#us (sorry the tag cut off when I went to check if I was using the right word)

[lustfulslxt]

Spoiled Rotten - Chris Sturniolo

summary : chris spoils you like no other and you show him how grateful you are

warnings : chris basically being a sugar daddy, swearing, m! oral, p in v, breeding kink, probably some other shit idk

a/n : hii, it’s been entirely too long. i’m kinda rusty but i hope this makes up for it!!

—

Getting everything you’ve ever wanted, even without having to ask, is something you never would’ve imagined for yourself. You’ve always had to work so incredibly hard for even the smallest things. Hell, you’ve had to work two jobs since you were old enough to work, just to be able to afford your bills.

Having a deadbeat father and a mother who had passed always made your life hard. It was up to you to keep things afloat. Keeping the bills paid, the kitchen stocked with groceries, the house tidy — it was all up to you, on top of having to keep your grades up to avoid the wrath of your absent yet, for some reason, still abusive father.

After your mom died, everything went downhill. Your father spiraled out of control. Because of his own wrongdoings, he took his anger out on you. He lost his job, gambled away the majority of your family’s savings, and spent the rest of it on alcohol and drugs. He made it all out to be your fault. If you hadn’t stepped up and started working your ass off, you’d definitely be living on the streets right now.

So, from where you were only a few years ago, to where you are now — you never would’ve pictured having any and everything you could ever want. Especially, from someone else’s wallet.

Chris’ wallet.

Your boyfriend knew of your previous struggles. He’d been your best friend since you were in elementary, so he witnessed what you had to do to get by. He’d beg and beg for you to just let him help, but you’d always refuse. If your own father can’t take care of you, why would you expect someone else to?

However, after so long, Chris ignored your reluctance and was quick to pamper you. Quick to provide for you. You’re everything to him, and he wants to make up for your sorry excuse of a father.

He moved you in with him after being together for two years. He doesn’t let you pay for anything. Him and his brothers keep the bills paid, as well as food in the kitchen. Anything to do with money, he’s got covered. And he still makes sure to spoil you rotten. Yet, not without a complaint from you.

“Chris!” You pouted, “Will you put your damn wallet away?”

Instantly, he’s shaking his head, “No. I don’t know why we have to keep going over this. Whatever you want, I’m getting. So, stop complaining and accept it.”

“But-“

He’s quick to cut you off with a peck to your lips. When you huff, he only grins and wraps an arm around your waist, continuing your stroll through the store.

Chris is extremely observant, and he knows you. He knows you like the back of his hand. So, when you turn away from something too quick after checking the price tag, he knows it’s something you like. You’re trying to throw him off and act uninterested in the entire store, but he can read you better than anyone.

So, while you’re off browsing through everything, grabbing the few things that you can afford, in hopes of talking him into letting you pay for it, he’s backtracking and grabbing your size in everything you took a liking in. By the time you make your way to the registers, Chris is already swiping his card.

Upon seeing the multiple bags on the counter in front of him, you can’t help but frown. You slowly turn around, heading to put the few shirts you had grabbed back. There’s no use in trying.

When you head back to Chris, he’s eyeing you with furrowed eyebrows. You walk next to him and he’s looking between you and the rack you were just at.

“Did you want those?” He asks.

You quickly shake your head, “No.”

“Are you sure? I can-“

You instantly loop your arm with his and drag him to the exit. You’re extremely grateful, but you can’t help but a little guilty because he spends so much money on you. You don’t want him to feel obligated just because you had a shitty past.

However, that’s far from how he feels. He just loves and adores you, and wants to give you everything you could ever want.

On the way home, Chris has your hand in his while he drives. Your eyes never leave him as you’re deep in thought. Thinking of everything he’s ever done and continues to do for you makes you so happy you could cry. You just want to show him how appreciative you are.

Pulling up to the house, you notice a big box sitting in front of the door. You furrow your eyebrows for a second, before concluding one of the boys must have ordered something. Once you both get out with the few bags, you head over and Chris picks up the box with a giant smile on his face.

You can’t help but smile at his smile, “Is that for you? What did you get?”

His eyes twinkle as he looks at you, “You’ll see.”

You give him a quizzical look before following him inside. Rather than stopping at the kitchen, he goes straight down to your shared room, so you follow him.

He places the box on the floor and is quick to open it. You set your bags down on the desk chair and walk over to him, your brows raised with curiosity. As soon as he gets the box open, he smiles widely and gestures for you to look and rummage through. Which you do. What you see has you gasping.

“Chris! You did not…”

He proudly nods, “I did, baby.”

Inside the box are numerous purses, shoes, fragrances, and several boxed skincare products. All things you had in your online cart. Things you never actually planned on buying, for the prices are too expensive, and you were only having a little fun.

Your heart swells at the gesture. He’s always doing the absolute most for you. There’s never ever been a time where he’s denied you of something you want, especially if it comes with a price tag.

You turn to Chris, a downward smile pulling to your lips as you look at him. He smiles back, only bigger and brighter. You take his hands in yours and yank him into you. Your lips meet his in a soft kiss. When he pulls away, you’re left chasing his lips for another. Passionately kissing him, until you’re both left breathless.

As soon as you part, you’re pushing him back onto the bed behind him. He falls with a bounce and wide eyes as he stares up at you.

Before he gets a word out, you’re straddling his lap. “You’re always so good to me. Let me be good to you.”

It takes seconds for Chris to start growing beneath your center. You lick your lips and lean forward, diving into a feverish kiss. His hands quickly meet your back, rubbing up and down, and along your sides.

You hum against his lips, enjoying the feeling of his hands on your body. Your hands move from his face to his hair, sharply tugging on it, eliciting a groan from him that makes your heat throb.

You pull away, your breathing shallow as you tug at the hem of his shirt. He leans up to assist you in removing it, before taking your lips in his again. Your hands instantly meet his bare torso, touching along his pecks and running your hands down his abdomen. His skin is hot beneath your fingertips and it stirs something inside of your stomach.

Your tongues dance together, moving in perfect sync with one another. The kiss gets sloppy, saliva coating both of your mouths. Chris is now rock hard beneath you, and you can’t help but grind against him, the two of you moaning into the kiss.

Your hands travel down his stomach, hooking onto his belt. Without parting from him, you undo his buckle and pull the belt from the loops of his jeans.

“God, you’re so hot.” He groans against your mouth.

You grin and push him back, his hair fluffing as his head hits the pillow below him. Your fingers grasp the button on his pants and quickly part it, slowly sliding his zipper down. He bucks his hips into your hands, desperate for more friction.

You lean forward, whispering in his ear, “Easy baby.” You place a kiss on his neck, causing him to shudder. “Promise I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

With one last kiss to his lips, you remove yourself from his lap and kneel beside him. He lifts his hips up to help you pull his pants down, his boxers following shortly after.

His cock stands tall, fully erect. Precum dribbles from the tip as his veins practically throb. Your mouth is watering at the sight. You take him in your palm, gripping softly. He takes in a sharp breath at the feeling, already fisting the sheets.

You stare into his eyes, puckering your lips, and push forward a jewel of saliva. It falls onto his head, trickling down his length, causing his mouth to fall slack as he takes you in.

You never cease to amaze him. Looking so innocent, but about to swallow him whole. He loves everything about you, especially the way you wrap your mouth around him.

Your tongue flicks over the slit of his tip, causing him to let out a small groan. You smile and wrap your lips around his head, sucking softly.

“Fuck..” He whispers, breathlessly.

Letting your mouth salivate even more, you continue teasing him. His breathing is erratic, eyes wide as he watches you. He so badly wants to shove his dick down your throat.

Luckily for him, you stop with the games and take him into your mouth. You force yourself down to the base, your nose pressing into his pelvic bone. He lets out a throaty moan at the feeling of his tip digging into the warm walls of your throat.

You flatten your tongue and begin bobbing your head up and down, working his cock the way he loves. Occasionally humming around him, pulling more moans from his pretty mouth.

“So fucking good.” He groans, bucking into your mouth.

His hands entangle in your hair as you look up at him and give him the slightest nod, keeping your mouth on him. His grip on you tightens, holding you in place as he begins thrusting in and out of your mouth.

The sounds of wet gagging fill the air, topped with his moans and groans. Your eyes prick with tears before they’re soon falling down your cheeks. Your face is flushed and stained with mascara streaks, drool falling down your chin. Chris can’t help but think you look the prettiest you’ve ever looked as he fucks your throat.

Your hand cups his balls, softly massaging them. His moans grow louder from the sensation, his orgasm approaching rather quickly from the combined stimulations.

His thrusts into your mouth grow sloppy and disorganized. His stomach tightens and his arms flex as he’s pushed over the edge. His hands push you into his dick, holding you in place as it bulges through your neck. He tosses his head back with a lewd moan leaving his mouth, his cock simultaneously spilling down your throat. It’s warm as it smoothly coats your throat, almost like honey when you’re sick. You love every bit of it.

Licking around his member, you pull your lips from him, making sure to suck every bit of cum from him. He groans at the sight of you swallowing every drop, and instantly pulls you up to him with a rough grip on your jaw.

He smashed his lips on yours, kissing you deeply and hungrily. Your pussy throbs for more, aching to be filled with his cock. It only takes a few seconds before he’s flipping you over.

He kneels between your thighs and tugs at your shirt, swiftly removing it. You bite your bottom lip in excitement, ready for him to fuck your brains out. His hands are quickly at your shorts, tugging them and your panties off in one motion. Him being eager to be inside you has you clenching around nothing.

His hands grope your bare tits, squeezing them in his palms. Your soft moans only encourage him. One hand goes back and forth between them, tweaking your nipples. His other hand slides between your legs, running through your folds.

He hums, “So wet already. Does sucking my cock turn you on? Hm?”

You only nod, your bottom lip still pressed tightly between your teeth.

“Mm, such a good little slut for me.”

You whine at his words and push your core into his hand, desperate for more. He pulls away from you, his hand suddenly coming down on your pussy in a quick motion, causing you to yelp as your body jerks. Your arousal only leaks more than it was. To which he notices.

He pouts, “Aw, you like that? You want it rough, don’t you?”

Your head quickly shakes up and down, whining as he rubs your clit. “Yes! Please, please. Want you to fuck me dumb.”

It didn’t take much for Chris to become fully erect again. You always do it for him. The second he kissed you after you swallowed him, he was growing again. That’s something you both love. Sometimes, you can go round after round.

He takes hold of his dick and runs it along your pussy. You whimper from the feeling, slightly grinding down into him. After a few teasing touches, his cock his saturated with your juices, making it easier to slide into you.

Your walls stretch around his girth in such a painfully pleasurable way. Your breath is stripped from your lungs as he bottoms out. You’ve never felt so full. His breath staggers from above you, loving the way you hug him so snugly.

He waits for you to adjust, and once he feels you aren’t so tense, he begins rocking in and out of you. Soft moans leave your lips as your hands run up his arms and grip his biceps. He leans down and presses a few kisses to your hand before picking up the speed.

“You feel so fucking good.” He moans, his strokes deep and hard.

Your mouth falls open, continuous moans emitting from it as your eyes roll back while your head falls to the side. Chris nudges your head to the side and attacks your neck with wet and sloppy open mouthed kisses. His hand suddenly wraps around your throat, applying a great pressure as he pushes himself up. His opposite hand grips your tit before smacking it, causing you to moan and clench around him.

“Look at me when I’m fucking you.” He grits, his hips snapping into yours with a strong force.

You want to look, but you can’t. Your eyes are practically stuck rolled into your head. You can hardly breathe with how hard he’s fucking you. Before you can even try, his hand slaps your face. Not enough to cause damage, but enough to feel the remaining sting. You can’t help but gush around his cock, loving every bit of it all.

You forcefully put your head down, eyes straining to focus on him. And boy are you glad. His hair is slick against his forehead, his skin glistening with a sheen layer of sweat. His cheeks are flushed a rosy pink color, his lips plump from your previous make out. His brows are furrowed in concentration and his entire face is struck with absolute pleasure. He looks like a dream.

You reach your hand out to caress his face and he leans into your touch. You love that he can still be sweet while completely wrecking you.

“Tell me how you feel.” He groans as he fucks in and out of you.

You bring your bottom lip in between your teeth, biting hard to control your moans. Though, it doesn’t work as your jaw drops and loud cries fall from your mouth.

His hand meets your jaw, slightly jerking to snap you out of the blissful trance he’s put you in. His eyes are dark as they bore into you, reiterating with every thrust, “Tell me. How you. Feel.”

Your face contorts in pleasure, sobbing out in between thrusts, “Mm, so good. F-feels sooo good, baby.”

“Such a good girl for me.” He coos, breathlessly.

Your mouth falls open, silent moans leaving it as he fucks into you. You’re on cloud nine. Your body feels on fire as pure bliss floods your veins. You can’t help but repeatedly clench around him as your climax nears. Your face contorts in pleasure, nails digging into his arm, leaving behind crescent shapes in his skin. The knot in your stomach tightens before unexpectedly snapping. You clench around his cock, your juices saturating him as you come undone.

He moans at the feeling, burying his face in your neck as he drops down again, digging into you deeper and deeper. “Gonna fill you up, ma. You’d like that, yeah? Give you my babies? Just wanna have even more to give you, you drive me fucking crazy.”

You soak in his words as you come down from your high, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist, pulling him into you. He smirks at your action, pressing a few sloppy kisses on your lips.

“Yeah, I knew you’d like that.” He moans as his thrusts grow erratic and out of rhythm.

His grip on you tightens, surely leaving behind purple finger shaped bruises. He buries cock into you, loudly groaning as he fills you up. He keeps fucking into you, determined to give you all he’s got. As soon as he can’t take it anymore, he pulls out and collapses beside you.

The two of you lay there, sweaty and panting, trying to recover from your intense orgasms. You both meet eyes, silly grins pulling to both of your faces. Neither of you have ever loved someone more.

Before succumbing to the exhaustion he felt, Chris perks up and leans over to his bedside table. “Oh, I got you one more thing.”

He turns back to you with a small black bag in his hand, offering it to you with a bright smile. You look at him with a pout, before taking the bag.

“When are you gonna stop with this?” You question, cheekily adding, “Aren’t your kids enough?”

He chuckles at you, “Just open the bag.”

So, you do. Inside it is a small black wallet — a wallet that is known for being one of a kind. Its intricate patterns are displayed along the material, the infamous logo engraved in the corner. You open it up to further examine it, your brows furrowing at what’s inside. Upon retrieving it, you look at Chris with a deadpan expression. His black credit card.

He smirks at you, “Yours now baby. No limit, so don’t even bother asking before you swipe it.”

—

a/n : ughh, okay so tbh i rushed the ending bc i ended up losing half of what i had since my cellular device is a literal piece of garbage. anywho, fingers crossed this was enjoyable lmaoo. it’s gonna take a minute for me to get back into things! missed you guys tho <3

taglist : @luv4kozume @worldlxvlys @flowerxbunnie @sturniolowhore @creamoncreamoncream2 @lvrsparadise @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @tillies33ssss @chrissfavwh3re @its-jennarose @sophssturn @defnotayonna @ksskianshd @d0wnbad4chris @braindead4l @avasturn @knowingnothingnoel @luverboychris @remussbitch @stunza @rootbeerworshiper @dracoflaco @strnlsblog @venusbabysblog @domaniquessidehoe @mattslolita @junnniiieee07 @pepsienthusiasts @gamermattsgf @cupidsword @iloveneilperry @leprechaunbirthdaygirl @luul223 @matt444nixi @sturniololol

#lustfulslxt #joss speaks #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #the sturniolos #chris sturniolo #imagine #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #sugar daddy chris sturniolo

[ohcaptains]

abby love spell

pairing. abby anderson x f!reader

synopsis. abby’s been handsy all damn day. can’t even take her hands off of you on patrol, where she should be focusing on something far more important...like staying alive. naively, you think watching a movie will distract her. it’s no use, really.

an. anyway slay. this is based off of this request that someone sent years, nay, millennia ago. what can i say, i was busy procrastinating writing and focusing on playing the game. again. pls enjoy, comment and reblog, etc. it makes the gay thoughts stronger<3 (not showing in tags so reblogs appreciated)

warnings. 18+. please do not read or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy my shit, i’ll find out. hand on throat (no choking), house wife kink, f!receiving penetration, strap on sex, lots of description of spit because i’m insane. references to oral, but no description. soz. maybe next time champ. 

Something was up with Abby. 

She’d always been an affectionate girlfriend, but today, she was stuck to you like glue. The pair of you, alongside Manny and Nora, had left for patrol in the morning. You had been busy making sure the truck was stocked, while Abby was busy trying to find a way to keep her hands on you at all times. 

You were bent over the crates, checking and re-checking the contents, when her hands had slid onto your hips, thumbs looping into the belt buckles. 

You went to flinch, hand coming out to grab hers, but you felt the familiar scabs on her knuckles. The familiar bumps of her veins – the map you knew off by heart.

“Hi Abby,” you sang, patting the back of her hand. Her chest pushed against your back, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Whatcha doing?” she asked, fully aware of what you were doing. 

You answered her though – anything to keep her locked against you like this. There were a couple of layers of fabric between you, but you could still feel the heat radiating off of her.

“Packing the guns.”

Abby hummed, then grabbed at your hip, using it to twist you to face her. You grunted an oft! grabbing the lapels of her jacket to stabilise yourself.

“Shit – Abby,” you scorned, but she ignored you. Instead, she flexed her arms, and you couldn’t see the lines of muscles due to her jacket, but the bulge of her biceps was there all the same.

“Already got 'em, look,” she grinned, wiggling her brows, and you patted her chest, an amused frown on your face.

“What is with you?” you asked, smoothing out her jacket. “Ben put a little something extra in your porridge this morning?”

“I’m just my regular, goofy ol’ self – what do you mean?”

Her blue gaze flicked to your top, visible from underneath your open jacket.

“That’s my top,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Oh yeah – sorry,” you quickly spoke, glancing down at it, and thus not noticing the tick in Abby’s jaw. She always loved you in her clothes. Loved the way they draped over you – especially the jagged arm holes she cut into them. 

The fabric would always hang loose at your sides, and she’d spend all day glimpsing at the drag of it over your chest. “Lights went out in the East block when you were at the gym. Had to get dressed in the dark—” you’re cut off, the surprise of Abby’s head dropping against your chest rendering your vocabulary to just one word, "Abby!”

“Mm,” she hummed, pushing her forehead between your breasts, “smells like me.” “Abby—” you said again, a giggle cracking at your lips. Your hands fumbled for her shoulders, shoving her away, or at least trying to – Abby was dead weight. You admired her strength. Loved it, but it was times like this when it was a hindrance to your mental stability. Finally, she stretched back to her height, shit eating grin on her face. 

You were too busy transfixed on her features, that you didn’t notice her hands coming out to the bottom of your coat. Suddenly, she pulled the zip up to the top, and she knocked your chin up with her knuckle, leaning down to give you a deep kiss.

You went somewhere else for a second, the drag of her tongue knocking reality out of the way. Melted, succumb to her sudden overwhelming taste -- but she pulled away too soon.

“Cold out,” she grinned, hands rubbing at the length of your now-covered chest, and you were too dazed to respond.

It was like that all. Damn. Day.

She never once stopped playing around with you. 

She’d boost you up walls, hands sliding under your thighs in an attempt to push you up. Hand at the bottom of your back to signal you to walk faster, hands on your hips to pull you out of the way. 

Pulling you around like a damn rag doll. 

Nice shot, she’d say, when it was actually pretty average. 

Good girl, she casually praised, after you’d jumped and grabbed her arm, letting her pull you up onto a roof. That one had got you -- had to take a second to gather yourself as she spoke to Manny about which direction you were going.

Got to an abandoned warehouse and she pulled you to the side, sparing a few minutes to kiss you against a stack of boxes.

What’re you doing? You’d asked, and all she said was, kissing my girlfriend.

Now, you’re trying to watch a movie together. 

Or at least, you’re trying to watch a movie – she’s too busy touching you to focus on the plot. 

You’re comfy on your shared bed, resting on her broad chest as you sit between her muscular thighs, and she’s keeping you there by the arm she’s got slung around your front – bicep on your shoulder – as she lazily kisses at your neck.

It’s distracting, to say the least.

“’um trying to watch,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. The movie buzzes at you – an 80’s flick, all electronic beams, and bright colours. It’s about robots, and when Mel had brandished the disk in front of you last month, you’d been eager to have a watch. 

Now, the direction Abby’s mouth is taking is far more interesting. 

She scatters lazy, wet smooches over your neck, pausing before she places another as if she’s painting a picture. The drag of it makes you lethargic — makes you comfy and loose in Abby’s grip.

You want nothing more than to give into her touch. You’ve spent the whole day trying to shove down the overwhelming feeling of desire that she’d been pulling out of you. But you’ve been meaning to watch this movie for months.

No, you tell yourself. Focus. You breathe in, and shake your head, snapping back to the screen.

Abby hums. She’s so warm and soft -- her muscular chest surprisingly comfortable – that it’s lulling you into a sense of submission. You rest back against her, enveloped in her arms. Enveloped in the soft brush of her lips against your throat.

Focus, you repeat to yourself.

Got to give this movie back to Mel tomorrow, she’s been asking for it for weeks. “You can watch,” Abby whispers, brushing her mouth over your ear. The wetness of her lips forces a shiver down your spine. You try and run from it, shuffling in her grip, but Abby keeps you steady – lazily locked against you with her arm slung over your shoulder. “Just let me kiss you,” she breathes, placing a soft, delicate one on your ear lobe. Your eyes flutter again. She smells fresh from the shower. Smells clean, like her soap – pine and mint. Her hair is down too – you love it when her hair is down – and it hangs long, smelling like…strawberries? Your shampoo. Fuck fuck fuck. You shake your head, “can’t focus on the movie when you’re kissing me like that.” Abby smiles against your neck, and you feel it – feel it curve against your skin. “Sounds like a you problem.” “You’re an asshole,” you whisper, and she laughs.

“Just be quiet and watch the movie,” she orders, wide palm rubbing your bare thigh. “Quit whining.”

You grumble, mumbling something under your breath, but you do go quiet, and thankfully, she does slow her kissing. Resorts to nuzzling your neck instead, while her left hand continues to rub at your thigh. 

It is nice, and you manage a couple of minutes of this, relaxing and watching the movie before you feel her hand sliding upwards.

You inhale sharply. Breathe in her scent. Wait for her to slow down. Wait for her to stop. Yet she never does. 

Her long, thick fingers leisurely flutter over your bare skin as her hand inches to where you suddenly want it – God, do you – tantalisingly close to the boxers you’re wearing. Hers. 

Your whole outfit is hers and you swear she’s going to touch you, or at least brush her fingers against you, but she pulls back. Slides her hand away, wide palm retreating to your knee.

Disappointment twangs.

You try not to think about it, but the buzz she’d sparked settles low in your belly.

The film continues with its garish colours and cheesy dialogue. Buzzes and crackles, its movie star taking up the screen for an up-close shot. You swallow down the fluttering of your heart.

She’s still kissing you.

Her lips are wet, exploring. Nose cold as it nuzzles against your ear lobe, breath warm as she breathes, and her tongue darts out, skimming over your throat before she kisses the spit away. You hum, hips pushing again, and Abby palms at your inner thigh.  

“Shhh, baby. Can’t hear the movie with all your whimpering.” The breath of her whisper flutters over your neck, forcing goosebumps to rise to the surface. You roll your eyes back and try and convince yourself that it’s from annoyance rather than pleasure.

Her hand starts again, faster now, smoothing over your skin, not giving you enough time as she just brushes the tips of her fingers over your underwear, and your hand jolts out.

“Abby,” you warn, grabbing it. You intertwine your fingers with hers, stopping it in its tracks — clutching it on your lap, and Abby hums a laugh into your neck.

“Not gonna let me touch you there?” she teases, using the hand you’re holding to rub at your groin. 

You’re betrayed by your own knuckles, the touch forcing your thighs to clench together, and hips to jolt up at the sensation. You hate it. Love it, really. She’s winding you up like a toy. “Abby,” you whisper, conflicted. The tv hisses its dialogue, music singing – a car crashes into a wall, and the antagonist cackles in delight. Who’s the villain again? Abby hums a pleased, “Hm?” into your ear. You don’t know. Just have to spit her name out. Get it out of you, before it’s back, brimming at your lips like an omission of truth. 

She pushes her hand into yours, forcing your knuckles to rut against your crotch again, and fuck, your legs widen an inch, welcoming the feeling and silently begging for more. 

She’s smiling, sickly sweet – you know it. Know her. Know she’s grinning from the gradual win.

You keep a hold of her hand as she rubs it into you, coaxing something warm and tingly to build between your thighs. Your face goes hot. 

You suddenly can’t remember the plot of this movie. Try to come up with something convincing to Mel for when she asks for your review, but your temporal lobe has stopped working. 

All you can think about is the sensation between your thighs, the comforting tickle on your chest from Abby’s hair, and the smell of her – familiar, all-consuming. She runs the tips of her teeth over the flesh of your throat, and “Abs,” you gasp, free hand grabbing onto her forearm. 

Her tongue comes out, soothing the scratch from her teeth and you shift, shocked, hips bucking back against her, legs falling open, and she takes advantage – drops your hand and flattens her palm between your thighs, cupping your clothed pussy.

“Shit,” you gasp, clutching her strong forearm with both hands in surprise.

You can’t believe you’ve let her win.

She’s not even moving, just holding you, but the pressure is enough to force your thighs together, pussy clenching around nothing.

“Um’ gonna break up with you,” you quickly rush, eyes clenching closed. Abby cackles. Says, “Yeah?” “Mm,” you hum, nodding, fidgeting, trying to get her to fucking move. “Okay –“she breathes, stuffing her fingers low, thick of them pressing against you. Your mind goes fizzy. She talks. “--After I make you come though, right?” Your face clenches together, your mouth falling open. “You’re the worst,” you brandish, lying through your teeth. Meaning it wholeheartedly. 

She hushes you, “Shhh, I know,” and watches your facial expressions change – watches you try to self-soothe.

“The worst,” you repeat, voice cracking. Somehow, Abby’s lips get closer to your ear.

“I know baby, but I’ll make it good, promise.”

Her admission forces your eyes open, and you look down at where she’s got you – thick fingers barely pushing against your clothed slit, and God, you have to – have to grind your cunt against her. One slight roll of your hips, up and up, then down, and you huff, curse under your breath because Jesus Christ.

“Or you’ll do it for me.” “Shut up.” “No – do it again.”

You do. With your hands holding the forearm she’s got buckled against your collarbones, you hitch your hips up, and she keeps her hand tense, making it good for you. Makes sure the ball of her palm pushes into your clit, and you sigh. A tremor shoots through your belly.

“Keep doing that,” she mutters, mouth close enough that her words echo through your brain. “I wanna see.” She grabs a fistful of your shirt and drags it up. The cool air hits the soft skin of your belly, but Abby warms you as her arm flattens against it, hefty and comforting. 

You watch her strong arm transfixed. Watch the muscles tick as her hand flexes, the scars on her skin white and shiny in the dull buzz of the TV screen. 

Her fingers rub at your pussy, and your hips move, back arches, grinding against her palm, your breathing hitching and catching. 

She’s barely touching your clit, just brushing it, and the sensation slowly builds, pushing, making you reach down and fumble for her hand, pushing it deeper into you.

“Abs,” you choke, and she groans. Nods against your neck and admits, “wanted to fuck you all day.”

Heat rushes over you, forces you to clench together and pathetically whimper. “Been obsessed with me all day,” you breathe. 

In your cloudy vision, you catch sight of the TV screen, the movie playing out to two people who couldn’t care less. Yet you try and focus, but it’s hard to multitask with her hand between your thighs.

The antagonist is being arrested, and you have no fucking clue as to why. Probably something to do with the car explosion – or was it a truck? Abby carries on kissing you, sucking at the soft skin, bruising you with her sweet lips and tongue, “m’ always obsessed with you,” she purrs, the hand she’s got strapped across your collarbones soothing the skin of your shoulder. “Mm, yeah – but something --” she rubs the ball of her palm over your clit, pushes it, this time, and your sentence catches. “Shit —” you hiss, eyes rolling back. A shiver runs down your spine as your brain short circuits. Desperately, you try to keep a hold of reality, try not to fall into the dizziness of it all.

Sometimes that happened with Abby. You didn’t mind, but you wanted to hold on to your consciousness for a little while longer. You huff, shake your head – try to remember your next sentence. “Something different about today.”

“Had a dream that I fucked you last night.”

Oh, you think, that’ll do it. You can’t help but grin -- delighted that you’ve managed to weave your way into her subconscious.

“Things were different, normal,” she explains, still taunting you with her hand. She’s pushing up, grinding up and down your clothed slit with an intrinsic kind of determination, using just enough pressure to make you delirious. 

As she pushes her fingers low, your clit throbs. Your pussy clenches, tight and sore. You were never good at this bit. Never good at waiting. You clutch her hand, tense and fidgety, gut tightening as her fingers slowly push you to some metaphorical edge.

“Don’t laugh,” she adds, and you do, but not at her, more so at the situation. Your big, controlling Abby, asking you not to laugh at her. “M’ not gonna laugh at you Abs,” you pant, grinding slowly, breathing deep, trying to calm yourself down for this admission she’s so ashamed of. 

She leans in close, mouth against your ear as if the TV can hear. All it does is add to the pressure, her voice so close, it’s like it’s in your own head.

“I dreamt that you were my housewife,” she whispers, and fuck, that’s not what you expected. That’s not what you expected at all. “That I came home,” she continues, sliding her fingers up and down, up, and down, and you’re wet against her. Soaked through the cotton, her fingers damp with your slick. Jesus Christ, she’s only been playing. 

Hadn’t felt like she’d been trying all that hard, really, and here you are, making her hand all wet. You both watch her play with you – draw it out, fingers dragging, your hips trying to match her rhythm. “’n’ you were making me dinner, dressed up all pretty – heals on, nothing underneath.” “Y-Yeah?” you breathe, quick and short, the only sound you can make besides the quiet moans you’re mumbling. “And you waltzed up to me, said, honey, you’re home. N’ undid my tie.”

You’re wet enough that she can see the outline of your pussy through her boxers. Gently, she relaxes her palm and slides her middle finger through your slit, your legs widening, watching her, knowing what she’s doing before she does it.

“That’s it,” she mutters, finger pushing against your clit. “So fucking wet, s’so fucking hot,” she breathes into your ear, teeth on your earlobe and fuck, you nearly come. 

Nearly burst, white-hot heat jolting through you, eyes clenching together, pussy clenching – want her inside of you, feels like you’ve never wanted her more than you do now.

She carries on, languidly rolling your clit around, tenderly pushing at the nerve.

“Then you dropped to your knees,” she coos into your ear, and fuck, in your haze you didn’t see her move. Didn’t feel her slide her hand over your throat, holding you still. You swallow against her palm.

“and unlaced my boots. Took them off for me, so good. So helpful.”

She keeps the pace steady. Hits the nerve at such an angle that you can’t run from pressure. Your pussy gushes, and words fail you.  

Abby kisses your cheek, “You okay baby? Gone quiet on me.”

“I think um gonna come,” you quickly admit, voice cracking. You’re clenched so tight that it hurts. Just begging for something, anything, to fill the need she’s building. Your thighs twitch and you feel her smile on your cheek, curved cheekily. She ignores you. Carries on.

“Dinner on the table for me, my favourite. Dessert in the fridge, beer on ice. Your pretty little face so excited that I was back.”

Your small voice shatters through her spiel -- “Did you fuck me against the table?” you whimper, imagining it. “With my dress and heels still on?”

Abby groans. Her fingers break their rhythm for a second, go sloppy – get distracted. You think about her bending you over the kitchen table, your hair in her fist and her strap in her hand. 

She gets her rhythm back and picks up speed. Rubs your clit in tight, controlled circles, and you feel yourself get closer. There’s a familiar ache at the bottom of your belly.

“Yeah baby, I did,” she breathes. “Treated you like a lady. Made you come on my cock so quick that my dinner was still warm.”

“Abby,” you burst, cutting her off. Fuck, you hear it – hear how desperate you are. “You don’t wanna watch your movie?” she teases, using the hand on your throat to push your chin to her. She looks at you pitifully, blue eyes blown wide. “No,” you whine, teeth chewing at your bottom lip, making it swollen. You manage to shake your head, and she pulls your lip from your teeth, using her thumb to slide your spit over your chin. “Don’t wanna see how it ends?” she further taunts. “N-No,” you sob, nearly crying. Actually, no, you are crying. Yeah, your cheeks are definitely damp with something. 

You sniff, and Abby goes soft. For a fleeting second, she switches -- kisses away your tears, and says, “shh, okay. I know sweetheart, I know.”

She pushes her forehead against yours, and you’re lulled into a false sense of security before she pulls her fingers away. 

You shatter, gasp “No!”, and Abby kisses you, shuts you up, hands tugging your boxers down, quickly pulling them over your knees and discarding them onto the floor somewhere.

She tugs your thighs open, too, fully exposing you, and the cool air hits your damp pussy just as she stuffs her fingers back, sliding her thick middle finger through your slick before pushing it into your swollen, aching hole.

The world tips on its axis. For a brief, cataclysmic moment, you go somewhere else. Mouth open, eyes clenched close. The obscene pressure is overwhelming, and you clench around her finger, so tight that she groans into your mouth.

“Jesus,” she curses, “ease up baby, lemme make you feel good.”

It takes all of your willpower to loosen up, to relax. When you do, she slides out, then in, gently, slowly fingering you, warming you up, before she adds another finger, wet enough for the stretch, and you go blank.

You don’t say anything – can’t, no words, only sounds, loud and against her mouth. Cursing her out, moaning her name – garbled and sloppy, hands clutching her forearm, nails digging into her skin -- all sensation. 

You can hear how wet you are, hear your pussy squelching around her fingers.

“'m gonna come,” you gasp, and Abby nods, kisses you, tastes your spit and coaches you through it, “That’s it, baby, just let it all out.”

Seconds later, it rushes over you.

Sucks you under and spits you out, your hips bucking against Abby’s quick-moving fingers as you come, wet and hot, spilling over and soaking the sheets. “m’ my god, my god,” you whine, the white-hot feeling never-ending. 

Legs shaking, and Abby watches, praises you, says, “oh fuck, look at that,” and you can’t, it’d be too much. Instead, you whine against her cheek, back arching, body shuddering, her name spilling from your lips like spit.

“Abby,” you babble, “Abby, feels so fuckin’ good, you make it so good,” you drool, words sloppy, pussy clenching tight. 

The sensation continues. You breathe her name again, Abby Abby Abby – a prayer on your swollen lips. Please, you whisper — please what?

Abby won’t let you come down. Your sensitivity spirals, but Abby doesn’t stop. Drags her thick fingers through your clenched walls, and you gasp, hands grasping out to grab hers. 

You clutch her wet hand in your limp grip, whimpering, please, against her mouth.

“Okay,” she breathes, barely there. “Okay, I’ll stop.”

She pulls her fingers out of you slowly, kissing your forehead as you make a soft humming sound. You’re still so sensitive. 

The heat has cooled, but the feeling still lingers, and Abby kisses your forehead again, quieting the dull ache that’s washing over you. Gently, she pulls her hand away from yours, bringing her slick fingers up to her lips. 

You watch through half-lidded lids as she runs her mouth over them, humming in contentment. Pink tongue darting over the digits – you flush, your own tongue licking at your bottom lip as you study her.

You curl your legs together, thighs wet, feeling the pressure that’s still there. Abby sees you wince. She studies your features -- notes that your eyes haven’t lost their glaze, and now they’re edged with something wild, as if you’ve gotten a taste, but not enough to scratch the itch. 

There’s a familiar softness to you, too. Almost lethargic, as you run your nail over her forearm, eyes flicking over her strong jaw and flushed cheeks.

“You were messing with me all day.”

It’s a whisper, words tentative. Abby licks her lips, noting how your glassy eyes follow the movement. “Messing?” she repeats, inching forward, and pressing her forehead against yours. You close your eyes, a small, contented smile on your lips, then lick them, teeth coming out to chew. “Hm.” “You like when I mess with you?” she teases, and you hum again. The smile you’re donning builds, bubbling into a nod. 

She can’t help but reach out, and gently run her thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip, tugging it free from your teeth. You sigh, body leaning into her touch. “You’re very distracting…” She slides her wide palm over your cheek, dragging it to the back of your neck, then holds you there, inching her head to the left and brushing her mouth over yours – a small hint of you on her lips. “…S ’almost dangerous.” “’ m sorry,” you quickly breathe, come drunk. Drunk on Abby fucking Anderson. In your hazy and small headspace, you suddenly feel bad. She must know because she shakes her head, “don’t be.”

Her breath flutters over your lips, hand flexes at the back of your neck. That pressure that she’d subsided, is back. Feels suddenly critical.

“s’my fault for thinking I have any self-control.”

You want to kiss her. The desire sweeps over you, crashing like a wave. You go to move, but she whispers, “wanted to fuck you in that abandoned warehouse,” and all you can do is ask, “Why didn’t you?” A laugh rattles through her.

“nearly did.”

You think about the blood on her hands, think about the smear of it as she pulled your hips against hers, mouth hot and desperate. She’d sucked a quick bruise under your earlobe, and you’d melted. 

Electric had shot through your belly, warming between your thighs. 

Abby, you’d moaned, and she’d just about growled. Teeth had nipped at your tender skin, just this side of mean, and your brain had short-circuited.

You forgot about the impending danger around the corner — all you could think about was Abby, with her wandering hands and soft lips. The way she licked away the scratch and kissed you again, said, we gotta get this thing over with so I can take you to bed.

“Would have, too, if I wasn’t so damn responsible.”

She tuts at herself, annoyed at her regiment. She licks the spit off of her lip and you pout, I wanted to do that, you think.

“I like the responsible Abby,” you manage to mutter, bumping your mouth against hers, “She keeps me safe.”

Abby hums. Her eyes close as if she’s bathing in your omission. Abby does keep you safe. She’s strong, capable — a brilliant teammate and when she needs to be, a leader. She quiets the anxious thumping of your heart, and when she’s got you like this — floaty and soft — quiets it completely.

“Please kiss me,” you suddenly breathe, overwhelmed with the desire to have your mouth on her. “I’ve been waiting patiently.”

At the back of your neck, you feel her hand flex. She brushes her mouth against yours again, gently teasing, “You have, haven’t you?” her brows raise – followed by a sickly sweet smirk.

There’s something about this space you’re in that makes even the smallest of mockeries big and meaningful.

“I have,” you just about plead, and Abby’s smirk twists, a flash of longing bleating over her features, before she catches your lips, kissing you deep and long -- your resulting moan cracking through the bedroom. 

Her tongue comes in, wet and warm, forcing you closer — forcing you to just about clamber into her lap, damp inner thighs sliding against her sweatpants.

Abby pulls away, eyes dark and cloudy as she whispers, “Want me to get the strap?” and the only answer you find is, yes.

 You watch as Abby drags the leather straps up her thighs, then crawls onto the bed, buckling up one side as she moves. Immediately, with an instinct she’s drilled into you, you get onto your knees to do the other, hands fumbling around the leather. 

You’ve done this countless times before. Know what notch she likes it on. Knows she likes it tight, likes when the leather stretches over her thighs, marring them red. She lubes it up as you buckle her up tightly.

“So helpful – such a good girl, you know that, huh?”

She moves to kiss you, and you giggle into her mouth, catching the back of her head as she pushes you into the bed. Her strap brushes over you, and you sigh, humming at the sudden wet sensation. 

She tastes like you. Tastes like musk and mint and Abby. You tongue your way into her mouth, suddenly wanting more. Wanting her, carnally. Spent all day with her -- you spend most days with her, but it’ll never be enough.

You break away from her, slowly blinking, watching a trail of spit connect the two of you. She’s propped up on one elbow, watching you. 

Her eyes are navy blue under the shadow of the light, the freckles on her nose hidden, but you know they’re there. Know how they sprinkle out evenly as if they were painted there before she was handed off to her mother.

“I like being helpful,” you admit. Something flashes in her eyes. Her features shift, once playful, now soft, and her hand comes out, brushing your hair away from your forehead. 

Instinctively, you move into her palm. It’s warm – calloused, familiar. You move to nuzzle your nose into it.

“I like that you let me come along on patrols,” you whisper.

You don’t see it, but Abby’s face twitches, “I don’t let you do anything – I want you there.”

There’s a beat before you respond, too busy running your nose over her palm. When you turn to her, you flash her a cheeky smile, “So you can mess around with me.”

Abby sniffs a laugh, but she shakes her head, “So you can save my ass when I eventually fuck up.”

“s ’never happened. I don’t remember.”

“Selective memory.”

Her fingers move, forefinger resting under your chin and thumb coming up to slip over your bottom lip. Abby swears she sees your eyes glaze over again. She loves this. Loves when you get like this. It lets her know that you trust her, trust her to do what’s best.

“You with me?” she just about purrs. You hum. She watches as your body goes limp like she’s pressed a hidden button. You shift, your legs open wide, and your breasts bounce with the movement. If you were watching, you’d see eyes shift over your body – hungry and desperate.

You breathe in a sigh, and it rattles in your chest. “Yeah—” you whisper, “---think so. You make me feel so dizzy, Abby.”

Your eyes flutter closed, tongue coming out to catch her thumb. Your teeth go over it, and the hood of her nail drags over your gums, your bottom teeth pushing at the soft flesh. The sensation goes directly between Abby’s thighs. Still, she shows her usual concern. She cocks her head to the side.

“You’ll let me know if it’s too much, yeah?” “Yeah Abby,” you whisper around her finger, “s’never too much though. You know me.” “Promise?” she asks, ignoring you. “Promise,” you repeat, then, “I can still taste myself on you.”

Your tongue closes around her finger, wetting it – warm and soft. Abby briefly thinks: this is what she feels like inside. She goes red at the thought. An ache builds – she suddenly wants to be nestled deep, watching you come undone again.

You suck her finger further, eyes still closed, lost in the motion. The intoxication makes you grab a hold of her wrist, keeping her steady as spit pools under your lips, dripping towards your chin.

“Is this what I did in your dream?” you suddenly ask, blinking up at her. You catch her dark eyes, and she notes the spit that’s drooling over your tits.

“When I was on my hands and knees for you?”

All of the willpower Abby had left snaps in two. She suddenly shifts, moving you by shoving her big, strong hands under your thighs and spreading you open.

“Lemme fuck you,” she babbles, hitching your hips up. You watch her try to gather her nerve, but she talks and talks as she shuffles you around  – “I gotta fuck you baby. Gotta – gotta make it good, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, nodding, seeing her lose her cool. “I gotta.” “Okay,” you whisper again. You reach over with your hand, smoothing it over her cheek, begging her to look at you, but she just takes the hand and tries to get you situated. Moves the pillow, and makes sure your hips are pushed wide enough. “Yeah – I just, fuck. Yeah, fuck. Lemme – please?” she suddenly stops, like she’s caught herself before she falls off the ledge completely. The soft skin of your thumb smoothes over her cheek, and you nod, flexing your hips up, “fuck me, Abby.”

The roles shift and ripple. When Abby gets so turned on, she gets desperate — pleads and begs instead of tells.

But when she’s got the strap stuffed against your wet hole, the roles snap back.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, suddenly overwhelmed. You’re still a little sensitive, and now lightheaded and dizzy with delirium, all you can do is pout against her pretty mouth, eyes glazed and wide. “Shhh, baby. Shh shh shh,” she punctuates. She looks down at where you connect, and slides the strap across your sopping folds, listening for your reaction. You huff, whispering her name – then jolt up when she brushes it against your clit, hands coming for the back of her head again.

“Abs,” you gasp, scuffed knees pressing on her hips.

“Um gonna make it good, okay?” she soothes, “don’t I always make it good for you?”

She does. Abby knows you like the back of her palm. Knows all your buttons, knows when to push them – how. Knows when it’s too much, or when it’s not enough. Her eyes flash open, blue and alive, and she kisses you as she stuffs the head against your hole, slowly sinking in, burying deep.

“Oh my fucking God,” you sob against her mouth, clenching, so fucking full that you have to arch your back. Your breath hitches, letting Abby know that you’re filled up tight.

“Abby,” you whine, hands reaching for your tits. You squeeze them, fidgeting, going a little frantic at the sensation. Abby watches – sees.

“Shhh, shhh, shh,” she hushes, brushing her lips against yours, kissing you sweetly. The tenderness makes you sob, the taste of her tongue intoxicating. It lulls you, quiets you, and she pulls away, ordering, “Hands in my hair, baby, know you like em’ there.”

You do as she says, sniffling, trying to calm yourself down. She’s dragged this out slowly, though. You hadn’t realised how much you wanted her until she stopped.

She reaches over you, grabs a pillow, ordering, “Hips up, high, sweetheart – that’s it,” before she stuffs it under you, the movement jostling her cock, but when you relax back, legs high on her back, Abby stuffs you again, the new position forcing the strap to hit something devastating.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck – “you curse, eyes flashing white. “‘um gonna come so fast, Abs.” “S’okay baby,” she soothes, slowly pulling out of you. She brushes her mouth against yours as she whispers, “I’ll just fuck you until you can’t anymore.”

God, it must take minutes.

Must be minutes – maybe even seconds – of her slowly fucking up into you, splitting you open on her cock, before you’re feeling the familiar swell flood your pussy. 

You’ve got your fingers laced in her long, blonde strands, and you’re pretty sure you’re scraping your nails against her scalp, but Abby’s too busy murmuring how pretty you are to notice.

In your almost drunken haze, you notice how pink her lips are – all swollen from her teeth and wet with spit – and you can’t keep your eyes off of them. They spill compliments all over you. 

Bathe you, before pressing them to your mouth, swallowing your desperate cries.

Abby’s got one hand at the nape of your neck, and the other is clutched around your left knee, keeping it locked up against her upper back. The position means you can’t run from her. 

She’s an all-consuming presence, and it’s almost too much. She moves her hand, but you don’t dare move your knee. It’s locked there, and the position she’s put you in makes you delirious. Then she doubles the pressure with her thick fingers against her clit.

“Jesus – fuck, Abby,” you curse, eyes rolling back, the world going dark. You’re so wet that she can’t catch a grip, and her fingers swirl sloppily over your clit as her face clenches together, as if she’s doing it to herself.

“So fuckin’ wet,” she grunts against your lips, her face a snarl. You don’t see it, but she shakes her head. Shakes her head and then speeds up, fueled by the desire to make you wetter. Make it worse better for you.

The change in speed forces your eyes open. You grab onto her shoulder, hiccuping a sob, wet, hot heat pulsating between your legs. 

Your eyes roll back again, mouth comes open, fingers clench tight and Abby sees it. Knows you’re about to come so hard that she’ll feel it. “Abby,” you gasp, and she nods. Presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips and soothes you with, “I know.” “S’gonna be – b-big, fuck. M’ clenching so fuckin’ tight.”

Abby feels your back arch into her, your tits pushing against her chest. She keeps at her steady rhythm – tilts your pelvis and bucks her hips with an unrelenting tempo, catching the sight of the strap, white from you.

Your orgasm blindsides you.

You’re silent as you come. Mouth open against hers, clenching so tense and tight around her cock that it almost hurts. Then, Abby sees you release, gushing over her cock as your hips stutter and legs shake, your orgasm washing over you, knocking you for a loop.

She groans at her sight, then hears you sob, strangled, followed by, oh my god Abby, oh my fuckin’ – then it’s all whimpers, your pussy still pulsating around her strap.

Abby slows her pace.

She ignores the pressure between her own thighs, and instead, kisses the drool off of your lips, shakingly saying, never seen you come so hard like that twice, s’gotta be a record, and you’re so fucked out that you don’t even laugh.

Your eyes are glazed over, sweat pooling at your hairline, and your mouth is still hanging open as if you’re trying to find something to say. Abby kisses it shut. Tries, again, to ignore the throbbing of her clit. Tries to ignore the desire to fuck you into the mattress and make herself come.

You’re still shaking for fucks sake, but Abby can’t stop. She’s already pushing it by slowing, humming against your mouth, the sounds almost a whimper. 

Her face is snarled together, jaw clenched, and she sees your brow furrow. Feels you clench your fists to her chest, wondering why she’s still fucking you. When she drops her head into your neck, you understand.

“I’m sorry—” she sobs, wide palms dragging under your shoulders and latching onto them. “I’m – fuck – feels so good.”

You snap out of your delirium. Or it twists at least. You spread your legs, ignoring the pressure behind your clit – the sensitivity that never had a chance to subside. Now, you’re here for Abby.

“S’okay baby,” you drawl, voice trembling, but fuck, your girlfriend is desperate. You hitch your hips up and press against her tight, so she has to grind against you to fuck you, and Abby loses it. 

The added pressure against her clit forces her to moan, the sound muffled by your throat.

“Use me, okay?” you whisper against the shell of her ear, hands in her hair, clutching her to you. “use me to come.”

“S-shit, okay,” she whimpers. “Okay okay okay—” lost to her pleasure, Abby sloppily rocks into you. She picks up the speed, sinking into your wet and swollen hole, splitting you open and moaning your name so loud that it rattles through you.

“I’m gonna come,” she whimpers, then, “holy fuck, um gonna come.”

Heat rushes over you, overwhelming. All consuming. You’re suddenly filled with the urge to kiss her. 

Taste her on your tongue, and just this side of mean, you use her hair to move her, dragging your mouth against hers, letting you see her red, sweaty face and fucked out eyes.

“That’s it, baby,” you whisper, nodding, meeting her thrusts as she fucks you. “You gonna come inside of me?” you whisper, pouting, “You gonna fill me up?”

Realistically, you know she can’t. So does she, but that doesn’t stop her from nodding, hips rocking against yours. Going, “Jesus – fuck. Fuckin’ dirty.”

She hides her red face in your shoulder again, as if she’s almost embarrassed by how desperate she is.

“My fuckin’ dirty girl,” and grunts, and she punctuates it with a snap of her hips, knocking the sensitivity up tenfold. 

It feels so good, and if she carries on this way, you’re likely to come again, but by the clutch of her fingers and drag of her breathing, you know she’s not going to last long enough. 

Know that it’s not about you, though. Know that she’ll likely catch her breath for a second and begin all over again. Abby was like that. One was never enough.

Her high-pitched, shaky breathing brings you back. It’s there – even if you can’t see her face, you know it.

“Gonna come for me Abby?” you whisper. Then, with your wet mouth against her ear, you whimper, please baby, please come for me.

She does. You feel her body clench against you, a strangled gasp muffled against your neck, and then she’s shaking, orgasm washing over her and taking her under. 

You soothe her through it. Rub her muscular back, drag your nails over her spine, and kiss the side of her head. When the aftershocks cool off, she laughs. The sound rumbles against your neck, shocked and alive.

“Holy shit,” she curses, giving your neck a sloppy kiss. Your skin is still electric, but it slowly sparks out, bottoming to a dull delicious numbness. A slow, lazy smile pulls at your lips. 

Your head is still a little fuzzy.

Abby hands slide out from under your shoulders, and she presses them besides you, pushing herself up, long blonde hair falling around your head like a curtain. Her cheeks are blushed red, eyes wiry and alive. 

You feel yourself staring at her. Abby stares back. She shifts idly, cocking her head to the side and leaning to kiss you. With her tongue in your mouth, she whispers, “’m gonna move.”  

Gently, she slips out of you, kissing away the scrunch of your brows and pout to your lips. She quickly unbuckles the strap, pushing it to the side before leaning down again, wide palms pushing your thighs apart to try and distill the pressure there.

“Okay?” she breathes, putting all of her weight onto her elbows.

“Mm,” you hum dreamily, leaning up to give her a messy kiss, “That was really hot.” Abby kisses back, humming in agreement, “Feel like I just found out the meaning of life.” “What?” you laugh, scrunching your face at her.

You raise your brows, laughing, “the meaning of life is coming while fucking me?” “Yep,” she grins, bumping her nose to yours. She turns to the TV, the credits rolling.

“Should we start the movie again?” she asks sincerely, but you shake your head, fingers tightening in her hair. 

Lazily, you slip your tongue into her mouth, wrapping your legs around her lower back and using your feet to push her ass into you. She groans, trying to catch up, but you pull away just when she matches your rhythm.

You lick your lips and lean back, your mouth curling into a delicious grin. Abby watches you reach out, your thumb running over her bottom lip, and she catches it in her mouth just as you say, “Still wanna taste you.”

more abby smut

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[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Best Undercover Mission Ever » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky and Y/N go undercover as a fake married couple for a mission and things get steamy between the two of them.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, (f receiving), unprotected sex, riding, praise kink, size kink, Bucky’s dog tags, use of pet names

A/N: Y/N has the same fighting abilities as Natasha.

A/N #2: Thank you to @buckys-wintersoldier for helping me choose the middle picture for the aesthetics🩵

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“The file is where?” You asked Natasha through your ear piece.

“It’s in an office at the end of the hall on the top floor.” Natasha tells you.

You and Bucky are on an undercover mission as a married couple to get a HYDRA file. You two are trying your best to keep causal.

“Bucky.” You whispered, gently elbowing his right arm.

“What?” Bucky asks.

“Hold me close.” You say.

“Why?” He asks.

“We’re supposed to play a part as a married couple for this mission. You holding me close to you will make it look believable.” You tell him.

Bucky wrapped his right arm around your waist and pulled you close to him, catching you by surprise a little.

“Is this believable enough for you, doll?” He asks, looking deep into your eyes.

“Believable enough to get that file.” You say quietly.

You two walked through the room that were filled with HYDRA agents, smiling at the ones who looked your way. You and Bucky were able to get on the elevator without getting stopped. You two separated from each other when the elevator doors closed. Silence filled the elevator the entire way to the top floor.

“You look gorgeous tonight.” Bucky compliments you, breaking the silence.

“Thank you.” You blushed. “You look incredibly handsome.” You complimented him back.

Your guys’ little moment was interrupted when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. You two stepped off the elevator, making your way to the office at the end of the hallway. The walk was cut short when you two seen a HYDRA agent.

“Shit.” You two mumbled.

You quickly grabbed Bucky’s suit jacket and pulled him down for a kiss. He was caught by surprise, but kissed back. Bucky’s metal hand found it’s way to your back, pulling you against his body while his right hand found the wall behind you.

“Hey!” The agent shouts. “You two aren’t supposed to be up here!” He says, walking towards you guys.

You pulled away from Bucky’s lips, lifting your arm to shoot a couple widow bites at the agent causing him to go unconscious and fall to the floor.

“Let’s go get that file.” You say.

Bucky nodded in agreement and let go of you. You two made your way to the office. You turned the door knob, only to find out that the door was unlocked. You and Bucky quietly entered the office. Bucky closed the door behind him.

“You check the filing cabinet and I’ll check the desk.” You tell him.

Bucky nodded and went to the filing cabinet, searching through it while you went through the desk.

“There’s nothing in the desk.” You informed Bucky.

“There’s nothing in- wait, hold on. I think I found it.” Bucky says, pulling out a file labeled DOCUMENTS.

“Nat, Steve, we got the file.” You informed them through your ear piece.

“That’s great. Now get out of there.” Steve says.

Bucky opened the door, poking his head out to make sure there wasn’t any agents in the hallway.

“The coast is clear. Come on.” He says, motioning for you to follow him.

You two got back on the elevator and went back down to the main floor. Bucky’s right arm found it’s way back around your waist when as the two of you got off of the elevator. You two cautiously made your way to the exit and left without getting stopped.

“Calling it a night?” Bucky asks as you guys walked inside of the Avengers Compound.

“Yes. These heels are making my feet hurt.” You say, slightly wincing in pain.

“You know…” Bucky places his hands on your hips and admires the way your dress hugs your curves. “I can give you a foot massage if you want.” He suggests.

“Are you making a move on me, Soldier?” You asked, looking into his blue eyes that are now dark with lust.

“So what if I am? After all, you’re the one who put the moves on me earlier tonight.” He says.

“Hmm…” You hummed, leaning up to kiss his soft lips. “Lead the way, Sergeant.” You say seductively in almost a whisper.

Bucky took your hand in his, leading you to the elevator to go to the floor his bedroom is on. You and Bucky were making out as the two of you bursted through the door of his room. Bucky kicked the door shut with his foot and carefully led you to his bed, the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress.

“You look drop dead gorgeous in this dress, doll.” Bucky says breathlessly against your lips.

“You should see me without it.” You say cheekily.

Bucky pulled away from your lips and spun you around to unzip your dress. He pulled down the zipper and pushed the straps off of your shoulders, leading the dress fall off of your body and pool around your feet on the floor, leaving you in a pair of black lace panties and your high heels. You stepped out of it and kicked it to the side. Bucky kissed along your shoulders, the stubble of his beard scratched your skin.

“Lay down for me, babydoll.” He whispers in your ear, sending shivers throughout your body.

You got on the bed, laying down on your back. You sat up on your elbows and watched as Bucky took off his suit, only leaving on his boxers, licking your lips at the sight of the bulge in his boxers. Bucky crouched down, gently taking your ankle in his hand. He took your high heels off and kissed from your ankle and up to your wet panties. He spread your legs apart and kissed your inner thighs. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties, looking up at you and waited for permission which you gave him. You lifted your hips so he could take your panties off. He slid the soaked fabric down your legs and dropped it on the floor. Bucky practically moaned when he seen how wet your pussy is. His fingers on his right hand rubbed in between your folds. A soft moan fell from your lips. His fingers made their way to your clit, rubbing it in gentle circles.

“Oh, Bucky!” You moaned.

Bucky felt his cock twitching in his boxers at the sound of you moaning his name. His tongue licked in between your folds, moaning at your taste. His tongue made it’s way to your clit and began circling it. You laid flat on your back and your hands found their way to his hair, tugging at the short strands.

“You taste way better than I imagined.” Bucky says, practically moaning.

His fingers found their way to your tight entrance, sliding two of them inside of you. Your jaw dropped, breathy moans left your lips. His fingers massaged your warm walls while his tongue worked on your clit. His eyes flickered up at you, watching as pleasure takes over your body.

“Faster please!” You begged in almost a whine.

Bucky obeyed your command and moved his tongue and fingers faster. The stubble of his beard scratched your inner thighs which added more pleasure to what he was already giving you. Your grip on his hair tightened as you tugged on it, making him moan at the feeling, sending vibrations against your cunt.

“Fuck! Don’t stop!” You moaned.

Your moans encouraged Bucky to quicken his movements with his tongue and fingers. His fingers hit your sweet spot causing your pussy to clench around his fingers and a loud moan to fall from your lips. His fingers hit your sweet spot repeatedly which caused your orgasm to build up.

“I’m gonna- oh fuck! I’m gonna cum!” You moaned.

“Cum for me, doll.” Bucky says huskily.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came, moaning loudly. You laid there panting. Bucky withdrew his fingers from your pussy and licked your release off of his metal fingers. He sat you and hovered over you, his dog tags dangling above your face. You grasped the chain of his dog tags and pulled him down for a hungry kiss.

“Fuck me.” You say breathlessly.

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice. He rubbed his cock between your wet folds, covering it in your wetness before lining it at your tight entrance. He slid it inside of your pussy causing your jaw to drop. He slowly slid his cock inside of you inch by inch till he was deep inside of you. He gave you a moment before he started thrusting.

“So big…” You gasped, arching your back in pleasure.

Bucky dropped his head down, kissing along your chest. His teeth nipped at your skin hard enough to mark you up. His thumbs rubbed over your nipples, lightly pinching them causing your cunt to clench around his cock at the new sensation.

“Oh Bucky!” You moaned.

Bucky repeated his actions, getting you to moan his name louder. Your moans are like music to his ears. He kissed your lips hungrily, his tongue slipping past your parted lips to explore your mouth. Your hands found their way to his head. You ran your fingers through his freshly cut hair, tugging at the short strands causing him to moan against your lips.

“You’re beautiful.” Bucky compliments breathlessly against your lips.

Bucky’s arms wrapped around your waist and he sat back on his knees so you were riding him. You wrapped one of your arms around his neck to steady yourself while the other one held on to his metal bicep. You rolled your hips against his, meeting his thrusts. His cock reached your sweet spot, hitting it repeatedly. The neatly trimmed hair at the base of his cock rubbed against your clit, stimulating it. You tilted your head back, moans leaving your lips and your back arched in pleasure, your chest pressed against his muscular chest. Bucky took the opportunity to kiss along the column of your throat.

“Right there!” You gasped. “Don’t stop!” You moaned.

Your moans encouraged Bucky to move faster. His cock continued to hit your sweet spot. His right hand reached in between the two of you, finding it’s way to your clit and began rubbing it in circles, helping your orgasm build up.

“Oh fuck!” You whimpered. “I’m so close!” You moaned.

“Me too, babydoll.” His fingers sped up on your clit. “Cum for me, doll.” Bucky pants.

Your mouth fell open, his name leaving your lips in a loud moan as you came hard. Bucky fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own high. His thrusts became sloppier as he came inside of you. His thrusts came to a slow stop. You two panted while looking deep in each other’s eyes. Bucky leaned in, kissing you sweetly and hungrily.

“Holy fuck…” Bucky breathes. “That was fucking amazing.” He says.

You hummed in agreement. Bucky pulled out of you, gently laying you back on the bed and he laid down next to you.

“We should do this after every mission.” Bucky says.

“Sounds good to me.” You agreed. “Round 2?” You asked curiously, turning your head to look at him.

“You read my mind, doll face.” He says, pulling you on top of him, making you let out a squeal in excitement.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

#sergeant james buchanan barnes #sergeant james barnes #sergeant barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky barnes #winter soldier #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters #avengers #marvel #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x avenger!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #avenger!bucky #avenger!reader

[rustedhearts]

Raise Hell (Nascar!Steve x fem!reader)

summary: nascar driver steve harrington is a hot mess. literally. but when he keeps coming into your diner, staggeringly drunk and adorable, you can’t help but grow fond of him.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

hot wheels masterlist main masterlist

tags: nascar!steve, reader is referred to as ‘bunny,’ just fluff and flirting.

author’s note: i don’t know much about the mechanics of nascar because i’m more of a formula one fan, so some of the racing terms/descriptions might seem a bit more f1. sorry!

raise hell, praise…harrington?

talladega, alabama, summer 1995

In Talladega, a girl’s got two things to be: a country beauty queen, or stuck at her high school job. Stupid or stuck. You were stuck—specifically, stuck balancing trays of sweet teas and cokes, and burning your palms on the underside of steaming hot burgers and flapjacks. Stuck in the same stupid powder blue uniform and frilly lace apron you’d been swearing since you were seventeen. Sometimes, you started to wonder if you were no longer stuck—just plain stupid.

But two years ago, Nascar saw a new face on the tracks: one Steve Harrington. Donned ‘Pretty Boy’ for his princely good looks and boyish charm, he burned rubber like nobody’s business, and Alabama’s been in an uproar ever since. You normally didn’t welcome midwestern men with such open and loving arms in a place like this, but as the folks say: he’s one of us, honey.

And one of you he became. He even had the slight slur of a southern twang to prove it, and you came to hear it firsthand when he sat at the end of your counter one night last October, bleary-eyed and pink-cheeked.

“What can I get you, Hot Wheels?” You hadn’t meant for the name to slip, but once it was out there, you couldn’t take it back.

Luckily, Steve just laughed. Slumped on his palm, draped over the counter full of old crumbs and sticky syrup, he pointed toward a laminated menu beside him.

“You guys sell fries?”

You gave him a basket of hot, golden french fries fresh out of the fryer, salted to perfection by yours truly. When Steve saw them sitting in front of him, practically overflowing in their red plastic, newspaper-lined confines, his eyes got huge. He devoured the basket in five minutes flat. You turned your back to clean the coffee pot, and when you went to check on him, offer a glass of water to rouse him from drunken stupor, he was gone.

Sitting in his empty, grease-splattered basket were two hundred dollar bills. It’s still the largest tip you’ve ever gotten on such a small bill to date (or…on any bill).

When Steve Harrington stopped by the diner, you went home with a thicker wallet, a swollen heart, and a burning blush on your face.

You always heard his arrival before you saw his face. The smooth, low grumble of his Ferrari engine. His headlights blared through the blinds on the diner windows, whipping with effortless expertise into the front spot near the door. The headlights cut off, and moments later the door chimed as his lean figure stumbled through.

Designer sneakers scuffing the floor, black leather racing jacket with endorsement patches ironed on neat gleaming beneath the white fluorescents of the diner. He smelled like gasoline and boozy cologne—or maybe that was just the booze. Steve's favorite bar was just up the road: a swanky wood-paneled joint with a mechanical bull, and girls just out of college in skimpy denim shorts and leather cowboy boots. He always left with pink-tinged cheeks and a sway in his step, and though you disapproved of getting behind the wheel under the influence, you didn't mind that he raced all the way here just to get to you.

Tonight, like every night, he strode straight toward the counter and took his seat on a squeaky metal stool at the end.

He patted the counter, shot a finger gun at you, and smiled a half-cocked grin. "Hey, pretty girl."

Cheeks blazing, you rolled your eyes as you collected the coffee pot—freshly brewed just for him—and his basket of sizzling, golden fries. You placed the fries in front of him and flipped over a porcelain mug, pouring a steady stream until it pooled around the rim. No room for cream or sugar: how Steve liked it best. He was already five fries in by the time you placed the coffee pot back.

"Hey, Hot Wheels. Catch anythin' good tonight?"

Elbows pressed against the counter, you leaned over the stack of sticky menus and extra ketchup bottles to flash him your sweetest smile. You always laid it on real thick for guys like him. None of 'em tipped like Steve did, and none of 'em were nearly as handsome. None of 'em made you laugh like Steve did. Jesus, how stupid was that?

"Nothin' worth bringin' home, Bun," Steve sighed, head falling to his palm as his fingers made quick work of delivering fries straight to his mouth.

"Better luck next time." You shrugged, though you knew what this game was.

"No," Steve mused, eyes narrowed with a twinkle of mockery, lips coated in shiny grease and flecks of salt. "No, I don't think so. Know who I'd love to take out, though?"

You pulled away from the counter, that familiar flutter in your chest. You reached for the damp rag previously soaked in lemon sanitizing spray, wiping at the crumbs behind the counter. Steve always came in right when you were closing up. The first time he stumbled in, you threatened to kick him out, but something about those stupid puppy dog eyes and that sly, halfway smile made you stop. You always agreed to close on weekends, just to stay back and clean up after the strays and Steve Harrington. The diner was quiet, only the buzz of old lights and the distant whoosh of cars on the road keeping you company until he appeared.

"Who?" you asked, eyes flicking his way as he munched on his fries. The newspaper in his basket crinkled with his eager snatching.

Steve lifted his head, movements slow and bleary, and in your periphery, you could see it follow your every motion. His jacket made his shoulders look broad and big. You could smell the cigarette remnants still on his hands when you moved in front of him again.

"Come on, Bun," he huffed, that poor, sweet attempt at an Alabama drawl clinging to every word. The way he said your given nickname made your heart squeeze.

"Come on, what?" You flashed him a smile, pursed lips and scrunched nose, and he shook his head amusedly at it. He thought you were so beautiful, even in this ridiculous 1950s getup, hair frazzled and face gleaming with heat.

"When are you gonna let me take you out, sweetheart?" he pouted, hand bumping his empty, grease-stained basket when he dropped it to the counter.

Though your insides were stirring and the back of your neck felt like someone was giving it a pinch, you spun on your heel and reached for the coffee pot again, feigning an air of cool ease. You never wanted a man to have the upper hand on you, no matter how pretty that man might be. Your daddy taught you better than that.

Pressing close to the counter, you held the pot midway in the air, hovering, and caught Steve's eye. His were all whiskey brown and muddy green, more hazel than anything. It was only at this moment that you heard the Willie Nelson song humming on the jukebox in the corner. His lips parted when your eyes narrowed, catlike and dreamily charming.

You inched closer, leaning in like you were fixing to whisper a secret. "When you come in sober, Mr. Harrington."

You topped off his untouched coffee, placed the pot back, and sashayed toward the tables to wipe them down (for the second time tonight). Behind you at the counter, Steve gnawed on his lip, head tipping to admire the backs of your thighs where they caught the plump flesh of your ass beneath your shorts. He scoffed to himself, snatching the mug thrumming with heat, slurping at the potent black liquid.

If sober was what you wanted, sober you would get.

♡ ♡

Nascar was always on channel two, and when your manager Rod was working, he insisted on playing it on the tiny television behind the counter. He paced between the office in the sticky kitchen and the space behind the counter, munching on peanuts and sipping a jumbo Pepsi from the morning.

"Rod, maybe you should have somethin' else to eat." You whooshed a platter of burgers and fries over his head as you rushed toward your table.

"Nah, I'm waitin' for that-that Harrin'ton kid to come on," he excused, motioning toward the tv with a salted peanut palm.

You bit back a grin, sliding the plates onto the table for your eager customers. Wiping your hands on your apron, you headed back to the counter and leaned on the other side.

"What, excited to watch his engine crap out again?” you teased, giggling at Rod’s offended expression before flouncing off toward the kitchen for your break.

“That kid might not be from here, but he’s one of us now, Bunny!” Rod called after you, accent thick and slurred loose.

You waved a hand, eyes rolling. “Why d’ you think I give him such a hard time, Rod?”

You heard his hoarse chuckle as you hopped up on the empty steel tabletop in the kitchen, snatching a soggy fry from a half-empty basket. The cooks all murmured about a table that sent back a burger (there’s always one), and asked you about your shift today. The occasional ‘how are the kids,’ and ‘your garden holding up well in this heat?’ ensued, but most of them knew that when you had a moment to yourself back here, you preferred it in silence.

Billy, a line cook a few years older than yourself, whizzed by with a greasy silver spatula and a plate of perfect, crispy grilled cheese. He slipped it onto your lap as he passed, eye dropping in a wink, before he returned to the grill. You grinned in thanks, picking up the warm, shiny sandwich.

You were halfway through the first triangular slice when a holler jolted you on the table. You dropped the slice, rushing to place the plate on the table and skitter into the dining room again. Head whipping around, you searched for some sort of disaster—a hurt child, a choking customer—and found Rod screaming at the television, red-faced and glistening with sweat.

Huffing, you collapsed against the counter. “Rod, what the hell?”

Rod didn’t tear his eyes away from the television as he smacked his hands together. “Aw, come on! His car’s crappin’ out, he’s gon’ have t’ leave the race.”

You shifted toward the television, preparing to scoff at the urgency of Rod’s statement when sparks skidded over the track on the screen. Even in their pixelated form, the sparks were bright and sharp as a firework on independence day. You watched the cherry red car bounce, jostling the driver inside—clear cause for a biting backache. The car veered left, then right, then toward the off track where Steve stopped it.

Rod cursed, slapping his knee and shaking his head.

“Got-damnit,” he shrilled, easing up from the stool. “When’re they gonna put ‘im in a car that actually drives?”

Rolling your eyes and attempting to ignore the ball of worry the size of Texas aching in your chest, you slid away from the counter and headed back toward the kitchen where your food waited.

“When are you gonna get t’ work, Rod?”

“Eh.”

♡ ♡

That night, you soaked the linoleum in lemon cleaner and scrubbed at the vinyl booths, lights dimmed to keep customer count low until you actually closed. Rod left a few hours ago, and only a handful of cooks lingered in the back, shooting the shit and sharing smokes. You liked having the dining room to yourself while you closed up, humming along the radio and watching the road through the windows. You fantasized about a life with enough money to never wipe a table again.

Given the day he had on the track, the last person you expected to see that night was Steve Harrington. So when the door chimed open and shoes squeaked across the freshly-cleaned tile, you whirled around with a customer-approved smile in preparation for a sweet but curt “we’re about to close.” However, the customer service facade dimmed at the sight of that familiar pretty face and those colorful ironed-on insignias.

“Hey, Bun.” He sounded breathless and beat.

"Hey," you squeaked, dumbfounded by the sight of him.

The outline of his helmet still sat on his face: aggravated red lines indented around his eyes, across his cheeks and nose. His hands, Ferrari-red and raw, trembled as they swept through his tousled hair. "Mind if I sit, Bun? Long day."

Which is how he ended up slumped in a clean booth, head of slick locks thumped against the glass. It felt odd to see him in an actual seat instead of his usual at the bar, but he needed the rest. You could only imagine the sort of strain a car going 200 miles an hour while jerking around had on someone.

You slipped into the kitchen, and with a meek and quiet plead, had the cooks make one last batch of fries fresh for Steve before they left. Just enough for the driver to get his strength back up and feel at home again. The fried pile of grease glistened and sizzled in their plastic confinement on the way out of the kitchen, a cold glass of Pepsi fizzing in your other hand.

You brought them to the man still drooped in the furthest booth, head tipping to find his eyes. "Steve?"

"Hmm?" Blearily, the racer sat upright and blinked at you.

Flashing him a fond smile, you pushed the basket of fries closer to him. "Food."

"Oh."

He munched on the crispy golden potatoes for a while in silence. The back door clinked with the absence of cooks. You thought about getting up to flip the sign over to 'sorry we're closed!' but you couldn't find it in yourself to leave the table. Eventually, you slid into the booth across from him and watched him eat. He sucked down the Pepsi through a striped straw like a toddler gulping apple juice.

"Why did you come here tonight? I mean...you're in no shape, Hot Wheels," you remarked, watching him rub his fingers free of salt.

Steve's eyes flickered toward you below his brows, chin tipped toward his food. He straightened up when he saw you watching, giving his shoulders a shrug. He smelled like scorched rubber, gasoline, and a bit of bourbon-whisky.

"Had a shit day," he muttered, eyes returning to his fries with urgency. "Knew seein’ you would cheer me up."

A flutter disrupted the rhythm thumping in your chest. You felt it in your throat, too, settling like indigestion. You swallowed harshly to clear it away, easing the wonderment in your face with a little grin. Steve went back to finishing the thin strips of fry remnants sitting at the bottom of his basket.

Stripped free of liquored charm and that 'pretty boy' suave, Steve Harrington actually seemed...sweet.

"Hey, Hot Wheels?"

Steve looked up, lips glassy with grease. "Yeah?"

"You can take me on that date now."

♡ ♡

#rolly! #nascar!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington au #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem!reader #joe keery #joe keery fic #joe keery fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve stranger things

[pepsiconcoction]

beside you | han jisung x reader

pairing: han jisung x gn!reader

tags: angst with good ending, that's it i think

an: this is based off of this request, sorry it's so short!

wc: 695

A week. It’s now been a whole week since you’ve directly spoken to each other. With both of you being so stubborn to admit that either side was wrong, this was inevitable. You and Jisung had argued over something -not that either of you could remember what it was- and were now giving each other the silent treatment. To the outside it looked hilarious, the two of you living together, in the same apartment, sleeping in the same bed, and cooking meals for each other, but in silence. You’re mainly surprised that either of you could stay quiet for this long.

It all came to a final boiling point one night when you were kept for an extra hour at work. Usually, you would’ve texted Jisung to let him know you’d be home late but with the way things were going, you hadn’t. You hadn’t even checked your phone after you finished the shift, too tired to bother checking, so you’re caught off guard when you’re met with Jisung immediately at the front door.

“Where have you been?” he asks in a rush.

“At work?” you’re tone, confused. You watch as his shoulders relax and he lets out a long sigh.

“Why didn’t you respond to my texts? My calls?” His eyes are still looking you over, checking everything is still in place.

“Oh, my phone’s in my bag, I was just so tired when I left, I didn’t bother.”

“I know we’re doing the whole ‘silent treatment’ thing, but can you at least tell me if you’re working late? I was about to call the police I swear…” he trails off, rubbing his forehead. You catch him off guard by snorting a laugh. His eyes snap back towards you.

“Seriously, you’re laughing? What if something were to happen to you, huh? You could’ve gotten hurt! Or went missing, or died or something! And I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if something bad happened to you.” his rambling speeds up and you think you can see his eyes watering slightly.

“Especially with how we’ve been this past week! What if you had died thinking I was mad at you?”

“Jisung.” You try but are immediately cut off.

“God knows you would have haunted me because of it, that’s how you get a poltergeist, you know.” He’s now pointing a finger at you. You grab the hand that’s reaching towards you and the contact seems to shut him up.

“Jisung, look at me. I’m here, completely fine,” you say gently. And that’s when the dam breaks. Tears spill from his eyes and he immediately melts into your arms, you catch him easily. He is mumbling all sorts of things: apologies, pleas, more apologies. 

“Please don’t leave me. It’s okay if you’re still mad, just please don’t leave.” He heaves out. Your shirt is now a little damp, but you barely notice.

“Wait, baby, you thought I’d leave?” You ask him.

“Well, when you didn’t come back…” You look into his glossy eyes and feel your heart shatter into a million pieces. You immediately pull him into your chest, pulling him in as tightly as you could.

“Ji, I’m so sorry I worried you. I promise I would never leave like that, I’m not going anywhere, baby,” you talk into his hair. You stand in the entryway for a few minutes, soothing him gently, encouraging the tears to stop. He sniffles one last time and you use the sleeve of your sweater to dab his round cheeks dry. 

“I’ve missed you.” You brush your fingers through his hair.

“I didn’t go anywhere.” he attempts a smile.

“Yeah, but I didn’t get to talk to you for a whole week,” you respond, attempting to lighten the mood.

“It was so hard, I have so many things to tell you.” he chuckles.

“How about we get all cuddled up in bed and you can tell me everything?” You ask.

“That sounds perfect.”

It isn’t until a few hours later that the argument was brought up again, and the both of you end up laughing, because you were right, neither of you could remember what it was about.

taglist (lmk if you want added!): @lethallyprotected @lieslab

#stray kids #skz #stray kids x you #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #stray kids fic #skz smut #stray kids smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung #jisung #han jisung fluff #han jisung imagines #han jisung smut #han jisung angst

[mrpsychokiller]

my life has been greatly improved after i did this and i want to help my fellow mobile warriors, but there are no full clear tutorials on it out there, so im making my own

under the cut there'll be an overly extensive but hopefully helpful tutorial on how to use revanced (of youtube revanced fame) to get a patched version of the tumblr mobile app which can reverse annoying UI changes, get prev tags back, and get rid of tumblr live permanently

first of all, this only works on android. sorry. but that said here we go

firstly go on the play store and turn off Play Protect. you'll generally need to turn off/ignore any safety checks you get, and allow to "download from unverified sources" (dw this process is safe, you can turn these back on after you're done)

uninstall the tumblr app you currently have on your phone (the one from the play store)

download Vanced MicroG and ReVanced Manager. install both. ReVanced Manager will become an app you'll need to use for this

go to this link. generally youre supposed to be careful when downloading apks off the internet, but i can testify the ones from apkmirror are safe

now this is where the magic happens. apkmirror has the apks for ALL versions of the tumblr app, from the most recent one as far back as 2015

this is how you can reverse any changes to the tumblr app you dont like, simply get an apk from before the change was made

the one im currently using is v29.1.1.100

pros of this one:

- the old image viewer (you can click on images to zoom in without the weird transparent background and scrolling taking you to unrelated posts)

- prev tags (aka you can click on a post or a reblog to be taken directly to that version of the post or the reblog instead of just going to the top of op's blog)

- general reversal of recent UI changes, like the DM redesign and the update that made everything smaller and round

having chosen an apk, download it. i heard some people say you should only download and not install it right away, but mine only worked when i had it installed, so it might depend for you

now go to the ReVanced Manager app you downloaded earlier

go to the Patcher tab, and there click on Select and application, there you can select the tumblr apk you just downloaded

there you can see the available patches, simply click on patch and wait until its done

i believe if you did not need to install your apk earlier you can just click "install" and install the patched version right away.

but for me, since i had to install my apk, what i had to do was, once my app was patched, click on the folder icon on the bottom left, save the patched app to my phone files (besides the og one, not replace it), then i went to my file manager, deleted the original apk, THEN installed the revanced version

idk if you'll need to do this but it was a pain for me to figure this out so if it helps someone else 👍

and with that its done! if you manage to install it sucessfully, you can just open the app, log in, and youll see if its working if tumblr live is completely gone and all other changes are applied o7

#finally finished writing this. time to release it into the wild #hope this helps somebody else my life is so much easier now #🧃

[rhinestonz]

☆ CAN WE GO HOME ? ☆

Honestly you barely understood that you were in this position. What did you do ? Well it wasn’t what you did, it was what others did. Or maybe , according to Gojo it was your fault for being so damn hot.

Bully!Satosugu x poc!reader. Double penetration. Dirty talk. Degradation. Overstim. Humiliation (?). Recording. 

You’d gotten used to these two tagging along with you anywhere. Just to make sure you weren’t acknowledging anyone other than them. You went to the mall today, your favorite place on earth maybe. At Least they played some purpose, holding your abundance of bags. You knew how they rolled, terrorizing anyone to even look your way, belittling your feelings towards anyone other than them. You knew how they rolled… and they definitely knew how you did.

A fucking attention whore, that’s what you were. I mean why would you wear pink miniskirts that barely covered anything. Or low cut tops ,and over cropped crop tops. Why would you wear anything that showed off that gorgeous body of yours to anyone other than them. It pissed them off , the way you shamelessly flirted with the store clerks as though they weren’t there. The way you bent over in front of everyone to check the price tag on some shoes. How much more of a slut could you be? 

You plopped down in the back of the car after checking your makeup in your compact mirror. Geto and Gojo packing your things in the truck before getting in the front seats. “ so you wanna fucking explain yourself? “ geto cursed , scowling at you through the rear view mirror. You popped your lips together , spreading your coating of pink gloss. “ Whatever do you mean ?” You exaggerated faux innocence. You saw the two tense up at your words. You were used to pissing them off, you loved to do so to get back at them fir how they tormented you in daily life. All it would amount to would be getting fucked when you got home… yeah not this time. 

 “ C-cmon, m’ sorry , just let me go home~' ' you pleaded. Your cheek rested against the leather of the seat. Geto’s nose runs along your pink folds. Face buried in your cunt from behind. His tongue overstimulating you beyond belief. Gojo sat in front of you. Dick slapping against your cheeks as a way to get your eyes to look into his phone camera. “Cmon~ smile“ he said, motioning his fingers to push his cheeks up. This fucking bastard. “ You wanna look pretty for the guys I show this to right ?“. Tears fell from your stinging eyes, “ n-no please ~ don’t… show anyone~” you managed to choke out between moans as Geto’s tongue explored every grove of your pussy. Your eyes rolled at the camera , tongue lolling out of your mouth releasing strings if drool. “ aww why not baby ? We might have to show it to the next loser you flirt with” Gojo teased, hands grabbing a fistful of your hair. 

Your ass stained red from Satoru’s relentless thrusts. Your eyes puffy , tears falling as they fell onto Geto’s cock. Maybe you did go too far today , he’d usually wipe them as you cried but not this time. He looked down on you with a smile as he pushed your head down, making your nose touch his v-line. “ awww~ too much baby?” he coed at you. You heard a low laugh from Satoru, “You think the store clerk coulda fucked tears outta ya?” He asked, slapping your ass , watching the fat if it ripple. Your whines resounded through the car  as well as small sobs when Satoru rubbed his finger along your clit. You cried, shaking your head no on Geto’s cock. “oh no but you must have thought he was better! , wouldn’t have acted like we don’t fuck your brains out every night infront if him then , slut” Satoru sassed as he watched you writhe around as he placed frequent harsh slaps to your clit . 

Just when you thought it was too much. It got worse. Your body was flipped around. Back flush against Geto. His hands around your wrist, holding your arms back. “ Are we not enough, baby ? We can give you more you know” he feigned concern. You let out a strained moan as you felt his cock ease into your cunt. But then you relaxed why he was holding you back. Your eyes widened as Satoru spread your legs, rough hands gripping your thighs apart. “ Wait,wait no~ no ~ Toru , Sugu-!'' your plea was cut by a shrill moan as your cunt was stretched to the brim. Two cocks filling up the small pink hole. Your tears ran from your eyes like droplets of rain on windows.  “Fuckkkkk~ that's enough for ya baby~” Gojo hissed out as he bottomed out. Your mouth hung open , strained moans spilling from your mouth. Your face burned in embarrassment as people walked by the windows. You knew the windows were tinted but Gosh did it make your face sting to know that a thin sheet of tint was stopping people from seeing how absolutely fucked you were. Two cocks showing in you at once. Geto kissing your cervix as Gojo pulled back for another harsh thrust. They work so fucking well together.

“ Fucking slut~ you thought we’d wait till we got home to put you in your place? ” Geto spat at you. His breath heavy as he thrusted up into you. You did think they’d wait, maybe that’s why you weren’t prepared. Or maybe it was the fact that your cunt was painfully full. Stretched out to fit both of their lengths. Tears fell from your eyes as you came. Squirting everywhere. Almost disgusted as some of the liquid landed on your face. Even more embarrassed as Gojo licked some of the fluid off of his face.  “F-fuc, you guys, cmon can we go home~?” you whimpered out, you’d been insisting this the whole time. Suddenly becoming aware that people could hear your pathetic moans and the sound of them smashing into you. Your arms strained against Geto’s grip. reaching to turn on the stereo to drown out your cries , however you couldn’t pull away from him.” Nah let em’ hear you baby ~!” he teased, chuckling as your body began to convulse. Your tummy caving in as your legs shook violently. Feet arching in the air. A scream ripped from your glossed lips that pierced the sound of their pounding. 

Your body went limp, chest heaving up and down. A small whine left you as Satoru’s dick pushed deeper against your cervix as he put his weight on you. Arms wrapping around you and Geto. The car filled with the sounds of your collective pants.  “Fuckk..” you huffed out, “ .. can we go home now?” You sighed. They chuckled as they kissed you. “ Yeah , maybe the store clerk will take you home,” Geto sassed. Somehow you felt a lil guilty now.“ M’ sorrryyyy, I don’t like him ,only want you guys~' ' You pouted. “ yeah we know '' they yawned , pulling away to cleft themselves before driving off. 

#jjk smut #jjk #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk geto #gojo saturo #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu satoru #jjk satoru #gojo jjk #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x black reader smut #geto smut #suguru x y/n #suguru geto #suguru x reader #suguru smut #suguru x you #gojo #geto #geto suguru #satoru gojo #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru smut

[enbyfrogwrites]

you're so needy, baby pt. 2

so! y'all voted for the content of pt 2. I hope y'all enjoy, again mdni and everything is under the cut <3.

tags: dead dove do not eat, mommy kink, sub!choso, smut, begging, afab reader but reader is nb coded, reader is mix coded but there's nothing pertaining to race outwardly, cockwarming, reverse cowgirl, needy!choso, dom!gn!reader, reader is FAT not chubby or curvy, squirting, 18+; i don't go into details of what reader has, but reader is afab!coded but no outward description of their bottom half. Additionally, no use of y/n, unprotected sex

i'm trying my best, my physical and mental health went down the drain so i'm sorry that it took literal months to even begin this. there's going to be spelling and grammar errors cuz i'm just one person and that's just how it goes. please send me asks of yummy content. i think im gonna make this sub characters blog lmao

thanks for reading <3

word count: ~1.8k

You look back at Choso, his face wet as he pathetically whimpers a combination of pleas and 'Mommy'. You've been playing your game for a while. You haven't checked the time yet, but you figured it was close to an hour since you actually started playing.

"M-Mommy-" Choso huffed hotly into the nape of your neck. "Has it been an hour yet?" His voice was so whiney, the tail end of his question ended in a higher pitch. You chuckle as you felt your boyfriend nuzzled his tear-stained face in between your neck and the soft meat of your shoulder. The sensation caused you to shiver slightly, in turn making Choso groan loudly as you felt his still hard cock twitch inside of you.

"I don't know, baby. I have to check." You answered truthfully, your hand reaching up and ruffled your boyfriend's fine hair. Choso leans into the touch, letting out a small noise. You paused your game and grabbed your phone which sat next to your desktop. You swiftly tap your screen as you bring the device to your face. As you looked at the time, you felt your cute boyfriend grab at your apron belly, squeezing tightly in need, but not enough to physically hurt you.

You notice you have ten more minutes left before it would be a full hour...but you were in between quests in your game. Not only that...but your boyfriend was being such a good boy too...ah, fuck it.

"Yeah, baby." You coo as you take your headphones off and set them in front of you. "Are you ready for Mommy's reward?"

"Please, please!" Choso cried softly into your plump shoulder, his hands skirting up your stomach so he can wrap his arms around your waist. "Mommy, it hurts. Have I been a good boy?"

Your boyfriend squeezes you tightly, whining and sniffling pathetically. You again reach over your shoulder to pat his head lovingly before placing both of your hands on your desk for better leverage. You propel the desk chair backwards, pushing off your desk just enough for you and Choso to get up, not to fling yourself across the room.

"C'mon, Pookie;" You turn your head to look at Choso's beautiful dark violet eyes. "Let's take this to the bed, Okay? Mommy wants you to lay on the bed for them." You slowly pull yourself off his length, making your boyfriend gasp as your wet hole left his aching cock. His cock was slick and shiny from your hole, glistening in the natural lighting in your bedroom. Gods, his cock was beautiful, the head leaked profusely and was a glorious shade between dusty pink and scarlet red. Choso's cock twitched temptingly from the sudden temperature difference. The shaft was just so thick and veiny, and absolutely delectable to look at.

You look up and noticed how wrecked Choso truly was. The shorter front pieces his hair was plastered to this forehead. Your boyfriend's cheeks were so flushed that it somehow made the mark on his nose stand out even more. When you make eye contact with the poor half-curse, his dark circles were more pronounced from how much he was crying and begging. The blush from his cheeks traveled all the way down his neck to just a bit under collar bone that peaked from his V-neck.

You gestured to the bed next to your desk with your hand before gently leaning down to lick your way into Choso's mouth. The mewl that left his mouth as you caressed his tongue lovingly with your own was delicious. You pull away and made the short distance to the bed. You plop down on the edge of it and stared at your boyfriend expectantly as you patted your shared bed.

Choso scrambled off your desk chair, his feet shuffling swiftly and softly across the hardwood floor. He climbed dutifully on the bed and went to the center of the mattress where you patted.

"Scoot up for, Mommy please. Mommy wants their good boy's back on the headboard, can you do that?"

Choso nodded eagerly, his hands pushing the majority of his body weight so he can maneuver to how you wanted him positioned. You move up with him and made sure to tuck a couple of pillows behind him in preparation for his...reward. In addition, you slide your chubby fingers under his V-neck and pulled the fabric off his chiseled abdomen and carefully made sure that it didn't snag on any of his piercings on the way up.

"Mommy, please." Choso choked out, his right hand sneaking past your heated core to grip his cock. Really it's been only a few minutes, but the tone of his voice and desperation in your boyfriend's eyes made it seem it's been like a million years. You giggled as you gently pried his hand off his leaking cock, giving a small peck on his cheek in compensation.

"Relax for me, baby."

You palm your boyfriend's cock with one hand, starting from the base and leave fleeting touches across his tip with your fingertips. You repeat this motion a couple times, making Choso squirm and gasp loudly at the sensation. On the downwards stoke, you continue further down and cupped Choso's balls and gently massaged them. You pull a few more moans and whimpers from him before letting go completely.

You turn yourself around and backed your ass up enough, so your boyfriend's cock lined perfectly with your sopping hole. You hold your breath as you grip his cock and began to sink down on to it. Gods, he was just in you, and he still felt so damned big. You wait a moment after Choso bottoms out to catch your breath before to turning partially around to face the half-curse.

"Let Mommy do all the work, okay? You can cum in Mommy's hole whenever. You were such a good boy today, Cho!"

Choso's only response was a meek 'please, Mommy' followed by a shuttered breath. His pupils were blown wide, his beautiful violet irises almost swallowed whole as he made eye contact with you. You gave him a lopsided smile before facing forward so you can grab at the bed between Choso's thighs.

"My thighs, Mommy!" A pause as you whip your head back towards the half-curse. "I want to feel you grip my thighs as you fuck yourself on my cock, Mommy."

You face heated up immediately. You felt yourself get even more wet on his cock before hurriedly turning back around in slight embarrassment. You go to do what your boyfriend requested of you, but you felt him yank on your t-shirt.

"I love seeing all of you, baby. It's not fair if I'm the only one naked." Choso's tone was between husky and needy.

A twinge of self-consciousness peaked in your head at the thought of riding you boyfriend with all of you exposed. You apron belly, your back rolls, and your stretch marks would be on complete display. But just as those thoughts came into your head, they vanished when you felt Choso sit up more just to grab at your fat stomach.

"Please, baby? I love you. All of you."

You felt your body relax- you didn't even know it tensed up in the first place quite frankly. Warmth blossomed throughout your chest as the love and comfort radiated from Choso. You nodded your head and swiftly pulled off your shirt. You didn't wear a binder or a bra today, so you felt your nipples pebble immediately in the open air.

Fuck, you loved Choso so damned much.

"I love you, too. Lean back so Mommy can take care of you." You twist your head enough so you can watch him obey you before you faced forward again.

You gripped Choso's thighs as you lifted your hips up and slammed them down again. Choso made a choked sound behind you, making you smile at the noise before repeating the motion again. You began to rock your hips at the end, making your boyfriend hit deep inside you. Helpless, you yelp in pleasure as you do it again. Small 'ah ah ah's kept being punched from Choso's lips as you sit fully on him again.

"Fuck, baby, meet me halfway?" You groan the question out as you grind your core on the half-curse's pelvis.

"Yeah, Mama," Choso didn't even hesitate before grabbing your plump hips as leverage to thrust up into you.

You both moan when you meet perfectly in the middle. The skin-on-skin slapping echoed loudly throughout the room, which surprisingly wasn't half as loud as Choso's cries of 'mommy' and his high-pitched keens.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy-" the noise Choso let out following the last plea was between a choked sob and a frustrated whine. "I'm gonna cum! Please! Puh-lease." You twist your head to look behind you and noticed your boyfriend was only using one hand on your hips as he gripped on to his hair with his other hand...in desperation.

You were close too- fuck. Your legs were getting tired, but you weren't going to stop now especially if your boyfriend looked like that. Gripping his thighs even tighter- he's definitely going to have bruises tomorrow- you push yourself even further. Your hips came down harshly and unrelenting. You purposely kept grinding your core on every down stroke to bring yourself closer to orgasming.

"Cumming, Mommy!" Choso keened, he learned forward and grabbed your fat stomach, as he held your hips still to pump his hot seed into your sloppy hole. You felt his cock twitch inside your gummy walls, and you quickly reached between your legs to rub yourself furiously.

It didn't take much, a couple of swipes of your chubby fingers on your nub and the dam broke. A small cry left your lips as you felt a small distant feeling of being...more wet than usual when cumming this time around.

You rested on your haunches as you tried to catch your breath. Unconsciously you rubbed at the now red fingerprints blossoming on Choso's thighs. Speaking of him you felt the half-curse lovingly rub your stomach as he nuzzled his face into the plush middle of your back.

You then felt Choso began to shake uncontrollably, and you began to worry. Just as you tried to turn around, you felt Choso smile into your back, and you noticed that he was fucking...laughing?

"Look down, baby." Choso giggled.

You do as you were requested and look down. To your horror your sheets were soaked.

"Holy fuck! Did I really squirt?" You also noticed that your boyfriend's cock and balls were sopping.

"And here you were trying to play your game, but you wouldn't have done this if you did, Mommy."

#choso x reader #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso smut #choso x reader smut #jjk choso #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso kamo #choso kamo x y/n #choso kamo x you #nonbinary reader #sub choso #sub!choso #dom reader #sub jjk #afab reader

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @eclecticwildflowers, @illiana-mystery

warnings: break in, swearing

I sat on my couch, wringing my hands. Police officers milled around my apartment, going through my belongings and taking pictures of the chaos that I had come home to.

"(Y/N)?" I looked up to see Sergeant Grey standing over me. I nodded and he sat down on the couch next to me. "How are you holding up?" I shrugged.

"It's all a bit much." I admitted as I looked around at everyone. "I didn't realize that a simple break in would bring all this here." I waved my hand absently around me. Grey nodded.

"I know. If you aren't used to it..." Grey was cut off by the sound of the door swinging back open. We both turned to look at Tim standing in my doorway, eyes frantically sweeping over the room. We locked eyes and Tim's shoulders visibly sagged as he made his way into the apartment. He weaved through the other officers until he reached the couch. Tim sank to his knees in front of me and reached for my hands. Squeezing them, he kissed the back of my knuckles.

"Everything alright here?" He asked Grey without taking his eyes off me. Grey nodded.

"Break in." Grey said. "(Y/N) came back and found the apartment the way you see it now. Called the station and we came out." Tim glanced over at Grey before swapping seats with Grey. "Tim, I don't want you on this case." Tim looked up at him and went to open his mouth. "You stay with (Y/N). They need you more than we do right now. I'll call you if that changes but stay here. Take the rest of the day off." Tim hesitated and I squeezed his hand.

"Tim. Listen to Grey." I whispered as I scooted closer to him. "They have everything under control." I flinched as a crash was heard from the direction of my office.

"I'll go check on that." Grey said with a sigh and a murderous look on his face.

"Are you sure you are ok?" Tim asked as Grey left. I nodded.

"I wasn't here when it happened." I assured him. "Just in shock." Tim nodded as he let go of my hands and ushered me into his arms. "This is incredibly overwhelming." I whispered. Tim nodded as he leaned his head against mine. I made a noise of discomfort and Tim pulled back.

"Sorry. I'll turn this off." He reached down and turned off his body cam before taking it off. "Give me two minutes. I'm going to give this to Grey." Kissing my head, Tim got up and headed towards the office. I wrapped my arms around myself as I waited for him to come back. "A picture fell. That was the crash." Tim said as he sat back down and pulled me against him.

"Which picture?" I asked absently as I played with the buttons on his shirt. Tim grimaced.

"That one from Lopez's wedding." I closed my eyes and sighed, leaning fully into Tim.

"Is the picture alright at least?" Tim nodded as he put his chin on top of my head.

"Yeah." He confirmed. "Grey said he would replace the glass and the frame if you wanted." I shrugged and wrapped my arms around Tim. We stayed like that while everyone started to pack up and leave. Tim lifted his head off mine as Grey came back. "I'll take care of it." Tim whispered as I pulled away. I nodded as my eyes scanned the room, trying to figure out what I could take care of tonight and what could wait until later. I got up and started to fix up the kitchen, making it easier to use it in case we decided not to just order out after all of this. Tim walked back over and hugged me from behind.

"Everything alright?" I asked. Tim sighed behind me.

"You need to pack a bag." He admitted. "Grey has reason to believe that the person might come back. He also doesn't want you touching anything right now." I nodded and broke away to grab a bag. "I'd also feel a lot better if you were with me at my place." Tim said as he watched me shift through the disaster area that was my room.

"I think I'd feel a lot better there too." I admitted as I hoisted the bag over my shoulder and made my way back over to Tim. Taking his hand, I followed him down to where his truck was parked out front. "Grey must have brought it over." I mused as I got in. Tim nodded as he reached over and took my hand before driving to his place.

#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford fanfic #tim bradford fanfiction #eric winter #eric winter fanfic #eric winter fanfiction #eric winter x reader #eric winter imagine

[hey-august]

A Favor for the Captain - Chapter 2 | NSFW (Buggy x afab!reader)

→ Chapter 1

Description: The day after helping your captain with a favor, you end up stuck on night duty again. As much as Buggy wanted to avoid you and his feelings, he still has something he needs your help with. Word count: ~2.3k A/N: This is the last chapter for this story. Sorry it took so long, perfectionism and imposter syndrome fight dirty, lol. I hope you enjoy this! Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x afab!reader, no use of Y/N, dry humping, heavy petting, buggy is still bad at feelings and communicating. All parties are consenting adults. Tags: @angeli-fucking-cat

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You woke up the next day as restless as the sea. Waves swayed the ship as you slept, rocking your body through memories of the night before, cloaked in dreams. A party of stars laughed and danced around you, each one burning brighter than the next, until they all exploded into darkness leaving you behind. Whispers of loneliness and confusion slipped away like sand as the mid-morning sun carried you to consciousness.

A big yawn and stretching didn’t shake the sleep from your body as efficiently as sharp knocks at the door, followed by words that flipped your stomach with an icy chill. 

“Hey, you ‘wake? I need a favor.” 

With the weight of an iceberg in your body, you cracked the door and were greeted by a face of desperation and hope worn by one of your crewmates. You slumped against the doorframe as relief melted the tension in your body. The pirate frantically explained that he was scheduled for night duty and needed to switch, but everyone he asked so far had refused. The reasoning was difficult to follow. There was something about a friend of their cousin, dancing, a dinner party, and not wanting to let down family. Once the pieces were cobbled together, you were able to see the whole puzzle.

“So, you don’t want to miss a date with a townie?” you asked bluntly.

“I mean- well- that’s a part of it. Ya’ see, I told him that…”

You cut off the rerun by agreeing to swap duties - one overnight shift for two bathroom cleaning shifts. After an appreciative handshake with both of his hands wrapped around one of yours, he bounced off to prepare for the date. His jubilant exit left you wondering if you should have bargained for a better deal. At least this gave you a reason to look for the meteor shower again. You ignored the pit in your stomach, choosing to believe it was from the last-minute changes and not related to anything else that might involve stars or favors.

With only a half-day left before your shift, you headed to town for food and freedom. Elsewhere, someone breathed easier knowing that you were no longer on the ship. It was only a coincidence that the captain was watching the dock when you departed. He’s responsible for his crew and should monitor who comes and goes - that’s what Buggy told himself. Truthfully, he kept finding reasons to stay near portholes so that he could look for you without the risk of getting too close. 

Buggy felt dirty. Shame had him in a vice grip - stuck between remorse about what happened and guilt because he enjoyed it. Commitment to the crew had you willingly follow your captain’s filthy, degrading orders. Every lecherous detail - the way you felt, how you sounded, your sinful expressions - was etched into his memory. Yet, he still wanted more. For that reason, he also wanted to avoid you. 

The second desire was bypassed when Buggy went to check on the night guard. Unaware of the shift change, he didn’t expect to see you lounging against the railing, back to the sea. Most of the crew opted to stay on shore when they weren’t working, and the rare few who did come back only returned to sleep. Unfortunately for Buggy, you were awake, alone, and alert. Despite darkness flooding the deck, the captain was in clear view. What fucking luck. He considered a wordless exit, but before he could retreat, you called out to him.

“Good evening, Captain.”

A simple greeting. One that tugged at his achy heart and added to the guilty pressure he felt. He knew that walking away would only add to the restlessness. Pulling courage from the part of him that was glad to have an excuse to be near you, Buggy walked over to return the greeting. He joined you in leaning along the railing, foolishly hoping that your presence might actually pacify the turmoil in his body.

The tension radiating from your captain mirrored the nervousness you felt. It was obvious you startled him and you didn’t know why. Not exactly. Did he want to see someone else? Was he trying to avoid you? Both questions were similar and neither offered comfort. You stared at the illuminated town, hoping to find clarity in your tangled thoughts. The ambient sound of waves from the sandy shore and trickles of music emphasized the silence on the ship.

“On guard duty, again?” Buggy repeated his questioning from last night, feeling stuck in the stillness between you two.

You wondered if that was the answer you were looking for. The captain of the ship wasn’t aware of who was protecting the ship and expected to see someone else. That sounded reasonable and the thought made your heart lighter.

“Yeah, I was asked to swap shifts. Something about going on a date,” you explained while waving a hand towards town.

“You- going on a date?” The question cannonballed out of the pirate’s mouth faster than he thought it, along with an uncontrolled glare. Both were met with a confused look. 

“Not me… I just swapped shifts,” you responded with a softness that disarmed him.

Buggy nodded silently, his jealousy collapsing into humiliation. Unlike yesterday, being near you was anything but peaceful. Each piece of him was screaming to get closer and he could hardly control himself. Everything he did or said added to the rubble of guilt he was trapped under.

“It gives me another chance to look for shooting stars, though.” You continued talking, desperate to move past the awkward miscommunication by clinging to one topic that felt safe.

“I guess you haven’t seen any yet. If I knew you were here, I woulda came prepared.” Buggy picked up on your unspoken cue. Following the script, he aimed a finger towards the sky above the town and cocked his hand back as he let loose an imaginary shot.

“Well, there’s always next time.” And with that, the space between you two shrank.

Buggy marveled at how you handled his clumsy conversational skills with ease. Each step he took with uncertainty or pushed by feelings he couldn’t handle, you redirected until he was on the path he really wanted. One that he could pretend he was walking with you, hand in hand.

“You don’t mind being stuck on the ship while the island is all freaked out?” Buggy chuckled when you groaned at his choice of words. 

“Not at all, actually. I like it here…I like the ocean.” You turned your back to the town and spoke to the water’s horizon. “I also don’t mind helping out when I can. I’m just glad to be part of your crew.” 

His crew. You watched Buggy in the corner of your eyesight, hoping he understood what you were telling him. Nerves had you dancing around the subject, afraid to get too close to the fire burning in your chest. But the light and the heat were too much to ignore or keep inside.

The spark you sent his way ignited thoughts that were far too flammable. Fragile ideas that housed his insecurities. Buggy heard that you liked to help the crew. That must be why you indulged him yesterday - you simply wanted to help the captain of the crew you belong to. Anything beyond that was a shadow puppet cast by his desire and used to chase away loneliness. Something inside the pirate clung to that puppet, begging Buggy to say the words that would let the errant fire consume him entirely. He listened to that small voice and chose to believe the ache in his body was just physical desire.

“In that case, I need you to help me with something,” Buggy said before stepping behind you.

The familiar tone in his voice had your heart pounding wildly. A similar sensation was mirrored down lower as Buggy pressed his body against yours. With gloved hands holding the railing on each side, you were surrounded. Buggy rested his head on the back of yours as he fitted his body around your form, only softening when you eased into his touch. 

You weren’t surprised by his hardness this time. Actually, you may have surprised Buggy with how you accepted his request. His grip on the railing tightened as you pressed your ass against his erection to make sure it was nestled and snug.

“Is this what you need help with, Captain?” You hoped the shake in your voice was unnoticeable. A nod against the back of your head confirmed both hopes, so you began to grind against him.

Buggy’s face was buried in your hair and the roll of your ass against his cock took away what little breath he had left. In need of fresh air, he moved his head until his cheek was resting on your shoulder. Now he could clearly hear the quiet huffs you let out as you rolled your hips. The sweet sounds enticed his body to buck against yours, making the soft sounds crescendo into throaty moans that you tried to hold back. Craving more, Buggy pressed his lips against your neck. Your skin was hot and smelled delicious. He needed a taste.

The feel of his tongue and heavy breath on your neck sent electricity through your body. Every nerve was lit up, lighting the way for instinct to come and overtake your mind and body. The slide of Buggy’s cock against your ass did nothing for how your body desperately craved more. Your underwear was soaked and you could feel the slickness as you angled your hips to grind against his entire length. The slippery feeling filled your head with images of his thick cock sliding deep into your dripping cunt before fucking you like an animal.

“C-captain, can I-” Your words were cut off as a hand flew up and squeezed your cheeks, silencing you like the night before. Frustrated, you snatched Buggy’s hand off your face and shoved it between your legs. 

“I wanna come,” you whined as you pressed his fingers against your clothed folds until there was contact with your needy clit. You guided his movements, making his digits circle and massage exactly where you needed them. 

Buggy’s hips stuttered, before moving to a rhythm that your unrestrained sounds orchestrated. His thrusts were hard, wedging his aching cock in your ass and helping him imagine he was fucking your pussy. Imagining how it would hold and squeeze him, as if it didn’t want his cock to leave. As if it belonged there. As if he belonged with you. Giving in to those feelings, Buggy smothered your neck and shoulder with sloppy kisses in between mindless moans that tickled your skin. 

His impassioned attention was fierce and intense, overwhelming you until your body gave in with a loud cry. Trembling against your captain, ecstasy took over. Your blissed-out sounds and movements carried Buggy with you. His hand continued rubbing your clit under your shaky grasp as you both rode through your climaxes.

Eventually, his movements stilled and your sounds quieted down. Buggy’s chest pressed against your back with each heavy breath. His hand returned to the railing, taking its warmth away. He felt weak, both physically and mentally. Seeing, hearing, feeling your orgasm against his body was more than he ever hoped for, but it only happened because you were following your captain’s orders. Because you’re a nice person.

“That felt good…I’m glad you needed my help.” Your breathless voice cut through the noise in Buggy’s head, but didn’t bring comfort. 

“Don’t say that,” he snapped with a little more bite than he meant. He didn’t really need your help, he just took advantage of your willingness to help.

“Why?” you asked as you turned to face him, despite being caged by his arms.

Buggy avoided your gaze, wishing that his body would finish recovering so he could leave. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. He would rather have his perverted memory tainted by self-pity, not by vulnerability or because he hurt your feelings.

Cautiously, you placed a hand on one of his before picking it up. You removed his glove and repeated the question, breaking through the wall he hid behind. Green eyes finally met your gaze as he succumbed to your request for sincerity.

“You were just following orders. Doing something nice for the captain of your crew,” he spat. “Saying that kind of shit might make me think that I could be more than just your ‘captain.’” 

The words hardly left his mouth before they were replaced by your lips. You pressed into the kiss, ignoring how his mouth twitched with words that died under the contact. Pulling back, you were greeted with eyes opened wide in shock and you had to hold in a giggle.

“You can think that. I would like it if you were more than that…if this was something more.”

Buggy studied your face, looking for any hint of a joke. Deep inside, he knew you wouldn’t tease him like this. You refused to waver under his scrutinizing stare, holding fast until he accepted your unabashed confession.

“Me?” he finally croaked out. You nodded in response so quickly that Buggy felt butterflies fill his chest with the same eagerness.

You watched patiently as he leaned in, hesitated, and then closed the space for another kiss. This one was messy and full of nervous excitement. Buggy started talking against your lips long before he pulled away.

“M’gonna extend the stay.” He planted kisses on your cheeks. “You’re also off guard duty - there are more important things that you should be doing than this.”

“Like you?” He set you up for the response and you couldn’t resist sending it back with a grin.

Buggy could have sworn he fell into the sea and died. Even if that had happened, his oxygen-deprived mind couldn’t have concocted a story like this.

Before he could say another word, something caught his attention. Buggy twirled you around and tilted your head up towards a shooting star. Your shout of joy seemed to encourage more stars to begin their journeys and soon the sky was full of dazzling light - a beautiful show for two.

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown #buggy smut #buggy the clown smut #one piece smut #x reader

[stevesbestgirl]

Phases of the Moon - Part 1

Steven Grant x f!Reader, eventual Marc Spector x f!Reader

2796 words

Warnings: poor imitations of British speaking habits, not much else in part one, maybe a few curses but I’m not sure

A/N: This was my attempt to write a slow-burn. It’s long, self-indulgent, and obscenely fluffy. Reader is specified as American, but mostly so I can avoid pretending I know anything about living in the UK. Steven and Marc are aware of each other and trying to find balance in their relationship in this fic, but keep in mind that I am not a system and am not an expert. All of my information about their relationship comes from the Moon Knight show and I use that as my reference point. 

*Bold type is spoken by Marc when Steven is fronting.*

Masterlist

“Go talk to her.”

“Well I can’t, can I?” Steven sent a furtive glance at you, toying absently with your phone while you examined the glyphs inside a display.

“Why can’t you?”

“She’s got earphones in.”

Marc scoffed in the glass of one of the display cases, “Always an excuse.”

“I can’t just interrupt her, that’d be rude!”

“Not if she’s interested.”

Steven’s reply was cut short as a pair of boys came rushing around the corner, laughing and shoving each other- Steven wouldn’t have placed them at older than twelve. He watched helplessly as one firm push sent the smaller of the two reeling into your backside. Completely oblivious to their noise, you went sprawling, headphones disconnecting as your phone hit the ground and was sent skittering across the polished floor, coming to rest at Steven’s feet.

Inhibitions gone, Steven scooped your phone up and rushed over, offering a hand to help you up, “Are you okay?” You nodded, feeling a little embarrassed. “You lot,” he called out, locating the pair sidling off behind a diorama, “C’mere.” 

They looked like they were considering bolting, but the smaller of them located Steven’s badge and took a reluctant step forward. By the time they stood in front of you, they were looking rather cowed, like puppies who’d been caught gnawing a slipper. 

“Shape up, you hear? You could’ve really hurt someone.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Now listen, down that corridor there, there’s a bunch of old weapons; spears, cudgels, daggers, the like. How about you go give it a look?” You watched him speak to the two boys; his enthusiasm seemed very genuine, not the fake kind adults often used with children.

The taller boy hesitated before leaving, “What’s a cudgel?”

Steven smiled a little, “Why don’t you go on and find out?” Then the two rushed in the direction he’d indicated and he called after them, “Slowly, hm?”

Once they were out of sight, you finally spoke, “Are you sure that was a good idea? Sending them in there with a bunch of weapons?” You couldn’t help but smile as he unconsciously smoothed his dark, nearly sleep-tousled curls back from his face.

His intent had been to chuckle, but it came out as more of an empty puff of air, “They’re all under glass- should be alright.” He added, “Maybe I’ll pop in to check on them, just in case.” Nervous now, he looked down at his hands, still holding your phone, “Oh, there you are.” Your expression fell and only then did he notice the spiderweb of cracks in the bottom corner where it had hit the floor, “Oh no.”

You shook your head, accepting the phone and dropping it to your side, like putting it out of sight would make him forget, “It’s alright. Just a screen protector. I’ll get a new one eventually.”

“Sorry about that, love,” he insisted, his earnest gaze finally meeting yours just in time for your face to go warm. You’d thought you’d been ready to hear the term of endearment used so casually when you came to England, but apparently not.

“It’s alright,” you rushed to speak. “Definitely not your fault. Thanks for helping me-” you glanced at his name tag, “-Steven.”

“No problem- it is my job after all,” he cracked a halfhearted smile.

“You were great with those kids too.”

Rosy warmth tinged his cheeks and his gaze shifted away, “Thanks.” A small pause, “Your accent- you’re American?”

You nodded, “Needed a change of scenery, so I’m staying with some family for a while. Just got in yesterday, actually.”

His gaze eagerly lifted to yours again, but flicked away over your shoulder and he went slightly pale. Glancing back, you saw a stocky woman with dirty blonde hair gesturing impatiently at him.

Returning his gaze to you, he looked a bit panicked, “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go. I- ah-” He tripped over his words and almost tripped almost his feet as well, veering around you and backing away toward the woman beckoning him over. 

You raised your hand in an uncertain farewell as he stammered his way backwards, gesturing faintly over his shoulder with his thumb in a faint attempt at an explanation. Once he was within range, the woman seemed to be lighting into him a bit, though his gaze hadn’t yet left you. It wasn’t until she snapped her fingers that he looked at her. 

Not wanting to spy, you turned away, checking your phone for the time. When Steven glanced your way again, he only caught your retreating form disappearing out the entrance. For once, Donna’s criticisms didn’t affect him since he was already kicking himself for not asking you out. Or getting your phone number. Or even your name. He’d blown it. 

*

The following day, you had a bit more time to explore the museum, so you returned. And you noted with dismay, when the cabbie called you “love”, you didn’t so much as blink, let alone blush. Maybe it had been a one-off thing. Now you would be immune. 

Walking in and spotting the woman from before at the front desk, you plucked up a bit of courage and approached. Her name tag read “Donna” and she prompted with visible disinterest, as though she were reading off a script, “Welcome. Is there something I can direct you to?”

Deciding to push forward, you said, “Actually, I was just in here yesterday. I ran into a bit of trouble with a couple of young boys and one of your tour guides helped me. I wanted to let you know that Steven was very polite and just lovely with those kids-”

“Stevie? He isn’t a tour guide,” Donna interrupted, wrinkling her nose. “In his dreams, maybe.”

“But he does work here?”

“Yeah, he’s the gift shoppist.” She was still being very flippant; it was clear that she’d barely had interest in this conversation to begin with and now that it was about Steven, it had dwindled to none. 

“Right. Thank you.” You forced a smile and nodded before heading off in the direction of the gift shop.

The counter was empty when you first walked into the room, sending a tiny shoot of disappointment into your chest. You wanted to thank him, since it didn’t appear that you could score him any points with his boss.

You wondered for a moment if you should come back later, but then a shaggy, brown mop of hair sprung up from behind the counter, triumphantly brandishing what appeared to be a large, amber-colored marble with a bone inside it, “Got ya, you little bugger.”

His gaze fell on you and he tucked the marble behind his back, like it was something to hide, “You- you came back.”

You reached into your bag, pulling out the brochure you’d picked up yesterday, “I was only passing through yesterday.” You unfolded the brochure and showed him the notes you’d taken on the map, detailing where you wanted to go first and which exhibits had caught your eye, “I like to plan a little bit.”

He followed the line you traced with your finger intently, raising his gaze to your face when you pulled away, “That’s a good way to go about it. The tour is pretty good too.” Steven’s heart skipped as your lips pulled into a slight frown; had he said something wrong? 

“Speaking of the tour, I tried to put in a good word for you with your boss- as thanks, for yesterday- she doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“Oh, yes. Donna and I have got a bit of a rocky history.” He added quickly, “Not a history, mind you. More like a boss/employee history. I’ve got a bit of a bad track record with my punctuality, actually,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, I think you’d make a lovely tour guide, for what it’s worth.”  

There was another one of those long pauses; you were about to offer a meek “Thanks again,” and cut your losses when he spoke up, “If you like, I’m on a break in ten minutes. I could show you around.”

You’d insisted to yourself that this wasn’t why you came back here, but you found yourself nodding, a faint smile on your lips, “I’d like that.”

Steven seemed even more surprised than you were, nodding quickly, “Great- that’s- great.” He nodded again, “I can meet you in the ‘King’s Tomb’ exhibit.” He pointed, “Right over there-” He checked his watch, “-in nine minutes.”

Your smile widened, “See you in nine minutes then.” You moved off in the direction he’d indicated, the temptation to look back gnawing at you. 

“Wait!” he called after you. You turned back, “I haven’t got your name.”

“You haven’t needed it, have you?” 

Now you were teasing and you knew it. But you could feel his eyes on you as you disappeared around the corner and you smiled to yourself. So much for doing your own thing. The whole reason for coming to London was to get away from men- although you supposed it was more one man than men in general. But something about Steven just caught your eye.

So you waited out the impossibly long eight minutes remaining until Steven walked in, looking in a bit of a rush. You watched him scan the exhibit, almost like he’d expected you to have left by now.

You raised a hand, “Steven.” He positively lit up at the sight of you, relief visible in the heavy exhale he released- like he'd been holding his breath. 

You met him in the center of the room, clasping your hands behind your back in anticipation. Steven still had the remnants of a grin on his face, though he mirrored your posture, a bit of enthusiasm escaping as he bounced on the balls of his feet, just once, “What do you want to see?”

“You’re my tour guide, you tell me,” you teased. 

Almost instantly, his face flushed, “Well, I wasn’t sure if there were specific displays you wanted to look at or certain subjects you were interested in, you know? Since I've only got fifteen minutes on my break.” 

“Well, I’m interested in everything, but since we only have fifteen minutes; how about you show me the way you’d start your tour if you were a guide?” His cheeks darkened further and you had to bite the inside of your cheek not to smile again. But he surprised you, recovering quickly and placing his hand on your arm. He steered you over to one of the displays and you glanced at him, “The Ennead?”

The Ennead,” he corrected your pronunciation. “The Egyptian Gods.” He wheeled around so his back was to the exhibit, his gaze meeting yours with ease. “Everything about Egypt comes back to the gods one way or another, so to understand Egypt, you have to understand them.”

He walked you through the exhibit, one god or goddess at a time, his hands moving animatedly as he talked. And he was good at it, in a different way than you’d expect. He had such a wealth of knowledge- you felt comfortable asking questions because you expected him to have the answers. And he answered many of your questions before you could even ask them; his explanations were pretty comprehensive. 

It was all strangely charming, actually. His enthusiasm was so genuine, it was as though he invited you inside it with him. It was a nice place to be- like sharing a secret. It was also putting you in dangerous territory; a magnetic field that would be hard to pull yourself from.

Once you were about halfway through the eleven, you tentatively raised your hand. Steven faltered slightly, giving you the chance to speak up, “Two things- I just want to check the time, I’d hate for you to be-”

“Late-” he checked his watch faster than you could pull out your phone.

You grabbed his hand, pulling him back toward the gift shop, “Well, come on then, I don’t want you getting into trouble!”

Steven’s long strides quickly outpaced you; you had to hurry to keep up, a laugh at the ridiculousness of it slipping out. Steven glanced back- nearly shouldering a display case. Right before impact, his back straightened a bit, like he sensed it coming, and he just twisted out of the way. It was so smooth you wouldn’t have noticed the deft movement if you hadn’t been anticipating the collision.

By the time you skidded to a halt in front of the gift shop counter, you were full-on giggling; you couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed so hard over almost nothing. “Sorry about that,” Steven offered meekly.

You took a breath and collected yourself a bit, though you still felt the warmth of the laughter in your cheeks, “Don’t be- it was fun.”

“What was the other thing?” he asked, shuffling back behind the counter.

“Hm?”

“You said there were two things, the time and what else?”

“Oh! Well that exhibit was called the ‘King’s Tomb,’ right? Why are the gods in that one?”

He leaned on the counter, some of his timid demeanor vanishing, “Well, the pharaohs were considered to be gods by their people. So they put them in a room together. And since the mummies are what brings in the crowds, they get the-” he clicked his tongue, framing a little marquee with his fingers, “-title spot.”

“I suppose you know quite a lot about those too?”

He gave a chagrined smile, “Did I go on a bit much then?”

You shook your head, “Not at all- I wasn’t teasing. I wish we’d had time to do the whole exhibit.”

“I’d wager with me giving it, that tour would take all week,” he joked, feeling like he’d done too much talking during your time together.

You shrugged, “I’m on vacation.” Smiling, you added, “Or holiday, you’d probably call it.”

He smiled weakly at the joke, seeming to be working out what you’d meant. He scanned your face, as though nervous he was misreading you, but you just smiled at him. “I’m scheduled again on Thursday, I could- if you like, I mean- I could show you some more. Of the exhibit. Obviously. If you want.” 

You were here for freedom. You’d come all the way to another country so you could do what you wanted, when you wanted, no strings attached. But, you reasoned, this wasn’t dating. This was an exclusive tour, on Steven’s break. It wasn’t like he was taking you out to dinner.

You were bargaining; whittling away your rules to nothing because they no longer suited your purposes. You knew that. And you also knew that you only did so because Steven was, very clearly, a large string. A large string with lovely, brown, puppy eyes and enough passion for Egypt to make a pharaoh blush. But you nodded anyway, “I’d love to come back. Same time?”

He seemed stunned by your acceptance, but he nodded rapidly to overcompensate for the moment of hesitation, “Yeah. My break is at three.”

You smirked, “How many minutes from now?”

He stared at you for a moment- you almost wondered if he was trying to do the math, but then he flushed and gave a weak chuckle, “Right, I’ll work on that one.”

You pulled out the brochure you’d picked up yesterday and a pen from your bag, “Since I won’t be needing this anymore-” You scribbled down your name and number and slid the brochure across the table, “Text me when you figure it out.” No strings, you reminded yourself.

He gave another hurried nod, “Okay, I will, I-” 

You got a sense of deja vu as Steven glanced over your shoulder and paled in nearly the exact same way he had yesterday. “Is it Donna?” You quickly scanned the counter, grabbing a stuffed hippopotamus, “Because I’d like to purchase this.” You deliberately moved it across the counter where Donna would be able to see and pulled out your wallet.

Now Steven looked back to you, “You don’t have to do that. Most of this stuff if junk-”

“I want to. This one is kind of cute.” You held out the money, “And you’ll tell me all about it next time?”

He nodded, a small smile returning to his face, “Yeah, I will.” He handed back your change and the plush, speaking up so Donna could hear, “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

You smiled, “Same to you.”

You left the other way so Donna wouldn’t see your face, hoping she wasn’t descending on Steven for being late from his break. You held the little hippo plushie to your chest and thought ahead to Thursday.

#moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knight fluff #steven grant fluff #phases of the moon series

[kevcanwait]

oh? OH? 👀 🫢

Part two

Blogs: @heartbinn

Tags: Angst, my first hurt/no comfort cause I have a soft heart and could never go through with it, Chan is the one not getting comfort, Members forget Mn, Made the manager...attached to Mn? He's just as sad to see you go.

Lmk if any other tags are needed. Feedback and comments are welcome, it makes me so happy seeing how you thought of my writings.

You realized something was off when you were 'forgotten' for the second live stream in a row. You don't know when it happened. How it started. You just started noticing more and more that you were being left out.

"Sorry, Mn, I thought you were busy. Didn't think to invite you." They always thought you were busy.

"Hectic schedule, I'm sorry." You guys have the same schedule, that's not an excuse.

"I'm sorry, Jagi, I thought that was tomorrow." Even Chan forgot things.

You never use to be like this. You were all once connected, always talking, always hanging out when there was time. They listened to your feedback, they agreed with your inputs, and when they needed, they'd go to you for comfort.

Now it's like you're a ghost. Present but not visible. You look like a deer caught in headlights when they talk about stuff that you haven't been caught up on. There was one time in the choreography that you were to catch one of the boys and you stood around aimlessly and ended up getting yelled at. You yelled right back because they never tell you anything and you didn't know you had to catch one of them. It wasn't fair!

"Mn, you could've hurt Jeongin! Why didn't you catch him?!" "How could I have caught him if I didn't know that was the next move! You guys don't tell me anything anymore!" "Yeah we do!" "Christopher, Don't lie! You are doing it too!" "Mn!" You didn't care that you disrespected him and used his full first name. You were annoyed.

Your breaking point was two things. The first was when you had to find out about an upcoming album through your manager. He had sent you a preview photo of the album cover and you flew into a panic attack. New Album? When? How? They decided on things without you? You're apart of the group too, how could they not have realized you weren't there?!

The second was when you were waiting...and waiting...and waiting in Chan's room. He had promised a movie night for your anniversary and yet four hours later than when he promised, he still wasn't there. You just left his room, red eyed and absolutely pissed. That night, he didn't even check on you when he came home.

It took a couple days but you had officially left Stray Kids. You couldn't take the neglect anymore, it was unfair, uncalled for. Your manager was sad to see you go but he understood, even he noticed the others neglect but it seemed that when he told them off it went through one ear and out the other.

You packed at night, taking about half an hour to debate if you wanted to take memories of being in the group but instead you just took down the photos of you and the boys and cut yourself out, leaving just the boys along with the few albums and photo cards you kept on your desk, throwing the pieces of you in the waste bin underneath.

Tears streamed down your face as you packed your suitcase. Midway, your realized you folded the two hoodies Chan gave you. You lay one on your bed but decide to keep the white one as you zip up your luggage and start packing your other one.

Leaving in the cover of night let you leave without seeing their faces, without seeing possible confusion or pity pleads to have you stay. In the days it took to be out of the group, you also managed to get accepted into another company. You would've stayed at JYPE if it didn't mean you'd still see the boys that once brought you joy, if you stayed you'd have to put up with them trying to talk you back into the group. You just can't seem to trust them anymore.

You ex-manager was nice enough to take you to your home where you're staying until you can properly integrate into your new company, possibly into a new group. You heard that the company knew you and would be helping you to try and join a group or even help you become a soloist.

That morning, the boys went on with their lives, completely oblivious. It wasn't until after practice and recording that they were finishing up and getting ready to leave the room they gathered in to discuss the album when Chan looked around and finally noticed. "Wait...Where's Mn?" Their manager looked at Chan and the others before sighing. "Really? Haven't I yelled at all of you to stop ignoring him? It took you almost all day to realize?" Your manager felt really bad for what they were doing to you so he did get a bit heated.

"What do you mean?" The manager sighs before guiding the boys out. "Let's get to the dorms." Is all he says. When they get there, the manager makes them sit on the couch, hands on his hips. "Have any of you really realized that you were excluding Mn? I asked him about the album cover and he told me that he didn't even know a comeback was planned to happen. He also told me that you yelled at him for almost dropping Jeongin but you guys never told him or showed him the choreo, how could he have caught him if he didn't even know what was going on?"

With a deep sigh, the manager looks down at the floor before delivering the news. "Mn signed out four days ago..." He looks back up to the boys, staring at him wide eyed. "What?" "He's gone, Chan. I took him home last night." "W-Well, we'll see him at the company at some point right? So he's not-" "He's moving to KQ. He thought that if he stayed at JYPE you guys would stop him at any opportunity to try and get him back. They're already looking to either put him in a group or help him be a soloist." Han was the first to move, running past the manager to run to your room.

The others hear him cry out a moment later then return with your cut photos in his hands. "He's gone..." A few others run to see it for themselves as Han drops the cut photos next to Chan and slides down the nearby wall to cry into his hands.

Chan picked up one of the photos. A picture of you and him, a selfie with him hugging you from behind with his chin on your shoulder. He remembered the negative space where you were, you had your head turned, looked at him with so much love and a bright smile that matched his.

"I'm sorry, Chan...but he was tired of being just a shadow. I wanted him to reconsider but I saw everything and I knew it would be worthless." He saw in the corner of his eyes some members trying to call you only to huff when they got your voicemail.

Years later, they still felt hallow. They were happy and working well but they still felt empty. They know you've blocked them but they still texted you or tried to call you even after this long.

Telling Stay was really hard, they just told them it was for mental health issues but some Stays also noticed the neglect and pieced it together, especially when some fans noticed you in another group.

They were backstage getting ready to preform at the award ceremony the main title from their new album, decked in pirate like outfits with layers and accessories but still dressed a minimum amount to be able to dance.

Chan was helping Felix with his headset when Felix caught something out of the corner of his eye. "Mn!" His eyes widen as a smile took over his dropped jaw and the others turn in the direction Felix is looking. You stop hearing your name, turning to see who it was only to stare at the group of boys unmoving. Felix's hand hesitated before waving at you with a gentle smile.

It's been so long that you were honestly thrown off by how much they've grown and how handsome they've become. You see Jeongin smile at you and you notice his braces are gone, Hyunjin has grown his hair out along with Felix. These little details are forgotten the moment you feel a hand on the side of your face and you turn back around. "Hey." You smile, Seonghwa completely taking your attention as you watch him smile in return, your hands resting on his waist. "Come on, Jagiya. We've been waiting for you." He says, leaning forward to give you a quick peck but you pull him back to you for a slightly longer kiss before you take his hand and he takes you back to the table.

You heard their gasp when you kissed Seonghwa but honestly, you didn't care. You were seen in Ateez, heard and included way more than you ended up becoming in Stray Kids.

Chan's heart was crushed, he honestly had hope that you guys could talk it out but also knew there was no way but he still hoped. His tears blurred his vision as he let a sob left him, he tried not to let them fall, he had to go on stage soon, but it hurt. He had lost not just a member but someone he actually truly loved. He didn't mean to forget him, he didn't mean to push him away. The regret of not realizing sooner still weighed heavily on his shoulders after this long.

The way you held Seonghwa was the same way you'd hold him. The smile and shine in your eye you gave the other idol was the same you'd give to him, the same one in the taped photo that still remains on his desk after he found the other half. The members also have the other photos, taped as well and put on the fridge.

What crushed Chan the most in that moment?

You didn't look back as Seonghwa took you away.

pssst, I would write more Ateez but I don't fully know their dynamics and personalities completely so I'll probably just insert them like I did in this fic 😁

#random #bleh #stray kids #straykids #stray kids x male reader #bang chan #bang chan x male reader #seonghwa x male reader #ateez #ateez x male reader #ateez seonghwa #stray kids bang chan #seonghwa

[average-vibe]

•Fame Hurts 2•

Pairing: Wilbur Soot x Streamer!Fem!reader

Summary: your presence on social media fades, and your ex notices.

Genre: Angst, Fluff at the end

TW: cursing, arguing

AN: HOLY SHIT YALL LOVED THE FIRST ONE???? SLAY??? AGAIN TY TO @modelbus for inspo!

TAGS (sorry if you didn’t want it!): @queenofdisaster-6 @lemonboys-stuff @cathers-world

part 1 is here

masterlist

Wilbur had broke up with you over 2 weeks ago, and you hadn’t streamed, posted, or made any presence on social media since then. You didn’t see any point in trying to redeeming yourself, as people would still say the same shit anyway. About how you were using him, how you didn’t deserve your fame, and how you needed to humble yourself.

quite honestly, you hated yourself for not seeing the signs sooner. How Wilbur wanted to ‘Talk’ that one day, or how he became distant for a little bit after you had collaborated on a stream, or when your stream views started to decline. It was so fucking obvious, but you were too caught up in your own emotions to notice.

You hadn’t checked your phone since then either. It had been on ‘Do Not Disturb’ since you went to an old friend, Carissa’s, apartment to stay. The only person who knew you were alive was Carissa, and she was the only one who saw you. As far as everyone else knew, you had disappeared out of nowhere.

But today, for some odd reason, you had the urge to turn your phone off of ‘Do Not Disturb’ and check your notifications.

There were about 2000.

Texts, comments, DMs, and tags had taken over your notifications, mostly people just wondering where you went.

@bae: where did @yn.loves.you and @WilburSoot go??? did they die? where did they go??? —>@gaywaffle: i’ve been wondering this forever! like did smth happen???

you didn’t know Wilbur stopped posting too. but sure enough, his last tweet was about 3 weeks ago. And his last stream was 15 days ago. He hadn’t been position either, and it was a mystery to you why.

Next, the texts. Oh, the texts.

Tommy: YN wtf where are you????

BooRan: YN, please answer

Wilbur (blocked): 75 messages

You knew it wasn’t gonna end well, and that it was a bad idea, but you clicked on Wilbur’s profile.

Wilbur (blocked)

I’m sorry

please yn

respond please

it was shitty

i’m sorry yn

i love you so much

please..

Your vision turned red. after all the shit he said about you, after all the hurtful things he did, after fucking dumping you because of people on twitter, he was begging you to come back. you got up and stomped to your car. Your plan? to go to wilbur’s house and yell at him until you couldn’t yell. or until you passed out.

You pulled into wilbur’s driveway, with nothing but your phone and a lot of angry thoughts. you opened his unlocked door, and found him sleeping on the couch. You got some water from the fridge, brought it over to him, and poured it in his face.

he woke up with a jolt, sputtering and thrashing around like an idiot. he looked at his attacker, who was you, and his eyes lit up.

“YN!” he said, a smile gracing his lips.

“YOU BITCH!” you screamed, wiping the kind look away from his face. "Fucking dump me on the side of the road, then try to get back with me?? cause you realized that your too fucking sad without a girlfriend to stare at? I’m so sorry that YOU brought this upon yourself!” you continued, voice faltering in tears. you didn’t want to cry, but you couldn’t help it. the fact that every single word was true, and not one misunderstood word, made it hurt so much more.

“YN, can i explain?” he asked, eyes looking more sad than anything.

“Explain what? how you-“

you were cut off by a kiss. A gentle, sweet, loving kiss. if you weren’t so mad, you would even admit you liked it. and you couldn’t deny the fact you leaned into it.

He let go, looking at your eyes. “I’m sorry, i shouldn’t have done that. I just hate to see you so mad- and at me, i just didn’t know what to do. can i please explain?”

you let out a loud sigh. “alright, go ahead.”

“Tommy told me that you loved me more than anything in the world, and so did Ran, and Phil too. everyone was saying how much they loved you.. except for the people who didn’t know you. I realized that the only reason people were saying that shit was because they didn’t know you. And if they did, they would never say that about you. Your sweet, smart, funny, beautiful, kind, and an incredible person. and i cannot believe i ever broke up with you. i’m so sorry.” he said everything in a fast paced manner, looking at the floor for the entire time.

your anger melted away. The way he said everything, you knew it was coming right from his heart. he glanced at you for but a second, and you decided to fuck it. you grabbed his face and kissed him, again. this time, it was happy. full of love, and pure joy.

you let go, and gave him a hug, at this point, you were both crying.

“YN, do you forgive me?” he asked, voice cracking.

“Yes, Wil. i forgive you.”

—

what can i say i like ending on words

ANYWAY

i wrote this is 1 sitting so uh

yeah

there MIGHT be a part 3 😏

only if you ask nicely 🙄

OKAY ILYSM BYEEEE

-vibe

#wilbur #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #qsmp wilbur #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur fanart #pogtopia #wilbur mcyt #wilbur gold #ghostbur #wilbur soot angst #wilbur soot x yn #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot fanart #tommyinnit fluff #tommy x reader #tommyinnit x reader #tommy #dsmp #tommyinnit #ranboo x y/n #ranboo #ranboo fanart #ranbathon2024 #philza x reader #philza #philza minecraft #sbi x reader #sbi fanfic

[hangmanssunnies]

Inconceivable!

Summary: No one tells you how hard it is to have to plan to leave and hurt the love of your life. However, when you know you want different things, you must choose. And your baby is probably the only thing you can ever imagine choosing over Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw.

Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem! Reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick 

Word count: 8.2k words

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, fertility problems, panic attacks, Angst with a happy ending, threatening to break Brad's heart, so many references to The Princess Bride,Soft!smut, Soft!Bradley, Organized!Bradley. Let me know if I missed any others.

Authors Note: No use of Y/N. As always, I love BradBrad so much y'all. I don't know if I can write nonangsty smut. I was thinking of him and kids. The next thing you know I wrote whatever this is. Bradley wearing glasses 🥵. I hope you enjoy this! My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are always appreciated as well! I love reading through them.

You knew Bradley never wanted to be a father, which was just fine with you because you knew you couldn't have kids. You had known about your fertility problems for a long time and had long ago come to peace with it. 

Y'all had several conversations about children when you first started dating. Once you both felt like your feelings on the matter were hashed out, you had never really felt like revisiting the topic. Your life wasn't less or empty without kids. You were perfectly content with the life you and Rooster had made together. 

That's why you have no idea what to do with the situation you are in right now. You were at your gynecologist for your annual check-up. Taking a pregnancy test was standard procedure, something you didn't even bat your eyes about or worry over. What you weren't prepared for was the positive results back. 

"I'm sorry?" You choked out in disbelief. "That can't be possible."

"I know this is probably surprising, but," your doctor starts to say before you cut them off. 

"No. No, I have known since I was 17 that I can't get pregnant."

"Well, you are and can. Sometimes miracles like this can happen," your doctor responded kindly. 

She went on to ramble more and talk about some next steps and options. You felt shocked, not entirely sure how to process the information she was throwing your way. You left the office a bit later, promising to set up a follow-up appointment. 

Your first thought was to get an abortion. It was the obvious solution. Bradley didn't want kids, and you hadn't wanted them either. Right? You tried to think if it was true. Was it that you didn't want kids or just that you couldn't have kids? 

For the next week, you tried to run the pros and cons and sort out your feelings on what was happening. You tried to act as normal as possible with Bradley. You didn't want to bring anything up until you knew how you felt.

Part of you kept coming back to when you were a little girl to how growing up before you knew that you couldn't have kids, the promise you would whisper to yourself. The promise of how you would do better than your own parents did. 

You thought of the fantasies you used to have: the baby shoes, baking in the kitchen guiding a tiny pair of hands, sports practices, matching sweaters for family holiday cards, first recitals, proms and homecomings, dropping them off for their first day of college, and parent's weekends where you buy cheap booze, family trips, the possibilities of grandkids. 

Now suddenly, all those fantasies were a possibility again. A reality that could come true in less than a year. Thinking about them brought an ache to your chest. An ache that manifested as want, a desire so strong all the cons you could come up with didn't really matter, well, all of them but one. 

The biggest problem of the puzzle was Bradley, the love of your life. You had absolutely no doubt that he would do the right thing and stay by your side. However, you didn't want him to be a dad because he had to do it. The thought of him being forced to do something he didn't want to, just because it's the right thing, made your stomach roll. The idea of part of him resenting you, and eventually your child too, because of something you chose. That was something you couldn't live with. 

So even though you felt a heavy hurt in your chest, you knew you had to leave Bradley. You weighed that heartbreak compared to the want for this child that had bloomed in your chest, and one outweighed the other. So now, on top of thinking about the baby, you started to think through quiet plans of how it would hurt your husband least to leave him. 

You almost broke down one night and told him the two of you had been lying on the couch together. Bradley was casually spooning you from behind, one of his hands playing with a lock of hair while the movie he picked played on the TV. Of course, it was the Princess Bride, one of his all-time favorites. 

You were half watching the movie, half dozing. Bradley was too good at soothing you, and you had started noticing a significant change in your energy levels as of late. You mentally made a note to bring it up at the follow-up doctor's appointment you had scheduled. 

"I would do that," Bradley suddenly says, bringing you back to alertness. 

"Oh really?" you hum, unsure what he was talking about. 

"Yes, I would wait five years and chase after kidnappers, fight the prince, build a tolerance to poison, all for you, baby." 

Bradley's honest love for you warmed your chest like it always did. However, the current circumstances turned that warmth into a bitter aftertaste in the back of your throat. What you were doing haunted you. His hand drops your hair and traces down your arm until he threads your fingers together. His large hand in yours helped further break down your resolve. 

"What if I asked you to do something you didn't want to?" You ask him hesitantly. 

"If you wanted me to, then I would," Brad tells you plainly. As if that were a given, you should just expect that his desires would line up with yours. It doesn't put you at ease like you were hoping it would. 

"What if it was something you really didn't want to. Something bigger than sword fights and rodents of unusual size?" 

His hand flexes squeezing yours a little tighter. Bradley doesn't say anything for a moment, and you wait with bated breath. Finally, he nuzzles your neck with his nose before asking, "Do you have something specific in mind?" 

That was the moment, the moment that you could come clean to him. You could be honest and lay it all out on the table, but you don't. You can't. You aren't ready to let him go yet; it's too soon, you tell yourself. 

So you lie to him, finally pushing the words out your throat, "No, nothing specific. Just asking." 

Bradley's fingers that are laced with yours squeeze yours again, and you have the sneaking suspicion that he doesn't believe your lie. "Well, even if it was big. We would do what we always do. We'll talk about it and figure it out. Then I'll agree with what you want, just like I always do."

"You shouldn't do things you don't want to do just for me, Brad," you chastise him lightly. The heavy pit in your chest constricts even more. 

He kisses your head, pulling you a little tighter against him in his embrace. "Sure, whatever you say, babe." 

The whole thing sits with you for another week, and the doctor's appointment you made starts to creep closer. You are reading an article in incognito mode on your phone about nutrition during pregnancy and the importance of vitamins. Occasionally, you glance up to see Bradley sitting on the other side of the couch. 

He has a thick World War Two biography book wide open, nearing the end. His reading glasses are perched on the edge of his nose. Even though you had teased Brad relentlessly when he first got them, the glasses were actually really hot. The sight of them on him now makes heat start to bud in the bottom of your abdomen. 

You lock your phone and set it aside, looking more thoroughly at Bradley now. He was so so very handsome. You found it unlikely there would ever be another man you would allow into your bed after him. The edges of panic that seep into you every time you consider the inevitable end with Bradley makes a reappearance. You push it to the side as much as possible, but it creates a sudden desperation for him in you. 

"Bradley."

"Yes, my love?" He asks, not looking up from the page in front of him. 

"I need something."

"What do you need?" He turns the page of his book and pushes those damn glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. 

"I need you," you tell him, biting your lip. 

His eyes snap up from the page to look at you, and his eyebrows raise, processing your words. "What was that?"

"I need you to make love to me, Brad. I'm on fire." 

He dog ears the page he is on his book and sets it on the coffee table, turning to give you his full attention. His hands casually trace up your leg, massaging the tense muscles of your claves. 

You let out a soft sigh at the feeling. A few moments later, Bradley crawls up your body, pressing soft kisses to your neck and then melding his lips to yours. You sigh into his mouth, enjoying the taste of him, trying to savor it. You pull off his reading glasses so they aren't in the way, haphazardly tossing them away. 

When he starts to pull away, you wrap your arms around him, drawing him closer, not wanting any space between you. You trace one of your hands down his neck and under the collar of his shirt, tracing his shoulders, kissing him harder, slipping your tongue into his mouth. 

"What has got you so needy, sweet girl?" He asks you, confused, pressing a few soft sweet kisses to your throat.

"Just you, handsome man," you tell him, trying to draw Bradley back to your lips. Bradley smiles, hearing your words but then shifts off you and the couch. 

Before you can protest at his absence, he goes to pick you up. Like every time Bradley picks you up, you are hit with the worry that it will be the time he can't do it, or he will drop you, make heaving grunting sounds, or some other terrible mishap will come to pass. It doesn't, though; he secures you in his arms and starts to carry you through the house to your room. 

You start pressing kisses to the readily presented column of his neck then. When he reaches your bed and goes to put you down, you sink your teeth into the space where his neck starts to curve into his shoulder. Although he lets out a hiss, you hadn't held back with the bite. You made it intending to mark him. 

When he does set you down, you scramble hurriedly to start undressing him, desperate to see and feel the expanses of his golden skin. Unfortunately, you only get Brad out of his teeshirt before he stops you. His large hands close around your wrists, holding them tight, preventing them from moving further down, lower than the top of his abdomen. 

"Slow down, pretty girl. We got all the time in the world," he says. You know, he said it to be soothing, but he didn't know how wrong he was. He didn't understand the finite amount of time you had left together. 

So when he lets go of your wrist, you instead start to pull off your own clothes and settle yourself on the bed. You stare at him expectantly and let out the smallest huff. 

"Slow down." He tells you again, "And, don't move your hands off the headboard," When he is satisfied with how you are holding it, he starts to kiss down your body. 

"Why are you so worried?" he breaths out against your inner thigh, pressing feather-light kisses to the skin there. "You know I'm going to take care of you, my love. I always do. There's no reason to be so worried."

Bradley's words manage to hit the exact spot of comfort you are actually needing. Even though you are planning on leaving him. You still want him to take care of you; you want to do this with him. But, you also know that can't happen. So, regardless you feel more at ease; the desperation in you is not quite so hot, not making you jittery with need. 

Bradley rewards the way your body relaxes by licking stripe over you. You resist the urge to let go of the headboard and bury your hands in Bradley's thick hair. The way he sucks your clit into his mouth to roll his tongue over makes you arch, needing more. Bradley lays his arm across your hips, applying pressure to keep you still under him. 

The more you work to struggle against his arm, feeling your high edge closer and closer, a thought suddenly pops into your head. Is it still okay for Bradley to hold you down like this? Are you going to hurt your baby? It's an irrational thought, you know that, but your body instantly reacts to it. Of course, so early into your pregnancy, there is no reason this would be a problem, but you still drop your hips down onto the bed, no longer trying to move them against him. Your distraction pulled you far back from the edge. 

You try to focus on the feel of Bradley's tongue and how warm he feels with his shoulders caged between your thighs. But only a few breaths later, Bradley is lifting his head to look at you. 

He has a crease between his eyebrows, and his tongue that was just around you darts out to lick to own lips. "What just stopped you from coming?" he asks, concerned. His voice is thick and low. His hold over your waist disappears as he draws soothing circles on your hip. Bradley's concern draws you back to him and into the want you have for him. 

You let go of the headboard and stretch out your arms. Then, burying your hands in his hair, you tilt Brad's face to fully meet your eyes. 

"Make love to me, Bradley," you beg him. He stares at you for a very long minute, and you stare back at him, waiting. Finally, he pulls his eyes away from yours and stares at your center in front of him. 

"As you wish," he mutters the words. Rooster pulls himself off the bed and pulls his sweats off. You drag your eyes over his naked body, taking him all in. You lick your lips at the sight. 

"You are breathtaking, Brad," you tell him. That smile that melts your heart shows up on his face, and he glows under your praise.  

You crawl to the edge of the bed and trace your hands up his muscular thighs. You guide your hand upwards. You brush over his cock, not really giving it any attention, before outlining his side, watching his stomach and abs contract under your fingers. You go slowly, trying to memorize the feel of his skin under you. You kiss along his chest too. 

He leans down and captures your lips. You kiss Rooster back, glad that the fervor has left your body, but you are no less desperate for him. The desire to memorize him doesn't go. 

You urge him onto the bed, pushing him on his back. You straddle Bradley, settling over him, with his cock nestled in between your lower lips. You give a small rock, his head bumping into your clit. You moan a little and repeat the motion. 

Leaning forward, you rest your hands on his chest to give you more leverage. Rooster moves his hips with you increasing the friction. The pace is slow and almost teasing for both of you. 

Shifting your weight, you lean and kiss him again. Bradley's tongue slips into your mouth, running against yours. One of his hands comes up and rests on your hip, urging you, pulling you further down to rub against him harder. His other hand cups one of your breasts, his thumb running over your nipple in swirling strokes. 

You break his embrace just to reach your hand and guide him inside. Bradley lets out a heavy sigh as he slips into you. You resist the urge to slide all the way down his length, keeping it slow. 

"Fuck, you feel so good," he tells you, biting his lips. 

"Love how you fill me, Brad," you sigh once he is fully hilted. Both of you are breathing more elevated. When you start to move your hips again, Bradley closes his eyes and presses his head back into the bed. 

You immediately stop moving, glaring down at him. "No," you say, and his eyes open instantly, looking at you again. You reach up a hand to grip his chin affectionately, holding his face in place. "I need to see you." 

"You are so beautiful," he tells you. Bradley does as you want and doesn't break eye contact again. 

The room is filled with both of your moanings as you work together at a slow, steady pace. The way his hands run along your skin and back is almost reverent. The heat in you starts to build again. You grind down hard onto Bradley so that your clit gets more stimulation. 

Rooster's right hand comes around and settles on your lower stomach, applying pressure and letting his thumb dip down to brush your clit in light strokes. You gasp, a moan breaking from your throat. You freeze on top of Bradley's cock, enjoying the zing his thumb just sent up your spine. 

"That's right. So good." Bradley moans out, pressing his thumb harder into you. Even though he is filling you so deliciously, you don't feel close enough to him. You feel like you want to crawl into his skin. That would be the only thing that would satisfy your need for him. 

You grab his hand that isn't on your clit and thread your fingers together. His hand grips yours back. Bradley doesn't make any movement to shift either of your hips, content to play with your clit and stare into your eyes. 

"Fuck, I love you." Bradley groans out, biting his lower lip. You start to rock your hips into his again, but for the most part, keeping him fully hilted inside you. You almost feel like you are drowning in his eyes with how he looks up at you. His heavy-lidded gaze makes you clench around him.

Your moans and quiet pants mix with his. The tension in you grows as you swirl your hips into his. 

"Need this, need you." Bradley swirls his thumb a little harder and does break eye contact to nip your neck, sitting more up on the bed to get a better angle. Having more of your skin pressed together helps ease more of the ache in you. 

You grip his hair again, pulling him up, shifting, so you are chest to chest. Bradley's free hand clutches you close to him. You trace the scars on his cheek with your lips before kissing him again. 

"I love you," you sigh against his mouth. He groans and rocks his hips into yours, creating a bit more friction. Rooster understands just what you need, not pulling out of you. 

The two of you build a rhythm together; finally, you can't hold back anymore. The bubble in you bursts, and you clench hard around Bradey's cock. Bradley takes a few more gasping breaths and then cums in you with a low moan. Bradley starts to move like he is going to pull out of you, so you whine and hold him closer.  

"No, no. I need you closer," you tell him. You are still desperate to have him near. You press your nose into Rooster's neck, breathing in his natural musky scent. Trying to absorb the smell entirely, memorizing it before biting the skin and tasting it. 

"Woah. Woah," Bradley says breathily. You let out a low hum in response, trying to savor his sounds as well. You wiggle your hips against him again, where he is still half hard. You consciously clench around his dick, reminding yourself how full Bradley makes you. 

"Baby, stop," he says. Rooster's voice is wrecked, and his large hands hold your hips still. At first, you don't even hear his request until he repeats it more forcefully. Then he rolls you over onto your back and pulls out of you quickly. You gasp at the sudden loss of him. You have to lay there for a moment, trying to reorient yourself. Bradley is sitting on the edge of the bed, panting hard, his hands on his knees.

"Bradley?" You croak out, reaching a hand hesitantly towards him. He looks back at you, and his face is a mix of panicked and furious.

"What the fuck was that?" He asks you in a low growl.

"What was what?"

"Don't bullshit me."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," you tell him, drawing your eyebrows close together.

"That was was goodbye sex," he says slowly. Your mouth drops open, and you try to reach around your rattling brain to come up with an answer, an excuse. However, you find it completely empty. 

"That was the exact kind of sex we have before I leave and deploy. You had the same look." Bradley was almost shaking, and you had no idea what to say that wouldn't be a lie. 

"What's going on? Something has been wrong for weeks. I keep waiting for you to talk to me, and you fucking haven't." 

"I —" you start to say, but Bradley's eyes are so captivating, so genuine, you can't lie to him. So before you even know what you are saying, the words fall out of your mouth, "I'm leaving."

Rooster physically recoils at your words. The line of his back is taut, and his eyebrows draw together. His mouth presses into a tight line. His jaw flexing, and you can tell he is clenching his teeth. "What did I do wrong?"

"No, sweetie," you say quickly. "It's not you. It's me." You tell him gently. It was you, well, you and this baby, but Brad didn't need to know that. Your words only seemed to make him more upset. 

"Are you kidding me? You didn't just say that." He mutters it under his breath, pulling at his short curls in frustration and glaring at you. He is so tense the veins in his bicep and neck start to pop. 

"I'm sorry," you offer him quietly. 

"I don't want to hear sorry. I want to hear a reason. Were you going to tell me? Or just planning to disappear?"

"Of course, I was going to tell you."

"When?" 

"Soon."

"Why? "

"I can't..."

"No. I think I deserve to know why the love of my life is leaving me," Bradley says, frustrated. He stands up from bed, goes to his drawers, and pulls on some boxers to throw on. He also grabs one of his old Sigma Pi shirts out of his drawer and throws it for you to shrug on. 

You felt shame and frustration building in you. You didn't want to deal with this situation right now. You didn't want to have to tell Bradley why. Then to your absolute horror, and probably the hormones coursing through you, you burst into tears. 

Bradley's pacing halts for a moment at the sight of your tears, but then he resumes momentarily as he balls his fist tight. His knuckles turning a paler shade. 

"We want different things." You gasp out between the sobs racking your body. 

"We want different things," he repeats slowly, like he is trying to piece out some hidden meaning in the words.

"Yes," you hiccup nodding your head. 

"How could that be possible?" He questions you sharply. "If that were the case, we wouldn't have gotten married. And you didn't mention anything when we had our last relationship check-in."

Bradley was big on communication. He insisted y'all have seasonal relationship check-ins with each other to talk about anything that had happened and how you were feeling about your relationship. This conversation should have probably been reserved for the next one, but you couldn't wait a few more weeks before leaving, or Bradley would know.

You were going to start showing at some point; while all the articles you read were inconsistent about when that might happen, it would happen eventually. You knew it would probably be impossible to leave Rooster if he knew that you were pregnant. Every moment with him weakened your resolve to do the right thing. 

"Things change, people change." You weakly tell him. Not able to conceive a better excuse. 

"I don't understand why you are jumping into leaving me. Baby, why won't you talk to me?" Bradley suddenly dropped hard to his knees on the wood floor at the side of the bed. You winced at the sound it made. He pulls one of your hands into both of his. "Please talk to me," he begs you, holding your hand delicately in his. The puppy dog look Bradley has mastered coming out in full force. 

"I can't…"

"You can," he reassures you, swiping a thumb across your pulse point. You felt your stomach roll, the emotions in you going haywire. 

"I'm…" you trail off and then shake your head at him in denial of this situation. As soon as you tell Bradley, it will be over. 

"It's okay, baby. Anything. You can tell me anything. Talk to me. I won't be mad," he adds on for your benefit. Your plans all crumbled at that moment because how can you deny Bradley Bradshaw anything when he begs for it. 

"I'm pregnant," you finally whisper in a barely audible voice. With how Bradley reacted to your words, you might as well have screamed them. First, he flinches like a whole body flinch. Every muscle you can see tensing. He shutters and his grip on your hand tightens to where it is almost painful.  

Bradley freezes like that for a moment, blinking at you owlishly, before he drops his head down, hiding his face from your view. Finally, he presses his face down into the bed. 

You wait with bated breath. Rooster's grip on your hand didn't lessen in the slightest. You feel panic settle in the back of your throat when his shoulders start to tremble, and he still hasn't said anything.

"Bradley?" You flex your hand, resisting his tight grip, and he releases you. His hands fall limply on the bed. He still hasn't looked at you, though. 

Tears start to streak down your face faster, and a small sob hitches in your throat. "I am sorry," you tell him sincerely. 

"Are you really?" His low voice asks muffled. 

"Sorry, or pregnant?" You ask pulling up the collar of his shirt you are wearing to wipe away some of your tears. "Because it's both." 

His hands come to clasp themselves together, and you briefly wonder if he is praying. The shaking of his shoulders and the inability to see his face make it increasingly impossible to understand his reaction.

Finally, he looks at you, and those hazel eyes bleed back at you, tears still falling down his face staining his cheeks a bright red even through the healthy tan he has right now. Bradley's eyes trace over your face looking like he is searching for any trace of a lie. Then he examines your body under his shirt like he might already see a difference. 

As if there was a difference, he would be able to notice now that he didn't notice before when you were naked, and he was inside of you. You wrap your arms around your chest, hugging yourself under his scrutiny. 

"I'm going to keep it." You finally tell him now that Bradley's shining eyes are available for scrutiny again. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his face falls into a frown. "I'm sorry," you say again. 

You try to think of the right words to explain yourself to him. "When I found out, I realized I wanted this. I know we always said we didn't. But I really want this baby, Bradley. I am sorry I kept it from you. I just didn't know how to tell you. And then I saw these baby shoes in the store. They were so cute." Your fingers knot into the edge of the worn frat shirt you are wearing. His hazel eyes aren't giving you much to go off of. They are still darting around your face like he is trying to figure out what you are telling him. 

Brad abruptly stands up in the middle of your rambling. So, you halt your words. Watching him as he walks out of the room. You strain your ears, trying to listen to where he went. You hear the hallway door open and beeps coming from the safe. After hearing it click open and seal again, Bradley's feet can be heard on the hallway floor again. 

Your mind runs, trying to think of what he could have grabbed from the safe. Your important documents? You silently make a note that was something that you need to be sure to pack. You wouldn't want to come back to Bradley to get your passport or something after leaving. Could it be money? Was he going to give you money to leave with and give you some of the cash you two had been saving to move? 

The thoughts make breathing extra hard, and you start to suck air in and out rapidly. The panic floods your veins, making the walls of the room shrink inward towards you. Sharp tingles prick at your fingertips and toes. 

Before you can run through any other possible scenario, he gets back. 

You can't focus on Bradley enough to see him through the black that starts to edge in at the corner of your vision. You desperately try to pull a gasping breath in your chest. The action of breathing is suddenly too overwhelming. 

The panic of what you had just done finally cutting into you. That Bradley now knew the secrets you had been harboring so close to your chest. There is wringing in your ears, the shuddering wracking your body. You curl into yourself to try and shield yourself from the hurt and panic ringing through your body. 

Then, you are engulfed. There isn't enough weight on the outside of you to combat the storm of panic that was trying to burst out from the inside of your veins. Numbness fills your body, and you know you are close to passing out. The storm brewed inside you, desperate to escape your body, desperate to take you out at the same time. 

Heaving in breaths gets harder and more difficult. You dig your nails hard into the skin of your thighs, trying to scramble for anything to steady yourself. Fighting each desperate moment when there is s shift.

At first, you don't know what has changed. However, your breaths get a gasp longer, allowing slightly more oxygen, and the black in your vision starts to recede. You slam your eyes shut at the nausea you feel. The more air you can finally take in, the more you are allowed to start making sense of anything besides your own haywire body. 

You are wrapped in your weighted blanket, and the extra pressure is aided by Bradley. He is holding you tight within his arms and legs, and he has you pulled close to his chest.

His legs are wrapped around your hips and crossed in front of you. Giving the front of your body room. Your legs are trapped between you two. One of his arms is crossed over your chest, and the other is petting your head soothingly, playing with your hair occasionally. 

Bradley is humming to you. You try and focus on the tune. It's like a lifeline; you cling to the sound, letting it help your thoughts trail away from your panic. You keep trying to breathe bigger, longer breaths consciously now. 

It's a tune you have heard before. Finally, Bradley breaks from the humming, whispering one of the lyrics into your ear, and you can immediately place the song. 

"Love of my life," he mutters lowly into your ear, and then he returns to his humming. You are flashed back to a different time he sang this song to you. 

He had been perched on the bench of a piano. Fingers gliding over the keys in time, his sweet voice dipping between octaves. It was Love Of My Life, by Queen. It is the song Bradley sings to you before every single deployment. 

The song feels like a confirmation that you two will not be making it. A confirmation he is letting you go. This is the song that always fills the space between you when parting ways. The small semblance of recovery you had made is gone. Your breaths start to quicken again as you are dragged back into the panic. 

Bradley's arms flex hard, and there is slightly more pressure around you. The beads of the weighted blanket shifting under his hands. He continues humming the song, but this time he peppers in a few more of the lyrics. 

"Love of my life, don't leave me," he croons softly into your ear. 

You don't know how long Bradley holds you waiting for you to calm down. You don't ever feel at ease, but the slow breaths and Bradley's soothing voice help bring you down from the high and worst of the panic attack.  

You manage to let out a little whimper, and Bradley's arms start to loosen around you in slow intervals. You turn your face to the side, slotting your eyes up to catch a glimpse of him. Bradley has his eyes closed, and his face is splotchy and red from crying still. You fill in some of the lyrics to his humming in a cracked, barely there voice. Those beautiful eyes flash open, hearing your voice join his humming. 

He won't stop humming, though. Rooster's hazel eyes are so intense, a medusas snare, that even as hard as you try to close your eyes, you aren't successful. They have captivated you entirely. Bradley finishes humming the song and lets his arms slip from around you. His legs uncross, and they fall flat on the bed on either side of you. 

You push the weighted blanket off your top, so it is pilled around your legs as you ease out of your curled position. 

"BradBrad," you whisper for him. You are still trembling at the very tips of your fingers. The buzz and tingles at the front of your nose are still persistent, but feeling has returned to the rest of your body. The needles fade out of your hands and legs. 

"Love of my life," he hums sweetly again. His eyes have a tiny bit of worry, but for the most part, they are full of love and adoration for you. His body is borderline hot to the touch and feverish behind you. His heart is thumping loudly under your ear. 

Brad's now loose hands find new purchase, gliding over your hips, tracing slow, steady circles. Then his left hand starts creeping forward further. Bradley's large hand is suddenly under his shirt and splaying out flat against your lower belly. That is where it finds its perch. 

You gasp at the feeling of his hand, at the placement of it. Brad's fingers make the tiniest indents pressing into your skin. Your breath hitches at his squeeze. The metal of his wedding ring is warm against your skin, a nice contrast to the rest of his hand. 

Hearing the way your breath hitches, Bradley immediately lays his hand fully flat. Bradley now retreating to a feather-light touch. His fingers swirl in an unknown pattern on your skin. His hands like to trace the shapes of flight paths he has memorized. 

It was something Bradley had confessed to you one night during pillow talk. The two of you sprawled together. You were laying half on his chest. His fingertips were tracing the length of your spine, in feather-light trials, moving from the base of your spine to the small of your back, then following the path again. His fingers would sometimes brush into your hair and give small scratches before tracing your flesh again. 

"How do you do that?" You finally had asked him.

"Do what?" He responded, but something about the glint in his eye told you he knew exactly what you were referring to. Rooster just wanted you to admit it out loud. 

"You are so consistent, but you keep me on my toes." Bradley's hand stills where it had been gliding on your back. Then he started to trace once more, but this time his fingers making small movements and taking on a new drag like pattern dancing across your back. 

"Is that right?" He asked you, but there was a full-blown boyish smirk donning his face. 

You nodded your head, licking your lips. The tingles that his hands were sending through your body started to warm you up even after just having finished with him. "Yes, it rocks my world. So, why don't you let me on the secret?"

"I'm just that good, baby," he told you cheekily. 

"Bradley Bradshaw." You warned lowly.  

"It's flight paths." 

"What?"

"I use the flight paths I have memorized," his fingers danced in a looping motion doubling back and then tracing forward again.

"They make it easy to loop, but it's long enough that there is different pacing, or I use the piano," He told you, letting his fingers tap and shift along your back as if it was a set of ivories suddenly. It had made you giggle. 

"That might have been one of the sexiest things you have ever told me, Bradley." You had told him before you kissed him silly. And letting him showcase those skills with his tongue for the second time that night. 

Now, Brad's hand that is lying against your stomach also starts to follow a pattern. You open your mouth, but Bradley quickly cuts you off. 

"Please, don't say sorry."

"But I am."

"That was a bad attack."

It was true that you hadn't had one that severe in a while. "I'm—"

"Do not say sorry," he repeats. You sigh heavily and move to stop leaning against Bradley. However, he doesn't let you. The hand on your hip and lower abdomen fighting you and drawing you flush against him. He settles you, so you are comfortably leaning against his chest again.

"I am sorry," Brad finally says, almost a whisper in your ear. 

"You are sorry?"

"Yes."

"Why?" You question him. Not sure you understand what he is apologizing for.

"Why are you going to leave me?" Brad asks instead of answering your question. 

You sigh and close your eyes. You lean your head back, so it's settled on Bradley's shoulder. Then take a deep calming breath before responding. "I know you don't want kids. You have always been very honest about that, and it's not your fault I'm pregnant. 

"Well, I don't think you went and got pregnant by yourself. It's kind of a process that takes two contributing parties. Unless you are going to tell me that it's someone else's." Bradley says the words so incredulously that you know he has no doubt the baby is his. 

"I know you don't want this, but I realized I do."

"What if I do want this?"

"I'm not going to let you do this just because you feel obligated, Bradley," you tell him tiredly.

"No. I want this."

"How could that be?" You ask. 

You feel him shift behind you, and you open your eyes to see what he is doing. Bradley is reaching to the bedside table where you see a huge binder sitting. 

It is a binder that you know well. Bradley is a meticulous and organized person. He likes to refer to this binder as your Life Plan Binder. It was full of timelines, dates, references, and lists. Everything Bradley feels is necessary for y'all's life. 

You realize that this one is different from the one that lives on his desk. It is slimmer, and the front doesn't have a picture of the two of you slotted in the cover that the other did. 

"The LPB?" You ask him, confused.  

His left hand makes itself at home again on your lower abdomen, while his right hand puts the binder on your lap. Finally, you read the cover where it says alternative plans in bold lettering. 

"I'm sorry I left earlier, but I needed to get this." He mutters into your ear. Brad's tone is deeply apologetic. He flips the binder open, and there are labeled tabs. You fully realize this is a binder you have never seen before. You scan the tabs and freeze up in Bradley's hold when you see the one he is thumbing to.

It is towards the back, behind the different tabs, including restations, health, new cars, vacations, and retirement, is a tab that has a simple label. It's blue and just says, baby. Bradley flips to the tab, and you see the cover page of the section with the table of contents. In bold at the top of the page, you read Baby Bradshaw. 

A sob that ends up coming out as a broken laugh ripping from your chest. The section contents was filled out with thoroughly thought out plans on you having children, from a section with important timelines, appointments to schedule, college savings plans, and a section with boys' and girls' names that he likes. 

You bring one of your hands up to stifle the sobs that are bubbling in your chest. You hold your hand close over your mouth to try to hold back the sound. His fingers traced over the page and the table of contents for the section. 

"What is this?" You finally ask him. 

"It's my alternate life plan binder. For you know, if other things come up."

"Why do you have a Baby Bradshaw section?" You hesitantly ask. His hand is still warm against your stomach, and he flexes his fingers. 

"Well, a while ago, I started thinking about kids," he trails off, and you start looking through the table of contents again. You see that the most robust and largest section is actually related to adoption. You feel your heart melt in your chest. A new bright feeling of hope blossoms looking at the care, time, and thought he has put into this. As he continues, "and well… You know how I am. I wanted to be prepared for that possibility."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I've been ruminating, and I don't know. Maybe I would have mentioned it at our next check-in. But I knew you don't…" Bradley doesn't finish his sentence, and you lose your mind a little bit.

You pull the large binger up into your hands and shift. You struggle and move until you turn in his grip. Your legs wrapped around Brad's waist. You want to see his face, which is easier in this position. The hand that had been placed on your stomach curls around your back and waist, steadying you against him. 

"You changed your mind?" You ask him. You let your hands trace over his chest, settling on cupping his face. Then, staring into his eyes, you look for any trace of anger or deceit. 

"You seem to also have changed your mind, baby," he takes the binder from where it was awkwardly pressed in between you two. It allows you to settle closer to him. Bradley sets the binder to the side, momentarily breaking eye contact to make sure none of the pages are creased. Your chests were almost flush together. You wrap your arms around his neck, and then he is the one to hold your face. His eyes reconnect with yours, and you once again feel like you are caught in them. 

The intensity and openness in his gaze make your lips move faster than your brain to lay out the whole truth for him. "I don't think that I ever wanted to not have kids. I had just accepted it because I knew that I couldn't." You explain, not breaking eye contact. Bradley's thumb traces a slow circle against your cheek. 

"I would never let you do this by yourself."

"I can't just throw a wrench like this in your life, Brad." 

He immediately starts shaking his head in protest. "It's our life. I'm not going to lie to you and say that you didn't hurt my feelings. If you left me," Bradly heaves a heavy shaky breath. You briefly wonder if he is going to cry again. Then he continues to explain, "I would be broken… shattered. I feel even worse that you didn't want to talk to me or tell me."

You can tell how deeply you hurt him. Even though you knew what you were going to do was wrong, now that you and Bradley are talking about it. You know you need to try and explain your rationale no matter how messed up it was. 

"At first, I wasn't sure how I felt. I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't do that before I knew how I felt. But then I kept thinking about all the times we talked about you not wanting kids. How you had so many good, valid reasons for feeling that way. I know you, Bradley. I knew that you would do the right thing as soon as I told you. But you don't need obligation ruling anymore of your life that it already does."  

"So what if I was obligated? I agreed to be obligated to you for the rest of our lives when we got married. I want to be bound to you. I want to shoulder your burdens, just like you shoulder mine," Bradley says.

"A child is a lifelong burden for you to shoulder," you say. You need to know, need to be fully sure Brad understands. 

"Do you think so low of me? Do you think I wouldn't love something that was a mix of you and me?"

"There are plenty of people in the world who don't love their children." You tell him, swallowing hard. 

He lets out a long sigh, his breath fanning a bit over your face. "I want this baby. I want this baby with you. I want to be at every doctor's appointment. I want to know everything I've missed. I want family vacations where I can buy a Hawaiian shirt in three different sizes for all of us. I want little league games. I want a baby to sing to sleep. I want someone to put on top of the piano and sing to like my dad did. I want us to paint a nursery. I want Disney trips. I want to fight about curfew. I want to make breakfast on Saturdays and spend Sundays in the shop with football, restoring a beat-up first car. I want to make dad jokes. Fuck, I need to buy a pair of new balances."

Warmth fills you at his words. You let out a small laugh picturing Bradley as a stereotypical dad. How he wants all of that with you. That you won't do this alone like you have mentally been preparing yourself for since finding out. You run your fingers up and down his neck trailing it down his shoulder as far as you can reach before tracing back to his neck. A content sigh falls from his lips, and his eyes close, enjoying your gentle caresses.

"What are some of the names?" You break the silence after his confessions.  

"I like Westley," he says with a small boyish smile. You bite back a grin at the name, playfully rolling your eyes. 

"Oh, and is Buttercup on your list for girl names?" You ask him teasingly. 

"Maybe," he says. You lean forward and peck his lips. 

"You're not going to leave me," Bradley whispers with conviction. You know he is still coming down from the emotional roller coaster you just went through together. You also know Brad is going to need time to fully process this conversation and the change about to happen in your lives. However, you also know, without a doubt, that Bradley will be holding your hand at your next doctor's appointment. 

"No, I'm not." You confirm and brush your lips over his softly. 

"Stay with me forever," Bradley begs you in a voice a little too small for you to handle. 

You hold the hazel gaze for a very, very long moment. You let him examine you, see the truth, and honestly bleeding in your gaze before you respond. What you want to say at first is: I love you. However, those words weren't quite right; they didn't seem to fully capture your intention and the emotion in your chest you felt for this man. So instead, you settle on the words you think will most closely allow him to understand. You brush your lips against him again, whispering your answer into them. 

 "As you wish, Bradley."

#bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster smut #bradley bradshaw x y/n #hot 🥵 #Coleys writing #bradley bradshaw fanfiction

[holllandtrash]

treat you better | lando norris, pierre gasly

pairing: lando norris x reader, pierre gasly x reader part 2 to better left unsaid - read all parts here

weeks go by and even though you haven't heard from lando, another driver has managed to slide his way into your life...and you're not that upset about it

word count: 5.4k warnings/tags: like none except asshole!lando again, this part has some social media!au aspects

Three Weeks Later

Pierre had joked about you visiting him during the break, but you didn’t think anything of it until you received an email regarding your upcoming flight and a second email a minute later containing your boarding pass to Monaco.

You weren’t even sure how Pierre managed to book a flight under your name, but you weren’t going to question it. 

His name showed up on your phone shortly after you read the email and you answered the call before the end of the first ring.

“You want me to come to Monaco?” You asked, the hesitancy in your voice was impossible to ignore. For the last three weeks you had stayed in London, picking up extra shifts whenever you could, seeing friends during the weekends, really anything to stay distracted and to keep yourself from texting Lando.

“Of course,” Pierre’s lack of hesitancy made your palms clam up. He didn’t have a care in the world, he didn’t think about the consequences of any of his actions. He just acted however he wanted. It was admirable, but it wasn’t something you could do. 

“Pierre I can’t just-”

“Why?” He cut you off. “You said it yourself, you had booked time off for a trip anyway before Lando returned your ticket. I don’t see why your vacation has to be ruined because he’s acting like a child.”

When you woke up in your hotel room after your fight with Lando, the first thing you did was check your phone. There were no missed calls or texts from your best friend, nothing that would indicate he was sorry or he regretted anything he said. But you didn’t reach out to him either. 

Not wanting to start the day off with this argument hanging over you, you stepped out into the hall with the intention of knocking on Lando’s door. You barely made it a few feet before you heard your name being called out. When you turned around, you saw Pierre walking towards you, balancing a to-go cup of coffee, a room key and water bottle in one hand. 

He was a complete gentleman all night, starting from when you got in the Uber after leaving the club. He didn’t say anything when you rested your head on his shoulder and he didn’t try to stop you from using the sleeve of his, probably horribly expensive, blazer to wipe your eyes. 

Pierre walked you up to your room, he even offered to stay to keep you company but you assured him you’d be fine. Before you could shut the door and lock yourself in for the rest of the night, Pierre placed his hand on the wooden surface and pushed it open again.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” his voice echoed through you. You wished that Pierre was only saying what he thought you wanted to hear, but something about his words seemed so honest and heavy. He didn’t want you to brush them off and forget about them as soon as you shut the door.

You shrugged, “He’s my best friend.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to make excuses for him.”

Those words flashed through your mind all night, leaving you tossing and turning, but they didn’t sink in as much as you would have hoped because Lando was still the first person you thought of when you woke up.

Had it not been for Pierre stopping you in the hallway, you would have knocked on Lando’s door. Instead, you went out for breakfast with the French driver and an unlikely friendship started. 

What started as Pierre trying to show you that there’s more to life than just being Lando’s best friend turned into something much more. Pierre kept your mind off of Lando all day just by being there for you. He was uncharacteristically friendly, not flirty, and all he wanted was to just hang out. 

The attraction you had felt the night before hadn’t completely vanished, but now you were simply just attracted to who he was as opposed to that sexual tension pulling you to him. His jokes made your cheeks hurt from laughing so hard. His stories were captivating. Now that you were out of the club setting, you were able to see how good of a guy Pierre was. 

He put effort into building this friendship when you returned home. The two of you texted and called. You sent him ‘good luck’ messages before the start of a busy race weekend and respected the privacy he needed to get in the racing headspace. You found yourself more drawn to what he was doing on the track instead of watching Lando’s car. You weren’t rooting for just the McLaren anymore.

When Pierre sent you the flight information, you shouldn’t have been surprised. You had mentioned your original plan was to visit Lando in Monaco during the summer break but he cancelled your ticket before you could reach out to him. Lando was cutting ties.

You had to admit, it fucking hurt.

Pierre telling you to visit him in Monaco should have excited you, but there was still that gaping hole in your chest where Lando’s friendship used to be. He didn’t want anything to do with you. He didn’t try to contact you once in the last three weeks. Max reached out, nothing was strained between you and him, but you could tell he was pulling away little by little. 

Pierre spoke your name into the receiver and you were pulled out of your thoughts.

“I can’t go to Monaco, Pierre,” you said again. “What will Lando think?”

You heard him scoff, “This isn’t about Lando. This is about you enjoying yourself and not letting him get to you. If he cared, he would have reached out.”

“But I haven’t reached out either,” you pointed out. That didn’t mean you stopped caring about Lando. 

“Ah, but your heart is too big for this world, ma chérie.” You could practically hear Pierre’s smirk. He hadn’t stopped calling you ‘chérie’. “Come to Monaco. You deserve a vacation.”

———————

The odds of running into Lando in Monaco were slim. He had a house there, you had stayed there dozens of times, but he was probably flying back home to visit his family during the break, so you didn’t think about it too much.

Pierre rented a place out for a month because he didn’t live in Monaco either. He just knew he’d be back and forth between there and Milan during the summer and it was easier to just have a permanent place to return to for the time being.

He couldn’t pick you up from the airport, having other obligations he couldn’t turn down, but when the car brought you to his place, you were barely a foot in the door when you had a jumper thrown at you. It was grey with writing down the sleeves and across the back.

“New clothing drop, what do you think?” Pierre asked, dropping a pair of sweats. He approached you before you had time to answer and you were engulfed in his arms.

The first time you smelled his cologne was in the back of the Uber when you left the club, but you had weirdly come to find yourself missing it. 

Before letting go, Pierre tightened his hold to squeeze you against his chest. He ruffled your hair, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Listen, usually I spend all my time with Max or Lando when I come to Monaco so you’re already off to a bad start by not even picking me up from the airport.” You weren’t actually that upset. He had sent a car and even had the driver hold a sign with your name on it. That was a first. 

Pierre grabbed the jumper back and held up so you could take a look at the full design, “I was expecting this shipment, no one else was here and I wasn’t just going to leave it unattended! I gave my assistant the summer off.”

“How thoughtful,” a soft chuckle passed through your lips and you took the second to admire the design, nodding in approval. You then looked at the two cardboard boxes that he had abandoned to greet you. “Don’t tell me you only have two boxes of merch?”

Pierre rolled the sweater up and tossed it into your chest, “This is for my collection or to give to friends and family.” He nodded his head towards the one in your hands. “Keep it.”

Your mouth dropped in fake astonishment. “I get Pierre Gasly merch? For free? My friends will be so jealous.”

The second that last word hit Pierre’s ears, you could practically see the gears turning in his head. His charming smile turned devious as he pulled out his phone.

“I have an idea,” he started off. You weren’t a fan of that phrase, but you couldn’t miss the playful glint in his eye. Whatever he was thinking of, it had to be harmless, right? 

“Am I going to like this idea?”

“Depends on how much you care about fixing yours and Lando’s friendship.”

You weren’t putting the pieces together quick enough and Pierre simply chuckled, tugging on the sleeve of the jumper still in your arms. 

“Put it on, chérie,” he finally spelled it out for you and laughed, thinking that this was probably one of his best ideas in a long time. “And I’ll post a picture of you in it. That will get his blood boiling.” 

Your heart stopped for a second. You couldn’t do that to Lando. 

“He’ll get the wrong idea.”

“What idea will he get?” Pierre shrugged. “That we’re together? Maybe he’ll finally get it through his head that he fucked up.”

“It’s unnecessarily petty.”

“He needs the wake up call.”

Pierre expected you to argue some more, but was pleasantly surprised when you pulled the hem of the hoodie over your head. There was a mirror behind you and you made sure you didn’t look completely drained after your flight. You wiped away the mascara smudges under your eyes.

“You look good,” Pierre pulled your attention away from trying to fix yourself up and you caught his gaze in the reflection. He nodded his head towards the back of the house, “Come on, the sun’s about to set. It’ll make for a nice backdrop.”

You didn’t flinch when Pierre grabbed your hand, leading you towards the double doors, pushing them both open and leading you out towards a patio that was decorated nicer than your flat back home. 

You laughed when Pierre positioned you to make sure to get the ocean and sunset in the back. He adjusted the strings of the jumper so that they were the same length, this was a promo shoot after all. He then raised his hand and gently brushed a strand of hair out of your face that didn't reach your ponytail. The wind was starting to pick up anyway so it wouldn’t have made a difference.

Pierre opened up the camera app on his phone and took a few steps. Modelling wasn’t something you often did, only helping Lando out here and there whenever Quadrant had a new clothing collection. Pierre could see the hesitancy in your features and rolled his eyes at how stiff you were being.

“Chérie, you look good, just smile,” Pierre instructed, himself smiling as he snapped a few more shots. 

Still you were shy so instead of facing the camera, you turned around so your back was towards Pierre. You looked at the sunset over the water and hoped that the design on the back was photo-worthy.

After a few seconds, Pierre lowered his phone and started to scroll the photos he captured. 

“Is Lando the jealous type?” He asked. He didn’t look up, but when you turned back around you could make out a soft smile playing on his lips when he took a few extra seconds to look at one of the pictures.

“I’m not sure,” It was an honest answer. Lando rarely talked to you about that sort of thing. If there was ever a girl he liked, he’d bring it up to Max. Which was probably for the best seeing as it would have killed you to hear Lando talk about another girl.

Pierre opened up the Instagram app, “I guess we’re about to find out.” 

pierregasly

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pierregasly all gas[ly] no brakes

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yourusername i hate that caption

pierregasly it's the name of the collection !!

leclercprince its the way y/n went from promoting lando's merch to pierre's merch in a mONTH

maxverstophim paddocks newest couple?? im here for it

sara.f1spam i did not have lando introducing pierre + y/n on my silly szn bucket list

------

Of course Lando saw the picture.

Well, Max saw it first, about an hour after Pierre made the post. Neither of them had been on their phones that evening, working on content for Quadrant instead, only taking a break when Lando ordered food. 

At first, Max thought it was your Instagram post he was looking at, but then he read the caption and then he read it about three more times before turning to Lando.

“Y/n’s in Monaco?” He asked, sliding his phone across the counter. 

At first, Lando was confused. His brows pinched together as he tried to make sense of the picture on the screen. And then he was annoyed that you were there with Pierre of all people, especially after he had cancelled your ticket so you especially wouldn’t go to Monaco. Finally, his features hardened. He tried not to let the caption get to him, or the fact that you were wearing Gasly’s merch, or how Pierre was probably the one who bought you that plane ticket which meant you were there specifically for the French driver.

But Lando was furious.

“Call her,” Lando slid the phone back, adjusting the hat on his head. He refused to meet Max’s stare, nor did he offer any explanation as to why Max should be calling her.

“What for?”

“Find out what the hell she’s doing in Monaco.”

“Well she’s clearly hanging out with Gasly.”

“Yeah but why?”

Max wanted to slap his best friend upside the head but settled on hitting his palms against the kitchen counter, “Because you basically sent her running straight into his arms you dimwit.”

Lando scoffed, “Did not- just call her.” 

Max really didn’t want to get involved. He hated being in the middle of his two friends, but he knew Lando wasn’t going to let this go so he dialled your number. Lando reached across the island before he could bring it up to his ear and grabbed the phone, hitting the speaker button instead and assuring Max he’d stay quiet.

“Oh so now you’re eavesdropping?” Max hissed at the driver. “If you want to talk to her so bad then-”

“Hello?” Your voice rang through the receiver, hitting Lando like a pile of bricks. He hadn’t spoken to you in three weeks. He didn’t forget what you sounded like, he could never, but he missed it. You were such a constant in his life and then suddenly you weren’t. 

“Hey!” Max sent Lando a glare, instantly regretting letting himself be dragged into this mess. “You’re in Monaco? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your bitter chuckle could have sliced through glass. Lando tensed when he heard it. 

“I didn’t know I had to.” she answered. 

“I mean-” Max stuttered to come up with a response. He looked to Lando for something to say but he was staying quiet. “Yeah I guess you don’t have to, but if I had known you were still coming to Monaco I would have switched my trip around. I’ll be in London for the next two weeks.”

“Why would you switch your trip around?” You asked, practically forcing Max into an uncomfortable position. 

“Because-” Max laughed off what he thought was a ridiculous question. “Come on, Y/N, we’re still friends.”

You paused. Max noticed it. Lando especially noticed it. Those faint two seconds before you sighed into the phone felt like an eternity to Lando. 

“Are we?” You questioned. “You’ve kind of taken his side.” 

His. You couldn’t even say Lando’s name. 

“No I haven’t,” Max tried to argue, once again, sending Lando a death glare. 

“Yes you have,” there was more assertiveness in your tone now, less wondering if you and Max were actually still friends. “Come on Max, you’re in London with him. You didn’t even think to tell me that you were coming to the UK. You’ve stuck by his side this whole time. You didn’t even-” there was a strained breath. “You were the only person who knew I loved him and after what happened- after that night, you didn’t think to ask if I was okay. You just stayed with Lando after I left. Getting rejected was one thing, but I didn’t think I’d lose both of you.”

Now it was Lando who was sending Max a look that could have sent him to the grave. Max knew about your feelings and didn’t tell Lando. This whole situation could have been avoided if Max had just given him a heads up, if he had intervened even the slightest bit. 

“Y/N I-”

“I gotta go,” you cut Max off, knowing that his half-ass apology would mean nothing. “If you come back to Monaco early, let me know. I do miss you and I’m sorry you’re stuck in the middle but just remember that Lando’s not your only friend.”

Max should have just said okay. He should have recognized the way Lando’s stare hardened as he looked across the counter at him and he should have just told you that he’d talk to you later. Instead, he waited before hanging up like he was hoping you would say something else.

Those few seconds of silence that lingered left the conversation open for either of you to get the last word in. 

But it was Lando’s voice that filled the room, his own insecurities and spite took over as he leaned forward, ensuring you would hear and not mistake him for Max.

“Tell Pierre we say hi.”

Max counted three more seconds of pure, timid, silence before you hung up. Lando counted four. 

Max wanted to reach across the counter and slap his friend in the face to maybe knock some sense into him, but he settled for a look of disapproval instead, “You dickhead. Why’d you say that?”

“What?” Lando played dumb. “It’s not like she’s trying to hide the fact that she’s with Pierre. And if anyone’s pointing fingers, let’s talk about how you knew she had feelings for me and didn’t say anything. What’s up with that?”

Max held his hands up defensively, “It was never my place to say anything.”

“That’s a cheap excuse, mate,” Lando shook his head. “If I had known-”

“If you had known she loved you, you wouldn’t have treated her like shit?” Max turned the tables around before Lando could try and offer an alternative. “You would have stopped leading her on? You wouldn’t have treated her any different?”

“I never led her on.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Lando, you’ve been leading her on for years. Come on, you can’t be that oblivious to the way she looks at you. Y/N acts like you’re the one who puts the stars in the bloody sky. She thinks so highly of you, you are literally everything to her.”

“Was,” Lando corrected him. He backed away from the counter, like putting distance between himself and the phone was going to do anything. “She couldn’t care less about me anymore.”

“Well whose fault is that?”

Lando turned around. He wanted this conversation to be over. He wanted things to go back to how they used to be. He knew he crossed a line that night in the club but you weren’t a saint either, both of you said things you shouldn’t have and now you were both too stubborn to extend an olive branch. 

“You can’t just ignore her for the rest of your life,” Max pointed out, trying to steer Lando towards the path of making amends. 

“No, but I can’t be what she wants me to be either,” Lando kept his back to Max, not needing to be guilt tripped right now. He put away a few dishes that were drying in the sink, feeling his friend's eyes burn holes into the back of his head.

“Lando, she just wants you in her life,” Max said. “I think if you just talk to her-”

“She has Pierre,” Lando cut him off harshly. “She doesn’t need me.”

Max left it at that. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with Lando, at least not right now. He needed to just sit with his thoughts for a bit before Max could try to get through to him. 

Lando heard Max walk off towards another part of the house and he waited a few more seconds, just to make sure he was in the clear before pulling out his phone. He opened up Pierre’s instagram page and in the back of his mind he was praying that the post would be deleted, that Pierre realised he was playing with fire and regretted it.

But no, there it was, that picture of you in his sweater. 

You two weren’t dating, were you?

Pierre didn’t date, first of all, he had hookups. Lando couldn’t remember the last time Pierre was serious about a girl so the fact that he so casually was posting you on social media must have meant something. 

When he clicked on your profile, he noticed the colourful pink and orange outline around your icon and curiosity got the better of him. Lando wanted to know what you posted on your story. 

God did he instantly regret that. 

“MAX!” Lando yelled through the house, locking his phone and resisting the urge to throw it across the room. 

Max came sauntering down the hallway, an annoyed look on his face as he thought about what Lando could possibly need from him now.

“Change of plans, we’re going back to Monaco.”

yourusername added to their story

pierregasly added to their story

You had seen all of the tweets and comments of everyone assuming you and Pierre were an item. To be fair, you hadn’t put any of the rumours to rest during the summer break and neither had he.

But you and Pierre were most certainly not together.

The plan was to make Lando jealous, maybe get his blood boiling a bit. You were pretty quiet online but Pierre would post you any chance he got. This was fun for him and you had to admit, the attention was nice.

You knew Lando was back in Monaco, Max texted you the second the two of them landed. And you wanted to meet up with Max, but Pierre was doing whatever he could to make sure you had a good vacation. He didn’t even seem to care that it was his break. 

He had his head in your lap as a movie played on the screen in front of you. You hadn’t seen it before but Pierre had because he knew every second line by heart and would recite the words as if he was in the scene. 

When you started to run your fingers through Pierre’s hair, he hummed in contentment and you smiled to yourself. 

These last few weeks with Pierre had been so effortlessly fun. You didn’t have a care in the world. He made you feel appreciated. He took care of you.

And on top of all of that, he hadn’t even tried one of his typical fuckboy moves. You sort of expected it if you two were drinking, but Pierre was always a gentleman. The most he would do was walk you back to your bedroom at the end of the night and leave a ghost of a kiss on your cheek. 

If he was playing the long game, it was doing him favours. 

You were starting to actually like Pierre. 

When your phone buzzed on the coffee table in front of you, Pierre reached forward and grabbed it. He snickered when he saw who had texted you, but didn’t voice his thoughts as he handed the phone over.

Lando: come pick up your things from my place before you leave monaco

“Not even a please,” you rolled your eyes. This was the first text you had gotten from him in a long time. You didn’t let yourself scroll up to read past messages otherwise your heart would sink if you caught a glimpse of the red love heart emojis you two shared. 

Pierre sighed and grabbed the remote, pausing the movie, “Shall we?” He sat up and your hand fell from his hair. He tugged on the string of the hoodie, his hoodie, you were wearing as your brows pinched together. 

“Well I don’t think he meant right now,” you shrugged, but Pierre was already up. He grabbed your hand to pull you off the couch as well.

“It’d be rude to keep him waiting, don’t you think?” 

You simultaneously hated that smirk as much as you loved it. Pierre was mischievous. He was never up to any good. You wouldn’t go as far to say he was the typical bad boy, but he certainly got your heart racing.

“Pierre we can’t just show up-”

“You worry too much,” he grabbed a set of keys that were left by the front door and urged you to follow. “I haven’t seen him in a while, I’d love to say hi.”

“You love starting drama, don’t you?” It was a rhetorical question. Pierre laughed in response as you followed him out the door. 

The drive to Lando’s place was short. It was a weekday and it was nearing midnight so there weren’t too many cars on the road. Each time the car passed under a street light, Pierre’s face lit up and you could still make out the hint of a smirk on his lips. 

When he noticed you staring, Pierre -still keeping his eyes on the road- reached across the middle console and rested his hand on your leg, “What are you thinking about, ma chérie?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning your elbow against the side compartment and dropping your face to your hand, “If I ask you to stay in the car-”

“Not happening,” he interjected. “I want to see Lando’s face when he opens the door and sees me at your side.”

“Why?” You asked. “Why do you care so much about this? I don’t even care that much but it makes you happy knowing he’s pissed off.”

Pierre turned onto Lando’s street and stopped just outside his place. You watched as the features on his face hardened, his lips pressing into a tight line as he refused to answer your question.

You sat in the parked car for so long that the overhead light faded due to the lack of movement. The shadows only highlighted how tense Pierre was and the longer you sat there without an answer, the more annoyed you got.

This was a game for him, but this was your life. Lando was your friend. 

You undid your seatbelt and grabbed the handle. You opened it an inch and the light flickered on again but before you could go anywhere, Pierre leaned over you and slammed it shut again. 

You turned your head, finding yourself only an inch away from the driver's face. Your eyes darted from his down to his lips. When you opened your mouth to say something, nothing came out. A shaky inhale was the only sound that filled the space between you.

“Lando doesn’t deserve you,” Pierre’s voice was low. It hit you deep in the chest. He wasn’t going to let you out of this car until he knew those words sunk in. “Chérie, I’ve seen you for years follow him around the paddock like a lost pup, he doesn’t appreciate you.”

He raised his hand up to cup the side of your face. You were brought back to that night in the club. He pulled this same move that had you stammering over your words. But you were drunk then, you were sober now and he still had the same effect. You couldn’t tell if that was for better or for worse.

“I don’t get joy out of knowing he’s jealous,” Pierre clarified, his soft breath hitting your lips. The light above you two dimmed once more but his striking blue eyes were still piercing into yours. “I get joy out of knowing he’s not the one you rely on for happiness anymore.”

When his gaze dropped to your lips for a second you could have sworn your heart stopped.

“Pierre-”

A light coming on in the distance pulled your attention away from the Frenchman. You looked over his shoulder and noticed the porch light next to Lando’s front door was on. He must have heard a car pull up.

“Let’s go get your things,” Pierre said, brushing his thumb over your cheek. You had to stop yourself from grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him back. 

If Pierre had tried to kiss you, you would have let him. 

You got out of the car, taking a second to compose yourself. Pierre waited around the front, arm outstretched for you to interlock your hand with his. The two of you walked up the driveway, Lando’s black McLaren bringing back all of the memories of the two of you driving down empty streets, singing along to whatever music played through the speakers. 

Pierre squeezed your hand right before you knocked on the door. 

It was like Lando was waiting on the other side. The door swung open. A very tired, very annoyed Lando stood there, bags under his eyes as his gaze landed directly on your hand connected with Pierres. You thought about dropping it for a second, but Pierre’s hold was too tight and Lando shouldn’t have had that control over you anymore.

“It’s almost midnight,” he said, voice hoarse. 

Stay strong, you told yourself. He was only being an ass because you were with Pierre.

“You’re the one that texted.”

“Didn’t think you’d come so soon,” Lando pulled the door open more, all but inviting you inside as he turned and walked into the house. You heard the sounds of a video game playing but when you glanced towards the living room, Max looked up from the couch and paused his game, offering you a shy smile.

“Where’s my stuff?” You asked, not stepping more than a few feet into his place.

Lando looked over his shoulder, sending Pierre daggers and completely ignoring your question, “So he just follows you everywhere now?”

“My stuff, Lando,” you repeated. Your hands were starting to get clammy. You told yourself that was why you let go of Pierre, not because you were ashamed of Lando’s disappointed stare. 

“Yeah it’s in here,” he shuffled across the tiled floor and towards the open kitchen. You waited a few seconds but it didn’t seem like Lando was about to bring anything to you so you took a breath and followed. 

Pierre took a step forward as well but you shook your head, telling him to just wait at the door.

There was a cardboard box sitting on the island counter with your name written on the side in black sharpie. Lando rubbed his eyes and then leaned against the surface, resting his arms on top of it as he nodded towards the box.

“Makeup, clothes…” he said, “A pair of shoes I think. I just grabbed everything that was in your room and tossed it in.”

Your room. 

It wasn’t your room anymore.

“Thanks,” you muttered, reaching for the box. It was lighter than you expected. Either you didn’t have that much stuff here or Lando did a shit job at grabbing everything that belonged to you. You propped the box against your hip and turned around.

This felt like a break up. 

Only, you two were never dating.

He had just been in your life since you were kids. He was someone you gave your heart and soul to and in return, you thought he had given you his. Lando was the first boy you had a crush on, the first guy you liked, the first man you loved. 

And now you were walking away from him with a box of your things in your arm.

“Will you be at the next race?” Lando’s voice stopped you before you made it to the front foyer. He was still leaning against the counter. If you turned your head to the left you could see Pierre leaning against the wall, waiting for you, but you kept your eyes on Lando. 

“I’m not sure,” you answered honestly. That wasn’t something you had discussed with Pierre. 

Lando scratched the back of his neck, “If you are then-” he cut himself off, inhaling a sharp breath and glancing away momentarily. “Yeah, okay, see you around then, maybe.”

There was more he wanted to say, you could tell just by looking at him. He had to fight to hold back whatever it was that he wanted to say to you. Maybe he wanted to apologise, maybe he wanted to argue, you had no idea. But by keeping it to himself he was holding onto that last piece of thread that connected the two of you.

And you were staying quiet too, not ready to drop that thread either, not ready to let go of that last piece of your friendship. 

But you wanted to apologise for everything you said. You wanted to drop the box and run to him and hug him until you lost circulation in your arms. You wanted to beg for things to go back to how they were. 

Ultimately, you knew that you couldn’t and there was one simple reason for that.

You still loved him and as long as you loved him, as long as he didn't love you, things would never be the same.

all parts here masterlist here

#lando norris #lando norris social media au #lando norris one shot #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris au #lando x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly social media au #holllandtrash #f1 instagram au #f1 #f1 social media au

[ailithnight]

After this chapter, I will no longer be doing a taglist. Sorry folks, there's just too many of y'all and I'm on mobile. Please subscribe on AO3 for updates, or follow the tag A King in Arkham.

A King in Arkham

Chapter 4

AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Danny. I understand you don't want to go with your godfather. Is there a reason for that?

Can't go with Vlad!

If you know something we don't about him, you need to tell us. Otherwise he will win custody.

It's.. He'll.. he'll make me.. turn me.. his fault!

What's his fault, Danny?

His fault. All his. All.. My.. no, my fault. It's all my fault...

Danny?

IT'S MY FAULT! I KILLED THEM! ALL DEAD! Because of me...

Now Danny, I'm sure that's not true. What happened at the Nasty Burger-

I made it happen.

Corporate negligence-

He knew. I knew. Dan knew what would happen. Dan made it happen. He knew the sauce was gonna blow. He knew Lancer would arrange the meeting there. He cheated. He lured them there. He bound them up so they couldn't escape and ran the time out until they exploded! Dan did that and Dan was me, so I did that.

Daniel...?

I murdered them. I murdered everyone. 

Da-

IT'S ALL MY FAU- *static*

.

Tim started talking after the audio cut to static.

"What you just heard is the last, partially recovered therapy session of Danny's in Chicago. The cameras were beyond salvaging. No one except Danny knows what happened after the audio cuts. What is known is that nearby witnesses heard what they claim sounded like a 'screaming moan' coming from the therapy room. When doctors and staff went to check; the therapist Mrs. Alders was slumped against the wall, appearing to have been forcefully pushed, with minor head trauma. Danny was curled up on the other side of the room, panicking and muttering about a Dan.

While Mrs. Alders mostly recovered from the incident, she does not know how she ended up slammed against the wall. Once this audio was recovered, it was turned over to the police. Given the severity of the... confession... in conjunction with the apparent assault, the courts decided to move Danny to an asylum for the criminally insane." Tim paused in the debrief, letting the information sink in. After a moment, Duke raised his hand. Jason scoffed at the action.

"This ain't kindergarten kid, say your bit."

"I just, that explains why an asylum in general. But why Arkham?" Tim nodded, pulling up a picture of a document.

"Kid's godfather, business tycoon and multimillionaire, Vlad Masters. Insisted that if his godson should have to go to an asylum, he'll go to the- and I quote- 'Best in the country.' Made a deal with the state that he'll foot the bill while he continues fighting for custody. Apparently didn't do his research enough to know that 'Best Known' and 'Best' are not the same." Bruce had the next question.

"So, Master's doesn't have custody yet?"

"Nope." Tim popped his 'p', pulling up more documents. Investigative reports. "Given Danny's reactions to him, CPS started investigating. Found a lot of shady shit. Narcissism, anger issues, control issues, coercion tactics. 

One agent said he tried to bribe her with a rather large sum of money, which she might have taken if she wasn't well enough off from a family inheritance and mostly doing this work for the kids. Of course, same agent also said he had 'Rancid vibes' and 'tried to posses' her, but her 'Grammy's necklace protected her' so her credibility was deemed iffy.

Still, there's enough there that it's unlikely Masters will be able to gain custody any time soon. So if Gotham's favorite serial adopter with a good track record for helping troubled kids, Brucie Wayne, were to step in..." Tim's smirk is infectious and makes its way around the table. Bruce's lips twitch ver briefly into a fond smile, before dropping back into a frown.

"What do you make of the... confession?" Jason doesn't even try to hold in his groan.

"Seriously, B? It was survivor's guilt or some kind of psychotic episode or something." Damian frowns.

"I would not discredit him so quickly, Hood. After all, his ghosts are real apparently."

"Hnn." Bruce gets that look on his face. The almost constipated frown that means he is going to have to do something unpleasant like host a gala or attend a business meeting or, "I will have to call Constantine to verify what the entity we are dealing with is." 

Jason lets out a gleeful snort. "Have fun with that one, B. In the mean time can I go break our kid out yet or what?"

"Actually, Hood," Jason turns a glare on Tim, who is once again holding his hands up placatingly. "That still leaves us with the issue of making him an escapee and you an accomplice."

"Well fuckin Brucie Wayne can't exactly just walk up to Arkham and ask if they've got any blue eyed black haired boys for him to adopt."

"Not exactly what I'm suggesting here."  Batman sighs.

"What are you suggesting." Tim pulls out a case he had tucked under the desk, a truly devious smirk painted across his face.

"Just a little temporary theft. Only long enough to put the kid's face on the news for Brucie to stumble across." He opens the case, sliding it over to Jason. Inside, a replica of a relic from Tim's own past; resized to fit his bigger, broader brother. "You remember Red X, don't you?" 

The green that had been tinting Jason's vision the whole meeting finally subsides, giving way to wicked mirth.

"Oh, hell yes." 

Batman sighs.

.

"You don't get it do you? I'm still here. I still exist. That means you still turn into me."

Another night, another nightmare of a memory jolting Danny back into the waking world. His chest is tight, a high whine suppressing itself in the back of his throat. Danny's eyes dart around his room, searching for the shadowy void of his most frequent visitor. But Spectra isn't there tonight. She hasn't come back since she was seen by Banana Bat. 

It's strange. Danny had gotten used to waking up with her there, towering over him, shadowy clawed hand resting somewhere on his body as she feasted on his misery. He didn't mind, really. He had plenty to give and she didn't even rough him up too bad. Just enough to keep the psyches concerned. The last 3 days without her presence had been... not lonely. Danny was already lonely. But emptier. Like the one good thing his continued existence was doing for someone had been ripped away.

Truly, Danny felt he had nothing left in this world. Nothing to give, nothing to gain. But he couldn't die. Couldn't unleash full ghost Phantom on the world again. That's what created Dan. No, this was what he had to give. All he had to give. To stay human so that Dan never becomes ghost.  To live, as the least burden he could be, so that Dan never died. 

Clockwork must have known what would happen if Danny fully died. That must be why he spared him. The Observants sentenced Danny to death. But Clockwork was smarter. He sentenced Danny to life. And really, it's such a small price to pay for the sins of his other self. 

Despite what the others say, Arkham isn't hell. The only issue Danny's had was the clown and that's not really anyone's fault. It's just, Danny looked at the Joker and he saw Freakshow. And he saw that stupid staff. And he heard that grating laugh. And all he could think about was how that was the only thing that could still turn him into Dan. If the clown took control again. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't! Not becoming a Dan, not becoming a problem; that's all he could do now! He couldn't he couldn't he couldn't...

Danny was broken out of his spiraling thoughts by the now familiar buzzing echoing clanging sound of another break out. He closed his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. Then, suddenly, he was lifted up, hoisted onto someone's shoulders in a fireman's carry. 

"Damn kid, do you weigh anything?" 

Danny's eyes flew open, his body subconsciously tensed for a fight Danny wouldn't actually fight. The voice, clearly modulated, sounded high and breezy. His head turned to look at the person now forcefully evicting him from his room. Black body suit. White mask. Red slashes in a stylized X. Built like his Dad... Danny had no idea who this was.

For a moment, Danny felt a twinge of fear. He had no idea who this was. They obviously weren't with Arkham. They had just stolen him from his room and, holy shit they were flying now. No. Not flying, grappling. And running. Moving very fast towards the exit. With Danny. For unknown reasons. 

Holy shit, someone was kidnapping a teenager from an insane asylum. That, probably wasn't good. Any normal or sane person would be scared for their health and wellbeing. But, well... Danny was hardly normal. And sane was becoming increasingly questionable. 

And this guy, well he didn't trigger Danny's ghost sense. No chilly breath escaping his mouth. So he was human, not a ghost. It's not like a human could kill Danny. Not with his ghostly healing factor. Sure, they could make his life a living hell. Beat him, violate him, enslave him. But a human couldn't turn him into Dan so... Danny doesn't think he really cares. 

"Um, why are you carrying me?"

"Taking you out of here." 

"Clearly, I meant why?"

"Owe someone a favor." That was mildly concerning. Danny could think of one person who would stoop to this.

"Did Vlad send you?"

"Master's? Nope. He couldn't afford my services."

"Oh. Okay." As long as it wasn't Vlad. They were almost to the main gate now. There was screaming behind them, now. Danny loomed behind them as the person grappled up the wall and vaulted them over. Danny caught the barest glimpse of the twink in a burlap sack mask striding out the door, leaving a noxious cloud in his wake.

Then they're gone, grappling to then moving across rooftops. It's not a bad feeling. Kinda fun even. Flying as a ghost was nice. Really nice. But different from this. Gravity literally didn't touch you if you didn't want it too. But this? Danny could feel the pull of the earth, the force of every swing. Gravity was still there, exerting its influence, but they were defying it. 

For a tiny moment, Danny felt the ghost of a smile on his lips. The good feeling was fleeting, like all his feelings these days. But it was there and it was enough to shock a small "Oh." from Danny.

"Oh what, runt?"

"Nothing, just. Never grappled before. S'nice."

"Oh." It was such a soft thing, Danny once more found himself pondering the intentions of his kidnapper. 

"Do I get to know where we're going?"

"Safe house for the night. I'm your baby sitter."

"And tomorrow?"

"We'll see."

"...Okay."

.

The next morning, Vicki Vale stumbles across the story of her career (so far) sitting dazed and confused in her office. A prepubescent boy in an oversized Arkham uniform? The day after a breakout where Scarecrow and only one other inmate escaped? Oh this is bound to sell.

Okay, I know the show pretty heavily implies that Teen Titans Robin us Dick.

But

What if it was Tim?

#A King in Arkham #DP x DC #my writing #will taglist later #bedtime