yours. “Tell me.”

You try to turn away but he brings a curled finger under your chin to make you face him. His brows are furrowed, worried. You try to look at him and your heart stutters. You don’t want whatever you have with him to end. You’re not sure if you actually want something serious with Miguel but the thought of just being a bedwarmer to Miguel is upsetting.

“Just thinking,” you start, trying to get the words out without sounding jealous or spiteful “My dad said you used to date? Sleep around with? Whatever. The girls you were with before were all… supermodel looking. They’re probably tall and skinny and drop-dead gorgeous huh? Is that your type?”

“And where is this going, nena?” Miguel whispers, pulling away and giving you a stern look.

“Well, I’m just not like that?” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips and shying away from his gaze. “I don’t know why you gave me the chance. I’m just-”

Miguel’s gentle touch on your chin turns into him gripping your cheeks, making you shut up. You nervously look at him, a deep frown on his face.

“Don���t you ever put yourself down, cariño,” he says, his eyes sharp. He makes you keep your eyes on him while he uses his other hand to pull you closer, making you wrap your legs around his waist. “You know, at the start, I offered to let you stay here just because I wanted to mentor you when I had the time. I know you’re a brilliant girl, so intelligent, following in your dad’s footsteps. What I didn’t expect is for you to consume my thoughts day and night for the past few months. You’ve grown into such a beautiful lady, cariño. You are such a temptation, making me think about your pretty eyes looking up so innocently at me. Those lips tempt me every single time you pout at me to get your way.”

He growls, finally letting go of your face to move his hands to your ass. He suddenly bucks his hips against yours making you gasp out loud, your clothed cunt rubbing against his growing bulge. You try to move your hips to gain friction on your throbbing cunt but he keeps you still.

“Don’t even get me started on this body of yours,” he buries his face at the crook of your neck, kissing, licking, nipping at the sensitive flesh making your head roll to the side to give him more access “So perfect for me. Made for me to grab, to fuck, to worship. Dios mio, nena, I can’t get enough of you.”

He sounds drunk from your scent and taste, mouthing at your neck, hands kneading your flesh. He grabs handfuls of the soft fat of your thighs, your ass, your tummy rolls, your plump tits, and back down, committing each curve to memory. You wrap your arms around his neck, eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure when he laps at your pulse with his skillful tongue.

“So I don’t wanna hear any of that nonsense comparing yourself to women I didn’t care about then and I sure don’t care about now,” he growls as he picks you up and flips you around. He bends you over the counter, stomach against the cold marble top and the rounded edges digging at the tops of your thighs. Your feet can’t quite reach the floor so you settle for trying to wrap your legs around Miguel’s own. He yanks your shorts and panties down to your knees in one aggressive motion.

“My silly beautiful girl getting jealous over old flings and exes,” he hummed, his large hands massaging your ass, kneading the cheeks, spreading them with his thumbs. “They’re not here anymore, are they? Didn’t work out with them and they’re not in my life anymore. And I prefer it that way.”

You feel him spit on your hole, dripping down to mix with your own wetness. You drop your head onto the countertop, the heated skin on your face making the marble feel icy. He takes your wrists, securing your hands behind your back with his own large hand while his other still massages your ass. Your eyes flutter, enjoying the sensation when you hear a loud smack cut through the momentary silence.

“Mig-” you yelp as you feel a sharp sting on your right ass cheek. His hand goes back to massaging, trying to soothe your reddened skin. You whine as he gives your other cheek the same treatment. Two matching red handprints bloom on both your cheeks.

“You shouldn’t be listening to your dad about my type when I was much younger,” he says, his voice low and serious as he leans down to press his sculpted chest on your back “Because right now there’s nothing I want more than this pequeña prinscesa whose toes can't even reach the floor when I bend her over the kitchen counter. You love that too don't you? How I’m much bigger than you? How easily I can carry you around, bend you over, and fuck you whenever I want? Love folding you in half and using your pretty pussy- no, my pretty pussy. This is mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed. Isn’t that right?

You nod enthusiastically not trusting your voice to speak. the words he growls at your ear going straight to your cunt. You feel another hard smack go down your ass, the impact making you slide a bit on the counter. His hands pull you back by the waist to press his erection against your dripping cunt, your wetness soaking through his sweatpants.

“Use your words when you answer me, nena,” he growls, grinding himself against your folds. The friction from the fabric of his sweatpants feels heavenly against your puffy folds.

“Yessss,” you whine, pushing your ass back against him “all yours. Need you to fuck this pussy please, please, please!”

“How can I say no when my baby girl is begging so nicely?” he coos, pulling down his sweatpants to free his cock. He takes it in his hand and presses the tip in. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as your velvety walls welcome him back, still stretched out from your earlier activities.

“Perfect,” Miguel groans as he wastes no time to fuck into your slutty little hole that’s sucking him in so lewdly. “Made for me. Mi princesa needs to learn that no one can compare to her. She’s so perfect. And she’s mine. Only mine. And I am hers.”

“Yo-urs– M-ah, Miguel,” you whimper as he keeps hitting all the right places, his tip hitting your sweet spot with each hard thrust until you’re once again pushed over the edge of sweet release. Your gummy walls contract, milking Miguel’s cock as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. He follows shortly after with a deep moan, his cock coating your insides with his warm seed.

Miguel makes no move to pull out. Instead he peppers your shoulders and neck with kisses, humming in contentment, whispering sweet endearments. Your heart fills with warmth and before you could even think about it, the words just leave your mouth.

“I love you, Miguel”

Silence. Anxiety starts to bubble in your chest as you start to think that you’ve read all the signs wrong. But before you could take it back, Miguel turns you to lie on your back, facing him. He leans down to capture your lips in his, his hands pulling you closer as if he was afraid you’d leave if he lets go. He mumbles “I love you” against your lips over and over again for the rest of the night making sure you never doubt his feelings for you ever again.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel ohara #potchy-writes #dbf!miguel #dad's best friend miguel ohara #dilf miguel ohara

[uzurakis]

Hi! I like your writing about jjk men reaction to y/n reader breaking up, but would they react the same if the reason for break up is y/n falling out of love? 🥹

YOU? FALLING OUT OF LOVE?

featuring: gojo satoru. fushiguro megumi. nanami kento. choso kamo.

n. yall rlly like to hurt yourselves 😭 godd the amount of angst i have in my inbox. hope this one pains you enough then </3

“we need to talk..”

GOJO SATORU. he looked up from his phone, that stupid smile dancing on his lips. “uh-oh, that sounds serious. what did i do this time? forget to take out the trash?”

trying to maintain your composure, you shook your head. you usually would lecture him about that, but not this time. it’s far more different than forgetting to take out the trash or not washing the dishes. “no, it’s not that. it’s… it’s about us.”

gojo’s smile faltered slightly, but he remained playful. “us? oh, let me guess. you’re secretly in love with my best friend, right? this is just one of those elaborate pranks. you should delete tiktok, i think it’s—“

“satoru, i’m falling out of love with you.” you took another deep breath, held in it for some amount of time to see his reaction, feeling tears welling up in your eyes.

“great, just what i needed to hear today. so funny, babe.” for a moment, he just stared at you, as if waiting for the punchline. then, when it didn’t come, he laughed nervously. “you’re kidding, right? this is a joke. you can’t be serious.”

“i’ve been feeling this way for a while now..”

his laughter faded, replaced by a look of confusion and hurt. “no, no, no. that can’t be true, baby. you’re just having a bad day or something, right? we can work through this.”

you felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you wiped it away quickly. “it’s not just a bad day, satoru. i don’t feel the same way i used to.”

he stood up, pacing the room, his hands running through his hair in frustration. “this doesn’t make any sense. we were fine. we are fine. you can’t just… fall out of love like that, right?”

“tell me i’m wrong, please..”

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI. for a moment, megumi just stared at you, his eyes wide with surprise, mouth slightly opened; like he intended to say something but immediately got eaten by the weight of the situation. then, his expression hardened, and he looked down, his hands clenching into fists. “i… i don’t understand,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion.

the silence that followed was suffocating. you could see the pain in his eyes, even though he was trying to hide it. “megumi, i’m so sorry. i didn’t know how this happened, i.. never wanted this to happen..”

“no..” he shook his head, still looking at the ground, “what changed? did.. did i do something wrong?”

you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “i tried to make it work. i really did. but i can’t force my feelings, it’s eating me alive too, gumi..”

megumi nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “it’s my fault i didn’t realize you felt that way. just, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

guilt and regret struck a chord deep within you. the pain in his eyes, the genuine hurt in his voice, the way his shoulders slumped slightly, and it tore at you. it was clear that he blamed himself, and that realization only made your own emotions more compound.

you reached out to touch his hand, but he pulled away, the gesture making your heart ache even more. “i don’t, i didn’t know how to say it to you.. how could i? i care about you so much, megumi. but i can’t lie to you or to myself.”

“if that’s how you really feel, i guess there’s nothing i can do to change your mind.” he stood up abruptly, not sparing a glance at you, not even once. “so, we.. we just… go our separate ways now?”

“…sorry, i.. i need some time alone.”

NANAMI KETO. nanami just stared at you for a brief while, his expression unreadable. he nodded slowly after that, his eyes becoming thoughtful. “i see,” he said in a quiet manner. “i guess we’ve both changed.”

you felt a lump form in your throat. “i never wanted this to happen, kento.. never once i even thought about this.”

he reached across the table and took your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “it’s not your fault,” he said softly despite the circumstances you’re throwing him in, “people change, feelings change. it’s a part of life.”

“but i feel like i’m letting you down. like i’m betraying everything we had. i don’t want that, kento.”

“you shouldn’t burden yourself with guilt, sweetheart. this isn’t something you can control, and it’s not fair to blame yourself for it.”

looking down at your intertwined hands, you felt some kind of sorrow and relief. “you’ve always been so understanding, kento.. i don’t deserve this.”

he squeezed your hand gently. “we shared something special, and i’ll always cherish that. but if your heart is no longer in it, then it’s better to be honest.”

“we can certainly try. it will take time, but i’d rather have you in my life in some capacity than not at all.”

CHOSO KAMO. choso’s face fell, a look of shock and pain replacing his usual demeanor. “no, please,” he said, voice desperate, reaching out for you. “let’s talk about this, please. there has to be a way to fix things, love?”

it crushed your heart to see the agony in his eyes. “choso, it’s not something you can just fix. it’s how i feel.”

“is it something i did? how can i make things right?” he pleaded, every word cracking with emotion.

“it’s not about you. it’s just… i don’t feel the same way anymore.”

choso took a step closer. “i still love you,” he murmured, hanging his whole existence on it. “i don’t want to lose you.”

your heart ached at his words, knowing how much you were hurting him. “i know, choso. and i’m so sorry,” you said, your voice also breaking. “but i can’t change how i feel.”

“please,” he whispered, reaching out to take your hand and pulled you into a tight embrace. “don’t give up on us.”

“i just want you to be happy,” he murmured into your hair. “even if it’s not with me.”

@uzurakis

#.writing #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk fanfic #jjk angst #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #jjk megumi #megumi fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #gojo fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami x you #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #choso x reader #choso x you #jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso kamo x reader

[cosmicpearlz]

sweet confessions

summary: in which jude feels the urge to confess his feelings for you before it’s too late.

pairing: jude bellingham x actress!reader

a/n: i haven’t written something in lord knows how long butttt i can’t stop thinking about being friends to lovers with jude. honestly, i can’t stop thinking about jude like what a man lol. anyways enjoy loves <3

it all started when you got a call from your agent about getting the role for a movie in madrid. you were over the moon about it. the movie was a classic love story about a woman falling in love with someone who also happened to be on vacation in spain and the hardships they face being that they are from two different countries. of course, it was very cheesy but it meant you got to work luca guadagnino. he had been one of your favorite directors and you’ve been itching to work with him. another big plus was that archie madekwe played your love interest. literally one of your best friends after working with him during a different project.

luca wanted all of the cast and crew to loosen up after the first two tables reads, so he took everyone to a real madrid match.

“archie, i’m not gonna lie to you but have you seen the players? specifically, number five,” you dramatically fanned yourself while taking your seat next to the boy.

“ew, keep it in your pants y/n. you’ve been talking about him since we’ve been in madrid and it’s only been three days. ‘oh archie he’s so cute’ ‘you think i’ll be able to talk to him?’,” he mocks you with a slight laugh. you playfully slapped his shoulder.

“i do not talk like that.”

“yes you do.”

“no i don’t.”

“shut up the match is starting,” you stick your tongue out at him because he refused to give you the last word.

your eyes were glued to the players that walked out. quickly spotting the golden boy that you developed a crush on in the matter of three days. jude bellingham stood with a smile adorned on his face. maybe it was the fact that you guys were the same age and you were a little delusional that something could spark between the two of you. even if it only meant being friends.

-

“whew, that was a really good game.”

“you’re only saying that because jude made the winning goal,” you pushed archie’s shoulder and pouted.

“you’re such a bully. that is not the reason and-“

“is he coming over here?”

your head snapped to where archie’s gaze was and yes. jude was making his way across the pitch to where you guys were seated. he gave you a warm smile before standing right in front of you.

“hi.”

“uh, hi?”

“i’m jude,” he held his hand out for you to shake with a cheeky smile. you smiled back and shook his hand. your hand fitting perfectly into his.

“i know who you are silly but i’m y/n.”

“i know who you are silly,” he repeats what you said with a teasing tone.

“i’ve never seen you before. well of course in movies but not here. are you here for work?”

it baffles you on how easy it was for him to make conversation. your eyes widened and looked to archie for help but to your disappointment he was gone. that british bastard.

“yeah! our director wanted us to enjoy a day out together before we start filming. plus, this is my first time in madrid actually,” jude smiles while maintaining eye contact with you.

“you need a tour guide? i got some of my favorite places i can show you.”

little did you know, it would be the start to a great friendship with the footballer.

-

“cut! we are done for the day. same time tomorrow, thank you everyone.”

you and archie shared a high five finishing a complex scene. it was the particular scene where your characters are arguing about the vacation almost ending. resulting to a passionate love confession with a hungry kiss.

“your boyfriend is here,” archie whispered into your ear making you push him away from you.

“shut up, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“yet.”

you choose to ignore your ignorant best friend. giving him a quick hug goodbye and rushing towards jude, who already has his arms open for you. you crash into him and he responds immediately by wrapping his arms around you.

it’s been five months since he offered to be your tour guide but he ended up being so much more. he became a staple piece in your life with such a short amount of time.

“hello darling.”

“hi jude. boy am i glad to see you, i’m so hungry. let’s get food,” you feel his chest vibrating from the laughter he gave out.

“oh wow, i come from training to see you and all you can think about is food? what am i? copped liver?”

“well duh, what else are you here for?” you pulled away slightly to look up at him, trying to give him your best straight face. it failed when he started tickling your side successfully causing you to laugh and slap his hands away.

“let’s feed the princess, shall we?”

jude never failed to send butterflies fluttering in your stomach. you wouldn’t dare ruin your friendship with him just because you gained a crush on him. it’s his fault though. all of the nicknames and gestures he does makes your head spin.

“we shall, but i have to stop by my trailer to put up my stuff,” you giggled and lead him to the trailers. jude immediately throws his self onto your bed laying down.

“man if this is what being an actor is like, i might have to try it.”

“you in acting? oh please, you have a better chance being in the production crew,” he gasped loudly while placing his hand on his chest.

“you are cruel. i can totally being an actor if i wanted to,” causing you to playfully scoff.

“yeah right and i can be a footballer.”

“now you’re taking the piss.”

you join him on the bed, choosing to lay on top of him being that his taller frame takes up the whole bed. it wasn’t unnatural for you two to end up in positions like this. it felt natural and certainly was comfortable. jude wraps an arm around your waist and you wrap yours around his neck.

the boy hoped you couldn’t feel the way his heartbeat sped up. unbeknownst to you, he fully reciprocated your feelings. sometimes it scared him how fast he fell for you. the whole reason he walked up to you in the first place is because he wanted an excuse to talk to the pretty girl that watched the football match.

“comfortable are we?”

“yes, you’re like a warm teddy bear.”

“i thought you were hungry.”

“it can wait.”

“y/n.”

“jude.”

jude felt you snuggle into him more and suddenly he felt the need to tell you his feelings. your warm body pressed against his and it still couldn’t stop the intense warmth that fluttered in his stomach, crawling all the way up to his chest. he grabs your waist firmly and sits the both of you up.

“hey, i was comfortable laying there,” you gave him a pout. all he think of was kissing the pout off your face. jude gazes at you with a small smile suddenly becoming shy.

“can i tell you something?”

“anything.”

“promise it won’t ruin our friendship? i dunno if i can deal with losing you completely.”

“stop being silly, you’ll never lose me jude,” you grabbed his hand and squeezed it, encouraging him to talk to you.

“i like you.”

“what?”

“i like you so much that it hurts to not call you my girlfriend. you’re like the sunshine that radiates through the widow early in the morning. you make me unbelievably happy with your presence. i know you’re going to leave soon but we could do long distance. i’d do it for you in a heartbeat if it-“

“jude relax,” you lay your hand on his face, softly rubbing his cheek.

“i like you too. so so much,” the once nervous boy quickly gained a growing smile.

“really?”

“oh god yes,” jude properly sits you into his lap, pressing your bodies closer together. you guys were practically nose to nose at this point. not that either of you minded .

“can i kiss you?” his whisper fell upon your lips.

“i’d be really mad if you didn’t.”

in a split second, his lips were on yours. a long awaited kiss. one of his hands held the back of your neck to try and push you closer if possible. passion flowing between the two of you as your tongues battle over dominance. you couldn’t stop your smile as you kissed him.

jude playfully nips at your bottom lip before placing two pecks to your lips and then pulling away. he didn’t go far as he rested his forehead on yours.

“fuck, i might be in love with you baby.”

before you could even reply, your stomach growled leading you to burst out into laughter. jude follows suit in laughter right behind you. he kisses the side of your head and stands up, holding a hand out for you. you smiled while sliding your hand into his. he intertwined your fingers with his and pulls you out from your spot.

“for the record, i might be in love with you as well,” you whispered with your spare hand raised to your lips as if you were telling him a secret only he can hear. jude kisses your forehead with a knowing smirk.

“who wouldn’t be in love with me.”

“see now you’re the one taking the piss.”

#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham imagine

[reids-slut]

An Invisible Locket

Chapter 1: Loved You in Secret

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader // Secret relationship

Description: You work with your best friend and your boyfriend. The only problem is, nobody knows Spencer Reid is your boyfriend of over a year. When you find out that Spencer's getting sent out on a case immediately after getting back to Quantico, impulses take over. (Content/Warnings below the cut)

Content/Warnings: [18+ MDNI], smut, oral sex (M & F receiving), PIV sex, unprotected sex within an established relationship, unplanned pregnancy, discussions of abortion (in a pro-choice context, though Reader ends up choosing to stay pregnant), minor mentions of alcohol and cancer.

As for the crime subplot, much of it is very canon-typical (referenced child abuse & grooming by an extended family member (non-sexual), violence, blood/gore, drugs. As always, please feel free to let me know if I miss any CWs!

A/N: This fic is obviously heavy on the Spencer and Reader relationship, but it's also got a significant Garcia best friend plot line and crime plot line. This fic also features an unplanned Reader pregnancy. Reader debates abortion and is pro-choice, but ultimately ends up keeping the pregnancy. If any of that isn't up your alley, please feel free to skip this fic!

Names used: Baby, baby girl, good/sweet/pretty girl, daddy, good boy (once), my love.

Words (this chapter): 3.6 K

Words (total): 29.1 K

Penelope Garcia finally shows herself at 10:08 a.m. As usual, she rolls into your shared office with the force of a tornado.

“All righty, Miss Y/N, we need to discuss the plans for your birthday party soon. I need a guest list because I need to figure out how much food I’m ordering and where we’re going to have it, since your apartment is pretty small and mine is only marginally bigger. I’ve already asked him, and Rossi did say we could have it at his house, so that’ll probably be the best option.”

Before she takes her seat, she takes notice of your furrowed brows and crossed arms. Her face falls. “Wait, what did I say wrong?”

“First of all, Pen, my birthday isn’t for another two months, and I told you that I’m fine with it just being the two of us. That’s why they make small cakes. For lonely people who only have one friend,” you joked. “Secondly, where have you been!? I’ve been here since nine, and it’s now…” You check your non-existent watch for dramatic effect, “past ten. You didn’t answer any of my calls or texts. Penelope Garcia, unreachable? I assumed that you were, quite literally, dead.”

“Two months is very little time in the party-planning world, I shall have you know! Plus, I may have already invited the team, so that’s…,” she starts counting on her fingers, but quickly gives up, “somewhere between 10 and 20 people, I think?”

You just sigh, stifling a laugh. Penelope Garcia loves a good, moderately-sized, well-planned party. Bonus points if it’s got a theme.

“Wait, did I not tell you about that meeting I had with Hotch this morning?” she asks, either genuinely puzzled or doing a great job at pretending to be.

Your curiosity is piqued. “No, but spill! Meeting with Hotch? What about, and why wasn’t I invited?”

Penelope takes her seat, and you slide your swivel chair over to hers. Elbows on your knees and chin resting on your fists, you await her update like an impatient child.

“It’s nothing that exciting, unfortunately, my sexy, salacious sidekick.”

Leaning in close to her ear, you whisper, “Don’t make me call HR again, Miss Garcia.” You give her a quick peck on the cheek and roll yourself back to your desk, only a few feet away, to resume working.

She drops her bomb as if it’s nothing, talking fast, as if that were to lessen its impact. “Section Chief Erin Strauss wanted an update on how the team was doing, having two technical analysts. That’s all it was.”

***

The FBI hired you to work as a technical analyst with the Behavioral Analysis Unit just shy of your 25th birthday. You met your best friend, Penelope Garcia, while she was presenting on behalf of the FBI at your then-school and her alma mater, Caltech.

Beginning the final year of your undergrad computer science degree, you had little idea of what direction you wanted to take after graduation.

Penelope’s presentation showcased various tech-related careers within the FBI, of which technical analysts are one. She confidently marched up to the microphone wearing a bright pink pencil skirt, pink tweed jacket, and a cat-ear headband. You immediately knew that you had to talk to her afterwards.

Even in high school, you were always the one who had to match your outfits and accessories to a specific theme or color. Themed outfits brought you so much joy and confidence, but people have chastised you for the way you choose to express yourself in the past.

In your first term of university, one professor used your outfit as an example of how not to dress in a “professional setting”. She was a woman, too. It probably wouldn’t have hurt as badly coming from a male professor, but being shamed by a female professor did a number on your self-esteem.

Thankfully, your mom has always been your number one fan and biggest cheerleader. When you cried to her about your experience in class, she gave you the pep-talk of a lifetime about how the world needs more people who are authentically themselves to “bring color to the lives of the boring”. She’s an oil painter, so the advice was very on-par for her, but it still meant a lot.

Seeing another colorful, authentic woman, let alone one with a job at the FBI—which you had always viewed as a stuck-up, cold, and refined place to work—was immensely inspiring.

Besides talking about technical analysts, Penelope highlighted the careers of digital forensic examiners, IT specialists, and computer scientists within the FBI. Everything about her seemed down to earth, and you felt so excited by her presentation. You were actually taking notes.

After her presentation, you headed over to see if you could speak with her. Before you could even open your mouth, she loudly gasped upon seeing your outfit.

You were wearing a sundress that day, the white fabric arrayed with printed lemons. Your necklace and earrings had little lemon charms to match, and the purse you were carrying (which was only large enough to hold a few items) was in the shape of a lemon wedge. A yellow elastic pulled your hair up into a ponytail, topped off by a yellow headband.

Your big gray backpack stood out like a sore thumb, but unfortunately, your laptop and textbooks didn’t quite fit in the lemon purse.

After talking up a storm, Penelope gave you her card. You two became fast friends, first via email and later by phone. She became the older sister you never had. A photo album in your closet holds the photos from your numerous trips to visit each other.

Right after you finished your master’s, Penelope convinced her boss to hire you to work alongside her in the BAU.

***

“So, after being here more than two years, Strauss wants to know if she can cut me from the team? That’s your idea of ‘no biggie’?” you ask.

“I wasn’t going to tell you because I knew it would just cause you all sorts of unnecessary stress and I wanted to protect your sweet, precious little heart. But both Hotch and I assured Strauss that you’re a much-needed member of the team and, thankfully, for once, she left the boxing gloves at home and didn’t put up a fight.”

“Well, thank you for trying to protect me from stress, but I mean, I did think you were dead for a whole hour today.” You bounce your two upward-facing palms up and down, as if weighing out the pros and cons of her decision.

“You’re right. Next time I have to keep a secret from you, I need a better lie,” she joked.

“How about any lie, actually? You just told me nothing and my brain assumed the worst.”

Penelope is so special to you, and you are both so content getting to work together. You guys have decorated your office to the maximum extent, just shy of incurring a fire code violation. Your desk is as equally covered with fun knickknacks and fidget toys as hers.

“Oh, shoot! You finished the prep on the Cedar Key case, right?” Penelope asks. “I forgot to check that you got JJ’s email because I was so caught up with that stupid meeting!”

“Strauss does what Strauss does best: taking away resources and making it harder for all of us to do our jobs,” you joke with an eye roll. “But yeah, I saw her email early this morning, and I got started on it as soon as I got in. I finished about 20 minutes before you finally showed up, so I just went in and did some updates on the back-end while I waited.”

“Oh, good! If you hadn’t finished it, I would’ve had to send you to the time-out bean bag chair for the rest of the day.” She puts on a childish, grumpy voice, “And we all know how grumpy you get when you get sent to the time-out bean bag chair for being a bad girl.”

You can’t come even close to containing the full belly laugh that escapes you as you lean back in your chair.

The time-out bean bag chair thing is an inside joke between you two. You and Penelope snuck a fluffy pink bean bag chair into your office last year. A much-needed piece of office furniture in your eyes, but your superiors would probably disagree. Thankfully, the custodians have left it alone and just cleaned around it. Nobody’s ratted you out yet.

One day, you both were working on problem-solving a kink in the system after an update. It’s Penelope’s operating system, but you had already become fairly familiar with it by that point.

Derek must have had nothing more important to do that day, because he wouldn’t stop bugging you guys, asking questions about what you were doing and touching things on Penelope’s desk. He loves to bug her, and you love to tease her about it. He’s like a schoolboy with a crush.

Penelope blew up at him and told him that if he wanted to stay, he was getting a time-out on the bean bag chair.

He stayed. The name stuck.

Penelope’s phone alerts on her desk, breaking the complete silence in the room. “JJ just texted and said it’s time to brief the team.” She stands and raises an elbow for you to interlink your arm with hers—basically the only way you two walk around the office (or skip when no one’s looking).

“Let’s go, Mini-Me,” she says.

***

As soon as he strolls into the round table room, you spot him. Your eyes dart immediately to his, catching his gaze. Your boyfriend, Dr. Spencer Reid. You force your eyes away from him, scanning the rest of the room.

You’ve been with the BAU for 2 years and secretly dating Spencer for a little over half of that. As far as you’re aware, nobody’s figured it out yet. At work, you try your hardest to remain as professional and platonic as possible. Sometimes though, your mind drifts to daydreams of Spencer meeting you in your office alone, your hands planted firmly on your desk as he takes you from behind.

He’s sitting at the far side of the large table, between Dave Rossi and Emily Prentiss. He’s wearing the loose navy-blue cardigan he knows you love over a pale blue dress shirt. Oh, to be able to grab him by the tie and peel those clothes off him right now…

This is the first time you’ve been able to see Spencer in over a week. He had a week’s worth of vacation time to use up, so you encouraged him to go visit his mom, Diana, in Vegas. Spencer was over at your place the last time he got a call from the assisted living facility Diana’s at. They told him that she’s been more agitated lately and asking for her son. The pain on Spencer’s face when they asked him if he’d be able to come visit soon broke your heart.

It would have been great if you could have gone with him to Vegas (or otherwise not spent his vacation apart), but Spencer really needed to see her, regardless.

A few of your coworkers are quietly chatting, but they quiet as soon as JJ begins. “All right everyone, let’s get started.” Everyone begins to thumb through the small folder of papers on the table in front of them detailing the case. “We’re headed to Cedar Key, Florida. They’ve got two victims so far, with two very different MOs.”

You press a button on the small remote in your hand which controls the presentation. Images of the two victims pre- and postmortem pop up on the screen.

Penelope averts her gaze as she picks up from JJ. “As you can see, this was no fun Florida vacation for these two. On the left is James MacDermott from Cleburne, Texas. 38 years old. Worked in IT. Father to two adorable, chubby-cheeked twin babies. His wife reported him missing when she woke up one day and he had left with no note or explanation.” Her face tightens. “James was found dismembered in a suitcase under a pier by a group of teenagers who were going for a swim. Finding a dismembered corpse is definitely not my idea of a fun day at the beach.”

“Our second victim,” you start, “is Elaine Colton, 74, of Abilene, Kansas. She’s a retired second grade schoolteacher. Her husband Joe died two years ago, and she’s been living on her own since. Her daughter—a nurse—stops by once a week to visit and help with errands. Elaine lost her license after suffering a stroke a few years ago, so she can’t drive. Her daughter called 911 when she went for her weekly visit and found her mom was gone. She said her mother ‘packed as if she were going on a trip.’”

You consciously keep your gaze moving around the room as you speak, but while you’re talking, Spencer isn’t taking his eyes off you. Knowing he’s about to leave on a case again makes it that much harder when all you want to do is hug and kiss him right now. Sometimes, you don’t even get the luxury of saying goodbye, but that’s the nature of the job and of keeping a secret like this.

“Her body was found dumped in a glade nearby three days after our first victim, but unlike James, Elaine’s limbs were fully intact.”

Derek is the first to speak up. “So, how do we know these deaths are connected?”

Penelope gives you a quick nod to bring up the next pictures. The images are of the back of the victims’ bodies. The back of their skulls has been cut open—seemingly with some sort of surgical saw—into a perfect square.

“As you can see,” Penelope continues, shielding her peripheral vision from the monitor with her hand, “our friends here had some not-so-little holes left in the back of their heads.”

“Definitely some surgical training,” Rossi notes. “Our unsub purposefully left their brains exposed for a reason.”

“Is that a matching tattoo on their backs?” Emily asks.

“Yes,” JJ replies. You skip to the next set of images with a close-up of each victim’s tattoo, thankful that the grotesque pictures are gone. You’re not shaken as easily by the gore as Penelope, but that was still far too much brain for how early in the day it is—or ever, honestly. The tattoos are of a rod with a snake winding up around it.

“Both victims have this tattooed on the middle of their upper backs. ME thinks that both the tattoo and the skull dissection were done postmortem.”

As soon as Spencer saw those tattoos, he lifted slightly in his seat. He’s been waiting for his opportunity to interject.

“The tattoos are of the Rod of Asclepius, which has been a symbol of medicine since 800 BCE. According to Greek mythology, Asclepius was the god of medicine and his father, Apollo, the god of healing.”

Derek cuts in, “Wait, I thought the symbol of medicine was the staff with the two snakes and the wings, or whatever?”

“That’s actually the caduceus, which was the staff carried by Hermes. In the mid-to-late 1800s, the US Military began mistakenly using the caduceus, first with Army hospital stewards and then, in 1902, the Army Medical Department adopted it. It was even used by the American Medical Association for a period until they correctly adopted the Rod of Asclepius in 1912. Before then, the caduceus had no connection to medicine whatsoever.”

The joy on Spencer’s face whenever he gets to share his fun facts warms you up inside. You have to suppress the pure admiration on your face. He’s looking around at his colleagues, but they aren’t at all entertained by his information. They’re trying to dissect it.

“Okay, so this is someone who’s knowledgeable about medicine then, right?” Dave asks.

“Yeah, I think surgical training or something along those lines still makes the most sense,” Emily says.

When Spencer glances your way, you give him a quick shy smile. To anyone else, it might come across as pity, but it’s your unspoken way of reminding him that you love his big, beautiful brain and that you’ll always listen to him. You’ll always hear him. He quickly flashes you a smile in return; his silent thank you.

Everyone turns their attention to you as you pick up from JJ, getting the briefing back on track.

“The ME also said that the COD on each victim was wildly different. Elaine Colton died of an overdose of fentanyl that was most likely cut with etizolam, which was also found on the tox. screen.”

“Street fentanyl being compounded with etizolam—a black-market benzodiazepine—is often called ‘benzo dope’,” Spencer remarks. “It’s a combination of drugs that’s much more likely to cause an overdose because naloxone isn’t effective against benzodiazepines and most drug user aren’t aware that their supply isn’t pure.”

“I’m assuming that our house-bound, retired schoolteacher wasn’t using street drugs in her free time.” Rossi adds, uncontested.

The team reflects on that information while JJ continues, “James MacDermott died, most likely of blood loss. His heart was crudely cut out of his chest with what the ME believes was a steak knife.”

“So, there are at least two unsubs,” Emily says. You can only assume because of the surgical precision of one act and the bluntness of the other.

Derek looks up from the case file. “This isn’t a very populated area, right? How has the local PD not pinned anyone yet?”

You look at Spencer before he even starts. “Cedar Key is an island off the coast, connected to the mainland by a bridge. It only has a population of around 700 people. Levy county has 39,875 people, though.”

Hotch stands to address the team. “Okay, Reid, you start working on a geographical profile. Morgan and Prentiss, you guys head straight to the ME. JJ and I will get set up at the local PD.” His stoicism falls ever so slightly, an air of frustration tinging his voice. “Also, the jet’s a bit behind today because there was a delay in the routine maintenance check, but I want everyone back here in an hour. Wheels up in… 90, I guess.”

The team seems a bit stunned for a moment. Hotch tells everyone to use this as an early lunch break and to relax a bit before they have to leave. His placidity over such a lengthy delay surprises you, but you aren’t going to complain about an extra hour before Spencer has to leave for god knows how long.

Spencer grabs his phone out of his pocket as everyone shuffles out of the room, so you wait a moment before grabbing yours out of the pocket of your favorite black linen, wide-legged trousers. Thank god you didn’t wear a skirt and tights today. That would’ve been a bitch to deal with later.

During work hours, his messages don’t leave any notifications. No vibrations. Nothing. He has his set up the same. If your phone were to vibrate only moments after he picks his up (or vice versa), your coworkers would have figured your secret out a long time ago. That would’ve been stupidly obvious.

Staying a few paces behind everyone exiting the room, you open up your text conversation with your boyfriend. Even on your personal phone, you keep his full name and only his full name in your contacts.

Spencer Reid: “Parking garage in 5. I’m already on my way down, so head out ASAP.”

Glancing across the bullpen, you don’t see Penelope. She must have darted out of the room directly after the brief while you were focused on finding the first moment you could whip your phone out of your pocket.

You shoot Penelope a quick text that you’re running home for lunch to eat your leftover Chinese takeout. This lie does kind of track for you, actually. You’re not the best chef ever and you’re even worse at packing lunches for work. You’ve used past lunch breaks to run out to grab fast food or a fresh, much-better-tasting sandwich from the café across the street.

Walking past Hotch’s office on your way out, you can see him yelling into his phone. You’d guess that the maintenance team is getting an earful of Hotch’s anger and frustration right now. He definitely values punctuality and professionalism.

Looking around, you check to make sure nobody that you know is nearby as you approach Spencer’s car in the parking garage.

He pulls out of the spot as soon as you’ve closed the car door.

“My place, I presume, handsome?”

“God, I’ve missed you so much.” He places a hand on your knee as he drives, snaking his fingers up your inner thigh. “I could barely focus on what you were saying when I just wanted to get my hands all over you. I’ve got some case file reading to do on the way to Florida.”

Your apartment is only a three-minute drive, which is why you bike to work most days, but that also means it’s the best option right now. Getting this opportunity right now feels like a gift from whatever gods may be. whatever gods may be.

I hope you like this one! I've been working on these seven chapters for over two months and I've put well over 100 hours into this fic. Comments and/or constructive feedback are always appreciated!

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds smut #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reod x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem!bau!reader #criminal minds #mgg #matthew gray gubler #reids-slut-writes

[inevesgf]

happy birthday • carlos sainz

request rules here!

request ➔ hi love it’s my birthday so do you think you could write something for carlos pampering the reader on her birthday?

authors note ꕤ of course, here you go! i’m a little late to this so happy belated birthday x hope this is a good late bday gift. this one is a little sappy tbh .. also, new account layout, what do we think?!

birthdays were always special for you; they were a day where you could relax, party: basically do anything your heart desired. you usually had a small party with friends: one that resulted in a horrible hangover the next day, but this year, you weren’t feeling it. on this particular occasion, all you could have ever asked for was to be in the presence of who you loved most and that just happened to be your loving boyfriend.

loving boyfriend was maybe an understatement because you practically had carlos wrapped around you finger. anchor and chain, you had him sinking under your love. now with race season occurring, he seemed to always be busy. of course, he still made plenty of time for you, but part of you still missed having your lazy days in with him.

after spending the first part of your morning sleeping in, you were sad when you woke up to an empty bed. with races and practices, carlos was almost always busy, but you understood. saying he would be there for your birthday, your heart couldn’t help but break when you realized he wasn’t there. you rolled over out of bed, grabbing your phone to check and see if he had messaged you any warning. like you had expected, there had been one message from carlos. “happy birthday, mi hermosa chica ♡” it read, a small smile rising to your face, but falling slightly once you read the rest. “ran out for a bit, i’ll see you soon.” that message having been sent an hour ago, you had hoped soon would be in a matter of minutes.

you finally rolled out of bed, walking to the bathroom where you had laid out a cute birthday outfit. you spent your time getting ready, waiting to hear the door open, the call of his voice, or any other sign that said carlos was home. you lightly applied makeup to your face, putting on carlos’ favorite lip stick shade of yours. even though you had been together for quite some time, you always loved seeing his face light up and the compliments that would come with it. the clock on the bedside table read 10am as you brought yourself lazily to the kitchen. todays mood was meant to be cheerful, but carlos missing created a hint of sadness in the air that you had mistaken for guilt.

you felt guilty. you knew carlos was busy, you respected his job, but you still couldn’t help but wish you had woken up in his arms. it was a sense of jealousy that had formed in your stomach, but it slowly hindered once you had noticed the bright bouquet of flowers on the kitchen island. a big bouquet of red roses sat nicely decorated in a large white vase, rose petals and a card placed around it. a smile crept onto your face, grabbing the card as you opened it. it was lovely letter, wrote with care, marked with carlos’ signature at the bottom. you still couldn’t help but wish he was there with you, but the sadness hindered at the lovely letter. filled with love confessions he had spoke softly to you throughout your whole relationship, you tucked it away for safe keeping.

the first hour of your morning was lazy. what started off with planning a meal for breakfast resulted in you sitting at the kitchen island scrolling endlessly through instagram. you felt extremely lazy, but your special day was the perfect excuse to relax. your time at ease was interrupted with the door opening; carlos was home. suddenly, your laziness and fatigue disappeared and you felt as if you could run a marathon. “where is my special birthday girl?” his voice rang out throughout the home, and like a child, you rounded the corner to the front door with a large smile on your face. “hi, baby.” you whispered, approaching carlos for a hug when you noticed the two large boxes in his hand. “i got you some gifts.” carlos smiled ear to ear. he loved to spoil you with stupid souvenirs from races you couldn’t attend, snacks from the shops, and your favorite, his love. “well the flowers were beautiful.” you smiled, kissing his cheek as he ushered you over to the kitchen. “you’re going to love it, mi amor, it’s all hand picked by the best gift giver.” carlos smirked, setting them down on the kitchen island next to the roses. “and who is that?” you teased, draping your arms around his neck as you turned your gaze up to reach his. “me, obviously.” he spoke, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “now please open your gifts, the anticipation is killing me.” carlos’ excitement was funny to you, having you huff sarcastically before pulling away from his embrace.

you sat yourself on one of the stools, looking over for a reassuring look from carlos before you grabbed one of the boxes. “i really hope you like it.” a cheeky smile plastered on his face, both your excitement growing. “i’m sure i will, you always give the best gifts.” since you could sense carlos’ impatience, you started to unwrap the intricately wrapped box, pulling out yet a smaller box from inside. you pulled the flaps down, opening the box that revealed a beautifully decorated cake, ‘happy birthday’ wrote in pink icing. “it’s so cute! what flavor is it?” you smiled, looking over at carlos who had a proud look on his face. “red velvet of course, i know its your favorite.” it pleased you to know that carlos knew you so well. from everything down to your favorite color and your favorite film, he knew every detail of your mind. “you are so adorable, pretty boy.” you smiled satisfied as you gave him another hug, to which he pulled you close in by the waist. placing a small kiss to your temple, he looked down at you. “we can mope around later, just please open the other one, chica amante.” once again with his impatience, you wasted no time in grabbing the other box and opening it. inside laid a collar, one for a dog, that was pink with small flowers on it. “you’ve got to be joking me..” you whispered, a suprised look on your face that was the opposite of carlos’ gleeful one. “she’s outside.” he spoke, causing your jaw to drop. “you didn’t— there’s no way!” without responding to you, carlos ushered you to the front door and out to the porch where on a leash sat the cutest golden retriever puppy you had ever seen. “i know you’ve been wanting a little doggy to keep you company while i’m gone.” he smiled as you bent down to pet the dog, the dogs excitement to be pet mimicking yours in that moment.

“does she have a name?” you questioned, craning your head over to look up at carlos. “that’s your duty.” he smiled, kneeling down next to you as he began to pet the dog slowly. you thought for a moment, studying the dog. you always had to name everything perfectly. to dolls when you were younger and family pets; their names all had to match their face and personality. the baby puppy that wagged its tail infront of you had the longest eyelashes you had ever seen on a dog. they seemed to flutter in the wind like a beautiful butterfly and that gave you the perfect idea. “does she look like a mariposa to you?” you questioned to carlos, his face instantly lighting up with agreement. “absolutely, isn’t she perfect?” carlos smiled ear to ear, placing one of his hands on your back. “she is — and i couldn’t ask for a more perfect gift or a more perfect boyfriend.” the look on carlos’ face was one of flattery, as he leaned down to place a soft kiss on your lips. “you know i try.”

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #cs55 #cs55 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #cl16 #cl16 x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #ln4 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #mv1 #mv1 x reader

[bambiwrites]

For me? ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

How you can help Palestine!🇵🇸

• A/N ; hi guys! so this is definitely something different for me. i’ve never written something like this so i hope you guys like it!! And i’m sorry for not posting yesterday i was so tired with school but here is something! This song is also based off of my favorite song rn it’s for me? by asal. so good omg.

warnings ; afab!reader! pussy eating, fingering, a lot of smut

• about ; Reader is going out to her friends birthday dinner and when Emily sees her Emily definitely knows the dress is gonna end up off by the end of the night…

“okay em, i’m about to leave” you say softly as you walk out of yours and emily’s shared bedroom, running a hand through your hair. You were going to your best friends birthday dinner and you were all done up nice and pretty, your wearing a black maxi dress with a cute trimming at the top(or whatever you’d like).

you look up and see emily on the couch man spread with her gaming controller in her lap as she plays some game on the tv, she looks up with a smile “you look beautiful baby” she says setting the controller to the side and getting off the couch walking over to you. She grabs your hips pulling you up to a soft kiss, you hold her biceps as you kiss back softly, she of course deepens the kiss as she slides her hands over your butt deepening the kiss. “mm em i really have to go” you say quietly as you pull away, “cmon ma please just stay home” emily says in a smokey voice as she rubs circles on your hips with the palms of her hands. “you know i can’t ‘m sorry em” you cooed as you kiss her lips softly one more time and going to grab your keys “but cmon baby it’ll be way better here” she says with a smirk, you can hear it in her voice “no em, i love you okay i’ll see you later” you say quickly as you kiss her once more and then walk out as she slaps your butt on you way out.

time skip ~

it’s about 2 hours later and you finally get back home, you park the car in the drive way and walk into the house, as soon as you walk in your slammed against the front door as lips force their way onto yours. “mmm i missed you sm ma” a breathless emily mumbles out, you gasp as she kisses down your neck biting and sucking “i-i missed you to em, god” you whimper softly as she sucks on the sweet spot. “how was dinner” emily says as she pulls away wiping the corner of her mouth, “it was good” you mumble softly as you look up at her and wrap your arms around her neck bringing her in for another kiss. “mphf please em” you whine against her lips as slides a hand over your butt and her other hand to hold the back of your head “what is it baby tell me…” emily rasps out. “you know what i want please” you whine as you buck your hips towards her, she dives back into your lips kissing harshly as she pushes your dress up your thighs and hooks her arms under your legs pulling you up into her arms as you two sloppily kiss. She carrie’s you two upstairs as you both make out, she kicks the bedroom door open and throws you onto the bed and climbing on top of you.

“god mama you look so pretty” Emily groans into your neck as she kisses up and down softly. You run a hand up her back as you bite your lip suppressing moans from falling out of your mouth, “please em i can’t wait any longer” you whine as you squirm. She laughs, her voice rugged, making you even wetter at the sound of it(no way i’m writing this), she pull the straps down your shoulders kissing your shoulder every time she moves the strap further down. She unzips your dress pulling it off leaving you in just a pair of black lace underwear and she groans staring at your body “god your so fucking beautiful baby”

she leans down kissing you roughly as she runs her big hands up and down your thighs, you feel the calloused fingers and the warmth of her touch all over your body and you can help but moan, she kisses down your chest taking a nipple into her mouth sucking softly, you moan as your back arches and you run a hand threw her hair. she groans softly then begins kissing down your stomach slowly getting towards we’re you really want her, she places soft kisses all over your thighs as soft whimper fall out of your mouth. she slides your underwear down your legs throwing them to the side and kissing up your thigh. You buck your hips towards her face whimpering “please em” she smirks and laughs “so impatient baby” she says lowly as she throws your legs over her shoulders and going in, to lick a stripe up your slit. You moan softly as your hands go to her hair, she wraps her arms around your legs that are over her shoulders to hold you in place as you squirm.

She sucks your clit as she pushes a finger into you, thrusting it in and out at a fast pace “god ma your so wet” Emily groans as she continue to lick and suck and adding a second finger in. Your legs start to shake around her head as your eyes flutter shut “e-emily” you whisper softly as you tap her hand, she grabs your hand interlacing your fingers as she continue to ravish you(🤨). “cmon sweet girl cum for me” Emily says and pushes you over the edge, your eye sight goes white as your thighs shake and you grip her hand, your back arching of the bed as moans fall out of your mouth. “that’s it ma you did so good” Emily says softly as she rubs her hands up and down your thighs praising and whisper soft coo’s to you.

“i’ll be right back mama okay” Emily says softly as she kiss your forehead softly, and walks to the bathroom running a warm bath with oil salts and turning the lights low. She walks back in to the room to you and walks over to you brushing some hair out of your face, watching your eyes flutter open and look up at her “i ran a bath sweet girl, you wanna take one? emily ask i’m a soft tone , you nod letting your eyes close once again as she wraps her arms under your legs and another arm around you waist holding you bridal style and taking you to the bathroom. She sets you on the counter as she gets undressed and then puts you in the tub, she gets in behind you letting you lean back against her chest, you nuzzle your face into her neck sighing softly.”i love you” you whisper softly and kiss her jaw, “i love you more sweet girl” Emily says back and kisses your forehead as she rubs her hands up and down your sides.

#bambiwrites #fluff #smut #imagine #emily engstler #wlw post #wlw fiction #taylor swift #queer #lesbian #wnba basketball #wnba #wnba x reader #wnba imagine #emily engstler x reader #emily engstler x y/n #emily engstler fic

[thecapricunt1616]

Strawberry - (c.b. one-shot)

♡ One-shot Inspo: Strawberries Attract success, good fortune, and favorable circumstances. Served as a love food. Leaves are carried for luck. ♡ Summary: Carmy fucks you nearly to heaven from the back, enjoy! Inspired by the filthy wonderful beautiful perfect inspiring big juicy brained @carmenberzattosgf <3 love u mami ♡ W/C: 1,616 ;) ♡ Posted Date: 06/05/2024 ♡ A/N:  HELLO!!! To the folks that have asks rotting away in my inbox I stg they're getting written- but that task is made near impossible when my little filthy olive martini @carmenberzattosgf posts something SO good that it takes up my entire brain and I have to write something inspired by it. Please by god go read this my pussy was screaming by the end like - I think she woke up the neighbors. Anywhore, enjoy this filthy-mouthed Carmen, no D words to be found here folks so for those of you who hate it you're in luck! And to those that will miss it...you'll see Carmy is still daddy af. ENJOY my friends xoxo ♡ Warnings for BTC: Smut smut , fem!reader, Black!Reader friendly (pics are pure vibes), unprotected sex, swearing, fluffy aftercare, domestic bliss

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

Deep. 

So, so fucking deep. You could hardly even think. 

Short squeak-like moans were leaving your lips with each snap of Carmys hips. The headboard was only lightly tapping the wall thanks to the stoppers he’d with quickness got on Amazon and by the grace of god and 24 hour delivery they had came a day after the first time his neighbor came by and slammed on the door, telling you both to ‘shut the fuck up or get a hotel’ 

You could barely register the light tap on the wall and the squeak of the mattress because Carmy would not. shut. up. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Pussy has me in a vice baby you like this, mm? Feels so good f’you, huh? Yeah I can fuckin tell- god y’sound so pretty”  he rambled on. When he fucked you from behind, he usually got really chatty. You weren’t sure if it was because he got bored since he couldn’t watch you with his big blue owl-like eyes, or if his confidence was just boosted because you weren’t watching him while he spoke so less anxiety - but you loved it.

“Yes- yes- Carmy- shit - oh fuck” you whimper as he hauled you up by your upper arms, wrapping his strong bicep around your neck, messily kissing your sweat-sticky neck and groaning into your skin as your core squeezed around him hard causing a wet schlick-schlick-schlick to fill the room

“Yeah? Yeah baby? Say it again tell me how much you fuckin love it hmm? That you love when I fill this pussy up. You love it when I make sure you can feel me t’morrow huh?” He squeezed your neck with his muscular arm and dear god were you glad he couldn’t see your face because you lost all control, practically shaking as he held you up, his cock so deep inside that his tip was giving your cervix a gentle little kiss with each thrust. 

“I’m fucking cumming” you manage out, holding his arm and squeezing tight, head falling back and body going slack against him. He used his other hand to press right above your mound, the added pleasure causing tears to seep from your eyes down your neck. 

“Look at you pretty girl takin me so well- so fuckin well. Jus’ a little longer huh? Wan’me to fill you up still baby?” He said hotly in your ear, taking your diamond earring he had bought you from Tiffany’s last week that was adorning your lobe and sucking on it gently, nose gently nudging the side of your face. 

“So- so good so good” you echo him, not even thinking with your head anymore. When you opened your eyes your vision was hazy with tears, in your peripheral you could see the edges of blonde curls. 

“Yeah?” He chuckled a bit, going harder as he chased his own high “so fuckin good f’me. That’s why I take care’you so good mm princess?” He loosened up is grip on your throat lightly and held your shoulder, sweetly kissing your cheek. Your mouth dropped in pleasure, practically drooling at how good he was making you feel. 

“Y-yes. Yes. God Carmy- god I fuckin love you” you mewled. You weren’t sure what came over you exactly, but you turned your face, giving his bicep a chaste kiss before biting down. Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to bruise. He hissed In pain, before taking his hand from your stomach and cupping your cheek, fucking up into you with a near punishing pace. 

“Jesus - fuck - how the fuck m’I supposed to explain that at work tomorrow? Mm? I tell em my girl can’t keep her mouth shut er’ to ‘erself?” He teased, smacking down on your ass with his palm, hard enough for there to be a pretty red mark in the shape of his hand - and hard enough for you to yelp, releasing the bit of muscle you’d held hostage. 

He took his arm back, pushing you back into the bed, your cheek flush against the mattress. “Lost that fuckin privilege since you can’t keep y’teeth in y’mouth. Wanna act like an animal you’ll get fucked like an animal sweetheart” he spread your cheeks, one of them stinging from his rough assault on it as he continued to pound you, watching as your cunt gushed around him in awe. 

You whimper, back arching more for him and your next orgasm riding the tails of the last. “Close” you said, voice raw and horse and utterly fucked out. 

“Me too, Angel- shit- gonna fuckin fill you up, stuff this pretty pussy with my cum huh?” He essentially laid over you, thrusts that were more like firm rolling of his hips at this point getting sloppier and the feeling of his weight firmly pushing you into the bed was making you dizzy in the best way. You felt his chain brush your back, the feeling was like ice on your damp sweat slicked skin. 

His breathing had become more of a quick, hot pants. His back was starting to hurt, his shoulder killed from bearing both your weights for so long - but he was fully blissed out. He was also frankly quite impressed with himself, in this position he usually couldn’t last even 10 minutes, but you two were teetering on half an hour now. 

This was thanks to his new little trick he had taught himself, whenever he got too close he thought about his boss from NOMA screaming in his face about never amounting to anything, and it backed him right off that ledge. Worked like a charm really. 

“Please - please fill me up bear” you whined out, and with a grunt he buried himself to the hilt, your hips flush with his as he stilled and shot rope after rope of milky white cum inside of you painting your walls with him. He sighed in relief, pulling out and patting your ass gently before plopping down next to you on his back to catch his breath. 

“Fuck y’so amazing baby. I wasn’t too hard, was i? Y’good?” He rubbed your back gently. You were too exhausted for much else, so you just throw him a thumbs up causing him to chuckle. “Alright so water f’you. And Cream f’this poor poor little ass of yours” he rubbed the tender skin carefully and got up, heading to the bathroom first. 

You stretched out, feeling the proof of his love leaking down your thighs as you laid there for a moment before getting up when you heard the toilet flush. You padded to the bathroom and nudge the door open to see him washing his hands. Your eyes found the deep red bruise on his arm, it would probably be purple by the end of tomorrow. 

“I sorry” you said sweetly and gently kiss over the mark. “You’re just so yummy I wanted a bite” you said and he flicked the remaining water off his hands before shutting off the faucet and grabbing the hand towel 

“Mmm thought you didn’t like Italian” he teased, heading out to the kitchen to fill your Stanley cup with fresh ice water. 

“You’re right I don’t like it I love it. Especially when it’s a sexy Italian with a thick cock” you chide as you made a neat little square of toilet paper to wipe with and you heard him laugh to himself 

“She’s back! That’s my mouthy princess, was afraid I lost you back there babe you got all quiet on me” he teased causing you to giggle to yourself as you flush and stood to wash your hands - legs still feeling a bit like jelly beneath you. 

“It’s hard to talk when you’re rearranging my insides” you head back to bed and lay on your belly, crossing your ankles. He came back, bearing gifts of course. He comes over to the bed and drops off the cooling lotion that he kept in the fridge for you and gently nudged you with the cup. You looked over, sitting up slightly and taking a sip. 

“Ooo-“ you said when you realized he was holding a plate 

“Mmhmm. Always you and y’sweet snacks after we fuck, open” he said. You opened your mouth obediently and he placed half of a chocolate strawberry on your tongue after taking a bite out of it, making the perfect mouthful for you. You hummed, resting your cheek on your forearm as you chew and your eyes fluttering shut. 

“Love you pretty” he smooched your forehead, setting the plate on your shared nightstand and started to massage the cold lotion into your skin. “You did really good f’me t’night.” He added and kissed your shoulder blade as he continued to squeeze and kneed tender flesh. 

“So good I can get a present?” You asked sweetly and he chuckled, rubbing over your hips as well that were sore from being spread wide for so long and you groaned a bit, arching into his touch 

“I think I’m spoiling you rotten lately, you got a new phone yesterday and you’re already ready f’another good girl gift, huh?” He went over to your dresser since he was all done rubbing you down and grabbed a pair of your comfiest panties and came back over, carefully slipping them up to your thighs before you lift your hips for him and he pulled them up the rest of the way, placing a gentle kiss on your mound “it’s you  who deserves the present” he said, before going to grab his own boxers so he wasn’t helicoptering it in front of your plate of strawberries. 

You giggled, rolling your eyes.  “I love you, dork.”

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #the bear fic #the bear #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto fanfiction #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fluff #the bear carmen #carmen berzatto blurb #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy #carmy x you #carmy smut #carmy x fem!reader #carmen berzatto the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto the bear #borders & banners by saradika

[adenobabe]

Let me help you darlin’

My first iii fic 🥹 there will be many more to come. I love this man so much and am truly feral for him in the smuttiest and sweetest ways!! 🌸

This is a long one….if you love iii as much as I do, I hope you enjoy! xx

Tags/warnings: sleep token iii x F!reader, no y/n, you’re his assistant, smut, fluff, slow burn (it’s worth it trust me), friends to lovers, iii is a sweetie and has a filthy mouth, teasing, oral (f receiving), explicit language, he talks you through it, praise kink, size kink, p in v (intercourse), love making if you squint, light choking, hand kink.

*************************MDNI**************************

It has been a very long tour. So much travelling, so many late nights and long hours but it’s also been one of the most rewarding experiences you have ever had. As the assistant to Vessel, iii, iv and ii you have naturally developed strong bonds with each of them. Whether it be coffee runs, admin work, organising their outfits, helping to apply their body paint, you were their right hand woman for everything. You truly loved every minute of it and made such special bonds with them all, especially iii. You both just clicked from the beginning. It was honestly impossible not to considering you were often sharing a tour bus with him and the rest of the boys. Most nights were spent playing Mario Kart or Fortnite with iii and eventually falling asleep on opposite ends of the couch together. Your giggles and laughs late into the night with each other filling the bus. None of the boys batted an eye though in fact they just enjoyed your company so much and how happy your friendship made iii.

Although you were beyond happy for the success of the tour and glad you were all going to finally be able to take a break, you couldn’t help but feel slightly upset at the fact that tonight was the last show. As you heard the crowd cheer for their closing, you saw iii come around first backstage. You watched him as he made his way through the crew. Things between yourself and iii were always kept at the friend level and you tried to remain professional in most settings, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the longing glances and attraction you both started to develop for one another over the past few months. Really from the moment you both met. You’d always found iii so incredibly attractive, you’d never admitted it to him of course, always trying to push it away or push down the feelings and thoughts you had about him. The sexual tension had been building for quite a while now, especially living in such close quarters with him. You just couldn’t deny the pull to him you felt. Every time you saw him you felt yourself spiralling, your heart would race and your thoughts battling between he’s your friend stop it and god just take me now. And in this moment you definitely could not ignore the wetness pooling in your panties and the throbbing between your legs you felt seeing him masked up, his hair hanging over his face and sweat dripping down his neck leaving a trail of peeled back paint his bare skin peeking through, as he made his way through backstage. Oh god he looked so hot.

His eyes lit up as soon as he spotted you amongst the crew making a b-line straight for you. “There you are, love!” You snapped out of your lustful thoughts, and relaxed the suddenly apparent tight grip you had on your clipboard. You beamed up at iii, his height towering over you. “You did so great out there! What a way to end the tour!” You said with such pride. “Thank you love we could not have done this without you, I really mean it.” He leaned down for a hug and lifted you up catching you by surprise. You giggled as the clipboard you were holding fell on the floor. “Oopsie sorry my bad darlin!” iii said as he put you back down. You both went to reach for it bumping heads. “Oh god love I am so sorry! I didn’t mean-” he placed his hand on your forehead “no no it’s fine I’m so stupid!” You laughed. iii delicately held your forehead in his hands and you met each others gaze his hand dropping to the side of your cheek. You felt your cheeks blush under his big hands his eyes wandering to your lips and back up to your eyes. “You look really beautiful tonight love.” You held his gaze, unable to say anything back shocked by his compliment, his big beautiful blue eyes staring into yours before suddenly seeing Vessel come into your peripheral as he made his way off stage. “Sorry I um l didn’t mean to- is your forehead okay?” iii quickly took his hands off you and straightened himself up. You nodded back at him “yeah I’m okay…I better go check to see if anyone needs um water…” You hurried off, accidentally leaving your clipboard behind in your flustered state making your way straight out the venue to the tour bus.

As you made your way inside you sat on one of the couches in a huff and turned the A/C on desperate to cool yourself down. You couldn’t stop thinking about iii’s hands on you, how big they were how good his hand would feel around your throat and his fingers inside- did he really mean what he said? no stop he is your boss, your friend. You had already blurred the lines so much considering you spent most nights gaming together and developed such a close friendship not to mention how much just a graze of his finger or his eyes on you you lit up a fire deep in your core.

The boys wouldn’t be back for a while so you knew you had some time to get dressed up before joining them for a big celebratory drinks and dinner with the rest of the crew. You sat for a moment your thoughts spinning when suddenly you realised how quiet it was, it was the first time in weeks you were completely alone and if you’re being honest it had also been weeks since you had gotten off, there was never any privacy. With the sexual tension between you and iii brewing it was becoming torturous not being able to let all of it out. There were times you tried to but with iii sleeping right above you in his bunk, you just knew you wouldn’t be able to contain your pathetic whimpers as you played with yourself thinking about his fingers being your own. Perhaps you could take some time to sort yourself out before getting dressed up to go out for dinner you thought to yourself. You needed this out of your system.

After having a cool shower you dried yourself off and threw on a robe making your way back to the couch. As you got yourself comfortable you closed your eyes, took some slow deep breaths, and let your mind wander soon enough landing on iii. Your mind was racing with the thought of him between your legs eating you out or him towering over you his hand on your throat ramming his cock into you making you take all of him. You were desperate to hear him moan in your ear or have his hands in your hair as you take him in your mouth and down your throat. You couldn’t contain yourself anymore and slipped your fingers down into your panties gathering your slick to rub long big circles on your clit teasing yourself, your robe falling down your shoulders. Your breath hitched throwing your head back as you bucked your hips up desperate for more. God this felt so good. You slid your panties down your legs allowing your legs to fall open spreading them out on the couch. Your fingers quickened around your clit in fast tight small circles, pumping your fingers in and out of your dripping hole, your climax building as you moaned getting lost in the feeling and fantasy of iii filling and stretching you out “oh iii fuck baby.” Your breath quickened, moans leaving your lips completely letting yourself get lost in your fantasy. Just as you were about to reach your high, the door to the bus opened suddenly and iii entered, your clipboard in his hand. Your eyes shot open you froze in disbelief your fingers still inside of you. He saw the panic on your face as he stood there in shock seeing you sprawled out on the couch your pussy dripping and the flustered look on your face. You saw his eyes drop to your fingers, the sound of the clipboard dropping to the floor quickly bringing you back to reality.

You quickly closed your legs scrambling to use your robe to cover yourself. “Fuck oh god iii I am..I am so sorry I um-” you cheeks flushed intensely as you stood up and tightened your robe. “I am so sorry I-you left your clipboard I came to bring it back I didn’t mean to walk in on you-” iii picked up your clipboard and set it down on the table. “NO I um- fucking hell, it’s okay I didn’t know you would be back for a while I well I just needed some alone time you know? It’s been a while and god this is so embarrassing.” You awkwardly crossed your arms and looked down at the floor. “I get it trust me, I’m sorry I ruined it for you I could tell you were close. You um you look really beautiful like that actually.” iii moved closer to you. “You-you what?” You looked at him in disbelief the aching between your legs building again just at his words. “Yeah, I could tell by that pretty look on your face you were close.” He placed his hand under your chin moving your face to meet his gaze, “You know….I could help you with that darlin.” iii stood in front of you looking down at you. His hand moved to yours bringing your fingers to his mouth taking his mask off. You watched him transfixed on him, your heart racing and your knees getting weak as he put your fingers in his mouth licking and sucking them clean, the same fingers you were just using to play with yourself. “Fuck you taste so good, love. You have no idea how long I’ve been desperate to taste you, to kiss you, to make you cum over and over again.” He moved his hand to your cheek “Tell me you feel the same way. Tell me I’m not absolutely mad for thinking you want this just as much as I do.” He says running his hand through your hair lingering as he brings his hand down your neck gently moving his thumb over your pulse. You take his hand in yours moving his hand down to your wetness. You moan at the contact as you confess to him “feel that? That’s because of you. You have no idea how crazy you make me. For weeks I’ve wanted nothing more than your hands on me or in me. Just the thought of you makes me so wet.” you move his fingers around your clit whimpering. iii’s eyes grow darker as he feels your wetness dripping onto his fingers “fuck” is all that leaves his lips as barely a whisper.

All his patience gone now that he knows you want him just as bad as he wants you, the months of sexual tension erupting inside of him and finally his lips are on yours passionately groaning into your mouth as he holds your face with his other hand. You moan into his mouth the feeling of him rubbing circles on your clit, his tongue now in your mouth making you head fuzzy and the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach grow again. iii pulls away from the kiss “You sure about this love” his lips hovering over yours, his other hand caressing your cheek and moving your hair behind your shoulder. “More than anything iii, please I need you.” iii smiles back at you his lips back on yours as he picks you up wrapping your legs around him neither of you breaking the kiss. His big hands holding your legs around him pressing you into him as he moves them underneath your ass his long fingers grazing your aching core. You can feel how hard he is underneath his pants, his hard cock pressing into your stomach begging for release. He moves you both the edge of the couch setting you down and dropping to his knees. He pulls you by your legs closer to him. “Lay back for me love need to taste your pretty pussy.” You lay back as iii’s gaze drops to your dripping mess below. You watch him as he spreads your legs resting your calves on his shoulders. “Fuck me you are so perfect.” His hands smooth up and down your thighs moving over your lower stomach taking in the site before him before bringing one hand to rest on your thighs the other rubbing through your folds his two fingers rubbing up and down gathering your wetness. You moan watching him as he teases your clit moving his two fingers up and down slowly. “Mmm that feel good baby? Look at how wet you are. A dripping mess all for me? I’m so lucky.” You buck your hips at him the feeling of his long fingers moving achingly slow over your clit sending jolts of pleasure through you. “Oh yeah that definitely feels good doesn’t it? I’ll speed up soon baby just want to savour this as long as I can. I’ve waited so so long.”

He moves his hands down your thighs moving himself closer to your pussy your thighs on his shoulder as he brings his hands to rest on your sides caressing you gently with his thumbs. He looks up at you, your breath hitching as he gets achingly closer. You watch him below you holding his gaze as he kisses your clit before licking a long stripe all the way from your dripping hole to your clit, kissing it again sucking gently. You moan tightening your thighs around him locking your legs behind his head. Running your fingers through his hair gently tugging earning yourself a groan from him. “Jesus fucking Christ you taste so good I could do this forever.” His hands held your sides his long fingers resting below your breasts. “iii please-” you pleaded his slow pace and gentle kisses driving you crazy your wetness dripping down his chin. “I know, I know darling. You’re doing so well. Just so beautiful.” His fingers replacing his tongue as he calmed you down with his voice. “Feels so good hmm? How about this?” He pushed two fingers into your pussy moaning as the sounds of your wet squelching filled the room his fingers stroking a spot in you that made you clench around him. “Want me to go faster honey? You look so fucking hot with my fingers inside of you.” he asked as he pumped his fingers in and out of you “want you to fucking suffocate me with your pussy.” His tongue back on your clit his gaze up at you watching you get closer and closer to coming undone for him. You could barely let out a coherent thought your mouth open your chest heaving up and down as you could feel his pace quickening his face fully buried in you now, squirming under his hands holding you in place your breathy moans becoming louder nearly screaming in pleasure as he sucked on your clit. “iii oh god I’m so close you’re gonna make me cum. Don’t stop.” He moaned against your clit moving his hands to your hips pulling you closer to him, sending vibrations through you and tipping you over the edge your pussy clenching around his fingers, weeks of pent up sexual frustration spilling down his chin dripping to the floor below you both. His fingers fucking you through your orgasm and tongue working quick over your clit he glanced up at you watching you come undone for him, because of him, it drove him crazy, grinding his hard cock into the couch desperate for some kind of friction, his cock leaking precum into his boxers.

Waves of pleasure continued to wash over you, your vision blurry and your legs still shaking as iii slowly pulled his fingers out of you bringing them up to his mouth to taste you one last time. “That was the hottest thing I have ever seen. You are so beautiful when you cum for me.” You looked up at him his tall figure coming into focus as you felt his hand move to the side of your face caressing your cheek. “You okay love?” You nodded in response “best orgasm of my life.” You pull him to you gently kissing his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue, as iii moves you back onto the couch him laying on top of you between your legs your robe discarded somewhere on the floor.

You move your hands up his torso and down to his pants. “You’re still fully clothed, that’s not fair now is it?” You smiled up at him as you sat up reaching to push his pants down his cock desperately hard a wet spot on his boxers. Your eyes widen at the size of him, even in his boxers he looks so big. Your pussy throbs at the excitement and nervousness of feeling him fill you up and being inside of you. iii sees your reaction and kisses your forehead and moves your hand over him. “Feel how hard you make me? Every single day for months I’ve been achingly hard for you desperate to fuck your pretty pussy.” He whispers against your lips kissing your cheek down your jaw to your neck. You move your hand to his waistband pushing them down freeing him from his boxers. “Fuck” he hisses through his teeth feeling the cool air on him bucking his cock into your hand. You stroke his long thick veiny length his hand coming to rest behind your head kissing you and moaning into your mouth thrusting himself into your hand. “iii you’re…you’re so big.” You say against his lips as you gather your slickness moving it over the tip of his cock. iii groaned at the feeling hanging his head over you his hair tickling your face. “My sweet boy.” You say as you move his hair from his face tucking it behind his ears. “Making my cock leak so much, so hard for you love.” His breath hitched as you continued to work over the tip of his cock moving down his shaft, lightly tugging on his balls. “Here baby let me make you more comfortable.” You moved his pants and boxers down more throwing them and his shirt somewhere across the room. You caught a glimmer of nervousness in him that made your heart swell. “Doing alright sweet?” “Never better” he smiled at you as you brought his face back down to yours kissing him deeply. iiis hands moved to your legs spreading them to rest himself between them. Sitting up he wrapped his hand around his cock moving it up and down your wet folds groaning at the slickness covering him lightly tapping on your clit sending jolts through your body. You grabbed for him bringing him back down as you wrapped your legs around him moving against his cock coatings your wetness over him. You felt butterflies in your stomach as you realised you were about to be stretched out and filled to the brim by the man you’ve been pining for, for so long. Seeing him like this, so hard and desperate for you, grinding against you made your head dizzy and your desire grow and grow. iii kissed down your neck sucking and biting at your skin licking the wound that was sure to leave a mark. You didn’t care, you wanted him to claim you as his.

iii moved his hand back down to his cock pressing his tip at the entrance of you his eyes on you watching you as he pushed in inch by inch. “Fuck. That’s it love, relax for me doing so well.” His size bigger than you’ve ever experienced before, he filled you completely to the brim inch by inch stretching you so good. “Oh god-” your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he filled you completely bottoming out in you, your pussy clenching around him. iii stilled in you letting you adjust to his size. “Fuck you’re so tight around me. Feel so fucking good.” He leaned down his hand guiding you to look at him before kissing your lips. With your legs wrapped around him he started moving in and out of you slowly, moans and curses leaving both of your mouths as you met him with each thrust in disbelief with how good he felt, how good he was making you feel. You’ve never had someone make you completely lose yourself in ecstasy and moan in the ways you are right now. It was truly heaven. You felt so close to him so intimate with him. iii moved the hair out of your face, thrusting in and out of you, moaning against your lips “so beautiful. Taking me so well. Want to be inside you forever.” You felt his cock twitching in you as he moved his hand down between you rubbing circles on your clit, your breathing becoming erratic again breathy moans and whimpers escaping your lips your fingernails digging into his back. “That’s it baby. You sound like heaven. Making me so feral for you seriously.” You moved his hand desperately to your throat your hand on top of his, his eyes going wide. “Need your big hands around my throat.” “Fuck.” He kept his hand around your throat gently pressing the sides of your neck and releasing as he pumped in and out of you quicker his other hand continuing to rub circles around your clit. You felt your climax building and building as iii pressed his forehead against yours, breathing into each other “fuck iii I’m so close.” “Me too baby cum for me, cum all around my cock.” iii kept his pace in and out of you circling your clit staring into each others eyes, you came undone again throbbing and tightening around his cock, your back arching off the couch and mouth falling open, your orgasm ripping through you from head to toe you swore you died and went to heaven. iii’s hands were all over you as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm your moans spurring him on. He linked his arms under your thighs pressing them into the mattress, pumping in and out of you faster, and groaning against your lips “oh fuck take all of me in your pussy, feel all of me, you feel so good.” The squeezing of you around him milking his cock, his thrusts becoming erratic. You held him close your orgasm washing over you, grabbing his face to look at you spurring him on as he chased his release “look at me when you cum in me iii. You feel so big so thick and big inside of me.” iii came hard moaning against your lips his head falling to the side of you as hot ropes of cum painted your insides. The feeling of him twitching inside of you, his praises and moans bringing you close to yet another orgasm. iii kept fucking into you slowly, his cock still hard riding his high until he stilled in you both of you coming down from your highs. He kissed you slowly with so much passion savouring the taste of you on his lips, butterflies growing in your stomach again. “I could do this all night. Want to be inside you forever.” You moved his hair out of his face looking into his eyes “me too baby.” You and iii spent another hour making each other come undone over and over the dinner you were meant to be having with the rest of the boys and crew becoming a lost thought.

Ok I could write forever about this man. Byeeeee!

#sleep token x reader #iii sleep token #sleep token iii #sleep token iii x reader #sleep token smut #sleep token iii smut #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token iii x reader smut #sleep token #I am so feral for this man #someone sedate me #iii x reader

[buddie-fic-recs-this-way]

what are your fav buddie au’s? i’m looking for like cute/ mild angst but with a happy ending? for reference i like the au’s where neither one of them is a firefighter, like they’re a chef or a barista or a teacher, stuff like that! but i also like when one of them is a firefighter and one isn’t! honestly im not picky i’m just on a “fluff buddie getting together au” kick right now lol!!!❤️❤️❤️

well you have come to the right place! au's my most beloved. i'm also known as the au queen 😂 (since i'm combining these asks, i'll put which one's are angsty) i tried to stick to more “normal jobs” so i hope these are what y’all are looking for <33 as always if anyone else has other recs, please feel free to add them!

pick a star on the dark horizon (follow the light) Bob_loblaws_lawblog @bi-buckrights (army buddie/angsty)

winner takes it all buddiefication (pumpkincreamcoldbrew) | (hockey buck/baseball player eddie/ light angst)

now our love lives in the radio | heartbeatdiaz @loserdiaz (college au/ radio host buck/ fluffy)

traded | Princessfbi @princessfbi (hockey buck/ bartender eddie/ light angst)

falling for you (when you're miles away) | MonsterRae1 @monsterrae1 (long distance relationship/ buck is a course teacher for LAFD/ angst)

cordolia verse (bakery au) | MonsterRae1 @monsterrae1 (baker!eddie/barista!buck/ fluff)

kiss me before it's over (if only for a minute) | Bob_loblaws_lawblog @bi-buckrights (baseball buddie/light angst)

come love, | colonoscopys (business man buck meets bodyguard eddie/ angsty)

don't play games (come my way) | letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (buisnessmen buddie/light angst)

a wednesday in a café (i watched it begin again) | MonsterRae1 @monsterrae1 (nurse!eddie/firefighter buck/coffee shop au/fluff)

made your mark on me (a golden tattoo) | heartbeatdiaz @loserdiaz (tattoo artist!eddie/fluffy)

wastin' my time when it was always you |heartbeatdiaz @loserdiaz (childhood friends to lovers/navy seal buck/angsty)

eyes like sinking ships (in waters so inviting) |heartbeatdiaz @loserdiaz (lifeguard!buck/more fluff than angst)

falling slowly; sing your melody (i’ll sing it loud) |Princessfbi @princessfbi (musician!buck/bodyguard!eddie/angsty)

hearts, hooves, and healing | mansikka @redlightsandicedtea (neither are firefighters/horse sanctuary/fluffy)

your name is written in the sand | lecornergirl @clusterbuck (lifeguard!buck/fluffy)

let my ink stain your pages |letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (author!buck/detective!eddie/fluff & angst)

steppin' into fate | r_holland @onward--upward (hockey buddie/fluff & angst)

i don't mind waiting (if it's for you) | Princessfbi @princessfbi (detective!eddie/bartender!buck/angsty)

a picture is worth a thousand words (but love is undefinable) |extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @extasiswings @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (model!buck/photographer!eddie)

teardrops could be bottled | Princessfbi @princessfbi (model!buck/photographer!eddie)

string of hearts...| ReallySmartLadyMarieCurie (plant shop owner buck/firefighter eddie/fluff)

what if you're someone i just want around... |ReallySmartLadyMarieCurie (boxer!eddie/firefighter buck/angsty)

pin me to the wall, i'm an art piece | whiskis @angela-feelstoomuch (models buddie/fluff & angst)

cowboys, jorts and building shit |Ineedapuppyandsomevodka (houseflipper!buck/carpenter!eddie/fluffy) @ineedapuppyandsomevodka

frequent flyer | whileyouresleeping @whileyoursleeping (eddie is a firefighter/buck is not/fluff)

coastlines | browney3dgirl6 (surfer-shopowner!eddie/firefighter buck/ agnsty) a lil self promo; i would list more but 99% of what i write is au's like this 😅 if you want me to make a separate post of all of them, just lmk 🫶🏻)

#buddie #buddie fic #evan ‘buck’ buckley #eddie diaz #911 abc #fic recs #au’s #anyone have any suggestions? #sorry i love angst 🙈 #they all have fluffy endings though!!