#( and guess who is back from holiday hell? ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoshifighting · 8 months ago

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staff!jeonghan

WARNINGS: fluff, smut, fame problems, paris trip, idol!reader is a sweetheart with her staff team, teasing, hair pulling, makeup smudging hair destroying sex, face slap, paris sex.

staff!jeonghan who started way back when your career was just taking off. you were still fresh, the kind of new that had people curious but not quite sold on the idea of you making it long term. jeonghan wasn’t even supposed to be sticking around. dude was just a freelancer, floating between gigs like it was nothing. hairdresser one week, stylist the next, maybe even photographer’s assistant if he felt like it. didn’t care much either—just did his job, got his check, and dipped.

he was there the first time you came in for a shoot, thinking, oh, here we go again, another idol who doesn’t know shit about shit, and probably treats their staff like trash. honestly, he didn’t expect anything from you. he had his walls up like crazy. you’d been doing this for, what, a hot minute? and you were already getting attention, which just made him think, “yep, this one’s probably the snobby kind. won’t even acknowledge us when she’s walking by.”

but then you went and did the most surprising thing—like blew his expectations out of the water kinda surprise. you saw him—no, not just like saw him, but like saw him. took a minute to actually chat. asked how his day was, if he needed anything while he was running around fixing the stage lights or whatever. you even remembered his name by the end of the first day, which? yeah, idols usually don’t bother with that.

fast forward a couple months, and jeonghan’s still hanging around. he didn’t plan to stay, but something about you changed that. it wasn’t even the work, really. it was more like you made things different for the whole staff—hairdressers, makeup artists, stylists, all of them. you had this habit of, like, breaking all the usual rules. you’d bring coffee for everyone in the morning, none of that half-assed, "just for my personal team" bullshit, you made sure everyone was taken care of, because they take care of you as welll.

then there was that time when you randomly called up your manager one day like, "hey, i’m taking everyone out to eat after the shoot." and jeonghan was standing there, trying not to look too surprised, but inside he was like, who the hell does that? especially in this industry where staff usually gets a handshake and a “thanks for your work” at most. while you’re out here throwing cash around to make sure your team is happy. it’s wild.

he remembers the first time you handed out those holiday bonuses. it wasn’t even from the company’s budget either; it was straight up from your own wallet. like, your money. you didn’t even make a big deal about it, just casually handed out envelopes and said, “merry christmas, you guys.” you should’ve seen their faces—everyone was shook, even him, and he doesn’t get surprised that easily. it was one of those moments where the room just, like, collectively inhaled. there was silence, and then someone—probably one of the stylists—goes, “y/n, this is... you didn’t have to...”

and you? you just shrugged, all casual, like it was no big deal. “nah, i wanted to. thank you for taking care of me, you make part of all of this too.” you pointed to the stage.

jeonghan couldn’t even look at you right for a second because it was, like, damn, okay, she’s for real. that was the moment he decided he wasn’t just gonna treat this gig like all the others. working with you? yeah, it felt different. and not in some sappy, fairytale shit kind of way, but in a “maybe there are still people in this industry who aren’t complete assholes” kind of way.

“so you’re sticking around, hannie?” you asked him one day, catching him off guard while he was fixing up your jacket right before a stage performance.

he smirked, his usual cocky, nonchalant self, but there was something softer underneath it. “guess i don’t have a choice. you make it too easy.”

he was your go-to guy now, the one you trusted with everything, from making sure your hair wasn’t fucked up during press tours to giving you a reality check when you were stressing over the dumbest things. and he liked that. he liked being the one you leaned on when you didn’t wanna bother anyone else.

but it was more than that too. you were just different. the way you treated people, the way you made sure everyone around you felt seen, felt valued? it wasn’t fake. it wasn’t for show. it was you. and jeonghan? well, he wasn’t the kind of guy to stick around just for anyone. but for you? yeah, maybe he’d go the long haul.

jeonghan was always there, like a constant shadow that somehow made everything feel lighter instead of heavier. as your career blew up, he didn’t just keep pace—he matched your energy, your needs, every twist and turn that came with your fame. whether it was press tours, backstage chaos, or those ridiculous interviews where some clueless host would try to push your boundaries, he was always ready.

you’d be in the middle of a tv show, mind racing, and then there’d be a subtle shift. jeonghan standing just offstage, watching with a sharp, gaze of his. and it wasn’t like he had to do much—sometimes just a look was enough to let you know he had your back. like that time they tried to switch up your routine last minute, making changes that didn’t sit right with you. you didn’t even need to speak up, though. before you could say a word, he was already stepping in, throwing that effortless, yet somehow intimidating smile toward the team. “nah, we’re sticking with the original plan. my artist doesn’t do changes without notice.”

“your artist,” you’d hear him say that a lot, like a protective label stamped right over you, like you belonged to him—not in a possessive way, but in a way that made you feel safe. secure.

it wasn’t just about the work either, not even close. jeonghan made the loneliness that came with fame feel less suffocating. that part of fame nobody talks about—the part where you can’t make real friends anymore, where every new person in your life feels temporary, transactional. except him. he was loyal.

when you had those long, grueling days full of photoshoots and interviews and events, and all you wanted was to escape, jeonghan was the one who made sure you still had a piece of normal.

like that one time in paris. you were there for a fashion show, sitting front row with all these industry giants who couldn’t care less about anything but themselves, and jeonghan was right beside you, but afterward, when it was just the two of you, he was the one who dragged you to some random hole-in-the-wall restaurant down the street, far from all the cameras and flashing lights, ordering too much food and laughing at how terrible your french was.

“you know, you’re lucky you’ve got me,” he teased, watching you struggle with the menu. “otherwise, you’d be stuck ordering water and bread for the rest of the trip.”

you elbowed him playfully. “i’m just trying to be cultured, okay?”

“sure, sure,” he snickered, but the grin on his face was soft, like he was glad to be there with you. “leave the culture to me.”

he was there on the quieter days too. you’d be at home, no schedule to follow for once, just free. but that freedom? it felt empty when you didn’t have anyone to share it with. jeonghan got that. he’d show up at your place without even needing an invitation, like he just knew when you needed him there. sometimes he wouldn’t even knock. you’d just hear the door click open and his familiar voice, “you better not be working in there.”

you’d laugh, shouting back from wherever you were in the apartment, “i’m not, calm down.”

next thing you knew, he’d be on the floor of your pristine living room, surrounded by lego pieces because, for some reason, that’s what the two of you did on your days off. it was ridiculous, really, two adults crouched over colorful plastic blocks, but it made you feel like a kid again, like before everything got so complicated.

you’d crouch down next to him, watching his hands move, and without thinking, you’d wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. it wasn’t even romaaaantic, more like instinct. jeonghan had this way of making you feel safe, like you didn’t have to be the perfect version of yourself all the time. you could just be you. and hugging him like that, clinging onto him like a koala, it was the only way you knew how to show him just how much he meant to you.

“you’re clingy today,” he murmured, but there was no complaint in his voice, just that familiar teasing.

“you’re soft,” you shot back, squeezing him tighter, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. his cologne was subtle but always the same, something that reminded you of quiet, peaceful moments, like this.

he tilted his head a little, catching your eyes “oh, yeah? not what you said last time.”

you puffed your cheeks out, crossing your arms dramatically, the sulk settling in. “i’m done being clingy with you, jeonghan.”

he grinned like he was waiting for that exact reaction. it’s almost like he lived for these moments—when you’d pout and try to act all tough, but really? he knew exactly where this was headed. you weren’t fooling anyone, especially not him.

“oh yeah?” he tilted his head, gaze dripping with amusement as he leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed your ear. “you sure about that?”

you tried to hold firm, but the way his voice dropped a little lower, teasing. you shifted your weight, crossing your legs under you on the living room floor, avoiding eye contact. “mmhmm. you’ll see.”

jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, leaning back and watching you with a glint in his eyes, like he was just waiting for you to crack. “you’re too cute when you sulk, y’know that?”

your heart fluttered, but you bit down on the inside of your cheek, determined to keep up the act. “whatever.”

he moved closer, a hand sliding around your waist, tugging you just enough so that your body leaned into his. “nah, don’t pout, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing lightly against your jaw. “we both know how this ends.”

and he was right. because, every time you tried to act like you were done with him, like you were going to keep your distance, it only ended one way—with you wet underneath him, a needy mess, begging for more.

like that first time in paris. paris had done something to the both of you. it was supposed to be a normal night, just you and him hanging out after the fashion show. nothing special, just another city on the endless list of places you’d been together. but somehow, that night went different. the second the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, you’d scarcely made it through the door before his hands were on you, grabbing, pulling, claiming.

“thought you were gonna keep your distance,” jeonghan had teased as he pressed you up against the wall, his lips trailing down your neck, making your knees weak.

you were already panting, feeling the warmness of him beaming off his body. “shut up, hannie.”

he chuckled against your skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you, making you gasp. “aww, so cute when you’re needy.”

and fuck, were you needy. by the time he’d pushed you onto the bed, tugging at your clothes, you were already whimpering for him, already soaked.

he’d dragged you to the edge, rough hands all over your body, pulling, squeezing, leaving marks everywhere. your hair had been perfect for the show, all sleek and done up, but that shit didn’t last long. the second he had his fist tangled in it, pulling your head back, it was ruined. thrusting into you from behind, his cock splitting you in half with each brutal thrust. “such a fucking mess.”

you’d tried to keep quiet, biting down on the pillow as your body rocked with every movement, but every time you let out a whiny moan, jeonghan was right there to mock you for it.

“aww, hannie’s being too harsh?” he cooed, as he tries to sound sweet. “hm? poor baby can’t take it?”

you’d only moaned louder, your body trembling as he slapped your ass, the sting making you cry out. he’d leaned down then, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “use your words, sweetheart. tell hannie how bad you want it.”

you couldn’t even speak, just a mess of broken moans and gasps as he kept slamming into you, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room. and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, when you were right on the edge, that’s when he did it. his hand came up to your face, smudging the glitter from the show as he slapped you—not enough to really hurt. he is a careful guy.

“fuck, y/n, look at you. such a pretty little mess,” he groaned, his grip on your hair tightening as he pounded into you from behind, relentless. “you gonna come for me? c’mon, baby, let me hear it.”

you whimpered, nodding, your mind spinning as his cock hit that perfect spot over and over, making you roll your eyes, drool, everything u had right of. but just as you were about to cum, he pulled out, leaving you empty and desperate.

“aww, no no no, not yet,” jeonghan cooed, a wicked grin on his face as he turned you onto your back, pushing your legs open wide. “hannie’s not done with you.”

your heart pounded, your entire body aching for release, but you didn’t dare move. he was in control, and you knew better than to push him.

“what’s the matter, baby?” he leaned down, his lips brushing over yours as he teased you. “too much?”

you shook your head, barely able to get the words out. “n-no… please…”

his smirk widened, that wicked glint in his eyes making you shiver. “please what? gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

you whimpered, your hands gripping the sheets as you looked up at him, desperate. “please… fuck me…”

“good girl.”

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sparklingblu · 3 months ago

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Guess

ft. Wonyoung

“You are always on your playstation!”

Wonyoung’s at it again.

She stands in the doorway like some final boss you didn’t agree to fight - wearing a sleeveless halter-style crop top and denim shorts that let her long legs stretch halfway into your peripheral vision. Arms folded tight across her chest, one eyebrow arched, the full disapproval of a disappointed mom compressed into the expression of your stepsister.

You don’t even bother looking up from the screen. “Didn’t you just spend three hours doing a face mask and dancing in your room?”

She scoffs, walking in like she owns the place. “That was productive,” she declares, brushing past the pile of laundry she’s supposed to fold. “You’ve been in the same spot since, like, breakfast.”

“I was gonna make it to Diamond today…” you mutter, fingers locked around the controller as your eyes scan for movement on screen. Apex Legends. This was supposed to be the peaceful part of your day - parents gone on vacation for a week, fridges stocked, no one to nag you.

Correction: no adults to nag you.

“Ran out of things to do,” Wonyoung shrugs, now leaning against the side of the dining table. Her voice drops into a familiar drawl - the one that says she’s decided her new hobby is annoying the hell out of you. “You’re more fun than TikTok when you’re grumpy.”

“And you’re more annoying than a lag spike mid-fight,” you say, just as your character vaults into a crossfire and gets absolutely shredded. You groan, dropping your head back against the couch with a thud. “Are you serious? You made me die.”

“I breathed,” she says innocently, plopping down on the table. “That’s not a crime.”

You shoot her a look. “You’re a walking distraction.”

She smirks. “A cute one.”

You sigh, tossing the controller onto the table. “Alright, fine. What do you want to do, Your Highness?”

Wonyoung grins like she’s won a battle you didn’t even know you were fighting. “Now that’s the spirit. Let’s play a game.” She says, a mischievous glint lighting up her eyes.

You narrow yours in response. “What kind of game?”

“It’s simple,” she says, rummaging through a drawer and pulling out a scarf. “You blindfold me, feed me some fruit, and I guess what it is.”

You blink. “What.”

“It’s not that hard to understand, is it?”

You stare at her, and then at the scarf in her hands. “Is this another of your weird TikTok trends? Is there a hidden camera? Because I’m not getting cancelled for being a test dummy.”

Wonyoung snorts, rolling her eyes as she tosses the scarf at you. “No, genius. This one’s just something I saw in a variety show. Thought it would be funny.”

You raise a brow. "Funny for who?"

“I don’t know. Depends how bad your fruit selection is,” she says, moving to sit cross-legged on the couch, looking way too comfortable for your liking. “Come on. I’m bored, you’re not ranking up any time soon, and the fridge is basically a produce section waiting to be useful.”

You sigh, glancing longingly at your paused game screen. Yeah. You were really starting to regret asking what she wanted to do.

“Fine,” you mutter, getting up with the enthusiasm of someone heading to a war zone. “But you better leave me alone after this.”

“No promises,” Wonyoung says sweetly, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

You trudge into the kitchen, muttering under your breath the whole way. This was supposed to be a peaceful, game-filled holiday. No chores. No chaos. And definitely no blindfolded guess-the-fruit game with your bratty stepsister.

The fridge hums as you open it. Inside, lined up neatly in their little Tupperware containers - probably arranged by your mom before they left - are the fruits of your impromptu challenge: strawberries, blueberries, kiwi, mango…

And then you spot it.

A lemon.

Sliced and peeled, its bright yellow wedges sitting there like temptation itself.

You smirk. “Perfect.”

You grab a handful of each and toss them into a bowl, then make your way back into the living room, where Wonyoung is still sitting on the couch like she’s at a sleepover from hell. She cranes her head at the sound of your footsteps.

“About time,” she says. “You pick the ripest mango, or are you stalling?”

“No. I just wanted to make sure I had something special for you,” you reply, holding up the scarf with an evil little flourish. “Alright, come here.”

Wonyoung drops to her knees, her long hair falling down her back as she lifts her chin, blindly obedient for once. You loop the scarf around her head and pull it snug - maybe a little too snug.

“Hey! Not that tight,” she protests, wriggling a little.

“If you can’t see, you can’t cheat,” you say. “Rules are rules.”

She huffs. “Like I’d want to cheat. I’m just better than you at everything, naturally.”

You chuckle under your breath, giving the knot a final tug. “We’ll see about that.”

She sticks out her tongue at you blindly, which somehow feels very on-brand. You set the bowl on the couch and lean in close.

“Ready?”

Wonyoung tilts her face up, lips parted slightly in expectation, blindfold on, hands resting neatly on her lap like she’s waiting for royalty to be served.

You pick out a slice of strawberry first - safe, soft, sweet. You gently press it to her lips.

She takes it without hesitation, chewing thoughtfully for all of two seconds.

“Strawberry,” she declares confidently.

You raise an eyebrow. “Lucky guess.”

She scoffs. “Please. That one was way too easy. Try harder.”

Alright then.

You go for a kiwi next. A little tangier, but still nothing wild. You plan the piece onto her waiting tongue, watching as she chews with a smug little smile forming on her face.

“Kiwi,” she says, almost yawning through it.

You lean back slightly, arms crossed. “You sure you are not peeking under there?”

“Maybe you are just bad at picking hard ones,” she shoots back, tilting her chin up like she’s ready for the next round. “This is way too easy. You’ll have to step it up if you want to beat me.”

Your smirk widens. “Oh, don’t worry. I plan to.”

You reach into the bowl, and pick out a slice of lemon. If she wants it to be hard, you will make it hard. You line it up to her lips, and she takes it without suspicion.

The moment it touches her tongue, her whole body jerks.

Her face scrunches like she’s been electrocuted, eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed as she lets out a muffled curse. “What the fuck was that?!”

You burst out laughing. “What? I thought the game was too easy?”

“You are the worst,” she sputters, spitting out the last of the sour pulp.

“And you’re the one who wanted to play,” you shrug, still laughing. “It’s ok if you want to back out now. I understand.”

She snorts. “As if I would. Come on. Give me another. But you better make it a good one.”

You look down at your stepsister, still on her knees, mouth open and ready for the next “fruit”. And you realize, at this moment, she looks no different from a prostitute waiting for a facefuck.

An idea forms in your mind - why don’t you have real fun with this game? This bratty slut of a sister has done nothing but ruin your holiday. She deserves to be punished.

Slowly, you unzip your pants and pull out your hard, throbbing cock. It has already grown to full length from your not-so-innocent imaginations, the tip leaking with pre-cum. And more importantly, it’s the last thing she expects.

“Here’s the next one for you to taste,” you say smoothly, gripping the base and guiding it towards her waiting mouth. “Open wide.”

For a split second, Wonyoung hesitates at the glee in your voice. Then her lips part eagerly, tongue darting out to welcome you inside. You thrust forward, pushing your cock past her lips and onto her tongue.

She gags a little at the sudden intrusion but quickly adjusts, swirling her tongue around as she takes you deeper, desperately searching for a clue about the foreign object in her mouth. Little does she know that it’s doing more good to you than her. The wet heat of her mouth feels incredible and you have to suppress a moan.

“Mmm, what do you think it is?” you ask, pulling back slightly to let her speak.

“B-bana-na,” she mumbles around your cock, bobbing her head to take you further. Her hands come to grip your thigh for balance as she continues to suck your tip in an attempt to decipher the mysterious “fruit”.

You smirk down at her, amused by her obliviousness. “Wrong,” you chuckle darkly, shoving your cock back into her mouth and down her throat. She gags and sputters, drool dripping down her chin, but you hold her there, reveling in the way her throat constricts around you.

“Guess again,” you growl, starting to thrust shallowly, fucking her pretty little face. She gurgles, tears streaming down her cheek, then pulls back just enough to gasp out.

“C-cucumber?” she stutters, confused.

You pause, debating whether she’s just acting clueless or genuinely dumb enough not to know a cock is in her mouth. The way her brows furrow in confusion suggests the latter, but you can’t be sure.

“Wrong again,” you say flatly, holding her head steady as you slowly slide your cock in and out of her mouth. “You know what it is, don’t you? Don’t play innocent.”

Wonyoung makes a muffled noise of protest, trying to pull back. But you tighten your grip on her hair, forcing her to take your cock deeper. “Nngh…I-don’t….know…” she whimpers, gagging as you hit the back of her throat.

You snort derisively. “You’re not backing down, are you? Not my little sister, the one who’s better at everything than me.”

There. You have hit her sore spot. You know Wonyoung’s ego is bigger than her head. Even if she’s out of her depth, she’ll never admit defeat.

You take advantage of her hesitation, starting to fuck her mouth in earnest. Wonyoung gags and spatters, hands scrabbling at your thighs as you use her face. Her face is a mess of tears and saliva but she doesn’t try to pull away, determined to endure.

“Good girl,” you purr mockingly, thrusting harder. “Tell me when you know what it is. At least you are getting an A+ for effort.”

Wonyoung just whimpers, drool streaming down her chin as she struggles to breathe through her nose. But she shows no signs of quitting, despite the degrading filth coming out of her mouth and the overwhelming sensation of being choked by your thick cock. Afterall, nothing can be worse than defeat.

You suddenly force your cock all the way down her throat, stretching her gag reflex to the limit. She slaps frantically at your thigh, coughing and choking around your cock as it invades her airway.

But there’s no room for mercy here. You hold her there, relishing in the feeling of her throat squeezing your cock, silencing her protests. Tears stream down her face as she struggles for air, nose pressed firmly against your pelvis.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally pull back. Wonyoung coughs violently, heaving and sputtering as she gasps and retches.

“Giving up already?” you ask, cock still rock hard and glistening with her spit.

If she isn’t blindfolded, you are sure she would be glaring. “Fuck you,” she rasps, voice hoarse from the abuse. “I’m not giving up. Just…let me try again.”

You smirk down at her, almost impressed with her insistence. “Oh? You want another taste?”

Wonyoung swallows hard, nodding mutedly. You grip her hair, yanking her head back and shoving your cock back into her mouth without warning.

“Mmph!” Wonyoung gasps as you bottom out in her throat, forcing her to take every inch. You start fucking her face again, determined to push her to her limits.

“Take it slut,” you growl, setting a punishing pace. “You wanted to play this game, so fucking take it like the whore you are.”

You have abandoned any shred of gentleness, fucking her face with brutal intensity. Wonyoung claws at your thighs as she’s used like a cheap fleshlight. But nonetheless, she persists. The lack of air can’t be more important than her pride.

Her defiances only spurs your on and you set a brutal pace, fucking her face like a man possessed. Your hips snap forward violently, slamming your cock into her throat over and over.

“Fuck, your little throat feels so good,” you grunt, holding her head steady as you ravage her mouth. “Take it all, you dumb slut. Let me use your face like the whore you are.”

The filthy wet sound of your fucking fill the room, punctuated by Wonyoung’s muffled gugrles and choking noises. You can feel her throat constricting around you, fighting the intrusion. But you don’t let up, slamming balls deep and grinding against her face. “Fuck, look at you. Choking on my cock like a slut. You are fucking pathetic.”

Wonyoung whimpers, hands scrabbling weakly at your thighs. But you just laugh, fucking her harder. “Oh no, you don’t get to quit now. We’re not done yet until I say we are done.”

You set a brutal pace, pounding into her tight throat like a jackhammer. Wonyoung’s toes curl, her body growing limp as she’s facefucked into oblivion. You can feel your orgasm building, balls drawing up tight. But you hold back, wanting to humilitae her one last time.

You yank her off your cock, letting her gasp for air. But before she can breathe, you slap your thick shaft against her tongue, smacking it obscenely.

“Come on, stupid,” you sneer. “You really don’t know what this is? How fucking dumb are you?”

“You mother-” But before she can finish protesting, you shove your cock back into her mouth, muffling her curses. She gags and sputters around your length in shock and humiliation.

You fuck her face with renewed vigour, grunting as you near your peak. “Open wide, slut. You are gonna know what this fruit is now.”

With a final brutal thrust, you bottom out in her throat, spurting thick ropes of cum directly into her stomach. She chokes and retches, gagging on the sudden flood of semen, but you hold her in place, forcing her to swallow every last drop. Only when you’re completely spent do you release her, letting her fall back gasping and heaving.

Wonyoung’s throat is red and raw, her lips swollen and bruised. Cum and saliva drip from her chin to the floor. She looks thoroughly used, a broken mess.

You admire your filthy work, tucking yourself away. “Now do you know what it is?”

It takes a while for Wonyoung to catch her breath.

“E-eggplant?”

#kpop smut #male reader #girl group smut #kpop fanfic #ive smut #wonyoung smut #izone smut

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blueberrybirdsworld · 2 months ago

Text

The Cat Distribution System 5/5

Summary:

When a stray kitten adopts Lando Norris, the self-proclaimed cat hater accidentally starts a soft-launch spiral with his secret girlfriend the ballerina Ariana Riverria.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, SMAU

Warning : none, just yeah the kitten will be different in some pictures

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

CHAPTER FIVE :

@landonorris

"She likes ballet and cats, I like girls with pink bows. Seems fair for me to fall in love of you 🤍🎀"

@oscarpiastri: okay FINE you guys are cute or whatever 🙄

@maxfewtrell: glad i don’t have to keep dodging questions anymore

@maxverstappen1: does this mean we can all talk about it now? asking for a friend

@charles_leclerc: finally. no more pretending i don’t recognize your cats 😂

@carlossainz55:

happy for you, mate. and for the cat. looks like he's running the house 🐱

@pietra: i literally screamed

@pierregasly: really glad you two are out in the open now

@arianariverria: glad you came around, glad you waited, I love you to mon coeur 🧡

@catdadconfirmed: for real they are the cutest

@f1slowburn: wait… “glad you waited”? what do you MEAN. was this enemies to lovers?? did he mess it up at first?? i need context

@ballerinaxboosted: ok now i need to know what happened before this. why did he have to wait?? WHO LEFT WHO??

@gridoftenderness: oh this is some “wrong time, right person” energy and i am SOBBING

@softlaunched: “glad you came around ” is gonna haunt me for weeks. they better give us the how we met story soon or i’m writing it myself.

@arianariverria

"And he said he hated cats 🐾"

@pietra: this might be my favorite post, you are perfect for each other ❤️

@alexandrastmleux: the perfect balance of grace and humor. you two make sense in a way that feels effortless 🫶🏻✨

@kikagomes: everything about this is so soft and real. happy for you both 🤍

@pierregasly: very glad you’ve tamed him. no one else could’ve

@maxverstappen1: finally. took you both long enough

@oscarpiastri: i was going to say something sarcastic but honestly this is sweet as hell. glad you posted it

@landonorris: well I like cats now but I love you even more 🧡

@chaoticpirouette: he’s SO GONEEEE 😭

@f1girlsunite: she pulled the man who got beat up by a kitten and turned him into boyfriend material. ICON.

@slowburnf1: "he said he hated cats" girl this is enemies-to-lovers pet edition

@balletxf1squad: i don’t think you guys understand the power of “i love you even more” from a man who used to flinch at commitment and cats 😭

@landoandariaupdates: this is the first time we’ve seen him say that out loud. publicly. fully. not a joke. not a tease. i’m emotional

@mcLarenhearts: this is what happens when you fall for someone who feels like home 🧡

📱@f1sleuths

THREAD : Lando & Ariana — how long has this actually been going on? Because “glad you waited” says a LOT.

1. okay soooo after Lando posted and Ariana replied with that, I went digging. I’m not saying I cracked their relationship timeline but I cracked their relationship timeline.

2. Remember when Ariana randomly gained like 15K followers in December? Now scroll back to Lando’s Brazil trip during winter break, 11 months ago. Guess who was also tagged in background stories ? 👀

3. Also, Pietra and Max started commenting and liking Ariana’s posts exactly 11 months ago. Kika and Alexandra followed her a week later. All the girlfriends followed her right after the Brazil trip that wre organised with some drivers and their girlfriends, where Ariana must have been too.

4. But the wildest part?

There’s an old pic floating around of Lando spotted leaving the Royal Opera House in London last December. It was Nutcracker season. Ariana danced the lead that month.

5. Which means — they’ve possibly been seeing each other before Brazil and then goes on couple holiday together with the group were she met the other drivers and girlfriends

6. But then around day 7 of the trip... Lando disappears from all group pics. No more candid tags.

Other couples still doing beach days, dinners, pool shots. Lando? Gone. And Ariana’s not in the rest of the trip either 👀

7. Which begs the question: what happened? Because right after that: Lando posts a cryptic IG story: "Sometimes space is the kindest thing you can give someone.”

Ariana goes totally radio silent. No ballet pics. No stories. No updates. No public sightings for weeks.

8. So maybe there was a shift. A fight? A misstep? Maybe she got overwhelmed. Maybe he messed something up. Maybe they both did.

But the point is — they separated, then go back together after he waited for her.

@gridromantics: this went from soft launch to literary drama. the slow burn. the waiting. i’m crying.

@f1archivegirl: so it was Nutcracker > Brazil trip with the crew > soft separation> reconciliation > the kitten > hard launch? that’s the arc???

@charliespurrlog: and don’t forget—Lando’s entire vibe changed 11 months ago. man started journaling, reading, wearing calm colors. the girlfriend effect is real.

@danielricciardoteapage: also… HE STARTED LIKING BALLET CONTENT. ON HIS PUBLIC ACCOUNT. WE HAVE SCREENSHOTS.

📱@balletxf1archive

THREAD: so can we talk about how the Brazil photos that just resurfaced basically confirm Ariana and Lando were already a full-on couple 11 months ago??? not “talking,” not “flirting”—a whole relationship.

@catdadconfirmed: they were already gone for each other. we were the ones late to the party 🥲

@mcLarenmutuals: it’s wild how Lando looks exactly like a man in love in all these pics and we STILL missed it for 11 months

@slowburnsofties: "not flirting, not a situationship — a relationship" YUP. and she meant every word when she said "glad you waited"

@gridromantics: people talk about the girlfriend effect like it’s about aesthetics but honestly? he just looked happier in Brazil

@heartonsleeveera: I know they’ve never posted an anniversary date but if they don’t celebrate it in December I’ll riot

The glow from Ariana’s phone screen was the only light in their quiet Monaco apartment. She was curled up on the couch in one of Lando’s hoodies, legs tucked under her, Charlie asleep at her feet. Lando walked out from the kitchen with two mugs of tea, pausing when he noticed the look on her face — soft, distant, maybe a little sad.

He placed the mug next to her. “You okay?”

She blinked, glanced up at him, then tilted the phone so he could see.

“Someone made another thread,” she said quietly. “About us. Brazil. The pictures.”

Lando settled beside her, his arm brushing against hers as he read over the thread. Blurry beach photos. Grainy candid shots. Theories. Timelines. A caption that said:

“They weren’t flirting. They were already each other’s.”

And then:

“Imagine loving someone that much, losing them, and still choosing them again.”

He exhaled slowly. “They’re not wrong.”

Ariana didn’t say anything for a long moment. She set her phone face-down and picked at the sleeve of the hoodie she wore. Her voice came quieter than usual.

“We almost didn’t make it.”

He looked at her, heart tightening at the truth in her words — not as regret, but remembrance. Because they had come so close to walking away.

“I know,” he said softly. “And it was my fault. I was stupid. Too proud. Too used to running when things felt hard.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t just you. I shut down. I pushed you away.”

“You had a reason to,” he said. “I should’ve shown up for you better. But I meant it, Ari — I would’ve done anything to get you back”

That made her let out a soft laugh through her nose, but there were tears in her eyes now — not the heavy kind, just the full kind. Full of everything that had been held back, then let go.

“I hoped you would,” she admitted. Her voice cracked a little. “I hoped you’d fight for me. I told myself I’d be fine either way, but I wasn’t. Not really.”

Lando leaned in, pressing his forehead gently to hers.

“I would’ve followed you to every ballet in Europe if you hadn’t picked up my calls,” he whispered. “I would’ve sat front row until you looked at me again.”

Her breath hitched — part laugh, part sob. She reached up and touched his cheek.

“You’re such a softie now,” she whispered.

He smiled. “You made me soft. And really good at apologizing.”

She kissed him, slow and quiet, like she was still processing the weight of all they’d made it through. When they pulled apart, Lando nudged her nose with his.

“We messed up,” he said, “but we didn’t give up.”

She nodded, resting her head against his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her, fingers lacing with hers. Charlie stirred at their feet, mewed softly, then promptly rolled over and continued sleeping.

Ariana looked down at him, then back at Lando.

“You, me, and the catS,” she said with a small smile. “We turned out okay.”

He kissed the top of her head. “We turned out better than okay.”

@landonorris "Pics from our first date. The moment I knew I was falling for you. Happy 1 year, my love 🤍"

@arianariverria: How was I supposed to not fall for the boy who brought me flowers on first date? I love you too 🤍

@oscarpiastri: Okay but this is actually disgustingly sweet, I’m happy for you or whatever 🫠

@maxfewtrell: He went from cat-hater to flower-bringer in 12 months. love really is a personality shift.

@carlossainz55: One year already? Bro… you’re soft now. I like it.

@pietragoncalves: AND THE BOY KEPT SHOWING UP. proud of you two 💛

@landoinlove: who gave him the right to be this soft???? literally a flower boy now 😭

@gridgossipgirl: “the moment I knew I was falling for you”??? yeah I’m crying in the club

@charliesfavhuman: Lando: I hate cats and romance

Also Lando: posts anniversary love letter with a bouquet in frame 🧡

@carbonfiberhearts: oh so we were watching a love story and didn’t know it yet. I feel betrayed and blessed at the same time.

@balletbunfiles: he took her to see Monet on the first date??? meanwhile I’m dating men who think “romantic” is sharing their fries

@F1wagsupreme: this post just proved Ariana wasn’t a rebound or a crush. this man planned a real date with flowers and art 😭

@mclarencore: it’s giving ‘boyfriend of the year’ and I’m not even mad

@w14tears: Happy for them but also deeply unwell

@gridgirlfriendenergy: I love how everyone thought they were just flirty when this man was fully in love on date one

That morning, tucked away from the buzz of the internet, things were quieter. Softer.

Lando stood in the kitchen barefoot, while Ariana leaned against the counter next to him, half-asleep, nursing a mug of tea and wearing his hoodie that swallowed her whole.

Charlie and Aria had claimed the sunny patch of rug by the window, curled into one another like they always did.

Lando looked at Ariana, smirking as he flipped a pancake. "Rate my domestic skills. Be honest."

She blinked up at him, unimpressed. "They’re pancakes. You mixed stuff and didn’t burn them."

He feigned offense. "These are artisan. You’re eating Michelin-starred flour and vibes."

"You’re lucky you’re cute," she muttered, stealing a slice of fruit from the counter.

He grinned, pulling her closer by the hip. "You like me because I adopted a kitten."

"No," she said, teasing, "I like you because the kitten adopted you. Big difference."

They both laughed.

The kettle whistled. The cats yawned. And for a moment, the world felt simple.

"Hey," he murmured, tapping her chin so she’d meet his gaze. "Thanks for being patient. For the waiting. For everything."

She smiled, leaning into his chest. "You’re worth it. Even if Charlie is still my favorite."

He kissed her hair. "I know my place."

Ariana tilted her head up, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt. "Still, I guess I could remind you who ranks second."

Lando grinned and leaned in, his lips brushing over hers. It started soft, playful. But soon her mug was set aside on the counter, and he had her perched on the edge, hands gripping his hoodie like it anchored her.

"This is unfair," she mumbled between kisses. "You’re distracting."

"So are you," he murmured, trailing his mouth along her jaw. "Wearing my hoodie like that."

She was halfway into tugging him closer when—

Mew.

They froze.

Mew.

They turned their heads slowly to the left.

Charlie sat by the rug, head tilted, big round eyes fixed on them like he’d caught his parents sneaking candy before dinner.

Lando groaned. "Oh my god. He’s judging us."

Ariana burst into laughter, covering her face. "You said he was clingy, but I didn’t think he was Catholic-school-principal levels of judgy."

Lando carefully scooped her into his arms. "Alright. To the bedroom. My son must never witness this."

She giggled against his chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"I'm respectful," he said, already heading down the hall. "Let the child nap in peace. We’ve earned this."

Charlie let out one last dramatic mew.

Ariana shouted over Lando’s shoulder to the cat, "You’ll understand when you’re older!"

The end

Thank you so much for everyone who have been following this serie Maybe I will post some bonus parts to this if I get inspo, I think it could be interesting to have a prequel story of their meeting and what happened between them in Brazil, let me know if you will like to read it and to give me your review on this story !

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07

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reiding-writing · 7 months ago

Note

For a Christmas fic you could do a Secret Santa with cold!reader where spencer gets her name and freaks out cause he had no idea what to get her you could make it more fluffy whatever you're feeling like <3

SECRET SANTA — SPENCER REID!

spencer’s a little stumped on what to get you for secret santa.

s6!spencer x cold!reader 1.5k fluff cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — requests have been open for like 12 hours and i have 7 new requests alreaady 😭

A teacup is thrust in front of your face.

“What the hell are you doing-?” You give Garcia a less than impressed expression as you push the mug away, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched enough to leave frown lines.

“Secret Santa! Pick a name sweetness,” She’s not deterred, and the flowery cup is held out towards you once more.

“Yeah, no thanks,” You shake your head decidedly. There was no way you’d participate in something as idiotic as picking the name of some random coworker out of a proverbial hat only to buy them a useless, crappy present because you didn’t actually know, nor care about, what they actually liked.

”You can’t just not,” Morgan tuts. “Embrace the spirit of the holidays, Ice Queen,”

Your eyebrows twitch. “No?”

“Awe come on,” There’s a soft jingle as Garcia leans her torso towards you. “Please? It’s only the main team, and we’ve got a 25 dollar limit,”

She shakes the mug again, and you eye it like it’s full of cockroaches instead of paper.

“At least pick a name,”

You concede with a exasperated huff, begrudgingly picking a piece of paper and unfolding it between your fingers.

You didn’t look too happy with the result. Or maybe you did. Spencer didn’t have a clue really. You could be overjoyed right now for all he knew.

He was mid sip of coffee when Garcia turned her efforts to him.

“Your turn genius,”

Spencer froze with his mug halfway to his lips, the steam curling up into his face. He placed it down carefully and stared at the teacup Garcia was shaking with far too much enthusiasm.

“I don’t think I—”

“No excuses, Doctor Reid,” Garcia interrupted, her tone light but insistent. “It’s team bonding. Don’t you love us? Don’t you want to show us your undying affection through a thoughtful and budget-friendly present?”

Spencer hesitated, then gave in with a reluctant sigh. He reached into the mug, plucked a folded piece of paper, and unfolded it. His heart sank.

Your name stared back at him, bold and unmistakable.

His stomach did a little flip, and his heart thumped louder in his chest. You. Of all people, he had to get you.

Not Morgan, who would have been happy with anything sports-related. Not Garcia, who would squeal with joy at something glittery and eccentric. Not even Hotch, who would surely appreciate a simple tie.

It was you. The cold, guarded enigma who somehow made his palms sweat whenever you gave him one of those rare, fleeting smiles.

Garcia’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s that face, boy wonder?”

Spencer blinked rapidly, trying to school his expression into something less... panicked. “Face? I’m not making a face.”

For a profiler, he really was horrible as masking his tells.

“Oh, you have to tell us who you got!” Garcia said, leaning in eagerly.

Spencer immediately clutched the paper to his chest like it contained state secrets.

“Doesn’t that defeat the point?” You speak over the rim of a book, pulling a coffee receipt from between it’s pages to continue where you’d left off, quickly having moved on from whoever you’d landed like you didn’t want to waste any mental energy on it.

He wished it was that easy for him.

Garcia pouted, but Morgan laughed. “Look at him. That’s the face of someone who’s in over his head.”

And Morgan wasn’t wrong.

What was he supposed to get you? You liked coffee, but only from recognised establishments, you liked reading, but he didn’t know what you had and hadn’t read, you disliked mint, maybe, and anything else was anyone’s guess.

He wanted to get you something that proved he knew you, but it also had to be practical, you wouldn’t appreciate something that you had no use for.

He figures he should at least start with something familiar to him, so he drops by a bookstore first.

His local bookstore may as well have his name on it, and he greets the owner like an old friend as he begins his browse, running his fingers over the spines of books as if they could somehow tell him what you would want. He had to make this right. He needed it to be perfect.

Although his gaze quickly wandered away from the novels as he wandered past a trinkets table. Nothing too out of the ordinary, some business cards, a few pens, some small book lights and bookmarks.

And then he’s decided.

Now, Spencer’s own books were in several states of distress. Cracked spines and creased covers were practically a staple, either from second hand buying or how fast he read through them, but yours were practically pristine.

You liked to take care of your possessions he’s noticed, and every book you read in the office is treated as carefully as any case file, although with one highlighted exception.

You liked to take breaks, and when doing so, saving your page was done in a rather… impulsive manner.

A sticky note, a bus ticket, a receipt from a coffee shop or even sometimes a pen, although never for too long with the latter.

You‘d never buy yourself a bookmark, you’d probably say it was a waste of your money, that a scrap piece of paper would do the job just as well, but that was kind of the point of gifts wasn’t it? To buy something for someone that they wouldn’t necessarily buy themself?

So he sets off home with a mission. Find you the perfect bookmark.

He had a two week time limit, and a 25 dollar price limit, so no custom ordering anything from an obscure European website, but it had to be good.

He didn’t want to buy yourself some flimsy piece of cardboard with a crappy design. He wanted something sleek and cool, something that fit you and your personality.

Simple but not too simple. Practical and attractive. And not too expensive. You’d kill him if it was too expensive.

—

You’ve gotten Hotch a tie pin if the size of the box, and it’s rattling tell the room anything, a half awkward press of your lips together in what’s probably meant to be a smile.

Hotch’s retrieval of your gift isn’t any more graceful, but trust the two most stoic members of the team to be paired in one direction.

“Alright, Spencer’s up next,” Garcia eggs him on with a small nod and a smile, and he sucks in a breath before holding out his gift to you.

Your a little surprised as you take it from him, royal blue tissue paper crumpling under your fingernails as you offer him a strained “thanks,” before glancing back at Garcia to urge her to move on and take the attention away from you.

You shove it into your pocket without opening it. And Spencer doesn’t know why he feels so disappointed.

It was only like you right? He should be grateful you even accepted it at all, right?

Maybe he was being a bit too optimistic at how close the two of you had gotten. He at least thought you’d open it. Let him see your reaction so he could know how to improve next time.

The thought still prays upon him by lunch, and he stares blankly into the little chess piece battery lamp that JJ’d got him like a moth to a lightbulb.

“You’re going to ruin your vision doing that,”

And like always, you cut through everything else.

Spencer blinks, and true to your words there are stark spots of light that cloud his eyes as they flicker across your opposing desks towards you.

Sometimes he swears you have a sixth sense. You weren’t even looking at him, your nose buried in some new novel you were reading.

“Yeah, sorry,” Spencer clears his throat as he attempts to clear his eyesight, blinking harshly.

It manages to clear up just in time for him to watch you stretch in your chair, reaching under your monitor before sliding a gleam of metal between the pages of your book.

It sticks out over the pages just enough for Spencer to catch the snowflake engraving at the top, and he swears he forgets how to breathe.

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #asks 🫶

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no-144444 · 7 months ago

Text

The Holidate (2020) - Lando Norris

‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡

summary: Y/n, who gets mocked for being single, finds the perfect solution when she meets Lando, an F1 driver. Now she has the perfect date for her holidays, but her heart starts yearning for something more.

pairing: lando norris x fem! reader

8.8k words

disclaimer: i do not own anything in these films, the only original character is the character y/n.

‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡

You stood outside your perfect family home, a cigarette in hand. “Fucking holidays,” you sighed. Quickly grabbing some tic tacs from your bag and putting out your cigarette. You covered your tracks and stood in front of the door, willing yourself not to run away. The house was the image of suburbia and the nuclear family bullshit you were used to, the shit you grew up with and believed until you realised that men weren’t shit and you had to go focus on a career if you wanted to live in Chicago.

“Happy holidays,” you faked a smile as you opened the door, your mother running up to you with a disappointed look.

“This is what you’re wearing to Christmas dinner? Don’t you own a dress?” you scolded, and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m great. Thanks for asking mom,” you sighed, following her into the house while taking off your coat.

“Y/n!” your sister, Abby, cheered. “You’re here!” She pulled you away from your mother, who was busy complaining about something or other, and brought you close. “Mike said you didn’t call him back.”

“Yeah, I didn’t,” you shrugged. She gave you a stern look. “What? I can’t date a professional clown! I’d never sleep again.”

“Well, you need to date someone! It’s been months,” she complained.

“Well, no one wants to date someone who lays around in their pyjamas all day,” your mother added.

“It’s called being a remote worker, mom, and, it’s not like my boss cares,” you scoffed.

“Are you smoking?” she asked, sniffing you feverishly.

“No mom, I’m not smoking,” you answered, your tone dry and robotic. You gently pushed her off.

“Because no man wants to marry a smoker,” she barked.

“Good thing I’m not smoking anymore,” you lied.

“No one wants to marry a smoker,” she instilled.

“But you-”

“A smoker who lies,” she added, knowing how you’d caught her out.

As the night went on, in came your brother and his girlfriend, your aunt (with a random guy she’d met the day before), and your brother-in-law with his gaggle of hell-spawn children.

You watched as the festivities played on, your aunt all over her new man, you sister battling with the drink in her hand while her husband battled their children from shitting in the manger again, and you brother being over-attentive to his girlfriend. Sometimes you pity them. They have to take care of someone all the time, they always have someone there for them, someone to come home to every night, someone to wake up beside every day, it must be exhausting.

You stood beside your aunt in the kitchen, escaping the happy couples and watching as her new boy gobbled at the food.

“Isn’t he great?” she giggled.

You grimaced. “Yeah.”

“Oh come on, it’s not like I’m planning on marrying him, he’s just my holidate,” she brushed off your concern.

“A ‘holidate’?” you questioned.

“Yeah, a holidate, y’know a date solely for the holiday,” she explained it like it was the most normal and regular thing in the world. “No commitment.”

“Y/n, I have a friend who wants to meet you!” your brother, James, called from the other room. You rolled your eyes.

౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊

As you sat at the (kids) dinner table, you were busy getting relationship advice from your 8 year old niece. That had to be a new low. She had a boyfriend, and you didn’t. Could your life get more pathetic?

౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊

You all sat around in the living room, opening presents. Your sister got you pyjamas, two sizes too big. Your brother got you pyjamas, three sizes too big, and your parents got you, you guessed it!- pyjamas. At least those were the actual size. You faked as much enthusiasm as you could, and just smiled and nodded. How much worse could this Christmas get?

As you all finished up opening gifts, your brother stood up, taking Liz’s hand.

“Liz, I know it’s only been 3 months, and 6 incredible days, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. Will you marry me?” he asked, his voice full of excitement.

“Yes!’ she cheered. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”

Your heart dropped. Your little brother was getting married before you. You were finally cemented as the pathetic sibling, forever.

Worst. Christmas. Ever.

౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊

Little did you know, that just a few blocks away, someone else was going through a harrowing Christmas date experience…

Lando walked up beside Mandy, a girl he’d just-so-happened to have met in a random club over the break. He hadn’t planned to come to Chicago, but he just-so-happened to have ended up there, on the basis of Quadrant meetings and deal negotiations being held there. He had gone on two dates with Mandy so far, one of them being the time they met in the club. He had no idea why he hadn’t just flown home to go see his family and siblings, maybe even see Mila and babysit for a while.

“Your parents know this is our third date, right?” he asked as they stood on the front porch.

“Of course they do!” she smiled brightly. “I’m not even sure I told them you were coming-”

His heart dropped as the door opened, and they immediately turned to him.

“Lando!” her mother cheered. “He’s even more handsome than in the pictures!”

“Pictures?” he mumbled, his face dropping. Obviously, he knew people were going to know who he was, he was an F1 driver for fuck’s sake. But something about the way she said pictures made his stomach drop, and he wasn’t sure if she meant pictures that Mandy had taken of him (he never posed for any), or the ones online. Something told him it was the first option, and he felt sick.

Then ensued a night of pure agony, he was buried in baby photos, old trophies, and a look into this random girls’ life. As he stood in her childhood bedroom, he truthfully asked himself. “Fuck am I?” and groaned when he was called down to dinner.

౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊

After dinner, he went back up to Maisie’s room- or was her name Mandy? Anyways, to talk about the awful night.

“What is going on?” he questioned, whisper-shouting.

“My parents fucking love you,” she smirked, pressing her lips to his.

“What the fuck?” he asked again as she pushed him down on the bed, stripping herself.

“Come on, y’know you like me,” she smirked, a sultry look in her eye. “You wouldn’t be here on a major holiday if you didn’t.”

“I already explained that I’m here for business purposes and-”

She started kissing him, and he stopped caring about the strangeness of the situation when she started unzipping his trousers.

౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊

He sat sandwiched between her parents, matching ugly Christmas sweater on, opening a box full of… swimming trunks?

“Swimming togs… thanks,” he faked as much enthusiasm as he could as they all nodded.

“They’re skin-tight too, since it makes you go faster in the water,” Mandy explained, a bright smile on her face.

“Togs, and a project, thanks,” he smiled, trying his best to charm his way out of it all.

She held out her hands, expecting a present from him and his heart stopped.

“Me next!” she cheered.

“You said we weren’t doing presents this year,” he said, feeling the eyes of her parents on him.

“Pardon?” she questioned, her eyes dangerous. “So you know me well enough to cum in my mouth,”

He looked at her parents and shook his head as she continued. “But not well enough to get me a Christmas gift? Are you shitting me?”

“W-what-” he stuttered before getting up. “Y’know what,” he turned to her parents. “Thank you for the lovely dinner, happy Christmas,” he turned to her. “Maisie, don’t call me again!”

“Mandy,” she corrected, tears in her eyes. “It’s Mandy you asshole.”

“Great, Mandy, then,” he scoffed before starting to walk to the door, then he remembered the ugly christmas sweater he was wearing, and off it came. He threw it to Mandy, and walked out the door.

Worst. Christmas. Ever.

౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊

You stand behind some British guy (who you swear you know from somewhere) in the sluggish queue of a random men's department store.

Said British guy is busy fighting with the sales clerk to take his strange swimming togs back, and you’ve had enough of it.

“Hey, Cockney, we’ve all been waiting for ages, some of us have jobs,” you scoffed.

“I’m actually from Bristol,” he rolled his eyes. “And what makes you think I don’t have a job.”

“You’re in the mall on a Wednesday,” quickly, you brought the two pairs of pyjamas that don’t fit you to the front. “I’d like to return these.”

“Hey!” he scoffed.

“Hey,” you smiled in return.

“I can only offer store credit,” the clerk smiled apologetically, and you sighed.

“Seriously?”

“Ha,” The Brit laughed. “That’s what you get.”

“And sir, I can only offer you store credit as well.”

“Ha!” you laughed. “That’s what you get.”

“I’ll give you 45 bucks for it all,” the girl behind you in line smiled at the both of you. “And this voucher for the pretzel stand.”

౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊

You walked around the mall with the Brit, enjoying your pretzel.

“So, how was your holiday season?” you asked, making polite conversation.

“I spent my Christmas in an ugly Christmas sweater, a strange dinner, and being with people who I think might’ve been in a cult,” he nodded.

“Well, I'll take your ugly sweater, and raise you a seat at the kids table, my little brother getting engaged, and my mother constantly asking me to date one of her many friends' sons,” you listed. “You sure you don’t want any?” you offered him some pretzel.

“Do you know what that does to your body?” he asked.

“Oh,” you grimaced. “You’re one of those guys.”

“What does that mean?” he scoffed.

“It means you’re the kind of guy to take a billion vitamins a day and talks about your micros and macros,” you laughed. Then you caught sight of the guy your aunt brought to Christmas dinner. “Shit,” you cursed, hiding behind the Brit.

“What?” he laughed.

“You see the mall Santa over there?” you asked. He nodded. “That’s the guy my aunt brought home for Christmas dinner, hide me,” you begged, and he walked on with you behind him, hiding you.

“Who is he anyway?” he asked.

“Oh, it wasn’t serious,” you chuckled. “He was her Holidate.”

“Holidate?” he questioned.

“It’s just a person you pick up to spend Christmas with,” you shrugged. “It’s dumb, I know.”

A light bulb went off in his head. “Just Christmas, or all holidays?”

“All of ‘em,” you nodded. “I mean, I guess it’s pretty genius when you actually think about it.”

“That’s exactly what I need for New Year’s, a Holidate!”

You chuckled. “Sorry, pretty sure my aunt is already booked up-”

“No, I’m serious, I am done casually dating on the holidays! I don’t want to do it anymore, it’s exhausting. I always end up being an asshole in some sort of way or-”

“Really? Try being the only single person left in your family, at the age of 24. My little brother, who's 21, by the way, is getting married,” you scoffed. “I mean every time I see them it is a fucking palaver of sad glances and exhausting small talk about one of their ‘friends’. Why is everyone so suspicious of a happy, single woman?”

“Because it’s obvious you’re not happy,” he said like it was obvious. “Was that a trick question?”

You sighed. “I am happy, thank you very much.”

He chuckled. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Look, humans are meant to be with other people on the holidays, it’s just a fact! We all need warmth… companionship,” he could sense the fact that he was losing you. “And someone to drunk-mock people at parties with!”

“I do enjoy drunk-mocking people,” you pondered.

“Perfect! We can be each other’s Holidate for New Year’s!”

You chuckled, walking on. “Funny, I don’t even know you.”

“That’s what makes it ideal! I don’t know you, you don’t know me! We aren’t expecting anything from each other, other than showing up to the date!”

“Sure…” you sighed.

“And we’d never sleep with each other as well, it’s a win-win.”

You frowned, a quizzitive look on your face. “Why wouldn’t we sleep together?” He looked you up and down and grimaced. “Christ, calm down with the flattery asshole.”

“Not like that, it’s just you’re not my type,” he explained quickly.

“Goodbye, or Cheerio, I guess. Since that’s what you say in Bristol,” you scoffed, walking off.

“Come on, it’d be perfect! No more sad glances, no more kids' table seats. I have tickets to the Skyfall party, and I need a plus one,” he explained, following you.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged.

“That’s such a good party,” you sighed, knowing for the years you’d gone to it before.

“So say yes,” he smirked, knowing he was winning you over. “I just want to have a nice night and know that my date won’t go batshit if I don’t drop down on one knee at midnight with a ring with a quarter of a million pounds.”

“What makes you think I’m not batshit?” you smirked.

He smiled. “You’re not.”

You smiled back.

“I’m Lando, by the way.”

“Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/n, here is my number,” he smiled, handing you his business card.

“Formula 1 driver and CEO,” you raised an eyebrow. “Do you drive for the orange team?”

“It’s papaya,” he rolled his eyes. “And yes, yes I do.”

“Don’t girls like… throw themselves at you?”

He sighed. “Those are usually the batshit ones.”

You nodded. “Right.”

“Just think about the party and text me,” he smiled.

“I won’t be texting you, I’m more of a RedBull girl myself,” you smirked, walking off.

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You sighed, thinking over the past new days. Your mom had tried (and failed) to get you to meet with her new neighbour, work was already beating you down, and you just needed some fun. Skyfall party it was.

Lando, it was.

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The party was already insane when you walked in, and you two fell into a steady rhythm of guessing peoples’ stories.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he smiled.

“Thanks,” you smiled. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Your tits look amazing in that dress,” he smiled, and chuckled when you smiled. “This is great! I can say whatever I want, and I don’t have to worry whether you think I’m a classy guy or not.”

“I can wear a slutty dress without being slut-shamed, win-win,” you agreed.

As the night progressed, you found yourself slightly (*very much) drunk and sitting, talking about your awful love lives, and your deep-rooted hatred for the film Dirty Dancing.

“He’s such a dick to her the entire film, and she has absolutely no self-respect!” you argued.

“But isn’t it romantic or something-?”

“No! It's pathetic that she’s sold as this head-strong, interesting girl who falls for the first guy she sees at a goddamn summer camp for families, likes him the entire time even though he treats her like shit, then gets excited in the end when he finally gives her a chance, because he ‘grew to love her’. It’s bullshit!”

“So who ruined rom coms for you?” he asked. You shook your head.

“We’re not going there,” you sighed, taking another sip of your drink.

“I think we’re already here,” he smiled. “You can tell me, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Luc,” you answered.

“Christ, he sounds like a wanker,” he giggled.

“He wasn’t,” you sighed. “He was handsome, intelligent, French.”

Lando scoffed. “What happened?”

“We just… needed different things,” you explained. “I wanted someone to take home for the holidays, he wanted to fuck a barista. It was a super mutual break-up,” you laughed. Lando didn’t.

“Shit,” Lando cursed. “Ouch.”

“Well, to be fair, he was too good-looking to be trustworthy,” you sighed. “My sister always says to date-down. Then you’ll never get hurt. I gotta piss, I’ll be right back,” you said, then off you went.

Lando watched as you left, his heart a little heavier than before.

In the bathroom, a bride-to-be (well, they were getting engaged tonight, one of the many people you and Lando had profiled) was sobbing over a dress and you had decided to be the good person and switch with her, taking her number so she could give the dress back after she got it dry cleaned.

You came back in a white ruffled dress with a very large red wine stain on it. You sighed. “Don’t even.”

“Did you get stabbed?” he chuckled. “Or is Carrie in now?”

“Shut up Lando,” you scoffed, dragging him onto the dance floor.

If Lando was a good charmer, he certainly was a good dancer. You two danced along to the fast-paced, pop songs, but then came the slow set at about 10:30. ‘(I’ve Had) The Time Of My Life’ started playing, the spotlight blaring down on you two as the chords played. Your face dropped and he giggled uncontrollably.

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” he cheekily smirked, taking your hand.

The dance floor cleared off, watching as you two somehow pulled off the jump, only for him to drop you, because he was giggling so hard.

“Nobody drops Baby on her head,” you reminded him as you two sat out of the dancing, trying to substitute your bruised egos (and bodies) with alcohol.

“I’m going to go take a piss,” he sighed, getting up.

Perfect timing. The countdown started just as he left, and you were left to watch all the happy couples french-kiss their way into the new year. You sighed. Had it been your worst date ever? No. Would you call him again? Probably not. You watched as people all around kissed and held the people they loved the most and you couldn’t help but feel… without. Sure, you liked how easy and painless being single was, but it was also lonely. For the first time in a while, you let yourself just feel lonely. It sucked.

Then, Lando came running back, an apology on his lips.

“Happy New Year Lando,” you smiled, not as enthused as earlier, but it would do.

“Happy New Year,” he nodded, still sorry about missing it. He awkwardly kissed your cheek and you just accepted it, hoping next year would be slightly (extremely) different.

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You two rode in the back of a cab, you looked out the window at the city going by, the streets you knew so well and-

“Tonight was fun,” he admitted. “I had a good time.”

“Not the worst night of my life,” you agreed.

“So… what are your Valentine’s plans?” he questioned.

“You mean the holiday that’s in two whole months?” you chuckled. He nodded. “I don’t know! I don’t have plans yet.”

“Great, let’s make some!” he smiled. You frowned. “Come on, after that I’ll be busy until the summer! Let’s just go to a movie or something.”

“A lot can happen in two months, Lando,” you explained. “And if I don’t meet the love of my life by then, I have a tradition of buying chocolate and eating it. Alone.”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “If you change your mind, I’m here.”

“You can stay here then,” you scoffed. The taxi pulled up outside your apartment block, and back to your apartment you went, exhausted from the night. Happy New Year to you.

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“No Valentine’s day date? What?” Liz cried. Agreeing to go wedding planning with her was a bad choice, noted. You were stuck in a bright, flowery, overly-scented room shop of fabrics, designs, and glassware, all of the shit you never thought you’d have to care about.

“I’m not dying,” you sighed. “It’s a random Thursday where chocolate is either cheap and good, or expensive and good. I’ll enjoy a bath, and go to bed early. Sounds perfect to me.”

“You should call mom’s neighbour!” Liz suggested. “What’s his name?”

“No,” you sighed. “I am not going out with someone that my mother sets me up with.”

“But what about the wedding? You can’t be single at the wedding,” Liz sighed.

“You mean the wedding that’s 8 whole months away?”

“Exactly! What will you do?”

“I am more than happy to be single, I don’t have to share a bathroom, a bed, or a kitchen with a man,” you argued, and Liz nodded, kind of agreeing with your philosophy (your brother was a gross dude). “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some chocolate to buy.”

As you walked to the chocolate shop in the mall, you couldn’t help but think of Lando. Maybe he’d gone off with some model, or some actress. Maybe he was in Ibiza right now partying the night away with his other famous friends. Or maybe he was right outside the shop, watching you see your ex and his fiance for the first time since the break up.

Fuck.

You stood, watching the two of them canoodle in front of you in line, and your heart sank slightly. Great. A model.

“Y/n?” Luc questioned, turning to you.

“Luc,” you faked as much enthusiasm as possible, just to keep your voice from breaking.

“How have you been?” he asked.

“Good,” you smiled, trying to sound sure of yourself. “What about you?”

“Busy,” he chuckled. “Oh, this is Nicola, my fiancé!” He introduced you to the gorgeous woman next to him. She was basically you, same hair, eye colour, build, but if you put the tiktok beauty filter on you, and turned it up to 100.

“Fiancé?” you gawked, pretending to sound excited.

“Nicola,” she smiled, holding out her hand to be shaken. You took it shaking it.

“Hey baby,” Lando smiled, wrapping an arm around you as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, joining in beside you. “You get the stuff for the party?”

Luc and Nicola’s faces dropped in shock.

“Yeah, babe,” you played along. “This is Lando, my boyfriend,” you turned to the two of them, smiling.

“You didn’t tell me your college friends were in town,” he smiled. “How’s clowning going?”

You held back a laugh, realising you had told him the story of the couple you’d met in your 3 days of clown college. It wasn’t for you, hence not being able to call your sisters’ clown friend back about a second date.

“Oh, we’re not clowns,” she chuckled, trying to play it off as a joke.

“Oh gosh!” Lando faked embarrassment quite well. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea-”

“No, that’s alright,” Luc stopped him. “It’s lovely to you Lando-”

“Yeah, well, we’d better run, big plans tonight,” Lando interrupted, paying for your chocolate and taking your hand. “We have a flight to catch.”

“Where are you going?” Nicola questioned, but you were already being pulled out of the shop.

“Holy shit that was awful!” you cursed. “Why is it that the new girlfriend has to be younger and hotter?”

“Here, drink this to calm yourself,” he handed you his drink, and you took a sip.

Green juice, gross.

“God, I’m going to be sick,” you sighed, dramatically sitting on one of the mall benches.

“Well, usually the younger the girl, the less chance of commitment being an issue,” he explained. “Men think like that, at least, I think they do.”

“But you don’t?” you snarkily raised an eyebrow. He chuckled.

“I try not to,” he giggled. “And anyways, it’s kind of a compliment anyways.”

“You're right!” you cheered. “Nicola is a cry for help.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you drunk?”

“Maybe,” you sighed. “Those Guinness truffle things are pretty strong. You want one?”

“No, I'm alright, thanks.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh yeah, you’re a professional athlete.”

“Don’t say it like it’s a joke,” he scoffed. “I am.”

“You’re just being a pussy,” you shrugged. “Real athletes enjoy chocolate. Ask Lewis Hamilton.”

“I can if you want me to,” he smirked.

“I trust that my favourite driver enjoys chocolate, thanks though.”

“Lewis is your favourite?” he scoffed, turning to you.

“I’m hardly going for the fucking papayas,” you chuckled.

“Anyways, if I wasn’t such a pussy, you would still be in a fucking sweet shop talking to your ex-boyfriend and his new fiancé,” he smirked. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “I owe you one.”

“I will take my hand job in the car park, thank you very much,” he chuckled, obviously laughing.

“A hand job?” you scoffed. “What are we? 15?”

“You were giving out hand jobs at 15?”

“Most of us weren’t 3 feet tall at age 15,” you teased.

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As the months went on, you blew through St. Patrick’s day and Easter, finding out about Lando’s heartbreak along the way. His ex-girlfriend Luisha and him had broken up over the simple reason of his fans hating her more than life itself. As the F1 season began, you stayed busy with work while he travelled and drove, and every now and then you’d text each other about your days, or call to catch up.

It was nice, having someone to talk to. Lando didn’t judge you the way your family or friends did. He liked you for you, and you tolerated him for him.

The night of Cinco De Mayo came around the corner, and you had invited Lando to come to a random bar and get fucked up together. He’d just won Miami the day before, and he was riding high. You two danced, drank, and sang the night away, eventually waking up in your apartment.

Waking up in your aparmtent, in only your bra and his boxers.

“Fuck,” you whispered, the bright light basically blinding you, as the hangiety and headache began.

“Morning,” his voice was groggy and deep. “I guess we…”

“No way,” you sighed, pushing yourself up off the floor- how did you get there? “There’s no way we would’ve… one of us would remember.”

“You can’t tell? You’re wearing my boxers, Y/n,” he smiled. “If we did it’s fine, right? We’re both adults, we can move past it.”

You grabbed your own panites from the floor beside you, and quickly hid behind a tall chair to change. “There’s no dried patch on my thigh, no wrapper on the floor, nothing hurts, I don’t feel strange,” you listed. “Can’t you tell?”

“I just feel like shit,” he sighed.

“Right, so we didn’t do it,” you offered.

“Let’s go with that,” he nodded, giving you a thumbs up.

“Coffee?” you offered.

“Yeah, please,” he groaned, closing his eyes again.

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You two went through Mother’s Day (meeting his mom and pretending to be his girlfriend was terrifying, but you kept it together), and eventually you invited him to your yearly 4th of July party at your parents lake house, but he was too busy racing in Silverstone, so he invited you (and your family) to come to the race.

You watched as he sped down the main straight, full of anticipation. Right now, Oscar was in the lead for the WDC and McLaren was leading the WCC as they continued winning race after race. Lando really wanted this one though, he had to win his home race.

You’d really gotten into F1 in recent months, and you had started to actually enjoy the races, not just watch them because Lando was driving.

You watched as he sped down the main straight, rain pouring down, this was his final flying lap, the one that would put him over Oscar, up to pole position and-

He spun out.

“Fuck!” you shouted, shocked at the scene in front of you. The session was red flagged and everyone went back into the pits. While you watched, on the edge of your seat, as he was carried out of the car and put into a medical car.

You sprinted down to the garage, ready to see him. You couldn’t let him get hurt while you were there, that meant you were his bad luck charm or something. You couldn’t have that. You watched as he exited the medical car, right outside the McLaren garage, and you breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped out, looking mostly unharmed.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, taking his hand. “You’re alright after that?”

He shrugged. “Maybe? I have to go get checked-”

“You need someone to go to the hospital with you,” Will interrupted. “We’re going to stay back and work on the data, you have someone?”

Lando looked at you with wide eyes. “Ummm-”

“He does,” you nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

He gave you an appreciative smile.

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“The doctor will be in shortly,” Maisie, his very annoyed nurse smiled as the both of you tried desperately to hold in your laughter.

“Thank you,” you smiled, and as she left the room you and him burst into laughter again. You weren’t even sure you knew what you were laughing about, but that was fine with the two of you.

In came… you mom’s neighbour?

“Faarouq?” you questioned. “You’re in England?”

“I volunteer here,” he explained. “Flew in to reconnect this guy's finger, and now I’m just staying a few extra days since they’re understaffed.”

“Oh,” you smiled. “That’s awesome.”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but he really was lovely. He was kind, he volunteered, he was a doctor. He was great.

Lando watched as you and he chatted and he couldn’t help but feel himself deflate. He didn’t know why, but seeing you with him made him… something. He wasn’t sure.

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No issues, all healthy, might experience some neck pain. Clean bill of health.

You walked him up to his hotel room, his arm around your shoulder. You’d honestly had a brilliant day with Lando, the best 4th you’d ever had.

You lay him down in his bed, handing him a glass of water.

“Sorry for ruining your 4th,” he sighed. “You probably should’ve been with your family.”

You brushed it off. “Holidates should never leave a holidate behind,” you chuckled. “And anyways, it was a pretty fun day.”

You put a hand on his shoulder, assuring him of your answer, and he put his hand over yours. You both felt it, looking at each other just a little bit too long for it to be platonic, but you quickly ended it, leaving as soon as you could.

He was a Holidate, nothing more.

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“Our hands touched,” he told Max as they set out for a day of golfing.

“Holy shit,” he gasped. “Did you use protection?”

Lando scoffed as Max laughed.

“I’m telling you there was a… moment, or something,” he sighed. “I’m starting to really like her.”

“Oh shit, you’ve got to get out then,” Max turned serious.

“W-what do you mean?”

“Mate,” he groaned. “You’re a fucking F1 driver who is trying to win a World Championship right now, do you think you’ll have all the time in the world to date someone?” “But… the weddings’ coming up- and it’s on labour day. Technically that’s a holiday.”

“You’re already in too deep, bring someone else,” Max instructed.

“Max I can juggle two things at once-”

“Mate, you’ve worked your entire life for this, do not fuck it up for some girl!”

Lando saw the truth in what he was saying (even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear), and he sighed. “I guess you’re right. I’ll text her tonight.”

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You walked into the wedding, a sour look on your face. You date, Farrouq (your mom’s neighbour) clung to your aunt all night while Lando’s date was some super model that made you want to run and hide.

“Hi,” he smiled, coming up to you at the bar.

“Hi.”

“Enjoying the wedding?”

“Yup,” you nodded. “You?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” he agreed.

“Your date seems nice,” you mentioned.

“She left a little while ago,” he admitted.

“Oh shit, sorry,” you cursed. “I genuinely meant it. I didn’t see her leave-”

“Yeah, it’s alright,” he shook his head. “No harm done.”

You took a sip of your drink and looked behind you to see your aunt tounging your date, and you sighed. “Any plans for halloween?”

“I’m working on it,” he agreed. Holidates once again.

Max would murder him. He didn’t feel too guilty about it.

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Halloween rolled around and Lando put you in a fucking pirates costume with a very tight corset, but you understood that’s what you get when you put a dude in charge of costumes. You sat with your sister at the bar, waiting for Lando to catch your eye when you felt hands around your waist.

“Ahoy mate,” he whispered, giggling.

“Fuck!” you jumped. “You scared me!”

He laughed, then stopped when he actually looked at you. “The costume looks… amazing,” he smiled, starstruck.

“Thanks I feel like a total slut,” you joked.

“Well you look like one too,” Abby added. “Go get a drink or something,” you scoffed, shooing her off. You turned to Lando. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

“Get fucked up?”

“Sounds perfect!” you smiled, then took a swig of your beer. The night went off with some dancing, some chocolate, and then in came Luc with a very pregnant Nicola.

Pregnant. Pregnant. She was fucking pregnant. You stood there in stunned silence as everyone caught up, shocked at the fact that she was pregnant.

“Holy fuck! She’s pregnant, pregnant!” you complained as you walked through the party, feeling increasingly sick.

“Come on, you just need a drink,” Abby scoffed, handing you some punch.

Your stomach turned. “No, no, I’m really sick,” you shook your head, bracing yourself against the table.

“Are you alright?” Lando asked, holding your waist.

“No,” you leaned into him. “Not at all.”

“Should I bring you home?” he offered.

“I’ll just get a cab, I’m alright-”

“Holidate rule number three, never leave a date behind,” he reminded you, so you let him get in the cab with you.

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It hurt. It hurt so bad. Mixing alcohol with red dye 40 and about 50 mini candy bars was not a good idea. You whined as Lando had to physically pick you up and carry you to the lift of your aparmtnt,

“Wait, she’s due next week right?” you did the maths in your head. “They did it on Valentine’s day!” you sobbed.

“Everyone does it on Valentine’s day,” he reasoned.

“I didn’t!” you screamed.

He thought back. “Hey! I didn’t either!”

Then the lift dinged and he dragged you in, listening as you spiralled.

Then that awful noise. Then the awful feeling.

“Untie me,” you said, your voice low, sober.

“Huh?”

“Untie me,” you instructed, gasping at the strings of your corset.

“What- how the fuck do you untie this?” he asked, gripping at the strings.

“I don’t know! Just untie it!” you shouted.

“I can’t, it’s like-”

“Rip it Lando, fucking rip it!” you shouted.

“I’m trying, it’s-”

The elevator dinged and behind the doors an old couple appeared, looking less than impressed. You realised how bad it looked, but truly, it was much worse than what they were thinking. They closed again, and up another floor they went.

You needed to get to a toilet, now.

You both ran to your door, him ripping off your corset at the last moment before you shut the bathroom door, and thankfully you made it, but not without sobbing crying on the toilet. Fuck your sister and her accidentally giving you laxatives.

You sat in your bath as he held the shower head to your back.

“Don’t even look at me,” you sighed.

“I’m not,” he said, and he wasn’t. He was trying his absolute hardest not to look at you. Even though you’d almost actually shit yourself, even though he’d heard you sobbing crying, somehow, you were still the most gorgeous person he’d ever seen, and as much as he wanted to he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He looked back at you and smiled, when he was sure you weren’t looking. Something in his heart leaped, and he knew he should’ve been weary, but he almost didn’t care.

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You sat in bed as he brought you a glass of water and you sighed. “So… I guess I’ll be a story you tell at parties now? Half of Monaco will know me as the girl who-”

“The girl who shit her pants on Halloween?”

You groaned. “Fuck off.”

He chuckled. “I meant it when I said I’d seen worse, and don’t worry, I won't tell anyone. Promise.”

You turned back around to face him and smiled. “Thank you.”

He offered you a soft smile, and you both fell asleep like that.

Waking up? That was a different story. You gently opened your eyes to see a very asleep Lando. His eyes scrunched up, an arm around you, his face closer to yours than it had ever been, and you smiled. The way his nose scrunched up, the moles on his face, his long eyelashes, I mean… you knew he was gorgeous before but up close? It was practically unfair.

Then his eyes fluttered open, and he moved his arm back, staring at you the same way you were staring at him. Again, another moment. His eyes on you, having him so close. It all drove you crazy.

He didn’t feel much different. He was tired of this charade, pretending he wasn’t head over heels in love with you. Like he didn’t clear his schedule the second you’d asked him if he was free on Halloween. Then he moved closer, as if he was going to kiss you. He knew you wanted it too-

You covered your mouth with the covers. “I hate it when people kiss in the morning in movies, I think it’s disgusting,” you chuckled.

He laughed. God, you were adorable. He smiled at you for a moment, then moved your hand down, looking to you for approval. You nodded, and he kissed you.

And it was everything you’d ever wanted in a kiss. The sparks flying, the silent feelings, the butterflies in your stomach going crazy. Lando made you feel like that. He made you feel… amazing. And it was everything he’d ever wanted in a kiss too.

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You resurfaced after your soft morning sex and stood in the kitchen, both of you a little bit sweaty and tired.

“We should probably-”

“You can go, if you want,” you offered, hoping you hadn’t said the wrong thing. Lando was a famous, rich guy, he probably had casual sex all the time. You didn’t want to be one of those crazy girls that thinks that sex ties you to a person (even thought it was more than just sex to you), so you have to let him go, right?

He looked like a deer in headlights. “Do you want me to leave?”

“I mean, I don’t mind. I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay or anything-”

“Obligated?” he questioned.

“Well, Halloween is over, right? Holidate ending? See you at Thanksgiving?” you joked.

His heart broke slightly. “Right.”

Then the doorbell rang.

You ran over, opening it as quickly as you could, only to reveal your sister, absolutely trashed. Lando stood against the counter, sighing. How could he let himself fuck this up too? You were amazing. You were the best thing that had happened to him all year. It was ridiculous how much he looked forward to your calls and texts, how often he checked his phone just to see the ‘group photo’ of you, him, Max, and your family that he’d taken at the wedding. You, with his arms around you. Even if you two were fighting that week, you still chose to stand beside him in the photo, and let him hold you. That meant more to him than anything. He groaned, hitting his head against a cabinet. How did he fuck it all up?

“I kissed the black panther!” Abby sobbed. “I kissed the guy, at the party, dressed as the black panther!”

“W-what?” you scoffed, holding her as she cried, sending a ‘help me’ look Lando’s way.

“I am a terrible person!” she screamed into a pillow sobbing.

“Morning Abby,” Lando smiled. She stopped crying and turned her attention to him.

“Morning Land… holy shit you two had sex!”

“We did not!” you argued.

“We didn't?” Lando asked, his voice quieter than usual. He put down his coffee mug.

“Oh…” Abby sighed. “I should- I should go.”

“NO! No, you- you stay! I’ll make some breakfast-” you pleaded, grabbing her hand.

“It’s alright Abby, you stay, I’ll go,” Lando nodded, grabbing the last bits of his costume. “Okay?” he looked to you, hoping against hope that you’d ask him to stay. You didn’t. “Okay.”

“Bye! See you at Thanksgiving!”

The look he gave you as he was leaving told you he wouldn’t call you again.

How did you always fuck everything up?

౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊

“Mate, she shoved me out the door,” Lando sighed, doing anything but looking over the data.

Will sighed. “She didn’t even want a cuddle?”

“Nothing! We had half a cup of coffee in blissful silence, then she kicked me out!” he groaned. “Ugh! Why is dating so hard!”

Will chuckled. “It’s alright mate, there’s plenty of other fish in the sea-”

“But they’re not Y/n! I want Y/n. I want my Y/n,” he whined. “Y’know what the last thing she said to me was? ‘See you at Thanksgiving’, like it didn’t even mean anything to her. Like I was fucking meaningless.”

“At least you’ve still got her as a Holidate-”

“I cannot do that anymore,” he admitted. “I can’t just… pretend to be in love with her when I actually am.”

“No, mate, you’ve got to keep going with it. You just act like nothing has changed and she’ll come crawling back. It’s a foolproof idea!” ౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊

God, you hated Thanksgiving. Your mother couldn’t cook, your sister was busy asking you about that guy she kissed at the party, and Lando was nowhere to be seen. As you opened the front door ready to run to the supermarket and buy an entire Thanksgiving feast, you were met with the face of Lando Norris.

“Hi,” he smiled sadly.

“Hi,” you smiled. “I have to run to the store so you can…”

“Great,” he nodded. “I’ll drive.”

You had realised that in the 11 months you’d known each other, you hadn’t ever driven with him. “Not too fast, not all of us have the neck of an F1 driver,” you teased, hoping to lighten the mood. He just nodded with a reserved smile on his face. Challenge failed.

You sat in the car as he drove (definitely over the speed limit), awkwardly wondering what to say.

“How have you been?” he asked, his hands gripping the wheel.

“Good, busy,” you explained. “You?” “Good. Busy,” he answered, his hands gripping the wheel even harder. You were both silent for a moment. “Are we seriously just going to pretend it never happened?”

“That works for me,” you nodded, thinking that’s what he really wanted.

“Well, for the record, I wasn’t the one who wanted to leave that morning,” he sighed.

“It’s not like you were asking to stay, plus, you didn’t even want to have sex with me in the first place. You’re not attracted to me, remember?”

“Why can’t you let that go?”

“Because when a guy opens with the fact that he doesn’t find you attractive, it kind of sets the tone for the relationship-”

“I was some random guy at the mall, what would you have said if I opened with ‘hi I think you’re insanely beautiful’?!”

You both paused for a second.

“Y/n, come on. Everything about you is beautiful. Your smile, your personality, your humour. You would’ve never gone out with me, definitely not on New Year’s.”

You were both quiet again.

“Does that change anything for you?” he looked at you, eyes pleading. You had to make a choice.

“No.”Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes. Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.Yes.

Why did you have to be so good at protecting yourself?

“Fucking hell- you’re trying so hard not to feel anything because you’re scared of getting hurt, so you’re lying to the both of us-”

“Maybe I just don’t feel the same, Lando. Not every girl will fall at your fucking feet,” you scoffed.

“Fine. Enjoy the rest of your holidays, alone, at the kids table, blaming everyone but yourself for your problems.”

౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊

How did you fuck it up so badly? You walked back in.

“Where’s Lando?” Abby asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

“What? What did you do?” Your brother asked.

“What makes you think it was my fault?” you scoffed.

“You should call him, he’s a good guy,” Abby added. “You should just call and apologise.”

“Why do you think it was my fault?”

“Well if you were honest with him we could probably get through one holiday without your personal life ruining dinner for everyone,” your mother sighed.

“My personal life?” you scoffed.

“Is a mess,” Abby interjected.

“Ok, my personal life might be a perpetual mess but at least I didn’t kiss some randomer at Halloween!” you argued.

“You fucking bitch,” she cursed.

A chorus of ‘who’, ‘what’ and ‘how’ quickly fell upon the room, until it was all drowned out by Peter, her husband.

“You kissed someone else?”

You clapped a hand over your mouth. “I am so sorry I thought you’d told him-”

“I saw no tongue,” York, your brother added.

“You saw and didn’t tell me?” Liz questioned.

“You can’t keep a secret,” he shrugged.

“How would you know that, you know nothing about me!” she scoffed, getting up.

“I trusted you!” Peter cried. “You went alone, I-I thought I could trust you-”

“I go everywhere without, a-and you never have any time for me because you’re always stressing about the kids-”

“One of us has to!” he shouted.

Then your aunt’s date had a literal heart attack, and you were all stuck in silence as the ambulance rolled away with him inside. He would be fine, but you and your aunt went with him (not by choice) just for good measure. He was fine in the end and your aunt even met the love of her life at the hospital.

Shittiest Thanksgiving ever.

౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊

As Christmas rolled around and you watched the F1 season come to a close, you watched as Lando finished second in the standings, just behind Oscar. You missed him. You missed texting and calling him, you missed watching him crack bad jokes and laugh until his stomach hurt, you missed his fluffy hair and pretty face.

You missed it all. The worst part was that he was right. You were just too afraid of being in love and putting your heart on the line, that you messed up the best thing that had ever happened to you.

౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊

He walked through the same mall that he’d met you in a full year ago, and he sighed. He was empty, alone in Chicago once again, and he was done. Another chance at a WDC that he pissed away, and he was really starting to wonder if he truly had a place in the sport. Then he thought back to you, the way you liked him even without his race suit, without his money, without everything everyone else liked him for. You. He chuckled, he was probably just another Holidate to you, someone you wouldn’t even think about.

Then he saw you as the escalators passed, and the way you looked at him gave him a glimmer of hope that he was wrong, that you did care. But you were gone in a flash and he knew he should just let it die.

“There he was!” Abby squealed. “Go talk to him!”

“I can't, I'd just… it wouldn’t work. He hates me!”

“Y/n, life is giving you a moment right now, take it!”

And that’s how you ended up with a microphone in hand in the middle of a mall desperately trying to get the love of your life back.

Thankfully, he said yes. And yes, it was videoed and put on the internet hundreds of times, too bad he’s a public figure.

But that didn’t matter. You two were happy.

‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡

a very f1 christmas! masterlist (2024)

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

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thecuriousbeauty · 8 months ago

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rough sex, size kink, daddy kink, multiple orgasms, etc. (don't judge me, I'm ovulating) ah, and I also love your writing

Rough- Harry Styles x reader (Smut blurb)

A/N:- Hey anon, thanks for the request! So sorry it took so long, I was on a little holiday:) Hope you love this!

Warnings: Everything in the ask! Pure filth. Smut. Fingering, degradation, light spanking, penetration(p in v), choking.

Word count: 1.6K

______________________________________________

You had pushed all his buttons. And now, he was fuming as he drove back home with you, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

To be fair, it was Harry who had to ditch your plans together because a meeting came up. He had been so busy lately, and he’d promised you that he’d spend the whole day with you. Although it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t hold up on the promise and he had to go away till the evening. Of course he apologized and told you he’d make up for it, but you decided to tease him a little in return.

When Harry was back, he wanted to take you to a fancy dinner but you said you just wanted to go out for drinks and that’s what you did. You wore a short silver dress that hugged your curves beautifully and the length stopped just right below your ass. You didn’t talk to him on the way. As soon as you got to the club, you went to the dance floor and started swaying your hips and your ass. Harry leaned on the bar stool, looking at you.

He understood that you were pissed, so he just kept quiet. Until, you started flirting with another guy. It got so intense, he started rubbing against your ass from behind and you just giggled, enjoying how Harry’s eyes were burning as he watched it. He walked to the dance floor and threw the man off of you by his collar.

“Woah! What the hell man?”

“Hands off my girlfriend.”, Harry growled at him, and you tugged on his shirt. “Harry!”

“Geez I didn’t know she’s taken!”

And that’s how you were now sitting in the passenger’s seat of the car, arms folded across your chest while he drove you home. Harry didn’t say anything, which only made you anxious. Had you taken it too far? You just wanted to get him angry enough so he would rough you up a little.

You were gonna rush up the stairs and to bed but Harry wrapped his hand around your hair, tugging it back, making you wince. “Not so quickly, sweetheart. You think I’m just gonna ignore that little act you pulled?” Harry’s deep voice rasped in your ear.

“Y-You were being mean to me.”, you pout, gasping as he tugs you to his body, wrapping an arm around your waist and tightening his hold on your hair, making you lean your head back on his shoulder.

“I was not. I apologized, I told you I’d make up for it. But no, you had to go and be a brat to get my attention.”

As much as his hold on your hair hurt, you couldn’t help but smirk at how riled up he was, and you could see in his eyes how badly he wanted you.

“Well guess what, baby? You’ve got all my attention now.” He dips his head down, lips finding the sweet spot on your neck and you moan softly, moving a hand to his hair to tug on his luscious soft curls. His hand moved from your hair to lift up your dress and land a smack to your ass.

You jerked forward, but his arm around your middle kept you in place. “Did I tell you could touch me?”, he asks, gripping the flesh of your ass.

“No daddy..”, you moan, loving the sting from the slap but also how wet the thought of a punishment made you.

“That’s what I thought. You are not to speak or touch me until I say so, got it?”

“Yes.” You nod, yelping as his hand comes down again on the same spot he hit. “Yes, daddy.”, you correct yourself.

He hums, yanking down the zipper of your dress and pulling it down your sides. “Fucking short little dress, putting on a show for everyone. Don’t worry, daddy’s gonna remind you who you belong to.”

He tugs off your bra before cupping your right breast and connecting your lips. You moan into his mouth as his tongue explores your mouth, and you’re tempted to touch his body, snake your hands under his shirt, feel his sculpted body under your hands.

“Daddy..”, you whined, feeling his hardness against your ass.

“I don’t think you deserve my cock. You were being a little whore today, weren’t you?”, he taunts, pinching one of your nipples.

“Sorry daddy, let me m-make you feel better.”, you say, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

“Shut up.”, he gives your breast a light slap before his fingers pull on the material of your thong. “This fucking thing barely hides your pussy.” He ripped it off, making you gasp. He was quick to stuff his fingers into your mouth, and the two fingers of his other hand slipped into your wet hole.

“I didn’t even do anything and you’re dripping wet.”, he says, sciscoring his fingers inside of you at a fast pace, making you squeal around his fingers in your mouth. He pushes them in further, hitting the back of your throat making you gag and your eyes water.

“I think you forgot who owns your pussy. You’ll let daddy destroy your little pussy, won’t you?”

You nod fervently, your saliva sputtering around his fingers. He curls his fingers inside your vagina, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. “Fucking little slut. Do you want to cum?”

He removes his fingers from your mouth and presses his hand to your lower stomach, keeping you in place as you squirmed. Your legs were shaking and you weren’t sure how much longer you could stand. “Y-Yes daddy.”, you cry out, your toes tingling and your vision already going blurry with the amount of pleasure.

“Ask nicely.”, he hisses, biting your ear lobe.

“Please, p-please daddy I’ll be good, please let me cum. I-I’ll be your good girl, I’m s-sorry!” You scream as his thumb applies pressure to your clit, rubbing quick circles. “Go on, cum all over daddy’s fingers.”

By the time you’re back on earth after the amazing orgasm you just had, Harry has you on the couch on all fours, giving you barely enough time to recover as he slides his cock inside your sensitive pussy.

“Shit, always so tight.”, he curses, fingers digging into your hips. “Daddy’s gonna fuck you like a whore. I know that’s what you like.”

You scream as he starts to thrust his hips, his cock hitting deep inside you. It felt so good. He filled you up incredibly. His huge dick came crashing into your walls and you could do nothing but cry out in pleasure.

“You think that guy has a bigger cock? Can he fuck you like this? Make you cry?”, Harry leans down to ask in your ear. You can’t answer, your vagina trying to envelop him and at the same time, press him out.

“Answer me.”, he gruffs, one of his hands coming up to wrap around your throat and lift your face up.

“N-No, no daddy..”, you whimper and choke as he pulls up your upper body by your neck, and he adjusts himself so his cock hits a deeper angle. “Who’s the only one who can fuck you like this hm?”

“You, daddy. Y-You fuck me so good..” You were nearing your release again. “M-May I cum? P-Please daddy?”

“Yes.”, he slaps your ass, hard. He moans and throws his head back in pleasure as he feels your warm juices coat his pulsating dick. He’s flipping you around onto your back, holding your knees apart and slamming into you again.

You whine from the over sensitivity. “D-Daddy I-I can’t..it’s too much.”

“You can, you’ll take it like a good girl. I know you can.”, he says, looking down at your stomach to see the dent his dick was making from inside. His eyes move to your face, looking at your smeared mascara and plump red lips, then moving to your breasts.

“So fucking pretty like this.”, he says, bending down to brush his lips against the corner of your mouth. “You can touch me, baby.”

Your hands immediately travel to his hair and his back to pull him closer to you. You were already as close as you could be, but you wanted him impossibly closer. His curly hair was messy and cheeks flushed from your activities, but he looked beautiful.

“I-I love you.”, you whisper, and he kisses you. You cling to him as he was the only solid thing around you, and he was the only one whom you trusted with your entire being. “I love you too, sweet girl.”, he whispers and presses his forehead against yours.

“Want your cum inside me daddy, fill me up.”, you say, clenching around him as you know he’s close.

“Fuck, just like that, baby, you take me s-so well.”, he moans. You cum again from the feeling of him filling you up, and Harry collapses over you as you both recover from your highs. The only noise in the room was of your heavy breaths.

Harry lifts his head to look at you, your closed eyes fluttering open as he taps your cheek. “You okay darling? Was I too rough?”

“I’m okay, it was p-perfect. Just tired.”, you tell him, smiling softly as he presses a sweet kiss to your cheek “I’ll run you a bath, get you something to eat and then we can go to sleep.”

You hum. “Sounds good.”

Harry stroked your cheek with his thumb. “Hey, I really am sorry about today, love.”

“It’s okay! All forgiven after that.”, you giggle and he grins, shifting to lay beside you so he could pull you into his arms. “Maybe I should make you angry more often.”

“Oh yeah?”, he smiles amused, pressing kisses to your face as you laugh. “My naughty little minx.”

______________________________________________

Taglist:-@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777,@madstyles3204, @youngpastafanmug, @fruity-harry (Lemme know if you want me to add your name to the taglist!)

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juneoirs · 8 months ago

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𝓝𝓞 𝓝𝓤𝓣 𝓝𝓞𝓥𝓔𝓜𝓑𝓔𝓡

dabi trying the ‘no nut november’ but is clearly failing miserably

november. for some , it was a month of crisp mornings , cozy sweaters , and holiday anticipation. for dabi , though , it was a fresh kind of hell.

he’d scoffed when you first brought it up— ‘no nut november’ you said , grinning up at him with that mischievous glint in your eye. just a little challenge , a fun test of self-control. “what , you don’t think you can handle it?” you’d tease , the corners of your mouth quirking up in that way that made him weak.

and somehow , he agreed.

the first few days were easy.

dabi had never seen himself as particularly weak-willed , and anyway , how hard could a month be? but it was day five , and he was already miserable. maybe it was the way you’d keep giving him sly , teasing glances , stretching just a little too much when you walked by , wearing those tiny shorts around the apartment. you knew exactly what you were doing to him , and he hated how much he liked it.

"think you’re real funny , huh?" he muttered one evening , watching you lazily from across the room , his blue eyes simmering with heat.

you shot him an innocent look , fingers idly tracing patterns on your thigh. "what’s funny?"

"think you’re pretty clever with all the bending over" he grumbled , his fists clenched at his sides. not giving in , not giving in , he chanted in his mind.

you just shrugged , feigning innocence. "i’m just . .comfortable. not my fault if you can’t handle it."

he let out a low growl , leaning forward in his seat. “you know , you’re walking a real fine line , doll. one more of those little tricks of yours , and this whole 'challenge' thing? out the window."

you smirked , leaning back on the sofa , stretching slowly , deliberately. "guess we’ll just have to see who breaks first , then."

dabi’s jaw tightened. yeah , this was going to be a very , very long month.

#touya todoroki #touya x reader #touya x y/n #mha touya #dabi touya #bnha touya #dabi x reader #mha dabi #dabi x you #dabi smut #bnha dabi

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hauntedbyjoel · 2 months ago

Text

Just This Once

pairing: joel miller x f! reader word count - 7.2k content - mdni, 18+, no outbreak, age gap (mid twenties reader, joel is in his 40s), possessive joel, mild angst, oral sex, explicit smut, p in v sex, fingering, creampie summary - When your family drags you on a week-long mountain lodge vacation, the last person you expect to see is Joel Miller—your dad’s best friend, the man you haven’t seen since a moment years ago nearly crossed a line. Now you're stuck under the same roof with him, and the tension is unbearable. You hate each other. You want each other. And it’s only a matter of time before everything explodes in secret touches, filthy nights, and a week that will change everything.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You hadn’t seen Joel Miller in four years. That’s the first thing that hit you when you stepped out of your car and saw him unloading a cooler from the back of your dad’s truck—grayer than you remembered, thicker in the shoulders, still wearing that same beat-up flannel like it was a second skin. The second thing that hit you was how fast the resentment came flooding back.

Your dad’s best friend. The one who used to ruffle your hair when you were a kid and bark at your boyfriends when you were a teenager. The one who used to give you rides home from parties with his jaw clenched and his hand gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from exploding. The one who looked at you differently the night before your college graduation. You didn’t imagine it. You couldn’t have.

Everyone else was outside, drunk on champagne and cheap beer, and you had slipped into the kitchen to get water. Joel had followed a few minutes later. You’d been wearing that little sundress—the one that made you feel older than you were. You turned around and found him already watching you.

He didn’t say anything, not at first. Just looked at you. And then he asked, low and dry, “You always wear things like that around your dad?” You’d smiled. Teased. “Only when I know you’ll be there.” He hadn’t smiled back. Not even close. He just exhaled, said your name like a warning, and left the room.

After that, you didn’t see him again. Not at your party. Not at any of the holidays that followed. If you asked your dad where Joel was, he always brushed it off—working, traveling, things got busy. You knew better. So when your dad invited you to the “family lodge trip” and casually dropped that oh, by the way, Joel’s coming, your gut twisted. You’d almost said no. You should have.

The lodge was up in the mountains—three hours from the nearest real town, with six bedrooms, a wraparound porch, and a hot tub that supposedly worked “if you didn’t touch the wrong switch.” It was your dad’s idea of heaven. It was your idea of hell.

The rest of the family arrived in chaotic waves: aunts, uncles, cousins, screaming toddlers, someone’s new girlfriend named Cassie who didn’t eat gluten. You tried to stay in the background, helping unload bags and pretending not to notice Joel already inside, talking to your dad like nothing had ever happened.

You almost made it through the first hour unnoticed. Almost. He turned around while you were unpacking the beer into the fridge. You didn’t look up. Didn’t give him the satisfaction. But you heard his voice shift. A beat of silence. Then: “Didn’t know you’d be here.” You closed the fridge too hard. “Guess that makes two of us.” Joel didn’t reply. He never did, not when you had that bite in your voice. You didn’t turn around until he was gone.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Joel avoided you the first two days. You weren’t exactly complaining—but you weren’t exactly unaffected, either. It wasn’t subtle. He kept his distance like you were contagious. Always one room away, one beat behind in conversation. If you went into the kitchen, he left. If you started a story, he suddenly remembered something to do outside. Your dad didn’t seem to notice. Nobody did. But you felt it. Because it wasn’t new.

It was just the same rhythm as before—like the two of you had learned how not to orbit each other years ago, and now you were slipping back into that old, silent routine. But it was different now. More bitter. More deliberate. And maybe that’s what made it worse.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The last time you saw Joel Miller, you were twenty-two. You were home from school for a few months, in that weird limbo between graduation and whatever came next. Your dad had thrown a summer party in the backyard—beer, a grill, some acoustic guitar, the whole neighborhood vibe. You hadn’t expected Joel to be there. He hadn’t come to much of anything after that weird little moment at your graduation the year before. You figured that distance was permanent.

But then you came outside in your sundress and saw him sitting at your dad’s patio table, nursing a beer and looking like he hadn’t aged a day. Or maybe he had—he looked tired, but in a good way. Worn in. Rough around the edges. That salt-and-pepper scruff, those eyes that never gave away a damn thing. You didn’t speak at first. You couldn’t.

You spent the whole evening pretending not to watch him. Pretending you weren’t wondering if he remembered. If he still thought about that look he gave you in the kitchen. The almost. The maybe. The fuck, don’t do this that hung between you. But something shifted that night. You were walking back from the bathroom, barefoot on the grass, tipsy from sangria and nostalgia, and Joel was there—just standing on the porch in the shadows, arms crossed, that same unreadable expression on his face. You didn’t stop. You just raised an eyebrow and said, “What?”

He looked at you for a long time. Then: “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

You scoffed. “Right. Because you know me so well.”

“I know what that dress means,” he said. Quiet. Low. “I know what kind of game you’re playing.” You took a step forward. Too bold. You always were with him.

“And what if I’m not playing?”

That silenced him. His jaw worked. His eyes darkened. He looked like he wanted to grab you and shake the words out of your mouth—or kiss you until you took them back. Maybe both. But he didn’t do either. He just muttered your name like it hurt to say, shook his head, and walked off into the night.

After that, nothing. No texts. No holidays. Not even a birthday message. You’d disappeared from his life—or he’d erased you. Either way, you’d gotten the message. You were off-limits. Not just because of your age or who your dad was. But because Joel knew better. He knew himself. Knew the kind of man he was. The things he’d already lost. And he didn’t want your name on that list.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

So when your dad said Joel was coming on this trip, something inside you buckled. You didn’t say no. That wasn’t your style. Instead, you packed your best shorts, your skimpiest swimsuits, and a book you weren’t going to read. If he wanted to act like you were a mistake he never made, you were going to make him remember just how close he came.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The first night was fine. Mostly. Everyone was excited, loud, full of wine and bonfire smoke. You stayed in the background, floating from conversation to conversation like nothing was eating you alive. Joel didn’t say a word to you. Didn’t so much as glance in your direction. The second day, you caught him staring from across the cabin porch. Just a flicker of something in his eyes. A memory. A warning. But by day three, the silence broke.

It was over something stupid—a cooler left out on the porch in bear country. You’d forgotten to bring it in after everyone went down to the lake. Joel saw it first and dragged it in, dropping it at your feet with a muttered, “Real smart.” You blinked.

“Excuse me?

“Bears like easy food. You want ‘em crawling up to the cabin?”

“I didn’t realize I was personally responsible for every item on this trip,” you snapped. He narrowed his eyes.

“No, just the ones with your name on them.”

You didn’t say what you wanted to. You didn’t say, You’re still the same arrogant, self-righteous asshole who can’t admit he wanted me. Instead, you smiled sweetly and said, “Glad to know you’re still excellent at blaming everyone but yourself.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. The heat between you spoke loud enough.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

That afternoon, you avoided him. Took your book out to the dock, let the sun bake your thighs, dipped your legs into the water, and tried not to replay every word of that argument in your head. It wasn’t even a real fight. But your heart was still pounding. And he’d looked good. Too good. That worn t-shirt clinging to his back, sweat on his collarbone, that low voice still rasping in your chest long after he left the room. You hated that he could still do this to you. You hated that you still let him.

That night, there was a bonfire again. You wore a tank top that clung to your skin and made no apologies. You laughed too loud. Let your cousin’s boyfriend sit too close. Ignored the heat of Joel’s stare from across the flames. Until he stood up without a word and walked inside. You followed five minutes later, breath caught in your throat.

You found him in the kitchen, alone, leaning against the counter with a drink in his hand. His eyes didn’t move when you stepped inside.

“You gonna keep acting like this?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“Like a brat.” The word bit. “Like you didn’t do anything wrong.” You crossed your arms. “I was twenty-two. You were thirty-nine. You were the one who disappeared.”

“I had to,” he said. His voice was quiet, hoarse. “You think I wanted to?”

“You think I cared?” you shot back. “You don’t get to act like you’re the one who got hurt.” Joel’s expression darkened. “You have no idea what it cost me not to touch you that night.” The air between you went still. Then your aunt came in looking for wine glasses, and the moment shattered. Joel disappeared again—just like before.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Now, on day five, it’s unbearable. Every look, every brush of your shoulders, every shared room—charged. You’re running out of places to avoid each other. And worse—you’re running out of excuses not to want it. You swear at one point he almost says something during dinner, but then your dad claps him on the back and the spell breaks.

Later, you find a reason to go outside. To breathe. To drink. To slip into the hot tub alone. To stop pretending this isn’t tearing you apart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The cabin was quiet. Too quiet. Everyone had gone to bed, eventually. You could still hear the muffled sounds of the TV in the back room—someone watching an old movie half-asleep—but otherwise, the place had gone still. The kind of quiet you only get in the woods. Thick and soft and unsettling. You couldn’t sleep. Not like this. Not with him still under the same roof. Not with your skin buzzing like it was trying to crawl off your bones. So you slipped outside.

A hoodie thrown over your tank top. Nothing under it. Bikini bottoms still damp from the lake earlier. A bottle of wine grabbed from the counter on your way out—half-full and yours now. No glass.

The hot tub creaked when you stepped in. Lukewarm. The jets barely worked. But it was something. Some kind of escape. You sank down into the water with a hiss and let it cover your thighs, your hips. Steam rose into the air around your face, humid and pine-scented. You sipped straight from the bottle. Tilted your head back. Let the stars blur. The ache in your chest hadn’t gone away. It had just learned to settle low—like a bruise behind your ribs. Dull, bitter, always there. Four years of unresolved tension pressing on your lungs. Four years of trying not to think about him. About the way he said your name. About the way he looked at you like he hated himself for wanting to.

You took another swig. The patio door creaked open behind you. Your pulse jumped. You didn’t move. Boots on the wood. A pause. Then—“Figured I’d find you out here.” Joel’s voice, low and even. But not casual. Never casual with him.

You didn’t turn around. “Want me to leave?” he asked. You took a slow breath. “No.”

Silence. The soft clink of glass—he set a bottle down on the ledge. Whiskey, probably. Of course it was. You heard the scrape of wood as he pulled a chair closer, the creak of him settling into it. Still didn’t look at you.

The stars shimmered overhead like they knew something you didn’t. “You always drink alone?” he asked after a while. You shrugged. “Better than company I don’t like.” He huffed once. Dry.

“You don’t like me.”

“Do you like you?”

That one hung in the air. He didn’t answer. You didn’t press. Another sip. Another minute of silence. It wasn’t peaceful—it was electric. The kind of quiet that buzzed with everything unsaid.

Finally, you asked, “Why’d you come?”

Joel didn’t pretend not to understand. “Your dad invited me.”

“And that’s it?” you asked. You turned your head just enough to see him. “You didn’t think twice?”

He looked tired. The firelight from the screened porch lit the edge of his jaw, the slope of his nose. His expression was unreadable.

“I thought twice,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “And the third time?”

His mouth twitched like it wanted to smile. But it didn’t. “I knew you’d be here,” he admitted. The words landed like a punch in your stomach. You swallowed. Hard.

“So what—” you leaned back against the tub wall, stretched your arms across the edge, “you wanted to torture yourself? Or me?”

Joel’s gaze slid to your collarbone. Your throat. The way your nipples had hardened under your thin top, the fabric clinging wet to your skin. He looked away fast, jaw tight. “I didn’t come here to start anything.”

“Bullshit.”

He met your eyes. This time, he didn’t flinch.

“You wanna talk about starting things?” he said, voice sharp. “You think I didn’t see what you were doing back then?”

“I was twenty-two.”

“You were my best friend’s daughter.”

“Not by choice.” He stood suddenly. Pushed off the chair, walked toward the railing like he couldn’t stand being that close. You watched his shoulders rise and fall, tense. “You think I’m proud of this?” he said. “Of wanting you?”

You stood, slowly. The water sloshed. Your tank top clung to every curve—wet and transparent in the porch light. You didn’t hide. You didn’t flinch. “I don’t want your pride,” you said.

Joel turned. You didn’t know which of you moved first. Maybe it didn’t matter. One second, you were dripping water onto the porch. The next, you were in his arms, mouth on his, kissing him like you’d been waiting your whole life to do it. He groaned into your mouth—low, raw, like it hurt. His hands came up to your waist, gripping hard, dragging you closer until your soaked chest was flush against him. It was messy. Desperate. All tongue and teeth and four years of restraint unraveling like thread in a storm. He backed you into the side of the cabin wall with a thud. You gasped. He kissed you harder.

“This is wrong,” he muttered against your lips.

“I don’t care,” you whispered.

He kissed you again. Hands under your shirt, dragging it up, baring your wet skin to the mountain air. His palms were rough and warm, moving over your ribs, your waist, up to your breasts. You arched into him.

“I thought about this,” he said. “Too many times.”

You bit his shoulder. “Show me.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

His mouth was everywhere.

You didn’t remember how you got from the hot tub to the porch steps, but suddenly he had you pinned to them—back against the rough wood, legs spread over his lap, and Joel’s mouth on your throat like he was trying to brand you there.

The porch light flickered behind his head, catching the silver in his hair, the tight clench of his jaw as he kissed you. It wasn’t soft. Nothing about this was. It was desperate. Hungry. The kind of kiss you only give someone after years of pretending you didn’t want to. You whimpered into his mouth. His hand slid up the inside of your thigh, fingers teasing the damp hem of your bikini bottoms.

“Still wanna pretend this isn’t happening?” he rasped against your cheek.

You shook your head, gasping. “No. I want you.”

He groaned—like you’d said something obscene. Like you’d ruined him. Joel didn’t waste time. He lifted your top up, pulling it over your head until your bare chest hit the open air. Your nipples peaked, still wet from the tub, and his mouth was on them in seconds. Sucking, groaning, biting just enough to make you squirm.

“Jesus,” he muttered against your skin. “You’re perfect. You fuckin’ knew what you were doing back then, didn’t you?”

You arched your back, fingers in his hair. “I wanted you to look.”

“I did,” he growled. “I fuckin’ looked every time.”

His hands were already moving—down your hips, hooking into your bikini bottoms, dragging them off and tossing them somewhere behind him. Then he leaned back and just stared. You felt raw under that gaze. Bared open. Not just your body—your want. Your need.

“Joel—”

“Goddamn.” His voice dropped lower. “You’re soaked.”

“I was in the tub,” you teased.

He gave you a warning look. One hand slipped between your thighs, two fingers running over your center. You gasped—wet, throbbing, aching.

“This isn’t the tub,” he said.

And then he tasted you. Dropped to his knees between your legs and pushed them open wider with both hands. You moaned—loud, unfiltered, filthy—as his mouth found your core and sucked.

“F-fuck—” your hips jerked. His arms locked around your thighs, holding you still. He licked you like he was starving. Like he hadn’t let himself want this and now couldn’t stop. Long, slow swipes of his tongue that made your stomach clench. Then little flicks over your clit that made your toes curl.

You grabbed the porch railing behind your head, panting, “Joel, I’m—oh my god—”

He didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down—moaning against you like your pleasure was his, like he could feel you coming apart in his bones. His beard scratched your skin in the best way. His grip on your thighs bruised.

When you came, you shook. Back arched, mouth open, your whole body trembling under him. He held you through it—let you grind against his face, let you cry out into the night with no shame. And then he pulled away, mouth wet, eyes black.

“You sure you wanna keep going?” he rasped into your ear.

You nodded, breathless. “I’ve never been more sure.”

He kissed you like that destroyed him. Like you’d just said I love you and he didn’t know what to do with it. You were slumped against the cabin wall—wet, aching, and trembling from the orgasm he’d just coaxed out of you on the porch. His hand was slick with it, shining in the low light, and he looked at you like he didn’t know whether to kiss you or drag you back to hell with him.

You beat him to it. You stepped forward, dropped to your knees on the wood floor, and looked up at him with fire in your eyes.

“Let me take care of you.”

Joel froze. “Sweetheart—”

“Let me.” You reached for his belt. “I want to.”

He didn’t stop you. Couldn’t.

The sound of leather sliding through denim made your thighs clench all over again. You undid his fly, pushed his jeans and boxers down just enough, and there he was—thick, flushed, leaking at the tip. Your mouth watered.

Joel watched you with something close to pain in his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

You smiled, slow and wicked. “I think I do.”

And then you took him into your mouth. His hips jolted like he’d been shocked. A deep, raw groan escaped him—so loud it echoed in the trees.

“Jesus fuck,” he hissed. One big hand gripped your hair, not forcing—just grounding. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

You sucked him slow. Deep. Let your lips drag along the underside of his cock as you worked him down your throat. He was hot and heavy on your tongue, the salt of his skin making your head spin. You gagged a little, spit sliding down your chin, but you didn’t stop.

“Goddamn—” Joel’s hand tightened. “You look so fuckin’ good like this.”

You moaned around him. His thighs flexed.

“You always act so tough, don’t you?” he rasped. “But look at you now. On your knees. Mouth full of cock. Drippin’ for me.”

You pulled off with a slick pop, panting. “Only for you.”

He lost it. Joel yanked you to your feet and kissed you like a man on the edge—mouth open, tongue messy, hands everywhere. You could taste him on your own lips. He grabbed your ass, squeezed hard, and muttered, “Inside. Now.”

-── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The guest room door slammed shut behind you. He didn’t even bother with lights. The moon through the window was enough to see him—dark and dangerous, shirt halfway off, jeans undone, chest rising and falling like he’d just run through the forest. You stripped for him without a word. You climbed back onto the bed, naked, legs spread—offering. Joel stared.

“Lie back,” he said roughly. “I need—fuck. Just lie back.”

You obeyed. He crawled over you slowly, like a man approaching something holy. And then he was there—settling between your thighs, spreading you with both hands.

“Still so fuckin’ wet,” he muttered. “That just from my fingers, baby? Or suckin’ me off got you like this?”

“Both,” you breathed. “I want you so bad.”

Joel groaned—feral.

“Fuckin’ filthy girl,” he growled. “You want my mouth? Wanna come on my tongue?”

You nodded, frantic. “Please.”

That was all he needed. Joel lowered his head and devoured you. There was no teasing. No slow buildup. He licked into you like a man starving, tongue everywhere at once, sucking your clit into his mouth so hard your back arched off the bed.

“Oh my god—Joel—”

“That’s it,” he groaned against you. “Say my name.”

You did. Again and again. Cried it out while he fucked you with his tongue, his nose pressed against your clit, beard scratch burning your inner thighs.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he murmured. “Been dreamin’ about this. How sweet you’d be. How you’d sound.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

You came with your fingers in his hair and his name in your mouth—shaking, moaning, soaking his face. He didn’t stop until you begged. Then he climbed up your body, kissed you with your slick still on his mouth, and lined himself up between your thighs.

“Ready?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You looked him in the eye. “Don’t be gentle.”

Joel’s face twisted—like you’d just said something cruel and beautiful.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he growled.

And then he thrust in. You gasped—so full, stretched wide, your whole body tensing at the intrusion. He cursed, slammed a hand against the headboard, and stayed there for a second, buried to the hilt, not moving.

“You feel—fuck, baby, you feel unreal,” he rasped into your neck.

“Move,” you begged. “Please.”

He did. Slow at first. Then harder. Then brutal. Joel fucked you deep, steady, with a kind of controlled rage—like he was punishing himself as much as he was giving you what you wanted.

“This what you needed?” he grunted. “Daddy’s best friend fuckin’ you stupid?”

You cried out—clawed at his back, wrapped your legs around his hips.

“Years,” he growled. “Years I told myself I couldn’t touch you. And now look at you.”

He sat back on his knees and dragged you with him—lifted your hips off the bed and fucked up into you until your head hit the pillows and the air left your lungs.

“You were mine the second you looked at me in that fuckin’ dress,” he said. “You know that?”

“Yes—Joel—”

“I’ll never be able to stop now,” he whispered. “You ruined me.”

You came with a scream. Your entire body clenched. Shaking, soaked, ruined beneath him—and he followed seconds later, growling your name into your neck as he emptied inside you with a broken moan.

He didn’t pull out. Didn’t move. Just held you there, panting against your skin, his cock still buried deep, his arms around you like he couldn’t let go.

“This changes everything,” you whispered.

“I know,” Joel said. “And I’m not sorry.”

Neither were you.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You didn’t see him all afternoon. After breakfast—silent and unbearable—you watched Joel disappear down the trail with your dad and two of your uncles, a cooler over his shoulder and a rifle on his back. Some day-hunt, they said. Nothing serious. Deer if they got lucky. Beer if they didn’t. You stayed behind. Tried to read. Tried to nap. Tried not to think about how sore your thighs still were from the way he’d held you. How your lips still tingled from the way he kissed you—like a man grabbing for something he never thought he’d get to keep.

By evening, the house was full again. Laughter, music, chairs scraping across the floor. Your cousin burned a pan of garlic bread and someone dropped a bottle of wine. The usual chaos. Joel returned just after sunset. You caught the sound of his voice before you saw him—low, gruff, tired. But not angry. Not cold. Just… careful. You stepped into the hallway to grab towels and he passed you. Barely looked at you. But when he did? That glance leveled you. One second, and your whole body remembered everything.

You waited again that night. Waited until the noise died. Waited until the lights clicked off one by one and the lodge settled into creaks and wind. Then you crept down the hallway. Breath tight. Bare feet silent. You didn’t knock this time. Joel’s room was dark when you slipped in, but you didn’t need light. You found him by feel—sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, shirtless, boxers low on his hips. His head lifted the second you closed the door. He didn’t speak. You crossed the room and stood between his knees. You were wearing nothing but a thin tank top and cotton shorts. No bra. No panties. Joel’s eyes dragged over you, slow and unreadable.

“You’re not gonna let me walk away from this, are you?” he asked.

“No.”

His hands came up to your hips. Stayed there.

“You’re gonna ruin me.”

You leaned down, voice soft at his ear. “I think I already did."

Joel's hands slid up beneath your shirt. Slow. Heavy. Callused.

You let him.

You stood still as his palms swept over your waist, your ribs, up to your bare chest. His fingers spread wide, rough and reverent as they cupped your breasts—thumbs brushing slowly across your nipples until they hardened, tight and sensitive under his touch.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “No bra?”

“No need.”

Joel exhaled through his nose like it physically hurt him to keep control. He leaned forward, nuzzled his face into your chest. His scruff scratched your skin, made your stomach clench.

“You’re tryin’ to kill me.”

You pulled your shirt off without answering. He groaned when you were bare in front of him.

“Get on the bed,” you whispered.

Joel did. Leaned back on his elbows as you climbed into his lap, straddling him, letting your thighs spread around his hips. You reached between your bodies, raked your nails softly down his chest, then lower—palming the length of him over his boxers. He was already hard. Of course he was.

You watched his jaw tighten as you touched him. Slid your hand beneath the waistband, freed him slow. His cock was flushed, thick, heavy in your hand. You licked your lips. Joel’s breath caught.

“Don’t fuckin’ tease me,” he said. “You know what you do to me.”

You leaned in close. “Then make me stop.”

His hands flew to your hips. He flipped you—smooth, fast, practiced—until your back hit the mattress and he was over you. Heavy. Solid. Dangerous.

“You got a smart mouth, sweetheart,” he said. “Know that?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe I oughta shut you up.”

“Maybe you should try.”

He kissed you hard.

You don’t remember when your shorts came off. Just that they were gone and Joel’s fingers were between your legs again, stroking through your folds like he already knew exactly what would make you whimper.

“Still wet,” he rasped. “You come into my bed like this?”

You nodded.

He shoved two fingers inside you in one smooth thrust. You gasped—back arching, walls clenching, hands gripping the sheets.

“Fuck,” he growled. “So fuckin’ tight. You missed me, baby?”

“Yes—yes, Joel—please—”

He pulled out slowly. Watched your cunt twitch around nothing. Then he lowered himself between your thighs.

“I told you I wasn’t done tasting you,” he said.

And then his mouth was on you. Joel had your legs pinned open with his hands wrapped tight around your thighs, your hips pulled to the edge of the mattress, and his mouth already back on your pussy like he’d missed it. And you realized quick—he wasn’t going slow tonight. He wasn’t soft. He was starving.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he groaned into you, tongue parting your folds, mouth wet and messy. “I could eat this pussy every night. Every goddamn day.”

You gasped—already shaking, already too sensitive from his fingers. But he didn’t care. He licked through your slit, dragged his tongue flat and slow from your entrance to your clit, then sucked hard.

You cried out, hips jerking. “Joel—!”

“Don’t run,” he rasped, tightening his grip. “Don’t you fuckin’ run from me.”

His mouth latched onto your clit and stayed there. Tongue flicking fast, lips sucking firm, his beard rough on your thighs—just enough to burn.

You whimpered, hands flying to his hair. He let you pull, let you shake, let you grind into his face. He wanted it. All of it.

“Goddamn, you taste good,” he growled, breath hot against you. “You know that? Know how sweet you are, drippin’ like this? Soakin’ the sheets for me like a fuckin’ dream.”

Your head hit the pillow.

“Tell me,” he said, fingers digging into your hips. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“S-so good—Joel, I—fuck, it’s—”

“That’s right. That’s my girl,” he groaned, dragging his tongue in slow, torturous circles. “Gonna come for me, baby? Gonna let me taste it?”

You nodded frantically, eyes rolling back. “Yes—yes, I’m close, please—”

He moaned into your pussy, deep and rough and wrecked.

“That’s it. That’s what I want. Wanna feel you come on my fuckin’ tongue. Wanna hear you cry for it.”

You did. You cried out, thighs clamping around his head, whole body shuddering as your orgasm hit you like a wave. He held you through it—licked you through it—groaned like you were feeding him life itself.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered. “You hear me? Perfect. This pussy’s mine now. Mine.”

You were still twitching when he pulled back, lips swollen, beard soaked, eyes dark with something dangerous. Then he kissed the inside of your thigh. Once. Soft.

“You’re not ready for what I’m gonna do to you next.”

You were still gasping when he kissed your inner thigh.

Still shaking when he rose onto his knees and looked down at you like he’d never seen anything so fucking good in his life. Joel’s beard was soaked with you. His lips were red and swollen, his chest rising and falling heavy. His hands were still on your legs, holding them open, keeping you bare for him like you were something he earned.

“You good?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded. Your voice didn’t work yet.

Joel exhaled through his nose. Then:

“Because I’m not done.”

Your stomach flipped. He moved slow—like a man taking his time unwrapping a gift he’d waited years to touch. He crawled up your body, licking and kissing and dragging his scruff over your ribs, your breasts, your collarbone. You arched into him, hands threading through his hair, your body already begging for more.

“Still want me, baby?” he rasped into your neck.

“God—yes—”

“Need to hear it. Say it like you mean it.”

You looked up at him. Eyes wide. Voice shaking.

“I want you, Joel. I want you so bad.”

He growled—low and deep, like it tore straight through his chest—and pressed his cock against your soaked folds.

“You’re gonna get me,” he muttered. “Every inch.”

He reached between your bodies, lined himself up, and dragged the thick head of his cock through your slick—teasing you, smearing your wetness over his tip.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “You feel this? How wet you are for me?”

You whimpered. “Please—put it in—”

“Not yet.”

He smirked. Cruel. “You sure you can take it?”

“Yes—fuck—Joel, please—”

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear.

“Beg for it.”

“Beg,” Joel whispered again. His lips were at your ear, his cock pressed thick and hard against your entrance, but not inside—not yet. His hand gripped your thigh, thumb rubbing slow circles into your skin like he wasn’t already seconds from breaking you.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured. “You wanted to act all grown back then? Show me now. Show me how bad you need it.”

You swallowed. Chest heaving.

“Please, Joel.”

“Not good enough.”

You reached down and wrapped your hand around him—hot, thick, twitching in your grip—and guided him to your entrance yourself.

“I need you,” you breathed. “I need you so fucking bad, I can’t think. I’ve been waiting for this. Begging inside. Since the second you walked in that door.”

Joel froze. Then he thrust in. One smooth, filthy stroke—slow, deep, so deep, and your mouth fell open in a silent gasp. Your body stretched around him, impossibly tight, impossibly full, the stretch burning and perfect all at once.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel gritted out, voice breaking. “So fuckin’ tight. You feel that?”

You nodded, breathless.

He didn’t move yet. Just stayed there, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to yours.

“I can’t—” he whispered. “I can’t go slow.”

“Then don’t.”

Joel let out a growl—feral, wrecked—and pulled back before slamming back into you so hard your breath caught.

You cried out. Your nails dug into his back. He started moving. Rough, deep, steady thrusts that pushed you up the bed inch by inch, his hands on your hips to keep you where he wanted you.

“This what you wanted?” he panted. “Daddy’s friend to ruin you?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “Yes—fuck—just like that—”

He fucked you like he was trying to carve it into your spine. Like he wanted your body to remember him even if you never saw each other again.

“Thought about this every fuckin’ night,” he groaned. “Touchin’ myself to the thought of you on your knees, on your back, ridin’ me—fuck.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist. You pulled him closer, begged him deeper, and he gave it to you—all of it.

“You’re takin’ me so well,” he said, voice dark. “So fuckin’ greedy for it. This pussy’s mine now, you understand me?”

You nodded. You couldn’t even speak.

“Say it.”

“Yours,” you whimpered. “Joel—it’s yours—”

“Damn right it is.”

He slammed into you harder.

“Turn over.”

His voice was low. Flat. A command, not a request. You blinked up at him, still dazed, your body shaking under the weight of everything he’d already done to you.

“Joel—”

“Face down. Ass up.” His hand wrapped around your hip. “Now.”

You obeyed. Your limbs were slow, heavy, fucked-out, but you flipped onto your stomach, pushing up onto your elbows. You felt the air hit your wet skin, your thighs slick, your cunt leaking for him—and you felt him behind you, shifting up onto his knees.

“Look at you,” he rasped. “Just beggin’ for it.

He grabbed your hips and yanked you back onto him.

You gasped—loud, broken—as he filled you again from behind. Deeper, somehow. Angled to hit something inside you that made your toes curl and your jaw drop.

“Fuck—Joel—oh my god—”

He didn’t give you a second to adjust. Just started thrusting. Harder now. Rougher. His grip on your hips bruising. The sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, filthy and wet and constant.

“You were made for this,” he growled. “You hear me?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—”

“Say it. Tell me this pussy was made for me.”

You were already crying, but it wasn’t sad—it was too much. Too deep, too good, too intense.

“It’s yours,” you sobbed. “Joel, it’s yours, I swear—fuck—”

He leaned over your back, one hand sliding up your spine to the base of your neck. Then he grabbed your hair. Gentle but firm. And pulled. You gasped as your head tilted back—and he kept fucking you, right through it.

“Look at me,” he ordered, twisting your head just enough so your cheek pressed into the mattress, eyes catching his in the mirror across the room.

You hadn’t even realized it was there.

“You see that?” he panted. “You watch me fuckin’ you like this. You see what you do to me?”

You moaned, clenching around him. “I see it—I feel it, Joel—don’t stop—”

“Oh, I’m not stoppin’.” His voice dropped even lower. “Not until I’ve filled you up. Not until you know you’re mine. Not until you come one more fuckin’ time.”

You whimpered.

He let go of your hair, slid his hand under you to rub your clit while he slammed into you from behind, every thrust sending you forward, your cries getting louder, messier.

“I’m gonna come—Joel—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growled. “Soak me. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.”

And you did. You came hard—full body, voice gone, hands gripping the sheets as your pussy clenched around him, milking him through it. Joel cursed loud, deep, broken. Your orgasm hit you like a wave crashing through every nerve—your body seized, thighs trembling, walls clenching hard around him. You screamed into the pillow, shaking as pleasure ripped through you, too big, too much— And Joel didn’t stop. He groaned—long, rough—but held himself back, jaw clenched like he was in pain. His thrusts slowed, not because he was tired, but because he was trying to hold on.

“Fuck—shit, baby—” his voice was wrecked. “You’re squeezin’ me so tight—fuckin’ beggin’ me to come—but I’m not done.”

You whimpered, twitching, still pulsing around him.

“No,” he growled. “You don’t come once and get off easy.”

He pulled out. You let out a weak, needy cry—your whole body aching from the loss—but Joel didn’t go far. He gripped your hip and flipped you back onto your back, sliding down your body, mouth pressed to your thigh again.

“Wanna taste you like this,” he murmured. “Wanna feel how sweet you get after I’ve fucked you open.”

You could barely breathe. He buried his face between your legs again—and this time, his tongue worked slow. No teasing. Just deep, soft licks, a finger pressing back into your soaked, fluttering entrance while he moaned against your clit like you were his favorite fucking dessert.

“You feel that?” he muttered, voice thick. “That mess? All mine. You’re fuckin’ ruined for anyone else now.”

You were sobbing—sensitive, overstimulated, panting as he licked you through another orgasm so slow it almost hurt. When he slid back up, his mouth was wet and his cock was throbbing. But he didn’t let himself come. Not yet.

“You ready to come one more time?” he asked, lining himself back up.

“Joel—fuck, I don’t—"

“You do,” he whispered. “You’re gonna take it. Gonna let me fuck it outta you. Let me fill you up.”

He started again—deep strokes this time, slower, heavier, grinding against your sweet spot as his thumb worked your clit. And you came again. Tears in your eyes. Nails in his back. Legs shaking like you’d collapse if he let you go. That’s when he gave in.

“Fuck, fuck—that’s it—that’s my fuckin’ girl—”

He pushed in deep, one final time, and groaned into your mouth as he finally came, hot and hard, hips twitching, cock pulsing deep inside you.

This time he didn’t move.

Just stayed there. Breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You were still shaking. Your legs didn’t feel like they belonged to you. Your mouth was dry. Your skin slick with sweat and Joel’s breath still warm against your collarbone. He hadn’t pulled out. He didn’t move. His arm wrapped around your waist, the other under your neck. Protective. Possessive. Like if anyone opened that door, they’d have to go through him to get to you. Neither of you spoke for a long time.

Just breathing. Soft. Quiet. The only sound in the dark was the wind in the trees and the slow, steady beat of Joel’s heart against your shoulder. Then—

“That mouth of yours,” he muttered. Voice low. Wrecked. “Gonna be the end of me.”

You smiled faintly. Couldn’t quite look at him.

“Didn’t seem to mind it earlier.”

His nose brushed your jaw. “Didn’t say I minded. Just said it’s dangerous.”

“You’re dangerous.”

He hummed.

“Guess we’re both fucked, then.”

You turned your head toward him. His eyes were already on you. Heavy-lidded. Dark in the moonlight.

“Do you regret it?” you asked. Quiet.

Joel’s fingers traced a slow line down your spine. Thoughtful.

“No.”

A pause.

“Scares the hell outta me,” he admitted. “But I don’t regret it.”

Your chest ached. You let yourself curl in closer. Just a little.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t let go.

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nilla03 · 5 months ago

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“𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒄𝒓𝒚“

��𝑙𝑜𝑡： 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑛𝑜𝑤－ 𝑒𝑥 𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑑𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑘 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑗𝑚𝑒－ 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒．．

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠： 𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑑 𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑖！，𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇！

The rain was coming down hard, pattering against the windshield as you sat motionless in the passenger seat, your hands clenched in your lap. Your boyfriend-no, ex-boyfriend-was gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, his jaw tight, his whole demeanor that of a man who knew he had royally screwed up but was too proud to admit it.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he muttered, his voice sharp with frustration.

"Yeah, I did it. So what? You're acting like I didn't have a reason."

Your stomach dropped. The words felt like a slap.

You had spent years trying to be the perfect girlfriend-soft-spoken, patient, always dressing pretty for him, always shrinking yourself when his ego needed the space. And for what?

Tears stung at your eyes, but you swallowed them down. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Instead, you reached for the door handle, your hands shaking as you stepped out into the downpour.

"Where the hell are you going?" he called after you.

You didn't answer. You slammed the door shut and stormed off down the street, ignoring the way the rain drenched your dress, how your sandals slapped against the pavement. You didn't have a plan, didn't know where you were going-until you did.

It was a place you had been many times before, for holidays, for casual visits. Kento Nanami had always been kind to you-reserved i, yes, but never cold. He had a quiet

strength, an aura of authority that made you feel small in the best way. And right now, you needed that. You needed someone who wouldn't belittle you, someone who wouldn't make you feel like you were crazy for expecting loyalty.

You hesitated before knocking on the door, your fingers hovering over the wood. Before you could second-guess yourself, the door opened.

Nanami stood there in sweatpants and a fitted black button up, his hair slightly tousled, glasses perched on his nose. His expression shifted from surprise to concern as he took in your soaked appearance.

(ღ)? His voice was deep, steady, familiar.

"What happened?"

You couldn't answer. The moment he spoke your name, the weight of everything crashed down on you. A single sob slipped from your lips before you could stop it, and then his hand was at your lower back, guiding you inside, shutting the door behind you.

He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around your shoulders before crouching in front of you. His large hands settled on your knees, grounding you, his gaze searching yours. "Tell me what happened."

Your lip trembled. "He-" You choked on the word. "He cheated on me."

Something flickered behind Nanami's eyes— something restrained. His grip on your knees tightened for a moment before he exhaled, slow and controlled.

You hated how small your voice sounded when you spoke next. "I don't know why I came here."

"I do." His voice was steady, unwavering. He reached up, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. "You needed someone who wouldn't hurt you."

Your breath caught in your throat. The way he was looking at you-like he had always seen you, like you weren't just his son's girlfriend, like you were something more-made your stomach flutter.

You should have felt guilty.

But you didn't.

Not when his fingers trailed down your jaw, not when his thumb traced your bottom lip.

"Nanami..." you whispered.

He sighed, his hands sliding to cup your face fully. "You deserve better, sweetheart."

The pet name sent a shiver down your spine.

Your lips parted, and that was all the invitation he needed.

His mouth was on yours, slow at first-like he was giving you the chance to stop this. But you didn't want to stop. You melted against him, hands fisting in his shirt as you deepened the kiss, pressing closer, seeking more.

Nanami growled against your lips, standing up to his full height, his hands guiding you with him. His grip was firm, possessive, one hand splaying against the small of your back, pulling you flush against his broad chest.

"You were wasted on him," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "He never deserved you."

You whimpered as he tilted your chin up, his lips ghosting down your jaw, down your throat.

His touch was sure, confident-so different from the clumsy, selfish way his son had ever handled you.

Nanami's hands were warm-commanding as they gripped your waist, as they pulled you even closer until you could feel the hard press of his body against yours. His lips dragged down your throat, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the way you shivered beneath him.

"You're trembling," he murmured, his deep voice sending a wave of heat through you. His fingers dipped beneath the damp fabric of your dress, tracing up your thighs, spreading goosebumps in their wake. "Is it the cold?" His lips pressed just beneath your jaw. "Or is it me?"

You exhaled shakily, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. "You."

A satisfied hum rumbled from his chest. His hands wandered higher, skimming up your sides, his thumbs brushing dangerously close to your breasts before sliding back down. It was torturous-the way he touched you with purpose, with restraint, like he wanted to take his time unraveling you.

"Such a pretty thing," he mused, eyes hooded as he took you in, the way your dress clung to your curves, the way the fabric was still damp, outlining every soft line of your body. "And he had the audacity to betray you?" His hands tightened on your waist, the muscle in his jaw flexing. "Foolish boy."

You barely had time to process his words before he was lifting you-effortlessly, like you weighed nothing-carrying you deeper into the house. His bedroom was dimly lit, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. He placed you on the edge of the bed, standing between your parted thighs, his large hands bracketing your hips.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip. "You want this?"

Your breath hitched. "Yes."

His mouth was on yours again, but this time it was different-hotter, hungrier, more desperate. His tongue swept against yours, claiming you, stealing the last remnants of hesitation. You gasped into the kiss as he pushed you back onto the bed, his weight settling over you.

He tugged at the hem of your dress, peeling it off of you, his gaze darkening as he took in the sight of your lacey pink lingerie. A smirk ghosted his lips. "Of course you wear something this pretty underneath." His fingers traced the delicate fabric, teasing, his touch featherlight but devastating. "You're a good girl, aren't you?"

You nodded.

Nanami chuckled, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "Let's see how good you can be for me."

Nanami's hands roamed over your body, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of you. His fingers traced over the lace of your bra, teasing, before slipping beneath the straps, dragging them down your shoulders.

"So soft," he murmured, his lips brushing along your collarbone, leaving a warm trail down to the swell of your breasts. His movements were controlled, but you could feel the tension in his body, the way his breathing had deepened, the way his hands gripped you just a little tighter.

You gasped when his lips closed over your nipple through the thin fabric, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before his teeth grazed it lightly. Your back arched into him, a needy whimper slipping past your lips.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" His voice was laced with amusement as he pulled back slightly, watching the way you squirmed beneath him.

His hands skimmed down your sides, settling on your hips. "bet he never took his time with you."

Your stomach clenched at his words, at the way he looked at you-like you were something to be cherished, something to be worshiped.

"No," you admitted breathlessly, your fingers tangling in his hair.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down slowly. "Then let me show you what it's like to be properly taken care of."

His lips followed the path his hands had taken, pressing kisses down your stomach, over the curve of your hip. His pace was torturous— teasing, deliberate. When he finally reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, his hot breath fanning against your bare skin.

"Keep your legs open for me," he instructed, his voice smooth, firm.

Your cheeks burned at the command, but you obeyed, parting your thighs wider, exposing yourself to his gaze.

"Good girl," he praised, and before you could even process the words, his mouth was on you.

A sharp gasp left your lips as his tongue flicked over your most sensitive spot, slow and purposeful. He took his time, alternating between soft, teasing strokes and deep, languid movements that had you gripping the sheets, your thighs trembling.

Nanami held you firmly in place, his large hands pressing into your hips as he worked you over with expert precision, unraveling you with every flick of his tongue.

"Nanami-" You moaned, your hands fisting in his hair, your body arching into his touch.

He groaned against you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you. "Kento," he corrected, his voice husky.

"Say it."

Your mind was spinning, pleasure consuming every thought, but you obeyed. "K-Kento-"

"That's it," he murmured, pressing a kiss against your inner thigh before returning his attention to your clit, his pace increasing, sending you hurtling toward the edge.

Your legs shook as your lower belly finally snapped, a strangled cry escaping your lips as pleasure crashed over you in waves. Nanami didn't stop, didn't let up, working you through every aftershock until you were left trembling beneath him.

He finally pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze heavy-lidded as he took in your wrecked state. "Beautiful."

Before you could catch your breath, he was unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the sculpted lines of his chest. Your eyes trailed down, drinking in the sight of him-the broad shoulders, the defined muscles, the way his sweatpants hung low on his hips, barely concealing the obvious evidence of his arousal.

His hand slipped between your thighs, fingers gliding through your slick cunt. A low groan rumbled from his chest. "So wet for me already," he mused, dipping a finger inside you, watching the way your body tensed, your lips parting in a shaky gasp. "Did he ever make you this wet?"

You shook your head, breathless. "No."

Nanami smirked, pressing his thumb against your sensitive bud, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. "Of course he didn't. He never knew what he had."

You barely had time to process his words before he was positioning himself between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open for him. His length was thick and heavy, the tip pressing against your entrance, teasing.

Your breath hitched. He was big.

He must have noticed the way your eyes widened, the way your body tensed beneath him, because he reached up, cupping your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek. "Relax," he murmured, his voice soothing but firm. "'ll take care of you."

Slowly, he pushed inside, stretching you inch by inch, his grip on your hips tightening as he fought to keep himself controlled.

A deep groan slipped past his lips as he filled you, his head dropping to your shoulder.

"Fuck," he growled, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel even better than I imagined."

You whimpered, your nails digging into his back as he pressed deeper, until he was fully seated inside you, stretching you in a way that was overwhelming

His thrusts were slow at first, deep and deliberate, his hips rolling against yours with practiced precision. The pleasure built steadily, every drag of his length against your walls sending jolts of heat through your body.

"Such a good girl," he praised, his hands gripping your waist, guiding you into his rhythm. "Letting me have you like this. Letting me show you what you deserve."

Your moans grew louder, your body arching into his touch, desperate for more. Nanami groaned, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding.

"You like this, don't you?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Being fucked by a real man?"

You nodded frantically, too lost in the pleasure to form words.

he chuckled darkly, gripping your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "Say my name."

"K-Kento," you gasped, the sound of it making his eyes darken with something primal.

He groaned, his hand slipping down to press against your lower stomach, feeling himself inside you. "You're taking me so well," he muttered, his voice rough, wrecked. "So tight. So perfect."

You could feel yourself unraveling, the pressure in your core building with every deep thrust, every filthy praise that spilled from his lips.

"Cum for me," he ordered, his fingers rubbing tight circles against your sensitive bud, his thrusts growing erratic. "Let me feel you."

A cry tore from your lips as pleasure crashed over you, your body tightening around him, your nails raking down his back.

Nanami groaned, his pace stuttering before he buried himself deep inside you, a low, guttural moan escaping him as he spilled into you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies tangled, your breaths heavy. Then, Nanami leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his hands still cradling your face, still holding you close.

“𝐴𝑚 𝑖 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑜𝑓．．？“

#nanami x y/n #namami kento #nanami oneshot #nanami x you #jjk nanami #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu nanami

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effetsecndaires · 4 months ago

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— 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥!

➺ PAIRING | gyutaro shabana x fem!reader.

➺ CONTENT WARNING | a little suggestive towards the end. 0,9k words not proofread

➺ NOTE | happy valentine's day to those who don't celebrate 🧚🏻‍♀️ I wanted this to be a janitor bot at first but I didn't want to 'waste' the idea on a bot :') I'm gonna be honest with y'all, the last few months have been pretty rough. I hate everything I write, and it's only getting worse with time. Im not sure if i'll ever get out of that state of mind at this point but oh well, haha. it is what it is I guesssss

Gyutaro had never cared about Valentine's Day before he met you.

Now, he’s pretty sure it’s his favorite day of the year. Not because he likes the holiday itself—no, he still thinks it’s ridiculous how people cling to shallow gestures and empty words, acting as if love only matters once a year when it’s wrapped in ribbons and chocolate. But you? You made it different. You made it...meaningful.

This year you had insisted on celebrating properly, saying something about making up for all the years he never got to experience love. Gyutaro had scoffed at the idea, grumbled about how pointless it was. But deep down, a part of him—one he barely admitted to himself—had been looking forward to it for weeks.

So now here he is; laying on your futon, watching as you carefully set up a tray with all the things you’ve prepared for him. Handmade chocolates, a cup of warm tea, and a tiny wrapped gift.

“You’re spoiling me too much, y'know,” he murmurs, scratching absently at his arm. His nails dig a little too hard into his skin but he barely notices. A small, barely noticeable smirk creeps onto his lips as he tilts his head at you. “Aren’t you worried I’ll start expecting this every year?”

“Maybe that’s my plan,” you tease back, kneeling beside him. Before he can respond, you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips, the tender gesture making him freeze.

God. Why'd you have to be so goddamn perfect? He hates it. Hates how easily you manage to drive him crazy with the simplest touch, how badly he wants more, how he's already fighting his own body so that he doesn't pounce on you and take your right here and there on this futon before you even have the chance to go through with the date. He’s pathetic, isn’t he? The thought makes him dig his nails a little deeper into his palm — but before it can get to the point of drawing blood your hand is on his wrist, gentle as always, guiding his fingers away from his skin.

“Hey. None of that, baby.” you interrupt his train of thoughts, bringing his knuckles to your lips. “No self-loathing allowed on Valentine's day, 'kay?"

Gyutaro immediately looks away and huffs, heat quickly creeping up his neck. Fuck, he loves you. He loves you so fucking much his throat tightens with the need to scream it on top of the roofs. He's not sure why the universe suddenly decided to bless him with a love like yours, but, hell. He isn't about to take it for granted.

With a slightly trembling hand, he plucks one of the chocolates from the tray in front of him and pops it into his mouth, desperately needing to shift the focus off himself.

“You made those yourself? Eh, they're not bad, I guess..." he teases, letting out a quiet hum of approval.

“Not bad?” you gasp. “I spent all evening making these, and all you’ve got for me is ‘not bad’?”

Gyutaro grins, watching the way your lips purse in mock indignation. The way you tease him so effortlessly, like he’s just a guy and not the ugly loser he knows himself to be — it makes something warm stir inside him, his dick hardening and twitching traitorously in his pants. But he ignores it, not wanting to out himself as a complete creep to the girl he loves. Instead, he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly delicate. His fingers brush against your cheek, feeling the heat of your skin beneath them.

“Yeah, alright, fine..." he rolls his eyes playfully. “They’re perfect. Just like you.”

Your eyes widen for a moment, your lips parting and closing again in shock. Then you let out a laugh, tilting your head to press a kiss to the heel of his palm. “Mhm, that’s better.”

“Hey, don’t get all cocky with me now,” His smirk widens, fingers intertwining with yours. “It’s not every day I hand out compliments, y’know. Don't get used to it.”

You squeeze his hand, your fingers tracing idle patterns against his skin. “Well, I guess that just makes them even more special, then.”

Gyutaro doesn’t argue. The truth is, he'll probably shower you with compliments every day after that. He knows it, and he knows you do too.

His heart beats an unsteady rhythm against his ribs, but he finds he doesn’t mind. He likes this. Likes you.

When you shift closer and tug him into your arms, Gyutaro doesn't resist. He lets you guide his head to rest against your chest and exhales a long breath, his entire body relaxing when your fingers start threading through his messy, tangled hair.

A long silence settles between you then, but it isn’t uncomfortable. He tightens his grip on you, letting his fingers curl into the fabric of your clothes as if that will somehow ground him.

Gyutaro closes his eyes, letting himself enjoy the slow, steady rise and fall of your chest as you kiss the crown of his head. For once, he doesn’t feel like a monster. He doesn’t feel like something broken. He's just... a man, held in the arms of someone who loves him. And for the first time in a long, long time, he thinks that maybe—just maybe—happiness isn’t entirely out of his reach.

#let me know if you do want a janitor bot based on this fic tho!#reader insert #x reader #x fem reader #demon slayer x reader #gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro shabana x reader #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x you #gyutaro smut #gyuutarou #gyuutarou x reader

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roosterforme · 11 months ago

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Aim for the Sky Part 14 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The guys and Nat pull through with something big for your baby shower. Bradley can't get enough of your body, and then he gets the biggest surprise of all.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, oral sex, adult language, lactation kink, pregnancy topics

Length: 6000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"I told you this would be a shitstorm," Bradley muttered quietly before taking a sip of his mimosa. Nat did her best to decorate the Hard Deck for the baby shower, and she even wore a dress for the occasion. But most of the attendees were the guys who decided to show up in essentially their gym clothes. In fact, the only one who looked halfway decent was Jake, probably because Cat told him what to wear.

"I don't mind this shitstorm," you told him, kissing his cheek as you picked up your orange juice. Jimmy was bartending since Penny was technically a shower guest, and he kept filling up your juice and making sure you were eating the snacks. Next time Bradley saw him on a regular night, he'd make sure to leave a big tip.

"What the hell?" Bradley groaned as Javy arrived and dropped another case of beer off on the gift table. "Even I know that pregnant women can't have alcohol. What in the actual hell is wrong with these people?"

You shot a glare in his direction before you stepped away to hug Javy. You had on another one of those bodycon dresses, and Bradley knew for a fact you weren't wearing any underwear. Not a single thread of it. Just that sexy, stretchy pink dress squeezing your curves like he wanted to be doing. Javy's hand slid a little low on your back for his liking, and he raised one unamused eyebrow before you stepped away.

God, he was so fucking cranky today. He still maintained that Valentine's Day was stupid, because he loved you every day, all the time. Last year he took you to that weird hotel with the hot sauce vending machine, which was fun, but he didn't need a special occasion to do anything. Having Rose's shower on the holiday should have given it more meaning, but he was irritable.

He knew this day would come toward the end of your pregnancy, but last night, you fell asleep while he was going down on you. And this morning when you woke up, you didn't say a word about it. Like you'd completely forgotten. Then you put on that pink dress and made yourself look all cute for the baby shower, but he could tell you were tired. The exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks after the trip to Mexico, just when Bradley became accustomed to having sex multiple times per day. Just when you were more glowing than ever.

"Bradshaw," Jake drawled, the sound alone grating on Bradley's nerves. "Did someone piss in your mimosa?"

The stupid smirk on his face made Bradley roll his eyes. "There are two dozen people here, and I'm your best option for someone to annoy?"

Jake laughed merrily in response. "Oh, Rooster. You're always going to be my top pick. Your reactions alone are priceless. Don't tell me you've got cold feet about the baby? You can't unfuck Angel. You know that, right?"

"Jesus, you're annoying," he muttered under his breath. "It has nothing to do with that." But he kind of wanted to pout. Or get a blowjob from you. That would probably make it better. "I'm excited for the baby. Obviously."

Jake shook his head. "Then may I suggest you put a smile on your face before you upset your wife? Let her have a good day. Also, she looks hot pregnant."

"Why are you even looking at her?" he mumbled before he walked over to you. It wasn't your fault that you were exhausted and achy with delectable tits. It wasn't your fault that you fell asleep last night, even though you could have definitely held on for five more minutes so he wasn't second guessing himself now.

"Hey," he whispered, wrapping his arms around you from behind and letting his chin rest on your shoulder. "Having fun?" he asked as the final few guests arrived. Another case of beer and a bottle of champagne ended up with the rest of the gifts when Reuben walked in. "What is wrong with these men?"

Your laughter was light as you said, "I think it's kind of charming how clueless they are. I'm not sure why we even bothered to make a gift registry. Also, can you just tell me why you're pouting, Roo?"

He shrugged against your back as he ran his palm slowly up and down your belly, hoping to feel the Nugget kick. She seemed to be running out of room in there at this point, and the kicks were harder to feel. And maybe that was part of it, too. He was used to not only your horny ass on him 24/7, but he was used to his daughter greeting him when he talked to her.

"Does this have anything to do with me falling asleep while you were giving me head?"

Bradley's eyes went wide. "Sweetheart, do you really have to announce it to the whole place? If it wasn't any good, then it wasn't any good, but you know I'll try to make it up to you later."

"Stop it," you said with another laugh as you turned to face him. You were too beautiful. All he wanted to do was make you happy. "I've been trying to think of a way to make it up to you."

"I wasn't even sure you remembered falling asleep like that," he whispered.

You ran our hand down along his cheek as your belly bumped against his abs. "I'm sorry, Bradley. I couldn't stay awake for another second last night. Rose is requiring a lot more sleep now. I think we need to mess around earlier in the day. Oh! Maybe we can mess around in one of the Broncos this afternoon! You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," he replied, unable to keep a smile from his lips. "I'd like that."

You kissed his lips softly and ran your thumb along his mustache, leaving him wanting more. "As soon as this shitshow is over, I'm all yours."

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

"Thanks," you told Reuben as you patted the case of beer he bought for you. "So thoughtful."

"Oh, there's a gift card taped on the side, too," he told you with a smile. And sure enough, when you turned it around to look, you found it. A gift card to the liquor mart in Coronado.

"Thank you so much," you told him with a smile as you tried to figure out why everyone brought so much alcohol. "Just out of curiosity, why do you think I need this much beer and fifty dollars worth of booze?"

The guys all burst out laughing. "Because you have to live with Rooster!" Javy shouted, earning a swift middle finger from your husband. Then you started laughing, and even Nat, who looked fed up with all of them, had to hide her smile.

"We were wondering when you were going to ask," Jake said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out another gift card. "This is from us. For real this time. Congratulations."

He placed it in your hand, and tears filled your vision. Javy, Mickey, Reuben and Jake had all scribbled their names on the paper envelope, and someone had written Bob's on there even though he was still deployed. "It's for Amazon, for a thousand dollars," you whispered, afraid you were going to start actively crying.

"We heard diapers are expensive," Reuben said as he shoved chips and spinach dip into his mouth.

"We heard babies are expensive," Javy added.

"Babies are definitely expensive," Cat called out from the other side of the bar.

Bradley wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and you buried your face in his chest as he said, "I'm not going to apologize for flipping you off, because I'm sure you deserved it for something, but thank you."

After a few deep breaths, inhaling the comforting scent of your husband, you looked up at everyone and said a very watery, "Thank you."

There was another card from Maria and Cam attached to a high chair, and Cat picked out a onesie that said Future Aviator. Maverick and Penny bought every bath accessory a baby could ever need, and then you were left with an enormous gift bag that Mickey was handing off with a bright smile on his face.

"You got us something else?" you asked, bewildered since he already contributed to the hefty gift card. But when you looked inside, everything was blue. Blue bibs and outfits and crib sheets. Blue everything.

"We're having a girl," Bradley told him with a furrowed brow.

"What?" Mickey asked as he turned to look at Nat. "You said they were having a boy!"

She scoffed. "I never said that."

"You said the baby's name is Ambrose!"

Nat was rubbing her temples as she looked up at the ceiling. "I said the baby's name is Rose. It's a girl."

"Ohhhh. That's why we got Rooster a box of pink cigars," Mickey said, nodding as if that made sense as he handed you a gift receipt.

"You just ruined the last surprise," Javy complained, hitting Mickey on the back of the head with a cigar box before giving it to Bradley. "Save some of those for next time we go golfing."

You watched your husband hug everyone in turn as he held onto the cigars and the gift card. And you didn't even mind that you'd probably need to exchange most of the stuff Mickey picked out. Everything was actually pretty perfect. It was chaotic, for sure. The guys ate all of the elaborate hors d'oeuvres that Nat picked out like it was a bag of Doritos, and you started crying again when Cam and Maria kissed your cheeks at the same time. But nothing prepared you for what Natasha said when you and Bradley insisted on helping her clean up at the end.

"I didn't really get anything for Rose, because I don't know what she likes yet. But I wanted to make everything easier for you both, so expect a ton of diapers and wipes to be delivered to your house this week." She pulled two wrapped boxes out from behind the bar as she said, "And these are for you."

"Nat," Bradley said, trying to push the boxes away. "You weren't supposed to get us anything at all. You threw us a fucking baby shower! It's too much!"

You watched her press her lips together for a few seconds before she whispered, "You're my best friend, Soul Sister. I never imagined I would ever see you as happy as you are now. Just take the fucking gifts. They're personalized, so I can't return them."

Bradley gave your hip a little squeeze before handing you the boxes, and then he pulled Nat in for a hug which lasted all of three seconds before she shook her head. "God, you're the worst. Just open them," she muttered, trying to pretend like she wasn't crying.

Your emotions were all over the place. You were happy and excited and horny and everything all at once. And you loved Natasha, but you weren't expecting her to pick out something so simple yet so perfectly beautiful. You unwrapped your box while Bradley opened his, and then you were both holding up luxuriously fluffy white cotton robes. Across the back of yours was stitched Rose's Mom in beautiful rose colored thread, and there was a rose embroidered on the front in the same color. Bradley's was the same but larger with Rose's Dad on the back. You slipped it on over your pink dress and did a little spin.

"This is beautiful," you whispered while Bradley put his on as well.

When you hugged her, she said, "I don't want either of you looking frumpy while you're taking care of my goddaughter."

While you hadn't given extensive thought to the honorary titles, you knew she would fit the role perfectly. You smiled and nodded. "You're absolutely right."

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

"Nat would be disgusted," Bradley said with a smile as he led you out to your quiet driveway later in the afternoon. The sky was a little dark from the storm clouds moving in, but it was still light enough out that he knew he needed to be cautious. He opened the back door of the blue Bronco and helped you in, and he was careful to help you keep yourself covered as you climbed in wearing nothing but your new robe. He tightened the sash on his, holding the front closed with one hand, and he followed you in.

"Roo," you whispered with a giggle. "I can see your cock."

He closed the door behind him and let the robe fall completely open, and soon you were yanking the sash so you could see all of him. Of course he was already hard and bobbing in excitement. "I'm pretty sure she intended for these to be worn over pajamas or underwear or something."

You just shrugged and straddled his lap, and told him, "I like it this way." You kissed his cheek while he cock was nestled up against your pussy, and he groaned in pleasure. "I'm sorry I fell asleep last night. I've been thinking about this moment all day. Wanting to make it up to you."

He felt a little bad for being so frustrated earlier, and he intended to say so, but then you pulled at the sash of your own robe, and he was treated to the sight of your swollen tits. When you shifted on his lap, they swayed ever so slightly, and he made a feral sound before leaning in to taste them. "Jesus," he moaned as he ran his nose around your breast. "So fucking warm."

He sucked gently on your nipple while you played with his hair, hoping that the neighbors couldn't see through the line of trees into the Bronco. You tasted as good as you smelled, and he was salivating just knowing your milk would be coming in soon. Soft whimpers escaped you as he nibbled gently before sucking on you again, and you wiggled your hips until his tip was inside you. He slid his hands along the sides of your belly, and you gave him a little clench.

"Just a few more weeks, Daddy," you whispered, taking him deeper as he ran his tongue all over your chest. "Oh, you're such a good Daddy."

"Fuck," he growled, easing you back along the seat and hovering above you. "I thought this was gonna be sweet," he muttered, pistoning his cock into you, making your tits bounce. "But you're too hot."

You were whining his name, hands scrambling around for something to hold on to as he fucked you. "You don't have to be sweet, Roo. I like it rough."

"I know you do," he grunted kissing along your neck and palming your breast as he let you have it a little harder. "You're everything."

Eventually, like clockwork, his steady movements and whispered sentiments had you close. He let his hand cup your clit, his thumb stroking softly as he fucked you with sharp, strong strokes, and his other hand settled on your neck. You came instantly, your back arching, belly rising up to bump him.

"Bradley!" you screamed, and he glanced up to see if anyone was nearby.

"Shh, Sweetheart," he coaxed, sinking his cock into your spasming pussy over and over until he couldn't take another second. "Oh, God." He pushed himself deep and dipped his thumb between your lips to keep you quieter, and he came and came. His balls were tight as he filled you, letting your body suck everything out of him that he had to give until he was a little dizzy. "Holy hell."

Your lips and tongue worked at his thumb as you lay there beneath him placidly. He kissed your nose and the perfect curve of your cheek before sitting up with his cock still inside you. You looked beautiful with your dainty rooster tattoo and your hard nipples, and when he withdrew slowly, he ran his fingers along your most intimate parts, collecting his cum.

"I hope the robes are machine washable," you whispered as you sat up, letting his cum dribble onto the fabric as you licked at his messy fingers.

You had his cum on your lips, and your gaze was glued to his as he whispered, "Happy Valentine's Day, Baby Girl."

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

Later that week, you were climbing into bed while Bradley was adding to the Nugget Notebook. He was reading softly out loud as he wrote, and you were trying to enjoy yourself, but you didn't feel great.

"Hey, Rosie," he muttered with a smile. "Mommy's belly is looking enormous these days, and that means you'll be here soon. I don't think I've ever been this excited before. Nine months is a long time to build up this anticipation, and I'm ready to meet you. Your nursery is finished. We even had your baby shower the other day. All we're missing now is our little girl."

"That's sweet," you whispered, trying to get your stomach ache under control, but a second later, you jumped out of bed and ran for the bathroom. "Oh no," you groaned before emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Bradley was pounding across the floor right behind you, and you felt his hands on your back as you threw up even more. "What's wrong?" he asked, rubbing small circles. "What do you need me to do?"

"I don't know," you wailed, wiping sweat from your brow. "I feel awful. It started a few hours ago."

"Shit," he muttered, helping you lay down on the cold, tile floor. "Why didn't you say anything before?" He got to his feet and immediately had the blood pressure cuff on you while you closed your eyes and tried to get your heart rate to calm down. "Your blood pressure is low," he whispered. "This is inconsistent. It's been on the higher side."

Your mind was swirling with information as you tried to sit up, but Bradley was already on his phone. "What are you doing?"

"Calling Dr. Morris. Just lay still, Sweetheart." He rolled a towel up and tucked it under your head while Rose squirmed.

You did as you were told, because you were suddenly so tired, you couldn't think. You started to doze on the floor as Bradley spoke with someone. You only had four more weeks to go, but you felt like this was the beginning of the end. You just wanted to get the rest of this pregnancy over with as soon as possible. As you pulled the towel over your eyes to block out the light, your head started pounding. And when Bradley checked your blood pressure a second time, you heard him sigh.

"It's a lot higher now," he told whomever was on the phone. "Yes... yes... no... okay." A few seconds later, he was laying down next to you with one strong arm wrapped around your body. He kissed your ear and whispered, "They said it could be normal for this late in your pregnancy. The last month can get rough again, but we'll keep an eye on everything. If you don't feel a little bit better by the morning, I'll take you to get checked out."

You swallowed hard. "But you're supposed to be teaching tomorrow. Remember?"

He wanted to try his hand at flight instruction. He'd been talking about it for months. There would be fewer deployments if he thought it was a good fit for him, and Maverick was giving him the opportunity fill in on occasion now for an opening in the future.

"I don't care about that," he replied easily. "Let me get you girls back in bed."

Eventually you fell asleep while he rubbed your back. You could make it a few more weeks. Probably.

You felt a tiny bit better as the days wore on, but you were exhausted and achy. Your feet started to get puffy and swollen, and you could barely make it through a day at work.

"Are you almost ready to come out?" you asked your own belly in early March.

But Bradley shook his head and got down in his knees in the middle of cooking dinner. "Absolutely not," he whispered. "You stay in there as long as you can, Rosie." He looked up at you with wide, brown eyes. "We're all doing great. Preeclampsia is under control again. You look incredible. I'm holding down the fort. That Nugget needs to stay put."

"I'm so tired," you whined. "My mom keeps saying I need to rest now before she's born, but I can't. I can barely sleep, and I always feel like I'm on the verge of throwing up again. And I'm just so fucking tired, Bradley."

"I know," he whispered, letting his cheek rest on your enormous belly. You were handily the largest pregnant woman you'd ever seen in your life, and you swore you got bigger by the day. "I'm taking care of as much as I can so you don't have to."

You started crying. "I feel disgusting. Everything hurts. My tits feel like they're on fire. My back feels like that time I woke up hanging halfway off the bed when I was drunk after my bachelorette party. My face is broken out, and I'm hungry."

Bradley sent you to the table with a bowl of homemade soup and spent thirty minutes trying to coax you to start your maternity leave early. But what were you supposed to do with your time if you were at home? Worry about the baby? Eat until you gained another ten pounds? Get frustrated that you can't sleep?

"No," you said, shaking your head. "I like going to work. I want to go to work."

He ran his hand along his face and asked, "Are we still doing maternity pictures on Sunday?"

"Yeah," you whispered, annoyed that you had scheduled it so late in your pregnancy, but you wanted to have some photos taken while you were still pregnant for his birthday calendar. He told you ages ago that was something he'd enjoy, and at least your breasts looked pretty nice at the moment. "I need you to meet me at the beach after you're done playing golf."

"There's no way I'm going golfing, Sweetheart."

"You have to. You promised the guys you'd smoke those pink cigars with them. And you'll look adorable in the photos with your cheeks all flushed from your outing."

He rolled his eyes and grouched as he walked away. "We'll see," he mumbled. "We'll just see."

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

Bradley was sipping pink champagne from the bottle and smoking a cigar in the golf cart, and he had to admit you were right for making him come today. You were miserable now. Sometimes when he touched you, he saw you wince. The last time you and he had sex was in the backseat of the blue Bronco a month ago. He kept telling you it was okay, but you cornered him this morning when he was trying to shave around his mustache, and you gave him a blowjob.

He was still thinking about his cock sliding expertly along between your lips when Jake lit up a cigar next to him. "You're almost there old man. More responsibility than you've ever had before."

Bradley grunted in response. "I'm ready. Can't wait to meet her." He couldn't stop thinking about passing along his last name and his mom's name to a new generation. If he never met you, he was sure he'd never be at this point now, but you made everything so exciting for him. "My Nugget."

Jake smirked in response. "Feel free to call me crying a few weeks after she's born when you need a break."

"Okay. Like you're some sort of baby professional," he muttered before taking another sip of champagne. "You weren't around when Jeremiah was a newborn."

"Well, I'm around now," Jake replied with a hard edge to his voice. "And I intend to keep it that way. Been thinking about proposing."

Bradley looked him in the eye and asked, "You think she'll say yes?"

While he looked just as cocky as ever, there was something unsure in his eyes. "How could anyone say no?"

Bradley shrugged in response. "I could say no to you all day long."

"You're not a woman."

"My wife told you no as well."

Jake glared at him before laughing. "Aren't you supposed to be getting photos taken or something? We've got two more holes to finish up."

"Yeah," Bradley grunted in response, ready to get out of here and get back to you. "Javy! Let's go!"

Javy was practicing his swing while smoking his own pink cigar, and that fact that Reuben was filling in with his thirty-four handicap and chugging champagne made Bradley really miss Bob. They all wound along the pathway toward the seventeenth green. Bradley got par on both holes and handily beat the other three, and then he ended up getting changed in his Bronco to head to the beach.

He was supposed to meet you and the photographer who had made both of his dirty Baby Girl calendars at a very specific spot on a very specific beach up near Oceanside, and when he arrived, you were topless.

"Jesus," he moaned, watching you cover your tits with your hands as you spun to face him.

"You're early!" you complained as he glanced along the deserted stretch of sand.

"I don't see the issue," he told you, closing the distance until he could kiss you. His eyes drifted down to your chest as he asked, "What are you doing, Sweetheart? Dirty maternity pictures?"

The photographer snorted as you shook your head. "Don't worry about it, Roo. It's for a special project," you said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. He desperately wanted to grab at you, but the two of you weren't alone, and he didn't want to make you wince again.

"I love special projects," he whispered, a little concerned that he might get hard as you dropped your hands and took your top back from the photographer with a thank you.

Then he was subjected to two hours of photos. Two hours of being posed and prodded while sand blew in his face. Two hours of being told he was only allowed to touch you in a specific way.

"Wouldn't it be better to take photos after Rose is here?" he mused when he was finally allowed to just watch you pose alone with your hands on your belly.

"Oh, don't worry about that. We'll have another round of pictures with her, too," you informed him.

"Great."

It was one thing to enjoy pictures of you, but Bradley wasn't a very good photography subject. He got tired of smiling after about three minutes. Honestly, he'd probably smile a lot more with his tiny daughter in his arms at home instead of on the beach where the wind was kicking up.

"We're just about done," the photographer informed him, but he knew what he wanted.

"Can we get a few with the sun setting where we aren't posed at all?" he asked.

You were standing with the waves rolling up around your toes as you asked, "What did you have in mind?"

He reached for you and pulled you close, one big hand coming up to your cheek as he said, "Maybe something like this." Then he kissed you just like he always would, and his other hand found your belly. "I love you," he murmured, and you kissed him harder. Your arms were around his neck like it was your very first kiss, and he couldn't stop smiling.

He honestly forgot there was anyone else there at all until she said, "These look perfect."

He was still smiling as his forehead came to rest against yours. "Of course they do. I'm with my girls."

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

As the month of March wore on and the days grew hotter again, you were getting more uncomfortable by the hour. Your due date was fast approaching, and you felt like you lived at Dr. Morris's office now. They were constantly taking urine samples and blood samples, and when they finally sent you home on March twentieth with a cotton ball and a bandaid on your arm, you pouted at Bradley as he drove.

"Can we stop and get some ice cream?" you asked. "I was really good during my appointment."

"You were so good, Baby Girl," he crooned playfully, giving your thigh a squeeze. "I'll get you some ice cream."

He stopped at the super secret little ice cream spot near base, and you sat on a bench together with double scoop cones. Bradley's tongue was a major distraction as he licked along his strawberry and raspberry scoops, and you had to try to keep up before your treat melted everywhere.

When he kissed your cheek, his lips were cold as he said, "You're too slow," before stealing a huge lick from your scoops. "You're dripping onto your shirt."

"No, I'm not," you insisted. You hadn't felt anything dribble onto your outfit, but when you glanced down, there was a damp spot on your shirt. Your brow furrowed, wondering how that could be, and then you gasped. "Oh. Ohhh. Are my nipples leaking?" you asked softly, handing him your cone and trying to discreetly look down your shirt.

"Oh my god," he groaned loudly, ice creams forgotten as he tried to get a peek, too. "Please tell me the answer is yes."

You bit your lip as you pulled your tank top and snug sports bra away from your tender breasts, ready to moan from the pain and pleasurable sensations. "They are," you gasped. When you looked up into his brown eyes, there was ice cream dripping onto both of his hands, and his lips were parted in awe. "Do you want to go home?"

He grunted something unintelligible, and you watched him inhale the rest of his ice cream. The fact that he let you eat something so messy in his Bronco was almost unfathomable, but he buckled you in and sprinted around to the driver's side while you held your cone. His cheeks were bright red in the setting sunlight, and he drove a bit faster than he usually ever did, his knee bobbing in anticipation.

As you licked at your cone and rubbed a hand on your tender belly, you sweetly asked, "What exactly do you want to do when we get home, Roo?"

He glanced over at you several times, pupils blown wide, before he rasped, "I need to taste you."

"Bradley," you moaned, squeezing your thighs together as he pulled into the driveway. "Please. I want you to."

"Fuck," he grunted, shifting into park and running back around to get you. He tossed your cone over his shoulder onto the grass, and he didn't complain when you wrapped your sticky fingers around his neck. He hauled you inside and took a seat on the couch with his legs spread wide and his erection bobbing in his gym shorts. "Show me, please," he begged, and you started to strip off your shirt. When you peeled off your bra as well, his eyes went even wider, and he took you gently by the hips until you were straddling his waist.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, eyes darting from your face to your breasts as a small bead of your breast milk dripped from your nipple. His fingers flexed on your hips and he whimpered.

"Go ahead," you coaxed, running your fingers through his hair. You were completely mesmerized by how badly he wanted this, and when he ran his tongue along your nipple before sucking gently, you whined.

He released you with a pop as your aching belly rested against him, and the possessive look in his eyes left you breathless. You guided him closer again with your hand at the back of his head, and this time, he didn't stop. He sucked and laved, lapping up your milk and buried his face in your breasts. You were leaking from both sides now, and he didn't let a single drop go to waste. He ran his nose and his fingers through it, tasting you on his skin as well as your own.

"You're so fucking warm," he whispered reverently. "And sweet. Oh my god, Baby Girl. Oh my god." Then his flat tongue swiped out for another taste. You let him keep going, loving the feel of his mouth and mustache, almost soothing you. By the time you pulled his cock free from his shorts, his tip was bright and angry looking, and after two pumps in your hand, he came all over both of you. Your leggings and his clothing were covered, but he was still lapping at your nipples, cheeks rosy and pupils wide.

"Daddy," you whispered, pulling away as you started to feel a little overstimulated and dizzy. "That was so hot."

He sank back against the couch, looking around like he was surprised to find the mess he just made. "Oh. Fuck. I'm sorry," he whispered, chest rising and falling with each deep breath. "I'll clean you up."

But you were laughing softly. "You got so carried away."

"I know," he groaned. "Your magic tits are killing me."

You whimpered and let him help you stand, and then you took him with you to get a shower. He didn't lick them again, but his hands were right there and his eyes were hazy as he looked you up and down.

"You're obsessed. What are you going to do when I'm no longer pregnant?"

His eyes lit up. "Well, I'll be delighted. Both of my girls will be here. And it's not like I wasn't obsessed with you before you were pregnant."

"Hmm, I suppose you're right." But as you climbed into bed, completely exhausted, you smirked as Bradley wrote a few paragraphs in the Nugget Notebook. You were wearing nursing pads now, but you came up with a little plan for the following day.

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

Bradley left base a little late. He was honestly so thankful that Maverick was giving him an opportunity to help teach the newest batch of aviators to arrive at Top Gun, but it was a lot of extra work that he wasn't used to. He drove home with a folder of things he needed to take a look at, but all he could really think about was your tits. Big, round, warm, perfect.

He hadn't seen you all day, but he blushed every time he thought about how he blew his load everywhere last night. He was also a little afraid he might do it again if you let him loose on your lactating nipples. Jesus, how was he supposed to function now that he knew what you tasted like?

Anxiously, he ran his fingers through his hair. Okay, so he knew he needed it. If you were home already, he'd just ask you nicely if he could get in there before he cooked dinner. And to his delight, he saw your Bronco in the driveway when he drove down the street.

"Excellent," he muttered, trying to waddle up the walkway with a semi erect cock in his khakis. Ah, but you knew him so well. You knew he was going to be a mess all the time now. When he walked inside, you were standing there in the living room topless. He could barely see your lace panties for the size of your belly, but you were smiling as a droplet of your milk formed on your left nipple.

"Hi, Daddy," you greeted playfully, and he took two steps into the room before the look on your face changed from smiley to shocked. "Oh!" you gasped, looking down at your feet and taking a step backwards. "I think... oh my god. I think I just wet myself!"

Bradley's eyes went wide as he dropped everything he was holding. "Sweetheart. I think your water broke."

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

She's coming!!! Rosie!! I'm so damn excited! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 15

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ruewritesoccasionally · 5 months ago

Text

Tequila Temptations | Terry Richmond

pairing: terry richmond x black reader

warnings: smut (18+), power dynamics, oral (m+f receiving), teasing, light choking, overstimulation, squirting } lmk if you think i missed anything else !

summary: in a fiery clash of power and desire, they engage in a competitive battle of dominance and submission; a game no-one can win.

word count: 3.2K

a/n: ngl i kinda hate this one 😭 but take a shot for every time i wrote 'tequila' (yes the title and a/n are included) 🤭

They should have never been friends—never even been in the same circle. She didn’t know how the hell he got along with the people she loved, and Terry was convinced she was merely tolerated, not liked. Every group outing, every game night, every holiday trip—it was a cycle. They bickered. They argued. They ruined the vibe just enough for someone to sigh and say, “Can you two behave for once?”

She thought he was self-absorbed, cocky, arrogant as hell. He thought she was stuck-up, too chipper, fake as fuck. And yet—somehow—they always ended up in the same damn rooms, at the same damn events, circling each other like two predators who hadn’t decided who was prey yet.

Tonight was no different.

Terry’s place. A small gathering—good music, good drinks, a little too much tequila. The group thinned out as the night stretched on. Before long, it was just the two of them.

She could have left. Should have left. But there was something smug in the way he leaned against the counter, glass in hand, watching her like he had already won something she hadn’t figured out yet.

Terry took a slow sip of tequila, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “You know, you could go. But there’s still a lot of tequila left, and I’m not finishing it by myself.”

She crossed her arms, unimpressed. “So?”

His smirk deepened. “Unless you’d rather get home early than stoop as low as entertaining me, your greatness.”

She knew it was a trap. She should have just rolled her eyes, grabbed her bag, and left. But she didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head, eyes dark with something he couldn’t quite name yet.

“Little-known fact,” she said, stepping forward, slow and deliberate. “Tequila, aka the Devil’s Juice, will land me in one of three places.” Her voice dropped just enough to make him pay attention. “On top of someone, underneath them, or simply in jail.”

She leaned in, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. “Are you sure you’re prepared for that?”

That was when Terry knew.

Knew he was about to test fate. Knew they were both about to cross a line they’d never be able to uncross. And he had never been one to back down from a challenge.

He poured another shot, licking his lips as he met her gaze. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The tequila burned warm in her throat, but it was nothing compared to the heat crackling between them.

She sat opposite Terry, legs crossed, back straight, one arm draped over the chair like she had all the time in the world. The rest of their friends were long gone, leaving behind empty glasses, a lingering rnb playlist, and the kind of silence that made every glance feel weighted.

He rolled the dice between his fingers, smirking. “Truth or dare?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Dare.”

Terry leaned back, slow, deliberate, gaze flicking from her lips to her throat before settling on her eyes. “Take a shot without using your hands.”

A soft scoff left her lips, but she reached for the lime wedge, dragging it between her teeth before knocking the shot back, throat bobbing as the tequila slid down. She didn’t break eye contact, even as she sucked the juice from the lime, tongue flicking against the rind just to make a point.

Terry’s smirk didn’t falter, but something darkened in his gaze.

Her turn. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he said easily, licking the salt from his thumb.

A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. “Who’s the best you’ve had?”

Terry’s smirk twitched, just barely, but she caught it. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, voice dropping lower. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Her nails tapped against the glass, watching him over the rim. “You don’t have an answer or you don’t want to say it out loud?”

His chuckle was quiet, almost amused. “Cute. You think you’d make the list?”

She didn’t blink. “I think I’d top it.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, so thick it nearly swallowed the air in the room.

Terry exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he poured them both another round. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who still has all their clothes on.”

She arched a brow. “Is that your way of asking me to strip?”

He slid a deck of cards across the table. “It’s my way of saying you won’t win a single round.”

They played. Each hand was a battle, not just against the cards, but against the tension threading tighter between them. He lost first, dragging his shirt over his head like it was nothing. She refused to look—refused to give him the satisfaction—but when he sat back, flexing like it was second nature, she felt the tequila settle deep in her stomach.

Then she lost.

Terry drummed his fingers on the table, watching as she peeled off her sweater, revealing smooth, bare shoulders and the strap of a lace-trimmed bralette. His eyes dragged over her like he was committing her to memory.

Her breath hitched—barely—but he caught it.

A slow smirk curled at his lips. “Something wrong?”

She met his gaze, chin tilted. “You’re staring.”

“So are you.”

Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked. The air between them was electric, pulsing with something that wasn’t quite hostility anymore.

Terry leaned in, elbows on his knees, voice smooth as sin. “If I win the next round, you do whatever I say.”

She mirrored his movement, their faces a breath apart. “And if I win?”

His gaze flicked to her lips before dragging back up. “Then I do whatever you say.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Richmond.”

He poured another shot, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of tequila before he spoke.

“You'll love it, trust me"

The next hand played out in slow motion.

She had him cornered—a queen of hearts against his king of spades, her victory sealed before he even flipped his card. He let out a low hum, jaw flexing, before exhaling through his nose.

She tapped the table, smug. “Looks like you’re all mine.”

Terry’s gaze flicked up, slow and heavy. “That so?”

She nodded, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “And since I won, you have to do whatever I say.”

He licked his lips, the remnants of salt and tequila making his tongue drag slow. “What’s it gonna be?”

She hadn’t planned that far ahead. Maybe she expected him to call it quits, maybe she thought she’d be the one to break first, but the way he was looking at her—like he was already three moves ahead, waiting for her to catch up—had her pulse kicking up a notch.

A slow smirk lifted her lips. “Take another shot.”

Terry arched a brow but reached for the bottle anyway. He poured, the liquid sloshing slightly, before tilting the glass back. She watched the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed, the heat in her stomach curling tighter.

His glass hit the table with a soft clink. “That it?”

She rolled her eyes. “For now.”

He chuckled, deep and knowing. “Scared?”

That did it.

She slid her chair back, moving around the table until she stood in front of him. He watched her, amused, eyes dragging over her bare shoulders, the strap of her bralette slipping slightly. She leaned down, hands resting on the armrests of his chair, caging him in.

His smirk didn’t waver. “Bold move, sweetheart.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she murmured, head tilting.

Terry’s fingers twitched on the arms of the chair. “You tell me.”

She leaned in, just enough for her breath to ghost against his lips.

That was all it took.

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her waist as he pulled her down—onto his lap, against his chest, into him. A sharp gasp left her lips, but before she could think, before she could react, his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was messy, reckless, months—maybe years—of tension snapping all at once. His lips were hot and insistent, his grip firm as he held her in place. She wasn’t passive—never that—fingernails digging into his shoulders, pressing closer, daring him to give in completely.

Terry groaned, low and deep, as her teeth scraped his bottom lip. He grabbed her jaw, tilting her head just so, before deepening the kiss, tongue sweeping past her lips in a way that made her stomach tighten.

She hated him. She hated him.

So why was she still kissing him like she never wanted to stop?

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against her lips. “Admit it.”

She swallowed, heart hammering. “Admit what?”

His grip tightened. “That you want this.”

Her chin lifted defiantly, lips still wet from his. “Not if my life depended on it.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, his fingers brushing over her thigh, warm and possessive. “Liar.”

She exhaled sharply, but before she could form a retort, his lips were on hers again, stealing the words right from her mouth.

And this time?

She didn’t stop him.

The aftermath of the kiss left an electric hum in the air, their lips barely parted, still tasting each other like the heat was a living thing between them. But this wasn’t just about the kiss. It wasn’t just about the brief collision of mouths, the hard press of bodies that came before. No, this was the point of no return. Their breaths came fast, erratic, as if they both realized in the same instant what they were about to do.

There wasn’t time for careful calculations. There wasn’t room to weigh the consequences, not when every nerve in their bodies was set alight by the undeniable pull of temptation. Terry’s hands, rough and demanding, slid down her back, fingers digging into the curve of her waist, steadying her against him. Her skin burned wherever he touched her, and when his lips grazed the sensitive spot on her neck, a soft moan escaped her throat—one that she couldn’t hold back if she tried.

It was all moving too fast, but neither of them cared anymore. They were already on the edge.

Terry’s hands, large and possessive, slid behind her back, undoing the bralette and pulling it off in one swift motion, leaving her exposed to him. He took a moment to study her, eyes dark with lust, before his fingers traced the curve of her ribs, dragging his touch down to her hips. “You really think you can control this, huh?” His voice was low, husky with barely contained desire.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Maybe I don’t want to control it,” she shot back, smirking, her fingers working the button of his pants with practiced ease. “Maybe I just want to see how long you can last.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound almost menacing. “Sweetheart, I’ve been handling you this whole time.” His lips pressed against hers again, urgent, demanding. He wasn’t kissing her for pleasantries now. There was no civility, no holding back. His mouth was a declaration, a promise—I will have you, no matter what it takes.

But then, just as quickly, he stepped back, smirking at the frustration that flickered across her face. “Let’s see if you can walk,” he challenged, voice dripping with arrogance.

Her eyes flashed with defiance. “I’m not the one who needs to be carried.”

Before she could react, Terry’s hands were on her again, this time lifting her off her feet effortlessly, his grip firm around her waist. She gasped, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist as he made his way to the stairs. The tension between them thickened, both of them trying to outdo the other, but neither willing to break.

She kissed his neck, biting it lightly as he carried her up the stairs, her breath hot and unsteady. “You’re not the only one who’s in control,” she teased, but the words were heavy with lust, her hips grinding into him in an instinctive act of defiance.

Terry’s hand tightened around her waist, and he pushed her gently against the wall at the top of the stairs, his lips crashing into hers again with the force of a storm. His hands were everywhere—gripping, guiding, demanding. And still, they both played the game, each trying to push the other into submission.

The couch—where it all started—was forgotten now. They were past the point of no return. No more teasing, no more games. He flipped her onto the bed with such precision that it was clear he knew exactly what he wanted. And right now, it wasn’t her fighting for control.

It was him.

Her back hit the mattress with a satisfying thud, but she didn’t lie still for long. She tugged at his beltloops, drawing him closer, her nails raking down his body, marking him as her own. The electricity between them crackled, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

“You really think you’re in charge here?” she challenged again, her voice breathless, desperate to break him.

He smirked, hovering above her, his breath heavy on her skin. “We’ll see about that,” he growled, before leaning down to claim her mouth again.

The control—the teasing, the simmering heat—they both fought for it, one pushing the other further into the depths of desire until neither of them could hold on any longer. Terry’s mouth trailed down her neck, his hands tearing at her remaining clothes with an intensity that matched the desperation in her own touch. She moaned, but it was a challenge, a dare for him to do more.

And so, he did.

His fingers slid between her legs, pushing her further into the bed as he tested the waters, teasing her until she was trembling beneath him, her body a wreck of frustration and need. “You want me to break, don’t you?” he murmured, pressing against her with just enough pressure to make her want more.

“I want you to try,” she shot back, her voice dripping with defiance, but even she knew it was a losing battle.

She took control next, leaning over and wrapping her lips around him, giving him no room to breathe as she sucked with relentless precision. He gripped her hair, groaning at the sheer effort she was putting into it. But it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t done yet.

Even as Terry’s body trembled beneath her, she didn’t stop. She kept sucking, savouring the feeling of him twitching in her mouth, fully aware that he was drained but too prideful to pull her away. The whimper that escaped him was drowned by her steady movements, her lips drawing him closer, until the overwhelming sensation forced a breathless moan from him.

“Terry,” she murmured, licking her lips, “You really think you’ve won?”

But instead of answering, his hands found their way into her hair, tugging her head back and forcing her to meet his eyes. The smirk on his face was one of both satisfaction and challenge. “You may think you have control, sweetheart... but not for long.”

Now it was her turn. She was already gasping, her body betraying her as his mouth descended on her, devouring her with the same brutal hunger she’d just shown him.

She tried to hold it back, to control the inevitable release, but it was useless. His tongue, his lips, his hands—they had her shaking with pleasure, unable to stop the wave of her orgasm as it crashed over her. She bit her lip, struggling to keep quiet, but the obscene sound of her wetness, the gush of her squirt, only seemed to drive him harder.

“Go on, then,” he coaxed in a low, teasing tone. “Say it.”

Her legs trembled, her body on the edge of climax, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. She wouldn’t let him know just how badly she needed him, not yet. But the words that slipped from her lips—raw and unfiltered—were nothing but lies. “You’d have to fuck me better,” she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut, already surrendering to the storm building within her.

Terry flipped her over once more, making sure she was pinned beneath him, before he drove into her again, claiming her completely. She had no choice but to take it, her body a mere vessel for his pleasure and power.

She would never forget this. Neither of them would.

Terry’s grip on her tightened in response, his hands running down her body as he thrust deeper, more desperate, trying to push her past her breaking point. He knew she wasn’t ready to admit she was losing—he wasn’t ready to either. But everything was becoming harder to deny. The way they both moved, the way they fought for control—it was all leading them to the same conclusion.

But then, with a smirk tugging at her lips, she pushed further. “That all you got?” she taunted, voice dripping with defiance, daring him to prove her wrong.

Terry froze for a moment, chest rising and falling as he took in her words. She was playing with fire, pushing him with that fucking smirk of hers. “You just don’t fucking quit, do you?” he growled, his jaw clenching. He was about to give her what she wanted—only, this time, she wouldn’t get away with it.

“I’ve made myself come harder than this,” she threw out, casual as ever, eyes meeting his with a hint of challenge.

His breath caught in his throat. A fire ignited in him, something darker, possessive, and raw. “From who, huh?” he rasped, his tone dangerously calm as he leaned over her, locking her in place.

She tilted her head, smirking, maybe unaware of the danger she’d unlocked. “Or from other guys.” The words slipped out like nothing, too easy, but the second they left her mouth, she could feel the shift.

Terry’s eyes darkened. His fingers closed around her throat, not in a gentle way, but firm, enough to remind her who had the power now. “Other guys, huh?” His voice was low, threaded with menace. “Bet they didn’t fuck you like this.”

And before she could respond, his hands were on her again, dragging another orgasm out of her, harder, deeper, relentless. She gasped, trying to hold on to some shred of control, but he wasn’t giving her any space to breathe.

“Say it,” he demanded, his grip tightening as he pinned her against the bed. “Tell me who fucks you better.”

Her body trembled beneath him, overstimulated, her entire being in the grip of his power. She tried to fight it, to hold back the admission, but the words spilled from her anyway, a whisper of surrender. “You,” she gasped, breathless, barely able to get the words out. “You fuck me better.”

Terry smirked, the victory written all over his face. He wasn’t done yet, though. “That’s what I thought,” he growled, driving into her again, hard and fast, forcing her to take it, forcing her to feel every inch of him.

The rest of her words died in her throat, her body overwhelmed by him, pushed to the edge until she had nothing left to give. He didn’t let up, didn’t let her off easy. They were both drowning in the competition of who would break first, but by now, she knew—it wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

And Terry? He would make sure she never forgot who she belonged to.

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