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freedomfireflies · 3 months

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Overdrive*

Summary: The one where it's 1969 and Harry likes to drive really, really fast.

Word Count: 5.5k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, exhibitionism, very brief daddy kink

Five.

The sound of revving engines echoes between the tall, city buildings. Loud enough to startle a nearby flock of birds on a telephone wire as they take off into the dark night to escape the lurid noise.

Four.

The smell of burning rubber is everywhere. Tires screech against the pavement as the smoke dissipates into the warm summer air and the drivers prepare for that familiar white flag.

Three.

There’s a murmur amongst the crowd. The bets have been placed and the anticipation has set in. They pick their favorite driver, and they hope that somehow, they’ll be able to beat the unbeatable.

Him.

Two.

You can see your little speed demon just up ahead as he waits patiently in front of the makeshift starting line. He seems relaxed. Confident. One hand is settled on the steering while the other is flipping the bird to the driver beside him.

One.

The flag waves and the drivers take off. A streak of color flashes across the street as each of the five cars attempt to take their place ahead of the rest. But nobody can seem to get an edge on the black Lamborghini Miura already skidding around the first curve, effortlessly leaving them all behind.

You grin. It’s harder to see the cars now that they’re on the other side of the buildings, but you can hear them. You can hear his engine, specifically. You’d know the sound anywhere. After all, he spent weeks introducing you to the ins and outs of his favorite toy. Showing you exactly how to care for it, with those rough, practiced hands that also happen to care for you, too.

You catch a glimpse of his vehicle just before it disappears past the drugstore. He shifts gears and accelerates, just before the blue Stingray to his right can gain on him. You hold your breath as both cars drift around the corner onto the next road and the crowd begins to cheer.

Harry hasn’t lost a race in weeks. You don’t imagine he could lose if he tried. In fact, he could be blindfolded with no brake pedal and a faulty transmission and somehow, he’d still be miles ahead of the competition.

It’s one of the things you love most about him. The way his eyes light up when he gets behind the wheel. The way the engine purrs in his hands and the way he can bend the road to his will.

The Stingray veers to the right in order to get ahead of him, but Harry seems to anticipate this attempt. He cuts the other driver off just before he can speed up and your heart jumps into your throat. The only thing you don’t like about his racing is how careless he can be at times.

If you’re in the car, he takes the utmost care to make sure you’re safe. That you’re never put in harm’s way.

But when he’s alone, he’s in a whole other world of his making. He doesn’t consider the consequences or the repercussions. He doesn’t consider you. The way you’d feel if you lost him.

And you trust his instincts, you do. But you can’t always say you enjoy the show.

The Stingray slams on his brakes as Harry takes off and slides around the second to last corner. Tire marks are painted across the cement in his wake and the crowd cheers.

Your stomach twists. He seems to be doing all right, although one of his fatal flaws is that it’s nearly imposable to tell how he’s feeling. He’s eerily stoic when he’s under pressure and perhaps that’s a good thing.

But that doesn’t exactly help you now as he zigs and zags across the road before finally reaching the last turn that leads into the final stretch.

This is it. You hold your breath as you watch from the edge of the sidewalk, hands twisting in front of your chest as he races across the last few hundred feet. It’ll be close—the Stingray is gaining on him with each passing second—but Harry’s undeterred. He switches into a lower gear and the engine comes alive. Giving the car torque for those last few inches as he flies across the finish line. And the race is over.

The rest of the cars follow shortly after and the growing crowd of onlookers all swarm the street. They cheer and they holler, and they flock to the handsome driver now stepping out of his vehicle, desperate to congratulate him. But those soft green eyes only search for you.

When he finally finds you squished between the horde of admirers, he grins, and begins to push his way through to you.

The moment you meet, he picks you up, hugs you to his chest, and spins you around. And you squeal giddily, happy to be back in his embrace as you wrap your arms around his neck and hold on for dear life.

“My little lucky clover,” he whispers proudly. “What did I tell you, hm?”

The nickname makes your insides grow warm. He’s called you his lucky clover ever since that first race when the two of you met. He claimed he only won because he saw you standing there watching and was desperate to impress you. And that every race he’s won since has been because of you and your charming presence.

You aren’t so sure you believe him, but you have to admit it sounds pretty on his tongue.

You laugh as he puts you back down. “I know, I know,” you finally concede. “You were right.”

“Mhm.” He smirks—cocky—before he’s surging forward to kiss you. Soft and slow and with a desire that almost feels scandalous for such a public place. “I always am.”

His tongue brushes against yours while his hand splays across your lower back to tug your body to his and the crowd cheers as you giggle. But you don’t fight the way he loves you. Instead, you cling to his shirt and allow him to take what he wants.

When he finally allows you a moment to breathe, you gaze at him curiously. “How fast were you going?”

“120 on the main stretch. 80 on the curves,” he says, then chuckles at the way you frown. “M’fine, Clover. I promise.”

“You agreed nothing over 100,” you remind him.

“Yeah, but I needed to win.”

“No, you don’t need to win. You need to stay alive.”

“Well, why can’t I do both?”

Unamused, you huff, and lightly slap at his stomach. “Not funny, H.”

However, he merely laughs aagain and pulls you back between his arms. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says softly. “You know I’d never die on you. I’d miss you too much.”

“Let’s hope so.” You push up onto your toes to bring your lips to his once more. “Cause if you die on me…I’ll kill you.”

His smile is smug as he kisses you hard before he leads you back to his car. The large mass follows, anxious to ask him questions or offer their praise. And he listens to dutifully, perching himself on his hood while pulling you between his legs.

It’s the same after every race. The other drivers try to tease him while his growing group of fans are desperate to be noticed by him. He might not be inherently famous, but he is to this crowd. They love a lot of things about him. His skill, his confidence, his looks.

And you can’t exactly blame them.

It’s impossible to tell if you want to be him or be with him. You imagine for most people, it’s both. He has a sort of relaxed assurance that seems to make everyone else around him comfortable. And there’s a mystery about him. An intrigue to know more about the man behind the wheel. About who he is outside of these races. What he’s really like.

He slings an arm around your shoulder and pulls you back into his chest. He talks to the driver of the Stingray and they exchange comments about the almost collision that makes your stomach turn. But when he notices, he presses a quick kiss to your temple and changes the subject.

However, the rowdy celebration is cut rather short by the sound of sirens as two police cars come slinging around the side of a building with their lights flashing and their microphones on.

Everybody scatters, a collection of wild cheers and hollering voices as the officers step out of their vehicles in order to round up the crowd and instruct everyone to return home.

But Harry is unfazed as he pats your hip and nods his chin up. He’s rather good at his getaway now. After all, you imagine he’d have to be with all the times the police have broken up these races.

And he’s only been caught once.

You slip inside just as he starts the engine. The radio comes alive, the sound of Jimi Hendrix enough to rival the roar of the motor as places one hand on the back of your seat in order to look behind him before he speeds away from the scene, hangs a sharp left, and takes off down the adjoining road.

The sound of sirens follow. There’s a cop car on the next street over, attempting to chase after him as Harry weaves in and out between the scarce traffic. He’s good—incredibly good—but they haven’t given up yet.

They cross over and skid behind him. They’re getting closer and the red and blue lights are bright in the rearview mirror. Still, Harry is calm. Simply shifting gears with ease as the car accelerates and offers a bit more distance before he takes a last-minute right in order to shake them.

The force of the turn slings you against the side of the door and you huff as Harry shoots you a cheeky grin.

“Sorry, baby,” he calls over the music. “You all right?”

With a grimace, you nod and say, “Mhm. Just great.”

He winks before he’s blowing through one red light and then another. Somehow missing the few cars currently crossing the street while the police are forced to slam on their brakes as somebody passes. And once they lose sight of him, he veers into an old, abandoned alley to hide.

Seconds pass before they finally fly by. Oblivious to his plan as they head further into town while Harry takes another right and disappears from the city.

He cheers victoriously and rolls down the windows and you laugh as you gaze at him. Entranced by the way he nods his head to the music as a gentle, summer breeze blows through his curls.

Freedom tastes better with him. Life is better with him. His hand on your thigh, squeezing, while he sings along to Jimi Hendrix and grins at the open stretch of road ahead of him.

You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else and he seems to bask in your admiration before he finally looks over.

“What do you say, Clover?” he says with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Wanna see what a hundred feels like?”

A bit hesitant, yet wildly curious, you nod.

He reaches for your hand in order to help you across the car, and you crawl over the console until you can settle onto his lap. Once you’re snug over his thighs, his arms slip beside your middle to keep you safe while he holds onto the steering wheel, and you scoot back into his chest for support.

And it feels good. Comfortable. Even though the car is going faster and faster with each passing second, you feel protected. You know he’d never let anything happen to you. And there’s hardly any danger out here, along the old, backroads away from the city and traffic.

The needle on the dash rises higher and higher. 70…80…90. Harry’s grinning against your cheek as the wind dances across your skin. The moon is bright in the sky, illuminating the road even without headlights and it’s exhilarating. Limitless.

“How’s that, hm?” he whispers. He kisses your jaw before dropping his foot against the gas. “You sure you’re ready, sweetheart?”

You nod quickly and brace yourself in his hold. “Mhm.”

The car reaches 100 and it feels like flying. You laugh, giddy, and he grins. The straight stretch of empty street might as well be a runway and the faster you go, the lighter you feel. As though the tires will simply lift off the ground and carry you into the sky.

He shifts gears and the car jolts forward as the needle jumps to 110. You gasp and squirm excitedly over his lap before he suddenly groans. The sound is low and strained and you recognize the lustful cadence almost immediately.

Amused, you bite the inside of your cheek. “You okay, H?”

He takes one hand from the wheel and places it on your thigh. Squeezing it once. Pointedly. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t. You squirm again, settling into the feel of the hardening bulge beneath your ass and he makes another noise that goes straight to your cunt.

Your lashes flutter. The world blurs and your heart races. Perhaps you shouldn’t be doing this while you’re going so fast but Harry is calm. He trusts himself and you trust him.

The needle rises.

“Harry,” you whisper and his knuckles go white against the steering wheel. “Harry, please—”

“What?” His mouth rests against your cheek and you whine. “What, Clover? What do you need?”

He wants to make you say it. Wants to hear the words on your tongue and you swallow thickly as you intertwine your fingers with his. “H…”

“What, baby girl?” He nips at your skin with his teeth. “M’I making you nervous?”

You nod and he chuckles. A dark, sadistic sound.

“Do you want me to stop?”

There’s a quiet moment of hesitation before you eventually shake your head. Of course you don’t. How could you?

“No?” He squeezes your leg, touch slowly slipping beneath the fabric of your skirt. “Good girl.”

The car begins to go faster. 115…118…120. The same speed he reached during the race and even if you knew it was fast, this feels infinitely faster.

You gasp and clutch his hand. Terrified and enthralled all in the same moment. And even if you shouldn’t be, you feel insanely aroused. Legs squeezing together as he subtly bucks up into you.

The music is loud and the wind is loud and the sound of your heart pulsing in your ears is loud.

And then…the needle drops. The car slows. The speedometer goes from 120 to 50 in only a few seconds, and you blink curiously before glancing back at him.

He says nothing. His expression is firm but stoic and it’s not until he pulls off the road and into the dirt that you understand.

He turns the car off, then pats your hip. “Get out.”

You swallow again and swing the door open. Crawling off his lap before obediently trailing your way to the front of the vehicle while he follows.

“Bend over.”

You do. The hood is warm but not hot and it’s almost inviting as you place your hands against the covering to brace yourself in wait.

“Let me see.”

Your breath catches as you move your fingers to the delicate panties beneath your skirt. You pull them down your quivering thighs and the summer air makes you shiver. You feel nervous under his gaze. Under the way he owns you. But it’s thrilling. Addictive. And it leaves no room for questioning as you drop your underwear to your ankles in the middle of the open desert.

You hear him step closer. Feel his hand on your hip as he pulls the fabric of your outfit up in order to get a proper look. But he’s quiet. Almost too quiet, and you feel a touch warm as you wait for his remark.

“Have you been this wet all night, Clover?” he finally asks.

You nod once. “…yes.”

“Mm.” Another pause while his other hand begins to trail up the back of your leg, slowly pulling it open. “And when were you planning to tell me?”

“I…I figured you already knew.”

He hums and you can only imagine his smirk. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what you were waiting for, then? For me to do something about it?”

“…yes.”

The tip of his finger drags its way through your folds and the sudden sensation makes you whimper.

“Then why didn’t you ask, sweetheart?” His tone is soft but condescending and you make another noise as you attempt to glance back at him. “Uh-uh. Eyes down, Clove.”

With a huff, you drop your chin to your chest and anxiously wait for more.

“Why didn’t you ask?” he repeats. “Thought I taught you better than that.”

When your only answer is a needy mewl, he lands his palm against your ass in a sharp smack.

“Speak,” he murmurs. “When I ask you a question, I expect you to use your words and answer me. Is that understood?”

“Yes…yes, I’m sorry.”

“So why didn’t you ask?”

“Was…nervous,” you admit, glancing off into the dark night to hide the shame in your expression. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

He steps closer and his touch becomes gentler. “You were nervous, baby girl?”

“Mm. Knew you were busy and…and didn’t wanna be greedy.”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he exhales before he’s grabbing onto the cheeks of your ass to pull you open. Allowing him an even better view of the way you drip. “Can always be greedy with me, you know that? Don’t have to be nervous. All I wanna do is take care of you. My time is yours.”

You release a stuttered breath before your eyes fall shut. You love the way he touches you. The way he cares for you. The way he humiliates you, even out here where nobody can see.

“Look at you,” he whispers and you feel yourself clench around nothing. “Look at how pretty your little hole is when it’s so empty.”

The pad of his thumb brushes through your folds and he ignores the way you gasp his name.

“Think I should fix that?” he asks. “Think I should fill you up? Make it better?”

“Yes,” you pant. “Yes, please—”

“D’you need me to stretch you open? Hm? Play with your little cunny till you’re coming all over my cock?”

The dirty words inside his gentle voice feel criminal. Your mind turns to mush and you can do nothing more than press your chest into the hood as you excitedly wiggle our ass further into his hand.

He laughs, amused by your desperation in a way that only pushes you further toward the endless edge. “Is that a yes, Clover?”

You nod quickly. Your cheek rubbing against the car until you finally—finally—hear the sound of his belt flicking undone.

The metal clink is music to your ears and you release a deep moan at the thought of the leather against your skin. Of his cock as it brushes against your clit, mindlessly teasing you past the point of no return.

“Easy,” he says. “Give me your hands, sweetheart.”

Slowly, you pull your arms behind you until he captures them in his hand. He wraps the length of the belt around your wrists until he can securely bind them to the small of your back, and once your mobility is gone, you simper.

“There you go,” he coos. “You okay, honey?”

Another nod. “Yes.”

“Gonna tell me if it’s too much, yeah? If I hurt you?”

“Yes…”

“Know it’s a tight fit, baby, but m’gonna make it work. Promise.”

And this vow makes your heart thumb against the inside of your chest before you feel him disappear from behind you.

And then…his tongue.

He’s dropped into a crouch in order to taste you, fingers locked around your wrists to keep you still while his lips suck on your pussy.

“H,” you inhale, already undone by his technique. “I…”

He says nothing but the noise of wet licking echoes between your ears. His other hand pushes your leg away, creating more room for his head as he mouths at you. He flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue and you steel yourself against the hood, almost as though to get away.

“Careful,” he warns again. He smacks your thigh. “M’having so much fun. Don’t ruin it.”

And you try to be good. Try to stay still so he can do with you as he pleases. But it becomes increasingly harder when he nips at your cunt like he means to feast on you.

Your fingers wiggle about the air, desperate to grab him. To clutch onto his curls or yank on his arm. But he keeps you restrained, keeps you compliant. And you are nothing but a toy for him to play with now.

You hear the sounds of the world around you. The crickets, the owls, the flock of birds flying overhead. You’re reminded yet again that anybody could drive by, even out here in the middle of nowhere. They could find you, bent over the hood of a Lamborghini as you get tongue fucked by the handsome man on his knees.

And yet…you don’t care. In fact, you almost hope somebody does pass. Because you know Harry wouldn’t stop even if they did. He’d keep going until you were unraveling in his hands as you whimpered his name.

As if to prove this, he adds a finger in beside his devious lips. “Gotta make sure you can take me,” he says in a low grunt. “S’too tight in here, Clove. Don’t think I’ll fit.”

You whine louder and angle your ass closer. Desperate to get his finger in as far as it’ll go. “I’ll take it,” you promise. “I will. Always do.”

“Always do,” he repeats in a soft chuckle. “That’s right, you do. Treat my cock right, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Nearly purring, you allow the subtle thrust of his hand to drag you closer to that blinding pleasure.

“Do anything I ask. Even have my babies, wouldn’t you?”

The thought nearly does you in. Your tummy all swollen and full of him. Tits leaking milk that he’d eagerly lap up. The way he’d still treat your body like a temple. A prize to behold. Because you were carrying what he gave you. He fucked you so hard and so deep that you became a vessel for him.

And even past that, you’ve always wanted to be a mother. Always wanted to start a family with him because you know he’d be a wonderful father. He’d take them to races and hold them on his shoulders so they could watch. He’d kiss all over their little cheeks and tuck them into bed. And your kids would know nothing but love. Because they’d look up to the two of you.

It makes you smile.

“What do you say, hm?” he whispers between kitten licks to your pussy. “You wanna have my babies? Wanna make me a daddy?”

He adds a second finger and begins to scissor them almost immediately until you cry out. Loud enough to startle a bird from a nearby branch and this proves to be answer enough for him.

“Okay,” he decides. “Okay, I’ll fuck your little pussy and get it all nice and full. Give you all I’ve got. And you’ll take it, won’t you? Hold it in your little belly like a good mama.”

You cum. Suddenly and without warning as the intensity of the orgasm explodes behind your eyelids like stars in the sky. You cum and you don’t get a chance to warn him or prepare or even hold off as you feel yourself drip down his hand.

“God, H,” you moan. You sound pitiful. Voice hoarse from the way you’ve been wailing and arms sore from the way he keeps them behind you. Still, you don’t mind. The pain is pleasure in and of itself. “I…m’so…”

“Yeah.” He stands up and tugs his pants down. “I know, baby. I am, too.”

The tip of his cock drags through your soaked and sensitive pussy before he pushes in. He’s right, it is a tight fit. Even with the way you attempt to relax your muscles and draw him in. But it’s always snug with him and truth be told, you almost prefer it this way.

“There you go,” he breathes, dipping down to kiss your shoulder before drawing back his hips. “Just like that. Fucking hell, Clove, I wish you could see. Wish you could fucking see the way you look taking me right now.”

You wish you could, too. As it is, the feeling is enough to make your eyes roll back and send sparks of electricity up the length of your spine.

He keeps your wrists in his hand as he fucks into you. Sharp thrusts that sound sloppy and uncoordinated but feel like heaven. And there’s an urgency here. A desolate need to feel you unravel. He cares for you and he uses you all with the same technique.

He grabs your leg and forces it up onto the hood. Giving him more room and a deeper angle just to hear you moan. And you hate that you can’t see him. Because you know how pretty he looks when he’s in control. His adrenaline high and his eyes alive with the possibilities of what he could do to you.

Instead, you choose to imagine. The way a few rogue curls must be sweeping across his forehead, unable to stay constrained beneath the sticky gel he likes to put in his hair. His chest is probably heaving, offering peeks of his tattoos beneath the white shirt clinging to his sweaty torso. His thighs will be flexing with each thrust. The muscles rippling in such a way that would surely make you drool.

You understand why every woman you pass on the street tends to fawn over him. You know they’d do anything to take him home. Cook for him, clean for him, be good for him. Anything to earn his affection.

But you also know, his affection belongs to you. You’ve seen it, time and time again. He doesn’t even glance their way. He doesn’t notice when they giggle over him or when they try to call to him with their eyes.

Because his eyes are always on you.

“You’re beautiful,” you hear him whisper. It’s soft—restrained. Almost as though he doesn’t mean for you to hear it. But you do and you nearly sink into the car in bliss. “Fucking hell, sweetheart. You’re perfect.”

A fervent heat rushes through your body from his praise and subsequently has you clenching around him. The feeling makes him groan and you’re proud of the way you can still care for him. Even if you can’t see him. Even if he’s the one with all the power.

“This sweet little pussy takes such good care of me,” he says and reaches around your tummy in order to press his palm against the subtle bulge there. “Every…fucking…time.”

You careen forward, cheek squished into the hood, skin dewy from the way your body shakes with pleasure. It’s always this close and somehow, he keeps you there. As though reminding you not to cum until he says so.

The hand on your stomach moves down until his fingers find your sensitive clit. He rubs and he plucks and he plays with your body with the same precision and skill he uses when he drives. Because no matter how much he loves to race, he loves you more. And winning you will always be infinitely better than winning some goddamn race.

“What do you say, hm?” he mumbles from behind you, rubbing the swollen nerves while pistoning his hips to yours. Dragging you closer and closer and closer. “You gonna cum for me? Gonna let me feel it?”

You nod and when you start to waver over that edge, he chuckles.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Okay, baby, cum.”

You do. Again. Harder this time. Louder. It’s almost cruel how easily your body breaks beneath him but before you can indulge in the feel of the way he follows…he’s pulling out.

He guides you away from the hood and turns you both around. He sits in the spot you once were and he lets you see him. Because this is what you needed. The intimacy, the eye-contact. The beautiful look on his face.

He guides you closer with his hold on your bound wrists before pulling you onto his lap as best he can. He helps you place one leg back on the hood while his other hand moves to guide his cock between your overstimulated folds. Then, he brushes his swollen tip through, just to tease himself, before he’s pushing in.

And you can see him now. Can see the fucked-out expression on his face. The way his vision becomes hazy and his teeth grit together in ecstasy.

You whimper, whine, cry out. You want to hold him. Want to wrap your arms around his neck and curl yourself into his beautiful, broad chest.

But you can’t this time. In fact, he uses his grip on the belt to help roll you over his cock. A soft smile on his face as he whispers, “Just one more, sweetheart. Give me one more.”

He’s insatiable and greedy and you love it. Because you’d fuck yourself on his cock for the rest of time if you could. Even out here in the open.

“Wanna watch,” he whispers, then slips his other hand around the back of your neck to bring you down for a kiss. “Wanna watch the way I fill you all full of my babies.”

You make a rather pitiful noise against his mouth and he smirks.

“You want that, too, don’t you, Clove?”

You nod, although you imagine it should be obvious. You’d do anything for him.

“This little pussy was made to have my babies, wasn’t it?” he says and kisses the corner of your lips before moving down your neck. “Just made to be fucked by me. Perfect tummy to carry my kids. You’ll be so good, mama. Know you will.”

Your lashes flutter shut. The nickname breeds something new in your chest, a blossoming sort of urgency that almost makes it hard to breathe.

“Harry,” you plead. You nudge your nose against his temple. “Harry, please—”

“Shh.” His voice is soft. Still mischievous but kind. “I’ve got you. Yeah? M’right here. Just let me take care of you.”

And he does. He moves his hand from your neck to your shirt, slipping underneath until he can find your tits and give them a squeeze.

“There you go,” he coos. “Oh, baby girl. Do anything for you, you know that? Just to keep you.”

He moves from your chest to your clit, and you know the second his fingers make contact, you’ll be gone. You squirm in anticipation, and he grins against your cheek before kissing you hard. Tongues and teeth colliding as he sucks on your lip and murmurs, “Can I cum in your pretty pussy, mama? Will you let me? Please?”

You nod so quick and so hard, your head aches. But it doesn’t matter because nothing else will ever compare to the feel of his hand on your body and his cock in your cunt. Releasing the warm, sticky offering that means infinitely more now than it did before.

He thrusts up into you a time or two, milking himself with your pussy before he drops back down and pulls you with him.

You’re both panting. Heavy, hard. Depleted of all energy as he holds you as close to his heart as he can.

Eventually, he frees you, tugging on the belt with one, easy pull as it comes loose from around your wrists. And the moment your arms are returned to you, you use them to grab onto his shoulders and bury yourself in his embrace.

He laughs. A delicate sound that makes you feel just as warm as his cock does. And you stay there for as long as you can until he finally nips at your earlobe and says, “Need to get you home, Clove. Don’t want you to get cold out here.”

“M’not cold,” you pout. “And we can’t leave until it works.”

“Until what works?”

You look down and he looks, too.

Then, he grins. A big, giddy grin that’s all teeth and dimples. “Oh,” he murmurs. “Can’t leave until you’re pregnant, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“I see.” He squeezes your hips and kisses your neck. “Gonna have to hold me in there, aren’t you? Keep me all snug?”

“Mhm.”

“All right, mama,” he says and you giggle. “We’ll stay until you’re all nice and pregnant. And then I’m gonna take you home and fuck you again. Just to make sure.”

Your stomach flips.

“S’that sound good, Clover?” he asks, and you bring your eyes to his in order to see him fully.

You smile.

“That sounds perfect, Daddy.”

For a more immersive experience, feel free to play All Along the Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix during the chase hehe

Beautiful divider by @firefly-graphics 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

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princessedesfleursss · 2 months

Text

SV05E1

Pairing: husband!sebastian vettel x wife!fem!reader

Genre: smut

Warnings: public sex, a little degradation, several orgasms, jealousy, swearing, google translated german

It was quite a long time since Seb and you had decided to come out for dinner. Especially after his retirement you had moved back to Germany with your husband who had been focused on his shaping his future career and spending more time with the kids.

With the kids, you both never had time to attend to your relationship. Stolen kisses & quickies in the washroom was what held your relationship together. The past few weeks of busy schedules and having to constantly make sure the kids were sorted out with their schoolwork put a strain on your relationship. Which is why when Sebastain’s sisters had offered to take care of the kids for the weekend, after overhearing a hushed argument you both had during a family get together, without any hesitation the both of you had said yes.

So that led you to where you were now. In a fancy restaurant in Monaco drinking wine and waiting for the food you ordered to arrive.

All throughout the evening the waiter had been throwing you flirtatious glances. Maybe it was the dress you were wearing or maybe it was the fact that Sebastian seemed almost invisible to them.

“If that moron doesn’t stop drecksack (scum bag) doesn’t stop eyeing you up and down I might have to go down there and punch him,” Sebastian muttered to you under his breath.

This wasn’t new for either of you. Sebastian was much older than you and at times people thought he wasn’t actually your husband but rather someone else- more specifically someone who wasn’t romantically accompanying you.

“Süße (honey) ignore that,” you said rubbing your ring clad fingers up and down his arms, “You know I’ve got my eyes only on you.”

You knew that it didn’t ease Sebastian and that you had gone over this a million times but the man was jealous & possessive over you rightfully so.

“Give me a kiss liebling,” he requested and you obliged too excitedly.

Caressing the side of his cheek and leaning in to lock your lips with his, you felt yourself melting as he took control of the kiss. His hand was sliding up and down your arm and yours were lingering on his cheek and the other over his hand. His fingers clasped yours and the pad of his thumb stroked the top of your hand.

It wasn’t until the waiter was nearby that your make out session was interrupted. A hue of red painting your cheeks you moved away from Sebastian. The waiter walked closer and placed the food of the table.

Turning to you and brazenly ignoring Sebastian he asked,

“Mademoiselle, would you like some more wine?”

“I’ll let you know if we need more,” Sebastian replied in a curt manner.

You watched as the waiter bow and make his way back to the kitchen.

“Oh is my old man getting all wired up now?” You asked Sebastian teasingly as you let your wandering hands settle on this robust thigh.

Taking his hand from the table and kissing it, you held it close to your face letting your face rest of his open palm. With both your hands holding onto his hand, you continued,

“Ich werde dich immer lieben und nur dich (I will always love you and only you).”

Sebastian looked back at you lovingly and murmured, “I know. And I love you even more than that liebling.”

After eating and conversing, having time for yourself, you felt like you needed to uplift the mood a little. Plus you were feeling horny with Sebastian looking all worked up. You wouldn’t have minded him taking your right here in front of the waiter that had been eyeing you up all evening.

Signaling the same waiter to come over to you, who almost too enthusiastically scurried over to you, you placed an order for two tiramisus.

A walk to the kitchen and back, the waiter came over with a tray of tiramisu and started serving for you and your husband. Sebastian wasn’t pleased at all but since he was sipping on his wine trying really hard to not punch the waiter you took your chance.

Dipping a finger to the tiramisu you looked back up at the waiter and brought it over to your mouth and licked your finger clean. You watched as the waiters eyes widened as he watched your tongue wrap around your finger licking it squeaky clean.

��Mmm, this is too sweet for me,” you said as you looked back up at the waiter innocently, “Do you have anything less sweet?”

“W-we have um… cranberry pudding Mademoiselle. The prefect blend… blend of uh… just you know sour and sweet,” the waiter stuttered as you looked back at him with flirtatious eyes. You raised your eyebrow and he continued, “Of course it’s not too sweet. I’ll take this back to the kitchen and bring out a new one immediately.”

Sebastian watched all this unfold right in front of him with a perplexed look on his face. And when the waiter left to return the dessert and bring a new one in, he gave you one stern look and questioned,

“What the fuck was that liebling?”

You made yourself comfortable on your seat and looked up at him as if you hadn’t just flirted with another in front of your husband.

“What do you mean Seb?”

“Verhalte dich nicht ganz unschuldig (Don’t act all innocent),” he spat back.

Sighing you replied in a calm tone, “Since you were being a grumpy old man all throughout dinner I thought I needed to find someone else to entertain myself.”

That was all it took for Sebastian to get up from the table, startling you. He grabbed hold of your hand and led you over to the dimly light but spacious washrooms.

Twisting the lock of the door and making sure no one could come in, he pushed your body over to the counter and kissed you harshly.

“You think you can act like a schlampe (slut) and get away with it?” Sebastian asked, his mouth leaving a hot trail of kisses down your open neck.

“I’ll show you what this old man can do.”

Sebastian lifted up your red dress and looked at you with a not so amused look when he realized what you were wearing.

“Only for you-“

“Oh shut it,” he kissed you with a strong sense of urge, letting his fingers run through your folds and gathering the sweet slick to bring it up to his mouth to taste it.

“So fucking sweet.”

You felt your face heat up at his dirty comment. Sebastian smirked at the coy look on your face and without any warning plunged his fingers into your hot & wet core. In and out he pulled and pushed his fingers and you lost yourself in the squelch of your pussy.

“Babe I’m close,” you let your husband know. Sebastian hummed in acknowledgement his lips hovering over your neck and marking small bites all over the expanse of your skin.

When you came with a sense of relief on his hands, Sebastian wasted no time and pulled out his dick, giving it a few strokes and pushing it into you without warning. You hissed due to the oversensitivity you felt after having cummed a few seconds ago.

“This feels so good, doesn’t it libeling?” He asked as he slid he steadied himself against you.

“Hmmm, yes, yes, it feels soo good Sebastian.”

Sebastian railed harder into you, feeling your velvety walls close around him, squeezing him tightly. He grabbed your jaw, making you look at him, your scrunched up eyes now opening up to look back at his bright blue eyes that were now filled with lust.

“Kiss me,” you whispered.

The minute the request left your plush lips, his were on yours, making out as he drilled into you. Within a matter of seconds you came undone around him. However, Sebastian was far from close. Pulling out of you, he turned you around. Protests fell from your lips, letting him know that you were oversensitive from having cummed twice, but he simply ignored your pleas knowing you were down bad as much as he was, despite your resistance.

You held on tight to the edges of the counter top of the fancy washroom the restaurant had. Just then, Seb pushed into you making you drag a sinful moan. Holding tight onto your waist, Sebastian barely showed you any mercy as he drilled into you at a menacing pace.

“Schau dich an, ganz angezogen, benimmst dich aber gegenüber anderen Männern immer noch wie eine schlampe (Look at you, all dressed up but still acting like a slut for other men),” your husband spat at you. He nibbled onto the shell of your ear as he spat a plethora of profanities into your ear.

You continuously moaned as Sebastian pushed into you and within the next few seconds you felt yourself letting out a powerful orgasm for the third time that night and your husband’s release coating your insides making you feel giddy like a first time bride. Exhausted as you were, you waited until Seb pulled out of you to turn around and slump onto him.

He angled your jaw so that you were looking up at him with your tired eyes. Stroking your cheek he teased you, “If only you hadn’t called me an old man and made me jealous in front of that dummer kellner (stupid waiter).”

You smiled and laid your head on his chest, replying back cheekily, “But it was worth it wasn’t me. I haven’t had sex like this for ages Seb. Felt so good.”

“Wait till you get to the hotel then.”

Laughing at the nasty things you were both going to do back at the hotel after being seamless here at the restaurant, Sebastian and you fixed yourselves up and left the restroom. Outside, the waiter who was waiting for your return barely looked you in the eye and Sebastian simply painted a smug smile on his face knowing he had set the “dummer kellner” in his place.

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buckyalpine · 1 year

Text

Sleepy Bucky

Overworked and exhausted beefy babie Bucky. He’s borderline acting like a toddler because he’s so tired and doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s beyond just sleepy, nearly delirious from a lack of rest after spending weeks on a mission. He’s all pouty and grumpy on the jet ride over, dragging his duffle back behind him as he trudges through the compound.

“Hey Buck” You greet him from the couch where you were watching TV, only for him to wordlessly flop forward and face plant himself onto the sofa. “You okay?”

He lets out a grunt while you pet his hair, coaxing him to at least lie on his back instead of suffocating himself into the couch seat.

“What’s wrong Bucky”

“Wan a poptart”

You were sure you heard incorrectly, there was no way the super solder had requested the very treat he said was nothing but sugar and chemicals (though it didn’t stop him from finishing the whole box the first time he tried them).

“A poptart?”

“Stwabewy poptart”

You blink at his slurred words, watching him curiously as he rolls off the couch to slump onto the floor like a starfish, eyes wide open, arms and legs splayed out to the sides.

“Do you still want the poptart?”

“Ya”

You nod, heading over to the kitchen to toast a poptart for him, occasionally peeking over to see what new pose he’d put himself in. You bring the poptart for him on a small plate along with a glass of milk, placing it on the coffee table where he’s still laying down. He pouts when you don’t put it on the floor within his reach, not bothering to sit up from his chosen position.

“Feed me” He demands, looking at you with puppy eyes while you giggle, sitting down beside him and bringing the poptart to his mouth so he can take a bite. You’re not a fan of him eating in such a pose but it’s not like your strong enough to move him yourself.

“Careful, don’t choke”

“Save me. Give me mouth to mouth” He snickers to himself, while you roll your eyes, letting him take little bites.

“Wan milk” He rolls over onto his front, humming contently when you bring the glass for him to take a sip. You can’t believe you have to deal with this absolute manchild, letting him finish his snack.

“Why don’t you get some rest” You see his eyes starting to close, but his body still too wired to actually fall asleep.

“Don’t wanna” he rubs his eyes, unsure of what he even wants anymore.

“Alright, how about we just put your things away and change into something more comfy” Your reason with him, relieved when he nods and allows you to help him up, taking him to his room. He tosses his bag aside before starting to take off his gear, grumpily huffing when his zip gets stuck.

“My zip” He pouts, dropping his arms to his sides, ready to crawl into bed with his tac suit on at this point. You giggle, gently tugging it till it easily slides down, helping him with the rest of the belts and buckles until he’s in just his boxer briefs.

“How about your joggers and a tshirt?” You were about to go to his closet to grab his clothes but he has no interest in putting clothes back on.

“No”

“But you’re just in your underwear Buck” You say incredulously while he starts making his way to bed, slipping under the covers.

“M’not nakey. Just half” He shrugs, giving you grabby hands, hoping you’ll join him. You sigh, joining him under the covers, hoping he’ll go right to sleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

“Wanna sleep” He whines, and you can’t help but laugh because it’s very clear he needs it and no one’s stopping him from going to bed.

“Go to sleep Bucky”

“Okayyy” He drawls, shuffling around the sheets, huffing with each position, deeming nothing comfy enough for him to sleep. He reaches over for you, disregarding his pillow and replacing it with you instead.

“What are you doing Buck”

“M’a koala” He mumbles, burying his face into your chest and wrapping his arms and legs around you, his body starting to finally relax, all the tension in his muscles dissipating into thin air once hes wrapped around with you.

“You’re a 6 foot super soldier” You huff, shifting against his wishes, trying to get air back into your lungs while he lets out a disgruntled grunt each time you squirm. “And you’re heavy”

“You movin’ too much” He complains, eyes still squeezed shut, hugging you tighter, starting to fall in and out of sleep at the feeling of your warmth.

“Cause you’re squishing me bub” You snort, grazing his scalp and softly rubbing his temples while he purrs against you like a needy kitten. In his state of half slumber, he only registers bits and pieces of what you say.

“M”not squishy” His voice is muffled as he keeps his face pressed into your chest.

“No, I said you’re squishing me” By now theres no point in trying to tell him what you mean, he’s too sleepy to understand anything.

“My squishy” He sleepily mumbles, letting out a content sigh when you pull the covers up over both of you. “G’night squishy”

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tatsumessy · 1 year

Text

Hidden feeling - {Itoshi Sae}

“So Itoshi, there’s just one more question I’d like to ask that almost everyone here has been waiting for.” The interviewer cleared her throat and placed the notecards down on her lap fully turning her attention to Sae. You were sitting in his dressing room watching the interview live off the tv silently praying that your boyfriend of five years wouldn’t cuss this woman out. He’s been waiting for this interview to finish ever since it started and you could tell from his face that he was getting aggravated.

“Well it’s about your ‘relationship’ with y/n.” You flinched and started clenching your hands together. “Why the quotations? It’s not a ‘relationship’ likes it’s make believe or something. My girlfriend of five years. What about her?” He quickly rebelled not letting her finish, a tang of guilt shot through your chest but you chose to ignore it. “We did a survey last week comparing your type along with who we think you’d be with. Or how do I put it, someone everyone thinks you should be with. You said you and y/n have been dating for five years, you must not like her enough to want to marry her…” she leaned forward showing off her breast while casually caressing his arm.

As you watched their little interaction the little pang in your chest got worse and your hand was starting to bleed from how hard your nails were digging into your palm. This wasn’t anything new, Sae would always go to these interviews and the interviewer would always sneak in these questions and doubts about your relationship while also sneaking in rude and insulting comments about you. There’s nothing for you to do about it, you just sit there and take it because at the end of the day Sae always chooses you.

“Miss…” “hmm?” You responded keeping your gaze on the tv just watching them two. “You’re bleeding, he’s going to kill me if you got hurt under my watch.” Sae’s assistant said running over and opening your hands to see the damage, tears brimmed in her eyes as she scrambled to grab bandages. “Thank you.” You said watching her finish the wrapping and at the same exact moment everyone gasped at the tv at something that was said. “What happened?” You asked sitting forward, “she just called you a broke background slut whose only with Itoshi for his money.” Pausing for a moment you looked down at your hand then back up at everyone with a gentle smile on your face.

“It’s okay guys…if her comments aren’t hurting me then they shouldn’t be hurting you. She’s not even talking about you so don’t let it faze you.” You finished with a smile, after a second all of your flinched hearing the door open aggressively and Sae walked in ripping off all the wires and microphones from his body. “Let’s go, we’re leaving.” He said throwing the stuff on the seat next to you and grabbing your hand to help you stand up. “What happened to your hands?” He paused, “nothing just some small cuts.” He sighed and pulled you out the studio and towards the car. He helped you get in then closed the door once you were comfortable.

The ride home was silent, and the rest of the night was even more quieter. After the interview you were supposed to go on a date but obviously that didn’t happen because of how upset Sae was and you didn’t mind. He always ends up making it up to you, but that wasn’t the reason you were laying in bed right now wide awake. Sae had his back turned to you and he was fast asleep while you laid there with your eyes glossed over. You were about to start sobbing crying all because of what that lady said today, knowing sae had to get up early in the morning you quietly removed yourself from the bed and went into the living room to calm yourself down.

There’s no reason you should be crying over a couple of comments, it’s not like she physical put her hands on you. But she was bold enough to basically grope Sae on live tv in front of the whole world. Leaning your head back against the couch you closed your eyes feeling your warm tears slide down your cheeks and fall onto your shoulders. After a few minutes of being left alone with your thoughts Sae’s voice broke you out of your trance. “Y/n ?” Your eyes flew open and you jumped leaning forward while wiping your face, thank goodness the lights were still off and he could t see how red and puffy your eyes were.

“Why aren’t you sleeping? You know we have to get up early in the morning.” He stayed standing behind the couch staring at your dark silhouette, “you’re right. I’m coming, let me get some water and then I’ll meet you in the ro-om.” Silently cursing yourself for your voice cracking, you stood up and starting walking towards the kitchen but Sae’s grip on your wrist stopped you. He reached over and flipped the light switch to get a better look at you, “what’s wrong?” He still had the same neutral expression but you could tell in his voice that he was worried.

He didn’t like seeing you cry, out of the five years you two had been dating he’s only seen you cry once and that was when your father died. So to see you trying to hide away from him to cry kind of hurts his pride, it’s like you don’t trust him enough to confide in him. “Nothing, I just had something in my eye.” You said trying to laugh it off while idly rubbing your eye, he rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is it about what she said? About the marriage thing?” You cocked your head to the side in confusion.

“I was gonna propose last night after the interview but she pissed me off so much that I didn’t want to have you deal with my attitude during our date.” A small blush formed on his cheek as he confessed his plans to you, “Sae it’s not about a proposal. I don’t care if we don’t get married for another twenty years. I love you enough to wait…I just needed a moment.” “From?” He asked moving pieces of your messy hair from your face. “I don’t know, what she said really got to me, and it’s like…if she thinks that and will openly flirt and touch you knowing I’m watching then so does everyone else in the world. They don’t see me as your girlfriend, so what if one day you don’t see me as it either anymore yourself?”

A tear slid down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away hiding your sadness with a gentle smile. “Just forget I said anything.” He stared at you with that unimpressed neutral expression and it just made you feel little under his gaze. “Princesa, you are my entire world and I wouldn’t have been the man I am today without your help. Do you understand that my love? I love you.” He said caressing the sides of your cheeks with his thumbs, “sae I told you it’s fine. You don’t have to tell me you love me.” He pulled away slightly looking a little offended.

“Why are you saying that like I don’t love you?” “I- it’s just that you never say it so I never want to assume how you feel about me.” You said looking down at the ground not wanting to make eye contact with him. You couldn’t stop yourself, the words just came out. The two of you stayed silent for a while until he broke the silence, “go to bed. we can talk in the morning.” Opening your mouth to say something you quickly realized that Sae didn’t want to talk, your hand interlaced with his and you held him back from walking further.

“I didn’t mean anything rude by what I said. You have a hard time expressing your feelings and I understand that, I would never pin that against you. With everything going on with your career I want to be a supportive girlfriend so I don’t or shouldn’t have time to be crying over mean comments…but when I do, I just don’t want to bother you because it doesn’t mean anything. All they do is talk and at the end of the day I’m grateful to be in the position I’m in with your right now. I love you Sae and I know you love me.” You said smiling with several tears falling from your closed eyes.

A heartbeat of a moment passed and before you knew it Sae had his lips in yours and he was engulfing your whole embrace. He didn’t think you could do anything to make him fall in love with you more but you did. “Don’t ever cry by yourself again. We can’t get married if you don’t even trust me enough to share your burdens with me.” He kissed the top of your head gently smiling at the nod of approval from you then bent down slightly to pick you up and carry you back to the bedroom.

“Now really, let’s go to sleep. We have to get up in three hours to catch this flight.” You nodded and cuddled up against his figure.

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nahoney22 · 5 months

Note

Hello, Sunshine! Congrats on the 4000!! I'm honoured to count myself between those 🙌🏼

I would like to make a request, so I can join in the festivities. I've been thinking hard to give you something nice, and suddenly an idea struck me, so I humbly offer it to you:

Female reader/Tech (no surprise here, right?), pre-relationship, for some accidental reason (up to you) Tech touches her hair/skin gloveless, and he becomes fascinated by how soft it is (he is a soldier, but I'm sure he appreciates fine things), and I'm picturing him here with a slightly addictive personality, so he starts touching and petting her, kind of absent-mindedly while he is working, or she goes next to him (or at that same moment, tho, whatever fits you better). Reader starts getting flustered because those fingers, am I right. I can see a NSFW ending, but if it doesn't come to you, it's fine.

I would just love to see this idea played out in your style!

Thank you so much! And more than anything, have fun!

Just A Little More***

Tech X F!Reader

word count: 3k

Tech had never struck you as the touchy-feely type so why is it when he asks you to do repairs for him that he just can’t keep his hands to himself and how can you get his hands to move elsewhere?

warnings: NSFW 18+ only. Explicit sexual content and language, non established relationship, accidental caressing, slightly touchy-feely Tech but SFW, first kiss, skin kisses, Intercrural sex (thigh sex/thigh job), handjob, minor nipple play, friends to lovers. Not proofread.

authors note: Thank you for the request my beautiful @doublesunsets and apologies for the huge wait! Hope this is okay🤍

You're feeling perplexed.

Though, It's not necessarily an unusual sensation since joining The Bad Batch and adapting to their peculiar ways of living and combat. However, your current confusion reached a peak a few days back.

Tech had summoned you beneath the ship for repair assistance and out of nowhere, he began tracing his fingers along your forearm. You looked at him, then your arm, and then back at him as he remained absorbed in his task, and for some reason, you refrained from questioning his actions. You gathered that perhaps he was so engrossed in his task that he didn't realise he was touching you, and so you dismissed it as an accident.

Yet, it persisted. He continued seeking your help, tasks usually assigned to Echo, and despite assigning you a task, his hand consistently found its way to your arm, fingers casually brushing against your skin. It was peculiar but not entirely unwelcome.

This routine persisted for a week until the last occurrence compelled you to finally seek an explanation.

One evening in the confined space of your bunk, your face bathed in the dim glow of your datapad's screen when a message notification from Tech pops down. The request for assistance in the cockpit sparks a strange sensation in your chest – a mix of nerves and intrigue, perhaps. Without letting him wait for a response, you place the datapad down and traverse through the ship.

Upon entering the cockpit, the soft hum of the machinery surrounds you. But there in the pilot's seat is Tech, immersed in his own datapad, donned in his underarmour wear. The steady rhythm of his fingers tapping on the screen adds to the ship's ambient sounds and your footsteps echo softly as you approach.

Hearing your approach, Tech glances up, pushing his goggles up his nose with a subtle yet distinct motion. "Ah, there you are.”

"Here I am," you respond with your hands on your hips, a hint of awkwardness in your voice as a sudden wave of shyness washes over you. But non-surprisingly, Tech doesn't seem to notice.

He goes ahead and explains the task at hand—helping with wiring under the control panel. Following the usual protocol, you swiftly retrieve the necessary tools and gloves. As you slide on your gloves, you notice Tech doing the opposite, peeling his off, a recurring behaviour over the last few days.

With your curiosity getting the better of you after the last few days, you inquire, "What are you doing?" His confusion is evident as he looks at you, brows furrowed. When you gesture to his now bare hands, your gloved ones drawing attention, he seems momentarily flustered.

"Oh... I am not too sure," he mumbles, hastily putting the gear back on before moving toward the control panel, ready to slide underneath.

His genuine confusion hints that it might be learned behavior—perhaps he grew accustomed to the contact, and the lack of questions made it a norm. So, setting aside these thoughts, you join him under the control panel, observing his nimble fingers at work with the wires. Although his explanations might be slipping past your ears, you find enjoyment in watching him in his element. As you assist with holding the wires and passing over tools, a subtle but palpable shift in the air suggests that something feels different.

A subtle warmth builds beneath your clothes, and you attribute it to the close proximity to Tech, though the unfamiliar mix of nerves and intrigue from before confuses you even more.

The absence of his gentle touches leaves you feeling somewhat adrift, and a part of you yearns for that contact once again. It's a peculiar sensation, considering he seemed unaware of it all.

Caught in your internal questioning, Tech, too, is in a trance of his own. His nimble fingers have paused in their task, and instead, he's captivated by the scent and touch of your hair brushing against his cheek. With your head tilted to the side, loose strands cascade down, lightly grazing over his cheek.

He knows the smell.

It’s the hair care product you had begged him to add to the list of resources once in a supply run because as you once said ‘if I’m gonna kick arse, I want my hair soft, shiny and smelling good in the process’. And for some reason, he said yes. Maybe he was soft on you or maybe it was because you constantly asked and he was getting a headache.

He wasn’t sure but what he did know was that it was soft.

And shiny.

And smelt beautiful.

The moment holds a certain intimacy, yet neither of you seemed to notice eachothers reactions; both of you lost in your own thoughts.

Tech swiftly resumes his task, jolting into action after a subtle shift from you beside him, and a focused silence envelops the cockpit. You exhale softly, attempting to steady your breathing and cool the warmth beneath your clothes. Blinking, you glance away from his hands, awkwardly holding the small screwdriver he had asked you to handle a few moments ago.

As he finishes, both of you slide out from under the control panel. Surprisingly, you find Tech standing there with his now ungloved hand outstretched towards you.

Pausing for a moment, you look at his hand and then to him, a curious desire to test his reaction arising. Deciding to slip your gloves off first, the motion seems to momentarily freeze him. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, and you seize the opportunity to slip your bare hand into his outstretched one.

His hand is warm, perhaps a bit sweaty, but the touch feels natural, fitting. With a gentle tug, he helps you onto your feet, but instead of releasing your hand, he continues to hold it. His gaze fixates on your intertwined hands, and his thumb lightly brushes over your skin, sending a subtle thrill through you.

As your heart quickens and the warmth intensifies, your eyes remain fixed on his face, searching for clues.

Unable to wonder any longer, you break the silence with a whispered yet firm question, "What's going on, Tech?" His trance is broken, and he shifts his gaze from your hand to your eyes. With a clearing of his throat, he attempts to conjure an excuse to leave the cockpit, but as he moves past you, you grab his arm, pulling him to a halt.

"I don't think so. Tell me what this is about.” The air is charged with anticipation as you await his response.

"Well, alright," he starts, turning back to face you but struggling to meet your gaze. "Would you believe me if I said I did not know?"

You blink at him but offer a small smile, "Tech, I'd believe you if you said this whole planet was made out of cheese."

Seeing him relax, you notice a slight smile as he moves to lean against the control panel, folding his arms over his chest. "I suppose my only reasoning behind it is that I am not used to such contact. Nor am I used to touching something… soft."

You raise a brow, slightly amused, but a small flutter stirs in your chest at his words. "You think my hands are soft?"

"Yes," he admits, a subtle raspiness in his tone, "immensely."

The heat of the blush intensifies as Tech's sweet compliments linger in the air, leaving you somewhat flustered. Your attraction to him, always present, takes on a new depth as you watch him work up close and feel his touch.

His words almost make you crumble, and you find yourself at a loss for a proper response, opting instead for a playful comment about the soap bar you use.

"Ah yes, I have seen it in the refresher," he notes, his hands now behind him, gripping the edge of the control panel. His fingers strum somewhat nervously, creating a subtle melody in the air.

Nervously chewing on your lip, the action doesn't escape Tech's notice as his skin grows warm as you both stand in an awkward silence, unsure of the next move. It's you who takes the initiative, closing the distance with a step closer.

"You know, you can carry on touching me if it makes you feel better," you suggest, and Tech's eyes slightly widen.

"It is not an action that makes me feel 'better,' so to speak," he explains, visibly relaxing, "but it is just a sensation that I have been enjoying. If it made you feel uncomfortable in any way, you should tell me."

A soft giggle escapes you, and this time, you come to a stop directly in front of him. Gently reaching for his hand, you bring it into your own. "If I had a problem with it, I would've said. I also wouldn't be doing this."

The touch carries a subtle yet intentional message, one that surprisingly resonates with Tech. Not known for his overt emotional responses, he acknowledges the unspoken connection between you two. "I suppose not," he nods, standing tall. His fingers trace over yours, a silent exploration mapping every scar and freckle.

“They are so soft.” He mumbles more to himself than he does to you, seemingly in a complete trance.

You watch him, like you had done for the last few days and you can’t help but feel like you’ve read the situation between you both correctly. So, summoning your courage just above a whisper you say, “I’m pretty soft in other places too.”

He halts for a moment, meeting your gaze with wonder. “I can not lie and say that that did not sound arousing… and inviting.”

You raise a brow, a cocky yet enticing smirk on your lips. “Maybe it was an invitation?”

Tech has no words, he doesn’t know what else to say but instead watches as you take a step back from him and start to pull your shirt away from your body.

You stand in front of him, shirtless.

He didn't need Hunter's senses for this; he could smell you, almost taste you. Your skin had a glow amidst the dim lights of the ship, and his nostrils filled with the faint mist of your soap.

The subtle aroma encapsulated the moment, heightening the sensory experience as his eyes continued to explore the intricate details of your body. The air in the cockpit seemed charged with a connection that was too intense to deny.

“You are beautiful.”

Your eyes shine at his words and you naturally move back towards him, his hands instinctively moving to your waist where you inhale a sharp gasp, your skin tingling at his touch alone. “Do you want me, Tech?”

His fingers trail along your skin and you see him dab his lips idly with his tongue. “More than I have ever wanted anything before.”

Grinning, you nod for him as a go ahead as you lean yourself against the console as his hold on you tightens, dexterous fingers dancing against your skin until they land at the buckle of your pants, a teasing tug suggesting he wanted to see all of you.

“Go ahead,” you rasp, mouth salivating as Tech hums in approval and helps you slide your pants down to your ankles.

Cool air hits your skin followed by the warmth of his hand moving down to the curve of your arse, muttering something quietly to himself which has you giggling under his touch.

“Something amusing?” He quips, hands moving from your arse to your breasts, fondling them gently.

“This is the quietest I’ve seen you is all.”

Chuckling he says, “When I am in deep thought, experiencing my desires, I tend to fall quiet.”

“Desire, hm?” You purr. Tech slowly begins circling you, letting his trained hands, so often equipped with his datapad, tools, blasters now caress every single inch of your nude skin. With a grasp at your hips, your back is dragged to his chest, his hands on the soft skin of your stomach.

“Desire…fascination…lust…” he grins as you gasp, his hands cupping both of your breasts, your head lolling back into his shoulder.

“Tech,” you whine, legs trembling as his fingers brush over your stiffening nipples, pinching them between his fingers.

“Yes, dear? Do you like this sensation?” He breathes down your ear, lips brushing against your lobe before they move to your shoulder, a sweet kiss planted.

“Mm, yeah- s’good.” You wriggle against him, your arse pressed to his solid cock.

He sighs against you in pleasure, playing with your tits as you move your hands behind you, cupping him between his legs, heart racing as you gather how big and ready he was for you.

“I can help with that.” He grunts as he moves one hand away from you, tugging himself out of his pants so you can get a firm hold and as your hand grips his heated length he lets out a beautiful whine of his own.

“Fuck,” Tech ruts agaisnt your soft hand, everything he had been wanting to feel around his cock becoming reality. He finally spins you to face him, nearly knocking you off your feet as his lips crash to yours, desperate and full of passion.

“You’re wonderful.” His groan is guttural, lips moving from yours down your neck, over your collar bones until they latch to one of your nipples, sucking and ever so gently biting at the peaks before he laves his tongue flat against your flesh.

You curse, his pace slow and tantalising as his hand strokes your other breast, feeling its weight in his hand and thumbing your plump nipple.

Clit throbbing with an unmet need for attention, you cry out his name and he removes his mouth with a small pop, he places a tender kiss to your lips.

“Can I try something?” You are flushed against him, cock pressing to your stomach and you nod eagerly.

“Of course.”

He grinds his hips against you softly for a moment, there was no set rhythm and was based entirely on instinct and desperation alone. His hands bite your hips as he kisses your neck and shoulder, earning quiet, content hums in response.

His hands dug between his and your stomach. “Just let me—“ he takes a hold of his cock, wet and leaking, before pressing it between your thighs.

“Ah, fuck, so soft.” He choked, pushing his goggles up his nose which had fallen slightly down.

His hips start to thrust, dragging his dick against your thighs and more noticeably against your folds. “Tech…” you whimper in satisfaction, heart pounding against your chest.

“Just a little more, darling.” The whines, pants and groans that leave his throat are pure filth to the ears, his movement so erratic that you had to hold onto his shoulders to keep you standing as your thighs swallow his throbbing tip entirely. His grip on your waist tightens at every increasing pace.. “J-Just… a little more.”

He fucks your thighs beautifully, tip prodding agaisnt your clit with every movement. You’re pent up. He is definitely pent up as you both dive into another kiss and you quietly beg him for more.

“You can fuck me, Tech… you can have all of me.” You bite against his lower lip, earning a low growl and a harsh thrust in return.

“I’ll fuck you properly, I promise.” His words held, like he said, a promise but you knew he just had to fuck your thighs just a little bit more, you knew he had to feel the softness of your skin he had been admiring for however many days now. “I’ll fuck you so good I just… I just need to cum all over your thighs. Just this once.”

Your sex burns in desire and although you knew you won’t get what you crave, you had to give in to Tech. You had to let him slap his cock on your soft skin, sliding in and out of your squeezed together legs until he was panting and swearing.

Lewd sounds fell from your lips, a sharp gasp as Tech repositioned your legs just a tad so his cock nuzzled against the right spot.

Your eyes fell closed, threatening to roll back into your skull. One hand frees your waist but makes it way into your hair, fingers entwined with the soft tassels and fingernails massaging your scalp. “Such a pretty girl.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your orgasm building with every pressure added to your pussy and judging by Tech’s staggered movements, the shift of his weight on his feet you knew he was close too. “Ah- fuck, I’m going to-.”

His words fall flat as you feel a sudden warmth grow between your legs. A lewd squelching noise followed by his soft whines. “That’s it darling,” his words are slurred as he paints your legs with his seed but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he holds you close and cradles you in his arms as he feels your body twitch and whispers for you to let it go.

Your hands fly to between your legs, your fingers coating in his cum as you begin to strum your clit with vigour until you were shouting his name aloud, letting it bounce off the walls of the ship as you tremble on his softening cock.

You stumble back, but Tech catches you swiftly, cooing soft words of assurance as stars briefly blur your vision. "I have you, do not fret. You will not fall."

You laugh lazily, a drunk-like smile gracing your lips. "I trust you, don't worry."

His warm smile reassures you, and he announces his intention to return with a flannel to help clean you up—a pleasant surprise. Once cleaned up, he pulls you into his lap as he sits down.

His lips trail down your spine, fingers delicately dragging across the canvas of your back. It's a blank slate, a myriad of possibilities for designs he could plan, but for now, he simply savors the feeling of your beautiful, warm skin. The quiet intimacy envelops the two of you and you look over your shoulder at him to gauge his reaction to what just happened.

"So, that was something," you laugh softly, cuddling into the warmth of his chest. "I never thought I'd see that side of you."

"And I never would have thought you would ever experience that side of me. It's different from how I usually conduct myself, but around you, I felt as though I could be open. Honest."

It's a rare glimpse of Tech being open with his feelings, and you're grateful that even after a moment of intimacy, he doesn't shut you out. There's something unspoken between you both, a desire to explore this newfound feeling for another.

For now, you say nothing, letting him hold you, allowing his mind to drift away from battle plans, ship repairs, and survival. It’s the least you could do.

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fruitcoops · 4 months

Text

In the Beginning

Going back to my roots this year with some pre-Coops PT fluff :) This is definitely going to turn into a short series (with exceptions for Leo's birthday, of course) and I'm really excited about it! Hoping for some more time to create this spring <3 Character credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW canon injury (Sirius' ankle)

“Sirius.” Despite the whiteboard with his name scrawled next to 11:00, Remus still managed to sound pleasantly surprised. “Hi, how are you?”

“Fine.”

God, he sounded like an asshole. Remus’ smile didn’t falter. “Glad to hear it. Come on in, take a seat wherever.”

Was this it? The first test? Sirius glanced between the chair by Remus’ desk and the exam table. Hell, maybe he was supposed to sit on the stool. Was he? Was that a ‘Remus spot’ everyone else was smart enough to not even consider?

He picked the chair. Lowered himself gingerly to the cushioned seat, crutches propped on the armrest next to him. A spot on his ankle itched under the Velcro of his stiff boot.

“Thanks for making the time today,” Remus continued, as if Sirius had been any sort of friendly or welcoming. “I really appreciate it. This’ll be quick and easy—just a check-in, figuring out what’s going on and where we want to be. Sound okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Sick.” Remus dug around behind his desk for a moment; Sirius could hear papers riffling. Remus’ brow furrowed for a second before relaxing with satisfaction as he pulled a sheet free. “Alright. Sirius Black, meet your new best friend.”

Sirius blinked. “You?”

“Ha! No, I think Pots still has me beat,” Remus laughed, sliding a clipboard across the desk. He pulled his own chair around as well, even though Sirius could see him fold his knees out of the way of the desk. It couldn’t be comfortable. “I don’t like sitting back there when you guys are in here,” Remus said, as if he could read Sirius’ mind. The side of his nose scrunched. “Feels…bossy? I dunno. Can’t really write upside-down, either.”

“Ah. Ouais.”

“But that’s—” Remus waved a vague hand and picked a pen from the broken-handled mug tucked by his computer. “It’s not important. This, on the other hand, is your two-week chart. Decorate it, marry it, I don’t care. As long as you know it’s yours and can find it in that—” He pointed to a wire bin by the door. “—box. Capische?”

Sirius shrugged one shoulder and readjusted his ankle under the table. “Sure.”

“Shweet. There are some forms under the top sheet, if you can fill those out for me real quick.”

Remus stood as Sirius bent his head to write; he puttered in Sirius’ periphery, collecting tape and bandages and a handful of other things from the drawers lining the walls before moving to the exam table behind him. Something spritzed, filling the air with the faint scent of lemon. When he glanced back, Remus was wiping down the exam table with a washcloth.

The table. Of course. He should’ve known. “Do you want me to move?”

“You can if you like.” A lopsided smile found him over Remus’ shoulder. “I’m just cleaning, though. Take your time.”

Feels like I’m taking nothing but time, he thought with no small amount of bitterness. At least Remus meant well. Arthur kept telling him he could have all the recovery time he needed, but Sirius could tell he was getting impatient. He hadn’t even been allowed to think about physical therapy before the six-week mark was up. On some teams, that was long enough to justify rumors of a trade.

Ink smeared under the side of his hand. Sirius cursed under his breath and licked his thumb to smudge it off, but only succeeded in blurring it more. He gave up and scribbled it out, leaving the check mark next to the box instead. Remus’ handwriting was at the top of the page. Sirius Black, printed with a gentle slant to the right. Numbers looped, their tails snagging into one another. Sirius had never met someone who wrote their ‘2’s that way.

“Done?”

He jumped.

“Ope, sorry,” Remus half-laughed as he rolled behind his desk again. The wheels of his chair squeaked. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Sirius shook his head. “You’re fine. And ouais, here.”

“Thanks.” Remus flipped through the clipboard with easy neutrality. Sirius had expected him to take this a little more…well, seriously. “Looks good. Like I said before, today is just getting the boring stuff out of the way. Forms, building your exercise plan, making sure you don’t run screaming from the room.”

Sirius frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“Hopefully, you won’t.” Remus gave him a look—a joke, he realized a second too late.

“Oh—yes, no, not at all.” Great recovery. It took everything he had not to roll his eyes at himself.

Again, Remus seemed unaffected by his awkwardness. Did he just not see it? Did he think Sirius was playing along? But Remus was always like that, with every one of them. Unflappable and infallible. The world was smooth and calm for him, like a lake on a windless day in the dead of summer. He was wearing a shirt of the same blue-gray as the pond in the park by Sirius’ house.

“How’s your ankle feeling today?”

Get out of your head. “It’s…fine.”

The side of Remus’ mouth pulled up. “Gotta give me something to work with here, Cap.”

“A little sore?”

The light caught his sandy hair as he tipped his head back and forth. “Sore how?”

“Just…” Sirius shrugged. “Sore. Like normal.”

“Stabby? Dull? Lightning-y? Can you feel your heartbeat in it?”

“Um.” The cool air of the PT room siphoned into the small gaps of his boot when he wiggled his toes. “Mostly dull. Sharper when I take the cast off.”

Remus nodded. “You haven’t been putting weight on it?”

“Non.”

“Good. That sounds about right for this point of recovery. Is it an ‘all the time’ kind of pain, or just when you do certain things?”

This was a lot more talking than Sirius had anticipated. He had assumed Remus would sit him on the exam table, poke around, and then send him off with some ice packs and stretches. More time, he said when Sirius had imagined it. You just have to give it another week or two, and you’ll be fine. A hopeful part of him figured they’d let him back on the ice as soon as the bone was healed.

“It’s sore a lot,” Sirius admitted. “The dull kind. It gets worse when I move around, I guess.”

“Even with crutches?”

“Ouais.”

“Do you sleep with it on?”

“…my crutches?”

“The boot,” Remus snorted, though it wasn’t mean. He was rocking slightly in his chair, back and forth. Sirius could see the armrests turn with each light push of his foot behind the desk. The tense thing in his belly eased. If Remus was this casual, maybe he was allowed to take some deeper breaths.

“They gave me a different one for the night,” he said. “It’s softer.”

“Are you more of a back sleeper, side sleeper…?” Remus trailed off, gaze darting across Sirius’ face, and gave a sheepish grin. “That sounds super invasive, wow, sorry. I promise I’m just trying to figure out if you’re sleeping on it weird.”

Sirius tried to school his expression. He didn’t want to know what face he had been making at Remus’ question—they knew each other well enough to not fix him with a media glare. “Uh, my back,” he answered. “Usually. The doctors said to put it up on a pillow until it healed.”

“Cool, cool, sounds good.” Remus nodded again, then drummed his hands on his thighs. “Alright. Those are all the questions I have. Any on your end? Concerns, preferences…?”

How fast can you get me out there? Something told him Remus wouldn’t have an answer he’d like. “No, I’m good.”

Remus had a dimple on his left cheek. It made a divot with his small smile. “Great. Ready to hop on the table so I can take a look?”

It took a moment for Sirius to get to his feet; he reached for his crutches, only to find Remus already holding them steady for him. He hobble-hopped the five or so feet from the desk to the exam table; six and a half weeks in, and the crutches still did their best to stymie him at every turn. Horrible fucking things. His underarms were rubbed raw after fifteen minutes. Clunky and awkward and—

“Hold on.”

Sirius paused.

Remus was frowning at his leg. “Those don’t look right.”

“Quoi?”

“You’re…what, six-three?”

“About.”

“Sit, sit.” Remus ushered him to the edge of the table, but took the crutches as soon as Sirius perched himself on the cushions. He pressed a small button near the base; aluminum squeaked as the foot shortened by a few notches. “That’s better,” Remus muttered, almost to himself. “These pads are all worn out, too. Did they give you towels?”

What the fuck? “Uh, no?”

A disgruntled exhale made Remus’ nostrils flare. He leaned the crutches against the wall with a similarly irritated tilt to his mouth. “Remind me to give you some before you go, or the tops are going to wear the hell out of your armpits. I reset the height, too. They were two inches too tall.”

“Oh,” Sirius said helpfully.

“It’s not, like, a huge deal or anything, but it’s uncomfortable.” Remus cocked his head. He regarding Sirius with a critical, but not harsh, eye. “Has your back been hurting?”

Sirius shifted in his seat. “…yes.”

“That’s probably from the height issue.” Remus’ nose twitched with clear displeasure. A pen turned between his fingers, glimmering in the pale light. Sirius hadn’t noticed the bandaid on his knuckle before. The pen stilled with a sigh, then vanished into Remus’ pocket. “Sorry, I just—Moody and I have been trying to get the guys to come in here sooner, because of shit like this. Crutches at the wrong height, no towels, not knowing you’re allowed to wash braces. You’re already uncomfortable, you know? No need to make it worse.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, god, it’s not your fault,” Remus said immediately, pumping hand sanitizer into his palm. “Just sucks that we have to ask permission. It’s not like we’re going to do anything stupid while bones are still healing.”

Sirius swung his legs up on the table while Remus rolled a stool across the speckled linoleum; his ankle twinged, but he managed to keep his wince light.

It was no use. “What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“Face.” Remus pointed at him, arching a brow. “You’re in my rink now, bud. You made a face. You can either lie about it, or get out of here on time.”

Perhaps Sirius had been a bit overconfident in how well he could hide pain. “Just sore when I lift it.”

“Where?”

“Uh. My ankle.”

“Right, I—” Remus broke off with a short laugh. “Sorry. Is there pain in other places when you lift it?”

He let Remus wave him further onto the table before answering. “I can feel it in my calf and foot. A little into my knee.”

The plastic was sticky from cleaning solution, but the cushions were perfectly firm on his lower back. He let his head rest back against the wall with a slow breath and wiggled his toes again. It was nice, being able to do that without lancing pain. Remus tapped his thumb against the edge of the table a few times before moving to stand by Sirius’ feet. “Can I take your shoe off, or do you want to?”

“Oh. Um…” He sat up further, but his fingers just barely brushed the hem of his pants. With a grind of his back teeth and a quick flash of pain, he bent his opposite knee and pulled the shoelace free. His ankle began throbbing faintly as he nudged the shoe off—sock too, thanks—and a puff of air slipped out when he finally leaned back.

Remus was watching him with a sad sort of wariness. “Can I make a request?”

You could ask me to do literally anything. “Yeah, sure.”

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

If he didn’t look so sympathetic, Sirius would have bristled. “What?”

“That—” Remus gestured at him. “Looked painful as fuck. This is an anti-pain establishment. If you think something’s going to hurt, we’ll work around it. No judgement.”

The thing was, Sirius hadn’t actually done this before. He knew where the ice packs were kept, and that the big steel container in the corner held heat pads in boiling water. He knew where the support bandages were, where Remus kept extra stick tape, and that the set of small drawers next to the desk would each be labeled with the name of a teammate so they could find specific gear. Remus had given him stretches for his sore back and arms and legs and whatever, but this—the shoes, the touching, the gentleness—there was no rulebook. No captain’s log to rattle through when he needed guidance.

“Okay,” he finally said. “That’s cool.”

“Cool.” Remus gave him that half-smile again. “Can I take your boot off?”

“Ouais.”

Remus was a lot nicer to the Velcro than he was. The rip was quieter than Sirius thought it could be, peeled off by practiced hands. He felt the pressure on his skin release immediately and took a breath at the tender feeling. Not pain, but something close. It made his heart spike every time. “Hurting?”

“Non.”

“You sure?”

“Just—makes me nervous.”

“Makes sense,” Remus agreed. “You’ve had it all wrapped up. Feels safer in there, right?”

Right. Exactly right. Something tightened in the center of his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

Remus nodded. “Is it okay if I take it the rest of the way off? I can do most of the exam like this if that’s better.”

“You’re asking me a lot of questions.” He tried to sound wry. He wasn’t sure it came out that way.

“Lot of people don’t like touching,” Remus answered easily. He hadn’t moved to touch the boot again, hands flat to the maroon plastic covering the table. “I’d rather you tell me to step off now than make something hurt more.” He gave Sirius an apologetic sort of grin. “Plus, you’re probably sick of people grabbing at you. Don’t really want to be one of them.”

Sirius was sick of it. Hands and fingers and grasping through slivers in plexiglass while he was trying to move, goddamnit, when he just wanted to go back down the tunnel and finally be able to catch his breath. People grabbing him on the ice, pushing. Snape’s body against his own—a shoulder in his sternum. Fingers digging into his skin. A tight grip on the back of his neck.

“You can take it off.”

Remus had a crooked canine tooth. Had he noticed that before? “Thanks.”

Sirius’ fists clenched at the touch of warm hands on his heel and calf. It was…fucking strange, but not painful. Not unpleasant, either. Remus had calluses in the bends of his knuckles and on his palm when he carefully transferred Sirius’ foot to one hand and set the boot up by his hip.

“I’m sweaty,” he blurted. “Sorry.”

Embarrassment flooded him before Remus laughed. “Dude, you have no idea how nasty your boys are when they roll up here. Did you know I had to send a reminder to shower before seeing me? And to wear clean clothes?”

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “Ugh.”

“They don’t cut their toenails, either.” Remus’ eyes flicked up to his face, bright and teasing. “I’m not telling you who, but if you can throw a little captain-y weight around…”

“I’ll try.” It almost came out a laugh. Surprise tingled in his lungs. “But seriously, you don’t need me. They listen to you like gospel.”

“Oh, please.”

“They do,” he insisted. Remus rolled his eyes. “Non, non, I’m serious—”

“Yes, I know.”

“—fuck off—you could tell them to brush their teeth four times a day and they’d be at it. They listen to you more than me.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Remus informed him. “And I also think you’re healing really well.”

“I—what?” Sirius looked down; his ankle was back on the cushion, cradled lightly between Remus’ palms. It jolted something in him. Had his skin always been that pale? He could see the line where the boot ended halfway up his calf. His foot looked ghostly in the light and everything else looked…thin. Skin and muscle, even bone.

He propped himself up on the heels of his hands. The angry, puckered scar from surgery had faded to a narrow line. When had that happened? Surely not overnight. It had looked so ugly in the shower yesterday, which was exactly why he tended to avoid looking at it. He glanced up at Remus’ patient face. Was he grossed out? That wasn’t how Sirius’ ankle was supposed to look. The knobbly bones on either side were practically gray in comparison; they stuck out, as if someone had stuck two marbles under his skin. His stomach turned.

“Sirius?”

He hummed.

“You okay?”

The joking tone had gone from Remus’ voice. The pit of Sirius’ stomach was heavy. His ankle looked weak; his calf, skinny all the way to the weird lump of his knee. “Mhm.”

“We can be done.” Slight movement caught his attention as Remus ducked to catch his eye. There was the solemnity he had expected. It was odd to see it now. “Any time. Just say the word.”

“The exam?”

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.” Firmness had never sounded so kind. “These first steps are visual, anyway.”

Am I done? Sirius looked back at his foot, the strangeness of it, the sickly mirror of his healthy one. “Keep going.”

“Are you—”

“I’m okay.” He mustered a deep breath. “I’m good. Keep going.”

“Okay,” Remus said quietly.

They sat in relative silence, but it wasn’t bad. Sirius was glad for a break. It was easier to watch Remus work than hold a conversation. The tenderness faded somewhat under the gentle touches of Remus’ fingertips—a tap here and there, faint pressure in the soft spots. Murmurs of feeling alright? and tell me if this hurts filled the buzzing static in Sirius’ ears.

“Ow.”

“Here?” Remus’ first two fingers hovered at the arch of his foot. Sirius nodded. “Cool, thanks. Your swelling isn’t too bad. I think I’m going to hold off on big exercises until Monday, okay?”

Disappointment, bitter and tacky as molasses. “Yeah.” He couldn’t keep the sigh out of his voice.

“We’ll get there.” When he remained silent, Remus poked the peak of his kneecap. “Hey. We’ll get there, I promise. I want you to work on the rest of your flexibility this week. Keep the boot on, but stretch out your legs and back. Your other muscles have been compensating for this and I don’t want anything to get strained.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to get you back on the ice.” Sirius could hear the but in his voice before he even finished speaking. “But I won’t rush through this and throw you out there just to get hurt again.”

Hurt again. Pain, cold and consuming, flashed in his memory. “Okay.”

“If anyone gives you shit, I want you to throw me under the bus, alright?” The last strap of Velcro fell into place. Remus was even careful with that part. The pressure on his skin was familiar and welcome. He felt a light pat to the table. “Tell them it’s all my fault. That I’m being overcautious and mean and keeping you here, whatever. If the coaches have a problem with your care, they can talk to me and Moody about it. Not you.”

“Okay.”

Remus let him get up unhindered. That was nice. Sirius was pretty sure he’d lose his mind at one more helping hand. He waddled back to the desk chair at an incline of Remus’ chin and was once again relegated to watching while Remus taped some small, folded towels to the tops of his crutches before joining him by the desk.

“You did great.”

Wasn’t that a thing to imagine. Could barely get my shoe off, but alright. “Merci.”

“It’s hard to get people to come in here and actually want to get better.” Remus scribbled a few things on the chart. His forehead crinkled in the middle with concentration. “Lotta guys think they’re fine as soon as the doctors’ visits end. But this is the part that’ll make a difference in the long run.”

The chart slid across the table, followed by a smaller, far more sparkly sheet. A smile pulled at Sirius’ mouth in spite of himself. “Gold stars?”

“Very serious stamps of completion, actually.” The corners of Remus’ mouth were tight with restrained amusement. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his eyes. “You can pick a different theme if you want. Talkie’s got Lisa Frank, which was kind of a power move.”

Sirius snorted—it was over from there. It took a minute for them to collect themselves, and as much as he hated to admit it, he did feel better after peeling a star from the sheet and sticking it in the first box. “Regarde,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Success.”

“Perfect.” Laughter still lingered in Remus’ voice. It was a nice sound. It was nicer when he looked up and smiled, like Sirius had put one of those heating pads right in the valley of his ribs. “Alright, well, that’s all I need. We can do the same time tomorrow, or you can check out the schedule. We technically have office hours, but you can shoot me a text if we need to find a different one. Number’s on the board. Make sure you give your name in the first message.”

“Okay.” Those ‘2’s again, in green marker this time. That weird feeling in his chest was softening. “Yeah, okay. I think tomorrow works for me.”

“Awesome, see you then.”

“Awesome.” Why can’t I talk? Sirius stood and took his crutches back with a slight stumble. He hoped it passed off as broken-ankle unsteadiness, not—whatever else was going on. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when the tops didn’t immediately begin to chafe his inner arms. “Oh, wow, thanks. This is great.”

“Yeah?” He could hear Remus’ smile before he even turned. He looked pleased, fiddling with the edge of Sirius’ chart. “I’m glad. Sucks to not have what you need, and not even know it.”

“Lucky we’ve got you then, eh?”

Remus’ cheeks flushed. It was rather warm in the room. “Nah. I’m the lucky one. Best job in the world.”

“Got you beat, there.”

Another laugh made Sirius’ chest squeeze pleasantly. It was good to see Remus happy, with all he did for them. “Guess you do,” Remus admitted, then shooed at him with the chart. “Get outta here, your boys are waiting. And check the box by the door for this when you come in tomorrow, got it?”

“Très bien, Loops.”

Maybe it was the adjustments to his crutches, or the promise of something like progress on the horizon, but Sirius didn’t feel quite so awful as he made his way down the hall. He almost felt good, actually. Almost hopeful.

#sirius black #remus lupin #coops #pre-coops #pt room #fluff #sweater weather #my fic #fanfic #lumosinlove

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makeitastrength · 11 days

Text

Into the dark

Chapter 1

“Seven-adam-nineteen, we have a possible distress call, 1888 Elmwood Lane. RA and Fire are en route.”

Lucy flicks on her turn signal and then reaches for her radio as she slows at the next intersection and turns right. “Seven-adam-nineteen, responding.”

She’s only a few blocks away, and she pulls up to the house just as an LAFD vehicle turns the corner from the opposite end of the block and makes its way up the quiet residential street. Bailey and two others – Kayla and Marlon, she recalls from a car crash she responded to a couple weeks ago – hop out, and Lucy radios it in as the four of them make their way inside.

A voice calls out as they enter, and Lucy draws her weapon and motions for the others to stay back so she can clear the house. The main room is deserted, as are the next two she enters. In fact, the entire house appears uninhabited, the unmistakable smell of musty fabrics mingling with the layer of dust coating what remains of the furnishings.

“Help me,” says a voice again, and Lucy whirls around, following the sound through an old, lopsided curtain into yet another empty room.

“Hello?” Lucy calls, looking around and finding it empty. “LAPD. Is someone in here? Hello?”

She makes her way around the edge of the room, but there are no signs that anyone is here – or has been in recent months. There are no closets, no doors or other nooks that she can see, and she pauses, straining to hear any further calls for help but finding only silence. Huh.

“Downstairs is clear,” she calls out as she makes her way back toward the entryway, cutting across the middle of the room this time. There’s a rug spanning the floor, and almost before Lucy knows what’s happening, her right foot is sinking into the fabric and the ground is falling out from under her.

She lands hard, her legs collapsing from the force of her fall and her body crashing down onto something metal. Lucy cries out, a combination of surprise and pain, and she’s just barely managed to press herself up into a semi-seated position when Bailey’s head appears above her.

“Lucy, oh my god! Are you okay?”

“I don’t…” Lucy stammers as she takes stock of herself and her situation, grimacing as she straightens her arm and pain shoots through her shoulder. There's an ache in her left ankle and her left hip is throbbing, but she doesn't think any of her injuries are serious. “Umm. I think I twisted my ankle. What…?”

Before she can say more, a metal grate slides across the opening, clanging shut with a harsh clatter.

“Lucy!”

She staggers to her feet and looks around, searching desperately for an escape. She’s in some kind of giant metal cylinder with a single narrow glass window along one side, beyond which appears to be a dark room. There’s a light on the inside and an array of electrical wiring and cameras above her. She turns, eyes scanning every detail of her environment for any clue as to what this contraption is – or why it exists – and that’s when she spots it scrawled across the metal above her head.

GOT YOU.

The large black letters are neater than the last time she saw them but it’s unmistakably the same script, and Lucy feels the horror settle over her like molten lead. “Rosalind.”

Read the rest on AO3

#chenford #chenford fanfic #the rookie #tim bradford #lucy chen #canon rewrite #5x04 rewrite #rosalind dyer #chapter 1 of 3

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carmybears · 2 years

Text

Crimson Wave

this is filth of outrageous proportions and you can blame the hormones.

pairing: carmy berzatto X female!reader

summary: jumping carmy's bones while you're on your period. porn without plot.

word count: 2k

warnings: explicit content, 18+; periods/menstruation, period sex, vaginal fingering, thigh grinding, hair pulling, praise kink if you squint, reader uses a diva cup/menstrual cup

“Hey Baby, how’re you feelin’?” Carmy’s voice rings out sympathetic as he enters your apartment and walks down the hall to you. His eyes grow concerned when he sees you lying on the couch in your rattiest pajamas, nestled under a soft blanket with a heating pad pressed against your lower abdomen, blinking red to indicate that it is on the highest setting.

“Like Midol is a liar and owning a uterus is a scam,” you grumble, gritting your teeth as another wave of cramping pangs at your abdomen.

You catch the quick smile that pulls at the corner of his lips before he crosses the room and drops a kiss onto your forehead. “I’m sorry, baby. Is there anything you need?”

“You’ve got sharp knives right? How do you feel about giving me a hysterectomy?”

“Hmm, not great.”

You give him an exaggerated eye roll. “Fine, I guess I’ll settle for cuddling with you instead.”

You sit up, vacating a spot in the corner of the couch for Carmy to settle into. Once he sits down, you settle in against him, grateful for the firm warmth of his body pressing against your lower back.

He throws an arm around you, sliding it around your back allowing his hand to come to rest on your thigh.

“How was your day at work, Bear?” You, ask as you settle your head into his chest.

“It was fine, I guess. Just a medium level of nonsense.”

“Oh, so Richie’s still out sick, huh?”

He snorts and squeezes you against him lightly. “Yeah.”

Together you settle into the couch for a few minutes as reruns of your favorite show play out on the screen in front of you. With your head rising and falling against the steady breathing of Carmy’s chest, you could just about fall asleep, get some welcome rest. However, it would seem that Carmy has another idea.

At some point while you were laughing about a joke on screen, you missed him slipping his hand under the blanket to rest on your bare thigh. He began tracing lazy circles across your skin, sinking low, down by your knees, and looping up closer to the hem of your shorts. You felt a slight chill run up your spine as his hand slipped to the back of your leg, leaving goosebumps over your delicate flesh in his wake.

It became hard to focus on anything that wasn’t his hands. Mentally, you were tracking how close his fingertips were coming to your clothed core, and praying silently that he would just close the gap of those few inches. Eventually, his fingertips grazed the soft flesh beneath your shorts and you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together, desperate for some friction.

And then his movements stopped.

You craned your neck to look up at him, but his eyes remained dutifully fixed on the TV screen as a smirk played out at the corner of his lips.

You let out your breath in a small huff and try to regain your attention on the TV. You were successful too, for all of about 3 minutes until you feel Carmy slip his other hand up under your t-shirt. Again, he’s tracing long, looping circles over your skin in an absolutely maddening pattern that starts at your lower back and ends at your ribcage, just under the swell of your breast. Every nerve ending in your body feels like a live wire, when eventually he allows his fingers to graze over your hardened nipple, which is extra sensitive from the surge of hormones in your body this week.

“Fuck,” you pant under his touch, and it’s the first thing either of you has said in minutes. “You’re such a tease, Carm.”

Your words set him off, and suddenly you’re scrambling to push away the blanket and heating pad. Carmy has your pajama shorts shoved halfway down your legs, and you kick them off, allowing your legs to fall open under his touch as he strokes at you over the fabric of your panties. The friction of the cotton is positively infuriating as you buck your hips into him, and whine for more, more.

He’s got one hand cupping your breast and his lips are scraping at your neck when his slips his fingers into the front of your panties and pulls them down. God, the sensation of his rough fingers is divine as he gathers your wetness, teasing your entrance with two fingers in a way that has you grasping at his forearm in a desperate attempt to drive them home.

When he does, at last, slip two fingers into you, you’re both met with a moment of confusion as his fingertips grasp, not at your silken walls, but at smooth, rounded silicone.

“What--?”

“My fucking Diva cup,” you groan in frustration, letting your head fall back onto his chest as you let out a breathy laugh. “God, Carm, you had me so riled up, I forgot I was on my period.”

“Diva cup, that’s the one that catches the blood, right?”

You nod slowly, still catching your breath.

“And we can’t…” Carmy’s voice trails off as he shifts his fingers inside of you slightly, causing an uncomfortable shift of the cup.

“No, no,” You squirm away, hiking your panties back over your hips. “Just hold this thought, and I’ll be back in two minutes.”

When you emerge from the bathroom, your t-shirt skims the tops of your bare thighs, your panties lying forgotten on the bathroom floor. As your eyes take in the room you notice two things. First, is that an old, dark colored hand towel is draped of the arm of the sofa; second is that Carmy has made the wise decision to remove his overpriced white t-shirt and now leans against the kitchen counter, jeans slung low on his hips, as he takes a sip of water. Your insides turn to putty at the sight of him, drinking so casually as if he hadn’t been driving you into a horny stupor just minutes beforehand.

“Sorry about that,” you stammer as you approach him.

He steps closer to you, smiling warmly at you as he takes your face in his hands and strokes your cheeks with his thumbs. “What’re you apologizing for? You got nothing to be sorry for, pretty girl.”

He kisses you then, low and slow. His tongue dips into your mouth to taste you and you groan, sucking at his lower lip. His hands are on your hips, guiding you backwards until your back is against the wall and you make out there for a little while, your hands tangled in his dark golden curls and his nose bumping against yours in his endless mission to smother you in his affections.

You’re satisfactorily turned on by the time he pushes your shirt up and over your head and takes you by the hand, leading you back to your original spot on the couch.

He sits back down, legs wide as you see the bulge of his cock straining against his jeans. You take a moment to admire him, tangled hair and swollen lips and the flush of arousal coloring his chest and neck in a soft pink hue. The golden chain that lays around his neck glistens in the warm light, and you decide that he simply must be the prettiest man alive.

You kneel over him with your knees planted firmly on either side of his left thigh as he runs his hands down your sides and caresses your ass tenderly. Before you know it, he’s got one nipple in his mouth while his fingers deftly toy with the other, rolling the bud in between his fingers in a way that makes you buck along his thigh and hiss at the friction of the denim.

“Fuck,” his voice is ragged in your ear. “Do that again, sweetheart.”

You start to protest, “Your jeans—“

“They’re black and headed for the laundry anyway,” he mumbles as he presses a searing kiss to your mouth. “Now let me see you ride my leg.”

All good sense is lost on you as you start to slowly roll your hips over his thighs, leaving a damp spot on the denim in your wake. Eventually, you build to a rhythm, finding the angle that feels just right as you careen your hips faster, feeling as he tenses his thigh underneath you.

You caution a look at Carmy, and feel wrecked when you notice that his pupils are so blown out that the icy blue of his irises have all but disappeared. He reaches a hand between your bodies to unzip his jeans, relieving pressure on his straining cock. You can see a damp spot forming in the fabric where his tip lay pressed against the waistband and you start to palm him, fingers tracing over the ridges of his veins through the cotton until he stops you.

“There’s no need, babygirl. You were just looking too pretty riding my leg like that, and I had to get more comfortable. Lemme take care of you.”

Finally –fucking finally, he touches you. His big, rough hands glide right through your folds and you’re so wet and pliant under his touch that you want to cry out.

“Please Carmy,” you’re begging his name against his shoulder as he circles your clit with his middle finger, never quite giving you the relief you need. “Fuck, Carm. I need you.”

“Lemme see you, babydoll.”

With strength you didn’t know you still had in you, you straighten your spine, sitting up so that Carmy can watch as as two fingers disappear inside you.

You moan at the stretch, at the relief of his thick fingers finally filling you, but your reprieve doesn’t last long as he starts to stroke against your walls, making come hither motions with his ring and middle finger as his thumb brushes along your clit. You buck your hips in tandem, needing more, more more.

“Ride my fingers, baby,” his voice is gravely in your ear. “Just like that, just like that.”

You’re grasping at his bare shoulders, leaving half-moon shaped indents in his skin as you continue to rock your hips, desperately fucking his fingers like they’re the only thing that will keep you tethered to this earth.

“M’so close, Carmy,” you whine into his ear.

“C’mon baby,” he’s stroking your face and coaxing your eyes to look at him. “Cum for me, baby. Want you to make a mess for me, baby.”

You gasp as you cum, your walls clenching down repeatedly over his fingers as they guide you through the waves of pleasure. You’re pulling Carmy’s hair and you can just barely hear his voice babbling about how good and perfect and beautiful you are over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears.

The waves gradually fade away and you’re still murmuring his name like a prayer as you grasp your arms around his neck and bury your face in his shoulder. You feel him slide his fingers out of you and you groan at the emptiness. You’re still seeing stars, vision blurry, but you feel him position the towel on his lap underneath you and guides you to sit back down across his thighs as you come down from your high.

He’s wiped off the pink-tinged fluid from his fingers, and you feel him peppering sweet kisses over your cheeks and forehead, occasionally venturing down to your neck and chest as you catch your breath. Eventually, he kisses your nose and you giggle, tilting your face toward him to kiss him in earnest.

Your arms are wrapped tightly around each other and his voice sounds positively reverent when he presses his lips to your shoulder and mumbles into your skin.

“How d’ya feel.”

You take a moment to assess, realizing that the surge of endorphins from your orgasm has subdued your cramps to a minimal level. That said, you’re still supremely sensitive and can feel Carmy’s cock pressed against you in a way that threatens your sanity with every shift of your bodies.

You wedge a hand between your hips and feel his dick twitch under your fingers as you stroke him through that final layer of cotton.

“I’m feeling like it’s time for round two.”

#carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmy x reader smut #carmy berzatto x reader smut #carmen berzatto x reader smut #carmy berzatto x reader #mine

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pankowperfection · 1 year

Note

How about telling JJ you want his baby and the man loses his mind. Hes over the moon, already having a breeding kink. He’s on you 24/7 trying to get baby Maybank 💕🔥

You asked for it

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, 18+

The past two weeks have been a daze. It seemed like waking moment you and JJ were together, he was burying his thick cock inside you, filling you over and over again with his cum.

Your pussy ached, overused but still wanting more, unable to resist how perfect he made you feel. You swore he’d fucked you on every surface in your shared apartment. The kitchen table, the couch, the shower, out on the balcony where anyone could see.

This was all your fault, having finally broken down and told him what you wanted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

13 days ago

JJ walks tiredly through the door of your shared bedroom, exhausted from a long day working under the unforgiving Outer Banks sun. He looks perfect, skin shining with a slight sheen of sweat, golden locks windswept, tan accentuating his muscles under his cut off.

“Hi sweetheart, how was your day?”

“Hi J, it was good but I missed you. Happy you’re home.”

You stand and walk over to meet him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders before pulling him down for a kiss. As usual, it quickly gets heated, his teeth tugging on your bottom lip before his tongue pushes into your mouth.

You slide one hand down his back, cupping his ass and pulling him flush against you. The other winds into his hair, tugging the strands and making him moan in your mouth. You feel his cock harden, hot against your stomach as you grind yourself against him.

“Damn y/n, you really did miss me huh? What’s gotten into you?”

You meet his curious blue gaze, pupils slightly blown out from the lust coursing through his veins.

“I want you J. All of you. Want you to fill me up, give me a baby.”

Your heart pounds after your confession, unsure how he’ll react. You let out a squeal of surprise when he picks you up, tossing you roughly down onto the bed. He can’t get his clothes off quick enough, almost tripping when he attempt to kick off his shorts and boxers.

He comes down on top of you, grinding his cock against your covered clit, the perfect amount of friction to make your body buzz like a live wire.

His calloused hands paw at your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers and making you plead with him for more.

“J please. I need you.”

“Say it again,” he orders, fingers teasing over the lace of your panties that you know are soaked clear through. You hum in approval, arching your hips further into his touch.

“I want you to put a baby in me JJ. Please.”

His eyes darken, his energy almost palpable as a flip inside him switches.

He rips your panties down the middle, teasing the thick head of his cock through your folds, collecting your wetness before roughly shoving inside.

"Fuck!" you belt, full to the brim as he starts to fuck you slow and deep.

He pins your hands beside your head, threading his fingers through yours as he angles his hips just right to hit your sweet spot with each thrust,

“God, I can’t wait to fill you with my cum. Gonna look so pretty all swollen with my kid, aren’t ya mama?”

His words make you clench around him, a low groan erupting from deep in his throat.

“J - I need more. Faster, please.”

“Anything for you princess.” He smirks before pulling your legs over his biceps, spreading you wide and starting to pound into you at an ungodly pace.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving claw marks behind as you rock your hips to meet his thrusts. He leans down, bracing one hand on the headboard as he crashes his lips to yours.

The new angle sends him impossibly deeper, each push and pull of his cock sending you closer to the edge.

“Shit baby, you feel so good. Don’t stop.”

A moments later you fall apart, crying out his name as he fucks you through it.

“Fuck, squeezing me so tight,” he grits out through his teeth. His pace falters, hips slowing as you feel his cock twitch inside you. He cums with a groan, staying deep inside to hold his cum in place.

When he finally pulls out you whine, overly sensitive from your powerful orgasm.

“Don’t move, can’t waste a single drop baby.” His fingers scoop up what has leaked out, gently pushing it back inside your pussy. Your walls flutter around him, pleasure building once again from his simple touches.

“I hope you realize what you’ve done. I’m gonna fuck you every single day until we get a positive test.”

@adventuresinobx @starkeyobx @paradisehamilton @ailee-celeste @pankhoeforlife @outerbankspov @houseofperfecttaste @drewbooooo @maybankslover @maybanks-luver @blueicequeen19 @toystory2wasjustokay @penny4yourthoughts @maddie-routledge @baby-maybank

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thedramasummer · 18 days

Text

Tagged today by @emmalostinwonderland and @onthewaytosomewhere and thank you for the tags from when I was in Japan for the last two weeks! The timezones fucked with me and I was running around a lot. But I’m back and better than ever and as for the past few, I’m posting more witsec AU because it’s kinda taken over my soul

Open tag to anyone who wants to do the thing

“Hey, Alex. I’m actually kind of busy,” she shifts her eyes over to the Senator who stops in his tracks because of the newcomer, eyes sliding over to Alex who feels the glance like a pinprick.

“Sorry,” he scratches behind his head, wide eyed, playing innocent. “I was on my way out and I wanted to make sure we were on for Friday’s study session.”

Penelope also goes to Georgetown and they’re in two classes together. She’s about to respond, but Pollack cuts in and turns towards him.

“Couldn’t this conversation have been a text message? Miss Saylor is busy right now, as previously stated.” His voice is gnarled from years of smoking cigarettes and his tone is clipped. His graying hair is slicked back and his wire rimmed glasses slip down his nose due to the way he’s looking down at Alex.

Alex straightens his spine and blinks his eyes, mainly due to his contacts bothering him, but it serves an alternate purpose of looking younger and less sharp. “Sorry Senator. It was just a thought I had on my way out of the building. I never meant to interrupt anything important.” He tugs a strand of hair conveniently falling in his face back.

The older man’s eyes consider him further and it makes Alex want to shrink. “I understand, but there’s a time and place for conversations. Mr.—”

“Claremont-Díaz, sir. Alexander Claremont-Díaz.”

Pollack’s eyes widen in recognition. “You’re Luna’s.”

Alex wants to correct Pollack that he doesn’t belong to the other man, but in spite of his smart mouth and supposed inability to shut the fuck up, he does actually know time and place.

“Yes, I’m interning under Senator Luna this semester. It’s been a great experience so far. I’m sorry for interrupting, sir. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Penelope and I’ll text you later.”

#firstprince #rwrb #alex claremont diaz #rwrb fanfiction #wip wednesday #witsec au

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terrence-silver · 1 year

Note

God I can't stop thinking about this: Yan! Terry from Karate Kid breaking into Darling's house because he is obsessed with her and loves to stalk her (just like when he broke into Mr. Miyagi's house dressed in his beautiful black leather jacket) . However, the girl returns home too early and catches him in the act. What happens in your opinion? With Smuttyyy and a lot of dialogue if it doesn't make you uncomfortable ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

--- (Yandere!Terry Silver x Reader)

---

He could just hire someone to do this shit.

But, where was the fun in all of that?

Not like he'd ever let anyone but him rummage through your things anyway.

Truth was, Terry knew your daily timetables by heart. Your comings. Your goings. It took time out of his otherwise busy schedule to discover all of it; collect information, precious intel. Make note of the exact times of departures and returns over weeks of observation --- your habits, each and every manner of yours a pleasure to memorize just for its own sake and not because he felt he needed to be quite so careful. Even the tactical layout of your place, unfamiliar to him in the beginning--- well --- he supposed all that military training from back in the day paid off where he could more or less instinctually gage which room stood where judging from the positioning of your windows. Your door. Your walls. He could pick a lock too. Breaking in seamlessly? Leaving no tremendous damage behind that would have you suspicious? Making it seem you could've merely forgot to lock the door in your hurry when you have in fact, your own perception playing tricks on you? Sure. Why not. He was afraid he had Uncle Sam to thank for that too. Surprising the type of things a man could pick up in the army. It takes a wire and some wiggling. As occasionally easy as stereotypes made it seem, just like hotwiring a car was. Again, with a lot of instinct and practice --- not unlike when fucking, the understanding of how to move the tip and where --- and the handle comes undone, limp under his fingers. And there he is, in the sanctuary of all desire existing between walls, hallways and a roof.

Last time Terry's been here, he's let himself into your bedroom.

Discovering a drawer of underwear.

He's wanted to go back ever since. Needed to actually.

Your corridors and hallways already known, he makes an B-line for the chamber where you slept (confirmed and re-confirmed by all the nights spent gazing into your windows during the evenings and at night) opening and closing the door behind him even though there was nobody there and leaning on its surface for a second, closing his eyes, his head falling back, taking in the atmosphere for a moment, feeling a bit like a perverted schoolgirl entirely too exhilarated by the prospect of stealing and reading someone's diary. Sadly, if you had one of those, he was yet to find it and browse through himself and if it existed, he undoubtedly would sooner rather than later.

Discover all your thoughts.

Every feeling you were willing to relay into written words.

The commode of all his interests stands there, in the corner, beckoning him like a siren's call and he wastes no time to slide the top drawer open, uncovering the treasure inside; a neatly stacked pile of white, cotton, soft, fragrant, sweet smelling and ----"Perfect."- He purrs to himself, feeling his eyes dart left and right, transfixed by what he re-discovered, fascinated like it was the very first time, not even mustering the time to finish his own train of thoughts, observing your underwear, fingers sliding inside of one the panties, picking it up and lifting it up to his nose, inhaling the scent. The detergent you used wasn't anything otherworldly where the price was concerned, he could tell, but it egged him on, stuck inside of his senses, like something that infected his mind, refusing to leave. You deserved to have your things rummaged through for that alone. For not wanting to leave his brain. The price you paid for that sort of thing. Like something like that could ever really be for free. -"Freshly dried, huh."- Terry mutters once he had his fill of sniffing, smiling, thumb caressing the fabric fondly, looking at it, really looking at it. The tiny, almost seamless pale pattern. How lucky that cheap, nothing, pathetic bit of cotton must've been to get so close to you and be on you all day. Terry wasn't certain if he wanted to rip it to shreds or make a shrine out of it.

You never noticed the last time he's gone through your stuff.

Or the occasion before that.

In fact, Terry was always so careful never to leave a trace of himself behind, going for total subterfuge. Was it so wrong, though? If he wanted to leave something behind after all? A little souvenir from an anonymous admirer? Even though, admittedly, even the vague thought you'd mistakenly imagine anyone other than him as your ingenue wounded him to the point of irrational, vengeful rage. Maybe he should've simply carved his first and last name into your front door, so there would be no mistake who he was, regardless of how stupid, impractical and compromising that was. He banishes the thought.

For now.

He had this re-occurring fantasy of masturbating with your unmentionables, as Margaret so amusingly called such things, and he decides to do just that, right against the commode, leaning against it with the tent of crotch for friction, pushing against the hard wooden surface, finding some satisfaction that tomorrow or even today, when you returned, you'd cluelessly undress right here where he stood and it would've been almost as if you and him were together --- feeling his lips part as he unzipped his trousers with one free hand, your undergarments caught between his index finger and thumb pushed inside the tight slit, over his own briefs, rubbed back and forth, dryly. He didn't need to work himself too much. Terry was already hard before he even broke into the place, dripping pre-cum into his own fist at this point. It never failed to amuse him how turned on he was every time he visited your home behind your back. It was almost like an aphrodisiac that effortlessly got him off. Now, he'd just wipe himself off in your underwear, neatly fold them the way he found them after he was done and leave you questioning why on earth they were in a state like that...so...crusty and stained. He wants to cackle. Maybe you'd get repulsed, thinking you failed to wash them properly, getting sloppy with the maintenance of them. Maybe you'd touch them in shock, recoiling in confusion and a part of you would've still been touching a part of him whether you liked it or not. Whether you realized it or not. But, Terry would realize and that was enough. -"Yes."- He coos at the thought, throwing his head back, feeling his lips coil into a smile, pleasure bubbling in his gut. He decides to go faster, more vigorously, flying into a run against the piece of furniture.

His eyes snap open --- his panic almost instantaneous.

Terry hears well-known footsteps at the pavement leading up to the front door. The fuck!? Whenever you'd leave grocery shopping it would take you approximately half an hour to get there and back on foot, at a pace of a leisurely stroll. It wasn't even ten minutes. Why were you back so soon!? He hears you halting at the front entrance in a minute of some panic of your own once, just as he knew you would, you realize the door wasn't locked. Maybe you returned because the paranoia was already taking root and you grew into the habit of re-tracing your own steps and returning to check on your own failures to secure the premises, never even realizing --- oh, never even realizing it was all his doing. So, if you came back prematurely, really, it was on him. Terry holds his breath, zipper down, his underwear pushed inside of his trousers along with his hand, he doesn't move, holding his own cock with his fist, teeth gritted together to avoid making a sound. You wouldn't come into this room, his instincts tell him. You'd merely fidget around, find the keys, lock the doors, correcting a mistaken you haven't even really made and leave once more. He listens, turning his head towards the door, his heart thumping. One second. Two. Three. Five. The door handle never moves. Your footsteps fade. The front door slams shut. Keyhole clicks and he's locked inside of your house, watching your back as you rushed down the sidewalk in a hurry through the lowered bedroom shutter.

Terry lets go of his cock, cumming all over the palm of his hand.

On the leather sleeve of his jacket.

Holding back from groaning, but still doing it, muffled and feral.

Fuck --- close call. Too close.

Terry breathes, in and out, in and out, giving himself a second of reprieve. Ironically, if anything, the adrenaline rush serves to renew the yearning and he bites into his lower lip, holding back a giggle. The thought of you actually walking in, catching him...He puts the underwear with a moist patch back where he's found it, smoothening the fabric out, diligently, shutting the drawer, looking around the bedroom for a while, taking in as many details as he could for a short notice, deciding he wanted to dream of this place tonight and everything he'd do with you in it, holding up his hand still wet, slightly unsure what to do with it, eyes falling on your pillow. Ah, yes. Another thing you deserve for nearly walking in on him and interrupting his otherwise perfect calculations of your schedule. Terry feels himself smile so wide his cheeks ached as he wiped his fingers off on the clean linen with two swift moves. Perfect. Now, you'd set your head down and sleep on pillowcases smelling like him and you wouldn't even know it, surrounded with more and more stuff marked with him with each passing day until you'd become eclipsed with nothing but him, as you should be.

The satisfaction in him couldn't be described with words when he decided be extra agile and show himself out through the kitchen window.

#terry silver #yandere!terry silver #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #tw; stalking #tw; voyeurism #tw; mind games #tw; breaking and entering #kk3 #cobra kai #80's terry silver

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bi-bard · 1 year

Text

Catch Our Breath and Let Go - Will Graham Imagine [Hannibal]

Title: Catch Our Breath and Let Go

Pairing: Will Graham X Reader

Based On: Wires

Word Count: 1,170 words

Warning(s): none that I know of

Summary: (Y/n) and Will have worked together for a long time now. As time goes on, the pair seemingly dance around each other. When the people stuck working with them get tired of watching it, Will and (Y/n) find themselves forced to confront how they feel.

Author's Note: This is the first imagine of three. It's part of a writing challenge that I'm doing for the "Yearbook" series that Sleeping at Last did. There are more details on that masterlist (linked just below). I hope that you enjoy.

Part Two of January [Release Date: 2/22/2023]

Part Three of January [Release Date: 2/24/2023]

YEARBOOK - SLEEPING AT LAST WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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

Beverly Katz was probably my best friend.

The two of us clicked as soon as I started working in the lab with her. She did everything in her power to make me feel completely at home when I first got there. It was nice to know that I had someone to lean on through it all.

Maybe that was why Jimmy, Brian, and her thought that she was the best person to send to talk to me that day.

"Can I ask you about something," she asked while I was placing a slide under a microscope.

"Sure," I replied, still focused on what I was examining.

"What's going on with you and Will?"

"Interesting conversation to have while examining crime scene evidence," I muttered, adjusting the height of the platform. "Nothing is going on between me and Will."

"You sure?"

"Should I not be?"

I heard her chuckle behind me. I leaned away from the lens and looked at her. "What?"

"You're joking, right," she asked. I raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh, you're not."

"That doesn't help me understand what you're talking about."

"Well, it's just that you and Will seem a lot... closer than he is with anyone else."

"Why?"

"You want the list in chronological order or alphabetical order?"

I scoffed. "Screw you, Bev."

I did have feelings for Will. I just didn't think it was anyone else's business. Mostly because I was convinced that if I ignored them, then they'd go away. Will never seemed like one who would focus on things like that. It was just easier to never worry about it.

Which meant never bringing it up to anyone.

"Let's start with whatever happened at that last crime scene," she continued, even though I turned away from her again. "You stumbled and he reacted so fast. He was paying such close attention to you that he probably knew that you tripped before you did."

I shook my head. "He was being nice."

"That's why you both stood there staring at each other like idiots for a solid minute or two before he let you go?"

"It's nothing."

"Alright, let's talk about the dog hunt," she leaned on the counter next to me. "How long did you spend helping him get that stray dog to his house?"

I turned to her. "Not that long!"

"You went over at like ten o'clock at night."

I groaned. "Shut up already."

"No, no, because I have one more. The coffee trade."

"Did Jimmy come up with the special title for that? It sounds like a Jimmy title."

"Hush," she waved my question off. "You two trade who buys coffee for the other. You have it down to a perfect schedule."

"Yeah, whatever-"

"You buy coffee on Thursday. He buys them on Mondays and every other week on Wednesdays."

"You sound like a stalker when you recite shit like that."

I stepped around her to grab something.

"Listen. Brian and Jimmy... and me... are tired of watching you and Will stare at each other like nervous puppy dogs," she shrugged. "You might not see it, but I can."

I looked over her shoulder. "That's enough-"

"You two both need to hurry up and do something about it because I am not dealing with Jack questioning me about it."

"Bev, stop-"

"Why can't you just admit that there could be something there? Are you scared? That's okay. I'm pretty sure Will is too-"

"Please stop!" I snapped. "Turn around."

She turned around to see Will with Jimmy and Brian, who had clearly stopped in the middle of their conversation. Oh God, they had been doing the same thing to him.

Bev looked back at me. "Shit, listen-"

"Will, can I talk to you," I asked, stopping Bev in her tracks.

I didn't wait for Will to speak up before I got up to walk out. I awkwardly asked the others to take care of what I had been looking at.

I couldn't even get myself to look at Will before we were out in the hall. Even then, I found it difficult.

He always made me nervous. Every time I looked at him, it felt like there was something sitting between us. Like the tension grew heavy enough to take up physical space. I was terrified of what would happen if we were to do something about it. Not because I thought something would go wrong or anything. I just was.

A very normal part of being human in situations like this. But that didn't change how ridiculous it felt.

"What did you want to talk about," Will asked, snapping me out of my line of nervous thoughts.

"I... I need you to know that I had nothing to do with... whatever their plan was," I said. "I wouldn't force you into a conversation that was so invasive and almost creepy and... I just wouldn't."

"I didn't think that you did."

It took me a second to nod. "Good. Good. Okay."

There was a long pause between us. I saw something on Will's face change. It looked like he was considering if he should say something. His jaw shifted a bit, his eyebrows furrowed a little more. Will and I had been friends for a while now; I knew the signs.

"Were they telling the truth," he finally asked. "About... how you felt?"

I felt every possible response get caught in my throat.

I had spent such a long time hiding any and all signs that I could possibly be anything more than a co-worker and a friend. And now, I was being asked by the man himself.

It almost felt like a trick.

So, I answered a question with a question, "What would happen if I said yes?"

I saw a grin pull at the corners of Will's lips.

The silence surrounded us again.

He slowly stepped closer to me. I watched him closely, trying to ignore how much faster my heart was beating now.

He only turned away from me to look around the hall. It was a rare moment when there weren't people running around all the time. I didn't bother to look away. Mostly because I didn't want to.

He looked at me again. He let out a nervous chuckle as he did. I did the same thing.

He leaned forward slowly.

I could see him hesitating. Ready to stop the moment that he thought I was uncomfortable.

I leaned in after a moment to close the distance.

It was awkward, nervous. Almost innocent. I had expected whatever sparked between us to be an explosion or a wildfire. But it wasn't. It was this comforting wave of warmth that started in my face and spread through the rest of my body slowly.

Will pulled away first.

"Was that okay," he asked.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Yeah, it was... more than okay."

I reached out and touched his hand, smiling at him.

He smiled back at me.

This was the beginning of something brilliant.

I could just tell.

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

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

#will graham x reader #will graham imagine #will graham fanfiction #imagine #fanfiction #x reader #hannibal imagine #hannibal x reader #hannibal fanfiction

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sam-loves-seb · 2 months

Note

I’ve read your Several Sentences Sunday post an embarrassing number of times. I’m just that excited for the next chapter of I’m Not The Way I Was.

aw thanks so much, this is so sweet. i'm so glad you're excited about i'm not the way i was. i am too!

also gonna use this ask to say that unfortunately there will be no new chapter today :( there are a few parts i'm still playing with because i wanna get them right, and life's just been too chaotic lately to actually give ch 6 the time and attention it needs. i am hopeful that posting will resume in two weeks and we can get back to the regular update schedule. fingers crossed!

until then, i'm posting the first thousand-ish words of ch 6 under the cut to hopefully hold everyone over until then. (it's unedited and unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.)

enjoy. xx

Ian wakes up in Lip’s dorm room. Again.

The alarm clock is blaring at full volume, and Lip kicks Ian in the shins until he’s conscious enough to reach over and shut it off.

“What fucking time is it?” Lip groans into his pillow.

“Eight-thirty.” Ian yawns.

“I don’t have class ‘til eleven,” Lip says as he pulls his pillow out from under his head and whacks Ian in the face with it.

Ian shoves him off. “Yeah, but I have work at nine.”

That’s part of the reason Ian was able to drag himself away from Mickey’s house last night. He took a cab back to CPU in the middle of the night after he got off Mickey’s block and realized he had to be up in six hours for work. He could’ve stayed at the house and taken the L back to campus in the morning, but he was so wired after his talk with Mickey last night that he used the cab ride to tire himself out.

Which ultimately wasn’t that successful because he spent most of the ride texting Mickey and planning their first date. He even called him as he walked across the green to Lip’s dorm and listened to Mickey’s raspy voice, half asleep and smiling on the other end of the line as they decided on a date and time.

Tonight. Seven o’clock.

“Next time you go to your boyfriend’s house, stay there ‘til the morning,” Lip teases, grabbing his hoodie from the floor and sliding it on over his bedhead.

Ian gave him the one-sentence-summary of his conversation with Mickey when his bleary-eyed brother opened the door for him at two-thirty last night. He did not, in any way, shape, or form, use the word boyfriend, but Lip doesn’t seem to care.

“Yeah yeah,” Ian says with a quiet smile, pulling on a fresh t-shirt he steals from Lip’s dresser. “Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair tonight.”

Lip reaches over and plucks at the eight-ball design on the front of the threadbare cotton shirt. “You staying at Mickey’s?”

“No,” Ian answers automatically, then pauses. His hands go still where they’re half buried in his backpack. “Well. I don’t know.”

Lip just raises his brows at him as he sits down in his desk chair.

“Is that a normal first date thing?” Ian asks, his brows pinched. “To sleep over?”

“Why are you asking me?” Lip asks, tapping out a cigarette from Ian’s pack.

“’cause you’ve done this shit before.”

Lip cracks the window and lights up. “Only one of us has dated Mickey Milkovich before, and it wasn’t me.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but…” He shakes his head. “You know, Mickey and I never went on dates.”

Lip pauses. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Ian says, shrugging. “And I wanna do this right. I don’t know what the… etiquette is.”

Lip takes a long drag and sort of tilts his head from side to side. “I doubt Mickey does either.”

Something about that settles the little ball of anxiety that was slowly starting to build in Ian’s chest. Because Lip’s right—neither of them know what the hell they’re doing with this shit.

Whether that’s good or bad remains to be seen, but at least it puts them on an even playing field.

“Look,” Lip says, leaning over and clapping Ian on the shoulder. “Just feel it out. If things are going well, maybe suggest it, see what he says.”

Ian nods. “Yeah.”

Lip squeezes his shoulder. “Just talk to him about it. Okay?” He leans back in his chair. “It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” Ian breathes out a long exhale. “Okay.”

The panicked nerves inside of him start to turn into an excited buzz after a minute. He’s definitely still nervous, but it doesn’t feel as heavy. Suddenly he desperately wants it to be seven o’clock, and he’s walking over to the Alibi to pick Mickey up for their date.

The fact that Ian has to work an eight-hour janitorial shift between now and then is criminal.

“You know I’m rooting for you,” Lip starts, “but in the off chance you don’t end up staying at Mickey’s house tonight—are you coming back here?”

“Nah,” Ian tells him, shaking his head. “Figured I’d stay at the house. Last night, and all that.”

“Oh, right,” Lip says. He blinks tiredly, a little dazed. “Forgot about that.”

Ian finishes packing his shit in his bag. “Bank’s coming to change the locks tomorrow.”

Lip taps his fingers against the edge of his desk. “I think I still have some shit in my room. Maybe tomorrow morning… I mean, I have work, but I can probably catch the L early and come home to get it before—”

“I already boxed it up,” Ian tells him, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “I put it with my shit, so you can come get it whenever. Kev and V said we could move our stuff to their place until we figure out where we’re gonna go.”

Lip nods. “Thanks.”

“Yep.”

With a heavy sigh, Lip turns in his chair and opens one of his textbooks, flipping through the pages until he finds the folded sheet of notes he crammed in it yesterday.

“What are you doing?” Ian asks, tying his sneakers. “You said you don’t have class ‘til eleven. Go back to bed.”

“No, I gotta get this done,” Lip says, glancing at the clock. “I won’t have time to do it later, I have a… thing.”

Ian raises a brow. “A thing?”

“Yeah.”

When Lip doesn’t expand on it, Ian crosses his arms over his chest.

“You’re gonna be late.”

“Don’t care. What’s your thing?”

Lip sighs. “Alright,” he says, dropping his pencil. “You know that professor I told you about?”

“The one you’re sleeping with?”

Lip nods. “The school board kind of found out about it when this naked picture I took of her leaked online.”

“Jesus Christ, Lip,” Ian says, his mouth dropping open.

“I didn’t leak it,” Lip says, then shakes his head. “Long story—whatever. They know, and now I gotta go to this fucking hearing about it.”

Ian stares at him with worried eyes. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. Can’t they kick you out for this?”

Lip considers it, then shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Ian blinks. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Lip scrubs his hands over his face. “So now I’ve got that to worry about, and Helene’s career is under fire over something that shouldn’t have been anyone else’s business in the first place.”

Ian’s lips quirk up. “Helene?”

Lip kicks at his knee. “Shut up.”

“You’ve never told me her name before.”

“Yeah, well. That’s when I thought we could keep this whole thing on the down low.”

Ian hums in agreement.

“Anyway,” Lip says, running his finger over the corner of the page in his textbook. “I gotta read this.”

“Yeah, I gotta head out,” Ian says, standing up with his backpack on one shoulder still. “Good luck today.”

Lip waves halfheartedly. “You too.”

Ian makes a confused face as he walks backwards to the door.

Lip smiles. “With your date.”

“Right,” Ian says, and he can’t help but smile too.

“Give Mickey my love.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

...more to come!

[ read from the chapter 1 on ao3 ]

#intwiw #no new chapter today loves my bad :(#i feel really bad about it but #sometimes live is just busy as fuck #anyway #here's a snippet #i'm not the way i was #ask sam

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