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ilovebabyonboard · 22 days ago

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Hormones Are High

PAIRING: Bob Floyd x Pilot!Reader

CATEGORY: Fluff

SUMMARY: You show up to the squad beach day in a bikini that has no business looking that good. Bob's mid-throw when he sees you and straight-up forgets how physics works. The football hits Hangman. Bob's glasses are askew. He spends the afternoon avoiding eye contact—until you ask him to help tie the strings on your top. He nearly combusts.

WORD COUNT: 2.8K

WARNINGS: Mild sexual suggestiveness, slight jealousy, not fully proofread

The sun burned high in a cloudless sky, the kind of early summer afternoon that demanded salt-stained towels, coolers packed with beer, and the roar of jet engines swapped for the low crash of Pacific waves. The sand was hot enough to sting soles, the air thick with salt and laughter, and the squad had claimed their usual patch of beach like pirates staking territory.

They’d gone full feral hours ago. Shirtless and sun-drunk, they played an unholy mix of football and wrestling in the shallows, water flying with every dive and tackle. Laughter mingled with curses. Someone had wedged a speaker into the sand, crackling out classic rock that the ocean nearly drowned.

Bob Floyd kept to the edge.

He was part of it—laughing, throwing the occasional well-aimed spiral—but always just outside the center of gravity. That was where he felt most comfortable. The quiet observer. The guy who noticed things.

Like how Phoenix always put lime in her beer.

Or how Rooster looked toward the dunes every time before he served the ball.

Or how you were late.

He’d noticed your absence right away, and he noticed the way time stretched in its wake.

He’d just thrown the ball—clean spiral, textbook form—when it happened. Not a noise so much as a shift in pressure, like the beach collectively held its breath.

Then a wolf whistle cut through the air. Bob turned toward the dunes.

And physics just… stopped.

You were walking across the sand like something the sun had conjured—shoulders bare, hips swaying just a little, all confidence without trying. You wore a buttercream-yellow bikini that had no business looking that good. The top was small, triangle-cut, tied at the neck and back in soft, delicate bows. The fabric shimmered just slightly, catching hints of gold when you moved. The bottoms sat high on your hips, all legs and sun-warmed skin and just enough curve to short-circuit his entire nervous system. Your hair was up in a messy knot, a few strands slipping down to kiss your collarbone.

It wasn’t flashy.

It wasn’t loud.

But it was lethal.

Bob’s throat went dry.

He barely registered the football still in flight until a solid thwack broke the trance.

“Damn it, Bob!” Hangman barked, holding the ball where it had smacked into his chest. “You just tried to take me out!”

Bob blinked, startled. Heat climbed up his neck. “S-sorry. I didn’t see.”

“You didn’t see a 6’1” target five feet away?” Hangman narrowed his eyes. “What the hell were you looking at?”

Bob didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

You were laughing with Phoenix now, dropping your bag on the sand. You pulled off your sunglasses, squinting at the sea like it had personally invited you.

Bob adjusted his glasses, only to realize they were already perfectly straight. His palms were damp.

“Floyd,” Rooster muttered as he passed, following Bob’s gaze. “You’re in so much trouble.”

The game went on without him.

Bob tried to keep up—he really did—but his rhythm was off. Every time you walked by, that yellow bikini might as well have been an emergency beacon. You ran toward the water at one point, and he looked away so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. When he caught you laughing with Coyote, hand on his arm, he had to remind himself to breathe.

It wasn’t just attraction.

It was the impact of it. The unfairness.

You didn’t try to be the center of attention.

You just were.

Bob stayed near the edge of the towels, arms crossed loosely over his chest, pretending to watch Payback and Fanboy argue over the rules. But his eyes kept drifting toward the shoreline.

To you.

You and Phoenix splashed thigh-deep in the surf, holding hands like kids, laughing like you didn’t have a care in the world. Your bikini was damp now, clinging to you in ways that should’ve been illegal. Bob looked away. Then looked again. Then hated himself for it.

His pulse thudded low in his chest.

This wasn’t new. Not really.

What was new was how hard it was getting to hide it.

He wasn’t like Rooster or Hangman. He didn’t know how to throw charm like a punchline. He didn’t know how to match your fire with banter and smirks and knowing looks.

Bob didn’t flirt.

He noticed.

He noticed how you leaned a little closer when you teased Rooster. How you rolled your eyes at Hangman but still smiled when you did it. You were always brushing someone’s arm, always laughing with your whole body. Effortless. Bright. Magnetic.

But with him, it was different.

You weren’t flirty. You were… kind.

You asked if he was sleeping okay after flight rotations. You remembered which granola bars he liked. You’d once waited outside the hangar just to ask if his headset gave him a headache like yours did.

You were thoughtful. Sweet.

Safe.

And most of the time, that was fine.

But today? With you in that bikini, all sun-kissed and golden and you, it suddenly wasn’t fine anymore.

Because being the one you didn’t flirt with? That kind of stung more than being ignored.

He remembered the first time he started falling for you. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a quiet night at a diner near base. You sat across from him, hair in a loose braid, sleeves pushed up, picking fries off his plate while scrolling through the jukebox menu.

You picked Fleetwood Mac. He hadn’t even known you liked Fleetwood Mac.

Then you’d looked up, half-smiling. You’ve got this way about you? You know that?”

He didn’t remember what he said back.

But he remembered the way it made him feel. Like he mattered. Like you saw him.

He’d been falling ever since. Slow. Steady. Quiet.

Now, as you walked up from the water, skin glowing and towel draped over your shoulders, you caught his gaze from across the beach.

And you smiled.

Not the teasing, flirty kind you gave the others.

This one was small. A little shy. Maybe… unsure.

And that? That killed him.

Because deep down, he wanted something real. Messy. Honest. Loud.

Not this.

Not this quiet, hopeful thing he wasn’t even sure he was allowed to feel.

He dragged his eyes away, heart pounding. You were laughing again, the bow of your top tied just below your neck, skin glowing in the afternoon light. It was all too much.

He ran a hand through his hair and stared at the cooler, willing his heart to slow down.

It didn’t matter how far back he stood.

You still pulled him in.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of sunlight and noise. Bob stayed quiet. Distracted. He helped Fanboy re-line the goal markers with driftwood, joined a half-hearted game of paddleball with Payback and Phoenix, even offered to refill the speaker battery when it started cutting out. Anything to stay busy.

Because if he let himself stop, he knew he’d look at you again.

And he didn’t trust what his face would give away.

You didn’t chase him. You didn’t even seem fazed. You talked with Rooster, lay out on a towel with your sunglasses on, dipped back into the ocean once or twice. You looked like you belonged here. Like you were made for these days. And Bob couldn’t help but feel like an outlier again—just close enough to almost be part of it.

He caught glimpses of you, though. Of course he did.

The towel tugged low on your hips as you reached for sunscreen.

The way you arched your back slightly, fixing your hair after a swim.

The soft crease between your brows when you listened to someone speak.

All of it added up. All of it pressed down on him.

Because he didn’t want to just look anymore.

He wanted to know what it felt like to be looked at back.

It wasn’t until the sun started its descent—low and lazy in the sky, casting long shadows across the sand—that it happened.

You approached him quietly.

He was sitting on a folded beach chair near the coolers, watching a group of seabirds chase each other down the shoreline. Everyone else was packing up, gathering towels, shaking out sand. The music had finally stopped.

He heard you before he saw you. Just the soft pad of your bare feet in the sand.

Then your voice, gentle. “Hey, Bob?”

He looked up, cautious. “Yeah?”

You stood in front of him, wrapped in your towel but not fully covered. One shoulder was bare, and you shifted your weight nervously between your feet.

You hesitated, then gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, I know this is awkward, but… the tie on my top came loose and I can’t reach it. Could you…?”

Bob froze.

For a second, he honestly thought he’d misheard you. Or that this was a dream. Or a prank.

But then you turned, slowly, carefully, towel slipping down your back to reveal the small, delicate bow at the center of your shoulder blades. One of the strings dangled loose, fluttering slightly in the breeze.

“I don’t want it to fall,” you added, voice quiet now. “And I trust you.”

His heart stuttered hard enough to make his fingers twitch.

You trusted him.

He stood slowly, brushing sand off his palms, and stepped up behind you. You tilted your head forward just slightly, hands holding the towel over your chest. Bob’s fingers hovered in the air for a second before touching the strings.

Your skin was warm. Salt-slick. Soft.

He worked slowly, trying not to breathe too hard. The strings were damp and thin, hard to grip with trembling fingers. He looped them once, then again, pulling carefully—not too tight, not too loose.

His knuckles brushed the curve of your back.

You shivered.

He wasn’t sure if it was from the breeze, or him.

“There,” he said, voice lower than usual. “Got it.”

But he didn’t step back.

His hands dropped, but only barely—still hovering near the small of your back, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go. You didn’t move either. You stayed with your back to him, the towel still clutched against your front, shoulders rising and falling with the slow pull of your breath.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

The beach behind you had gone soft with dusk. The others were further down now, someone laughing loud enough to carry over the tide, but none of it felt close. It was like a bubble had formed around the two of you—quiet, warm, private.

You finally turned.

Not all the way—just enough to see him over your shoulder.

Bob’s hands dropped fully now, but he didn’t step away.

Your eyes met his, and the look on your face stopped his heart cold. It wasn’t teasing, or playful, or casual like all the other ones you'd given the guys all afternoon. This was different.

This one was curious.

Searching.

Your mouth parted slightly, like you were about to say something, but didn’t. You just looked at him. Not past him. At him.

Bob swallowed hard. His brain was screaming at him to say something, anything—but his body was stuck. He could smell the sunscreen on your skin, feel the last warmth of sun radiating off you. The space between your bodies was minimal, almost nonexistent. Close enough he could count the tiny freckles across your collarbone. Close enough he could see that your lips were just slightly sun-chapped.

Close enough that if he leaned in, just a few inches, he could kiss you.

He didn’t.

But he didn’t move away either.

You tilted your head just slightly, eyes narrowing—not suspicious, just thoughtful. Like you were trying to figure something out.

“Bob,” you said softly. Just his name.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a statement. It was something in between—like a touch.

He blinked. “Yeah?”

Your voice was quieter this time. "Wanna walk around for a second? Everyone's getting ready to head out but... I think the beach looks especially pretty right now." You smiled.

Bob swallowed hard, but nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

You smiled again—this time, a little wider. Like you’d just won something. Then you turned and started walking slowly toward the waterline, your towel still tucked under one arm, the sand soft under your feet.

Bob followed, keeping a careful pace beside you.

The beach had quieted in that early-evening way that always felt just a little like a secret. The sun had dropped low, throwing warm gold across the water, the waves calmer now, more rhythm than crash. Most of the squad was up near the cars, voices fading, laughter softer. But here? It was just you and him.

“Bob,” you called out, breaking the silence between you and Bob.

He blinked. “Yeah?”

Your voice was quieter this time. “Why were you avoiding me today?”

His heart dropped.

You weren’t smiling now. Not even a little. Just looking at him with this open, unsure expression that made his chest ache.

“I thought maybe,” you said, “I’d done something.”

Bob shook his head too fast. “No. No, you didn’t.”

“Then what was it?”

Bob opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first. Because what was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t breathe when you walked across the sand like that? That he’d spent the whole afternoon convincing himself not to fall harder than he already had?

That he wanted you to look at him the way you looked at the others—and then hated himself for wanting it?

“I just needed some space,” he said finally, voice rough. Honest. “I was trying to… keep my head on straight.”

You blinked slowly. Your gaze dropped to his mouth, then lifted again. “And did it work?”

Bob’s throat went dry. “Not even a little.”

You didn’t say anything right away.

Just walked.

Your shoulders brushed once. Neither of you apologized.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you,” Bob said after a minute, voice quiet, like he wasn’t sure if he should say it at all.

You looked over at him, smiling softly. “You didn’t ignore me. You just… didn’t look at me.”

He gave a small, guilty laugh. “That obvious, huh?”

You nudged him gently with your elbow. “You looked at everyone else. Except me. Which kinda sucks, by the way.”

Bob glanced over, brows raised. “Why?”

You slowed slightly, then stopped walking. Turned to face him. The ocean curved behind you, golden and soft.

“Because,” you said, voice teasing now but still low, “I wore the good bikini.”

Bob blinked. “Trust me. I noticed.”

You grinned at that, the kind of grin that pulled at the corners of your mouth and said I knew it. Then you looked at him a little longer, less playful now. “You looked everywhere but at me. That’s usually not a great sign.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t about you. It was... about me. Trying not to make things weird.”

You tilted your head, brows raised. “Weird how?”

Bob hesitated. “Like… I didn’t want you to think I was just staring. Or, I don’t know. Thinking things I shouldn’t.”

A pause. Then your voice went softer. “And were you?”

His heart slammed against his ribs. “Thinking things I shouldn’t?”

You nodded.

He breathed out, almost a laugh. “Yeah. All day.”

You bit your lip, smiling like you were trying not to. Then you stepped a little closer. Just enough that your shoulder brushed his again, your fingers grazing his knuckles for a second longer than necessary.

“Next time,” you said, “just look at me.”

Bob halted, breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.

You turned again, starting to walk slowly back up the shore, toward the others, the sun casting a halo of gold behind you. After a few steps, you glanced over your shoulder.

“You coming, Floyd?”

Bob stopped mid-step, his heart hammering so loud he was sure you could hear it. The sun hung low, a molten orb dipping toward the horizon, painting everything gold and amber and fire. The world narrowed until it was just you and him, the rest of the squad melting away like a distant dream.

Without thinking, without a single word, Bob reached out gently and caught your wrist. You turned to him, surprise flickering in your eyes, soft and vulnerable.

And then he leaned in.

His lips brushed yours — slow, tentative, like he was memorizing the feel of you, the taste of salt and sunscreen and something dangerously sweet.

It was brief. Gentle. A promise, not a demand.

Then Bob pulled back just a little, eyes searching yours, breath catching in his throat. He was a gentleman. He wanted to see your reaction before going any further.

You didn’t hesitate.

You closed the gap instantly, pressing your lips to his with a heat that melted away his nerves. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers threading through the damp strands of his hair.

The world tilted.

The sun blazed behind you both, casting long shadows in the sand, but all Bob could see was you. Your lips moving against his, soft and fierce, the kind of kiss that made everything else stop.

Bob groaned low in his throat, fingers tightening on your waist, pulling you flush against him.

The sand was hot beneath your feet, but neither of you noticed—only the heat building between you. Bob’s glasses now sat askew, one lens catching the dying light, but neither of you cared. You tilted your head, lips parting, breath mingling.

You caught the frame with a grin, fingers brushing over the lens and then lingering, fixing them with a delicate touch—right before your lips meet his again.

You broke the kiss just enough to murmur against his lips, voice low and playful: “You’re gonna owe me for avoiding me all day.”

Bob smiled sheepishly, his blue eyes darkening with mischief. “That’s the plan.”

Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, teasing the stubble there. “Good. Because I’m thinking of making you pay... in more ways than one.”

He laughed softly, breath warm against your mouth. “I’m counting on it.”

The sun slipped behind the horizon, casting the world in shades of fire and promise, as the two of you leaned into the coming night, the ocean whispering secrets and the heat between you ready to ignite.

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norrisradio · 4 months ago

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D.N.F (DO NOT FLIRT)

⚡︎ PAIRING: lando norris x motoGP! reader | ⚡︎ WC: 4.5K ⚡︎ GENRE: fluff, suggestive ⚡︎ RECOMMENDED LISTENING: loverboy, young friend ● best you had, don toliver ● why'd you only call me when you're high?, arctic monkeys ● west side, ariana grande ● friends, chase atlantic ● lust, kendrick lamar ● reminder, the weeknd ● bad behavior, take van ● nasty, ariana grande ⚡︎ INCOMING RADIO: had to do the "only one bed" trope... it was calling me. // not beta read!

⚡︎ SUMMARY: Lando flirts with everyone but you. It’s safer that way. You both agreed, without ever actually agreeing, that whatever is between you is worth more than a handful of mistakes.

Lando has always been a flirt. Just not with you.

It’s an unspoken rule between the two of you—born out of self-preservation, probably. Your friendship is too good to risk on late-night teasing and lingering looks. He saves that charm for grid girls and interviewers, and you keep your composure intact. No mixed signals. No blurred lines. It’s simple.

Until it isn’t.

You’ve known him forever, or at least it feels that way. Two kids chasing speed—him in a kart, you on a bike—burning through tracks with reckless abandon, collecting podiums and scraped knees in equal measure. There are entire stretches of your childhood that smell like hot asphalt and engine grease, like podium champagne neither of you were old enough to drink but celebrated with anyway.

There are memories, too, ones you don’t let yourself think about often. Late nights in hotel rooms, the hum of a city outside, his stupid socks half-kicked off at the edge of the bed while you argue about who got the better lap in free practice. Lando’s laugh, easy and unguarded, curling into the space between you like it belongs there.

Then there’s that night.

You were eighteen, both fresh off a win, high on adrenaline and whatever cheap drinks you could sneak past security. His smile was loose, drowsy, eyes a little too soft when they landed on you. You don’t remember who moved first—maybe it was him, maybe it was you—but his lips were warm, the taste of something sweet and alcoholic lingering on his tongue, and for a second—

For a second, it felt like something.

Then you pulled away. Too fast. Too sharp. He had blinked at you, startled, and you had laughed—too loud, too forced—tossing out some half-hearted joke before disappearing into the crowd.

You never talked about it.

Neither of you have crossed that line since.

And Lando? Lando flirts with everyone but you. It’s safer that way. You both agreed, without ever actually agreeing, that whatever is between you is worth more than a handful of mistakes.

It works.

Until now.

Because somehow, in the mess of post-championship chaos and a booking mishap, there’s only one room left at the hotel. And of course, it’s yours and Lando’s names on the list, the receptionist looking utterly unimpressed as she hands over the key.

(You know this is partially his fault. The only reason you’re even here in the first place is him.

You had been content to watch from a distance, keeping your weekends for your own races, your own podiums. But Lando had been relentless—nagging, bribing, guilt-tripping, doing everything short of physically dragging you here himself.

"You have to be there," he had said, pacing in your motorhome two weeks ago, his voice pitched with something almost desperate. "It won’t feel right if you’re not there."

"You’ll win it whether I’m there or not," you had replied, rolling your eyes, but the look he gave you—half a pout, half something raw and open—had stuck with you longer than it should have.

But watching him throw his arms around his engineers, watching his face crack open with unfiltered joy, you realized—

You wouldn’t have missed this for anything.)

“Perfect,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “Couldn’t have given me, like, Pierre?”

Lando gasps, placing a hand over his heart. “Wow. First of all, rude. Second of all, you’re acting like sharing a room with me is some kind of nightmare.”

“You are a nightmare,” you deadpan, swiping the key from the counter. “And I don’t trust you.”

“Oh, come on.” He slings an arm around your shoulders as you walk toward the elevators, voice dropping to something lower, smoother. “You think I can’t behave myself?”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

The rule still stands. No flirting.

But the problem is, now that you’re both trying not to flirt, it’s all you can think about.

The hotel room is nice—too nice. A single king bed, pristine white sheets, and absolutely no couch in sight. You and Lando stand in the doorway for a second, both staring at the unfortunate reality of your situation.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he offers.

You snort. “Please. Your back would never recover.”

“Okay, then you sleep on the floor.”

“Not a chance.”

It’s a standoff. You’re both stubborn, both too proud to be the first to crack. So instead, you wordlessly agree to split the bed like two normal, mature adults.

Or at least, that’s the plan.

But it’s hard to ignore him when he’s right there, his curls still damp from his post-race shower, his arm draped over his stomach like he’s completely unbothered by how close you are.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The way his breathing slows as he starts to fall asleep. The rise and fall of his chest under the duvet. The ridiculous, dangerous thought that it would be so easy to roll over and—

No. Absolutely not.

The silence stretches. You roll onto your side, facing away from him.

Then—

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

His voice is thick with amusement, and that’s it. You whip your head around, narrowing your eyes. “Thinking about what?”

“You know.” He’s smirking now, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Breaking the rule.”

Your stomach flips, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. “You’re delusional.”

“Oh, I definitely am.” He shifts closer—just barely. “But you’re not denying it.”

You scoff, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at his mouth. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“Because I knew you’d react like this.” He grins, propping himself up on one elbow. “All tense, trying not to look at me. You’re so bad at this.”

“At what?”

“Not flirting.”

Your breath catches. He’s too close now, the heat of him sinking into your skin, and you suddenly, dangerously, don’t care about the stupid rule anymore.

“Bet you break first,” he murmurs.

And you hate that he’s right.

There’s a moment—barely a heartbeat—where you think you can still win this. Where you can laugh it off, roll back over, and pretend you didn’t hear the challenge laced in his voice.

But then he tilts his head, all slow and lazy, like he already knows the outcome. Like he’s waiting for you to slip up.

And that does it.

Your hand moves before you can stop it, shoving at his shoulder, but he barely budges—just lets out a low chuckle as he catches your wrist, fingers curling warm around yours.

“Too easy,” he murmurs.

You should pull away. You should shove him harder. You should do anything but let him run his thumb over the inside of your wrist, slow and deliberate.

Instead, you breathe out, “You’re insufferable.”

Lando hums, considering. “Probably.” His grip is loose enough that you could move if you wanted to, but you don’t. “But you love it.”

Your pulse betrays you, jumping under his touch. He notices. Of course he does. The corner of his mouth twitches, his gaze flickering between yours and the space—barely a few inches—that separates you.

The air is thick, charged, the silence stretching, stretching, stretching—

And then his hand slips away.

Not fast. Not reluctant. Just slow enough that you still feel the heat of him, even when he pulls back. He shifts onto his back again, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Goodnight, then,” he says, voice light, easy, like nothing just happened.

Your stomach twists. “Goodnight.”

You roll over, facing the opposite direction, but sleep doesn’t come easy. Not when your wrist still burns where he touched it. Not when you can hear his breathing evening out behind you.

Not when you know, deep down, that you lost.

The night stretches long. Sleep stays just out of reach.

You listen to the steady rhythm of his breathing, the occasional rustle of sheets as he shifts. Every brush of fabric against skin feels too loud in the quiet of the room. The warmth of him lingers beside you, a reminder, a temptation.

Then, in the hush of the dark, his voice comes—low, lazy, like he’s already halfway to dreaming.

“D’you reckon I would’ve been good in a frat?”

Your brows pull together. “What?”

Lando exhales a soft, sleepy laugh,one that makes your stomach turn to mush. “In another life. If I went to uni. In the States or something. I think I’d join a frat.”

You scoff, rolling onto your back to glance at him. The dim light from the window catches the curve of his jaw, the way his lashes flutter against his skin. He’s staring up at the ceiling, looking oddly thoughtful for someone who just said something so ridiculous.

“You’d be insufferable,” you say, and he grins.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I’d be, like, social chair or something. Organizing parties. Making people do stupid initiation dares.”

You snort. “You already do that.”

“True.” He pauses. “But imagine me in one of those dumb frat hoodies, playing beer pong like my life depends on it.”

You do. You imagine Lando with a backward cap, shouting across a packed house party, cocky smirk in place as he sinks shot after shot. It’s not even hard to picture—beer-sticky floors, music thrumming through the walls, the way he’d lean against the kitchen counter, fingers curling around a red Solo cup, looking at you like—

Like he does now.

You shift, suddenly too warm under the blankets. “You’d be unbearable.”

He laughs, quiet but warm. “You’d still like me.”

The words land soft, but something about them makes your breath hitch.

You roll your head to the side, catching the way he’s watching you now—eyes dark in the low light, mouth curved just slightly. Not teasing. Not smug. Just waiting.

Your throat feels tight. “Would you have liked me?”

His gaze flickers, searching yours. Then—

“Yeah.” A beat. “I think I’d be obsessed with you, actually.”

The room is too quiet. The bed is too small.

You don’t know if you should laugh or shove him or do something dangerous, like let him keep talking. Because you believe him. Because suddenly you’re imagining Lando at some American university, cocky and charming, flirting over cheap beer and plastic cups, but it’s not just any girl he’s got cornered at a party—it’s you.

You imagine his hands on your waist, his breath warm against your ear, whispering things he has no business saying in public. You imagine what it would’ve been like if, in another life, there were no unspoken rules, no self-preservation, no friendship to protect.

Your stomach twists.

Then he exhales, turning onto his side, facing away.

“Anyway,” he murmurs, voice already softer, sleepier. “Just a thought.”

You stare at the back of his head, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Just a thought.

Right.

You don’t sleep. Not really.

You close your eyes, steady your breathing, try to match the quiet rise and fall of his beside you. But the words keep looping in your head, tangling, sticking—I think I’d be obsessed with you, actually.

Stupid. Stupid, reckless, Lando.

The room is dark, but not dark enough. The city hums beyond the window, casting faint streaks of light across the ceiling. You stare at them, tracing each one, willing your heart to slow.

Behind you, Lando shifts, exhaling slow. You don’t move, but you feel it—his warmth rolling closer, the space between you shrinking, shrinking—

Then, barely there, his voice again. “You’re still awake.”

It’s not a question.

You open your eyes, staring at the ceiling. “So are you.”

There’s a pause. You swear you hear him smile.

“Yeah.” His voice is quieter this time, almost careful. “Wonder why.”

Your pulse stumbles.

You could ignore him. You could pretend you’ve already drifted off, that your mind hasn’t been spinning for the last hour, replaying every too-casual glance, every shift in his voice, every inch of space that’s disappeared between you.

Or—

“Lando.” Your voice comes out quieter than you expect. He hums in response, waiting.

You turn your head, just enough to see him. He’s closer now, cheek pressed against the pillow, hair a mess of curls and shadows. His eyes find yours in the dim light, steady, unreadable.

Your throat is dry. You swallow. “Why’d you say that?”

He doesn’t ask what you mean. He just watches you for a second, the ghost of a smirk pulling at his lips, but not quite landing.

Then, simply—

“Because it’s true.”

The words settle deep, curling warm in your chest.

You should say something. Push him away, tease him, roll over and let the moment slip through your fingers. That’s how it’s always worked between you—almosts that never turn into anything more.

But his gaze is heavier than before, his voice lower, and for once, you don’t think you want to let it go.

Instead, you shift, rolling to face him fully. The sheets rustle between you, the space closing, and his eyes flicker down—quick, instinctive—before snapping back up.

It’s silent. The city hums.

Then—his breath, warm against your lips.

“You gonna break the rule now?” he murmurs.

Your fingers twitch in the sheets. You could. You should.

But instead, you tip forward, just enough for your lips to graze his, just enough to feel his inhale—sharp, surprised, expectant—

Then you pull back. Barely.

“Bet you break first,” you whisper.

For a second, nothing happens.

Just the space between you, thin as thread. His breath fans warm against your mouth, lips parted like he’s caught between a reaction and restraint. You see the shift in his eyes—sharp, aware, dark with something unreadable.

Then, slow as a fuse burning, his hand moves.

Not dramatic. Not rushed. Just a careful drag of his fingers over the sheets, brushing yours. Testing. Waiting.

You don’t pull away.

His fingertips graze the inside of your wrist, just like before, except this time, he doesn’t let go. His touch lingers, pressing just enough to send heat curling through your skin.

“You’re such a menace,” he murmurs, voice lower now, rougher.

You should smirk, tease him for caving first. But the words get lost somewhere between his eyes flickering to your lips and the way his fingers curl properly around your wrist, anchoring.

Then—finally, finally—he moves.

Not much, just enough to close the last of the distance. His lips brush yours, light, careful, barely even a kiss—just testing the shape of it, like he’s waiting for you to stop him.

You don’t.

Instead, you chase it, shifting closer, pressing into the warmth of his mouth. He exhales, something caught between relief and satisfaction, and then his other hand is in your hair, pulling you deeper.

The sheets shift as he moves, rolling just enough to pin you under him, weight sinking against you, grounding. His fingers trail down your side, slow, deliberate, pressing warmth into your skin even through the fabric of your shirt.

The kiss deepens—still unhurried, still testing, but heavier now, like he’s realizing something in real time. Like he’s been waiting for this longer than he’ll admit.

You barely register that you’re smiling until he pulls back just enough to mirror it, forehead tipping against yours. His breath is uneven, warm against your cheek.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your jaw. “Told you I’d be obsessed.”

Your laugh gets swallowed by the next kiss.

He kisses you like he’s got all the time in the world, slow and steady, like he’s learning the shape of your mouth, the way you respond to him. Like he’s memorizing it.

His hand skims down your side, fingertips dragging just enough to make your breath hitch. He hums against your lips, pleased, like he notices, like he’s already cataloging what gets a reaction out of you.

Then, deliberately, he pulls back—just far enough to watch you.

The air between you is thick, charged, something unspoken hanging heavy in the dim light. His thumb brushes over your cheek, gaze flickering over your face like he’s waiting for you to stop him.

You don’t.

So he moves again, lips tracing a slow path down, over your jaw, to the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, teasing. His nose skims along your pulse point, lingering, like he’s considering something—

Then, with zero warning, he bites.

Not hard. Just a quick, sharp graze of teeth before his lips follow, soothing over the spot, and the sound that escapes you is humiliating.

He grins against your skin.

“Knew it,” he mutters, voice thick with amusement.

You barely register your own reaction—palms sliding under his shirt, fingers curling against his spine—before he shifts again, pressing more of his weight against you, forcing your back into the mattress.

And maybe you should stop him. Maybe you should pull back, tell him to slow down, that you weren’t supposed to end up here.

But then he’s kissing you again, deep and sure and intentional, and all logic burns to static.

Maybe he was right. Maybe he is obsessed.

Or maybe—

Maybe you are, too.

The thought barely has time to settle before he moves again, pressing closer, deeper, like he’s already decided there’s no space left between you.

His hands—warm, steady—skim under your shirt, fingertips tracing slow, mindless patterns against your ribs. Not asking. Not rushing. Just there, grounding, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

You exhale against his mouth, dizzy from the heat of him, from the way he kisses you like he’s savoring it, like he’s been thinking about this for longer than either of you are willing to admit.

And then—

He laughs.

Low and quiet, almost like he doesn’t mean to, but you feel it against your lips, the way his body shakes slightly against yours, the warmth of it sinking into your skin.

You blink up at him, breathless. “What?”

Lando grins, nose brushing yours. “Nothing,” he murmurs, but he’s still laughing, biting his lip like he’s trying to hold it back.

You shove at his shoulder. “Lando.”

He catches your wrist—again, like it’s a game, like he likes it—and presses a quick kiss to your palm before dropping it. “It’s just—” His eyes flicker down, like he’s just now registering the mess you’ve made of each other, how your shirt is half pushed up, how his is twisted in your grip. He grins wider. “You’re really bad at pretending you don’t want me.”

Heat flares up your neck. You groan, pushing at his chest. “Oh, shut up—”

He laughs properly this time, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, shaking against you. His arms curl tighter around you, keeping you close even as he cackles like this is all some massive joke.

You glare at the ceiling. “I actually hate you.”

His breath is still uneven, still warm against your skin as he exhales. “Yeah,” he agrees, lips brushing your collarbone. “That’s why you’re holding onto me right now, huh?”

You realize—too late—that you are.

Your fingers are still twisted in his shirt, still holding him close like he might disappear if you let go. His skin is warm, solid, beneath your touch, and even as your brain screams at you to shove him off, you don’t.

You sigh, tipping your head back against the pillow. “You really should’ve joined a frat.”

He grins against your shoulder. “Told you.”

Lando doesn’t move. He stays there, forehead resting against your shoulder, breath warm against your skin. His weight presses into you, not heavy, just there, anchoring.

You could push him off. You probably should. But your fingers are still tangled in his shirt, and you don’t want to let go, not yet.

He shifts, just slightly, and you feel the lazy curve of his smile against your collarbone. “Admit it.”

You roll your eyes, fingers finally loosening their grip. “Admit what?”

“That you like me,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your skin as he speaks. His hands are still resting against your ribs, warm and unmoving, like he’s settled in. Like he’s already made up his mind about this. About you.

Your pulse kicks up, traitorous. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He hums, amusement curling in his voice. “So that’s a no?”

You hesitate—just for a second—but it’s enough for him to hear it, to feel the way your breath stutters before you can stop it.

And then, infuriatingly, he laughs again.

“Wow,” he drawls, shifting so his lips hover just over your jaw, his grin practically audible. “You really are bad at pretending.”

You make a noise in protest—somewhere between a groan and a weak threat—but before you can shove him away, his mouth is on your neck again, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to the same spot he bit earlier.

Your breath catches.

He feels it.

And just like that, the teasing fades into something quieter, heavier. His lips move slower this time, like he’s tasting the way you react, how your pulse jumps beneath him.

The air shifts. The room feels smaller.

His nose skims against your skin, his fingers curl just slightly against your ribs, and—

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs.

Your breath shudders. He’s right.

You always think too much.

But then his teeth graze your pulse again, just enough to make your stomach twist, and every coherent thought blinks out of existence.

You turn your head—instinct, impulse—and suddenly his mouth is on yours again, warm, insistent, like he knew you’d do it before you did.

He exhales through his nose, satisfied, and then you’re moving together, pushing, pulling, getting tangled up in each other like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe it is.

Maybe it always has been.

The room feels warmer now, the air thick with something neither of you have named yet.

Lando moves like he has nowhere else to be, nowhere else he’d rather be. His lips trace paths that make your head spin, hands mapping every inch of skin they can reach, and it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

At some point, your back meets the mattress, and he’s over you, around you, everywhere. His weight presses down, solid and grounding, but his touch is light, deliberate. Like he’s still savoring, still teasing, still learning you.

You lose track of time. Of space. Of everything except the way he feels, the way he wants you—so obvious in the way he pulls you closer, in the way he breathes out your name like a prayer.

And then—

Sometime later, when your heart is still racing but your breath has evened out, you blink up at the ceiling, suddenly too aware of everything all at once.

Your brain is catching up.

Shit.

Lando is still beside you, propped up on one elbow, watching you with that easy, knowing expression that makes you want to launch yourself into the sun.

You swallow, throat suddenly dry. “This—” You gesture vaguely between the two of you, at the warmth of him still lingering against your skin. “This doesn’t mean anything, right?”

It comes out rushed, like you’re already trying to outrun the answer, and Lando’s expression flickers, just for a second.

Then, to your horror, he laughs.

Not in a cruel way. Not in a dismissive way. Just—like he expected this.

Like he knows you too well.

You sit up, pulling the sheets up with you like they’ll protect you from the way your heart is currently imploding. “I mean, we’re still friends, right?”

Lando exhales through his nose, like he’s biting back another laugh. He shifts closer, slow and deliberate, until his arm is slung over your waist again, until you feel the warmth of him all along your side. “I don’t want to be friends.”

Your brain stalls. Your stomach plummets. “What?”

He watches you, expression unreadable. “I don’t want to be friends,” he repeats, quieter this time. Then, when he sees the sheer panic in your eyes, the way you freeze like he just said the scariest thing imaginable, he sighs and tugs you closer.

You barely have time to react before he’s right there, forehead pressed to yours, voice steady when he says, “Because you’re the one for me.”

Your breath catches.

Your brain short-circuits.

Lando smiles, tilting his head to nose at your cheek, like he’s trying to soften the impact of what he just said. “I don’t do casual, you know that,” he murmurs. “I don’t do things I don’t mean.”

Your fingers tighten around the sheets, like they might hold you together, like they might stop your heart from caving in under the weight of his words.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, gaze steady, unshaken.

“You know that,” he says again, softer.

And, yeah.

You do.

Lando is still looking at you, waiting. His forehead is resting against yours, like he’s afraid to move too far away, like he’s giving you space but not enough to slip through his fingers.

Your chest is tight. Your brain is screaming at you to think, to analyze, to map out every possible consequence of this, but then Lando exhales, a slow, steady breath against your lips, and suddenly, thinking is impossible.

Instead, you feel.

The warmth of him, the weight of his arm slung around you like it belongs there. The way his thumb is tracing absentminded circles against your hip, like he’s settling in.

Like he has no plans to go anywhere.

And maybe—maybe that’s what makes something in you snap.

Your fingers move before your brain can stop them, sliding up to tangle in his curls, and you feel the way he shivers at the touch, the way his breath hitches—like he hadn’t expected that, like you’re capable of surprising him.

You don’t know what to say. You never know what to say.

But maybe you don’t have to.

Lando makes a small, pleased noise in the back of his throat, something warm and content, and suddenly, you’re the one laughing, breathless and a little overwhelmed.

“What?” he asks, lips brushing against yours, grinning now, like he’s won something.

You shake your head, cheeks burning. “You’re—” You sigh, pressing your forehead into his shoulder, trying to will your heart into calming down. “You’re just so annoying.”

Lando huffs a laugh, smug, before rolling you onto your back and caging you beneath him again, all lazy affection and dimpled grins. “Oh, I’m annoying?” he echoes, and his hands are on your waist again, fingers skimming the edge of the sheets like he’s thinking about distracting you. “You’re the one making me work for this.”

You groan, shoving at his chest, but he just laughs, dropping his weight on top of you like some kind of human-sized blanket.

The air shifts again, but this time it’s light, playful. His nose nudges yours, and then he’s kissing you again—slower, softer, like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s making a promise without words.

He pulls back just enough to murmur, “You’re stuck with me now, you know that, right?”

And maybe you should freak out at that. Maybe you should be terrified.

But all you can do is roll your eyes, tugging him down for another kiss before whispering, “Yeah. I know.”

775 notes · View notes

emmyrosee · 1 year ago

Text

Can we talk about how rintaro probably swallows your engagement ring by accident?

Honestly? Okay listen… Do you think he swallows it? I think he swallows it.

Because like okay. Rintaro puts a ton of planning behind everything he does, he wants to make your engagement this massive scene out of a movie because you’re out of a movie; you swooped into his life and showed him the path he wants to be on, the one that always leads back to you.

But like. Why would everything not crumble around him each and every time he tries to work up the courage to finally pop that four word phrase?

It was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be easy.

An engagement ring, propped on some frosting on the center of the cake, ready for you to scoop up and slip on and give him an excited yes and the world would clap and he’d get a Nobel prize or something for such an extravagant proposal.

Except. That doesn’t happen.

The first bite Rintaro takes, he shovels in his mouth nervously, and there’s a massive shock to his teeth when they clank down hard on the ring on his cake.

How he didn’t notice? How the waiter messed them up? He blames it on the waiter.

Him swallowing the ring..? Yeah no. That’s got him written all over it.

His nerves just got the best of him and sends the large diamond down his throat, eyes bulging out as he realizes. He chokes briefly, grabbing his wine and gulping it down to wash the jewelry down.

Uh oh.

“Baby?” You ask. “Something wrong?”

“…nope.”

The rest of dinner is silent, you trying desperately to make conversation and his mind going insane trying to process what to do next.

Your engagement ring, the object that completely envelops your love in a physical sense is floating in the acids of his stomach, and who knows what the next step in the plan is.

He dreads it.

The car ride is complete silence, you occasionally clearing your throat or sighing to try and strike a conversation, but Rin’s mind is on a complete other planet, trying to make a map of his next move and how to get the ring 1.) out of his body and 2.) to you.

Is he really going to give you a ring he ate? He can’t. That’s vile. But he can’t spend the money on another one, even if it is more than worth it to spend it on you, and-

“Rin,” you whisper, touching his thigh. “You just blew a red light.”

“Damn- I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“Don’t be sorry… is everything alright?”

“Just fine.”

“Are you mad at me?”

His foot slams hard, hard on the breaks, causing commotion behind him as the wailing of car horns fills the air. “God, baby, no, of course not!”

“Then why have you been so quiet?” You ask sadly.

“I can’t tell you.” Out of embarrassment and stupidity, he thinks to himself.

You leave it at that. You go quiet again, and when he makes a move to rest his hand on your thigh, you turn away, and his whole heart sinks.

The rest of the ride home drags on. There’s no more attempts of noise, no more sighs or clearing of throats, only the roar of the engine for a few more miles until you get home. He barely gets the chance to park the car before you’re out and storming up the driveway, clearly upset with the situation. He sighs and follows you in, and you’ve hiked up the stairs to the bathroom. He winces at the slam of the door, and he’s quick to call osamu for advice.

Advice that the twin gives him around countless gawfs of unhelpful, judgmental laughter.

He tells Rintaro to calm down and stop being weird towards you- take a spoonful of laxatives mixed in with water and let the body “process” for as long as it needs to. Get you a new ring, trash the old one and mourn the loss of money after you two get engaged.

He sighs and ends the call, making his way to the upstairs bathroom where he keeps the medicine. You brush past him in a towel, refusing to acknowledge him or his presence with so much as a “hmph.”

The shower he takes alone is cold, his mind is loud and his heart is pounding and his stomach queases for more than a few reasons. How could he have messed this up so badly? It was supposed to be cute! Just flashy enough for him to flaunt you, but simple enough to not be messed up.

Yet he messed it up.

Rintaro dries himself and makes his way into the bedroom, where you’re already burrowed under the covers on your side of the bed. He throws on some form of pajama before making his way downstairs to make his laxative drink.

One tablespoon of laxative mixed with water, allow body to process for one day before repeating, let all powder dissolve before drinking- he follows every single one of the thorough instructions completely, and he starts to drink the concoction with a scowl of disgust.

The hell is this made out of?

“What’re you still doing up?” You ask, and he swallows the last of the laxative with a wince.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he confesses. Then, he sighs and turns to face you, and your face tells him everything he needs to know.

You’re still upset.

“Listen,” he begins, carding a massive hand through his hair. “About tonight. It was absolutely nothing you did. It was my fault, and my annoyance and attitude had nothing to do with you.”

“Okay,” you sigh, but there’s an unconvinced lilt in your voice.

“I wanted this to be a perfect night, I wanted it to go so well-“

“Rinnie?”

“And I’m sorry, about my silence in the restaurant,” he sniffles, big hands pressing against his face and rubbing roughly. “The chef was supposed to put it on our cakes and his little rat waiter messed it up, and-“

“Put what on our cakes?”

“YOUR ENGAGEMENT RING!” He groans in complete agony. “Your ring! Fuck! I tried so hard to make the perfect proposal, and I just wanted it to be beautiful-“

“My… my ring?”

“Uh…. Yeah?”

“My engagement ring?”

Your bottom lip wobbles, and he feels like he’s going to upchuck every bit of food he’s ever eaten.

Though that may not be the worst thing at this point.

“You wanna marry me?” You wail, collapsing to your knees in excitement. He perks up slightly, slipping of his seat to join you on the floor.

“Of course I want to marry you,” he confesses. “God, I’ve… I’ve wanted to marry you for the past three years, I got the ring perfect four months ago.” He blinks out a line of tears to mimic yours, and you cup his cheeks in your trembling palms. “But every time I tried to propose, something went wrong, and I… I didn’t know how to do it anymore. I’m sorry baby…”

“Rintaro,” you say softly, chuckling around the your quivering voice. “I never needed a big proposal. Ever. All I ever want is for you to promise me we’ll be together. And that’s more than enough.”

His face softens before he lets a hand smack his face in obliviousness, disappointed in himself that he got so lost in trying to impress you that he almost didn’t.

“Put it on me!” You squeal, holding out your hand. He turns a scarlet red and looks away.

“I uh… I can’t.”

You deflate slightly, and he gives you an embarrassed smile. “Why not?” You whimper, emotionally fried from the rollercoaster he just put you on.

“I don’t have it.”

“What!”

“I mean, technically i do,” he says, gnawing his lip. “But I… uhm… I can’t give it to you yet. I uh… I need a few days. And… a few cleaners to look at it.” He gives you a shy chuckle and his toothy grin is mixed with frightened eyes, and your own widen. “The uhm… the ring was on the cake…”

Your hands clasp over your mouth, tears immediately drying and replacing with small, choked and stifled laughter.

“You didn’t,” you manage. He nods, uncomfortable. “Did… did you eat my ring, Rintaro?”

“It wasn’t my fault! Damn waiter gave us the wrong cakes!”

“AND YOU SWALLOWED IT?”

“I WAS NERVOUS, OKAY?”

“RINTARO!”

You two clutch each other on the cold kitchen floor as you laugh, heads knocking against each other as you steal kisses from between cackles.

“I’ve got an idea,” he says once you’ve both seemed to calm down, and he quickly pops on his feet to grab the bread on the counter. With the twist tie, he takes it off the bread and makes his way back to you. “Give me your hands.”

The tie only fits around the top part of your ring finger, and you sniffle softly at how silly and sweet this whole thing is.

“We’re gonna get married,” he says between an emotional wheeze. “And we’re going to grow old together, have our nine dogs and four cats.”

“No kids?”

“Ew gross.”

“Yeah, sure, as if you don’t bend to my every whim bro.” You shift slightly to rest your back against his chest, curling against his still sitting frame. “And our kids are going to love the Miyas-“

“Because you love the Miya’s. I have nothing to do with that.”

“As if Osamu’s not going to be your best man,” you scoff. He smirks and buries his face in your hair, listening to your words weave through his brain and calming him down from the disaster of a night.

Then, he hums, “you want to take my last name?” He asks, and you give him a small swat on the leg. “What! Im just asking!”

“Of course I’m going to take your last name,” you say, turning your head up to face him. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Yeah?” He asks breathlessly, tearing up again when you nod.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

1K notes · View notes

prettyfilmz · 8 months ago

Text

PHYSICAL TOUCH • JEY USO

authors note: we have officially made it to the end of the love language series. thank you all so much for the support I have gained, it really means the world to me that you all love what i write and knowing some of my favorite authors on here love it too. sorry for taking so damn long to update, school has been kicking your girl's ass and I was really finding it hard to write during it all. but alas we made it!! I decided to end this series the same way I started it...with my baby jey uso. you are in for a treat with this one as this is the longest one shot i've written in the series🤭 well, don't let me keep you too long. without further a due, happy reading my loves and once again thank you💗🎀 p.s. jey looks so sexy with his red and black gear for survivor series🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

summary: jey don't wanna be "just a friend" to you anymore.

tags: 18+ (MDNI), written with black woman in mind, friends who really like each other, smoking, fluff, jey is obsessed with you, dirty talk, unprotected sex, car sex, kissing, biting (slight), small bits of roughness, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), daddy kink,praise, this is goofy lovey dovey shit x10000.

word count: 2.7k words

now playing: red light special - tlc

it’s midnight. the air is crisp with the cool breath of late november, cool enough to give goosebumps but still not enough to bite. you’re sitting low in the passenger seat of jey’s sleek black charger, legs crossed and dipped in the glow of the dashboard lights. the subtle scent of ‘black ice’ air freshener mixes well with the slow haze of smoke curling from the joint between your fingers.

jey is sitting easy in his driver’s seat, one hand draped on the wheel, the other arm resting along the back of your seat, fingers casually brushing your shoulder. his signature chain glints in the dim light from the street lamps as they pass, the soft rumble of the car’s engine making everything feel muted, more… intimate.

you exhale a slow, lazy stream of smoke out the cracked window, watching the way the city lights smear into streaks as the charger cruises down an empty street. a gentle r&b song played low in the speakers, its lyrics matching the faint thrum of tension hanging between the two of you.

“you gon’ pass that or hold it hostage, mama?” jey’s voice cuts through the thick quiet, low and teasing, making heat spark low in your belly.

you glance at him through your lashes, lips quirking into a small smirk. “why? you need it more than me, greedy?”

he leans over slightly, closing the gap between you, his face a little too close, soft brown eyes locked on yours. “oh I need somethin’, alright.” his grin is sharp but playful, that familiar flirtation slipping from his lips as easy as breathing.

you roll your eyes, even though a shiver crawls down your spine. you flick the joint between your fingers, teasing, before finally passing it to him. his fingertips graze yours when he takes it, the brief touch buzzing through you like a shock of electricity.

the air in the car shifts, as it always does when it’s just the two of you, hovering somewhere between platonic and dangerous. it’s always been like this for years—friends who flirt too much, share too much, maybe fuck love each other too much. it got complicated when you started seeing someone else, tried to shut that part of you down. but now that’s over, and things have been creeping back to where they were. no labels, just... whatever this is.

jey takes a slow pull from the joint, his gaze never leaving you. his lips wrap around it just so, and you hate how your thighs press together on instinct, an action he catches easily.

he smirks as he exhales, letting the smoke drift lazily out the window. “missed this, you know. just me and you. you ain't gotta act all tough around me, honey.”

your heart stumbles a little at the softness in his voice, but you keep your cool, leaning back against your seat like his words didn’t hit as deep as they did. “you're getting soft on me,” you tease, smirking.

jey chuckles in return, shaking his head as he taps ash from the joint. “yeah, yeah. but you love that shit, don't lie." his hand slides from the back of your seat to rest on your thigh, heavy and warm, thumb brushing idly over the curve just below your skirt. the touch is familiar, claiming, like he’s always known you’d end up right back here.

you don't attempt to move his hand. instead, you settle into the weight of it, the warmth of his large palm massaging your skin, biting your bottom lip to hide the little smile threatening to creep across your face. he’s watching you too close, like he is reading all of your thoughts. and maybe he is—jey’s always known how to read you well with just a look.

he leans a little closer again, voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always gets you into trouble. “come here.”

you glance at him, the warmth in your chest spreading fast, and you know where this is headed. you could pretend you don’t. you could play coy. but you don’t want to. not with him. not tonight.

instead, you lean in, and jey meets you halfway, his lips brushing yours once, twice, before he kisses you properly. it's slow and deliberate, a kiss that feels like a reminder—like he’s been waiting for this, waiting for you.

his hand tightens on your thigh, and you sigh against his mouth, your lips parting for him, his tongue sliding against yours, deepening the kiss until you’re clinging to the front of his hoodie, breathing him in like the smoke lingering in the car.

he pulls back just enough to press his forehead to yours, both of you catching your breath. his hand drifts higher on your thigh, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt with ease. “I ever tell you how bad I missed you, baby?”

you hum, tilting your head to nip gently at his bottom lip. “maybe? it would be better if you show me. ”

jey groans low in his throat, his hand leaving your thigh to grab the back of your neck, pulling you into another kiss—hungrier this time, all teeth and tongue. his free hand grips your thigh again, fingers digging into your skin.

he breaks the kiss to drag his lips down your neck, biting gently at the spot just beneath your ear that always makes you purr. you gasp, arching against him, and he chuckles against your skin, his voice low and wrecked. “that’s it, mama. I got you.”

your mind is already hazy, inebriated in the way his hands and mouth paint your body like a canvas, but it’s just the foreplay. his fingers trail higher, brushing the edge of your panties, and you shiver, your breath stuttering out in a soft moan.

“you want this?” he murmurs against your neck, his thumb slipping beneath the damp fabric to tease you. “words, baby.”

“yeah,” you breathe, barely able to form the word. “please, jey.”

he grins against your skin, kissing you again as his fingers slip between your thighs, parting your lower lips easily. he groans softly at how wet you are, dragging his fingers through your slick folds with a slow, deliberate touch that makes your head fall back against the seat.

“look at you,” he mutters, voice thick with praise. “so fuckin’ wet for me and I ain’ even taste her yet.”

you whimper, hips bucking against his hand, and he chuckles low in his throat, loving how desperate you are for him.

“you gon’ let me taste her, mama?” he asks, already pulling back enough to maneuver between your legs, carefully leaning over the gear shift so he’s fully in your space.

you don’t even have time to respond before he’s tugging your skirt and panties down, throwing them carelessly into the back seat. his hands are on your thighs, spreading you wide, your pussy exposed, and glistening for his eyes only.

jey doesn’t hesitate. he dives in, tongue skillfully dragging through your silky folds with a hunger that leaves you breathless, thighs trembling. he eats you like your pussy is the lifeline that is keeping him alive, switching between sucking your clit and fucking your tight quivering hole with his tongue, the sounds are lewd and obscene which only heightens the pleasure for you two.

“s-hit,” you moan, fingers tangling in his hair as your hips grind your cunt against his mouth. he groans in response, the vibration of it making you cry out, the pressure building fast and sharp between your thighs.

“that's it sweetheart,” he murmurs between licks, his voice dripping with praise. “you taste so sweet, baby. missed this pussy so much.”

you’re close—so close you can feel the knot tightening in your abdomen. your thighs clamp around his head, sputtering expletives and jey doesn’t let up, gripping your hips to keep you right where he wants you.

“come on, mama,” he urges, voice rough and low against you. “make a mess on me.”

that’s all it takes. your orgasm crashes over you, and you cry, back arching as you ride the wave of pleasure, jey holding you through it, his tongue relentless against your clit until you’re shaking, begging him to stop.

but he doesn’t. he grins up at you, wicked and smug, and keeps going, sending you spiraling into another orgasm before you can even catch your breath.

“j-jey! w..wa-ait” you gasp, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as your body shakes with overstimulation.

“shhh, I got you,” he soothes, but his grin says otherwise—more like he loves seeing you fall apart for him, that he’s the only one who can make you feel like this.

and when he finally pulls back, lips and beard glistening with your juices, he leans in close, brushing his mouth against yours.

“you good, baby?” he asks, soft and playful, like he wasn’t worshipping you in between your thighs moments earlier.

all you could do is nod, breathless, and he kisses you again, allowing you to taste the sweet tanginess of yourself on his lips and tongue.

jey pulls back from the kiss, eyes heavy-lidded, but that cocky grin of his never fades. he leans back in the driver’s seat, hands casually resting on the curve of your thighs, spreading them just enough to tease you with his gaze. the warmth of your release is still causing your pussy to throb, but it’s not enough to fully satiate your lust. and with the way jey is gazes at you, he knows it too.

“come here, mama," jey murmurs, giving your thigh a quick slap.

with a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, you shift over the console and climb into his lap. you’re grateful for the roomy interior of the charger as you straddle him, thighs bracketing his hips. he leans back, hands already roaming up your waist, under your top, squeezing at the soft globes of your breasts like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you.

“you comfy, baby?” he teases, palms pressing into your ass, grinding your bare pussy down against the thick bulge in his sweats. the friction makes both of you groan, and you can’t help the way your body moves on its own, rolling your hips against him.

jey bites his bottom lip, eyes locked on where you grind against him, the wet drag of your pussy staining the fabric of his sweats. “fuck," he mutters, head falling back against the seat. “you gon’ ride me just like that? huh, baby? make a mess all over me?"

you grin, the pressured heat between your legs building again. “you always did like it messy.”

his fingers dig into your hips as he presses himself up against you, just enough to make you gasp. “you know I like you,” he says, voice rough. “always did."

the words hit you deep—more than they should—and for a second, the weight of them hangs in the air between you. but you’re not here to talk about feelings, and jey knows it too.

he shifts under you, hand slipping down to stroke himself through his sweats. “c’mon, baby. take care of daddy.”

you slide a hand between your bodies, finding the waistband of his sweats and boxers, tugging them down just enough to free him. his cock springs free, thick and already leaking precum, and the sight of it causes you to slightly drool. you wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly, teasing, loving the way his breath stutters beneath you.

“damn, mama,” he groans, his grip tightening on your hips. “you tryna kill me?”

you smile mischievously. “maybe.” but you don’t play around with him—this isn’t about teasing, not tonight.

you lift yourself up, lining him up with your entrance, and he watches you with brown, half-lidded eyes, pink lips parted as he waits for you to sink down on him. and when you do, the pleasurable stretch steals both of your breaths.

“fuck, baby,” jey groans, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as you take him inch by inch, slow and deliberate. “that’s it...fuckin' perfect. you always take me so good, mama."

the praise hits you like a drug, making you moan as you bottom out, his cock buried deep inside you. you pause for a moment, adjusting to the stretch, and jey's hands roam your body like he can’t get enough of you—palming your ass, squeezing your waist, his thumbs brushing the curve of your breasts under your top.

“look at you," he murmurs, voice thick and filled with something dangerously close to awe. “this pussy was made just for me, huh?"

you roll your hips, slow and deliberate, grinding down on him until he curses under his breath, head falling back against the seat again. “uh huh,” you whisper, leaning in close to kiss behind his ear, sucking on the lobe. “all yours, daddy.”

the growl that rumbles from his chest is damn near primal. his hands grip your hips hard, guiding you into a rhythm that’s slow and heavenly, each roll of your hips dragging him deeper into you. the air between you is thick with heat, every breath shared, every moan swallowed by the other’s mouth as you kiss again, messy and uncoordinated.

“that’s it, baby," he groans, breaking the kiss to suck a mark into your neck. “fuck yourself on me. just like that. good fucking girl.”

you gasp as his teeth graze your skin, the sharp sensation shooting straight to your swollen clit. as if he can read your body, his hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with expert precision, circling it in time with the roll of your hips.

“cum for me again, mama,” he murmurs, voice low and coaxing. “lemme feel you cum on this dick.”

you can’t hold back—not with the way he’s filling you so perfectly, not with the way his thumb works your clit like it’s second nature, and certainly not with how the head of his cock presses deliciously against your g spot. your orgasm hits you fast and hard, your whole body tensing as you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as you gush all over him.

“that’s my good girl," jey groans, grinding up into you as your warm gummy walls clamp down around him. “makin’ a mess all over this dick.”

you’re still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax when jey’s grip on your hips tightens, and suddenly he’s fucking up into you, chasing his own release with rough, desperate thrusts causing you to whine.

“uh uh, take it, baby,” he growls through gritted teeth, hands locked on your hips as he drives into you, relishing in your choked sobs. “gon' fill this pussy up. you want that, honey? want me to cum in daddy’s pussy?”

“y-yessss,” you mewl, head burying itself in his neck as you grind against him, every nerve in your body on fire. “please, daddy. cum in me please.”

the sound he makes is beautiful as he slams into you one last time, his hips stuttering as he spills his warm thick load into you, flooding your womb with his seed.

“shit,” he mutters, chest heaving, forehead falling to rest against your shoulder as you both catch your breath.

for a moment, the only sound in the car besides a song playing on low volume is the harsh rhythm of your breathing, the scent of sweat and sex mingling with the lingering haze of smoke.

you stay like that for a while, tangled together, your body still humming from the high of it all. jey’s hands roam lazily over your back, soothing, grounding, bringing you back down to earth and you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

eventually, he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, grinning against your skin. “told you I missed you girl.”

you laugh, breathless and light, brushing a hand through his hair. “you’re so dumb.”

jey leans back just enough to look at you, his grin wide and boyish, the mischievous glint in his eye making your heart skip. “yeah, but you love my dumbass.”

and damn it, he’s right.

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#jey uso smut #jey uso one shot #jey uso x reader #jey uso imagine #jey uso fanfiction #wwe imagines #wwe smut #the bloodline x reader #jey uso fic #jey uso fanfic #jey uso fluff

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ghstyles · 4 months ago

Text

Turbulence | FWFW oneshot

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WC: 3k

FWFW Masterlist

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Harry glanced at his Rolex for the third time, irritation radiating from every perfectly styled inch of him as he stood in the private terminal of Heathrow Airport.

"For fuck's sake, what's taking her so long?" he muttered to his assistant, who was busy coordinating with the flight crew. "The jet's been ready for twenty minutes."

As if summoned by his impatience, the terminal doors slid open to reveal Y/N, looking flustered as she wheeled her carry-on behind her. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, and she wore a comfortable oversized sweater with leggings, practical travel clothes that starkly contrasted with Harry's designer ensemble.

"Sorry," she said breathlessly as she approached. "The car service got caught in traffic."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "We're on a schedule. Tokyo's waiting, and you're making everyone late."

Y/N bit back a sharp retort, too focused on the anxiety churning in her stomach at the prospect of her first flight. A fourteen-hour journey across continents, no less.

"I said I was sorry," she replied stiffly. "Not all of us have been jetting around the world since we were sixteen."

Harry snorted, turning away to address his security team. "Let's move. We've wasted enough time."

As they walked across the tarmac toward the sleek private jet, Y/N's steps slowed, her eyes fixed on the aircraft with visible apprehension.

"It's smaller than I expected," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Harry, already at the bottom of the stairs, looked back with a raised eyebrow."What did you think, we'd be taking a commercial 747? It's a G650—top of the line, fastest in its class."

Y/N swallowed hard. "Great. So when it crashes, we'll hit the ground that much faster."

Harry rolled his eyes dramatically. "It's not going to crash. Stop being ridiculous and get on board."

With obvious reluctance, Y/N climbed the stairs, her knuckles white around the handrail. Inside, the jet was all luxury with cream leather seats, polished wood tables, and plush carpeting. Under different circumstances, she might have been impressed. Now, she only felt trapped.

Harry brushed past her to take a seat, immediately pulling out his phone and ignoring her presence. The flight attendant approached with a warm smile.

"Welcome aboard, Mrs. Styles. Can I get you a drink before takeoff?"

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. "Water, please. And maybe…do you have any motion sickness medication?"

Harry looked up from his phone, a smirk playing at his lips. "Already feeling queasy? We haven't even moved yet."

"I'm being cautious," Y/N replied tightly, sinking into a seat as far from him as the cabin allowed. "Not everyone has your vast flying experience."

The flight attendant returned with water and medication, then instructed them to buckle up for takeoff. Y/N's hands trembled slightly as she fastened her seatbelt, drawing it tighter than necessary across her lap.

The engines roared to life, the vibration running through the cabin. Y/N closed her eyes, gripping the armrests as the jet began to taxi down the runway.

"First time flyer, huh?" Harry's voice cut through her concentration, tinged with amusement. "You look like you're about to pass out."

Y/N didn't open her eyes. "Can you please just... not talk to me right now?"

"What, and miss this entertainment?" Harry chuckled as he moved to a seat beside her, much to her annoyance. But she was too occupied to make a comment

"You should see your face. You're white as a sheet."

The jet accelerated suddenly, pressing them back into their seats as it raced down the runway. Y/N's breath caught in her throat, a small whimper escaping her lips as the wheels left the ground and the aircraft tilted upward.

Harry watched her with a mix of derision and fascination. "It's just physics. Nothing to be afraid of."

"I know how airplanes work," Y/N snapped, eyes still firmly shut. "Knowing doesn't make it less terrifying."

The jet climbed steeply, banking slightly as it turned toward their flight path. Y/N's stomach lurched with the motion, her knuckles going white against the armrests.

"We're going to be in the air for fourteen hours," Harry pointed out unnecessarily. "You can't keep that death grip the entire time."

Y/N finally opened her eyes to glare at him. "Watch me."

Harry shook his head, a condescending smile playing at his lips. "You've really never flown before? Not even on holiday?"

"Not everyone's family could afford vacations abroad," Y/N replied sharply."Some of us were too busy working to make ends meet."

A flash of something—perhaps discomfort—crossed Harry's face before his expression hardened again. "Right. I forgot your family's entire personality is being working-class martyrs."

Y/N's jaw clenched. "And I forgot your entire personality is being an entitled ass."

The plane hit a pocket of turbulence, jolting suddenly. Y/N gasped, her hand instinctively reaching out and grasping the nearest solid object, which just happened to be Harry's arm.

He looked down at her fingers clutching his sleeve, then back to her face with an arched eyebrow. "Thought you couldn't stand to touch me."

Y/N snatched her hand back as though burned. "Reflex," she muttered, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

Harry's smirk widened. "Don't worry, I won't tell the tabloids my wife is only affectionate when she thinks she's about to die."

"I'm not going to die," Y/N said, as much to herself as to him. "Statistically, flying is safer than driving."

"Then why are you hyperventilating?"

"I'm not—" Y/N began, then realized her breathing had indeed grown rapid and shallow. "It's a normal stress response to an unfamiliar situation."

Harry leaned back in his seat, studying her with that insufferable air of superiority. "You know what helps with stress? Alcohol. Order a proper drink instead of clutching that water bottle like it's a life raft."

Y/N shook her head. "I don't want alcohol. It dehydrates you, which makes jet lag worse."

"Oh, I forgot. You've read every travel blog on the internet to prepare for your first flight," Harry said sarcastically. "Please, share more of your extensive aviation expertise."

Another bout of turbulence shook the cabin. Y/N closed her eyes again, counting silently to control her breathing.

"Jesus, it's just a bit of rough air," Harry sighed. "The pilot's not concerned, so you shouldn't be either."

"How do you know the pilot's not concerned?" Y/N challenged, anxiety making her voice sharper. "Can you read minds now?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "If there was a problem, they'd tell us. That's their job."

"Unless they don't want to cause panic," Y/N countered, her imagination clearly spinning worst-case scenarios. "Maybe they're trying to figure out how to handle the emergency without frightening everyone."

Harry laughed outright. "There's three of us on this plane besides the crew—you, me, and my assistant who's napping in the back. Not exactly a panic-inducing crowd."

Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt abruptly. "I need to use the bathroom."

"Running away from the conversation or from reality?" Harry called after her as she stood unsteadily, grabbing seat backs for support as she made her way down the cabin.

Inside the compact lavatory, Y/N leaned against the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was indeed pale, her pupils dilated with fear. She ran cold water over her wrists, trying to calm her racing pulse.

A knock on the door startled her. "You alive in there?" Harry's voice called."The seatbelt sign just came on again. More turbulence ahead."

Y/N opened the door to find him leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest.

"Why do you care?" she asked, genuine confusion in her voice. "Wouldn't it be easier for you if I locked myself in here for the whole flight?"

Something flickered in Harry's green eyes—annoyance, perhaps, or something less definable.

"If you injure yourself being thrown around during turbulence, it creates paperwork and delays," he said flatly. "And contrary to what you might think, I don't actually enjoy watching you suffer."

"Could have fooled me," Y/N muttered, pushing past him to return to her seat.

As they both buckled in, the aircraft began to shake more violently, dipping suddenly before stabilizing. Y/N's breath hitched audibly, her entire body tensing.

Harry watched her from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he sighed heavily.

"Look, turbulence is normal," he said, his tone slightly less mocking than before. "It's just air currents. It's like driving over bumps in the road."

"Bumps that are thirty thousand feet in the air," Y/N pointed out, her voice tight with fear.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, seemingly frustrated by her persistent terror. "The plane is designed to handle it. Modern aircraft can withstand forces far greater than anything we're likely to experience."

Y/N remained unconvinced, her fingers digging into the armrests as another jolt rocked the cabin.

"For fuck's sake," Harry muttered, then reached into his carry-on bag, pulling out a tablet. "Here, distract yourself. Watch a film or something."

Y/N eyed the offered device suspiciously. "Do I look like a fucking child you can distract with an iPad? Why are you suddenly being helpful?"

"Because your constant panic is stressing me out, and we have thirteen more hours of this," he replied bluntly. "I need to work on some lyrics, and I can't concentrate with you gasping every time we hit an air pocket."

Despite her words, Y/N reluctantly accepted the tablet. "Fine."

Harry returned to his seat across the aisle, pulling out a notebook and pen. For a few minutes, an uneasy peace settled over the cabin as Y/N scrolled through movie options and Harry scribbled in his notebook.

The plane dropped suddenly, a sharp plunge that had Y/N crying out involuntarily. The tablet slipped from her hands, clattering to the floor as the overhead bins rattled ominously.

"That's it," she said, voice trembling. "We're going to crash. We're going to die over the fucking Atlantic."

Harry looked up from his writing, exasperation clear on his face. "We're not going to crash. It's just—"

"If you say 'just turbulence' one more time, I swear to God—" Y/N threat was cut short by another violent shake of the aircraft.

The pilot's voice came over the intercom, calm and professional. "Folks, we're experiencing some moderate turbulence as we pass through this weather system. I'm going to keep the seatbelt sign on for the next thirty minutes or so. Nothing to worry about. Just a bumpy patch."

"See?" Harry said, gesturing toward the speaker. "Nothing to worry about."

Y/N shot him a venomous look. "Easy for you to say. You've done this hundreds of times."

"Exactly," Harry replied. "I've been through much worse turbulence than this and lived to tell the tale. Your panic is completely irrational."

"My feelings aren't irrational just because you don't share them," Y/N snapped, her fear momentarily overshadowed by indignation.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Your feelings are irrational when they're based on ignorance and catastrophizing. You're creating a disaster scenario with zero evidence."

"The evidence is that we're in a metal tube thirty thousand feet above the ocean, being thrown around like a toy!" Y/N's voice rose with each word.

Harry slammed his notebook closed. "Lower your voice. You're being hysterical."

"Don't you dare call me hysterical," Y/N hissed, anger now fully eclipsing her fear. "That's the most condescending, sexist—"

"It's not sexist to point out when someone's overreacting," Harry interrupted."I'd say the same to anyone having a meltdown over normal flight conditions."

The plane jolted again, and Y/N instinctively reached for support—again finding Harry's arm closest. This time, however, she didn't immediately pull away, her fingers digging into his sleeve.

Harry looked down at her white-knuckled grip, then up at her face. Some of the harshness left his expression.

"Take a deep breath," he said, his voice lower now. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Y/N glared at him but complied, drawing in a shaky breath.

"Again," he instructed, demonstrating with his own steady breathing.

For a moment, they breathed in unison, the tension between them shifting into something less antagonistic.

"I'm not apologizing for being afraid," Y/N said quietly after a few breaths.

"I'm not asking you to," Harry replied. "Just... try to manage it better. For both our sakes."

Y/N realized she was still holding his arm and finally released her grip. "Why did you make me come on this trip, anyway? You could have left me in London."

Harry's expression closed off again. "Because my 'devoted wife' skipping my Tokyo performances would spark rumors of trouble in paradise. The whole point of this arrangement is maintaining the image."

"Right," Y/N said bitterly. "The image. Always the image."

"That's what you signed up for," Harry reminded her, his tone hardening again."That's what you're being paid for."

The words hung between them, a stark reminder of the transactional nature of their relationship.

Y/N turned away, looking out the small window at the clouds below. "I know exactly what I signed up for. And exactly what I am to you."

Harry opened his mouth as if to respond, then closed it, returning his attention to his notebook with a scowl.

The turbulence gradually subsided, the flight smoothing out as they continued eastward. The silence between them stretched, punctuated only by the hum of the engines and the occasional sound of Harry turning a page or Y/N shifting in her seat.

Hours passed this way, with minimal interaction beyond necessary exchanges. Y/N eventually dozed off, exhausted by the prolonged stress and adrenaline crash. She woke to find a blanket draped over her. Placed there by the flight attendant, she assumed, though she hadn't seen Harry request it.

As they began their descent into Tokyo, Y/N tensed again, her anxiety returning with the change in altitude and engine pitch.

Harry glanced over at her rigid posture. "Landing is actually the easiest part," he said, his tone neutral rather than mocking. "You'll feel some pressure in your ears. Just yawn or swallow to equalize it."

Y/N nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak without revealing her renewed fear.

The plane banked, beginning its final approach. Y/N's stomach lurched with the motion, her hands automatically gripping the armrests again.

"Look out the window," Harry suggested unexpectedly. "The view of Tokyo coming in at night is spectacular."

Y/N hesitated, then leaned toward the small oval window. Below, the sprawling metropolis glittered like scattered diamonds on black velvet, a breathtaking panorama of lights stretching to the horizon.

"Oh," she breathed, momentarily forgetting her fear in the face of such beauty."That's... wow."

Harry watched her reaction, something almost like satisfaction crossing his features. "Worth the fourteen hours of terror?"

Y/N shot him a sidelong glance, not quite a glare. "Ask me after we've landed safely."

A corner of Harry's mouth quirked up. "Fair enough."

The aircraft descended through the last few thousand feet, the city growing larger beneath them. Y/N's breathing quickened again as the ground approached, but she kept her eyes fixed on the view, using it as a distraction from her fear.

The wheels touched down with a slight bump and a squeal of rubber on tarmac. Y/N exhaled a long breath she'd been holding, her body sagging with relief.

"See? Still alive," Harry commented, unbuckling his seatbelt as the plane taxied toward the private terminal.

Y/N gave him a weary look. "Your compassion is overwhelming."

"Just stating facts," he replied with a shrug, already gathering his belongings.

As they prepared to disembark, Y/N paused, a reluctant acknowledgment forming. "The view was worth it," she admitted quietly. "You were right about that."

Harry looked at her with mild surprise, as though he hadn't expected even this small concession. "Tokyo has a lot more to offer than just the aerial view," he said after a moment. "Try to enjoy it while we're here, despite the company."

Y/N's lips twitched in what might almost have been a smile. "I'll do my best. Though the return flight is already giving me anxiety."

"One crisis at a time," Harry advised dryly, gesturing for her to precede him down the aisle toward the exit.

As they stepped out into the humid Tokyo night, cameras already flashing at the bottom of the stairs, Y/N felt Harry's hand settle at the small of her back. A public display of affection for the waiting photographers. His touch was light but firm, guiding her down the steps with practiced ease.

"Smile, darling," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "The performance begins now."

Y/N complied, slipping into her role as the devoted wife with the ease of someone who had been practicing for months. But as they posed briefly for the cameras, her smile genuine despite her exhaustion, she couldn't help wondering if the fourteen-hour argument had actually been easier than this charade. At least when they were fighting, they were being honest with each other.

Harry's arm remained around her waist as they walked toward the waiting car, his body close enough that she could feel the warmth of him through her clothes. To anyone watching, they looked like a couple very much in love

The car door closed behind them, shutting out the cameras and curious eyes. Harry immediately dropped his arm and shifted to the opposite side of the backseat, putting as much space between them as the vehicle allowed.

Y/N stared out at the neon-lit streets of Tokyo, too tired to even feel hurt by the rejection. After all, she reminded herself, this was exactly what she had signed up for: a marriage that existed only for public consumption, performed by two people who could barely stand to breathe the same air when no one was watching.

The fact that it stung anyway was her problem, not his.

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A/N: In my head, this is maybe a week before part 1.

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verstappensrealwife · 1 year ago

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"Because he likes you!" - Lando Norris x Reader

[lando norris masterlist / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... lando bullies the reader, "because he likes her,". ʚɞ fluff, angst, smut. ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 2800 words ʚɞ warnings: slow burn, sex, tiny hint of carlos sainz jr x reader, sex. Reader “rewarding” Lando for winning!

-୨♡୧-

From the earliest memories of childhood, Lando Norris was a constant presence—a thorn in your side, a tormentor, a source of frustration. He revelled in teasing, in taunting, in making your life just a little bit harder. Your parents' dismissive explanation, "It's because he likes you," grated against your nerves, a feeble attempt to rationalize the torment. You did not like Lando Norris. Not at all. Not even the littlest bit. Not at all.

But hate was a strong word.

In your teenage years, Lando's torment took on a different form. The physical assaults of hair pulling and tripping you onto your face may have ceased, but the verbal jabs and the mocking laughter persisted, carving deeper wounds into your already fragile heart. It was as if he revelled in your discomfort, delighting in every opportunity to belittle and humiliate you, all under the guise of adolescent affection—a twisted notion that your parents foolishly labelled as "liking you."

Your family received the coveted invitation to his Formula One debut in Australia—an event that filled you with a conflicting mix of emotions. The pits pulsed with an electric energy, a cacophony of roaring engines and frenetic activity, cameras capturing every moment of the spectacle.

AUSTRALIA, 2019 With the guest pass draped around your neck, you navigated the bustling pits, your younger brother trailing behind you, wide-eyed with excitement. His adoration for Lando bordered on obsession, his youthful enthusiasm a stark contrast to the simmering resentment that burned within you.

Blehh!

You finally located the Orange garage, the vibrant hue catching your eye amidst the bustling chaos of the pits. With determination in your step, you made your way over, anticipation building with each stride. But as you reached out to tap the shoulder of the figure clad in orange- he was not the man you thought he was.

"Lando— Oh, hi, not Lando,"

The man before you exuded an undeniable charm, his smile lighting up his features and drawing you in despite yourself. There was an aura of confidence about him, a magnetic presence that commanded attention and left you momentarily breathless.

"Hello," he replied, his voice smooth and warm, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "I could be Lando for you," he flirted, his words tinged with playful intent.

"Would rather you not, he's not my type," you quipped.

But before you could dwell on the awkwardness of the moment, your younger brother, who had been tugging on your hand impatiently, finally spoke up, his excitement palpable. "HI CARLOS!"

Carlos.

"Hi, little man." He looked down- not even noticing the young boy when you approached. "Is he...?"

"Not mine! Brother." You cleared up.

He smiled softly before turning his attention back to entertaining the 5-year-old, leaving you to absorb Lando's sudden presence with a mixture of surprise and nonchalance.

"Didn't think my biggest hater would come," Lando remarked, his hand landing on your shoulder with a familiarity that made you bristle.

"I'm not here for you," you replied with a smile, gesturing towards Carlos who stood nearby, engrossed in conversation with your brother.

"Him? Why?" Lando's skepticism was palpable.

"Well, just look at him—those eyes, that accent, not to mention those muscles," you teased, unable to resist the opportunity to indulge in some light-hearted banter.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop you right there," Lando interjected, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. "He's not that hot," he insisted, though his tone betrayed a hint of uncertainty.

You chuckled in response. "Oh, believe me, he is," you insisted, your gaze lingering on Carlos as he interacted with your brother. "I would," you added casually, shrugging off Lando's incredulity.

"You would?" Lando's brow furrowed with genuine curiosity. "What would you do?"

Ignoring his question, you watched as your brother returned, proudly displaying Carlos' autograph adorning his shirt. "Bye, Carlos," you called out, offering a warm smile and a nearly imperceptible lip bite, to which Carlos responded in kind. Then, without sparing Lando another glance, you turned and walked away, leaving his unanswered question hanging in the air.

"WHAT WOULD YOU DO?!" his voice echoed after you, but you were already lost in the crowd, your thoughts drifting back to the captivating Spaniard you had just left behind.

After the race, as Lando jogged over to his and your families, the tension from the race began to dissipate, replaced by a mix of relief and begrudging acknowledgment. You couldn't deny his skill on the track, but that didn't mean you had to like him.

When he approached, surrounded by congratulations and well-wishes, you offered a lukewarm response, the bare minimum required to acknowledge his achievement. "Well, I mean I'm glad you didn't die?" you quipped, injecting just enough sarcasm to deflect any further attention.

Lando nodded in your direction, his own smile tempered by your evident lack of enthusiasm. You responded with a tight-lipped smile of your own, a silent reminder that while you might share the same space, any camaraderie between you remained strictly superficial.

SILVERSTONE, 2019

As Lando finished the race at Silverstone, notching an 11th place, you couldn't resist a playful jab at his performance. "Maybe one day you can get points!" you teased, your tone dripping with faux enthusiasm.

Lando's comeback was quick, his words laced with sarcasm, "Maybe one day you can stop being such a virgin." You burst into laughter, thoroughly amused by his attempt at banter, though he seemed puzzled by your reaction. His confusion only deepened when he followed your gaze to Carlos, who was nearby.

"Oh my god! Him?" Lando exclaimed, catching on to your playful insinuation.

Lando's playful challenge caught you off guard, his smirk daring you to match his boldness. "So if I DNF, you'll sleep with me?!" he quipped, his tone teasing but tinged with a hint of curiosity.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, suppressing a laugh at his audacity. "Pfft! You do that plenty! Win first maybe?" you retorted, firing back with equal parts sass and amusement. The banter between you continued, each remark a playful exchange that danced on the line between rivalry and camaraderie, reminding you both that despite any differences, there was still room for light-hearted teasing and mutual respect.

But you still didn't like him.

MIAMI, 2024

What a mistake! Because here you were, in the Miami heat, watching Lando beat Max by 5 seconds.

Honestly, you had forgotten that deal long ago.

Lando had not. He had thought about it at every close call of winning, every podium, every late night...

You were scared for him, you didn't like him- you just didn't want to see him fail... You don't like him...

When he passed the finish line he was shouting into his radio, thanking alot of people before you heard your own name.

"...and Y/N, I hope you remember Silverstone 2019!"

People looked at you for answers but you had none.

Until he got out the car, sweaty, tired, hot– warm! Because of the heat...You didn't think he was hot.

That was when you had the answer.

Gosh... Long day ahead.

As he practically flew out of the car, his eagerness palpable, he landed amidst a bustling crowd, his body unexpectedly colliding with yours. The force of the impact nearly sent you stumbling, but before you could fully register what had happened, his arms encircled you in a tight embrace. In that moment, amidst the chaos of the surroundings, there was a brief interlude of serenity as you found solace in his warmth.

But the tranquillity was short-lived. His whispered words shattered the fragile bubble of peace, leaving you reeling in disbelief. "Gonna fuck you so good tonight," he murmured, the unexpectedness of his crude remark contrasting sharply with the tender embrace moments before.

A mixture of emotions surged within you, a turbulent storm of confusion, disgust, and an unsettling flicker of attraction. It was a disorienting mixture, leaving you struggling to make sense of the conflicting feelings swirling within.

When he finally released you, his touch lingered, his hands reluctant to part from your waist. His gaze held yours for a fleeting moment, a silent exchange of unspoken words passing between you, before he abruptly moved on to greet the next person in the crowd. Left standing there, you couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that had settled over you like a heavy fog.

Hours later, as you walked briskly towards the hotel, he trailed behind you, his presence an unsettling reminder of the encounter earlier. Unsure whether to match your pace or maintain a discreet distance, he hovered awkwardly, his uncertainty palpable in the air between you.

"This feels creepy, Lando," you remarked, casting a sidelong glance at him. "Just catch up with me; you look like a stalker."

"It's not creepy!" he protested, his cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment. "We're heading to the same room... for the same... things."

You raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in your eyes. "Things," you echoed with a wry chuckle. "You can say sex, Lando."

His blush deepened, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Sex... with you. Wow."

"I... I thought the crush I had on you since I was, like, born, was pretty obvious," he confessed, his hand gently resting on the small of your back, a tentative gesture of intimacy.

The admission hung heavy in the air, an unspoken confession of long-held desires and hidden emotions. Caught off guard, you stumbled over your words, struggling to process the revelation.

You halted in your tracks, the weight of his words sinking in. "Huh."

"Yeah..." he murmured, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. "Well, Repunzel was right—mothers do know best."

A bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you resumed walking, his hand still lingering at your back. "It wasn't Repunzel; it was Mother Gothel," you corrected, a playful glint in your eyes. "And yeah—I'm a Repunzel fan, so what?"

His laughter echoed in the night air, a shared moment of levity amidst the weight of the conversation. "Shut up," he teased, gently nudging you as you walked side by side.

"Make me," you shot back, a playful challenge laced with a hint of something deeper—an unspoken invitation to explore the tangled emotions that lingered between you.

His laughter danced in the night air, a melody that seemed to weave around the unspoken tension between you. As his gaze met yours, there was a flicker of something more profound, a silent invitation lingering in the air.

A playful grin tugged at his lips as he leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Challenge accepted," he murmured, his voice low and husky with anticipation.

In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you suspended in a timeless embrace. His fingers traced a delicate path along your jawline, igniting a trail of sparks that seemed to dance beneath your skin.

With a gentle tug, he drew you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a tender caress. It was a delicate dance of longing and desire, a silent symphony of unspoken emotions finally finding their voice in the touch of his lips against yours.

As the kiss deepened, the world around you melted away, leaving only the sensation of his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer with each passing moment. In that fleeting instant, there was no room for doubt or hesitation, only the overwhelming rush of love and longing that seemed to bind your souls together as one.

And as you finally pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, there was a silent understanding that lingered between you— upstairs. Now.

The kiss continued unabated, an unrelenting torrent of passion that seemed to consume every ounce of your being. With each step towards his room, his touch ignited a fire within you, sending waves of desire coursing through your veins.

In the confined space of the elevator, his hands roamed freely, exploring every curve and contour of your body with an insatiable hunger. The air crackled with electricity as his touch lingered on the curve of your ass, his fingers tracing patterns of longing and desire against your skin.

The journey to his room was a blur of messy kisses and frantic touches, the urgency of his desire palpable in every brush of his lips against yours. His cock strained against the confines of his jeans, a silent plea for release that echoed the longing pulsing through your veins.

As he fumbled with the keycard, his impatience was palpable, his focus solely on the tantalizing promise of what awaited behind closed doors. The moment the door swung open, you were both consumed by a primal need that eclipsed all rational thought.

With a forceful push, you tumbled onto the bed, the weight of his body pressing against yours as the door slammed shut behind you. In that moment, there was no room for hesitation or restraint, only the raw intensity of two souls drawn together in a frenzied embrace.

–

"Was that Lando?" George asked, with popcorn and a bottle of water in his hands, looking over at Alex who held the same.

"What the fuck-"

–

His movements were urgent, desperate, as he sought to satisfy the burning desire that raged within him. He had barely been able to put the condom on with how shaky his hands were.

With each thrust of his hips, there was a raw intensity that bordered on reckless abandon, the rhythm erratic and frenzied. The sound of skin against skin filled the air, punctuated by the rhythm of your ragged breaths and the soft, breathy moans that escaped his lips.

His forehead was damp with sweat, pressed against yours with an almost possessive fervor. The heat of his breath mingled with yours, creating a heady cocktail of desire that hung thick in the air between you.

Every touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. His hands roamed your body with a fevered urgency, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he traced every curve and contour with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

In that moment, there was no room for restraint or inhibition, only the primal need to be one with you, to lose himself entirely in the depths of your passion. And as he surrendered to the intoxicating frenzy of desire, he found himself consumed by a blissful oblivion, lost in the heady rush of ecstasy that washed over him like a tidal wave.

You were a mess, a writhing wreck, unable to keep still as he pushed his entire cock into you. In and out, hitting the perfect spot every time. Each thrust earning another lewd moan from you. He was so proud he could make you feel so so good. But he couldn't keep going any longer after you came on his cock, the feeling making him so overwhelmed he couldn't keep it together as he came.

Not able to keep himself up anymore, he fell ontop of you.

"Ouch!" You giggle as he rolled off, beside you. You lay there, breathless and trembling, your body still pulsating with the aftershocks of pleasure as he collapsed beside you. His weight pressed against your side, a comforting presence amidst the disarray of tangled sheets and scattered clothing.

"So, how was that..." he ventured, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a hint of uncertainty.

You turned to him, a playful smirk dancing on your lips as you met his gaze. "Surprisingly good," you admitted, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Surprising?!" he exclaimed, his brows furrowing in mock offense. "What, do I not seem like I'd be good?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his incredulous expression, reaching out to playfully tousle his hair. "Oh, you were good," you assured him, your voice laced with affection. "More than good, actually."

His lips curved into a satisfied smile, a sense of pride flickering in his eyes. "Well, I aim to please," he quipped, his tone light and playful. "Does this mean you'll go on a real date with me?"

"Maybe win again and we'll see!" You joked, making him playfully smack your leg. "Joking.. I suppose I can," You shrug.

"You won't regret it, I promise," he vowed, his tone earnest and sincere.

He led you to a charming café nestled in the heart of Miami a few days later, the bustling streets alive with the vibrant energy of the city. As you settled into a cozy corner booth, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the tantalizing scent of pastries, creating a welcoming ambiance that enveloped you in its warmth.

"So, you and Carlos..." he began, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he leaned in closer.

Your brow furrowed in confusion at the sudden topic of conversation. "What about him?" you questioned, the curiosity evident in your voice. "If it's about 2019, we didn't actually do anything," you clarified with a casual shrug. "Did go on a few dates though, but he met another girl he liked," you added, your tone nonchalant and unaffected.

The playful smirk on his lips faltered slightly, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "You didn't even— You didn't even sleep with him," he whispered, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief that drew the attention of a few nearby patrons.

Your smile remained unwavering as you shook your head. "Nope," you confirmed.

"I guess its because 'I liked you' or whatever..."

Okay so maybe you did like Lando Norris... Just a little- maybe a lot.

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its-avalon-08 · 1 year ago

Note

can u pls do a super cute one of lando x y/n. where lando has a breakdown after a bad race and he thinks hes untalented and y/n makes all the voices in his head go away

make them go away (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, self-hatred, self-doubt, alot of fluff at the end, comfort, y/n is an angel

The tension in the McLaren garage was thicker than the Monaco air itself. Y/N stood shoulder to shoulder with the engineers, her eyes glued to the TV screen showing Lando in the lead. His papaya orange car, a blur against the azure background, sliced through the chicane with practiced ease.

"Norris is on fire today!" boomed the commentator's voice over the loudspeakers. "He's pulled a three-second gap on Leclerc, and it looks like he might just take the win here in Monte Carlo!"

Y/N's heart thumped a frantic rhythm against her ribs. A nervous smile stretched across her face as Lando entered the infamous tunnel section. This was always a tricky part of the track, even for seasoned drivers.

Suddenly, the image on the screen flickered. A staticky burst filled the air, then a sickening screech of metal on asphalt. Y/N's breath hitched in her throat. On the screen, Lando's car was a crumpled mess, careening off the barrier and coming to a halt against the wall.

The garage erupted in a cacophony of shouts and gasps. Y/N felt the blood drain from her face. The commentators' voices, once booming with excitement, were now laced with concern.

"Oh dear, that's a nasty crash for Lando Norris! We're getting reports that he's unharmed, but the car is definitely out. A heartbreaking end to what was looking like a dominant race for the young Brit."

The radio crackled to life, Lando's voice a raw mix of anger and frustration. "This is fucking bullshit! What the fuck happened?! The fucking car gave away. What the fuck was that?!" Static filled the air for a moment, then Lando's voice returned, even angrier. "Come on, guys, I could've won that!"

The radio fell silent, but the tension in the garage remained. A few minutes later, Lando emerged from the cockpit, his helmet still on. He stalked towards Y/N, a dark cloud hanging over his face. He pulled her into a brief, almost desperate hug, his body taut with suppressed emotion.

"I'm okay," he muttered into her hair, his voice barely a whisper.

Y/N squeezed him back, her heart aching for him. She knew the frustration, the disappointment gnawing at him. Before she could say anything, Lando pulled away and stormed off towards the back of the garage, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Y/N watched him go, a silent plea on her lips – a plea for him to let go of the anger, to allow the disappointment to wash over him, and know that she was there, by his side, every step of the way.

lando's internal monologue

Helmet off, the world swam in and out of focus through a haze of tears and anger. My gloves clawed at the damp air, a silent scream trapped in my throat. It was right there. The damn win. Every fiber of my being knew it, felt it on the edge of my fingertips. Then, nothing. Just the sickening crunch of metal, the world twisting upside down, and the taste of bitter, metallic defeat.

I slumped against the stack of tires, the sting of failure a physical weight pressing down on me. It's always the same story, isn't it? Get my hopes up, let everyone believe, then throw it all away in a stupid mistake. Maybe it's not a mistake. Maybe it's the truth finally rearing its ugly head.

I'm not good enough.

Everyone talks about talent, about potential. But what if it's all a lie? What if I'm just a fraud, a pretender who lucked his way into this seat? Maybe I fooled everyone – the team, the fans, even myself. Now the luck's run out, and I'm left with nothing but the wreckage of my own ambition.

Look at me. Curled up in a corner like a beaten dog, tears staining my cheeks like a child. This isn't the Lando Norris they see on the podium, the one spraying champagne and basking in the glory. This is the real me, the one who crumbles under pressure, who cracks when the going gets tough.

What a joke.

Every corner, every gear shift, haunted by a thousand doubts. Was I too aggressive? Did I brake too late? The questions swarm in my head, each one a fresh jab of self-criticism. Maybe Ricciardo was right all along. Maybe I don't belong here, in this high-octane world of champions and legends.

The pressure… it's a suffocating weight on my chest. The weight of expectation, of living up to a name that seems to grow bigger with every race. Every win feels like a borrowed time, every good result a fluke waiting to be exposed.

I don't deserve this seat. Don't deserve the team, the sponsors, the fans who roar my name. They deserve a champion, someone who can deliver, who can bring home the trophy. Not a broken mess like me, drowning in a sea of self-doubt.

But what now? How do I pick up the pieces from this shattered dream? How do I face everyone again, knowing I let them down? The future stretches before me, a bleak and uncertain road. Maybe it's time to step aside, to let someone with real talent take the wheel. Maybe that's the only way to silence the voice that keeps whispering – you're not good enough, Lando. You never were.

Y/N followed Lando with a worried frown, her heart twisting with every heavy step he took. He disappeared into a secluded corner of the garage, his back slamming against a stack of tires. A muffled sob escaped him, quickly followed by another, then another. Y/N didn't hesitate. She pushed past a crate and knelt beside him, her hand hovering tentatively over his shoulder.

"Lando," she called softly, her voice barely a whisper above the murmurs of the debriefing team.

He flinched at the sound, his entire body shaking. He ripped off his helmet, revealing tear-streaked cheeks and eyes filled with a raw, painful vulnerability.

"I should've won," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "It was right there, Y/N. I had it, and I messed up. Everything. Every stupid corner, every gear shift…" His voice trailed off, replaced by a ragged breath.

Y/N cupped his face in her hands, her touch gentle but firm. "Hey," she said, her voice laced with an unwavering strength. "Look at me."

Lando met her gaze, his eyes filled with self-loathing. "I'm not good enough, am I? I keep letting everyone down. The team, the fans… you."

"No!" Y/N's voice rose, cutting through his self-deprecating spiral. "Don't you dare say that. This doesn't define you, Lando. One race, one mistake, doesn't erase all the talent, all the hard work you've put in."

He scoffed, a humorless sound. "Talent? Maybe I was just lucky all along. A fluke. Now the luck's run out, and I'm left with nothing."

"Stop it!" Y/N's voice trembled with a mixture of anger and love. "Those voices in your head, they're lying. You hear me? Lying! You are talented, Lando Norris. One of the most talented drivers on the grid. This doesn't change that."

He leaned into her touch, a flicker of doubt battling with the storm of negativity in his eyes. Y/N continued, her voice a soothing balm against his self-destruction.

"Everyone makes mistakes, Lando. Even the best. But you, you get back up. You learn from it, come back stronger. That's who you are. That's the Lando I know and love."

A tear escaped his eye, tracing a warm path down his cheek. He blinked it away, a flicker of something akin to hope replacing the despair. He leaned his forehead against hers, seeking solace in her unwavering belief.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. "You wouldn't have to," she whispered. "We're in this together, every win, every crash, every doubt. We face them together, okay?"

He nodded, a shaky breath escaping his lips. In the dimly lit corner of the garage, surrounded by the wreckage of his dream race, Y/N became his anchor, her love the only voice that could silence the storm raging inside him. The road ahead might be filled with uncertainty, but with her by his side, Lando knew he could weather any storm.

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zablife · 1 year ago

Text

I'll Never Learn

Benny Cross x gf reader

Benny Cross Masterlist

Summary: Benny's always taking off without warning so Kathy advises you to break up with him and move on with your life. When he returns from his latest trip, you have a decision to make.

Warnings: physical argument (Benny would never hurt you, don't worry), angst with a fluffy ending

The evening shadows were creeping over the houses along your quiet street, reminding you another day had passed without a word from Benny. You stubbed out your cigarette before turning to face another dinner for one in front of the television. By now the familiarity of the routine had almost numbed you to the aching loneliness, but not quite.

Just when you thought you'd forgotten him, there were always little reminders of Benny somewhere, like the back of the kitchen drawer when you searched for a spatula this morning. You'd sobbed over a matchbox from the bar where you'd met Benny, fingertips lingering over the raised print as Kathy passed you the mixing bowl along with some well-meaning advice.

"I hate to say it, honey, but he's not worth it. I mean, he's out there doin' God knows what. Should be here with you once in awhile, right? With all you do for him," she shook her head, indicating toward the pots and pans.

"Find a man who's gonna treat ya right. It's the least ya deserve after puttin' up with this nonsense for a year," she said, patting your hand sympathetically.

You allowed the memory to float away with the lingering smoke, fingers closing around the edge of the front door when you heard it. The unmistakable rumble of an engine rattling the glass in the windows and the fragile heart you were trying so desperately to heal. Taking a deep breath to quell the ache in your chest, you found a flame of rage catching fire instead of the passion that you used to feel upon his return.

Whipping around to face your boyfriend, you found him at the steps, staring up at you with a sheepish grin.

"I'm home, baby," he announced softly, waiting for you to fall into his arms. Those faded baby blues trained on you in hopes of forgiveness you'd given so many times before, but this time you couldn't, the words Kathy had said hours earlier ringing in your ears.

"Benny, don't," you warned him, holding up your hand to stop him from giving whatever bullshit excuse was going to tumble from his lips next. Leaving him standing on the porch with a look of confusion creasing his brow, you stormed inside to gather your things.

His hesitation only lasted a moment before taking the stairs two at a time to run after you into the house. As his foot collided with your suitcase, his voice swelled with urgency, your name echoing off the walls. Bewildered at the sight, he uttered, "You're leavin'?"

"I can't do this anymore Benny," you informed him, hands crossed over your chest as you stared blankly at the floor.

"Do what?" he asked mindlessly, only catching on when your gaze shifted to the door. "You're mad cause I took a ride?" he asked incredulously. "Johnny asked me to--" he began defensively, but you weren't in the mood.

"While I'm here?" you shouted, the frustration building inside you as he stepped closer.

"Where else would you be, darlin'?" he asked with a nervous laugh, never having seen you like this before. He was on edge, unsure how to take this sudden turn in your behavior.

Blood now boiling after his flippant response, you looked up at him with fire in your eyes.

"I'm always here waiting for you to come back" you fumed, throwing up your hands as you added "....or not." Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you willed them not to fall as you explained, "I need somethin' more. I want you home from now on."

There it was, the ultimatum you'd been afraid to give before. After all, you weren't married, but if he wanted you in his life, this was how it would have to be.

Benny stood so still, you could scarcely tell if he was breathing. He blinked back at you slowly, nostrils flaring as he growled, "You can't tell a man somethin' like that. Look at Betty. She don't tell Johnny what to do!"

"Well I'm not Betty!" you retorted.

"You sure ain't," he seemed to agree, breathing out a heavy sigh as he turned away.

"You're an asshole," you seethed, pacing to the kitchen. "Kathy was right, you don't appreciate me and you never have."

Catching sight of the chocolate cake you decorated with little cherries on top, something inside you snapped.

"You don't care about anything!" Without another word, you reached for the cake plate at your elbow and threw it against the wall. Flinching as it shattered, Benny's hands grasped your shoulders to keep your arm from reaching the stack of plates next to it.

As you struggled, you fell to your knees, dangerously close to the broken shards that glistened under the fluorescent lighting. Benny pulled you up as you hissed out a warning.

"Get off me," you spat through clenched teeth, a look of fury in your eyes, but his muscular arms had already encircled you. Thrashing against him, you bucked and kicked at him, but he was too strong for you.

"Stop fightin' me," he barked, backing you away from the shattered glass to the adjacent wall. You couldn't hear anything except the sound of rushing blood in your ears and your own labored breathing as he pinned you against the peeling wallpaper. His right knee wedged between your legs and his hip dug into yours as he brought your arms above your head to immobilize you.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage, close enough for the reverberations to carry through to Benny. It was then he truly saw the pain beneath your eyes as hot, heavy tears collected along your lash line.

"Baby...baby, please, don't," he pleaded, face pinched in anguish. For a moment you thought a tear might trickle down his cheek as well.

"Is this wh-what we are now?" you asked with quivering lip. "Two people who can't even talk to each other without a fight?"

He drew in a deep breath to steady himself, head shaking softly before he could find the words to reassure you. Then his voice rumbled up from his chest in the soothing way you knew and loved.

"We're not like that and we never will be," he promised, eyes piercing into your soul with such earnestness, you ceased all movement under him.

Relinquishing the tight grasp he held on your wrists, he rocked back, allowing you to drop your hands to your sides as he cast his eyes downward.

"Kathy was right, you know, I don't deserve you," he said, voice dripping with guilt. He reached out slowly for your left hand, sliding his fingers between yours as he admitted, "You're too precious for a man like me."

"Oh, Benny," you sighed, chin tilted toward the ceiling tiles. He could be charming when he wanted to be and that had always been your downfall.

"But Kathy don't know anything about the way I love you." He murmured, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand reverently. "You mean everything to me and I'm gonna show you." His touch was so gentle, you could have closed your eyes and slumbered there in peace, forgetful of all the days before, yet something deep inside still tugged at you.

"I want to believe you, but you make it so hard sometimes," you admitted, chewing your bottom lip nervously. He tilted his head to listen carefully as you poured your heart out to him.

"You don't know what it's like to worry day and night if I'm ever gonna see you again. And I don't know if it's because you're hurt or in jail or..." you stopped to swallow the lump in your throat "or if you just don't love me anymore."

He ran a hand through your hair, large palm resting at the nape of your neck as he nodded in understanding. "M so sorry I ever made you think that."

You fidgeted with the zipper on his jacket as he said something you hadn't expected to hear. "That's over now, alright? No more."

"What did you say?" you exclaimed, eyes shooting up to meet his.

"No more takin' off. I want to be here with you. If you'll stay too?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at your suitcase with trepidation.

Your eyes followed his to the bag, staring for a long moment as you considered your decision. However, if you were honest with yourself, you'd already made up your mind. "I'll never learn," you muttered under your breath.

"Is that a yes?" he asked hopefully, leaning into your gentle nod to steal a kiss.

#the bikeriders #the bikeriders fanfiction #the bikeriders imagine #benny cross #benny cross fanfiction #benny cross imagine #benny cross x reader #benny cross x you #benny cross x y/n #Austin Butler

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gracefireheart · 1 year ago

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Did some fanart of @lenny-link TF2 x SU AU, 'cause I just went haywire for it :')

So have one drawing of me attempting to do a Heavy + Medic fusion (which I chose an Andalusite for), who are being lil' shits towards Scout. And one drawing of Peridot!Engineer in my more chibi-like style :]

(some small ideas I had below the keep reading line)

So, first off, I couldn't really see what gem Medic was, so I decided to just go with Red Agate. Mostly 'cause it's a gem that's a mix of red and white colors.

Now onto the lil' idea I had, which is Medic's power. Sure, it could be fun that he had just straight up healing powers (even if it's probably just Diamonds that have that power, but let's ignore that), but I thought about something else: An ability to enhance other gem's abilities. The ability only works when close to/touching the another gem, which- at the beginning- would mostly be gems that had moreso elemental, psychic-esque powers, or something else long-range rather than the gems who's prowess was mostly their brute strength or speed.

However. When fused with another gem, that enhancement ability of Medic's is way stronger. For Heavy, he will be way more physically powerful than he would be fused with anyone else. For Sniper, his arrows will not only multiply, but home towards their target or have some sort of elemental effect to it. Etc. Etc.

#Idk if I'll try drawing any other TF2 gem fusions :')#I kiiinda want to. but at the same time. it took so long trying to design Heavy + Medic's fusion o(-(#And still. a part of me isn't quite satisfied with how the fusion ended up looking orz Oh well #my art #Team Fortress 2 #TF2 Fanart #TF2 Medic #TF2 Heavy #TF2 Scout #TF2 Engineer

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frozen-planet · 4 days ago

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now that I have proper references for my latest NSR OCs, I can post them 😇😇😇 Star Boom!!!!!!!!!! and some info I am copying and pasting from art fight because I'm lazaaay ↓

They're named after the main star & binary stars in the Auriga constellation (first names being in relation to the word, "Star Boom", unsurprisingly to Supernovas naming conventions.) - this relates to me assuming the constellation in DJs head for his mural in Tatiana's office is Auriga, though I dooon't know if that's entirely true, since it's something I looked into maybe a year or so ago.

They're sooorta 1010 ocs, with a twist - being that they're entirely DJ Subatomic Supernovas creations instead, made to be a direct parallel to the boy band. 😇 The idea was that they're created around the time timeskip/nsr 2 would happen, which I had planned before this years announcement so thats soooo exciting YAY.

-Design wise they're majorly inspired by DJs love for physical media (mainly cassettes of course lol), mixing classic disco attire with astronaut suits. -Music wise they're responsible for bringing back disco more at its origin, inspired from real-world trios such as Shalamar, Love Unlimited, LaBelle, TLC and more - With a modern pop flair. Their personalities and performance personas reflect pretty directly with DJ Subatomic Supernovas - having big egos and revolving around the stars as well as having the same manner of speaking as him, this design choice was intentional as they were also made to uplift and promote his own music, keeping the DJSS name relevant in hopes of outlasting other musicians for many future generations.

They're created to be extremely adaptable, intelligent, and start out with an entire algorithm for astronomy and music making experience learned from DJs many, many tape recordings - essentially living as milestones of his youth to pass on to wider audiences. The cost of this is that, since they're more technologically advanced internally than 1010 are, they are not mass produced and proper maintenance is both essential and required for a long lifespan. That all being said they start out more inherently sentient than 1010 did on the basis that their systems are unique to DJs engineering skills and music influence.

I have a few more pieces of them I have doodled here and there since the start of this month(ish) as well, so I may as well dump it all here too 😁 including them as gijinkas as part of an au as well as the Eclipse's outfits from Bomb Rush Cyberfunk, since I've been playing that a lot recently too and realised their outfits looked really similar LOL.

I'll also include their playlist!!!!!!! Because its ESSENTIAL!!!!!!

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slowdrawl · 4 months ago

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Whiskey and Want |dbf!Joel x f!reader| | 18+ MINORS DNI | {series masterlist}

Chapter 4: The Buzzkill | wordcount | 3.5k {TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!}

| a/n | Chapter 4!! Drunken car rides home with Joel! What could go wrong? Things are gettin' a lil steamy now. Hope this chapter messes with your head as much as I want it to. apologies in advance. Your comments and reblogs are making my heart so happy, I'm glad you're enjoying my first lil fanfic (: xox - Liv “Joel reaches up, cupping your face in his calloused hand. His thumb drags over your bottom lip, pressing lightly, tugging it downward. Your lips part slightly, breath shuddering against his fingertips. ‘What was that, huh?’ His voice is a low drawl, thick with amusement. ‘Thought I was the pathetic one?’”

Warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, yearning, Alcohol aftermath, intoxication, vomiting, kissing, straddling, sexual tension, age gap dynamics, strong language, emotional vulnerability, mild injury (fall) aftermath. series warnings after the fic. reader uses she/her pronouns and has hair. no major physical descriptions of the reader. no use of y/n but has the nickname Bird, Birdie, etc. reader has a backstory.

You don’t move over to the passenger seat.

Instead, you stay in the middle of the bench, your bare thigh just barely brushing against the sweatpants Joel threw on before coming to get you and Tommy from the bar. The tequila still lingers in your stomach, but it’s not the only thing making you feel woozy. The air in the cab is heavy, warm—it smells like Joel, even with the little tree-shaped air freshener hanging from the mirror.

You zone out, watching the winding road as you drive toward home, slipping in and out of sleep. Every so often, you jolt awake, your head going slack and crashing toward your chest. Joel hasn’t said a word. He just keeps his eyes on the road, hands at nine and three, lips pressed together in a quiet hum.

He flipped on the radio when you pulled out of Tommy’s complex. It plays softly, tuned to some classic dad-rock station. You recognize the late-night host’s voice from being in this exact situation before—riding home drunk, half-asleep with your dad.

From the corner of your eye, you watch Joel until the steady hum of the truck’s engine, mixed with the rhythm of his breathing, lulls you back to sleep.

You wake up again, this time to the sound of Joel mumbling. You notice the faint vibration against your cheek, you must have rested your head on his shoulder while you slept. Half-opening your eyes, you realize you’re in the drive-thru of a fast-food restaurant. Joel pays at the window, and you let your eyes drift shut again, leaving your head where it is, trying to ignore the way he smells; like lavender and musk.

Judging by the passing scenery, you’re only about five minutes from home when a sudden panic jolts you fully awake. You untangle the arm you somehow wrapped around Joel’s, carefully moving his hand from where it rests, palm up on his thigh. Squinting against your blurred, doubling vision, you turn your head toward him and whisper in his ear,

“Joel.”

You feel his whole body tense. The hand on his knee scrunches the fabric of his jeans, and the knuckles gripping the steering wheel turn white.

“What do you need, darlin’?” he asks, caution in his voice.

“Pull over.”

He turns to look at you, his nose just inches from yours. His expression catches somewhere between intrigue and terror.

“Why do you want me to pull over? Your daddy’s gonna lose his mind if I don’t have you home soon.”

“I’m gonna throw up.”

The second the words leave your mouth, you snap your head away from him, fumbling with your seatbelt as you lurch toward the passenger door. Joel cranks the wheel hard to the right, jumping a curb and bringing the truck to a rough stop halfway onto the sidewalk. You barely get the door open before you’re heaving, stomach acid and cranberry juice burning your throat.

Fucking awesome.

You try to push him away, but Joel insists on helping. He holds your hair back, rubbing soothing circles between your shoulders. It’s clear this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

Of course, it isn’t. Joel always picked Sarah up from the bar, or any party she went to. He preferred it—never trusted her to take a cab home from the city.

Honestly, it’s surprising you haven’t ended up in this position before tonight. You and Sarah went out most nights whenever you were both home.

Once you’re sure you’ve emptied your stomach, you drag yourself back into the truck. Sliding back into the middle seat, you rest your head on his shoulder for the remainder of the drive. Neither of you say a word.

Joel just lazily drapes an arm over the back of the seat.

Before long, Joel pulls into the driveway.

He tugs you from the cab, setting you down, but your knees buckle like a newborn fawn’s—weak, wobbly, Jello-soft.

He huffs, exasperation sharp, and scoops you up before you hit the ground, cradling you like it’s nothing.

“Hold onto my neck,” he mutters, and you do, fingers sinking into the soft curls at his nape.

Your head spins, booze-soaked, and a memory flickers—three years back, right after Mom died, you spiraling into vodka stolen from Dad’s stash night after night, chasing numbness until it became your only lifeline. You’d been drowning in it, dependency creeping in as grief hollowed you out, barely 22 and already cracking. That night, he found you half-passed out on the porch, bottle tipped over, voice breaking as he whispered, holding back tears,

“I can’t lose you too, Birdie.”

The next day, he’d turned to Joel, pressing the key into his hand with a hollow, desperate look.

“You’re family, Joel—keep her from breakin’ like she did…” He stopped, eyes wet, the unspoken weight of her absence hanging between them.

You try to blink it away, clinging tighter now as Joel digs out that same key—a copy he’s had since then. He’s been Dad’s rock ever since her silence took hold, and you know this closeness is a shard in that fragile trust.

With a quiet click, the door unlocks. He carefully shifts sideways, making sure not to knock your knees against the frame as he carries you inside. His footsteps are light as he moves through the living room, lowering you onto the couch like it’s nothing. He’s still strong, handling you with ease, but he’s smart enough not to haul you upstairs and risk throwing out his back. Maybe when he was thirty, he wouldn’t have thought twice. But now? Pushing closer to fifty, his knees and back have the final say.

You roll onto your side, hugging a throw pillow and burying your face in it.

Joel heads into the kitchen, reaching into the cupboard above the sink. He grabs a bottle of whiskey and the ibuprofen, then pulls down two glasses—one for alcohol, one for water. He shakes out two pills, one for now, one for the morning.

There’s no need to be quiet. Your dad is half-deaf, could probably sleep through an artillery strike without stirring. He’s the heaviest sleeper you’ve ever met—a huge perk when you were a teenager. You never even had to sneak out; you just left and came back. He never had a clue. And your mom? She checked out of being a parent long before you hit your teens.

Joel settles beside you on the couch, pulling your legs across his lap. His fingers move to the buckle of your shoe, and at the first brush of contact, a shudder rolls through you—goosebumps prickling across your skin. It feels too intimate. You think about telling him to stop, but you don’t. Instead, you just watch as he slips off both heels and tosses them beside the couch.

Then, he nudges your shoulder.

“Sit up.”

When you don’t move, he sighs, grabs your wrist, and pulls you upright.

“Here, drink this.”

He presses the glass of water into your hand, holding out the pill in the other.

“Like I was saying earlier, cowboy—you ain’t my daddy.”

“You see him around right now? No, he’s sleepin’ while I take care of you. Now drink the damn water.” His voice is even firmer this time.

You oblige, placing the pill on your tongue in front of him and tipping the cool glass to your lips. You sip, then chug the rest. You hadn’t realized how thirsty you are until the liquid touches your tongue—parched, like a neglected houseplant or someone rescued from the Sahara.

Joel takes a slow sip of whiskey, watching you over the rim of his glass.

“Atta girl. Finally fuckin’ listenin’ to me.” His voice is low, a gravelly purr.

The praise makes your heart—and your pussy—throb.

It also makes you choke on your last sip of water. You double over, coughing into your elbow, eyes watering.

“You good, kid? Don’t go dyin’ on me now; I just got you home safe,” Joel says, half-amused, half-concerned.

“I’m fine. Went down the wrong pipe.” Your face burns with embarrassment.

“Mhm. Alright, whatever. Eat.”

He hands you a grease-stained brown paper bag. The smell alone makes you salivate. You reach inside and shove a handful of fries into your mouth, sighing softly as the salt and grease coat your tongue. Joel, thankfully, either ignores it or does a good job pretending to.

“You want some?” you ask, mouth full, holding out the box of fries.

“Nah, I’m good. You need the carbs to help soak up all the liquor in ya, kid.” He chuckles softly. “You’re gonna feel it tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine. I barely ever get hungover.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts. You hit my age, you go out drinkin’ like you did tonight, and you’ll feel it for a week.” He takes another sip of his drink, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

You smirk.

“Oh yeah, so true! I keep forgetting you’re an old man.”

Joel doesn’t laugh. Just stares at you, unreadable. Then, slowly, he moves his hand from the arm of the couch down to your ankle, wrapping his fingers around it. He squeezes once before tracing slow, lazy circles into your skin.

“You’re on mighty thin fuckin’ ice, brat,” he mutters, exhaustion making his voice even growlier.

For a second, you consider pushing him further just to hear more of it. But then you remember how pissed he got earlier at the bar. Maybe best to let it go.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “For bringing me home. And buying me food. And holding my hair, even though you didn’t need to do any of those things.”

Joel snorts.

“I didn’t need you to tell me to take you home from the bar. Watchin’ you dancin’ on an old man told me you were plenty ready to leave.”

His expression twists slightly, like the memory alone makes him taste something sour.

“Tommy’s not that much younger than you. If he’s old, you must be ancient,” you tease. “And if it’s any consolation, I was only doing that to keep him from breaking some poor kid’s nose.”

Joel just watches you talk, nodding along as you babble.

“That’s why I texted you. He almost beat up some guy for hitting on me.”

“Well, did he deserve it?” Joel asks.

“Not really. He was pretty harmless. Tommy must’ve been jealous.”

Joel hums in agreement, still absentmindedly rubbing your lower legs, every now and then dragging his fingers down to your feet. It’s a harmless act—a paternal instinct, you tell yourself. It reminds you of the nights your dad would sit at the end of your bed, rubbing your shins to ease the growing pains that left you sobbing.

Your eyelids feel heavy.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into the warmth of Joel’s touch.

“Where’s my phone? It was in my jacket last time I saw it,” you ask him.

“Oh, must still be in the truck. I’ll go get it, hold on,” he answers.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll grab it—I need to change out of this stupid dress anyway. You stay.”

You shift off his lap slowly, swinging your legs over his knees. The movement is careful, measured, and when your bare skin grazes over his crotch, you feel the way his body stiffens beneath you. He doesn’t say anything, he just watches, expressionless—but you don’t miss the way he swallows hard, his grip tightening for a second on his glass of whiskey before he sets it down.

As you head for the door, you glance back. Joel’s adjusting the throw blanket over his lap, his jaw clenched like he’s trying to will himself into stillness. You don’t say anything, but a knowing smirk plays at your lips as you step outside. //

The air is cooler than you expect, the contrast against your warmed skin sending a small shiver down your spine. You climb into the truck and grab your jacket from the floor of the cab, but as you lift it, something catches your eye. A crumpled sticky note, partially stepped on. You smooth it out between your fingers and immediately recognize the handwriting.

Thank you for supporting our small business—Sweet Berry Farm.

Your lips twitch into a small smile as you remember the bouquet of sunflowers Joel brought you the day you came home. They’re still sitting on your nightstand, petals a little wilted now.

You swing the truck door closed and step onto the porch, deciding to light a cigarette since you’re already outside. The porch swing creaks under your weight as you sit, leaning your head back and taking a slow drag. The tobacco is sweet on your tongue, the warmth settling low in your belly, making everything feel a little easier, a little looser. The quiet hum of the night wraps around you, and you get so lost in it that you don’t hear the front door open or close.

You only notice Joel when the swing shifts beside you.

“Your daddy know you smoke?” His voice is thick, a little rough around the edges.

You pause, cocking your head slightly.

“What he don’t know won’t hurt him.”

“I ain’t tellin’,” he murmurs, plucking the cigarette from your lips before you can react. He brings it to his own mouth, inhaling, the ember flaring bright, a red glow pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Too pretty to be smoking, though, darlin’,” he adds, exhaling, the smoke shimmering unnaturally in the dark.

You should roll your eyes, should brush him off, but you don’t. You just watch. The way the smoke curls from his lips. The way his chest rises slow and steady, broad and strong. The way his fingers linger near his mouth before offering the cigarette back to you.

Your mouth goes dry, and your thoughts scatter. Can he taste my chapstick? Why does he make smoking look so good? What do his lips feel like? What do they taste like?

You reach for the cigarette, but Joel notices the way you hesitate. His lips twitch.

“You still in there? You’re starin’,” he drawls, holding it just out of reach.

Real smooth, fucking weirdo.

You recover quickly, snatching the cigarette back with a huff.

“Not staring—zoning out. Headrush. Don’t flatter yourself.” You take another slow pull, but the warmth in your face betrays you. The heat that started in your chest is lower now, simmering beneath your skin, and when you shift in your seat, pressing your legs together, Joel notices.

His eyes flick down, then back up. He leans in, just enough that you smell the faintest hint of whiskey.

“Whatever you say, kid.”

His voice is low, teasing, and you officially lose any chance of pretending you have the upper hand. He knows exactly what he’s doing—he’s enjoying this.

You keep passing the cigarette between you, his fingers brushing yours each time. When it burns down to the filter, you stomp it out and flick the butt into the yard. You pull your phone from your pocket, exhaling slowly, but when you glance at the screen, your stomach drops.

Your eyes widen at the first notification.

(1:08AM)T-Mills: Had a lot of fun tonight, bird. We should hang out more. 😜 Srry Joel's such a fuckin’ buzzkill. 🙄

Your stomach twists. Whatever reaction flickers across your face must be obvious, because before you can even think to hide it, Joel leans in. His eyes flick over the screen, and before you can pull away, he snatches the phone from your hands.

“Is he fuckin’ hitting on you still? Jesus Christ.”

His voice is sharp, edged with something rougher, something possessive. His whole demeanor shifts—shoulders squared, jaw tight, fingers gripping your phone like he’s about to snap it in half. You can’t tell if it’s scaring you or turning you on.

“Joel, give me back my phone. Who cares if he is, anyway?”

You reach for it, but he jerks his arm away, forcing you to grab at his forearm in a weak attempt to pry it from his grip.

“Oh, I fuckin’ care. He knows better.”

Joel scoffs, shaking his head like he’s personally offended. His grip tightens around your phone, and then he mutters,

“You’re off limits, and he knows that.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Off limits?

Your hands go slack, any fight draining out of you. What’s the point? He’s stronger—he could keep it from you all night if he wanted to. You watch as he unlocks your phone, swipes to the camera, and snaps a picture of himself flipping off the screen. Then, he types out a message and hits send.

(1:27AM) You: Get fucked, Tom—The Buzzkill 😉

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You guys are both fucking pathetic.”

It must hit a nerve, because Joel’s expression changes instantly. His eyes darken, pupils blown wide—so wide, you swear you can see the whole damn moon reflected in them. But this time, he doesn’t look angry. Just… intense.

Heat licks up your spine.

Joel reaches up, cupping your face in his calloused hand. His thumb skims across your cheekbone, fingers trailing lower, slow and deliberate, tracing down the side of your neck. Your breath falters in your throat, and before you can stop it, a quiet whimper slips past your lips.

For fuck’s sake.

Joel grins.

“What was that, huh?” His voice is a low drawl, thick with amusement. “Thought I was the pathetic one?”

His thumb drags over your bottom lip, pressing lightly, tugging it downward. Your lips part slightly, breath shuddering against his fingertips. He doesn’t move any closer, just stays right there, hovering. You’re sharing air now.

You’re inches away from something irreversible.

You try to say something—anything, but before you can find the words, Joel closes the gap. His lips meet yours, rough and consuming, and you swear your pulse is loud enough to drown out the whole city.

Your body ignites.

You press into him, mouth parting wider, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth. You bite down, just enough to feel resistance before you soothe it with a slow drag of your tongue.

Joel’s fingers tighten around your jaw, tilting your chin up, deepening the kiss. His tongue slides against yours, tasting, exploring, claiming. His other hand grips your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh, pulling you closer. Your own hands find their way into his hair, twisting into the curls at the base of his neck, tugging just hard enough to draw a low growl from his throat. The vibration shoots through you like lightning, settling deep in your core.

It’s not enough.

Your pussy aches, you’re desperate for some kind of friction, anything to get some relief. You continue mapping out his mouth with your tongue, never breaking the kiss until you turn to swing your knee over his thigh. You hover, hands planted against his shoulders, thumbs pressing into the space between his collarbone and traps.You settle over him, straddling his lap. Or at least, you try to.

Joel’s hands clamp down on your hips, holding you still.

“Can’t do that, darlin’.” His voice is rough, strained. “S’not right. You’re drunk.”

His hesitation threatens to snap the moment in half, dragging him back to reality, but you refuse to let it slip away that easily. Your breath is still heavy, your heart beating relentlessly as you meet his gaze.

“I’m sober enough to know what I’m doin’.”

Joel exhales hard through his nose, shaking his head.

“Sure, but I don’t think you have a fuckin’ clue what you’re gettin’ yourself into, little bird.”

His pupils are still blown wide, but his face is serious again—his mind warring with his body. You can see it. The restraint tightening in his jaw, the way his fingers flex against your skin like he’s debating whether to push you away or pull you closer.

“We shouldn’t be doin’ this, your daddy’s gonna have my fuckin’ head.”

You tilt your head, voice dropping to a whisper.

“I’ll never tell, cowboy.”

That’s all it takes.

He breaks.

His hands tighten on your hips, dragging you down as his mouth crashes into yours. A sharp whine escapes from the back of your throat, swallowed up by the heat of his lips. Your nails dig into his shoulders, anchoring yourself against him, his pulse beneath your fingertips racing.

His tongue dances on yours, slow, like he has all the time in the world to take you apart piece by piece. The taste of whiskey lingers, sharp and heady.

You shift, rolling your hips against his thigh—chasing friction, desperate for more. He growls into your mouth, fingers surely pressing bruises into your skin as he holds you there, letting you feel exactly what you do to him.

Then—

Creak.

Joel tenses beneath you.

You barely have time to react before—

The swing creaks too loud, the night bending around you.

Snap.

The porch swing collapses beneath you both. You plummet backward, limbs tangling with his as you hit the ground.

And just before your head smacks against the siding of the house—

You wake up. (I'm so sorry for this please don't hate me I promise I'll make it up to you)

series warnings!!! fluff, smut, angst,unprotected p-in-v (please wrap it up), f/m masturbation, fingering, large but legal age-gap (joel is in 40's reader is in mid 20's), size kink?, choking, pervy!obsessive!joel, pervy!mean!Tommy, possessive/rough sex, vomiting, alcohol intoxication, praise, sex on the phone, drinking/smoking, strong language, sneakin around, lowkey obsessive and reckless Joel, blackmail, competency kink, risky sex, infidelity/implied, semi-public sex, breeding kink lowkey, overstimulation, a tiny bit of coercion, dirty talk, oops its a creampie, brief mentions of grief and implied suicide, Tommy is a jerk in this one, guilt and betrayal, bar-fights @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @brittmb115 @mystickittytaco @your-nightmaredoll @leenieweenie12 @jokesonthem

#dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #dadsbestfriend!joel #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #dbf trope #tlou smut #tlou fic #joel miller x oc #joel miller fluff #tlou x reader #dbf!joelmiller #joel miller #whiskeyandwant

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monsterfuckerconfessions · 9 months ago

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Sort of a mix of exhibitionism, breeding kink, and experimentation/medical kink, but I really love the idea of hanging out in a group of friends/strangers when we all get abducted by aliens interested in humanoid reproductive and sexual capabilities. Waking up to find myself suspended and covered in some strange diodes/electrodes as some strange being prods at my body, jotting notes and making comments with little acknowledgement of me. Left immobile by the strange technology, I'm forced into presenting my wet pussy while a girl is floated over to me with her cock erect, bumping clumsily against my lips and clit until one alien finally guides her member in, and once its in they bind us together in a makeshift doggy position, looking to test how long it takes for ejaculation to occur with limited movement. Desperately trying to distract ourselves even as her swelling cock stretches me, as my pussy can't help but weep and shiver around her, until its too much, her desperately apologizing to me as her hips hump shallowly, me reassuring her as I feel her twitch, eyes on our strange captors to see how they speak with pride and fascination to each other when they see us fall over the edge of orgasm. They test all our limits with increasing interest, how much cum we produce, how much we can take, depositing fluid directly into the wombs of those subjects who have them, the endurance of each subject. They start to note different subject's tastes and preferences, that this one cums faster when struck while another responds when touched lightly and quickly with instruments until laughter is produced. The aliens are fascinated to learn that even if they are not stimulated themselves watching one of their companions be tested on, toy up their ass and down their throat and cock being milked, results in similar arousal symptoms. The trans-galactic team is especially fascinated to find that some human suspects are even interested in the aliens themselves; a whole new task force/research team is put together to test alien-humanoid breeding possibilites. One scientists finds the eggs of their own species incubate well in human stomachs and wombs, their heavy bellied subjects' caring instincts kicking in; even the most reluctant subject who refuses food begins responding positively with an alien baby in their belly. Another finds that human breast milk is the key component in a breakthrough cure for its species, quickly arranging meetings with its home research crews, a contented human in one of their sets of arm who sits placidly as they're used as a tool for presentation. Some breakthroughs don't even have a real purpose other than the scientists own fascination- one of the ship's engineers takes a liking to a specific subject, and when it's discovered that his frequencies and sustained eye contact with his eyestalks can bring a human to orgasm without physical contact, he manages to make a compromise that he gets to keep his new pet in his personal quarters so long as he contributes to the research with his ability.

#monsterfucker confessions

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taintedjeon · 2 years ago

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──★ ˙ ̟ 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 - jjk (m)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: rockstar-vocalist!jk x groupie!reader (afab/she/her) 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞: rockstar au 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 18+, smut, porn-with-little-plot 𝐰𝐜: 4.1k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: omg here we go... bigdick!jk, bigsize!jk, dom!jk, sub!reader, she isnt bratty but she pushes the right buttons, strong language ie swearing, use of nicknames (princess, babydoll, baby, slut, good girl), now for the gewwwd stuffs ;; kissing, making out, nipple sucking, spit kink, size kink, light petting, reader goes into sub space, choking/asphyxiation, jk has not 1 .... nOT TEW not T H R E E ;; but ✨ fOuR ✨ dick piercings jahsgdfjshdh!!! (1 prince albert n 3 foreskin piercings) — n for the sake of this story he isnt circumcised since plenty of ppl on this app like to make things like that a big deal… if u do; theres the block button ok thank u bye. —the use of piercings for sexual pleasure, multiple orgasms, jk comes inside, unprotected sex, standing sex, dirty talk, fingering (oc receiving), oral (oc receiving), face ridddding, she uses his nose to stimulate.

Backstage of the venue is cold, a juxtaposition to the warmth of the crowd you had been swarmed in moments ago. Now, your body ignites in flames as Jeongguk drags you through the commotion of people; his palm wrapped around your wrist tight. From sound engineers, lighting operators, bodyguards and technicians of all kinds, Jeongguk manages to skillfully weave you both successfully to the end of what felt like a never ending corridor before opening the last door on the left and pulling you inside.

You’re not given enough time to make aware of your surroundings before Jeongguk shakes off his leather jacket and pulls his vintage 1991 Skid Row band shirt over his head in that sexy manner men do — arms crossed, gripping the hem and effortlessly off his body. Removing the shirt messes around with his already sweat soaked mid length bob that he has been growing out. But yet, as the strands fall in disarray over his face, it still manages to make him effortlessly fuckable.

You can’t ignore either his body and the way it bulges in the correct places and curves and dips in the rest. It might have been only six months since you had seen Jeongguk last, but in those six months, he has filled in his body finely — both physically and visually.

Tattoos litter his right arm in pretty shapes, swirls, designs and lettering. Beautiful colours striking against emboldened blacks and whites. He sports two barbells on either side of his chest and you bite your lip as images from the last hook up fills your mind from when you had the opportunity to enjoy them in person.

Jeongguk isn’t oblivious to you taking him in; top to bottom, head to toe, and finally he does something about it. Your back is pushed up against the door and the sound of the lock latching behind you. Jeongguk’s mouth is on yours in an instant, his pillowy lips slightly chapped from the singer being on stage for the last hour and a half but that doesn’t stop you from melting into him.

Your arms wrap around his neck, giving you ample opportunity to deepen the kiss. The metal of the metal hugging is lip is cool against your warm skin. Your tongue runs along the seam of his bottom lip and he grants you access to tangle your tongue with his. The after taste of cheap beer and spearmint gum is welcomed as the pair of you turn the kiss from passionately soft to fierce, a sense of urgency creeping into the mix as you’re both aware that you both need to get off before someone comes searching for Jungkook for his encore set.

“Couldn’t help but notice you starin’ at me through the set,” Jeongguk smirks sexily, knowing he has you exactly where he wants you. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

His hands roam all over your body as he kisses you hard. He starts at your shoulders, swiftly pulling down the thin straps of your tank top past the cups of your white lace bra before tugging the cups and feels as your tits release from the lace.

“M’sure plenty of girls were,” you’re quick to reply, voice airy with lust.

Jeongguk breaks the kiss, saliva keeping your mouth connected before he snaps it with his deft fingers and then using them to run light, teasing circles over your hardened nipples.

“Maybe, but none that I actually want. Thought you were so fucking pretty…”

You shiver and you know it’s not from the temperature of the chilly room you’re both currently occupying.

Before you’re about to remind Jeongguk about the lack of time you both have, the dull hum of intermission music vibrates the tiny closet and his lips are on your throat and all words die on your tongue as you hiss out in pleasure.

“Sensitive, yeah?” He asks, his breath warm against your skin as he decorates your skin in tiny nips and sucks.

“Oh…yes,” you confirm, your lids fluttering shut as he continues his assault on your neck.

With shaking hands, your arms trail down to the belt loops of his leather pants and you hook your fingers through and use it to your advantage to tug him closer to you. The feeling of Jeongguk grinning against your skin at your obvious desperation for him urges him on. With ease, he slots his thigh in between your legs and uses his stance as an advantage to pry your legs further apart.

Working your own fingers on the heavy buckle of his belt as Jeongguk continues his teasing on your cunt, you manage to pull the leather in between your fingers to open him up. Jeongguk tilts your chin with his palm to continue his assault on your neck and you retaliate by slipping your hand underneath his pants. Your fingers come in contact with his hardened cock and Jeongguk bucks his hips further into your touch.

Your heart thrums against your ribs when you feel his fingers inch their way below the hem of your pleated skirt to press into the warm of your cunt.

“Warm and wet,” he whispers against the shell of your ear; his voice is enough to cause the small hairs on your arms to rise. You don’t stop the whine that falls from your tongue as he presses two digits harder against your pulsing clit. “And so fucking sensitive, just for me, pretty girl.”

You get lost in the sensation of him starting to rub you over the flimsy cloth at your cunt.

All your inhibitions are lost as your want for the vocalist grows. “Jeongguk, please,” you beg for more…beg for him.

“Fuck, yes, plead for me,” Jeongguk almost starts begging with you. “Plead for me just like you did in your videos you dirty girl. You’re so bad, huh? Sending videos of your creamy pussy whilst I’m rehearsing. Tell me, did you satisfy yourself? Or am I just too good at pleasing you?”

“No, Jeongguk, I-nothing c-could ever compare to you at all. I was only mmm-missing you, ahhh,” your voice trails off when you feel his thumb and pointer finger pinch at your clit, lightly twists.” Your body grows hot and electrified, sweat building a glistening sheen on your body at the tirade your body is going through.

It only lasts for the briefest of moments before Jeongguk stops playing with you and instead pulls your thong to the side and tucks it in between the juncture of your groin and thigh before running his fingers between your now exposed folds, feeling how soaked you are and slides a thick finger into your soft core.

“Fuuuuck, you’re treatin’ me fucking good tonight, doll,” his voice rasps and you watch as he sinks to his knees in front of you. With ease, Jeongguk props your leg over his shoulder and buries his head in between your legs and his tongue is quick to drag through your pussy.

“Jeongguk, fuck, ohmygod,” the cry is muffled as he brings a big hand up to your lips and covers your mouth. Your eyes can’t help but roll back as your cunt flutters over the thick, long fingers that help place stars behind your closed eyes.

“M’gonna need you to be quiet, babydoll. I’ve still got more to give you... going to push a couple more fingers in ‘till I’m satisfied, okay?

Jeongguk makes quick work of his tongue on your cunt. A litany of fast strokes, skilled pumps of his tongue in your messy leaky hole and now with the added addition of two more fingers, now counting three. You feel full of him as he preps you for what you hope is yet to come. It’s almost second nature for him to know when to curl his digits inside of you, a skill you’re more than aware has come from the copious amount of women he’s had in his bed. But for tonight, he’s here with you and that’s what’s important. You moan when he gets knuckle deep and causes your breathing to become erratic as both your hands tangle into the messy roots of his shaggy locks.

It’s frightening how fast your orgasm approaches you. It’s almost like he's known your body for years, and in some way, he does. Whenever his band finds their way to your town, the tirade of sexting continues from where it left off from his last visit.

“Yes babydoll, just like that, use me.”

He fucks his fingers into you and his tongue flicks your clit, drinking down your honeyed slickness. You don’t stop your hips from chasing your high, letting your pussy grind further into his face, nudging at his nose and then stopping to fuck yourself on his pretty button feature.

Out of the corner of your eye, you find a mirror tucked away in the corner. With the closest bathed in darkness, you’re unable to see clearly in the mirror, but it’s clear enough that you can make out the both of you — your hips fucking Jeongguk, using your hands to guide him into delicious positions for your tongue.

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t realise Jeongguk has removed a hand from your ass, his black chipped nail polished fingernails rakes down the skin of your thigh, hard enough to leave a sting of pleasurable pain as he continues down to the knee over his shoulder.

With shaking legs, your climax reaches its tipping point and you feel yourself come at an impressive force. Your body curls over in euphoria, fingers tightening its hold in his hair as a litter of curses fill the space between you both. Your head rolls back and your eyes tighten as nothing but black and speckles of white fuzzy stars to appear behind your eyes.

Jeongguk stands up, face wet from your cum coating his pretty features and he can’t help but swipe his tongue over his chin, making a scene of tasting the remnants of your arousal that he gave you.

“Aw, did my fingers fuck you dumb, hmm babydoll? Tell me how good it makes you feel,” Jeongguk demands from you as he practically laughs at your disorientation.

It isn’t fair, you’re still trying to come down from such a powerful climax that the best you can offer him is a string of useless babbled broken words.

His laughter continues and embarrassment settles in your chest. Nobody has ever made you come like that with their fingers alone and you’re both well aware of that fact.

“You look so fucking pathetic and pretty for me, pussy stretched over my bare fingers, making the sweetest sounds. Fuck, I should record you and put you on my next record and release it for the world to hear; you’d be my next breaking hit.” Jeongguk admits and lands a slap against your asscheek, the bite of his skin against yours causing you to hiss.

Eventually, you’re able to prop yourself up on your elbows on top of a stack of black equipment boxes that are kept behind the stages and cock your eyebrow up at him.

“Jeongguk, is that the best you’ve got?” You smirk, knowing you’re pouring gasoline all over an already raging fire.

Jeongguk walks towards you and traps you in between his body and the boxes you're using as a support beam. He lifts his hand in the air and the next thing you know, a dim light flicks to life and lights the closest in a warm yellow glow.

You’re able to take in the sight of the man in front of you for the first time since entering together. His once precise eyeliner and eyeshadow is smudged down his cheeks but in a way that makes him look fucking delicious. His chest is heaving with every shallow breath he takes and you’re awestruck at the beauty of him.

“Tell me what you want.” His eyes are darkened with unbridled lust as he wraps his tattooed hand around your throat and squeezes at the sides, watching your eyes roll back. Jeongguk truly does know your body like a well versed chorus and it makes your body thrum with want. “Good girls use their words.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

He towers over you easily as he stares down at you. His thumb glides over your lower lip and you open your mouth at his silent request. A train of spit is released from his mouth as he watches it slowly pool at the back of your mouth. Jeongguk follows his fluid and presses his lips to yours in a languid kiss, his tongue instantly twisting with yours nastily. You’re still able to taste your cum on his tongue and your pussy throbs for more of him.

It’s effortless how he breaks your lewd kiss and is able to manhandle your body, twisting you around so your back is facing him and he kicks apart your feet like he had done earlier.

“How badly do you want me to fuck you?"

You back your ass into the crotch of his leather pants as you feel him rustling behind you to remove his clothing just enough to release his cock. You move your hips against him, feeling his cock in between your asscheeks as you move to sensual rhythm. “So fucking badly. Remind me what your cock feels like.”

He grabs at your arm and pulls it towards his covered cock. You take the hint and wrap your hand around his twitching length, giving him a teasing squeeze when you feel it. You’re back at standing straight and you turn back around to face Jeongguk, peeking down towards cock.

“What is that?”

“This?” he pulls his boxers down by the hem just enough to reveal the blue jewel piercing. “I’m so glad you asked. I did this for you.”

“You got your dick pierced for me?”

He laughs. “No baby,” this time he pulls his black Calvin Kleins to his mid thighs and reveals one by one a new piercing decorated with a different colour gemstone until he reaches his tip, decorated with a prince Albert with pink gemstones on either side of the bar. “I got my dick pierced four times for you. Each one a favourite colour of yours so when I fuck you, you can watch as the colours disappear inside of you.”

Your eyes widen and your mouth waters at the thought of how they’re going to feel as he fucks into you and you moan pathetically. You can’t look away from them. The pink prince Albert sits prettily at the top of his cock as a puddle of pearlescent precum allows the pink to look vibrant. Following that are three foreskin piercings, again all different coloured stones locking the metal bars in place. There is a purple set first, a green set in the middle and then your favourite colour at the end, nearing the base of his cock — blue.

He is so close to you that you can feel the warmth of his breath against the shell of your ear. “Now, let me use these how they were intended to be fucking used — to feel you wrapping yourself around my cock like an obident slut.” He presses a kiss against your shoulder and manhandles you back in place. “Bend over and spread yourself open,” he growls.

Doing as you’re told, your tits press into the cold metal boxes as you bend yourself to his liking before reaching behind you and spreading your ass open for Jeongguk, displaying your pussy, showing how wet and ready you are for him.

He uses this as an opportunity to bend down to your cunt and spits directly at your hole, watching as you clench around nothing in anticipation for his cock. You looked behind you to see him grab at his cock, lining himself up to your quivering cunt.

“Before I fuck you, there’s one rule you follow,” he groans.

“W-what?” You ask, your breathing all over the place as you wait somehow impatiently for the one thing you have waited six months for.

Jeongguk prods his tip at your entrance and watches as his cum coats your entrance, but never quite pushes himself in yet. “Every inch I fill you with, I want you to count every piercing you feel on my cock—”

“Fuck, Jeongguk!”

“There’s four in total, princess. Once you’ve counted the forth one, then you’ll know you’ve taken all eight inches of me. If you fail to count, I’ll pull out and he can start again until you get it right. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” you tell him.

Jeongguk places a hand at your hip and lines his cock up to you one more time. Slowly, he eases into you and your head falls forward against the boxes. The feeling of his prince albert piercing intruding your small hole causes goosebumps to rise and your breath to falter.

“Count. I’m not going to tell you again.”

With a shaky voice, you obey. “One.”

He stops for a moment, catching his own breath as the reality of the situation catches up with him as he takes in the fact he is back burying himself in his favourite pussy. Definitely one of the greatest parts of him touring the world is your cunt.

Jeongguk manages to compose himself and ease himself further into you, watching as he’s coming up to the first piercing on his foreskin. Just like the first one, he nuzzles the piercing over your clit and moves his hips in a way where it rubs over your clit. Your fist clenches as you feel him tease you and just as you’re about to urge him to go faster, he finally sinks the second bar into your snug core.

“T-two.”

This time, Jeongguk doesn’t waste any time and continues to sheath himself, feeling you wrapping around him. He can’t see you but he knows by how boneless your body has gone that you’re experiencing a whole new high. Better than any drug could give. He reaches piercing three, the green gem glinting from the small lightbulb above before disappearing fully.

He’s only three piercings in and you feel full already, unsure of how there can be any more of him for you to take. His cockhead already feels as if it’s touching your cervix. You know already that by the time the last cock piercing is in you that your tummy will be bulging from his size.

“Shit, there’s just one more. You’re doing so well for me, such a good girl for me,” Jeongguk purrs his affirmation and you perk up at his approval. “Wan’ you to touch yourself.”

You’re too blissfully fucked out already to be bratty, your mind too far in subspace. Your hand wanders in between your legs, towards your cunt. Pressing two fingers to your clit, you begin to rub in a near perfect circular motion.

“Please, Jeongguk, wanna be your g-good girl,” you hiccup.

Jeongguk uses your distraction as his opportunity to sink the last remaining piercing into your poor pussy, feeling you release more of your honey onto him, helping ease him into you just the way he likes.

Not even your favourite dildo can replicate the feeling that this is giving you right now. You have never felt pleasure like this nor do you think you ever will again until the next time you see him.

“F-four…”

He bends down over you to give you a moment to recuperate. His chest is against your back and he presses a kiss to the back of your head.

“Gukkie, move.”

With both of his hands now situated at either side of your hips, Jeongguk pulls out of you and you're forced to feel the jewellery leaving your cunt before he drills back into you, the metal piercings acting as ridges against your soft walls.

Wails and whimpers fall from your lips like a sinful prayer and right now Jeongguk truly did wish this was something he could record. Not for a record as he previously mentioned but for himself.

“More,” Jeongguk moans at your pleas and thrusts forward roughly.

Your heart beats in overtime to keep up with the excretion that your body is going through, sweat clinging to your skin and eyes rolling backwards as he begins a pace that has you seeing stars. His cock rubs so deliciously at your g-spot, every inch he pulls out of you is covered in a bubbly white consistency of your mixed cum.

“Wish you could see what I see, babydoll. Your cunt is such a perfect fit for my big cock.” He punctuates his words with a slap to your ass as he continues to fuck himself in and out of you at a ruthless pace.

You turn your head to the side to catch a glimpse of Jeongguk, and you don’t regret the image. His head is thrown back as he uses one hand to run through the strands of sweat slicked strands from his forehead as they merge together with the hair at the crown of his head. His face has darkened and his eyes are screwed tight in pleasure. You clench your cunt around him, enticing a sinful beautiful moan from him.

“I can take it, Jeongguk! Have always been able to look after you!” Your words aren’t lost on Jeongguk as he chases his high, taking you along for the ride too.

“Jeongguk, please, ohmy—, I’m gonna cum for you,” the words spill from your lips in a high pitched cry as your fingers work once more to rub yourself further to your hight. That’s all Jeongguk needs to hear. He places a hand on the centre of your stomach and the next thing he knows, he’s spilling his own seed into your spent cunt. Ropes of white fill you up and he feels as your stomach bloats just ever so slightly at the load he’s disposed of inside of you.

It doesn’t take you long to feel the frantic burning sensation inside of you snap at the feeling of Jeongguk’s cum filling you up completely before you’re now coming around his cock that is still snuggly stuffed inside of you to the hilt. Your body shakes and your legs are on the verge of giving out at the power of your orgasm that you quickly throw a hand around Jeongguk’s neck to pull at the strands to keep yourself upright.

Time passes as you stand there together, basking in the afterglow of rough sex that has definitely now made him late to the stage for his encore set. It doesn't look like Jeongguk is in any rush to go anywhere though as he whispers quiet little ‘shushes’ in your ear, knowing that you enjoy the little sounds of endearments he feeds you as you come out of your sub space.

Pressed against his soft, warm chest, you're able to hear the beating of his heart under his skin and your mind silently counts in time with every beat. He still has his arm around your waist as both of you still pant from your recent orgasms.

“You should go, Jeongguk, you have a show to finish,” you whisper, knowing he should leave you to finish what he started but you still don’t untangle yourself from his arms.

“I know. But I don’t want this to be the end. Once I get on that stage and finish my set, I’ll be dragged back into a van and taken to the next place when all I want is to be here with you.”

Warmth blossoms over your body at the admission and you can’t help but want more of him too. However, when you both started this, you knew of the implications and the risks.

Jeongguk eventually sits you down and reaches for his discarded band tee and dresses you in it, knowing you’ll keep it until the next time you see each other again. He dresses himself back up, pulling his pants up and redoing the buttons. He picks up the leather jacket and hands it to you with a kiss on top of your forehead.

His lips linger longer than any previous kiss like this he’s given you.

“Jeongguk, please go and finish your set.”

“I’ll see you next time, yeah?” And you nod your confirmation. You’ll always see him again.

He eventually pulls away from you and clicks open the door, slipping out and leaving you in the closest on your own.

“Jeongguk, where the fuck have you been? You’ve kept us waiting!” The voices dissipate the further they walk away. In your hazy, lust clouded mind you decipher that the voices to be his managerial staff or his fellow band members.

You sit by yourself in the small space which now feels too big with just yourself inside. The dull sound of drums and an electric guitar vibrates through the backstage area and you sit in your own company and listen to what you can of the music.

“Until next time.”

© 2023 taintedjeon on tumblr. all rights reserved. nobody has consent to modify, plagiarize and/or repost my content on any social media without my consent. they may also not distribute or translate any work to other site or blogs. anybody found doing so will be permanently blocked and reported.

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starlovesganyu · 6 months ago

Text

a spark in the night!

❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀

a firefly x gn!reader oneshot

warnings: none

words: 2885

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Firefly’s finger hovered shakily over your contact's call button.

It’s just a dinner…to catch up! Nothing more! she thought to herself.

And maybe even some evening shopping…if things went well…we could perhaps even hold ha—she quickly swatted those thoughts out of her head. She couldn’t even call you, let alone make a physical move! Turning in her bed, she took a deep breath and steeled her nerves. She was a weapon of destruction, engineered to fight against the Swarm, yet couldn’t ask someone out on a date! The burst of confidence was enough for her to press the call button, but it quickly crumbled away when she saw your contact photo take up her screen. It was a picture of you standing in front of the Clockie Statue in Penacony, smiling toward the camera. If she looked closely enough, she could just make out the way your eyes sparkled whenever you smiled. Her eyes settled on your lips, and without realizing it, raised a finger to her own. How soft your lips would feel…

“Hello?”

Your voice jolted her back to reality, causing her to drop her phone.

“H-hi! Uh… it’s me! Firefly! I mean, of course, you know it’s me–I’m the one who called–sorry, I just–” She cut herself off with an awkward laugh, her face burning. “Uhm–I was just wondering if maybe…you’d like to grab dinner with me sometime? T-To catch up of course!” She internally cringed. She totally fucked that up.

“Dinner sounds great! How about tomorrow evening? Does that work for you?”

“T-tomorrow!? Er–I mean, that works for me.” Her heart skipped a beat, a mix of relief and panic swirling inside her. Tomorrow? That’s so soon! What am I even going to wear? She bit her lip, her thoughts spiraling as she tried to steady herself.

"Great! Tomorrow it is! See you then, Firefly.”

Hearing you say her name sent a wave of warmth through her, and her stomach flipped in response. As soon as the call ended, she flopped back onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow. A muffled squeal escaped her as she kicked her feet up and down, unable to contain the giddy energy bubbling over.

Rolling onto her back, she hugged her pillow tightly, her cheeks aching from how hard she was smiling. For now, the thrill of anticipation eclipsed her worries, though a tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her that tomorrow would come faster than she expected.

⋆˙⟡♡–

The next day, Firefly found herself standing in front of her closet, her heart pounding as she sifted through her clothes. “Why is this so hard? It’s just a dinner to catch up,” she muttered to herself, though the butterflies in her stomach said otherwise.

Every outfit she tried on felt either too casual or too formal, and a growing pile of discarded options covered her bed. Her eyes darted to the clock on her bedside table–only an hour and a half before their agreed-upon meetup time. How had time slipped away so quickly?

She finally decided on the teal-fitted sweater, not just because it looked good on her, but because it was her favorite. It was soft and warm, and wearing it gave her a little boost of confidence. I need all the confidence I can get tonight, she thought, smoothing the fabric down nervously. Paired with slim black jeans and ankle boots, the outfit was comfortable but polished. To finish it off, she added a delicate silver necklace and matching earrings, her fingers lingering anxiously over the clasp as she put them on. Her hair was swept back into a simple but neat half-up style, and she’d dabbed on just a hint of makeup–enough to bring out her features without feeling overdone. As she gave herself one last look in the mirror, worrisome thoughts started to swim in her head: Does this look like I’m trying too hard? Or not hard enough? Maybe I should’ve gone with the other sweater… no, this one’s fine. Right? She shook those thoughts out of her head. With a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and forced a confident smile at her reflection. You’ve got this, Firefly. Just be yourself.

The cold night air nipped at her nose as she stepped out of her warm apartment. A chilly breeze ruffled her hair as she passed a family sitting on a park bench, a mother and father laughing together while their two children chased each other around in the grass. Her mind drifted to you. Maybe if things went well with you…she could settle down and–her mind slapped itself back into some common sense. A soft sigh escaped her lips before she quickly shook her head. One step at a time, Firefly.

“What’s got you blushing like that?”

Firefly jumped at the sound of a familiar voice. “S-Silver Wolf?!”

Silver Wolf (in hologram form) stood off to the side, a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. “Or maybe the better question is: who?”

“N-nothing and no one!” Firefly stammered, crossing her arms defensively. “I’m just a little cold is all.” She tugged at her sweater as if to prove her point, though she knew the excuse was flimsy at best.

“The cold never makes someone’s cheeks that red.” Silver Wolf gave her a knowing look. “Just spit it out already.”

Firefly fidgeted, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her mind racing for an escape. “It’s really nothing,” she insisted, though the quaver in her voice betrayed her.

Silver Wolf raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Uh-huh, nothing, sure.” She leaned in a little closer, the grin never leaving her face. “You’re thinking about someone, aren’t you? Someone you have a date with tonight?”

Firefly’s face burned hotter, and she quickly turned her head away. How did Silver Wolf always know so much? Was she that easy to read? “I-I’m not thinking about them! And it’s not a date! We’re just catching up. That’s it. Really!”

Silver Wolf’s grin widened, her holographic form flickering slightly as she laughed. “Ah, so there is a ‘them.’ Knew it!”

Firefly groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Why do I even bother talking to you?” she muttered through her fingers

“Because you know I’m always right. Now, go have fun on your totally-not-a-date.” She paused, her tone turning mischievous. “But you will tell me everything later. And don’t you dare skip the juicy parts.”

Firefly peeked at her through her fingers, her face still glowing red. “There won’t be any juicy parts,” she mumbled.

“Sure, sure,” Silver Wolf said with a wink. “We’ll see about that.”

Before Firefly could sputter a response, Silver Wolf’s hologram flickered out of existence, leaving Firefly standing there with her thoughts spinning in every direction. She groaned again, glancing at the time on her phone.

Shit, she was going to be late!

⋆˙⟡♡–

Firefly hurried down the street, her boots clicking against the pavement as the chilly night air nipped at her cheeks, leaving them a rosy red. She clutched her sweater tightly around her, the soft fabric doing little to calm the butterflies swirling around in her stomach.

As she approached the meeting spot–a cozy bistro tucked away on a quieter street–she slowed her pace and took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. The warm glow of the café’s lights spilled out onto the sidewalk, and through the glass, she could already see you sitting at a corner table, your gaze flickering between the menu and the entrance. Her heart skipped a beat. You looked even better than she remembered. She hesitated for a moment, smoothing her sweater again and taking a quick glance at her reflection in the window to make sure she looked okay. This is fine. It’s just a dinner to catch up! Nothing else. With one last deep breath, she stepped inside, the soft chime of a bell signaling her arrival.

Your eyes immediately shot up at the ding of the bell, a smile blooming across your face as you saw her, causing her to flush instantly. Firefly quickly made her way to the table, her eyes looking everywhere but at you. “Hey, sorry for making you wait. I got caught up with a few last-minute things”

“No worries Firefly, I’m glad you could make it.” You gestured toward the seat across from you, your smile warm and inviting. “Have a seat. I already ordered some water, but if you want something else, just let the server know.”

Firefly nodded, sliding into the chair as her fingers nervously played with the strap of her bag. “Thanks. Water’s fine,” she murmured, sneaking a glance at you before quickly looking down at the menu. Why did her heart feel like it was about to jump out of her chest?

“So,” you began, looking up from your menu. “It’s been a while! How’s life been treating you?”

“Oh, you know,” Firefly replied, trying to keep her tone casual. “Busy as ever. Missions, reports… the usual.” She twirled a lock of hair between her fingers, a habit she had whenever she was nervous.

You chuckled softly. “That’s the Firefly I know—always working hard. Though I hope you’re not so busy you forgot how to relax.”

Firefly let out a small laugh, though it was a little shaky. “I try. Tonight’s a step, right?” She mentally kicked herself for how awkward that sounded.

Before you could respond, the server arrived with a cheerful greeting, setting down glasses of water and taking your orders. As soon as the server left, Firefly dared to meet your gaze again.

“I have to admit,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I was a little nervous about tonight.”

Your brow lifted slightly, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Nervous? Why? It’s just me.”

“That’s exactly why,” she blurted, then immediately clamped her mouth shut, her cheeks burning.

For a moment, you looked surprised before a warm laugh escaped your lips. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you came.”

Firefly felt her heart flutter at your words, her nerves beginning to ease just a little. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

⋆˙⟡♡–

Dinner had gone better than Firefly could have hoped. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much, the tension in her shoulders melting away with every story and joke shared across the table. Outside, the city lights glimmered like stars, reflecting off the shop windows lining the street. Firefly walked beside you, her hands tucked into her sweater pockets. Every so often, your arm brushed hers, and her heart skipped a beat each time. She caught herself glancing at your hand, so close, just hanging there at your side. Her fingers twitched in her pockets, yearning to reach out, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. What if it made things awkward? What if you didn’t want that? She bit her lip, willing herself to focus on the glowing shopfronts instead.

“Look at this,” you said, stopping in front of a boutique window displaying an array of intricate, handmade jewelry. “These are beautiful.”

Firefly stepped closer, her breath fogging up the glass as she examined the delicate designs. “They really are,” she said softly, her gaze lingering on a silver bracelet with a small charm shaped like a firefly.

“Something catch your eye?” you asked, noticing the way her eyes had lit up.

She nodded with a small smile. “That bracelet. It’s cute.”

You chuckled. “Fitting, don’t you think?”

She rolled her eyes, her fingers curling tighter into her pockets as her smile grew. “Very funny.”

The two of you continued walking down the quiet streets, the night air cool against your skin. Firefly’s thoughts were scattered, her gaze alternating between the twinkling lights of the city and the side of your face. She felt so… comfortable. It was as if everything else in the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in this peaceful bubble.

“I’m really glad we did this,” she said quietly, her voice carrying the sincerity she’d been holding back all night. “I’ve needed something like this for a while.”

You smiled, glancing at her with warmth in your eyes. “Me too, Firefly. It’s been nice.”

The two of you slowed your pace, the conversation winding down as you passed an art gallery with abstract paintings hanging in the window. For a moment, Firefly found herself lost in thought, the sound of your footsteps beside hers filling her ears.

“I think… I think I love you,” Firefly blurted before she could stop herself.

The words hung in the air like a balloon about to pop, and then, in slow motion, Firefly’s hands flew up to cover her face, her eyes going wide in horror. “Wait, no! I didn’t mean—”

You stopped walking and turned to face her, your expression unreadable. Firefly’s heart immediately began to race, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She felt like she might melt into the ground.

“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that,” she stammered, her voice high-pitched as if trying to shove the words back into her mouth. “I just—”

Before she could finish her apology, you reached out, gently grabbing her hand, your touch warm and grounding, cutting through the whirlwind of panic in her chest. Firefly froze, her breath hitching.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, your voice calm and reassuring. The corners of your mouth lifted into a tender, genuine smile that made her knees feel like jelly. “I think I feel the same way.”

Firefly’s heart seemed to stop and then restart all at once, pounding so loudly in her ears that she was sure you could hear it. Her wide eyes met yours, disbelief and hope flickering across her face. She blinked up at you, her face still on fire, as if she’d just been told she was dreaming. “You… do?”

Your smile grew a little, your gaze never leaving hers. “Yeah,” you said, your voice unwavering, carrying a quiet honesty that sent a wave of warmth through her. “I do.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. For a moment, she could only stare, her mind spinning in disbelief. Did this really just happen? Could this possibly be real? Her fingers twitched beneath your hand, and she slowly curled them around yours, as if to anchor herself to reality. You reached up and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, your fingers grazing her skin. It was a simple touch, but it sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help but smile, feeling her heart flutter once more.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your voice soft as you looked into her eyes.

Firefly swallowed, still feeling a little dizzy from the revelation. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just… didn’t expect that to go the way it did.”

The moment hung between you like a spark, and for a second, Firefly forgot how to breathe. Her gaze dropped to your lips, and she couldn’t stop her heart from racing again. Was she imagining things? Was this really happening?

You seemed to sense her thoughts. Slowly, gently, you leaned closer, your breath warm on her face. Firefly’s pulse quickened, and the world around her seemed to fade away until there was only you, her, and the feeling that something was about to change.

When you were only a few inches away, you paused, your eyes flickering to hers, waiting for her to respond. Firefly’s breath hitched. She couldn’t believe this was really happening, but she didn’t want to pull away. She wanted this. She wanted you.

Without thinking, she squeezed her eyes shut and closed the gap, her lips meeting yours in a tentative kiss. It was light at first, unsure and gentle, but something inside her stirred, and she deepened it, just a little, giving in to the overwhelming feeling of being so close to you. Your hand found the back of her neck, pulling her even closer, and she melted into you, her whole body relaxing in your arms. Firefly felt like she was floating, every second stretching out into something magical. Your lips were softer than she had imagined, and your touch sent sparks flying through her body.

When you finally pulled away, Firefly felt a flutter in her chest, as if the kiss had left a lingering warmth that spread through her entire body.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Firefly smiled, her lips still tingling from the kiss. “Yeah,” she breathed, feeling light-headed but more alive than she had in ages. “More than okay.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything more, just standing there together, the world outside of your little bubble forgotten. But Firefly’s thoughts were racing, and though everything felt perfect, she couldn’t help but feel a bit uncertain.

“So, uhm…” she started, her voice still a little breathless, “does this mean I can call this our first date?”

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “You weren’t sure before?”

Firefly bit her lip, feeling a small laugh bubble up. “I guess I wasn’t sure of a lot of things.”

“Well,” you said, “you’re sure now?”

Firefly’s heart fluttered, and she nodded. “Definitely sure now.”

thanks for reading!!! this was my first ever oneshot so apologies if it wasn't the best.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #firefly x reader #hsr firefly #firefly

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