#the best way i can think to appease her is that i do need to leave early on tuesday 26th anyway because i’m going to the dentist

[cerisereids]

𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝗻𝗻𝘆 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹- 𝘀.𝗿.

pairing- dad!spencer reid x mom!reader

summary- spencer reid is the best girl dad on the planet

warnings- hurt/comfort and fluff, post s15!spencer- he is no longer with the bau but there are references to his time there, lowkey some angst bc apparently i can’t write anything for spencer without him being sad, spencer’s daddy issues, a lil makin out/grinding, brief discussion of sex/baby making

a/n- divider from @real-afterglow! happy easter to everyone who celebrates! here’s a cute little thing about girl dad!spencer :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

spencer reid’s bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, his eyebrows furrowed together. usually, this look of concentration was reserved for intense cases, ones spent pouring over complex documents into late hours of the night. tonight, however, he’s traded serial killers for pastel eggs, taunting him from the kitchen table. spencer’s engaging in an intense staring contest with the plastic eggs as he pores over the array of candy and decorations littering the rest of the table.

his head snaps up as he hears your feet pattering down the steps, knowing you’re about to catch him in the midst of a battle between him and your daughter’s easter goodies. you take the eggs’ place as the object of his visual affection when you appear in the kitchen, staring back at him in silence. his puppy dog eyes plead into yours. he knows you know what he’s trying to say, i’m trying, i want this to be perfect. he also knows you won’t let him destroy himself to make you and your baby girl happy, even when he wants to.

“she’s only two, you know. she’s not going to care if the right piece of candy is in the right egg. she’s just happy to be with us,” you speak to his anxieties like you can read his mind.

it’s one of the many things he loves about you, his sweet wife. the way you just know what his brain is fighting against, and can speak to it. your sweet words don’t appease his guilt this time, though, and you both know it. he plows ten fingers through his mop of hair before sliding his glasses onto his forehead.

“i know,” he breathes, and you both know he has more to say.

“but it’s not enough,” you finish for him.

“it’s not enough,” he repeats, defeated.

“well, then let me help you,” you declare, pulling a chair up next to him.

“no, no,” he insists, shaking his head, “you just put her to bed. you must be exhausted, rest.”

“we’re both exhausted, spence. just because i was the one to put her to bed tonight doesn’t mean i’m the only one doing the parenting around here,” he knows you’re trying to reassure him, but he flinches anyway. his ability to be a father has been a sore subject since you first became pregnant almost three years ago.

“plus, we both know i won’t be able to rest while you’re over here, very clearly in need of a helping hand,” you glare at him, checkmate. he relents at that, and allows you to wrap yourself into him. your arms around his bicep, your head on his shoulder, his chin atop your temple. slowly, he allows vulnerability to pierce through the tension between you two.

“what do we got here, handsome?” you croon, and he’s never been so certain that he doesn’t deserve you, that you’re too good for him. there’s not much he can do about that now but kiss you on the forehead and hope his lips convey a decade of love and devotion in one small kiss.

“i just want it to be perfect,” he croaks, eyes glossing over. “i wasn’t here last time. i don’t think i’ll ever not feel guilty about it.”

“i understand, spence. i’d feel bad, too, but that doesn’t mean you’re not there for her, that you don’t love her. because you do. and you show her, and me, everyday, don’t forget that,” you finish your mini speech with a firm kiss on the lips.

a year ago from this very moment, he was pulled away on a case. the call came at 11 pm, the night before your daughter’s first easter. to say he was devastated would be an understatement. he put on a brave face that morning over facetime, watching the chubby hands of one little eloise reid tear through the plastic easter grass hiding the candy in her basket.

he was brave until the time came to hit the hang up button. with the blankness that filled his screen and his hotel room, he broke. he was of no use on the case, and the team knew it, too. he left the bau shortly after that. he didn’t want to feel that way ever again, and he knew if he stayed there, he would. that time it was only one holiday, sure, but what about when she ends up having a dance recital? or graduates? he couldn’t risk it, he knew his family took the biggest priority.

between that and his own father’s absence in his childhood, he was determined to make this easter absolutely perfect for your daughter, no matter if he fell dead asleep on your kitchen table trying.

the staticky rustling of plastic basket grass tears spencer away from his loud, busy brain, and his eyes soften as they fixate on you. helping him. you’re nestling a little stuffed bunny atop the plastic frills of the basket and spencer watches in awe, wondering why he didn’t think to do that first.

he knows the answer. it’s because it’s you. you’re the best mom, and he loves catching those little moments where you prove that to him. it doesn’t take much, like the way you’re slipping $1 bills into each plastic egg, while also making sure you put a piece of candy there as well. it’s a small gesture, maybe, one that doesn’t take much deep thinking, but he knows that it comes from the deepest love your great beautiful heart can muster.

and of course he loves your daughter too, so, so much, but he struggles to show it the way you do. his lack of a paternal presence in his childhood sometimes leaves him feeling empty handed in his journey of fatherhood. you never let him feel this way for long, though. again, just like now, with the way you immediately jumped in to help him. even after he said no, even if you’re absolutely exhausted. you do it for him, because it’s him. because you love him. he still can’t believe it some days.

he smiles, so full of love for his two girls and lets his gaze linger as you run into the living room. you return yielding the carrots and cookies the three of you left for the easter bunny earlier.

“up for a little midnight snack?” you tease, waving the carrots in one hand and the cookies in another before you sit.

“not my preferred treat but i’m not going to say no to one of your sugar cookies,” he jokes, pulling you to the edge of your chair by the small of your back.

he places a kiss on your lips. an intense one, one that conveys every thought blundering through his mind the 10 minutes you’ve been downstairs. how much he loves you, specifically.

he feels you chuckle against him and can’t help but deepen the kiss, pulling you ever closer so his leg comes between yours, your core pressing warmly against his knee. he hears you whimper, a sound he’ll cherish forever, before you rub against him gently and pull away.

“not tonight,” you peer at him over your glasses, a faux concern dancing through your gaze, “if we do you’ll end up giving me another baby. we both know we’re not ready for that yet.”

it’s his turn now to hide his face in the crook of your neck, placing gentle kisses along your neck and jaw. you dedicate the rest of your night to making this holiday special for your little girl.

after nibbling on the carrots and cookies, you place them back on the plate with a thank you note, signed E.B. he raises a brow as he sees you pad over to your cupboard, pulling out your bin of flour. your cheeky smile invokes butterflies, and he’s breathless. it’s late, you’re in sweats, your hair is a mess, and you’re currently half-bent, sifting flour over a stencil of a bunny foot, and he’s never been more in love with you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

spender hears rustling and sweet talk echoing down your spiral staircase. baby eloise’s sweet morning rasp, her high pitched baby voice asking mama if the easter bunny came. he hears you coo at her, telling her she has to wait and see, followed by kissing noises and baby giggles. his heart grows three sizes.

when he sees you appear in the stairway through the lens of his phone, he quickly tears his gaze away from the screen to see the real thing. his girls, eyes tired and hair messy, float down the steps, light from the back window illuminating them, like his own personal angels.

“hi girls!” he lilts, gentle as to not startle his baby girl.

her big brown eyes that she got from dad bore into his, and he can feel himself welling up at her sweetness. sap.

“hi sweet eloise,” he bends down for a kiss from both his angels as you set her at the bottom of the steps, “i think someone special came,” he coos, stealing some more kisses from the baby’s soft chubby cheeks.

she nestles into spencer’s chest, a tiny little thumb settled gently on her lips, and his heart bleeds. he loves her so much.

“i think the easter bunny came!” he croons, hugging her tight and close, “do you wanna see what he got you?” he feels her head nod against him and he hands you his phone. the three of you walk into the living room and spencer sets her down, letting her choose where to go first.

she runs right to the fireplace, where the eaten treats and thank you note lay, her eyes wide.

“wow!” he hears you gasp, and he pulls you to him so you can walk to her together, “i think he ate our treats!”

eloise turns to you two and giggles, clapping her chubby little hands. you two can’t help but pull her in, attacking her with kisses before letting her go on to her other surprises.

she squeals at the bunny feet, repeating, “bunny! bunny!” she gets presents too, of course, spoiled little thing that she is.

you’re better than spencer at shopping for the girly things she loves, so he was an observer shopping for the special things she’s getting this morning.

you nailed it, too. you got her pink, purple, and blue ruffle swimsuits for the summer, and he’s already dying inside imagining how cute it will be. she immediately opens the tinted lip balm with a unicorn on it, as well as the princess jewelry kit, complete with fake earrings and a necklace with aurora, her favorite princess, on the pendant.

she demolishes the easter egg hunt you set up for her in the backyard, just like her dad always did. she squeals when she opens each one, even though all the $1 bills don’t mean anything to her, and will end up being spent by you two anyway. you agreed to spend the total $10 on her, regardless. it’s about having something that’s her own, forming an identity at an early age.

later in the morning, when you appear in the living room, ready for easter brunch with your family, he falls in love all over again. his girls, now a complete contrast to his view earlier this morning, clad in your easter best, look so beautiful, he’s now thoroughly convinced you’re angels.

you’re in a pink ruffled maxi dress, hair and makeup done to the nines. your baby girl got her hair styled by mom, one of her favorite pastimes. her curly hair lay beautifully behind the world’s cutest bangs, and she’s cute as pie with her yellow flowered dress.

he saunters over to you, piercing you with a gaze that said ‘i’m ready for baby #2 now’ before kissing you, then eloise.

“you are the two most beautiful girls in the entire world,” he croons, hugging you both close to him in his big arms.

“i love you,” you whisper up to him, kissing his jawline sweetly, “what do you say to daddy, sweet girl?” you prompt, rubbing her baby belly.

“thank you daddy, i love you!” she chirps, planting a big kiss on his cheek.

he never thought his life could be filled with this much joy.

#oh i want his kids BAD #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid smut

[murdrdocs]

Babe. Babe. Babe. I’m ovulating and it shows BUT. I’m thinking SO heavy abt how in MULTIPLE of ur luke fics you comment on his desire to cum inside, knowing damn well he can’t/that he’ll be able to talk her into it one day and it WONT leave my brain alone. I need a fic where reader finally lets him. I’m gnawing at the bars of my enclosure as I type this. down horrendously. send help.

creampie; MDNI – i did not realize that I did this that often erm

if he hadn't have told you verbally, with the way luke is fucking you, you would've been able to figure out what his goal was.

it was one he recently set, having been given permission by you, coupled with extremely enthusiastic consent.

truthfully, it was about time.

all of those sessions where you would see him staring longingly at your cunt after he fucked it, as if he were expecting something else to happen. all of those nights where he would hesitate before putting on a condom, plump lips parting as if he prepared to ask a question, and then promptly closing as he decided against it.

it all led to this: luke finally fucking you raw, leading himself to an orgasm that would make it all worth it.

he has you in a mating press, as if he needed to amplify his intentions even more.

the tops of your thighs pressed against your chest, your ankles and calves thrown over his shoulders, the position spreading you open to give luke access to the deepest parts of you.

he keeps mentioning it, clearly as entranced by it all as you are. little breaths of "so deep" and borderline gasps of "you feel me?" spoken into the stiff air.

you really aren't much better. the ferocity of his hips, the hunger behind each thrust, has made you go dumb. you can only respond in pornographic "yes"'s and "mhm"'s every so often. all of your energy and sense has gone to the feeling of luke driving himself in and out of you like you're nothing but a pocket pussy.

he'd already made you cum once, and another is steadily approaching. it comes closer and closer as you realize that luke is using your body.

it arrives when luke tells you he's about to cum, since you know what that means.

somehow, your brain begins to function and words form.

"please, luke. please cum in me. i need it so bad."

you sound desperate, like something out a video curated perfectly to appease audiences. but that's just how luke has made you feel. that's what he's done to you.

he presses one of your legs further down into your chest and begins to roll his hips into yours, abdominal muscles going taut as his eyelids lower to watch it all happen.

"'m close, baby. just a little..." he lets the sentence tailor off without a complete ending but its not necessary. not when his hips twitch and then still and then finally, he's spurting cum into you.

it's a foreign feeling, but in the best possible way. warm and wet, copious amounts, more than you would've expected. you think you felt him fill you out a little more for a second, but you can't even begin to consider that whenever luke pulls out and his cum follows.

you barely mourn the emptiness before luke's speaking to you.

"did so well, angel. but i need one more thing from you." he lowers your legs, kisses the tops of your calves. "push it out 'f me. need to see it, angel."

you do as told, letting his cum drip out and encouraging it a little with your last remnants of energy. luke's breath hitches, and then you flinch when his fingers probe at your entrance.

he apologizes in a soft whisper but continues his exploration. thick fingers sliding in his cum, smearing it over your cunt. when he gets up to your clit, teasing the bud with the newly added slip, you say his name. it's meant to be a warning, but it comes out more as a plea.

either way, he still chuckles through his halfhearted apology.

"can't help it," he reasons.

"just look so pretty with my cum leaking out of you."

#got kinda meta for a sec erm #lukesworld! #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x you #celeste writes pjo

[luveline]

ooo i love that you’re giving me free reign over ideas for pregnant bombshell and spencer.. maybe something really angsty where reader’s hormones are getting the best of her and she’s just really pissed at spencer for absolutely no reason? hope that makes sense

thank you for requesting <3 pregnant!reader

“I’m serious, Spencer Reid, you better leave me alone,” you warn. 

Spencer gawps. Morgan glances between you both in concern, having seen hundreds of your conversations over the years and never one this sour. “But I–”

“I’m not kidding.” You glare at him, press your hand to your mouth, and spin away from him to march up the steps to Hotch’s office. 

Spencer attempts to follow you. Morgan holds him back with one hand to the chest. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” 

Spencer watches you until you’re gone. He frowns, upset in his eyes and his model pout. “I don’t even know what I did.” 

“Is this a common occurrence?” 

“No, never! But these last couple days she’s always angry with me.” 

“It’s the baby hormones,” Morgan assures his friend, patting him and pushing him toward his desk. “Or you did something and don’t remember.” 

“If I did, I really don’t.” 

You stew in Hotch’s office. Morgan can imagine the conversation, your annoyance and Hotch’s light bemusement, your wondering if you’re being too harsh, and Hotch giving an amiable, neutral answer. Morgan can also imagine what Spencer thinks you’re doing, watching as his shoulders sink further and further down. 

Spencer scratches a stressed hand through his hair. “I’ll go say sorry,” he says. 

“Maybe that’s a good idea, but not yet. She needs time to cool down.” 

Spencer frowns at his hands. “I don’t like when she’s mad at me like this. We’re always on the same page, I never have to guess what she’s thinking anymore.” He pulls at the neck of his shirt and his tight tie. “I feel like I’m twenty four again.” 

“This is all new for her,” Morgan says. What Spencer doesn’t know is that he’s making this up as he goes. Spencer messed irretrievably for all he knows. “You just need to remember why she’s doing it in the first place, right? She’s loved you for years, one pregnancy induced moment of rage won’t change that. Probably.”

Spencer isn’t appeased. Worse when you emerge from Hotch’s office and walk straight to your desk without glancing Spencer’s way, and worse again when he attempts to talk to you and you shake your head. “Please, Spencer. Just leave me alone.” 

Spencer spends the day in agony. The worry of what he’s done eats at him, and he attempts to make it up to you, ultimately making it worse. You frown at every cup of tea or water he brings you, glaring at the plate he serves you for lunch. The bullpen of the office sags under your fury. Spencer doesn’t eat a single bite all day.  

It’s by chance that Morgan witnesses the full fallout on his way to the bathroom. You’re in the hallway just on the way to Penelope’s office with Spencer, who’s clearly followed you to give apologies and concern aplenty. He’s caught your hand.

“I don’t even know why you’re mad,” Spencer says hopelessly. He sounds heartbroken.

You look at your hands for a long while, seconds stretching and aching, before you hold your stomach and look to the side. “I’m sorry–” you say, cutting yourself off as your voice wobbles unsurely.

“What?” Spencer asks, startled. 

“I don’t know,” —your breath shudders— “why I’m being so mean to you–”

“Angel–”

“I feel like I’m suffocating in my own skin and you’re just making me so angry hovering because I can look after myself, but I’m starting to think I can’t, and I look really stupid in my maternity clothes–”

“What’s wrong with your clothes?”

You huff sharply.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding out his hands. “I’m so sorry. I know you’re just really pregnant right now and the hormones are messing with you,” —you scoff, but Spencer soldiers on— “I love how you look, and I love you even when you’re angry with me, and I’m sorry you feel claustrophobic. What can I do?” 

Your glare softens slowly. “You’re not mad at me?” 

“You’re mad at me, lovely.” 

Morgan thinks that last bit is a nice touch. You wipe your blurry eyes and squeeze his hands, still breathing too fast and too hard but the anger having completely drained from your features, returning you to your usual beautiful state. You measure his gaze for a while, before resting your forehead on his chest, your bump in the way of a proper hug. “Do you still love me?” you ask quietly.

“No.” He laughs and kisses your temple, using his index finger to turn your face by your hairline carefully, giving him better view of your face. “Yeah, I still love you. I always do. I’m sorry I upset you that much, I’m not trying to smother you.” 

“You didn’t, Spence, I upset myself, and I took it out on you… I’m sorry I was mean to you, earlier, you didn’t deserve it. It’s just hard.” You shake your head. “You never make me feel bad for being a diva and I wish you would.” 

“Would that make you feel better?” 

You sigh. “No, please keep being my sweetheart. Please.” 

Spencer says something too quiet for Morgan to hear, but can be read from the lips as a promise as he sweeps his hand up and down your back. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[antianakin]

I never, ever say the Jedi were flawed, and here's why.

It's not because I don't think people can BE flawed, or that I don't think GOOD people can be flawed, of course they can. Even people who are genuinely doing good things and making good choices and trying their best to be selfless and kind and compassionate can make mistakes and have a bad day.

But there's really only two reasons I see anybody bring up "the Jedi were flawed."

The first is from Jedi fans who are trying to stave off the Stanakins and the anti Jedi crowd by adding that in as a disclaimer. "OF COURSE the Jedi are flawed, but it doesn't mean they aren't good people!" It's a meaningless statement because the side saying it doesn't even really believe it to be true and the side they're saying it TO thinks the Jedi being flawed means they all deserved to die. This is the kind of statement that leads to people deciding that individual Jedi are okay but their culture needs to be completely reformed in order to allow people like Anakin to just do whatever they want whenever they want and then they can all live.

The second is from people who DON'T really like the Jedi much and will insist that "the Jedi are flawed" is part of the whole point of the narrative of Star Wars, especially the prequels. This is the kind of statement that leads to people like Leslye Headland INSISTING that George Lucas intended for the story of the Jedi to be one of failure and criticism and casting the Jedi as "the evil institution" in her interpretation of Star Wars. This is what leads to stories like the Ahsoka show insisting that the Jedi were elitist bastards whose arrogance led to their own genocide. These people usually try to claim they like the Jedi, but they'll still cast the Jedi as the bad guys in the story instead of, say, Anakin. These are the people who genuinely have no idea what attachment is and don't care to learn. These people believe that, at best, the Jedi THOUGHT they were doing good, but that they had completely lost their way and were truly not that much better than the Sith anymore and their destruction was necessary to create balance in the galaxy.

I have no desire to appease people who don't like my interpretation of Star Wars, and I don't think that "the Jedi were flawed" was ever the point of Lucas's story and I genuinely think it takes a lot AWAY from his story to say that it does. So while I am perfectly happy to admit that people in general, even overall GOOD and kind and selfless people, are always flawed and can make mistakes, I will never, ever say that the Jedi were flawed. The Jedi lost, yes, but not due to their own flaws. They lost because of EVERYONE ELSE'S flaws, so what does it MATTER if the Jedi were flawed or not? If you truly believe the Jedi were good people who did everything right and simply lost due to other people's selfish choices, then what does it add to the story to insist the Jedi were flawed? How does it change anything, for the better or otherwise? The Jedi were right IS the point of the story, so insisting they were flawed actually takes away from that by distracting from how the Jedi were RIGHT, and it's people choosing not to listen to them or trust them or act like them that brings about the downfall of an entire galaxy.

The Jedi weren't flawed. The Jedi were RIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING and that is the hill I will die on.

#star wars #jedi #pro jedi #prequels jedi

[lovewithmary]

(not) moving on — a max verstappen x stark!oc x charles leclerc series

★ fc: madison beer ☆ summary: evangeline "evie" stark is in love with her best friend, max verstappen, but he tries his best to keep her at arm's length. but what happens when she starts to get close to his fellow drivers in the paddock? ★ notes: charles and evie's relationship does seem fast but at the same time this is fiction and i want to get into the good stuff asap

previous next series masterlist

eviestark’s instagram story

"Do you think you're ever going to talk to Max again?"

Evie looked at Charles incredulously and said, "We're on a yacht, isolated from the rest of the world, meaning we can do whatever we want, and you decide you want to talk about Max?"

"Trust me, amor, I intend to do whatever you let me do, but I was just curious," Charles told her, caressing her sides as a way to appease her.

"Isn't it weird for you to ask considering I had feelings for him yet we're... What are we, exactly?" Evie asked.

"I don't think you need to try and cover up the fact that you're still in love with Max, amor, I already know," Charles told her.

"And we're whatever you want to be. However, I'd like to ask you to be my girlfriend one of these days," he added.

Evie looked at him very confused. He was the most confusing person she'd ever met, and one of her uncles was Thor. She'd never felt so exposed ever, and he was someone she met not too long ago. "How are you so okay about all of this? Anyone in your place would've run away screaming by now if they knew," Evie told him.

"Max was and will continue to be a big constant in your life, I can't deny that or pretend it never happened. Yes, you two aren't talking but sooner or later you guys will talk—"

"He has to apologize first," Evie interrupted him, and Charles nodded in agreement and also understanding.

While Evie told Charles the abridged version of what happened on the very day she swore to stop talking to Max, she didn't tell him the exact words Max had said. That was because he was already getting mad at Max and was ready to defend Evie when he had heard the short version, so if she were to tell Charles the full story? All hell will might break loose.

"He apologizes and makes it up to you, then you guys talk again. But, amor, can you honestly say that the minute Max says he wants to be with you, you aren't going to jump at the chance?"

"He could say he would give me everything in the world if it meant being with him and I'd say no," Evie confidently told him, shocking the Ferrari driver.

At the sight of his shocked expression, she explained, "While I can't deny that I still have feelings for Max, I don't think I would be able to be with him, a simple sorry isn't enough for me. He has to grovel. But also, I'd be stupid to not realize what's in front of me,"

"Also, I can get everything in the world by myself. I don't need his help,"

"Did you attend any of Max's karting races when we were all younger?" Charles asked.

"I feel like you like Max more than me," Evie teased, wrapping her arms around Charles' neck while he placed his hands on her waist.

Charles ignored her comment but Evie could tell that he was flustered, as the tip of his ears were red, but she was wise not to comment. "I was just wondering, since you attending the races would've meant that I could've met you and not known at all," he told her.

She hummed, finding herself caressing the back of his head, messing with his hair. "I did attend some of the races, but I was practically attached to Jos whenever I did," she informed him.

Charles wrinkled his nose at the mention of the older Verstappen. "Jos? You had to hang around Jos when we were younger and you're still alive to tell the tale?" He asked in disbelief, remembering how the man was during his and Max's karting days but also when he visits the paddock.

"Jos thought I was going to be a distraction for Max because god forbid he has one friend. But, he kept me around because he knew my dad and also I wasn't that big of a distraction like he thought. So, per my dad's request, he would make sure I didn't get ambushed by crazy fans,"

"Why couldn't your dad go with you?"

"He's Iron Man. And if Iron Man were to go to a karting race when he's only known to go to Formula One races, don't you think that's a bit suspicious? Papa didn't want people who were there for him, he wanted the karting event to be all about the drivers,"

"So there's a small chance I could've met you?"

"Probably, but at the same time, I would've remembered someone if they said inchident," Evie replied, bursting into giggles at seeing Charles' reaction.

"How do you know about the inchident?" He asked, smiling at her giggling.

"Come on, amore, ever since I was seen with you, everyone has been tagging me and I see it on my timeline more than any other post," Evie told him.

"Amore?"

"Well, I figured that since you called me amor, I'll call you amore,"

"I like it,"

"Well, it was either that or Lightning McQueen. And you never like it whenever I say ka-chow," she pouted.

"It's not like I don't mind it when you say ka-chow, but I preferred if you didn't say it after we have sex,"

#f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 ig au #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #(not) moving on #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagines #charles leclerc fic #max verstappen smau #max verstappen x oc #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic

[angelltheninth]

La Signora Forces You on Your Knees

Pairing: La Signora x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, cunnilingus, hair-pulling, dom/sub dynamic, superiority kink

A/N: She is the first Genshin milf I was introduced to.

La Signora doesn't ask for anything she demands it, including the attention and pleasure given from you

She knows you will anything she tells you

Takes is a single look from her and you know what do

Get on your knees and the longer you hesitate the more impatient she gets

But she likes that bratty side of you

It allows her to let out all of her frustrations of the day on you

Her heels dig into your shoulder blades to pull you closer to where she wants, needs you most

Appeasing her is the best way to stop her from being mad at you for long

It's not that you don't want to do this for her, rather that you enjoy her anger, the way she looks at you like she's so much better, above you and can do anything she wants to you

Or rather what she wants you to do for her

Her hands grip your hair in a vice grip, keeping you from pulling away until the lower half of your face is drenched

Don't think you'll be neglected though, she'll spend a lot of time calling you a good girl

She's so calm and controlled, so her voice getting higher every time your tongue swipes across her clit sends shivers right down to your pussy

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #la signora x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin headcanons #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x female reader #genshin x female reader #x female reader #femslash february

[hastyprovocateur]

Mizu, Akemi and Gender as a weapon

Mizu's masculinity isn't something she dislikes or is seeking to be rid of. Even at her most feminine, Mizu is still androgynous. Not limited by gender performances, stereotypes and beliefs. It's all part of her. The doting lover, the skilled samurai, the knifemaker, the patron of arts. It just creates internal conflict when she's unable to connect to her femininity in a gendered society, knowing that her femininity will be seen as weakness. On the flipside, we know Mizu suppressed masculine parts of herself in her marriage with the expectation that they'll become a deal-breaker which also wasn't healthy. Mizu doesn't need the go-ahead to be traditionally feminine, she just needs space or a person/people who will allow her be herself without nitpicking parts of her. In that vein, I also wanna address how Akemi is also masculine in her own ways.

Just because she doesn't wield a sword or has an androgynous bodytype, doesn't mean that Akemi isn't masculine (the social understanding of it). She is very much so in her own right. Seki, her tutor, keeps aligning her with her father claiming that they have the same conviction in their beliefs in which their roots are unshakeable. This lays out how traits of power seeking, ambition, stark independence and intelligence that her father prides himself on are discouraged in Akemi as she's a woman. She is politically informed, highly educated and sexually dominant. She is calculative, express in her expertise at Go, something she's been better than grown men at since she was 12. Seki tells her that beyond just surviving in her marital home, she is equipped to succeed, expand her territory, find people's vulnerabilities, capture and win. That she can learn to do anything she wants and be whoever she wants, even if the goal is to become the ruler of Japan. In that same episode, Mizu is parallel to Akemi where she seeks wisdom from Master Eiji to exact an artful revenge where he proceeds to tell her that he didn't train her to be a demon or a human but he showed her how to be an artist. That revenge, swords, pots, noodles are all the same to an artist. The goal is to learn to be good at something. Anything. Mizu's pursuit of revenge is as masculine as Akemi's pursuit of power. They are both capable of learning. Of being successful. They are both elements of their own destiny. Water. Fire.

It doesn't matter what the means used are if the objective is one and the same. Akemi learnt this throughout season 1. That to evolve oneself guarantees success over only changing the scenario by running. Like Mizu, Akemi works with what she has. She is feminine presenting, enhanced through the princess finery, she can't fight but she uses her beauty, charm and wit to execute her plans and bend men to her will. Mizu attempted to maneuvere this same tactic after Mikio called her a monster, dolling up like on her wedding day to appease to his masculinity but it only pushed her towards the one thing she does best- wielding a sword to survive. Mizu knows how to fight, that is her agency, not a definitive of her gender. To fight and evolve is human, not select for a particular gender. Akemi also knows how to fight. She's trained in koto playing, singing, dancing, literature, poetry and the sutras. Her modus operandi is to weaken a man through his own hubris of thinking that she presents no threat. Which, as a personal opinion, I find a requires a tad more skill than cutting through flesh and bone. With Mizu, men brace for a fight, with Akemi, they don't even realise there was one in the first place. I posit that fighting is seen as more glorious than manipulation because it's a traditionally masculine way of dealing with things. Meanwhile, artful manipulation if rife with character bashing because femininity, according to some, should not not exist to take advantage only be taken advantage of, which again. Trash take. Needless to say, both Mizu and Akemi easily outclass the men who stand in their way.

Finit

#blue eye samurai analysis #mizu #akemi #netflix blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #akemi blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai mizu #bes akemi #netflix bes #bes mizu #bes #bes netflix #blue eye samurai netflix #akemi ito

[0daylighthours0]

A Deep Dive into Milkvan and Byler's Development: If Milkvan Was Endgame All Along, Why Was it Written Like This???

SO. I've been rewatching st with my mother, who's never seen it before. And she was a fan of milkvan throughout seasons 1 and 2. Viewing those seasons again I could see why, they're cute. However, come season 3 and INSTANT distaste. And, listen, my mother is not the consciously shipping gal. She simply routes for main character pairings as writers intend, doesn't read between the lines, doesn't nothing. And she does NOT know my own opinions on the pairing. In other words, completely unbiased, uninternet drama influenced eyes. We've now reached season 3 and, after getting through a chunk of it, I asked her,

"so what do you think of Mike and El?"

and she expressed to me that they seem to be, quote:

"not very good together."

She said El's character doesn't suit the way she's acting now (in the first few episodes, concerning Mike), that Mike is more likeable and interesting when he's away from her. She doesn't like the way they ditched the party, and when it comes to their 'making out' the scenes are seen by her from Hopper's perspective (in other words, distasteful). She claimed that they'd be much better characters as friends.

And ya know what, she's right. And I mean like - duh, that's what we've been saying all this time, I'm not stating anything new here. But guys, wouldn't it be strange if the central couple of the show, pivotal that it is liked by audiences and is rooted for by them as they are THE pair, would be so dislikable like this? So uninteresting, so cliche.

I mean, okay, let's do a little mental experiment I like to do to test if I'm not just acting delulu. Let's play a game. In this game, milkvan ARE meant to be endgame. They are in love, they were all along, and they're here to draw in viewers and appease all El stans. Now, seasons 1 and 2 their relationship is honestly fine. Surface level, yeah, people will watch and appreciate them. They perfectly blend in with all the other neat pairings of the seasons, and have their own unique character traits to stand out as a main couple.

Just pretending our mate Will doesn't exist, we now get into season 3. Now, writers have nothing to lose here. If you've finished season 2, you probably like milkvan already. The issue is that they're already together now, so what's the conflict going to be? The arc? And every central couple needs that conflict to stay juicy.

Just take a look:

Jancy: quarrels, struggle to understand one another

Jopper: not yet together, one sided? will they won't they

Lumax: ...

Lumax? Lumax. Huh, guess they were simply together. Some loveable bickering, maintained a friendly dynamic while clearly in closer proximity. Well then, writers can do the same for milkvan right? Well, yes easily. But one might argue that since they are supposed to be THE pairing they need more going on between them than that. So what'll it be? Well, it seems that writers thought,

"hey, why not break them up?"

ok so.. that's a bit risky. I mean you want people to like this ship, if you break them up then that threats: 1. there being a disliking to one or both characters, 2. coming off generic if done incorrectly, 3. the break up might make no sense considering how in love they came off as just a season ago. But hey.. it could work, if done right. Some kind of misunderstanding, similar to Jancy. Maybe an argument leading to a sudden parting. I mean, yeah, Yeah! I can see that. Perhaps Mike is being too overprotective whilst El's trying to sacrifice herself for something, so she NEEDS to separate herself from him attempting to hurt him less. Or, I dunno, something akin. What's crucial is that us, AS THE AUDIENCE, still know them to be deeply in love. I mean, we have to still want them to be together. And we've seen couple trouble before. Just take a look at Lumax season 4 - did you or did you not want the best for both of them as a pair? You most likely did. See, it's doable. So did people like milkvan season 3 the same way, even after a separation plot? No.

Okay well, there are obviously those who'll always love milkvan no matter but, see, season 3 tainted it. "We need to write them like this cause it's more realistic to teenager behavior" my ars. You can make it messy without making it icky. Not only did it sour their unique dynamic, it flabbergastingly stomped on Mike as a character.

Honestly, I feel Mike has always been a mild struggle to write. Season 1 his motivations were 'find Will' (who still doesn't exist in our mind game yet shh) and 'protect El'. This worked well for him. Afterwards though, El and Will became more separate plots to him. But as a main character it remained integral that he be closely linked to them somehow. This sets him apart from Lucas and Dustin, who can easily be given any arc any season as their plots have the flexibility of a side quest nature. Since what Mike does is meant to matter more - with there probably being a better way of phrasing that but you know what I mean - it's harder knowing what he'll do when El and Will (who we'll GET to sh.) are their own separate people. And Mike is just a boy, he doesn't have super powers and he isn't a cop, which leaves there even less for him to do which is of significance. Season 2 writers decided upon having him support Will's arc, making himself of enough relevance by being able to take credit for some Will development in the story, and the plots that surrounded that, and then Mike was thrown a little bone by being the one to come up with the idea of burning those vines in the finale.

Truthfully, you don't really remember Mike's deeds much when reminiscing the series. It isn't like Dustin who's bond with Dart sticks to everyone, or Nancy and Jonathan responsible for kicking out Hawkins Lab. This is due to them, again, being able to traverse all sorts of adventures without limits. But my guy Mike can't do dat. Sadly, this kind of leads to him coming of as a little.. well... insignificant. And I know I know, the Mike truthers are gonna come at my throat. And hey! I love him too. I only want the best for my boy.

This makes season 3 a unique case cause it seems that, for the plot they decided they wanted, writers actually had to almost entirely change his character. I mean mate s2 Mike and s3 Mike are two different peoples, don't even. And I don't believe that the Duffers had their story and character turnouts completely drawn out from the very start at all. If I was to guess, I'd assume they have vague ideas of little plots they plan to include in future, but there is definitely a lot that has come unpredicted or changed throughout st's runtime. And one of those phenomenons are Michael Wheeler. So they decided to make this guy a di-

So they decided to make him more douchy, more movie typical teenage guy. It's not as if he wholly sucked, he didn't, but he didn't really do much. Whined about his girlfriend, separated the party. I mean what even was his arc? (UnLESS–)

You see, if milkvan is written to be loved, then season 3 was strike one. All of its charm was stripped away. It seems they had some cute scenes after their reconciliation, but it's not enough. It's just sort of

"oh, ok, so they're happy with eachother now. yayy."

and Stranger Things should want to be anything but boring. Sure they often enjoy indulging in tropes, but they always do something different with them. Something standoutish. And from this point on milkvan just got dull. Either writers ran out of ideas or lost interest, honestly (still with our mind game of telling ourselves they're meant to be).

But it's okay. Look, so season 3 was a bit rocky, maybe lost a couple of fans for the guys, but it is salvageable. Easily, easily. Looks like we want a plot of Mike struggling to tell El he loves her. Great! Much to work with.

So let's get into it. Season 4! Choices were... made. And, okay, now we can't go any further without bringing in our boy Will.

Mike is intrinsically tied to Will and El and has been from the start. Maybe Will was more of an accident. Maybe s1 Will was just a plot device for Mike, then s2 Will was a plot device again and Mike needed to be there as the main boy character. Come season 3 and it seems their relationship still matters. Will was sidelined - hard - so most of Mike's moments revolved around El. But as his bond with Mike is the only that's been properly built up, that's the only friend we'll get him interacting with in a way that matters. So the Mike and Will tie continues!

But that does not have to be the case for season 4. Now the writers have a chance.

They made Will gay.

Ok so.. ok so yeah that's fine. Yeah! I mean they didn't have to do that, might put them in hot water with the bylers since milkvan is their golden beauty but.. you know what no no that's okay. He's been hinted at being queer since episode 1, why not make it canon! Cool that works. Explore that, especially since we now have Vecna who can easily target Will for this. Give him a boyfriend! Or a guy crush. He's at a new school now? That's cool. Maybe we can explore some new male character Will's taken interest in. Hey maybe he meets someone who interests him which rises to surface his whole sexuality plot and-

he's in love with Mike.

Ok. No. No. What are you doing? What do you mean?? You didn't have to do that. Strike- strike EFING TWO mates! Strike. 👏 efing. 👏 2!

This was part 1. I am tired and gots to get my ars in bed. But ohohoh, do not worry. I am just getting started.

#anti milkvan #anti mileven #byler #byeler #stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #byler is real #byler is endgame #byler analysis #byler nation #byler proof #byler is canon #byler endgame #byler tumblr #stranger things 4

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 18

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: happy weekend.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“How do you like it?” Luciana asks as she spins you to face the mirror.

Your eyes round at your own reflection. You can’t help but lean forward to get a better look at yourself. You never had a haircut like this. Nothing more than the discount trims that were often worse than not just growing it out or your at-home hack job.

“Wow,” is all you can utter.

“I hope that’s a good wow,” she chimes.

“Uh, yes, yes,” you sit back and tear your eyes from the mirror. “Thank you, it’s–”

“Oh, aren’t you so lovely!” Frigga interrupts as her heels click across the salon, “oh, it’s so wonderful. Look at you!”

Before you can react, the chair’s turning again. Frigga sweeps your hands away from under the cape and pulls you to your feet. Luciana moves to undo the long black shroud and swipes it away from your body, littering more hair onto the floor.

“Just a moment,” Luciana girds and brushes the stray bits from the back of your shirt, “there we are.”

“I must say, darling, you are even more stunning than I thought,” she keeps a hold of your right hand, “oh, Eliana, El!” She tweets across the salon, “what about makeup? Hm? Nothing too heavy, maybe a lip and some mascara–”

The platinum blond chuckles, endeared by her demanding client. You see where Laufeyson inherited that; the way the command rather than ask. You could never.

“I’ll take the little fawn,” Eliana agrees, “I have just the thing in mind.” She approaches on her long slender legs, “she has perfect colouring.”

You can’t help but preen at the compliments. You’re not used to them yet, you doubt them. These women are all so put together and gorgeous, surely they’re just being nice. You’re so much the opposite, your like a novelty; a doll for them to dress up.

“Sit,” Eliana points to another chair, “just relax, honey, I’ll take care of you.”

Frigga lets you go and you obey. You climb up into the chair and gasp as the back reclines. Eliana starts by swabbing your face with a cool liquid then pats it dry. Next, she applies a fragrant moisturizer. Her touch is relaxing but strange. You’re not used to anyone touching you.

You close your eyes as she sets to her work. She explains that she’s applying some liner and how to get a little wing at the end. She says you should keep it thin and subtly, then has you check your first eye in the mirror.

“You see, a nice brown, or grey is all you need, black is so harsh,” she shows you the pencil she used.

“Oh, thanks,” you murmur.

“Let’s even that out,” she nudges you back again and you appease her.

As she draws on your other eyelid, you hear a subtle buzz, followed by Frigga’s shrill greeting. She apologises to someone unseen before she carries on her call, heels tapping further and further away. You can hardly focus between her, Eliana’s directions, and the chatter all around you.

“Mmhmm, yes we were thinking of the Garden…” Frigga trails off as the door rings then swiftly blocks out her conversation.

“Mascara, look up,” Eliana directs, again, you obey. There’s nothing else you can do.

As nice as it all is, the hair, the makeup, and all her lovely plans, you can’t help but be embarrassed. Frigga, and Mr. Laufeyson, know you can’t afford all this. It doesn’t feel as much like kindness as it does condescension. As if they are the blessed elite giving you, a noone, with all their privileges. 

It’s not a kind gesture, but a statement. You’re so far below them, you don’t even know what you don’t have. If you are to be anywhere near them, you have to fit their mold.

🧹

After the salon, Frigga drags you down the shopping strip. You shy away from the gleaming windows and the faceless mannequins in their luxurious outfits. You couldn’t wear any of it. It wouldn’t look right. Anyone would know in an instant that you don’t belong.

Inside the first shop, you make yourself as small as you can, crossing one arm to cling to the other, folding your shoulders in. You’re frightened of brushing against anything or knocking over that hand display with all the jewelry on it. As you pass a mirror, you nearly trip. You forget for a moment that it’s you staring back.

You shake your head and back away. You don’t like that feeling. You don’t recognize yourself. Even if you never really loved the girl looking back, she was familiar.

“Darling,” Frigga gives you a start as she nears, “how about this? Hm? It’s absolutely adorable.”

She holds up a purple dress; almost like an overall but more refined with three buttons along the right side. She has a plain white blouse behind it. It’s lovely but you don’t know if you like the length. You don’t think you’ve worn a skirt since grade school.

“Oh, it’s… nice.”

“Come on, try it on,” she pleads, “it would look so good on you, darling. With your figure.”

You gulp and blink, looking down at yourself. What figure? The boxy button-up and straight-legged tweed don’t betray much of that. Your body is your body; it’s just there.

“I’ll try,” you relent. It wouldn’t be polite to say no.

“Alright, you take this to a dressing room and I’ll find some shoes,” she shoves the hangers at you, “excuse me,” she turns and waves to the associate who greeted you on entry, “yes, please, she needs a room.”

The woman with ginger curls approaches and you hand over your, or rather, Frigga’s picks. Her name tag reminds you of her introduction; Celia. She guides you into the back to a large room lined with curtained stalls. She takes you to one and hangs the clothing within. You thank her quietly and turn to stare at the lilac fabric.

You sigh and pull the curtain shut. You strip away reluctantly. It’s all so surreal, you don’t want to believe it. You’re wary of the unusual good luck, the unearned generosity. Why would Mr. Laufeyson agree to this? And why would Frigga want to spend time with you, a maid wearing a title beyond her means?

“Darling, are you ready?” Frigga calls through as her heels tap out her arrival.

“Almost,” you call back, shimmying into the purple overall as you try not to rumble the sleeves of the blouse. 

You refuse to look at yourself before you face the curtain and brace yourself. You step out as Frigga waits patiently, sitting on one of the leather poufs with a pair of white loafer flats in her lap, little silver bows clasped by the toe.

“Oh my,” she gasps as she rises, “oh darling, that’s… that becomes you. Oh,” she nears and hands you the shoes, “put these on then. Let’s see the whole look.”

Like most things in life, you let her bowl you over. You just go along with what you’re told. You go through the motions numbly, waiting for it to be over.

You bend to slip into the shoes one at a time. Once you stand, she ushers you around to face the mirror. She squeezes your shoulders before playing with your hair, setting you straights as she stands behind you.

“Look at you, darling,” she purrs. 

You falter as you see the woman staring back at you. That’s you! You can hardly see yourself under it all. You press your hands to the skirt, wishing for a few more inches, and squeak the soles on the floor as you shift awkwardly in the stiff leather.

“This is it. It suits you so well. Sharp collars, cinched here,” she touches your waist, “I think we have a good start.”

“Um, thanks, but er…”

“You can wear that out. It’s a lovely outfit for lunch,” she insists, “but I’m thinking a few boucle jackets, some matching skirts, a splash of pastel,” she rambles on dreamily, “pearls, of course, maybe some rose gold…”

Your brow pinches over your nose. You don’t know what to do. You can’t say no and even if you were brave enough to, you don’t think she’d hear you. She’s like her son, that way. She only sees what she wants and there’s no denying her.

“Oh, thank you so much for humouring me,” she drawls, “you know, ever since the divorce, I’ve been terribly lonely.” You’re startled by her sudden shift. You blink at her, “my own daughter was never one for the shops, at least, not with me but Sif… she… well, c’est la vie.”

“I… I’m sorry.”

“Why? Oh, don’t apologise, it is me who should,” she laughs at herself as she leads you back into the shop room, “to you and your own mother. I have accosted her daughter!”

You nod and seal your lips. You feel the pluck in your chest. You distract yourself with a nearby dress; it’s beige and boring.

“I hate to overstep but Loki did mention your father is sick. I’m certain it can’t be easy,” she hums, “it never is. You and your mother–”

“My mother…” you pipe up, voice cracking. You shake off the wave of dizziness and sigh, “my mother is dead.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” she touches her chest, “dear me, I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have–”

“I’m not upset. I never knew her,” you shrug and move on to a more colourful dress. “Just me and dad.”

“Well, it’s nice you have each other,” she says.

“Yeah,” you agree dully.

She’s quiet as she browses beside you, sifting through hangers. Tension ripples between you. Neither of you know what to say.

“How about this?” She holds up a satin blouse in a dainty shade of rose, “it would compliment your complexion.”

“Um, sure,” you let the thickness in the air slake away, “I… I’m not picky.”

“Oh, darling, you are too agreeable,” she teases, “you best not let my son play on that. He could always hear a no or two, yes?”

You nod, uncertain what she means. He’s your boss, you don’t tell him no. He doesn’t ask for your input. He just says and you do. That’s why you’re here. He needed a toy to give his mother, and you’re playing along.

🧹

The restaurant is just as resplendent and upscale as the shops. You try to keep stride with Frigga as she struts up to the open doors, a hostess standing behind a podium just outside as the sunlight beams down in a mid-afternoon haze. She smiles at the elder blonde as she greets her with enthusiasm.

“Good afternoon, we were hoping for a table outside,” Frigga declares.

“For two?” The hostess asks as she looks down at the tablet in front of her.

“A bigger table, please, we have someone joining us,” she answers.

“Great, we can fit you in,” the woman assures and waves you through the small gate of the patio. 

She takes you to a table near the colourful flower beds and offers the drink menu. Frigga thanks her and sits as you mimic her. You do your best not to fidget despite the persistent displacement zinging through your nerves. She browses the menu and taps her groomed fingernail on the table.

“Is it too early for Zinfandel?” She wonders.

“Oh, I don’t… know,” you put your own menu down, content with a glass of cranberry juice.

“Or perhaps a white?” 

You shrug. You don’t drink. You never have and never really thought of trying it. You rub your cheek and look around, squirming at the other diners in their carefree conversations. What are you doing here?

A new server approaches and takes your orders. Frigga gets her wine and you murmur your request for a glass of juice. You hand over the menus and she checks her slender golden watch.

“Mm, I did say two,” she tuts and takes out her phone.

It’s almost amusing to see someone disappointed in Mr. Laufeyson. To be on the other side of the table. You’re not the one rushing to meet a deadline for once. You twiddle your hands in your lap and peer around at the din.

A table of women sit with cocktails and green salads, gabbing loudly. They are probably your age. Friends. Something you never had. Probably never will.

“Mother,” a voice proclaims across the patio and you wince. It’s familiar but not the timbre you expected. Maybe it’s a coincidence.

“There you are,” Frigga stands and you turn to look over your shoulder at the burly blond. Oh.

You rise too, not wanting to seem rude. Thor hugs his mother and kisses the top of her head, “I was caught behind an accident,” he explains, “oh,” he faces you, “and who… it is the little maid!” He takes you by the shoulders and you flinch as he bends to kiss your cheek, “you remember me, yes?”

You can only nod as you wriggle out of his grip. You resist the urge to wipe your cheek.

“Maid! Do not call her that,” Frigga chides as she sits.

You lower yourself back to your seat. Thor drags out the chair next to you and you try not to show your discomfort. He is almost too wide for the seat as his thigh presses to yours.

“I never got a name, you know? Brother hides everything away,” he sniffs, “so forgive me,” he leans as he tries to look you in the face, “a proper introduction is in order; I am Thor, you recall, hm?”

You nod again and eke out your name. He offers his large hand and you hesitate to take it. You won’t be rude though. His grip swallows your hand up, tight and unyielding. When he finally releases you, you let out a slow breath and stare at the table.

“Speaking of,” Frigga remarks, “he is late.”

“Not surprising, he can hardly be bothered to leave his cave,” Thor scoffs, “what a nice colour.”

He touches the button on your dress and you squeeze your legs together, trying to sidle away without being obvious.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“Oh, we had a wonderful day shopping,” Frigga supplies, “she’s so sweet.”

“Ah, yes, I’m certain father will be happy to hear you had a spree,” Thor chortles.

“What he doesn’t know…” Frigga giggles.

The server returns and sets down the stemmed glass of dark wine and your juice. Thor orders rye as you lean forward to sip, the tangy flavour tautens your cheeks. You feel your chair shift and sit back, only to meet the curl of his fingers on the back rest. He doesn’t draw away, his leg splaying wider to touch yours again.

“So we are waiting on him?” Thor challenges and slaps his stomach with his other hand, “I’m starving.”

“We’ll give him another ten,” Frigga girds, “perhaps he is also stuck in traffic.”

“Not to worry,” Thor booms, “we can have fun without him, eh. Probably more.”

“Oh, don’t,” Frigga reproaches, “this is supposed to be a nice family meal, you will not start with him again.”

“It wasn’t me. He’s the one who stormed out–”

“Enough,” she interjects, “we are moving past it.”

“I’ve moved on,” Thor insists, “mother, really, I am not the one who keeps picking fights.”

“Mmm,” Frigga purses her lips, “nor do you discourage them.”

“Me?” Thor feigns innocence, his fingertips brushing the back of your collar, “I only said hello and he went out of his mind.”

“Um,” you sit forward, knocking the table slightly, “er, I… is there a bathroom?”

“Oh, yes, darling,” Frigga turns to you as if only then recalling your presence, “just through the front door to the right.”

“Thank you,” you stand, “sorry, uh, excuse me.”

You turn and scurry off, clutching the sides of the dress to keep it from riding up. Once you get inside, you roll your shoulders, trying to shake off the sensation of his touch. You reach back to tug at your collar.

It’s peculiar to think, but you hope Mr. Laufeyson gets there soon.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #dirty work #series #avengers #mcu #marvel #thor #au #maid au

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Alexa, play Hey, Jealousy

This whole scene, Kang is obviously feeling jealous, because Pimfah is listing reasons why she likes Sailom. But! It easily reads as Kang struggling to confront the truth of what she's saying. Because he knows all these things about Sailom, he feels the same way about him, but he hasn't allowed himself to contextualize those feelings as "why I like Sailom".

That reality is why Kang is struggling to maintain his friendly interaction with Sailom after.

This is pretty straight forward jealousy.

Except that Kang got more upset when Sailom said that he pushed him to the cheerleading thing so that he could have a shot with Pimfah.

Kang thinks he's upset because Pim likes Sailom, but he's also upset because if Pim likes Sailom, then obviously Sailom will date her, she's great, but then Sailom will be dating her. And those feelings are very big and very confusing. Which we see here:

For Kang, Pim and Sailom dating was the logical conclusion. Sailom is a great guy, and Pim is the best, of course they'll get together.

When they don't, it's a threat to the narrative he's created, where he's jealous of Sailom, not because of Sailom. Where he can put everyone and all his feelings back into little boxes if his two friends just get together like they should. Where he can deal with the blow to his plan to give his dad what he wants, and marry someone who can give him kids, if everyone would just behave like they're supposed to.

This one is... this is the start of Kang figuring his shit out.

Guy literally rips Sailom away from Kang, and Kang can't even argue that Sailom is his friend, too, because he's very much not been a friend to him, and Sailom is actively keeping his distance.

Kang arrives with breakfast excited -- his body language is a little nervous, but almost giddy as he runs up the stairs with that cautiously optimistic smile. He's ready to mend fences and probably apologize, and reestablish their friendship (and ignore Sailom's confession, because Kang is Not there yet).

And there's his future best friend in law Guy, taking care of Sailom the way he wants to be, and he's hurt, but he's also angry that he's missed his chance. This is where he's fully aware of the cause of his jealousy.

THEN! THIS!

THIS BEAUTIFUL SCENE!

Kang's friends are sure he's upset about the seniors being shitty to him and not acknowledging his contribution to the game. They're offering reassurances that he's earned his spot, but Kang hears none of it, because all he can see is Sailom hugging and congratulating Guy, smiling and being happy with Guy.

And here's where it all solidifies.

Where "Sailom works so hard, and he makes me feel like I should work hard, too" and "she likes you (why does that make me so mad)" and "I like you" and "he's my friend" all coalesce, and Kang gets it.

He understands that what he's feeling is romantic interest. That he needs to fix what he broke right now.

Of course, he's still 17/18 and dumb, because what he opens with is this:

Which like, yeah baby, we know. But that's not the important information from that little revelation. And Sailom, bless his little angry gay heart, rightfully responds with "And? Who tf do you think you are?"

Kang is clearly struggling. Struggling with Sailom's anger, and with finding the right thing to say that will appease him and also be true-- the thing that will quiet the screaming in his heart, because big feelings are not his forte.

And then Sailom deflates a little, and says "Please, can you just tell me?" and asks tiredly if he's somehow made Kang feel guilty again (because why else would Kang be there, there's nothing between them, right? They're not friends, Kang just feels guilty about how he's treated Sailom, right) And then, Kang knows what to do.

(it's also Very Interesting to me that in an episode that told so much of its story in flashback montages, the one that we get right when they kiss is "I used to hate it, but I think I'm starting to like it", because despite everything, Kang has never hated Sailom. Dude has been obsessed from the start)

Anyway, this was going to be a funny post with just the pictures of our boy being jealous, and then figuring out why, but obviously I'm not normal about them and this happened. *shrug emoji*

#dangerous romance the series #dangerous romance #kangsailom

[darlingofvalyria]

❝I have these two great friends called Birth and Control.❞

part 06 | it's called a love bug, lovebug

chapter summary:

[ Sunday dinners are actually made for confessions. As Alicent braves it with a wine and a blush, you brave it too. With a boy and a view. ]

[ 2,963 ] [ series masterlist ] |best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader & aemond targaryen x alys rivers,

contains— angst - hurt/minimal comfort(?) - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— alexa play it's all coming back to me now by celine dion. it might read a little stilted, i struggled a bit with this chapter as i wrote it in different times. ps. i didn't translate aemond's valyrian with intention. hope it still works? comment, reblog & like at will, mwa ♡

You had never heard of a more reverbrating sound than Helaena's smack to a poor, traumatised Daeron. "You toe licking, armpit looking, ugly garbage can!" Healeana shrieked, promptly dragging her youngest brother further away as you and Aemond scurried deeper into the safety of the darkness and shame, folded defensively onto one another, laughing your asses off.

"Oh my god," you exhale. "I am never going leaving this maze. I am going to live here, eating brambles and shit, and die here. Leave me now and prevail, Aemond. I will be fine. I'll haunt you in two to three business days."

Aemond chuckles from below you, unseen from your gaze, the mesmerised adoration he held as he can still feel his lips tingling from your desperation, still feel the curves of your body, the soft skin— he clears his throat, holding you steady by your hips before moving around until he's hovering over you as you adjusted your dress, eyes fluttering his with pressed lips trying not to laugh.

"I have a feeling dinner is ready."

"I also have a feeling your mother and grandfather knew exactly what we were doing minutes before and I fear I'd rather die here than face that."

He laughs, offering his hand and you take it regardless. "Then my mother would be glad. She didn't exactly feel the new bliss of couples between us."

You scoff. "Only because you treated me like you were cosplaying a Frost Giant." At his raised eyebrow and choked, surprised laugh, you blush. "Oh, get off with it. Your sister really likes the idea of Jotun!Loki and I am not one to kinkshame."

He strangles a laugh, peeling stray twigs from your hair. "I wouldn't dare assume. Let's go eat."

You tighten your hold on his hand, worry crescent on your forehead that Aemond straightens. "And talk?" As good as that felt, as perfect as puzzles sliding in together, you were past the age where burrowing it deep with the good parts and ignoring the pressing talks that need to be addressed.

And Aemond deserved better than that at least.

"Okay." He nods, swallowing. "Later, please."

"Okay." You try and reassure him with a smile and that seems to appease him, if a little.

Once Aegon had made five jokes concerning Daeron's loud rant— he was promptly shut up by his sister smacking him in the back of the head as soon as their mother was fretting in the kitchen and their grandfather's phone pinging for his attention, spoon on his mouth that might have been a medical nightmare — dinner went smoothly.

Daeron had successfully refused to look at your general direction, or his brother, or both since you sat together, churlish in giggles, in chatter and light arguments. Aemond kept taking the nicely marinated baby potatoes on his plate to yours once you finished up your own, and exchanged it with shuffling green beans to his plate because he loves them— it's nice.

It's more than nice. It's everything you could hope for when you think about dinner with your boyfriend's family. It's a softened thought that brews to yearning. You want this. You want be sat next to Aemond like this again, making jokes, piling food onto each other's plate, ribbing with his brother until he blushed then standing up against him when it got too far— seeing the smile he sends your way, endearing, loving, and for a moment, for this one realised moment built on lies and chuckle-fuckery ease, you let yourself indulge.

You joke about spoon feeding him dessert and blush as he envelops his soft lips over the spoon, Daeron and Aegon mimicking gags while Alicent is blushing, unable to stop a girlish giggle, a sound so surprised to her own person that she hiccups.

You are with him and you give yourself strength to break his heart.

Dinner finishes off with a lazy flick, Alicent and his father descending into business talks that usually included Aemond and though you tell him you can go hang out with Helaena— Daeron and Aegon deciding on playing The Last of Us in the game room because Aegon said he needed a good cry but also to shoot things — Aemond who had taken your hand sometime ago and has been brushing his thumb over your knuckles in a soothing gesture, implores you with a look.

You swallow and give a nod, trying for another smile that fails, noticing the moment Aemond sees it fail, his brow curling, lips pursing but doesn't say anything.

As he moves to lead, he pauses, turning back to you. "Where—?"

"Your room?"

Just as he nods, Alicent's soft and embarrassed, "Keep the door open, please," pulls you both to a blushing stop.

Otto— and Helaena rifling through ice cream in the kitchen — crow simultaneous, "Alicent," and "Mom!" as Alicent raises both her hands, the wine in her right sloshing. Though she is pink-cheeked, she maintains eye contact with her son while Aemond is struggling.

"I know you're old and smart enough, young man, and you are such a lovely girl," Alicent says to you, "and I would no doubt adore the grandchildren you will provide me—"

"Oh my gods," you stifle your giggles as Aemond makes a discordant sound in the back of his throat, like a cat hacking a saw. Otto is laughing into his wine while Helaena is making gagging noises in the background.

"— but I hope to have them when Aemond's at least graduated, so that he can provide well for you." Alicent nods, blinking. You can tell that the wine is catching up to her. "He's a good boy so I'm sure he'll do right by you. But I at least want you both to be married, of course, I would prefer if Aegon or Helaena got married first but—"

"— and that's my cue to stage left, folks," Helaena says, making a face as she grabs the entire tub of cookies and cream. "If anyone needs me, I'm in my room trying to find a husband so my baby brother can get married, gods forbid he carries on with bastards from his beautiful girlfriend— whomst, by the way, is my best friend, dunno how we're forgetting my credit in all of this."

Aemond shakes his head. "They're not sleeping here, mom, and providing you grandchildren is not in my agenda." He tugs your hand, smirking as he pulls you close only to whisper playfully, "Not tonight at least."

You shiver, laughing under your breath. "I dunno if you know this, but I have these two great friends called Birth and Control."

He breaks into a laugh and that, at least, eases the tension until you round up in his room, trying to give Helaena a meaningful look but you don't think she understands it with how she salutes you with her spoon, winking audaciously.

"Here." Aemond flicks the light on and his childhood bedroom brings a smile to your face. It's cerebral, the faint blue of his textured wallpaper, the perfectly lined books, even the framed achievements. But there's also the Oasis poster, the little figurines that you know is part of some Old Valyrian battle replica he collected when he was younger, even his old fencing gear and an exact photo of it alongside his club master, his grandfather, and family friend, Criston Cole.

"It's been a while since I've been here," you tease lightly. "It's kind of funny of your mom to think I'd be the first hot girl to christen your childhood bed."

He hums, turning away as he closes the door. When he turns back, he's rolled back his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks at you with sincerity.

"It wouldn't be much of a competition to beat. You were the first hot girl I'd ever got inside my room."

"Ahh. Right. Teasing you before your growth spurt was the highlight of my week."

Aemond let out an aggressive sigh as you laugh. "I was a senior in high school when I met you, riña, this is getting ridiculous. Borderline paedophilic since I had you moaning an hour ago."

You heave, slapping his arm. "Okay, stop, you made it weird now. Gross. Eugh."

"Promise you'll stop now?"

"Fine, I promise."

An awkwardness settles before Aemond nods at the double French doors. "Wanna talk on the patio? You've always liked my room's view than Lae's."

"Yeah," you grin.  "'Cos you got the only view of the lake."

"You can barely see it with the trees. And this darkness." Reason out all he wants, but he opens the door for you, and the cool air is crisp and nice against your warm skin.

You hold out on the ledge, squinting your eyes so you can see peeks of luminous bounce of the calm lake between dark sways of forest. Once in a while, it glitters and glimmers, making itself known.

"It isn't fully true though."

"What is?" Aemond fixes his elbows, warmth pressed against yours as he stares at a fixed point of nowhere. But you can feel his tension, feel his questions he's trying to be patient to keep in. You're glad for it. Grateful. Because it gives you enough courage to confess.

"I hung out in your room because I liked hanging out with you," you admit. "Teasing you was the highlight of my day."

"Gee. Thanks."

"I was more surprised you kept letting me hang out with you when I did nothing but annoy you."

"Why do you think that is, ñuha riña?" he asks softly.

"Because you're sweet?"

The way he's looking at you... it makes you breatheless. Especially when he moves to turn fully toward you, taking you by your elbows, and you close your eyes when he leans in expecting his mouth on you, your heart dancing in the palm of his hand because it feels so, so easy to trust Aemond with it, instead he presses his lips underneath your eye, nuzzling against your nose. It shatters and remakes your heart, making you hold onto his shirt for some semblance of comfort.

"Because I've always liked you," he whispers against your skin as if it's his best kept secret. "Because I'm weak when it comes to you. Because you," he breathes against your mouth, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and giving it a tug, "make it easy to want you."

A weak laugh escapes your lips and his mouth follows the sound as if he wants to swallow it, but you press a palm to his chest. He growls.

"Easy there, tiger, that didn't sound much like a compliment."

He pulls back, holding your face. "Sorry, shit, I didn't mean— I'm not good at this. I meant... you're unattainable. Not just as Helaena's best friend but... you're cool, you're fucking gorgeous and incredibly hilarious."

"Ñuha jorrāelagon." He breathes care into the word. The word is lost on me and I force my brain to pocket it like a love letter so I can search it up. "I never thought I could be here, touching you like this." Without warning, he moulds his lips to yours in a harsh, deep kiss. It's quick but it leaves you breathless, his voice coming up ragged. "Kiss you like this. It feels like I'm in a dream and I'm struggling to let go of it. So a while ago... after..."

You nod, pressing your forehead against his, unable to look at him in the eye. You focus on touching him, your hands sliding down, making him shiver when you go underneath his shirt, skating his side until you warm your cool fingers with his spine.

"That's the thing, Aemy," you whisper. "In your head, by your words, I'm always a version to you."

 He calls your name, leaning back and you're forced to see the confusion on his face.

"Helaena's best friend. Past that, an unattainable crush. Now a fake girlfriend. Someone you use to get Alys' attention, and who better than the unattainable crush? It's a pedestal, Aemy."

"It's not like that, that was a bad, convoluted—"

"But it's the truth, it's how I feel. And though that sucks, I understand." You take his hands as you step back and he's frowning harder, the lines deepen and his jaw is tight. "I knew what I was getting into, you know? But things change because I've changed."

 "It's Cregan, isn't it?" he snarls, tugging his hands away.

"Oh, you jealous idiot, it's you! We've gone over this, you incredible dumbass!"

"Me? How the hell is this about—"

"— because I love you!" you shout. Then stop, inhale. Blink. Aemond copies it. It's almost hilarious. "Or I know I can be."

He works his jaw, turning away. "I don't understand."

"Okay, here it is." You inhale. "Just listen and breathe for a second, okay? Okay? Don't turn away from me." You pull him back by his chin, smiling faintly at the pout you form. "Say you understand."

He sighs, taking your hand. "Yes, I understand."

"I can't compete with someone you've loved for so long," you start softly, staring at your conjoined hands wondering if this is the last time you'll get to hold him like this. "Without you showing you can love me for more than that. I can't compete with your own ideal happy ending if I'm not part of it. I won't. I refuse." Your smile is wry, it's heartbreak and it's strings. You wish you had the energy to scream, to act like a brat and demand his heart, his promises in gold-ink and pink-veined hue. It's what your heart wants.

But you're of big age. You've seen love in its spaces, how it takes root in people, how it affects the world around you.

And you know you cannot love him if he does not make the effort to love you in the same way.

Your heart is in your throat but the words come out anyway. "Because I love you, Aemy. And I know I can fight for you. I can fight for what we have. I can wake up tomorrow and choose to love you with the same degree, if not fiercer, if I could. And I could do that again and again. That's how love works. You have to wake up tomorrow, see me, and choose to love me all over again."

You smile gently, sadly. "I can't allow myself to be loved in halves. I've done that before, I'm not doing it again. Not even for you."

You bring yourself on your tip toes— damn tall, beautiful rat bastard — and brush your lips on the corner of his. His eye closed. "I'm not going to pressure you for an answer. Alys was... Alys is a big part of what you know is love, and I respect that. I understand that it'll be hard, but I need to know if you're willing to let go of it for me. Because I can promise you I can love you. But I won't. Not without assurance that you can try for me."

"What are you asking me?" he asks softly, straightening. There's a hard line going into his body, like a dutiful student given an assignment.

"I'm asking you to think if you can see past the little statue you've made of me. See me breathing. Alive, just like this." You press a hand to his face and retrieve it back before he can hold it. He shots you a look of betrayal. "I'm going home with Hel. You know how to message me, okay? Bye, dōna zaldrīzes."sweet dragon.

His eye flick upward, shock and heartbreak and confusion moulds and twists into such a beautiful blue, mouth agape trying to find words he can't find— and you smile wryly, turning away and leaving.

You get to Helaena's door quick, knocking soon after.

"Hmph!"

 "You're either getting choked by a robber or masturbating, and really Hel, I need you to make two grunts to tell me the former so I can bust down the door because I don't want to see you bust a—"

The door swings wide, Helaena's face in a comical irritation.

"That is so fucked up, I hope you know— hey, hey." Her irritation sweeps into a frown as you fail to contain your watery eyes. "What happened? What's wrong? What did Aemond do? Oh, that little twerp—"

"— it's not him, it's not him, chill, I just wanna go home, yeah? Get our cakes and go, please?"

Hel's frown deepens, eyes darting back to Aemond's door.

"Please, Helaena," you beg. "I'll tell you when we get home. I'll make us special drinks."

She takes your hand, determination wound tight with concern. "Sure thing, babe. Let's go."

When you make your hasty departure to her grandfather of all of them, Alicent already in bed and the other boys still in the gaming room, cakes in hand, you tow over Helaena's baby blue buggy— she leans over at you with a hand on the ignition, whispering as if she was afraid, "You— are you meeting Cregan tonight? After, I mean." Her eyes widen. "I'm not judging, I'd never—"

"No, no, I understand. You'd never judge me for that, I know. But no. Just you and me tonight."

She smiles softly. It's not like Aemond's but they don't look that apart that it still stings. "Love you."

"Love you too, lovebug."

Loving Helaena isn't hard.

Just as you know loving Aemond wouldn't be, despite it all. But it isn't you that has issues that needs handling, and you've put everything in his court now.

And yet you can't deny your hope.

TAGGED: @snowprincesa1 @gemini-mama @fan-goddess @snh96 @valeskafics @opheliaas-stuff @tempo-rary-fix @fantasticpeaceharmony @diannnnsss @iamavailablesstuff @spinachtz @at-a-rax-ia @bespinnn @tsujifreya @moonlightfoxx @kemillyfreitas @joyouart @bananzaa @honey-on-mars @alexa4040 @cinnamonbambii @wintrr13 @wxb-slingrr @astroswift @queenofshinigamis @helaenaluvr @kaetastic @jxdgodfrey @laniii-on-your-left @watercolorskyy @microwaveallthedemons @kazuyatokue @herfantastyworldd @averyyreads @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bellstwd @jiminie-08 @ttkttt @nockerin @backyardfolklore @random-ocity @hc-geralt-23 @vendettasblog @cicaspair418 @malynn @anehkael @schadenfreude-and-sarcasm @honey132

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond angst #aemond fluff #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒 #tshbft ༊*·˚ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n

[sweet-evie]

Strolling in Starlight

A glimpse into the life of a single dad who's doing his best.

masterlist || pt

Content: Established Relationship, afab!oc, fem!oc, nameless!oc, she/her/hers pronouns for Satoru's S/O, singleparent!gojo, dad!gojo, Sentimental!Gojo, Mentions of Suguru and Satoru’s deceased lover, Pining (all Satoru), Satsuki doesn’t understand a thing her dad is saying.

A/N: Not Gojo showing off his powers to a baby as if they can understand.

Never Grow Up Pt 3

December 2012

“‘Tsukiiii…” Satoru groaned, stretching out the last syllable in her name as he pushed her door open. “I thought we were past this.”

Grumbling, he effortlessly picked his way through the mess of building blocks and plushies on the floor that he neglected to put away before her bedtime. (Infinity on auto was a perk he never wanted to be without; saved him emergency trips to the hospital because he was sure he’d stepped on legos hundreds of times by now).

Satoru propped his elbows on the edge of Satsuki’s bassinet and peered down at her scrunched up, slightly red face from crying. This was the fourth time this week — consecutive days of the house being shaken up at ungodly hours of the morning because of a screaming baby and her consequently turbulent cursed energy.

Shoko warned him about this… She told him some babies get into a phase at 7 months where they don’t appreciate being apart from their caretakers and that it’s completely normal, but it sure is a bitch to deal with. Usually, it wasn’t a problem, because Satoru rarely slept anyways, and he was — more often than not — awake and doing things. His concern was Megumi and Tsumiki. Those kids needed their sleep… And Satsuki had a pair of lungs on her. Wonder where she got those from.

“Princess, I’m all for you crying and calling for me, but we can’t keep waking up Tsumiki and Megumi like this. They have school tomorrow… I think.”

Satsuki rolled over to lie on her stomach. She was still crying, a little quieter now that her favorite person had come into the room to appease her.

“C’mere.”

He reached in and lifted her out of her bassinet, and held her at arms’ length. She had that ridiculously adorable dumbfounded look on her face that most babies seemed to have after they stopped crying — looking around cluelessly as if they didn’t cause disturbances just moments before. If he had neighbors and they lived in a smaller apartment, he was sure he would have gotten noise complaints by now.

Satoru brought his daughter closer and did the routine check he’d always done every time she woke up in the middle of the night since he brought her home from the hospital 7 months ago. Her diapers didn’t require changing, and she wasn’t hungry, so…

“Did you really just want to be close to me?” He teased her, tickling her tummy a little.

She squealed her answer and as she gave him her gummy smile, he narrowed his eyes.

“Are your teeth coming in?” He had the inappropriate urge to poke his finger in and feel around her gums, because those little white buds were definitely not there before. “Shoko told me you might be a late teether. You were supposed to get these 3 months ago.”

In hindsight, that probably explained all the drooling, the general fussiness, her awful habit of attempting to eat her fingers until someone brought over a pacifier, and her demonic urge to gum all her plushies to death. His clothes didn’t escape her either.

“I’m getting you a teething ring. I really should’ve, don’t know how I missed that.”

Satoru outstretched his hand and used Blue to draw one of Satsuki’s toys over to him. The movement caught the baby’s attention, and she squealed in delight as she followed the object’s path. How did it look to her curious eyes, a plushie flying across the room to land in her father’s palm? But it seemed she couldn’t care less after Satoru handed it to her. She grabbed Wanyamon and pulled on its ears. Her babbling and her attempt at motor boating (something she picked up from Tsumiki and Satoru) showered her father in drool.

Satoru snickered and watched as Satsuki’s face lit up with excitement. It must be another sight to see — liquid suspended in midair, drool kept at bay by Infinity.

“Okay, Spitter, now what?” Shaking his head, he pushed the small plushy back into her arms when it almost fell to the floor from her lax grip. 

Satsuki crumpled the cloth in her little fists and put one of the ears into her mouth. Snickering, he kissed the top of her head and bounced her a little in his arms. “You don’t look sleepy, but I need you to go back to bed because it’s so late, and your mom will hate me if you don’t get the sleep that you’re supposed to.”

She stared up at him with big doe amber eyes that reminded him too much of her late mother, just as an idea popped into his head.

“Hey ‘Tsuki? Want to go see the stars up close?”

=OoOoO=

Beautiful star-studded Tokyo skies were rare to see, but it was a privilege enjoyed by the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. Suspended mid-air, 6,000 feet above the ground, Satoru strolled across empty air, stepping on manipulated space underneath his feet, walking through clouds with each step, carrying a deeply fascinated baby in his arms.

Not for the first time, he himself appreciated the blanket of stars above them. He was holding Satsuki up against his chest and shoulders and she leaned back as far as she could, turning her fair-haired head this way and that, little hands tugging mercilessly on his hair all the while.

Her excitement came in the form of babbles and squeals that sometimes sounded like they were supposed to be questions, and he nodded along.

“Bet you didn’t think your dad could fly huh?” Satoru smirked, gently prying her fingers away from the hair hanging in front of his face. She’d poked his eye one too many times for his liking by now. “Well, it’s not flying… More like… I’m manipulating the space around me so I can do things like this.”

A finely controlled red orb launched itself from the tips of his fingers. The ball of energy careened across the sky and dissipated after it disturbed a group of cumulus clouds.

Satsuki was murmuring things softly in a language that only babies could understand. She twisted restlessly in his arms and Satoru had to re-secure his hold on her lest she fall.

“What are you so interested in back there?” Satoru teased, turning around to stare at empty air behind him. “Red is not enough for you?”

“Da-da Da-da~ Dada.” She sang and giggled and swung her tiny onesie-clad legs.

As the wind continued tousling his hair, he readjusted the beanie on Satsuki’s head, so it covered her ears a little more. For some reason, she reminded him of one of those Kewpie baby commercials from his childhood — all wide-eyed curious stares and rosy cheeks. 

“As I was saying before you interrupted me—” He booped the tip of her nose and she scrunched her face at him. “If you happen to have Limitless too, you could do cool stuff like what daddy did and show off to all of your friends. It’s going to take a lot more effort to master Limitless, or at least, use it competently without Six Eyes, but I know you can do it. You have me, after all. I’m the best teacher you’ll ever have.”

“Baboo!”

“Ow!”

Satsuki squealed and closed her fist around Satoru’s nose, giggling and smiling her gummy smile as her father made a face. He pried her hand off again, and mimed eating her fingers — making the silly cookie monster noises that he knew she recognized from Sesame Street. (He had his current students to thank for that). Her answering shriek could have woken Megumi and Tsumiki had they been in the house, and Satoru laughed along with her.

He held her at arm’s length as she continued to squeal and drool all over the front of her onesie. He spun around slowly twice, just to see how his baby would react, and she rewarded his efforts with a string of baby talk.

“Why are you so energetic at like two in the morning?” He wondered out loud, bringing her close again.

She wriggled in his hold and subconsciously wrapped her short and chubby arms around his neck.

“You don’t even know what stargazing is yet, do you?” He readjusted his hold on her again and patted her back slowly to the rhythm of ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ playing in his head. “It’s when people go outside to stare up at the night sky and try to find constellations. To be honest, it’s pretty lame when you live in the city because hardly any stars would be visible through all the light pollution. This is way better, don’t you think so?”

Satoru doubted the baby was paying attention to him as she stared up at the endless expanse of tiny lights above them — babbling and doing her own commentary in a language only she understood.

“Mhm, those are stars, Princess. We still can’t touch them from here, but we can see a lot more of them.”

They whiled away in the sky for a short time like that; father and daughter strolling together under a dark canvas dotted with billions of balls of gas, burning hundreds of miles away. He pointed out made-up constellations to her, naming them after people in his life — talking about how those clusters of stars looked like Megumi when he was reading a book, or how that particular line of stars reminded him of Tsumiki when she played in the swings.

It was weird, but Satsuki didn’t think so…

The wind continued to whip at his hair and his clothes when he chose a spot in the sky to stop. Carefully, he sat on empty space — next to a pocket of fluffy white clouds, stretched his legs, and crossed them at the ankles so he could lay Satsuki lengthwise on his lap.

Satsuki kicked her legs out and giggled at him as he held her tiny fists in both of his hands; playing a makeshift game of close-open-close with her short arms, while humming another nursery rhyme he was sure he’d learned when he was a child himself.

“Hey, guess what?” Satoru leaned closer a little and whispered conspiratorially after the second nursery song ended. “Your great grandma told me once that people who are gone turn into stars.”

Satsuki replied with a bunch of incomprehensible baby talk. She twisted around again to lay on her stomach, and Satoru was quick to pick her up and guide her into a sitting position on his knee instead, with his arms supporting her and holding her close for safety.

“Pu-pee.” She squealed and giggled again, curious hands reaching up to grab and tug at her beanie. “Da-da, da-da~ Da-daaaaa~”

Smiling at her unquenchable eagerness and energy, he slowly rocked her back and forth and littered quick kisses along the side of her face while he stared up at the canopy of stars. 

“Do you think Mommy’s up there?” Satoru shook his head and chuckled. “I bet Mommy would kick my ass because this is actually pretty dangerous for you, you know. One slip-up and it’s ‘down will come baby, cradle and all.’ Should’ve brought the carrier. But eh… It’s fine.” He kissed the top of her beanie. “I won’t let anything hurt you. I’m the safest place you’ll ever be. Your dad’s the strongest after all.”

They listened to the wind as it sung a song of its own, and perhaps if he deluded himself enough, he would be convinced it was his Love coming to check on them momentarily. Yes, she would probably chide him for being careless and for bringing his daughter thousands of feet up into the air, but if she were here, he would have brought her with them too.

It had the makings of a perfect family date, didn’t it?

Just him, her, and their baby girl strolling under starlight — far away from the stresses of normal life and jujutsu sorcery.

“I miss your mom.” 

Had Satsuki been old enough to understand, perhaps she would have heard how sadness stained her father’s usually cheery disposition… Perhaps she would have seen the way the light in his eyes dulled ever so slightly at the memory of the Love he had lost.

And yet, a fond and bittersweet smile still made its way to his lips at every memory that drifted to the surface. “I did this with her once. Took her up to Tokyo Skytree. She kept smacking me the first time I did it because I startled her. My bad…” He snickered and perked up suddenly when he remembered, “Oh! My teleportation doesn’t disorient you, does it?”

“Da-da da-da… Ba-boo~ Ba-bee!”

“Taking that as a ‘no.’” He sighed. “I miss my best friend too. His name’s Suguru. You would have liked him if he were still around. Suguru can absorb and manipulate curses, and he really had this cool rainbow dragon curse that he would bring out sometimes. Auntie Shoko, me, and him used to fly above Tokyo riding on that thing.”

And what a headache they gave Yaga too… Wandering outside of campus after class hours was generally frowned upon and heavily discouraged, but that hadn’t stopped the three of them from leaving their dorms in the dead of night anyway. He treasured the memory of those balmy nights full of late convenience store snack runs. They would hang out in parks after that, or sneak into izakayas. (He and Suguru were certainly tall enough to pass, and no one said ‘no’ to Shoko). Sometimes, they deliberately returned to campus when the sun was high just to see what would happen if they broke school regulations.

“There was also the stingray, but that one’s smaller and only fits one person.” 

Satoru mumbled to himself, lost in the memory of that time when he dared to race Suguru. Which was faster? The stingray vs the rainbow dragon. Shoko thought they were ridiculous, but she played referee for them anyway — all while she rode atop another one of Suguru’s airborne curses, casually smoking her cigarette as she watched the boys cackle and try to playfully sabotage each other to get the upper hand.

A moment of silence followed, punctuated by the howl of the wind and Satsuki’s quieter babbling.

“Princess, do you even know that you’re born into a sorcerer family? Maybe you don’t understand yet, but I’ve seen you interacting with Megumi’s dogs.” 

Megumi introduced them to her at Satoru’s suggestion, just to see if Satsuki would react, and she did. She patted their fur and crawled towards them. Satoru would go so far as to say she would have chased them if she had been capable of walking… Perhaps soon the house would come alive with the sounds of little feet pattering on the floor, pursuing shadow pups. Megumi didn’t react to it much, but Satoru caught him summoning the dogs with Satsuki around. He would read to her while she poked and prodded at the Divine Dogs.

Too bad Tsumiki can’t see the canines though…

Cheeks puffed out in disappointment, Satoru muttered, “It sucks that Tsumiki can’t see them the way you and Megumi can. She would have loved those dogs.”

“Mi-mi boo… Da-da da-da!”

He smiled and poked his daughter’s cheek. “Tsumiki is just like your mommy, you see. She’s a non-sorcerer, and if things go well, she can live a normal and happy life. I want that for you too, ‘Tsuki. I’d give it to you. To be honest though, I wanted to wait to have you… Don’t take this the wrong way, Princess, but Mommy and I weren’t supposed to make you yet.”

His Love’s panicked face after she’d confirmed her suspicions still felt so fresh. He could still see her in his mind’s eye — could still see the droop in her shoulders when she approached him and confessed, the pregnancy test held between her trembling hands.

“We wanted to get married after I’ve reformed the jujutsu world, and then we’d have you. But you came early! And that’s completely fine too.” He smiled fondly at Satsuki’s innocent face, blinking up at him. “At least now, you get to see me do it, and by the time you’re all set to go to Jujutsu Tech, it will be different, and so much better.”

Her smile slowly began to turn upside down and her familiar cry for attention pierced the air not long after. If she wasn’t in need of a diaper change or hungry, that only meant one other thing. Someone was getting cranky and that same someone was demanding her beauty sleep. Finally.

Satoru tucked her into the crook of his neck again and patted her back gently, readjusting his hold at the same time so she could snuggle more comfortably if she needed it.

“What do you say we make this a tradition? Just you and me. Like that idea?”

But his voice had already lulled her to sleep, and Satoru smiled.

“Sleep tight, sweet girl. I have you.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #dad!gojo #girl dad gojo #fushigojo #single parent gojo #mentions of #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x oc #gojo x oc #satoru gojo x oc #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #wbad fanfiction

[vettelsdarling]

Omgg I felt in the mood for some 1D and was listening to “Change my mind” and all I can think about is Lando, so like a friends to lover, mutual pining slow burn and was wondering if you can write a fic based off that pls? Your writing is too good 😩❤️

𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬..?

Lissie note… I hadn’t heard the song until now, but it’s pretty good! I really enjoyed writing this, thank you for the great idea!!! Tysm for the kind words as well, you’re so sweet!<3

Things to note:

Reader is a college student graduating early (so basically her junior yr)

Lando and Reader are both clueless

Lando and Reader have been best friends since childhood

This doesn’t follow a specific timeline

Charlotte is amazing

Pairing: Lando Norris x Best friend!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Slight cursing

Word Count: 5.3k+

Playlist recommendations: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟💗, 𝐋𝐍𝟒

Taglist: @ophcelia, @allwaysallyway

The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. The last race of the season, and one that you always attended despite your busy schedule. It was something you simply couldn't skip, even if you wanted to.

Lando Norris, your long-term best friend, had been there for you through thick and thin. You’d just started your junior year in college, and it was nothing but constant pressure. Lando would call you late at night to help you with anything you needed. Therefore, you came to any races that you had time for. Abu Dhabi, however, was non-negotiable. You had to be there. Especially seeing as it meant you’d finally have more time to spend with the Brit. Whenever a season would come to a close, he’d spend his time with you.

Your parents were great friends with his, so it was only natural for the two of you to have grown up together. You came to many of his karting sessions to cheer him on, whilst he attended your spelling bees and other academic competitions. It was a give-and-take relationship that you couldn’t wish differently for the world. He was truly the only friend you could lean on.

He’d driven you to college. He’d helped you unpack. All the whilst you’d frequently check up on him and stream all of his races. Somehow, the two of you made that friendship work. It was something like giving and taking. You were one of the reasons why he chose to pursue his passion. In the beginning, he felt discouraged due to the amount of pressure, but with your words of encouragement, he pulled through.

Sitting on your bed in your shared hotel room, you admired a pair of earrings that Lando had gotten for you. Apparently, he wanted to have you attend a special gathering before Friday would dawn the free practice rounds. You’d done a week’s worth of work in advance to appease your professors by your absence, so taking some days off never proved a hassle.

“Hey, can you tell me how long I have left?!” The Brit yelled from the shower. He wasn’t the type to rush, and was often “fashionably late”. Excuses of various kinds were his forté, and you could only go along with whatever ruse he brewed up every time. You didn’t mind though. He was a nice change of pace from the back-to-back seminars and classes you had to sit through.

“About 20 minutes until we have to leave!” He didn’t reply, but you knew he’d gotten the message.

You continued to eye the jewelry in your palms. It was an intricate design with different gemstones in one piece. It was quite beautiful. Something you wouldn’t see at any regular jeweler. Lando was generous, if anything. You always tried to refuse his gifts, but would eventually wake up to a present by your bedside table. There was really no stopping him. If he wanted to spoil you rotten, he was going to do it without fail. You would surely end up a soaked sponge from everything you were taking in. He didn’t ask anything in return, besides your company and support. Something as simple as that sufficed. You couldn’t understand his train of thought, but that’s what made him unique.

That’s what first made you fall for him. Slowly but surely. There was no way to tell him though. He was far too occupied to be dating, and you were swamped with work. It wasn’t in the stars for the two of you. Lando never even showed an ounce of romantic interest anyway, so all you could do was hope your feelings would die down. Simple and easy… right?

The paparazzi knew that your friendship with the McLaren driver was old news and not worth spreading rumours about, so when you arrived at the gala, there was no big fuss about it. You’d attended several events as his plus one. Additionally, you were well acquainted with the rest of the grid, by now the whole world knew that you were simply a close friend. Not a wag.

The gala was grand. From gorgeous chandeliers and fancy ceiling decor to fine dining, you couldn’t see an end to the luxury. Frat parties were a far cry from this lifestyle. Although you’d been to several gala dinners with your best friend, they only seemed to climb the sophistication ladder every year.

Since Lando had to talk to certain people at the event, you decided to mingle. What better way to move on from Lando, than to get with someone else? The least you could do was try. College boys were nothing compared to the men you saw lingering behind pillars and swirling wine.

“Oh hey, you!” Someone yelled from behind you.

“Lewis! It’s so nice to see you. We haven’t seen each other in a while.” The champion was a nice try, but you couldn’t. He was a close friend and it felt wrong. Almost as if you’d be dating your brother.

“You here with Norris?” You nodded at his question, quickly grabbing a flute of champagne as a waiter passed by.

“How’s college? I hear you’re graduating early?”

“I am! Yeah, I just took on a lot of work. I’d rather get out in the field sooner than later, you know?” You’d finish your junior year as your senior. That had been your plan from the beginning. You worked yourself to the bone, taking up extra assignments to get more credit.

“I get you, I probably would’ve done the same. You’re really admirable.” After you shot him a quick smile, the two of you were interrupted by Charles and Charlotte. It was obvious that the Monegasque had been dragged along by his girlfriend. Your favourite girl.

“Charlotte! Oh, it’s been too long!” The two of you immediately embraced each other, careful to not spill any champagne. She was stunning, wearing a gorgeous Prada maxi gown with a high slit. It was to die for, but so was your Alexander McQueen deconstructed trench dress. Anyone within a 50-kilometer radius would notice how it complimented your curves and the colour of your skin.

“It really has. It’s such a shame that I only ever get to see you at small events and at Abu Dhabi. You should come to more races. I know Lando misses you,” she teased the last part, but it still tugged at your heart. The slightest possibility that it was true… You wanted to believe it. So badly it hurt.

“He’ll have to exercise patience,” you chuckled and downed the last bit of champagne you had left. Charles and Lewis were somehow deep in conversation, so Charlotte decided to sneak you away.

The two of you were sat at a table near the back where the atmosphere was significantly heavier. It wasn’t as light as up front, but the dimmed lights made it cozy enough to sit and chat.

“So, tell me about you and Lando,” she said as if there was something between you and the McLaren driver. She knew very well that there wasn’t anything going on, but she had that feeling. You were hiding something.

“I mean… It's the same as always. We’ve been texting back and forth whilst I was busy with my classes and stuff. Nothing out of the ordinary?” It was the truth, but it definitely wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She proceeded to make that very clear to you,

“You know that’s not what I mean…”

“I don’t know what you mean, Cha.”

“Of course you do. I’ve seen the way you look at Lando. It’s very obvious.” She heavily emphasized ‘very’ and dragged out the ‘e’ in it. Charlotte was the type of person who you just couldn’t hide anything from. The girl was a literal detective.

“Is it really?” She could only nod pitifully at your question.

Sure, you’d started seeing Lando in a different light as of late. The way he walked, the way he talked, the way he looked at you as if he was in love with you whenever you spoke. You knew most of your notes were delusional. You were stuck on an island. That island being: Delusion Island.

“I hate myself.” You sighed and let your head fall onto the clothes table. Charlotte stroked the back of your head gently to console you.

“Does he know?” She posed a question she already knew the answer to, and when you didn’t respond— she confirmed it.

“I can’t tell you exactly what to do, but Lando is going to find out eventually.” You didn’t even want to think about that possibility. Burying your feelings and crushing them into oblivion was your only option and it seemed like the most viable one.

“The future version of me will have to deal with that. I can’t handle it right now.” You found little strength to pick yourself up and get another flute of champagne.

The rest of the night was spent drinking and blabbering. Charlotte was able to talk for hours on end, and so were you. It was one of the reasons the two of you were close. She was your favorite of all the drivers’ girlfriends. She and Kika both. Though you weren’t as close to Pierre as you were to most of the grid. Especially Lando.

When Lando found you again, you were absolutely shit-faced. You were slurring nonsensical words that melted together into a concoction of a drunken mess. Charlotte was just as far gone. Charles was able to carry her home though. Lando had to make a split-second decision. Was he really going to carry you?

It wasn’t a case of wanting to. He definitely did. The Brit was practically obsessed with you. For most of his life, he’d been orbiting you. Ever since the two of you were in your teens, he’d been utterly and irrevocably in love with you. You, however, were busy studying and he was busy with his growing career in racing. He was worried you’d never notice, but he also didn’t want you to. There was something holding him back. The looming doom of uncertainty. You were this gorgeous and intelligent woman, with eyes that looked as if they’d been painted by one of the greats during the era of romanticism.

Seeing you there on the table, totally blacked out and out of touch with reality, he wanted to be your knight in shining armor. For one night, he wanted to be the man of your dreams. There was one problem though. The paparazzi. He’d successfully fended them off about dating rumours between the two of you. But if he were to walk out with you slung over his back, he was feeding that bone to the hungry hounds of the media. Not exactly the best idea. It boiled down to you or his reputation. Which did he care about the most? Which would he prioritize?

“Fuck it.” He picked your drunken body up and slung it over his back, securing your arms around his neck. You weren’t heavy, but you were making it difficult for him with all of your kicking and wiggling.

“Leave me alone. I need to find Lando. Put me down,” You kept repeating words in a similar fashion until he finally brought you to his car. As he fastened your seatbelt, he saw the look on your wiped-out face. Even with runny mascara and bloodshot eyes, you were ethereal. Truly something else.

“Lando?” Hearing his name leave your lips nearly made his heart do a double take, much like his eyes.

“Yes, love?”

“I really have to use the bathroom.” How to ruin a perfect moment 101. But he could only laugh. It was cute.

“I’ll get you home in time, don’t worry darling.” He got in next to you and started the engine. The hotel wasn’t far, luckily, so you didn’t have to wait much to get your guts spilled into the toilet bowl. Lando held your hair in a makeshift ponytail, as he gently patted your back. Turning your insides out cleared your mind a little bit, and in turn, utter embarrassment filled every crook and nanny of your body. You felt it all the way to the tips of your fingers clutching the toilet seat.

“Ugh, you shouldn’t see me like this, Lan.” You sighed and fell back into his arms. He didn’t mind this. He let you rest there, whilst you slowly started drifting off. The alcohol levels were still rising and you weren’t coming down anytime soon. You were tired. Your eyes threatened to close.

“I don’t care. I really don’t. You mean the world to me. Something like this doesn’t matter to me.” He clutched you like he did his stuffed animals when he was a little boy. There was a newfound comfort in doing this. Something that he knew was limited. Something he knew he’d never get to experience again.

“I’m only telling you this because I know you won’t remember it,” Lando began, as he didn’t want to miss the opportunity,

“I love it when you give me attention. I love it when you cheer me on. Nobody’s opinion matters, but yours. I really only care about yours. I know you don’t feel the same way, but you’re all I think about, You’ve all I’ve ever thought about since we were teenagers. It’s stupid, I know. That’s why I’m saying it now.” Despite the lack of response, his chest felt lighter. Much lighter.

You woke up in your bed with a pounding head and an unreal nausea. Shit. You were going to miss Lando’s practice sessions. You were still in your expensive designer dress, but your makeup had been washed off. On the bedside table, you saw a piece of paper. “Don’t worry about today. Just relax and I’ll be back later. See you. -Lando”. Was there really no end to his thoughtfulness?

“Fuck me, my head…” You groaned and haphazardly made your way to the bathroom. With no ibuprofen let alone Panadol, a splash of water to the face was the only cure. That or a cold shower.

You decided on the latter. After stripping out of your dress, you stepped into the shower and turned it on. The initial sensation of the icy water made your body feel almost electrical, but it soon subsided.

It was hard to recollect any memories from the night before. All that was left in your brain was flashes of Charlotte and more than just a few flutes of champagne. No matter how desperate you were for more information, you simply couldn’t retrieve it. Just trying to think back made your head pound even harder than it already was.

As you stepped out and dressed in one of Lando’s hoodies with some shorts, you fell back into bed. Your body felt too heavy to sit up straight, and you were still subconsciously trying to remember more details.

“I’m never drinking again…” you sighed and eyed the off-white ceiling. Your train of thought trailed towards the McLaren driver. The way he always looked out for you and took care of you if you needed it. You’d never been in any relationships, but you knew that Lando was the perfect guy. He was exactly what you were looking for. It was nothing but a chimera. You could only wish to feel the warmth of his chest against your head.

Speak of the devil, you heard the door open and saw Lando trying to get in without making much noise. He could’ve sworn his heart tumbled around inside his chest when he saw you in his hoodie. The way your shorts were barely visible due to his size being bigger than yours… it did wonders to his imagination.

“You’re awake,” he groaned as he put his things on the ground beside the door.

“That I am.” You smiled and watched as he let his tired body fall back onto his bed, cracking his neck and sighing in relief.

“Need a massage?”

“That’d be great, actually.” After he dragged his tired body to your bed, the two of you shifted in the bed, so that his head was in your criss-crossed laps. You proceeded to work the kinks in his shoulders, pressing your thumb against his skin in circles. The satisfaction on his face was enough to make the rest of your weekend.

“Why study when you can be a masseuse?”

“I’m not that good, Lan.” You moved onto his neck, which you found out was the place he needed to be kneaded the most. He flinched and seethed through his teeth, obviously feeling the exhaustion from the g force on-track.

“Sorry, it hurts. You’ll have to endure it until the pain subsides. It’ll feel good soon. I promise.” As you continued to work his neck, the Brit couldn’t help but take a peek at your face. Your eyes met his and it felt somewhat domestic. It was then, he realized just how domestic the situation was. You were both in bed, with him in your lap and you giving him a massage. That little hope he had left turned into determination. Even if you most likely weren’t into him, he’d want to fight. He wasn’t patient enough to wait around, and with your college situation almost coming to an end— it was the perfect time to make a move.

You felt your face heat up at the eye contact. Never did you even think that he’d be so bold. Yet, you couldn’t pull away from his gaze. You were completely lost in him. A tinge of lament filled your chest, knowing that you’d be selfish to do something in the moment. He was busy racing and probably saw you as a sister anyway. A kiss was completely off the table.

“There you go. Does it feel better?” You let go of him for his own sake. He got up and stretched, noticing how much lighter he felt.

“You’re amazing, thanks for that.” Just seeing his smile had to be enough for you.

You sat beside Charlotte as the two of you watched the qualifying session in full swing. She wore a vintage summer dress, whilst you’d gone for a sophisticated but simple jumpsuit look.

“I missed the practice rounds yesterday,” you groaned and facepalmed.

“Don’t worry, I did too. There was no way I was getting out of bed with that headache,” she chuckled and fiddled with her phone to take pictures as Charles approached the view. She managed to capture his car speeding by and cheered him on with a wide smile on her face.

“So, what are you going to do about Lando?” She tilted her head to the side and gave you her undivided attention.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t even like me, why should I even try? I mean can you even hear what I’m saying? ‘Like’? It’s as if I’m back in high school. It’s so childish.” You desperately wanted to forget about him, but it would break him if you started distancing yourself. You were the closest friend he ever had and you knew it.

“Childish? It’s normal. You’re into him and if he doesn’t see how great that is, he’s just not worth it.” She was the voice of reason you depended on to save your life.

“Cha, I don’t want to lose him.” You saw a livery with the number ‘4’ on it. Your chest felt tight as it sped past you.

“You won’t, okay? You won’t lose him. I mean, the two of you share a hotel room. Separate beds, but a hotel room nonetheless. Ever wondered why he doesn’t just get you your own room?” She had a pretty clear point, but in your land of delusion— it was useless. It was nonsense.

“I don’t know, Cha… he probably does it ‘cause it’s cheaper, you know?” You wanted to believe her, but a part of you couldn’t take the risk.

“The fact that he let you sleep in until he came back late yesterday… I mean, come on.”

“I guess? When he came back, I offered him a massage and we had this weird moment. I don’t know if that’s just me though.” Charlotte had to do a double take at what just came out of your mouth.

“You did what?!”

“Quiet, please. I don’t want all of the paddock to know!” She proceeded to spill out a slew of quiet apologies.

“You’re telling me he let you massage him after midnight? That’s not just you. That is a moment. Why would you even doubt this?” You shrugged and sighed. Were you just missing all the signs? Were you really that dense?

“Okay, look. How about you go ask Kelly to ask Max about him?” It wasn’t a bad idea per se. There was one problem though. You almost never talked to Kelly, only ever passing by her in the paddock with a smile and a wave.

“I don’t really know her though. How can I ask something like that of her?” You were nearing the end of your rope, wanting to give up and let the last slither of hope you had left get crushed.

“Any woman would help out another desperate one.” Desperate. Was that really what you were being branded as? Perhaps it was accurate. Kelly really was your last ticket out of Delusion Land.

“Fine. I’ll go ask her, but where is she?” Charlotte pointed down, signaling she was in the garage. If that wouldn’t be awkward, you didn’t know what it would be.

“Shit, fine. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it.”

Charlotte turned out to be right. Kelly was in the garage with a set of headphones on. Her focus on the screen in front of her showed her dedication to her lover. Something you’d want to do for Lando… if only that’d ever happen. You approached her with a strong heartbeat, and a slight shortness of breath, and tapped her shoulder. Noticing you, she took her headphones off and smiled,

“Hey there?” The higher octave by the end went a long way to show her confusion. In her eyes, you were just an acquaintance. Neither of you had ever made any small talk and whatnot. So when you pulled her aside, she was completely lost.

“What’s going on?” She asked and furrowed her eyebrows.

“I need your help… I’m kind of desperate.” Having those words leave your mouth was beyond embarrassing and you felt so childish.

“Oh? I do think I have some stuff in my purse if you’ll give me a moment—”

“No no! That’s not what I need at all!” Fuck. You were getting cold feet. Standing there in front of her like a fool was somehow worse than just confessing.

“So then… what do you need?”

“Max.” Your mind was too scrambled to even string a coherent sentence together. Kelly’s eyes flew open and her face grimaced.

“No! Um, I need you to ask Max something.” She squinted her eyes in suspicion but was willing to hear you out.

“Could you please ask him if he knows anything about Lando? Just anything at all? As in… if Lando has any feelings for me. Just casually, you know?” Kelly was obviously relieved enough to help you out, so she gave you a thumbs up and the two of you exchanged socials so that she could update you. Weird way to make friends, but whatever.

You decided not to go back up to Charlotte, but take a little trip to the Mercedes garage. The team had made a blunder which left their no. 1 driver out of Q2. You went in to chat him up and possibly console him. He was a great friend, and you needed to take your mind off Lando for a bit.

Lando finished qualifying in the front row behind Max, which left him feeling better than ever. When he saw that you weren’t in your usual spot though, a mix of emotions tumbled over him like that of a flood. You were in the Mercedes garage for some reason, talking to none other than Lewis. He saw the way you almost choked when laughing at his jokes. The way you looked at him. Listening and being attentive was a special talent of yours. Whoever you’d look at, it would always look as if you were deeply infatuated with them. All because you were one hell of a listener. It was one of the many things Lando adored about you.

“Mate, what are you staring at?” Max slung an arm around Lando’s neck and looked in the same direction to spot whatever the Brit was so invested in.

“Oh… I see. You’re jealous.” Lando snapped out of it and felt his head drop.

“Nah man, I just wanted to see how Lewis was doing.”

“That’s bullshit.” It was. Seeing you be so close with another man, let alone another driver— it was too much for him. He’d done subtle things to get you to notice his feelings. Always booking just one hotel room, Driving you to your college campus, calling you whenever you had time— even if it meant he’d have to miss out on a good night’s sleep.

“You should tell her.” Lando nearly lost it when you pulled the Mercedes in for a hug. Luckily though, it was short and you left shortly after. Conveniently enough, you noticed Lando with Max, which sent him into a state of panic.

“What do I do?”

“Just do whatever you think is right.” As you approached the two of them, Max waved and left the two of you to talk. Lando was frazzled and it was obvious.

“Hey, what’s up? Congrats on the position, Lan. I’m proud of you!” Your smile and your excitement regarding his near-win were enough to squeeze his heart dry for juice.

“Thanks, I’m glad you’re here to see it.” The two of you began walking towards the McLaren motorhome when you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. It was a text from Kelly. Unfortunately, Lando was right beside you and managed to see the notification.

“You hang out with Kelly?”

“Um well, yeah! We talk all the time. I thought you knew?” You deserved an Oscar for that quick save.

“Nice, we should go on a double date with Max and her soon.” You nearly cracked your neck, turning to face him.

“Excuse me?”

“Hey, calm down. It was a joke.” That was half the truth. In reality, he just wanted to see your reaction to the suggestion. Something told him Max didn’t have a point.

“Mhm.” You rolled your eyes at him and rested your hands on your hips.

“Actually, I have something important to tell you when we get back to the hotel.” Something didn’t feel right about him saying that. He rarely talked about serious things, but his tone was almost anxious. It was a side of him you’d never seen before.

When you finally got back to your shared room, you changed into something more comfortable whilst Lando took a shower. You went through your nightly routine; stripping your face of makeup, rubbing serum into your pores, and caring for the roots of your hair. Spoiling yourself was important to you. Almost as important as studying, really.

“Hey, can you pass me the comb?” You’d been too distracted to notice Lando finishing. You found the comb in the drawer of the vanity, turning to hand it to him. That’s when you saw him. Fresh nightwear and still dripping wet hair. It was the most attractive thing you’d ever witnessed in your entire life. Including meeting several heartthrob celebrities at races.

“You’re staring, you know?” Oh, you knew.

“So are you.” He was. His eyes searched for something behind yours. Any sign that you one day could be his.

“Touché.” He combed through his hair with a serum. Hair and skin care was something that you’d forced upon him. Safe to say you changed the rest of his life for the better.

He finished up and tugged himself under the fluffy white duvet. It was sort of contradictory sleeping with air conditioning, but still tugging yourself under heavy covers. He was cute. You weren’t nearly as tired as he was yet, so you decided to scroll through your socials before finally dozing off. The two of you had completely forgotten about what the curly-haired brunette had wanted to talk about. It didn’t matter though, as it was only a matter of time before it was going to be revealed.

You’d done your hair and makeup, spending nearly two hours total perfecting yourself. Lando waited by the door, calling your name several times. With the last puff of your setting powder, you quickly gathered your things and ran for the door. The Brit seemed stoked for the race, but that wasn’t the only thing his insides were churning for.

The two of you arrived at the paddock in style. You wore a Vivienne Westwood tennis skirt, paired with a knitted sweater from the same collection. Your purse was Prada, and your shoes were Yves Saint Laurent. Lando had showed up in Quadrant merchandise, whilst also rocking a pair of shorts, courtesy of McLaren.

The Brit brunette was going to aim for pole position in Abu Dhabi, and he was going to confess before the interviews. That was his plan. Though a sappy one, he knew you’d appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.

You had once again decided to observe the race with Charlotte. Being in the garage was far too hectic with all of the engineers watching the race in anticipation. Sure, you were rooting for Lando, but you were no fanatic like them. Nor were you extremely loud about it. However, you definitely understood their passion. If it was your job, you would’ve been just as hyped and on edge for every race.

“Do you think Lando is going to win?” Charlotte asked, leaning against the railing overlooking the pit lane.

“Maybe. I can’t say for sure. I mean, he did well in qualifying?” You were quite literally manifesting a pole position for him. If you had a sigil and a set of candles, you would’ve performed a ritual. It wasn’t so much of an obsession as it was pure dedication to your best friend. What it really was— was love. You were utterly and hopelessly in love with the man. From the way he’d laugh at your sub-par jokes, to the way he’d drive you to and from campus.

“I think he’s going to win.” Charlotte was usually cheering her boyfriend on, but this time was completely different. She was rooting for you.

“What makes you say that?”

“Love.”

Lando managed to squeeze in a photo finish, nearly missing out on pole. All of the McLaren team gave you space to embrace him. The hug felt tighter than usual. Almost as if he was saying “I made it”.

“Lando, this is amazing! I am so so so proud of you.” That brief moment felt like heaven on earth to him.

“Can I tell you something?” He leaned in, but not too close for comfort.

“Yeah?”

“I’m so tired of chasing and I want to stop it. You can deny my feelings, but I have completely fallen for you.” You hesitated as your heart felt like it had been caught in your throat. You felt a strike of heat reach your face, watching Lando wait eagerly for your response. Shame you were at a loss for words, but then again— perhaps a blessing?

You immediately pulled him in for a kiss, hearing all of the fans roar and the teams gasp. Lando melted into it, cupping your cheeks with his hands. You felt the soft material of his gloves against your skin. When you finally pulled away, you decided to give him a proper response,

“You have me, as long as I have you.”

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗱...

𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗮 𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗻𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻.

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩! (𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨, 𝙙𝙢𝙨, 𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙨: 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧(𝙨) 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚(𝙨) 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣.)

#fanfiction #fanfic #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #reader insert #fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris x you #mclaren #charlotte sine #friends to lovers #pining #slow burn #f1 fic #f1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 x you #formula one fanfiction #f1 imagine #lando x reader #lando norris x y/n #mclaren f1

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part Twenty - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: kind of kidnapping if you squint ; mentions of death ; violence ; angst ; nsfw kudos to @scarlettspectra and @lilspookymeh for being music gurus and basically inspiring my entire writing playlist ❤️

“John, I can’t stay here - I have work, Michael.”

“It’s not up for debate.” 

She scowls at the way he talks to her like a petulant child, looks over at Winston for help and finds none.

“You can’t make me stay here,” she grits.

He fixes her with a dark, mean look, clears the distance between them in one stride, and grabs her before she can think about running. “I can make you stay, but I don’t want to have to do that.”

He’s really just springing this on her. Because the death of Maria puts a target on his back and therefore a smaller one on hers, John thinks the best solution is keeping her locked in the safe house that is Winston’s massive hotel. No consulting her, no talking about options. Just cut and dry. Do as I say. She’s offered alternative solutions, even - “I’ll walk around with Victor’s - sorry, Viggo’s - bodyguards at my side!” - because, of course, her having a private little secret service of her own is now unnegotiable, too. Imagine that.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she retorts, voice quiet despite her lionhearted words. 

“I’m not speaking in metaphors,” John says, “you’re staying here. Either way. I need you safe.”

She tries to tear her arm from his grip, but it’s like attempting to wrestle with a gorilla. “So what? I’m just supposed to stay locked up in your gilded cage and forget I have a life?”

He loosens his hold a little bit, lets her puffy flesh spring back from bruising, and softens, hard rock eyes turning molten. Still, there is fire involved. “You can hate me if you want. You don’t have to look at me or speak to me, but I’m responsible for your safety, now. I need you unharmed.”

Ah, there it is again, that fucking pang in her heart that leaves her whole being bloodless and aching when he reminds her why she’s ultimately here - pity. 

Sure, he’s told her otherwise a thousand times now, and his actions are testament to how much he wants her, but that admittance is all she needs to start thinking she’s a charity case again. 

Tears swell her eyes. 

She can’t believe they’ve gone from bliss to this in such a short amount of time. And now what? She’s trapped here and humiliated? Pitied? 

“No, I didn’t-“ 

“Yeah you did,” she whispers, looking down at the shiny dark floor, watching little tear droplets accumulate on its surface.

He lets her pull away and gathers every ounce of his willpower to avoid following as she walks out of the room and into the bustling hotel. 

“That went well,” Winston comments, flipping through the manila envelope of witness statements.

His knuckles ache to punch something. Marcus isright here, downing scotch like it’s his last day on earth - maybe he thinks it is - one little punch wouldn’t hurt him. 

More willpower used up to not hit Marcus. He decides to leave the room instead. 

Marcus thinks he did it. Winston might as well think so, too. The eight witnesses that put him at the location say he did. 

The only person that knows he didn’t do it - because he was instead with her when he supposedly took a round trip flight to El Paso and fixed a bullet into Maria’s skull - wants nothing to do with him when the only thing he wants is to curl up beside her and lament. 

He needs an outlet. 

———————————

“You need to call the police,” Michael tells her. His voice fades away for a minute while she hears rummaging in the background. 

“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble Michael. It’s not like I’m being tortured or something.” 

“And?” 

“It wouldn’t matter.” 

“I don’t know, they could probably come get you out of there?” 

“I don’t think cops come here, Michael. I don’t think they’re allowed to be here.”

He pauses for dramatic effect, probably. She’s glad she called him. His usual antics calm her. “They’re not allowed to tear gas peaceful protesters either, but….. ”

“No, I think they kill them here.” 

“Sneak out,” Michael concludes. 

“That’s my next bid.” 

“Damn, your pussy must be god tier if this man is kidnapping you, though.” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“What?! I’m just saying!” She hears the no good grin and it puts a smile on her face. 

“I don’t know how I’m gonna pay rent, Michael. I told work, but they’re probably going to fire me - if they even believe me - and then I won’t have income to pay my share-“

“ Are you serious?” Michael sighs. “You’ve just been kidnapped and you’re worried about me ? Babe, stop.”

“We made a deal Michael, and all I’ve done is fuck it up.” 

“Worry about getting out of there, and we’ll sort it out once you’re free of crazy boyfriend.”

“He’s not crazy,” she tries, “he’s just… worried.” 

“Uh-huh.” Michael takes another pause.  “Anyway, what is this place called?”

“You are not coming here, Michael. You’ll get hurt.” 

“Why? I’m not a cop.”

“Michael.”

“Right, right. You’re living the mystery novel life. Is it wrong that I’m a little jealous?” 

“No, I guess not. He just kind of makes it seem like he has to keep me here. I feel like a burden.”

“ You ? Feeling like a burden ?” The sharp sarcasm in his voice cuts. “Have you tried telling him that?”

“Well, no, but I’m scared.” 

Michael sighs. “Jesus, hun, I’m not sure what to tell you here. Sounds like he’s a little bit dysfunctional. Maybe he’s just not ready for a relationship. I mean, he has to know that holding you against your will isn’t okay.” 

She sighs back. It’s like their own little angsty language. “It’s not like I’m normal.” 

“Ah, so maybe the darkness in you calls to the darkness in him?” Michael sounds like he’s reciting breathy Shakespeare.

She laughs. 

——————-

The Continental is massive, shimmering, crystal chandeliers and intricate, antique carpets. 

Spotless, open, airy, a few delicate plants dotted about. Every room or hallway or lobby she enters feels too big - like she’s a kid again, tiny in proportion to everything else. Even the elevators gold and glimmer and loom.

Private clubs with massive polished oak doors to guard against entry, workers in perfectly tailored suits everywhere; one around each corner, in the bars and shops, diligent and watching. 

If she had any hope before of getting out of here, now she definitely doesn’t. Seems like every exit has an individual posted on it who would put Benny’s hulking mass to shame. 

She sees a woman who is taller than John, in a sleeveless tuxedo dress, muscles rippling over her shoulders and neck. She doesn’t think she has ever envied or admired someone so much. Despite the bodybuilder physique, this towering lady moves like flowing water. She just stares at her for a few minutes, entranced by the otherworldly beauty. How can he even think of liking her when women like this live and breathe? 

It’s easy to forget the outside world exists, here. But, she stills feels trapped - heralded off to some magical realm where everyone has a gun tucked under their shirt instead of a magic wand. 

She gets lost in the place, always expecting John to be waiting for her around corners or down a hallway. He’s not, though, instead leaving her alone like he said he would. That pisses her off and disappoints her a little bit; she wants him to follow her, fight for her, extinguish her flame of independence, which must mean there’s seriously something wrong here. He can’t just lock her up and then leave. 

Ignoring the empty John shaped space in her gut, she walks until she finds the library. Wall to wall shelves, rolling ladders carved in intricate, braided designs, a few cozy reading nooks. Librarian fantasy says hello. 

She scowls at the thought, goes to the fairytale section, lying to herself about thinking of John in this instance, too.

As chance would have it, someone she recognizes is here. The older woman from the bookstore in the mall, still sans reading glasses, squinting at the cover of a worn yellow hardback. 

“Do you need some help with that?” 

“Oh, my dear, nice to see you again.” There is an air of poise about this woman even in her shortcomings. She hands the book delicately to her rescuer, smiling softly. “Would you mind?” 

“Oh,” she thumbs the cover, feels the carved gold letters on the front. “This is Alice in Wonderland.” 

“Lewis Carroll?” 

“Yeah, I can tell you about this without even reading it.” She grins, cheeks puffing, pleased to have someone familiar here. 

The woman takes the book from her hands and sticks it back. “As interesting as Alice in Wonderland is, I’d much rather talk to you. You don’t belong here, do you? In a place like this?” 

She looks down at her feet. “Ah, no.” Really, she could pose the same question, but she finds herself unsurprised that nice stranger books in this hotel. Maybe it was the men in suits at her side. Maybe it’s because she’s used to this by now - fitting in nicely, snug as a bug in a rug. Meant for the underground. 

“So why are you here, dear?” 

They end up sitting in one of the lounges. She offers to go grab them both tea, paying for it and tipping despite hospitality, and then settles in to talk. This woman reminds of her of Winston, or like one of the kind, witty grandmothers from sparse foster homes. No matter how mean the rest of the family was, usually the elders were double kind to make up for it. 

She ends up telling her small things. Not too much, but more than she can Michael. This woman is already involved in the ancient crime world, so she feels like she can divulge more info. Plus, she’s confident that anyone here could just type her name into some imaginary database and bring up every detail about her, anyway. 

“Ah, John Wick, Boogeyman.” 

“People keep calling him that. I don’t think he’s that scary.” 

The woman laughs. “I don’t know, I’ve only heard. Never met.”

“Well, he’s actually nice,” she supplies, sipping her hibiscus tea. “Stubborn, but nice.”

“And he’s keeping you here to protect you, so he can’t be all bad.” 

“Yeah… we’ll go with that.” 

The woman laughs. “Oh, there is a fire in you. Misplaced, but a fire all the same.” 

“Misplaced?”

“You desire hardness, outer armor, to be strong, but you don’t realize that your true power comes from your softness.”

“I’m tougher than I look.” 

“I’ve no doubt.” Her contemplative eyes assess the cementing posture. 

“Sorry, I’m just. I’m irritated that I have to stay here.” She drops her shoulders, relaxes her jaw. 

“You’ve got a free spirit. You remind me of someone I once knew.”

“Was it you?” She smiles again. 

“Indeed. Unfortunately, this old bird had her wings clipped long ago.” 

“Your wings are massive and amazing, still.” 

The elder beams at her. “You know, my children think I’m out of my mind.”

“Huh? But you’re not.”

She shrugs. “They want my empire. I suppose I am getting older - should probably relinquish it sooner rather than later.” 

Just like with John, she feels that deep dive questions would be too forthcoming and intrusive here. “So, they’re making up stuff to get it? Sounds like your kids aren’t that great.” 

“Ah, but isn’t that my fault if they are not great, then?” She sighs and leans back into cushions that swallow her small frame. 

This is a hard question. She’s spent a lifetime blaming foster parents for fucking her up so much. 

“See? You can’t argue with that.” Her crinkled smile widens. 

“Mistakes are mistakes. The past doesn’t define the future. You do seem lovely now, regardless of what happened when they were kids.” 

“What do you do for work, my darling?”

“I’m a nurse.” 

——————————-

After talking for a long time with Ella, her mystery bookstore friend, she goes to knock on Winston’s study door, surprised she can even find it again. It takes a while, and she gets completely lost in the process. 

“Won’t find him in there. I think he’s downstairs. Do you need something?” She turns to find a tall, tattooed, beautiful woman folding linens onto a silver cart. 

“Oh, I just wanted to talk to him. Sorry.”

“You’re John’s girl?” She holds out a hand, gives a soft smile. “I’m a good friend of his.”

Why in the hell can’t she repress the jealousy raging inside her as she takes this absolutely gorgeous woman’s hand in her own? “Uh, yeah.” She resists asking how everyone seems to know what she looks like and who she belongs to. Maybe it’s just that distinguishable? John Wick with a fat girlfriend. 

Ouch . Back to hurting her own feelings again. 

“Oh, it’s really nice to meet you. A friend of John’s is a friend of mine. I’m a bell hop, trying to work my way up into bartender. They make more money.” She fixes her pile of cloth and then looks up as if forgetting something. “I’m Addie.” 

She’s at a loss for words, feels incredibly sheepish around this girl for no reason - exposed and open, ready for final judgement. Harrowing.

She introduces herself back despite trepidation and tries to give a warmer smile than she’s capable of right now. “Oh, that’s cool. You like bartending?” 

Addie laughs at some inside joke. “Oh, God no. Not in this city. But in the hotel, it’s great. Not many other bar owners will let you punch their customers for getting too handsy.”

She laughs. “Serves them right.” 

“I don’t mean to pry,” Addie smooths over a crisp sheet. “But how did you meet John?” 

Oh, the million dollar embarrassing question. “The prison. I was his nurse.” 

“Oh, that’s cute as hell.” Addie’s melodic giggle helps lower her raised haunches. “He hasn’t gone steady in a minute. I’m glad he’s happy. I’ve known him since we were kids, I mean, and he hasn’t been this sunshiny in a long time.”

Ah, another one of John Wick’s long time friends. “He’s a pretty good guy.” 

Addie nods. “Ah, we’re not passing the bechdel test.”

She chuckles. “You’re right.” 

“We will next time, promise. I gotta get back to work.” Addie gives her a wink and then she’s off. She calls back over her shoulder, “I’ll tell Winston you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks, but you don’t-“

“It’s fine.” Addie grins back. “He’s not busy.” 

—————————

She gets lost a few more times, maybe just maybe hoping for a tall, dark hero to come swoop her up and apologize. She’s more disappointed than she should be when that doesn’t happen. 

But, she does run into Charon again when she finds the front entrance. 

He gives her a small smile. “I trust you are finding the provisions here adequate, Miss?” 

She leans on his counter, emboldened by the lack of patrons in the lobby. “Could I ask you something?”

“Anything.” 

“I was in the library, and I saw the book with you in it. Behind the big glass display case, you know? You were in an orchestra in the pictures. Do you play… cello, right?”

“That’s correct. Well, was correct. I haven’t played in several years. Do you play?” 

“Ah, no.” She shrugs. “I just saw you in there and you looked amazing. Like really in your element.”

“Do I look.. out of my element now?” His head tilts, smile broadening.

“No, no, not at all.” Her eyebrows furrow. “Sorry, I just meant - you really looked like you loved it.”

“I did. It was exhilarating.” 

“Why don’t you do it anymore?” 

“I suppose I just got busy with other duties. I enjoy working at the hotel. The light of the stage was wonderful for a while, but I realized I was meant for a quieter fate. One with less excitement.”

“This is less excitement?” She gestures around. 

“Continental ground is sacred. We rarely have to take action against our guests for violence.” He pauses. “I know your experience has indicated otherwise.” 

She shakes her head. “Sorry, I didn’t-“

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” His pleasant smile still lingers as testament to that. “It’s alright to be curious. Ask me anything you want.”

She does. She asks who can stay here, who is not allowed to stay here, how long it’s been around, who built it. She asks him about the cello, if his hands got scarred, if he would play again at some point so she could come to his concert. 

Charon is infinitely interesting, sports the same dark humor that John does, and she chats with him until he gets customers. 

—————————

John stays gone. All day, all night. The more time goes by, the more anxious she gets. She should be angry, seething, but instead she just wants him to be okay, to come back to her. She’s grown so miserably attached to this elusive man, and the insanity that goes with that attachment is eating at her like swarms of locusts on fresh fields of grain.

—————————

He’s all bruised knuckles and blood flecked, sinew and tendon and vein. The smell of diesel and sweet liquor and heavy iron. She can’t help but peak at him from under the comforter while he undresses. 

“Good morning.” 

Of course he knows. He’s got sonic radar. She flushes, and doesn’t answer him. 

“I’d ask if you want to join me in the shower, but that would make me a bigger asshole.” 

“I don’t remember even saying you could stay in the same room as me anymore,” she grumbles, shifting under the blanket so a few of her toes peak from the end.

He resists tickling her. 

“You’re right. Let me take this shower, and I’ll book another one.”

“Are you rich?” She asks. 

“I have money.”

“Like, rich money?” 

He raises a dark eyebrow and looks far too good standing nude and bruised on the cold hardwood. 

“Does it matter?”

“I feel like you’re trying to buy me off.” 

He snorts, rubs a flexing hand down his abdomen and yawns. God, he’s fucking delectable. “Would it work?”

“Fuck you, John.” She tries to make her words hurt, but they’re half assed and weak.

He’s got a smile that makes her seethe and clench at once. Infuriating bastard. 

“Want me to fix that attitude with my tongue?” He offers, watches her toes curl up as she turns the other way and becomes a smaller mound under the covers. 

“I want you to go away.” 

He gives her credit for the control in her thickened voice. Saliva, always giving her away. 

“You got it.”

When the bathroom door shuts, she flings the blanket off and goes to get breakfast. For herself. 

Winston catches her in the dining room. “Do the clothes I sent up fit?” He asks. 

“Yeah, they do. Thank you. I appreciate it.” She looks distraught, out of element.

He hums and threads her arm with his, walking with her to the serving bar. “I’m sure he’ll take you to get your clothes and toiletries soon,” Winston promises. “I offered to have Charon escort you, but Johnathan seems to have faith in your ability to weasel away.” 

She huffs a laugh. “I’m not promising I wouldn’t try to escape.” 

“Are you angry with me?”

“No, I get it, he’s a bully.” 

“Ah, can’t say it’s entirely his fault. I’m concerned for your safety, too.” Winston sits with her as she orders cheesy eggs and toast and orange juice. 

“If he would have just explained it better, maybe I would have compromised.”

“Unless you know how to kill someone, I’m afraid there’s little compromise for you here.” Winston pauses, rubbing at the slick surface of the bar top. 

“I’m still mad at him.” She’s not sure why she feels so comfortable talking to Winston about her relationship problems, but the man is more than happy to chat and advise. 

“I can understand that. What can I do to make you feel better?” 

“Oh, no, Mr. Scott, you’ve already done so much. I’m sorry for being like this.” 

He smiles warmly, amusement cresting the crinkles of his face. 

Normally, she’s wary of being touched, but there is nothing except reassurance in Winston’s hand rested over hers. “My dear, you are human. Flesh and bone. Your feelings and emotions are your power, no matter how overwhelming they may become. Never forget that.” 

She feels a little like she has stepped from the mortal realm into fae territory. Everything shines and dazzles, wise figures give her hopeful advice, and there is a beautiful, inhuman man terrorizing her with a small grin from across the room.

She quickly looks away from John, and Winston of course notices the pick up in nerves. 

“Do you want me to kick him out?” He asks her. 

She giggles. “Will he leave?” 

“It’s worth a try.” 

Avoiding John Wick is kind of like being a moth who hates light. 

When he looks at her, she’s looking at him. And vice versa. She tries to eat, but feels too nervous to finish with coal eyes burning the endless fire in her belly, asks for a to go box and gulps the rest of her orange juice down. 

He watches her while she walks out, sipping his black coffee, unabashedly staring directly at her beautiful bottom. 

“I’ve thought about it,” Winston tells him, taking the seat across the table. “And I believe you.” 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” John asks. 

Winston ignores his sour mood. “Someone is trying to frame you, Johnathan. Someone wants you dead. With eight witnesses, the high table will come for you. Especially concerning the public knowledge that Maria put a bounty on your head. This is a war that ends one way.” 

“I know.” 

“So, do something.”

————————-

“I’m sorry.” 

She turns around to find him leaning into the door jam.

“I told you I wasn’t good at this.” He motions between them. “But that’s no excuse to be an asshole.”

“I’m not good at it either, in case you didn’t notice,” she replies dryly. 

“If you get hurt, I’m not sure what I’ll do,” he admits. 

“But I can’t live like a clipped bird, John. And you’re just so forceful about it. I can’t get a word in when your mind is set. Michael has been nothing but good to me, and now I’m bailing on him. I like my job. It makes me feel like I have a purpose.”

“It’s not forever, just until I can figure this out.”

“Is it really that dangerous? If it is why did we start this in the first place?” That kind of sounds like she regrets the relationship, so she doubles back. “Sorry, that’s a stupid question. I would gladly meet you again and again, even if it meant more hardship, John, but I can’t just leave my old life.” 

He gives a deep, baritone sigh, running hands through his damp hair. 

She gets a little waft of the delicious shampoo he used, and itches to go to him. 

“Just give me a day. One day. I’m going to fix this, and I need you to trust me.”

She eyes him, makes him feel vulnerable - raw - with the power of her stare.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” It sounds more like a plead than a demand, so she provides.

“Are you just doing this because you feel like you have to? Am I inconveniencing your life even more?” 

He looks at her for a very long time.

Then, pads over and tips her chin up with his fingers. “I live in a dangerous world. I’m scared to lose you in its chaos.” 

“But is it out of obligation or-“

“It’s because I need you.”

“You need me?”

He presses his forehead against her own. “Yes.” There is frustration in his voice.

She cradles the back of his head, inhaling spice and salt, quiet and still. Some kind of storm will rage and destroy her later, but for now she can keep it at bay while he is folding her up and pressing her into the bed. 

“This doesn’t solve anything,” she says, trying not to lose her resolve in the delicious wet of his mouth. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, lips trailing the sensitive bridge of her ear. 

She doesn’t. Lets him gather her hair back and lick behind her lobe, turn her into a quivering little mess of a human clinging to his sweatshirt. 

He can’t get enough of her in his mouth at once, uses his hands to make up for the loss, cups her tummy and groans at how soft she is. God, he could just sink right into her and never come out. 

“This is all I wanna do,” he says. “Every time I look at you, you just get more tempting. That cute little smile, pretty skin, soft little body. Who sent you here to destroy me?” 

“Th-the FBI.” She’s smiling that sunshine smile, animosity an afterthought, pulling at her new fixation which happens to be his velvet hair, rubbing her fingers into his scalp. 

His cock gives a little jump against her thigh, and he vibrates for her again. Ah, of course it’s the hair. 

“You like it when I play with your hair?” She asks, voice hitched high and tight as he sucks down her neck. 

“Yeah,” he admits. 

“I uh, yeah, l-like your hair, Johnny.” She sloppily threads a strand around her fingers, tugging just a little. 

And to think he was contemplating getting another buzz cut because of this mess always being in his face. Not now. Now he would never cut it again. Now it was his pride and fucking joy. 

He snakes his hands under her shirt, rubs at her bare tummy, pulls and feels and groans about how fucking pillowy she is - about how a bullet would probably just bounce right off of her. 

“Fuck, I love this,” he says, making her giggle and grab his fingers. 

“Tickles,” she tells him.

Immune to bullets, but not to soft fingers digging into her plump. He can’t help the hells grin while he indulges himself and makes her a giggly, frantic mess. “Where you going? Huh?” Chasing her up the bed, pressing her against the pillows, making her scream and curse his name. 

Only a little bit of fun, and then he’s kissing her ribs, pulling her bra up to let these beautiful tits flop in his face so he can nuzzle between them. Giggles into moans, the chant of her hips matching the rhythm of mewling sounds. 

“You’re so fuckin sweet.” 

Her hands make their way back to his hair.

Big cock pressing and grinding into her giving thigh, fingers running circles around her areolas to tease, mouth nipping at the tips of her breasts. 

He gets her begging, whining, needs her to ask him for it. 

“Pretty girl wants to cum on my tongue again, huh?”

“Yeah.” Little shimmering tears in her lashes, lips all puffy and big just like her nipples. 

“Tell me. Tell me, babydoll.” 

Flooding with hot embarrassment, biting her lip, trying not to crumble and break, she does her best for him, tries her hardest to make him happy. “John, make me cum. Please.”

It’s not good enough. “Ah, ah,” he scolds. “Make you cum on what?” 

“Y-your tongue. Want your tongue. Please, fuck.” 

“There you go.” And how could he ever fucking say no? 

How could he not spend a decade between these comfy thighs eating her sweet puffy cunt nice and slow. 

Fucking her on his fingers, tickling her little clit with his tongue and making her her hips spark up off the bed, giving her rug burn on top of rug burn while she pulls his hair and curses his wicked mouth. Sometimes it hurts, especially like now when she’s too drunk on his mouth to be careful or sweet - and he fucking loves it. 

He may never be able to convince her that he’s sorry with words, but he can still use his mouth to accomplish the same goal.

By the sounds of it, she, at least for now, forgives him.

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x plus size reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #x plus size reader #BMOS

[aaizawashouta]

Devil in Disguise

pairing: frat!naruto x fem!reader

word count: 3.9k

summary: why hide your demons when all naruto wants to do is play with them? (Modern au)

warnings: smut (18+ minors dni) fingering, slight overstimulation, oral (f receiving), p in v, cream pie a fight, slight mention of blood

a/n: happy halloween! This is ALL I’ve been able to think about.

Fraternities are the worst. It’s loud. There’s too many people, and you’re burning up in the white turtleneck bodysuit that Ino and Sakura bullied you into. This party had not been on your list of activities for the day. You went to work, being miserable on your feet for ten hours only to come home smelling like greasy food and french fries to find your roommates ready for an attack. All you wanted to do was sit on the couch in your pajamas watching some stupid ghost hunting show while handing out candy.

But when do you ever get what you want?

Sighing in irritation, you adjust the white wings that rest against your back. The headband holding up the halo above your head was digging into the space behind your ears. You only stop fidgeting with it when Sakura shoots daggers at you. Smoothing down the white sweater, you try your best to get comfortable. But it’s hard when you can’t breathe. The air is thick and hazy despite the back doors being open. The sound of laughter and yelling can be heard over the blaring music. Whoever they put as dj needs to be fired.

“Come on, slowpoke.” Ino threw over her shoulder.

You glare at her back, following the two through the crowd. A sharp glare slicing through the idiot dressed in a toga when he bumps into you. Fuck, parties suck. Sakura forges a path that leads straight to the living room. All the furniture is cleared out except where they’re playing beer pong. You bite back a groan when Kiba spots you. Even from a few feet away you can see his eyes light up.

You raise a hand before he can say anything. “I need a drink.”

He bears his teeth in a sharp grin. “Kitchen is that way, babe.”

“How chivalrous of you,” you mumble.

Of fucking course you’d have to make your way through a crowd of people to get to the kitchen. Heat runs up your neck as irritation settles over you. There’s no subtlety—you’re plowing elbows and knocking drinks out of people’s hands. There’s a multitude of names being tossed at your back, not that you care. An hour, that’s it. One game of pong to appease Kiba and you’re out of here. You came, you saw, you conquered your roommates. Halloween over.

Nothing is ever simple.

The kitchen is almost empty. Gaara and Kankuro stand next to the refreshments. You smile, knowing that they’re on guard. That’s something you actually like about this particular fraternity. They may all be dumb meatheads, but they set clear boundaries. It stems from their president, Naruto, you know. He’s a good guy, can rival the energizer bunny and is pure, honest sunshine. You can see him standing just behind the two brothers. Blue eyes taking in the party around him.

You don’t see him until he’s already on you. Empty solo cup in hand, you turn to run into a firm chest. Your brows furrow, a scowl taking up your face as you peer up that guy blocking you from everyone else. His eyes are glazed, glassy and bloodshot. He’s wearing an easy smile, but you don’t miss the bite to it. He thinks he’s a predator, and he thinks you’re an easy prey. Yeah, fucking right.

“Can I help you?”

“What drink you looking for?”

Your gaze narrows. “Don’t worry about it. I got it.”

“C’mon, sugar. Don’t be like that. L’me get you a drink.” He runs a finger down the side of your face before you’re smacking it away.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

He takes two steps forward, crowding you into the corner. Your eyes flash around him, briefly. Gaara and Kankuro are watching you closely. They know better than to interfere, you know how to handle yourself around drunk idiots who think they can fucking do what they want. When rough, clammy hands wrap around your arm and yank you forward, you almost lose your footing. You would have, if it hadn’t been for the blond stepping in front of you.

Easily Naruto pulls the unwanted grasp off of you, pushing him forward to give you enough room to escape. Your heart thundered in your ears. You stayed right there, right behind your savior.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The blond all but snarls.

“Nothing, man. Just talking to the pretty girl.”

“Just talking, huh? Is that why you felt the need to put your hands on her? Backed her up into a corner after she told you to stop touching her?”

“I—“

He pushes the guy, making him stumble. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

It’s like a scene from a movie, moving in slow motion. You see the drunkard's face turn into pure rage, fist flying towards Naruto. He lands a punch, a solid one. A large gash splitting open on his right cheek. It starts weeping blood as you gasp. The guy swings again, Naruto dodges it, right hand grabbing it, twisting the guy’s arm before sending a first of his own. You hear the telltale crack of fist against bone as the guy falls to the floor.

“Kankuro.” He barks, getting the brunet’s attention. “Drag the fucker outside.” His voice is low and rough, and fuck if it doesn’t scream dangerous. And you’d hate to admit that it does something to you, that low voice and the blood on his knuckles and the way he stands in front of you.

You swallow thickly, watching the creep get literally dragged outside. Your gaze moves slowly from the unconscious man on the floor to the one who’s stood in front of you. His piercing blue gaze burns into you as you lift your hand and wipe away the blood that’s splattered on your cheek. That’s new. His gaze is so earnest, full of concern and slightly ticked off. The indent between his brows gives it away. Without thinking you reach out and rub it away.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “I know. Didn’t feel right just watching, though.”

“I’m a big girl. I could’ve handled it.”

His eyes take you in from your head to your toes. You’re more covered than most of the girls here. With the way he’s looking at you, you feel damn near naked. “Oh, I know.” He stares a moment more, hands flexing at his side like he still wants to hit the bastard.

“You going to clean that?”

“I’m alright.”

You only hum. “Come on.”

You grab the unclenched hand and pull him along behind you. He’s letting you lead him up the stairs with certainty that you know which room is his. You only know Kiba’s and that’s because you’re here tutoring him three times a week. A small tug gets you moving, Naruto now in the lead. It’s only now that you take notice of his costume, causing you to snort. His blonde hair is down, shaggy, missing its signature bandana. A brown fur piece is wrapped over one shoulder and pinned at his waist. Fucking George of the Jungle saved you in the kitchen.

Naruto leads you down the hallway, second door on the left. You watch as he pulls out a set of keys from a hidden pocket. His mouth twitches when he hears you huff out a laugh. You don't have much time to look around his room as he leads you into the connected bathroom, but the one thing you can't miss are the stacks of comic books on every open surface — his nightstand, his desk, the dresser, the floor near his open closet. You’re tempted to slow down and inspect them, to see what kind of comics Naruto Uzumaki spends his time reading, but when you look up to see him narrowing his eyes as if he's genuinely light-headed, you forget all about the books and follow him into the bathroom.

It's cleaner than you expect for a college guy, and when you close the toilet seat cover and point for him to take a seat, he doesn't argue. You drop down to your knees and open the cabinet under the sink. The peroxide and gauze pads are sitting in a basket full of first aid supplies at the very front. You grab everything you need before standing back up and organizing them on the counter beside the toilet.

"So," he says, wiping his palms on his jeans as you wash my hands. "Is it everyday that you play nurse?"

You bite back a smile as you dry your hands with a towel and turn to him. "No, not normally. I’m not usually caught as a damsel in distress." You tease, picking up a gauze pad and dousing it with peroxide.

He watches you turn toward him, and he opens his legs even more, inviting you to step up between them to get closer. You hesitate before taking a step forward, leaving a harmless amount of space between your bodies as you start to clean his face. When you realize that your arms aren't long enough to clean his wound properly from this far away, you huff, fighting the urge to roll your eyes before you take another step forward until you're positioned between his open legs. He keeps his hands on his thighs and tilts his head back to give you better access, but you don't miss the near smile on his lips.

"Fuck." He jolts back when you press the peroxide-soaked gauze to his gash.

"I'm sorry." You wince. "I'll be gentle. I'm really sorry. I just — I have to clean it."

His eyes are still screwed shut in pain, his jaw tensing as he inhales slowly. It must be deeper than it looks. You can practically feel the pain radiating from him as he takes a deep breath through his nose.

"What, uh," you speak quickly, trying to distract him. "What did— what did you mean earlier when you said ‘I know’."

His jaw tenses again, but he opens his eyes and looks up at you for a long moment before he sighs. His gaze flicks down to the gauze in your hand before closing his eyes again, as if he's preparing himself for the pain, and then he leans forward and nods for you to continue.

"Well," he says, taking the time to think about his words. His voice is deep and throaty, and you have to keep yourself focused so you don't spiral and think about all the different ways he could use his voice. Like moaning your name. Your thighs slightly rub together at the thought alone.

"Mhm," you encourage, brushing the gauze across his cheek, cleaning away the blood from everywhere but the actual wound, too nervous to hurt him again.

"Just that," he states, only this time the tension in his voice is gone. "I see you. I see you, angel." His lips quirk up, and you can see the edge of his gash open a little more when his cheek twitches. “That costume ain’t fooling anybody.”

Most of the bleeding has slowed, and you bring your hand up and place it on his cheek, rubbing your thumb lightly to relax the muscle there so he won't open his wound any further. When you glance away from the bloody injury to his ocean eyes, you finally register what it is he said.

Your face shifts. Brows furrowing, nose scrunched up in annoyance. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You’re trying to focus on cleaning the blood around the gash without hurting him, but honestly, it's hard when your temper is starting to flare.

"Yeah, there you are," Naruto laughs, his brows raise slightly, but you ignore him as you toss the blood-soaked pad into the trash and grab a new one. "You’re not fooling anyone, are you baby?"

You sigh, holding the pad tightly in your grasp. Even with him sitting on the toilet seat he’s still a head taller than you. Looking down, you grimace when you see your outfit. You blend in more now that you did when you first got here. A final girl, moment. That drunken idiot had spit out blood and it got all over you. So much for being an angel in white.

“I can fix that, if you want.” Your eyes flash to his, but his gaze is lingering on the white bodysuit.

“I’m not done.”

“It’ll heal.”

He’s up and out of the bathroom before you could blink. You follow behind him, eyes darting around his room, but they keep coming back to watch as his muscles move and ripple with every step he takes. God, this cannot be happening to you. Not a frat bro. Not the fucking president of the stupid fraternity. What the hell is wrong with you? But it’s too late. Much too late. Because this idiot, this sunshine personified, he already fucking owns you—and he knows it. A lump forms in your throat, your body plopping itself on the edge of his bed, fingers toying with the edge of the black comforter.

“Here.” You jump at the sound of his voice, making a blond eyebrow raise.

“Thanks.”

He watches you fiddle with the shirt he handed over. It’ll swallow you whole. A dress in its own right. A hand wraps lightly around your throat, Naruto grins at the sparkle in your eye. His voice drops lower, making heat throb in between your legs. “Kinda pointless to put my shirt on when I’m going to have you naked spread out on my bed, huh angel?”

“Yeah, probably. Kinda was thinking I wanted to ride your face first, though.”

“God dammit, angel. You can’t just say things like that.”

“Come on, Naru,” you whisper, standing up to bring your face closer to his. “Bet you can make me cry with your tongue.”

“Fuck,” he mutters.

There is no preamble. There are no sweet nothings. Your skirt is yanked off, hot kisses pressed to the inside of your thighs. Moans are pulled roughly from you when he begins to suck, leaving his mark on you. Your knees rest on either side of his head. Clothed center rutting up trying to find friction. You ache, you burn. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“This won’t be sweet,” Naruto breathes against your core, hands gripping you to hold your legs wide open, you hear the flick of his pocket knife, the one you know resides on his night stand, and fuck, you know what he’s about to do. You aren’t even angry that he’s going to destroy your clothes. Whatever gets you out of this stupid costume. “This won’t be gentle.”

The blade cuts through the fabric and you whimper.

“I know, Natu. I don’t want it gentle.”

“Think you can handle it?”

You pull his blond locks, making him groan. “Yeah, baby. I’m certain I can.”

His fingers dig into your thighs before trailing towards your core. He groans, feeling how slick you are. Curses fall from his lips, his finger running up and down your seam. Back and forth, back and forth before he shoves a finger inside you. It’s not enough. You want so much more. Need it. Your Naruto, your boyish, chaotic and mean sunshine boy knows exactly what you need. Pulling his finger out only to shove three in, you keen, hands running up his neck and into hair. Your hips are moving on their own, fucking yourself on his hand. He curves his fingers, reaching up in a ‘come here’ motion, and your thighs begin to shake. Speeding up his hand even more, Naruto starts to flick his tongue over the sensitive nub. His grasp on your thighs holds you down so you’d stop running away from him. His grip is so tight you know you’ll have bruises later. He can feel you quivering, you’re so close, but he isn’t quite done with you yet.

Pulling his hand out of you, he immediately smacks your pussy. Your hips rut up trying to chase the pleasure. He smacks it again before rubbing at your clit. You’re almost screaming from the pleasure. Hands knotted in the sheets, hips canting in the air.

“You’re sensitive tonight,”

You glare at him. “‘I wonder why.”

He laughs. “This is my fault?”

“Yeah, Naruto. It was your damn idea! A celibate angel. What a joke.”

You see the flash of his smile before his lips are crashing against yours. He’s ripping off his costume, throwing it behind him as he springs himself free. Your breath catches as you stare down at him. He’s leaking, hard, and throbbing. You pull yourself up onto your elbows as head tilting to look at him. His pupils are blown, black encompassed by a tight blue ring. It’s hot in the room, sweat slicking up every inch of available skin. You run a thumb over the tip, smearing the precum. Your nails nip at his skin and he shivers.

“Nah, all I got is a horny goddamn brat.” He says with a sharp grin.

“Watch it.”

“That’s not how we get what we want is it?” His voice is thick with want, but you can hear the underlying tone.

Pushing yourself up, you're quick to flip your positions. You hover over him, slowly running your soaked folds across him. He hisses at the feeling, sharp eyes glued to where you’re teasing him.

“If you wanted someone compliant, you came barking up the wrong tree.”

Slowly you sink down onto him. He’s almost too big. The head of his cock snags at your entrance, forcing you to start over. You breathe in nice and slow, working yourself slowly until you’re at the hilt.

“Holy fuck,” he hisses with a sharp buck, you had given him permission and he’s taking it, demanding more–needing more the second he feels the tight velvet of your sex.

“Naruto,” you whine, forehead resting against his.

He nods. He knows. He knows you need this as much as he does. You're clinging to him, hands tugging at his hair, cunt clenching around him like he’d slip free at any moment. His thrusts are slow, building a slow burn inside of you. Your toes curl because it’s just the beginning. You draw back, hips moving in a smooth tempo. You hit a good rhythm, letting yourself breathe, relax, and suck him in deeper. You’re almost where he wants you. He meets your gaze and his eyes hold something akin to mischief. You clench around him and he groans. He thrusts up a little harder than before, causing your head to fall back.

“Eyes on me,” You whimper and lift your head. “There you are, my pretty girl.”

You watch each other, a breath apart as you circle your hips and ride him nice and slow. You’re waiting for him to break. Any minute now. You go from circling your hips to lifting yourself up and down. He muffles out curses, hands gripping your hips to help you set a pace. It’s not a nice one. You flex your cunt, lower muscles bearing down as you grip him. He groans, the sound booming in the tight small space.

There’s pleasure coiling behind your pussy. “Naruto, fuck,”

“What do you need, angel?”

“Fuck me,” You whine, pulling on his hair. “Please, baby, please. I need it, need you.”

His gaze drops from your face to where he’s burying himself in your tight cunt. He nods before lifting his eyes. “Stay with me. Ready?”

You flash him a grin and he jolts, his cock twitching deep. You cling to him, desperate and a little dizzy. Your knuckles turn white with each rough, hard thrust. He slides a hand up your stomach, between your breasts so his hand can wrap itself around your throat. He loves to watch you come undone around him, and he’ll never let you forget it either. Your cheeks are flushed, pupils blown with lust, and lips parted as each of your clipped breaths turn into whimpers. He’s so big and you’re so fucking full. He fills you to the brim, cock dragging against your falls. You love every minute of it.

He hasn’t started yet. Not really, but your orgasm takes you by surprise. The course graze of his hairs against your clit. You lurch against him as a whimper escapes. You melt, boneless, like jelly. You’re loose and wet and fucking perfect. His nose presses into your cheek as he grinds into you.

“I love the way you feel when you’re coming on my cock.”

You snort, pulling yourself closer to him. Guttural grunts and low growls meet your ear. It’s a brutal taking, and you are not wet enough. Tears pool in your eyes, threatening to fall with every harsh thrust. You take what you're given, no complaints. You feel him firmly plant his feet, delivering a sharper thrust that has your head hitting the headboard. He mumbles a shitty apology (clearly not sorry at all) but his grasp on your waist is unforgivable. You’re bouncing on his cock now, meeting his every thrust. He’s deep, so deep you’re surprised you can’t taste him. You pull his hair, grinning when he hisses.

“You gonna come for me again, angel?”

Naruto knows you can’t talk. He knows you’re fucked out, gone stupid on his cock. He loves when you get like this, even better when you ask for it. You shift, opening up your legs a little wider. He groans feeling himself sink deeper into you. You’re swollen and raw and you’re living for it. Nodding, his name falls from your lips, breathless–he’s your only savior.

It builds and builds and builds until it has nowhere to go. It roars forward, jolting you, a scream ripped from your throat and your nails digging into him so hard you can feel when he starts to bleed. Naruto is right there. He holds you into place, stubble grazing your cheek. He fucks you through it, jamming himself into your searing overstimulated sex, he meets his end. His grip tightens, a low gravel filled groan comes from deep in his chest, filling you up. Shuddering he falls back against the bed, gasping for air.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, breaking the silence.

You fall forward, hugging him tightly to you. You hadn’t realized how much you’ve been missing him until you were drunk off of him. You’re aching and sore but you refuse to move away from him. His eyes are still dark and heavy-lidded as he regards you.

“Keep me in there,” he reminds you.

“Mhm.” You hum, scratching his head with your nails. “Missed you.”

“I’m right here, angel.”

“I know, still. You haven’t been inside me in almost a month.” You lightly run a finger over his brow making sure not to touch the gash along his cheek.

“Apart from my birthday.” His words make you grin. “You’re right though, it’s been a shitty month.”

You laugh, lifting your head to kiss him. Both of you jump when someone bangs against the door of his room. You press yourself tighter against Naruto.

“If you guys are done fucking, I’d like to win a game of beer pong.”

Your eyes widen. Kiba. Naruto laughs and pulls his shirt down over your head. You adjust yourself the best you can, watching Naruto as he stands to put his costume back on. He looks back at you, sunshine pouring out of his smile.

“What am I supposed to tell people I’m dressed as now?” You ask, wrapping your arms around him.

“Mine, angel. You’re a mean, nasty brat and you’re mine.”

#naruto x reader #naruto one shot #naruto uzumaki x reader #naruto smut #naruto fanfiction

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Man’s Best Friend

Sam and Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: Sam and Dean get you a furry friend, but things don’t turn out how they thought.

“Is that what I think it is?” You whispered as though speaking louder would shatter the air, and the sight in front of you with it.

“Well that depends. If you think it’s an Ewok, then no, it’s not. But if you think it’s a puppy…” Dean broke off with a grin when you squealed, cuddling the puppy to your chest.

“I can keep him? Like? For real?”

“Well we figured with the bunker, he’d have a nice home and you’d have some company,” Sam put in.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” You squealed, jumping up and hugging both of your brothers.

“Anytime, kiddo,” Dean chuckled.

“As long as you look after it,” Sam added.

…

You and Hero became inseparable from the day you met. When he was a puppy, you carried the golden retriever around with you everywhere, and as soon as he was big enough, he followed you everywhere.

He slept in your bed at night, cuddled with you on the couch, and sat at your feet in the library.

Your brothers wouldn’t have had any problem with your bond had the dog not hated them. Well, hate was a strong word, but Hero wouldn’t let them near you. Every time Sam tried to sit next to you in the library, or Dean tried to sit with you on the couch, Hero would growl, even bark, and they were forced to give up their usual spot next to you in order to appease the dog.

“Hey kid, can we talk?” Sam stepped towards you, but backed off when Hero started to growl.

“About what?” You asked, calming Hero with a gentle pat to the head.

“About him,” Dean gestures to the dog, and you frowned, your brows drawing together.

“What about him?”

“Are you joking?” Sam scoffed. “He hates us. I mean, we can’t get near you without-“ Hero barked, and Sam sighed, gesturing to him. “That.”

“He’s just a little protective,” you muttered. “Not exactly unlike you guys.”

“Yeah well, can you call the guard dog off?” Dean demanded. “Because it’s getting ridiculous.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” you admitted. “He likes being close to me, and he’s just not used to you guys.”

“Ok, well then let’s get him used to us,” Sam suggested.

“Is he really so bad?” You knelt next to Hero, smiling when he licked your face.

In response, Dean took a half step towards you, and Hero responded with a harsh bark.

“I guess that’s your answer.”

…

“Hero!” Your dog came running from Sam’s side at the sound of your voice.

“Hey, we were making progress,” Sam insisted. Over the past few days, he and Dean had been slowly getting closer to Hero, and Sam was starting to notice that you seemed alarmed at their progress.

“Yeah, he just needs food,” you muttered, not meeting Sam’s eye as you led Hero to the kitchen.

“Is it just me or has she been acting weird lately?” Dean asked as he stepped to Sam’s side.

“Oh, definitely weird,” Sam insisted.

“She doesn’t seem too happy with us getting acquainted with her dog,” Dean observed.

“I noticed. Should we talk to her about it?”

“Talk to who about what?” You stepped into the library, Hero in tow.

“Nothing,” Dean said. “Hey, how about I take Hero out to the park? Maybe he’ll like me more if we play some fetch.”

“Um…actually I think I’m gonna give him a bath,” you stepped away from Dean, and he didn’t miss the way Hero’s ears perked up, the way they did when he sensed your nervousness.

“Are you ok?” Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Sam’s lack of subtlety.

“I’m fine,” the phrase came out almost as a question. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Why don’t you want us near the dog?” Dean figured that if Sam was going to be so conspicuous, they might as well just ditch subtlety altogether.

“I never said that,” you muttered, suddenly very focused on your hands as you petted Hero.

“Didn’t have to,” Dean insisted. “So what’s up?”

At first Dean thought you weren’t going to answer, but finally you spoke, keeping your eyes averted.

“He’s mine.”

“What?”

You sighed, kneeling on the ground to be closer to your dog, “Look, this is gonna make me sound like a jerk, but it’s just…I-I was worried Hero might like you guys more than me.” You glanced up to meet Dean’s eye for a split second before returning your gaze to Hero.

“He’s your dog,” Sam insisted, “he’s not gonna-“

“You’re great with dogs, and-and Dean has that…I don’t know, that ‘I’m in charge’ attitude that dogs like.” Your arms subconsciously tightened around Hero as you spoke. “I-I thought that if you guys started playing with him more…he might like you better.”

“Hey,” Dean knelt next to you so that he could look you in the eye, and he noticed Hero leaning his body closer to you. “You raised him, ok? He’s not gonna forget that.” Dean reached out and gently scratched behind Hero’s ear. “There’s nothing I could do that would make this dog like me more than you, he’s obsessed with you, I mean look at him.”

You smiled softly as you ran your fingers through Hero’s soft fur, “Yeah, I guess.”

“And I promise, we’re never gonna try to make that happen,” Sam chimed in, joining his siblings in the floor. “But if we’re all gonna cohabitate, we need to make sure this guy at least tolerates us.”

You giggled as Hero sniffed Sam suspiciously.

“I understand.”

“Besides,” Dean added, getting to his feet, “That mutt took my place on the couch, and every once in a while he’s gonna have to share you with us.”

You giggled again, standing at the same time as Sam and looking down at Hero.

“I think maybe I can get him to do that.”

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