#(‘where are you from you have NO accent!’)

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗪𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡? - part three max verstappen x reader (fluff) “. . . when he wants to be normal, he can count on you, stranger.”

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He thought he’d forgotten how to breathe, standing in his spot with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the chalkboard menu. You'd think he was a statue with how little he was moving. But then again, you weren't aware of who you were standing next to you.

"Y/N? Can we explore for a bit?" the two college-aged boys asked, making you peel your eyes off the list of foods to the interns, Max would assume. Out of the corner of his eyes, the blond could see you check your watch before nodding. 

"Yeah, sure. There's plenty of time. Meet me back here in an hour and a half so we can head over to the circuit. Deal?" Oh, that was definitely your voice. You were his Y/n. The way you talked and your voice and accent. He could now put a face to your voice, no more profile pictures.

"Deal! Thanks, Y/n." "See ya, Y/n."

"Take care, guys." Max didn't expect to run into you so soon, or be this close to you at all, even. He watched as you waved to the two interns who excitedly jogged out.

Don't come off as a creep, Max reminded himself, shaking his head and taking a step forward in the direction of the register. He'll just act cool, normal. Get himself something to drink and sit down. That helped calm him down a little, just like any other indifferent person.

It's very unfortunate for Max that his inner peace never lasts so long. Not that it was a bad thing he bumped into you. There is nothing wrong with accidentally stepping forward at the same time as you. It's just not good for his heart. Max already has to meet fans today and get in the car for fp2 and 3. You're just making his brain go haywire a little too much that he feels his eyes are going to turn static and face turning the shade of Charles' Ferrari.

"Sorry." He tried to apologise, stepping back, feeling his body stiff and turning to stone. 

"Désolée," you went to apologise only to look up and meet eyes with the three time world champion. "oh- im so sorry."

"No, it's ok." Max smiled nervously, meeting your eyes for the first time, which honestly made him feel mesmerised.

"Here, you can go," you stepped back, offering the blond to step to the cashier. 

"No, no. Ladies first." he shook his head, cutting you off when you went to argue back. "—I insist."

Max was kind of disappointed that you felt so nervous and acted so polite upon recognizing him. He wished you would've treated him like normal, the same way you talk to him as amilian or the same way you would talk to a stranger who wasn't looking where he was going and bumped into you.

He knows it's not fair that he's pushing his expectations on you, though. Anyone would react the same way upon meeting a very important or famous person. Max just wished he was standing beside you in line instead of behind you. Having a friendly conversation, telling you how much you'll love the cheesecake.

He'll have to settle for sitting on a table not too far from you for now, sipping from his paper cup while scrolling through his phone.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

y/n — 'I bumped into Max 😓' 

Max himself, glanced up to where you were sitting, catching you looking away quickly, face turning a deep shade of red.

y/n — 'And now he thinks I'm stalking him!!' y/n — 'million help 😭😭'

Max chuckled slightly, feeling his heart ease. You were overthinking things. He wished he could sit beside you and pat your back until you calmed down. But he can't really do that, can he? Max calming you down after you get all nervous and anxious meeting him? The situation gets sadly funnier the further Max plays into it and thinks about it.

Max — 'What did you do ⁉️' he sent back in the chat

y/n — 'I went to the café you told me about, and i think i accidentally stepped on his foot 😭😭' y/n —  'I ruined his shoes! And he needs his foot to drive the car!!!' y/n —  'He must hate me' y/n —  'He saw me looking at him too' y/n —  'Must think i’m a weirdo

"Not at all." He mumbled, a soft smile covering his face. You're just feeling anxious. He could care less about his shoes, and his foot is fine. He didn’t even realise you stepped on it. 'relax, deep breath' he sent, seeing you fill your chest and release as told.

Max — 'you're fine' 'don't overthink things'

y/n — '🥺' You were actually pouting.

Max — 'Do you want me to text him and apologise on your behalf?' 

A weird offer. Apologising to himself for you even though he wasn’t mad, but grateful he saw you today. 

y/n — 'NO!!!!' 'NO NO NO!' 

Max — 'Do you want me to get you a pass for the meet and greet?'

y/n — 'THAT'LL MAKE IT WORSEEE'

Max — 'Ok, ok' 

Max thought for a moment, sitting back. 'Count from one to ten' He was actually surprised that you did as told, listening to him, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath for ten seconds.

Max — 'What did you order?' Start a conversation, comfort and distract her. He's good at that.

y/n — 'A mocha, the one you told me about'

Max — 'You should try the cheesecake, the one with strawberry jam on top.' He typed back. 

y/n — 'I didn't see that on the menu?'

Max — 'Trust me' Max — 'You'll love it'

y/n — 'Ok, ok, i trust you a million' y/n — ‘But not right now’ y/n — 'I'll stop by after finishing with stuff at McLaren’ y/n — 'I'm not hungry rn’ y/n — 'Wish you were here'

Max — 'Yeah, i'd be stealing that cheesecake from you' 

y/n — 'Don't you dare!! 😠'

Max chuckled, you were really expressive with your face as you typed. He saw you frowning to match the emoji, but there was still a hint of a smile. He liked that smile, he loved it. He loved you overall. 

You were real. If only Amilian was real. If only he could sit beside you and tease and joke with you. 

Max — '🫵😏' 'Max texted me!'

y/n — 'WHAT?!!!!????!!' 

He could see you jump in your seat a little before trying to act cool even though it was clear you were anxious.

Max — 'He texted me about a cute girllllll who he bumped intooooo' 

y/n — 'AMILIAN COME PICK ME UPP 😭'

He couldn't help the smile that curled on his face.

Max — 'I’m joking, I’m joking' Max — 'hahaha' He leaned back, sighing happily.

y/n — 'ofc you are' y/n — 'No way he thinks i'm cute'

Max — 'I mean you dress up like it's fashion week' Max — 'Compared to him, he could use some advice'

y/n — 'His outfit is actually not that bad today' y/n — 'Baggy white pants!!' y/n — 'And a blue shirt!!!!!'

Max — 'Wow, you serious?' Max — 'No way' He typed even though he is wearing that.

y/n — 'tbh it makes him look even more pretty'

Max — 'Pretty?’ Max — ‘He's a guy' 

y/n — 'What, a guy can’t be pretty?' y/n — 'Max is cute’ y/n — ‘Especially when he's having fun and smiling'

Max — 'The guy looks like a gremlin.' He didn’t even realise he was smiling, feeling fuzzy inside. Max — ’Sid the sloth, Netflix rerun’

y/n — 'Don't insult him!!' y/n — 'Take it back' y/n — 'He’s handsome and beautiful and amazing!' y/n — 'Any woman would be lucky to have him'

Max — 'You just dug your own grave' Max — 'I believe you fall into the *any woman* category'

y/n — 'No no no, pleasee' y/n — 'You'll embarrass me'

Max —’That's my job’ Max — 'I'll simply put in a good word for you'

y/n —'amiliaaaaaan 😭😭'

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Uptown Girl and The Brooklyn Boy

Pairing: Greaser!Bucky Barnes x Uptown Girl!Reader Summary: Everyone knows that all any Uptown Girl needs is a Greaser from Brooklyn to make her forget all about her uptown world.

A.N. - Here's a long awaited request from one of my dearest readers @oneofstarkskids, it definitely strayed a little from that initial request but i hope you enjoy! "just reread this and it's still so amazing 😭 do you take requests? if so, would you be inclined to writing a grease themed bucky au one shot?"

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

Picture this... he's from the wrong side of the tracks. He's everything every mother in your neighborhood warned you about. His hands perpetually stuffed in his pockets, a cigarette hanging from his lips, scuffed leather jacket snug around his broad shoulders.

You're none of those things, the complete opposite. Pearls strung around your neck. Perfectly done up, lips painted the perfect rouge. You're as educated as a woman could be in your day and age. You're an Uptown girl. Capital O - Old Money.

Your friends are enamored with Bucky Barnes and his friends - though you all know they'll never do anything about. Not as long as their parents had anything to say about it. And none of them are prepared to give up their high class life. It's just fun for them. A way to sow some wild oats before their parents introduce them to their future husbands.

Every chance they get, they pester you to take the long way home. To walk by that mechanic shop where Bucky and his friends hang out.

They never approach those Brooklyn boys. No, they never offer more than a coy smile and a languid, flirty twinkle of their manicured fingers. They just relish in the attention they get from walking past them.

You hate it. You hate their arrogance. You hate the smell of nicotine that hangs around him. You hate everything about them, down to those oddly charming Brooklyn accents.

"Hey," a blonde boy calls as you and your best friend walk past their mechanic shop one day. "Hey!"

"I told you this was a bad idea," you hiss at your friend, locking your arm with hers. "Now, look."

"I think they want to talk to us," she squeals under her breath.

He picks up his stride, doing a half jog until he reaches where your friend holds you hostage on the pavement. "We see you ladies passin' through every once in a while. Thought we could be friends or somethin'."

Your friend is immediately entranced with the blonde boy. Her face flushes as she beams at him, "We would love that!"

"We have enough friends," you simultaneously reply.

"She's kidding," your friend nervously chuckles, elbowing you in your ribs.

The blonde boy laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, "Well, I'm Steve. My friend there is Bucky."

As if on cue, Bucky saunters up beside Steve with an equally arrogant grin. He tips his head at each of you. "Hello, ladies."

Your friend nods at the two of them, an ear to ear grin taking up her entire face. "It's nice to meet you, Steve, Bucky."

The brunette's eyes flash over to you, speaking through that infuriating smirk, "Pleasure's ours."

"Would you ladies like to join us for a Coke?" Steve offers.

"We'd love to!" she immediately replies.

You shoot your friend an intense, incredulous glare. "I'm sorry, could you excuse us for a second?"

"Sure thing." Steve nods, ambling away from you and your friend to give you a moment of privacy.

Bucky doesn't move an inch. He stands before you with that same arrogant smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, I'm good right here."

"Fine," you scoff, speaking as bluntly as you can. Despite your polite upbringing, you you find don't care about offending him in the slightest. "We are not staying here!"

"Come on," she pleads. "What's the harm?"

"Where's the good in staying?" you shoot back.

"They're just so handsome," she fawns, looking over her shoulder to give a coy wave to the blonde boy. "And there's one for the both of us, it's fate!"

"It's not fate. They're nothing but trouble."

Bucky snorts, rolling his eyes, "You remember that I'm still right here, right?"

You shoot a glare at Bucky. "I know."

He playfully clutches his chest. "You're hurtin' my feelings, Doll."

You can feel the anger raising your blood's temperature. You don't like how quickly he's gotten underneath your skin. "I'm not your Doll."

"Princess?" he suggests with an infuriating wag of his eyebrows.

There's an embarrassingly large part of you that wants to stamp your foot at him and yell at him to stop teasing you. You keep it together just enough to contain that visceral reaction you're having to Bucky Barnes. Mostly. "I'm not your anything!"

He crosses his arms over his chest. "What did I ever do to you, Princess?"

Your eyes narrow in accusation. "I know your type."

"Charming? Irresistibly handsome?"

"Horrendously arrogant," you seethe at him. You turn back to your friend, only to find her missing, "Now, can we please go-"

"Your friend ran off the second you were focused on me."

Your eyes flicker to behind Bucky to your friend, who sure enough is enthralled in a conversation with Steve. "I was not focused on you!"

"Then why didn't you notice your friend runnin' away from you?"

"You're incorrigible."

The corner of Bucky's lips twitch up. "Didn't they teach you in that finishing school that it's not polite to insult people who are tryin' to be your friend?"

"And how would you know that I went to finishing school?"

He quirks an eyebrow at you like the answer is obvious. His eyes rake over you. From the way you hold yourself. To the dresses that oozed quiet luxury. You and Bucky were as different as night and day. "I know an uptown girl when I see one."

"And I know trouble when I see it," you shoot back. "And you Brooklyn boys are nothing but trouble."

It only gets worse from there. After that first interaction, your friend in fully infatuated with Steve Rogers. There is no tearing her away from him.

And that means, as your friend's dutiful alibi, you were dragged down to Brooklyn far more than you ever wanted.

And worst of all, it meant you spent most of your free time in the presence of Bucky Barnes.

"Please, just be nice," your friend begs as you trudge up to their garage. "I'd settle for polite even."

You scoff at her, rolling your eyes, "I'm always polite - just like I'm always nice."

"Not to Bucky, you're not."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you grumble, walking into the garage. Your friend takes off, immediately falling into the arms of Steve Rogers. Leaving you with Bucky Barnes to sit with him on the the couch that's become your most constant companion on days like today. As you walk past Bucky, you snipe, "James."

Bucky quirks a brow, smirking at you, "Oh, so now I'm James?"

"That's your name, isn't it?"

He walks away from the bike he spends most of his time working on, snatching a rag from his tool bench and wiping his hands of motor grease. Your eyes involuntarily wander to his hands, the care he puts into wiping each and every one of his fingers.

You stare for a second too long for Bucky not to notice you staring at his hands. "Remind me to thank Steve for tellin' ya that."

You roll your eyes, finally snapping out of it. "It's far better than the alternative."

He flicks the rag over, resting it on his shoulder. "So you like my name?"

You softly snort as you settle onto the couch. "I didn't say that. I said it was better than the alternative."

That smirk only gets even bigger. "What else do ya like about me?"

You roll your eyes. "Not a thing."

He settles into the couch beside you. Far too close for your liking. You can almost feel the rough denim of his jeans through your skirt. "I just love these conversations of ours."

"I don't."

His entire torso turns towards you, mischief and amusement gleaming in those blue eyes, "I mean, why would I want warmth and affection when I could have blind hatred?"

"It's not blind hatred." In spite of easily Bucky gets under your skin, you can't deny just how unfairly handsome he is. Even now, you find yourself lost in the depths of his ocean blue eyes. "It's perfectly reasonable contempt."

He gently runs a finger down your cheek. "I love when you talk smart to me."

You swat his hand away from your face. "Don't patronize me."

"I'm not!" Bucky insists. "I really love it! I know it's just your way of flirting with me!"

You scoff, making no attempt to hide your offense, "I am not flirting with you!"

He tilts his head at you, that arrogant smirk once again tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Come on, just admit it, Doll. You're a little sweet on me."

"I am not your Doll!" You fly up out of your seat with an indignant huff. "And I most certainly am not sweet on you!"

"Don't think I haven't noticed the way you stare at me when I walk around here without a shirt. Or the way you were staring at my hands just now. What exactly were you picturin' my hands doin'?"

"I was not picturing anything." Your cheeks flame as you continue to bicker back and forth with him. Sure, he was possibly the most gorgeous man you'd ever laid eyes on. And yes, he could be incredibly charming. And sometimes, you found yourself staring at him in an not so innocent way. But you hated him. He infuriated you to no end. "And I was not staring!"

The grin is practically splitting his face. "And you've definitely thought about kissin' me."

"I would rather walk from here to Jersey than kiss you."

He slides up off the couch, taking a long step towards you. "You've got a hell of a temper, you know that?"

You refuse to back down. You press an accusing finger into his chest. You can't help but notice just how firm the muscles underneath that white t-shirt are. "I just think you're real good at pushing my buttons."

"Real good?" Bucky teases. "I think Brooklyn is startin' to rub off on you."

"You know what I think?" Your chest starts to heave with the anger and frustration you feel towards Bucky Barnes. "I think that you're the last person I would ever let rub off on me. I think that you're an arrogant smart ass that likes to spend his day running his mouth."

"And I think you're a repressed priss that couldn't take what she wanted 'less it's handed to her on a silver platter."

"You wouldn't know a damn thing about what I want."

"You wanna know what I think..." He leans closer, lowering himself to your eye level. "I think that you're pissed off because you know deep down those punk ass rich boys will never make ya happy, I think you're pissed off 'cause you're bored, and I think you're pissed off 'cause you want me - even if you'll never admit it."

You don't have a response to that. There's not a single word that comes to mind. You don't think you've ever been this mad before.

And because you can't think of a single word to assuage your heaving chest and boiling blood, you do something that a polite, good girl like you would never even dreaming of doing. Before you can think, you find your hand opening and winding back.

Before you can even make contact with his cheek, he catches your hand, gripping your wrist between his warm, calloused hand. He hauls you forward until you stumble into his chest.

For a moment, you can almost hear a pin drop. The tension is so thick the only air in the room Bucky's breath dancing across your lips. "I think I'm gonna kiss you."

A soft breath stutters from your lips. "And I think I'm gonna let you."

You weren't sure what it was, but after that first kiss, you couldn't get enough of your Brooklyn boy. Even after your friend and Steve had mostly fizzled out, you couldn't get enough of him.

You waited for the moment that they all talked about, the moment when you had your fill of the boy from the wrong side of tracks, when your wild oats were sufficiently sowed, but it never came.

Every time you laid eyes on him, the seal on your fate only solidified more and more. The more you saw him, the more you wanted him. And the more sure you were that you would never be able to let him go.

You weren't a stranger to the boredom and monotony of your upper echelon life, but this was different. This wasn't boredom, he wasn't a distraction. From the moment you met Bucky, you lost all interest in the upper echelon of it all.

Suddenly, you don't care what your friends think, what your parents would think. Suddenly, you were throughly repulsed by the thought of marrying one of those repressed, trust fund babies that littered your street.

And even your friends, the same ones that lived off their fleeting attention, didn't understand.

Your friend rolls her eyes again, a sigh of irritation leaving her lips as you ready to go meet Bucky, "Are you really going back up there?"

"You're the reason I met him in the first place!"

"I know. I know," she groans, clearly disappointed that you hadn't lost interest in Bucky like she had with Steve. "And I'm happy for you! I am! I just I want to make sure..."

Her tone finally gets your full attention. You put your bag down on the table, your eyebrow pulled together, "Make sure what?"

"You're just sowing wild oats, right?"

Your entire face puckers with distaste, "What?"

"That sounded bad," she backtracks, a guilty look painting her face. She takes a deep breath, resting a condescending hand on your shoulder. "You just - you know your future isn't with Bucky, right?"

You shake her hand off your shoulder. "What does that mean?"

"He's from a different world than we are. You know that."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," you scoff. "I thought you, of all people, would understand."

"Come on, he's not exactly the sort of guy you can bring home to your parents."

You snort, turning away from her, "I have to go."

"You know I'm right!" she calls after you.

You didn't know that. In fact, the more time you spent with him, the more you saw why he was exactly the right person to bring home to your parents. He was everything you could ever bring yourself to hope for and more. Sure, he was different than you and your family, but he was a good man. He was perfect for you.

Surely, your parents could see that. Surely, they could see how good he was for you.

So that's exactly what you were going to do.

Bucky sighs against your lips, "I missed ya."

You don't know when that happened, but you've come to find a comfort in the scent of the faded leather of his jacket, in the feeling of his calloused fingertips trailing dangerously high on your upper thigh.

In the backseat of his beloved car, you curl closer into his side, resting your head on his chest, "Me too."

He kisses the top of your head, watching as you stare off into the distance, "What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?"

You pull back slightly, lifting your head off his chest. With a furrowed brow, you ask him, "How serious are you about me?"

"Dead serious," he replies in an instant.

You lightly swat his chest. "Quit playing."

"'M not playin'," he swears. He does an 'x' over his heart, "Cross my heart."

His answer gives you all the reassurance you need. All there was to do was ask him. Still, there was a hesitancy. You worry that this will just make him realize that you two might just be insurmountably, irreconcilably different. You decide that the best way to ask is just ask. "Then what would you say about meeting my parents?"

"I'd love to," Bucky coolly answers.

You can't help the way your face lights up with hope. "Really?"

"Of course. Anything for my girl."

You really like the way that sounds. His girl. You could get used to being his girl.

The look on your face is worth it all to Bucky. He only hopes you don't see the anxiety in his expression.

He wasn't oblivious to how different your worlds were. He knew there was a good chance that this wouldn't last forever. It didn't really matter what he wanted or how much he was willing to fight for you, he knew the reality of it all.

He couldn't offer you half of what someone in your neighborhood could. Your worlds couldn't be more different.

And he's never been more aware of it than on the eve of meeting your parents.

Steve smirks at Bucky as he fiddles with his tie again. "You're really seein' this through, aren't you?"

Bucky smacks Steve upside his head. "Don't be a jerk."

"I'm just sayin'," Steve shrugs, settled into the couch of Bucky's family home. "I'm happy for ya, Buck. You really like this girl."

"I wouldn't be dressed like this for anyone else. Are you sure this is right?" Bucky tugs at his tie again. Maybe it was that the suit hadn't seen the light of day in a few years and was a little more snug than he remembered. Or maybe it was just that he'd only dressed like this for funerals and weddings, but everything about his getup today made him feel like a fraud. He was sure if your parents saw him like this, they'd see right through him. "I feel like I'm goin' to a school dance."

"Where does she live again?"

Bucky tries his best to hide his wince. He'd never been to your side of town, but he'd heard stories. Sure, most of them were made up, but there had to be some truth buried in the tall tales. "Upper West Side."

Steve pats his shoulder. "Stick with the tie, Buck."

He listens to Steve's advice and sticks with the tie. As he walks through your neighborhood, seeing houses bigger than entire apartment buildings on his block that line your street, he's pretty confident in trusting Steve up until the moment he sees you.

Your smile stutters as you see him waiting outside the gate of your home. It was just his luck that your house was one of the biggest on the block. Your eyes trail up and down Bucky's uncharacteristic attire. "What are you wearing?"

His heart sinks. He looks down, patting his blazer and tie. "Am I - Am I not this thing right? I knew it - I told Steve -"

"No, no," you quickly interject. "You look great! I've just never seen you... like this."

"What's wrong with this?" Bucky hedges.

Your soft smile up at him is the only thing soothing his knotted stomach. "Nothing, I - I just wanted them to meet you, to meet the Bucky that I know and - and I want them to know you. Not whoever this is."

"I - I didn't think they would like that Bucky very much," Bucky confesses.

It doesn't escape you that he's nervous, especially as he fiddles with this tie over and over again. You're well aware of how intimidating this all is. Even as someone who grew up in this social circle, in the thick of the upper echelon, you still found yourself scared of doing and saying the wrong thing.

You knew he was only trying to fit in as best as he could. Still, you missed the smell of his leather jacket, the waft of motor oil that often clung to his skin. "Well, I like you the way you are. Greaser and all."

"Thanks." It's comforting to him. Still, as his eyes rove over your house, he can't help but be glad he listened to both Steve and his mother. He holds out the bouquet of flowers in his hand. "My Ma told me to bring these for your Ma."

An endeared smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. He was really trying to win over your parents. He really was serious about this - about you. "My mother will love this."

"Your mother," Bucky corrects himself, doing his best to tame his Brooklyn twang.

"Just be yourself," you assure him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as you make your way up the long driveway. "No one else, just you."

"Any other tips?"

"If you run out of things to talk about ask my father about his cars. He collects them."

It takes everything in Bucky not to gape like a fish out of water. "He collects... cars?"

You ignore his question, continuing to fill Bucky in on your parents, "And my mother, well, she's a terrible gossip. If you can get her talking about her friends, you've won her over."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Just relax. They'll love you."

As he walks into your home, greeted by a man wearing a nicer suit than he is who offered to take his coat from him, Bucky's not quite sure he believes you.

Your heels click against the sleek marble flooring as you guide him through your home. He holds on tight to your hand, half afraid that you'll let go and he'll get lost in the labyrinth of pristine beige hallways.

Your father is the first to greet Bucky in your living room. He extends a hand out to Bucky. "You must be the boy we've heard so much about."

"It's nice to meet you both," Bucky returns the firm handshake before turning to your mother with the warmest smile he can muster through his anxiety. "You have a lovely home, ma'am. I brought these for you."

She takes the bouquet from Bucky's hand. "Oh, that's very kind of you..."

"Oh, it's Bucky," he supplies.

"Bucky?" your mother dubiously repeats. "How unique..."

"It's James, actually," Bucky corrects himself, already feeling himself getting flustered. "James Buchanan Barnes. 's where Bucky comes from."

Your mother nods, offering a tight smile, "How lovely."

As your mother hands off the flowers to one of the wait staff, he can't help but already feel like he's already made that dreaded bad first impression.

As though you can see the despair forming in the pit of his stomach and dampening the glimmer in his blue eyes, you give his hand a squeeze along with a smile.

"Dinner is ready," your mother announces. "Why don't we make our way to the dining room?"

"That sounds wonderful," you beam, leading Bucky into the next room. You stutter to a stop just before the dining table. You look at the table as you take your seat, your eyebrows furrowed at something that Bucky hasn't quite caught on to. "Mother? I thought we agreed on a more simple menu tonight."

As you speak you reach under the table, giving Bucky's hand an apologetic squeeze. Just from your inflection, Bucky can tell what awaits him will not be pleasant.

"Nonsense." She dismissively waves you off. "We have a guest."

"We talked about this," you admonish. "You promised."

"Bucky?" your mother calls. "Do you mind having a more formal dinner? I know it might be a tad unusual for you."

"Mother," you sharply warn.

"Um, no, ma'am," Bucky awkwardly lilts. "That sounds lovely."

A self satisfied smirk settles on your mother's face. "See? It's fine."

"Why are there so many forks?" Bucky whispers under his breath.

"Just work your way in," you reply as quietly as you can.

"Do you change forks every bite or somethin'?" It's half an attempt at a joke, half an honest question.

"In between courses."

"Courses?"

Before you can answer Bucky's question, your mother is already beginning her interrogation. "So, James, tell us about yourself."

"There's not much to tell," Bucky replies. "I was born and raised down in Brooklyn."

Your father snorts, "Really?"

You're not quite sure if Bucky catches the sarcastic lilt to your father's question or if he really does just try to rise above it. It's hard to tell with how he rolls with the punches. "Yes, sir."

"Any siblings?" your mother asks.

"I'm the oldest of four, ma'am."

"Any plans for your life?" your father finally pipes in.

"Dad," you hiss.

Your father shrugs, "It's an honest question."

Once again, it rolls off of Bucky's back. "Well, I'm workin' at a garage right now. Me and my friend, Steve, we're hopin' to buy it out. We've just about saved enough between the two of us to buy it from the ol' man when he's ready to retire."

"A man with a plan. I like that."

"Thank you, sir." You're sure that you hear Bucky's sigh of relief as he finds his footing. You can practically see his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your daughter tells me that you have an impressive collection yourself."

You weren't entirely sure how he pulled it off, but by the end of the night, Bucky is talking to your parents like they're old friends.

You're not even sure why you're that surprised, you hated him up until the moment you succumbed to his charm.

As the evening comes to a close, he stands in the doorway, shaking your father's hand again, offering your mother that charming grin once more, "Thank you for dinner. Everything was delicious."

"You're welcome back anytime, James."

"Thank you." You're almost shocked at your mother's open invitation. He presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. "I'll see ya later."

The three of you stand in the foyer of your house as Bucky walks down the steps and down the driveway with his hands shoved in his pockets. You look up to your father, face filled with hope. "So?"

"He's a nice boy."

You're not sure your grin can get any bigger. "I really like him."

"You'll grow out of it."

Your heart sinks the moment the words leave your father's mouth. "What?"

"It can't come soon enough," your mother groans. "You're far too good for him."

"You don't know him."

"We know his type, dear," your mother condescendingly sighs. "And good girls like you don't belong with boys like that, but I do think it was sweet of you to invite your little infatuation to dinner."

You feel like all the air has been knocked out of you. For a moment tonight, you really thought they were coming around. You truly thought it would all work out for the best. "Infatuation?"

"That's what this is, right?" your father asks, concern painting his expression when he sees the furiously determined look in your face. "You're just... rebelling?"

You look up at your father, shaking your head. "No, no, I'm not just rebelling."

You fought with them the whole night before you went to find him the very next day. They threatened you with everything they could think of. When that didn't work, they bribed you with everything they could think of. You didn't care for any of it.

The moment you see him, you know he knows. You're not sure if he realized it the moment he walked out of your door or if it took him a quick recollection of the night to realize it, but he knows all the same. It looks like he hasn't slept a wink. A deep frown replaces his usual grin. He looks entirely and totally distraught.

He notices you the moment you walk up to his garage just like you did all those times before.

This time, it's obvious is different. There aren't barbed words or verbal jabs. You don't bound into his arms. Even Steve offers you a sad twitch of his lips.

Bucky watches you for a long moment before you break the silence. He reaches into his pocket, lighting a cigarette in between his fingers. "Hi."

"They hated me, right?" He doesn't waste words. Your lips press together in a tight line. He takes a large drag from his cigarette. You can't remember the last time you saw him smoking. He shakes his head, hissing under his breath, "Damn it..."

"Bucky?"

He takes another large pull from his cigarette. Even from feet away, you can smell the nicotine in the air. "Just do it. I understand."

"What?"

"That's why you're here, right? Just get it over with."

Your eyebrows furrow. "I don't understand."

"I'm not an idiot, alright?" he spits. "I know I didn't pass their little test, so just call it already."

"Is that really what you thought last night was?"

"What else would you call last night? 'Cause I think I was the butt of the joke from beginnin' to end."

"You were not the butt of the joke, Bucky."

"Oh, please, I fell face first into their punchline."

You suck in a shaky breath, both your own hurt and the cloud of smoke around Bucky burning at your throat, "Is that what you think of me? That I was tryin' to set you up?"

"Yes! No- No! I just - I - Don't you see it?"

"See what?" you demand.

"That I'm not good enough for you!" he desperately exclaims, tossing his cigarette on the pavement. "And everyone else already knows it! Last night proved that!"

"My parents are assholes, Bucky. I came here to apologize for them, to tell you that I don't care what they think."

His voice quiets, the anger melts off his words until all that's left is a heartbreaking sincerity, "You should. You deserve so much more than what I can give you."

"They don't know you, but I do." You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. "And I think you've got everything I want. I'm yours, Bucky. All yours."

"Do you mean that?"

"Every word."

"What did I do to deserve you? My perfect girl." He kisses the back of the hand he hods, using it to tug you closer to him. He quirks a brow at you when you pull away from him. "What?"

You wrinkle your nose at him. "I hate the smell of smoke."

"I'll quit," he immediately replies.

"You'll quit smoking? Just like that?"

"That surprise you?"

"It's just - Maybe you Brooklyn boys aren't as tough as you think you are," you tease.

He smirks. "Maybe we're not. Maybe I'm not - but I think it's because I'm in love with an Uptown girl."

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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[lilasamaaa]

Amor | Carlos Sainz x Reader

Genre | Smut, Fluff.

Word count | 3.8K

Warnings | Sexual content, alcohol consumption.

Summary | Carlos is about to enjoy a few days of rest in Lisbon between races when he crosses paths with a young woman with whom he will share a night. And, if fate allows it, perhaps a little more...

Author's note | Thanks for the lovely request @thefuckwasmyname ! Hope you like it!

In life, there are many things that Carlos Sainz enjoys. His job, obviously. Or his family, of which he's very proud to be extremely close. But sometimes, there's something he loves even more than all of that : escaping both of these things. And that's exactly what he had planned to do for the next five days, wandering the streets of the Portuguese capital.

His phone has been off since this morning, when he stepped onto the plane taking him from Madrid to Lisbon. Everyone had been informed, and his words were very clear. Unreachable. Don't text, don't call, he had told his family the day before departure. I need to take some time for myself. To recharge. I won't answer.

Carlos loves Lisbon. As he steps onto the geometric patterns of the Praça do Rossio, memories of childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood flood his mind. Memories of his father playfully chasing after him, of sharing ice creams with his sisters, of days at the beach searching for the most beautiful seashell to give to his mother. Yes, Lisbon is truly a place that is precious to him. A place he doesn't want to share. A place he wants to keep for himself.

His stays in Lisbon always start the same way, and he's set on respecting the tradition. Running a hand through his hair and adjusting his cap and sunglasses on his head, the Spaniard heads straight to Gelados Santini. The blazing sun of this early May afternoon isn't in his favor. It seems like all of Lisbon has crowded into the small shop, determined to combat the sweltering heat with a sweet treat. Engrossed in his phone, the twenty-minute wait passes without incident, and soon he's next in line. Right after the woman in front of him, who is now heading towards the counter.

"Bom dia," he hears a very lovely voice say. He's not surprised to hear something other than English. A lot of locals love the place. "Eu gostaria de..."

The woman pauses, seemingly searching for her words. There are quite a few choices, Carlos thinks. Her hesitation is understandable.

"Eu gostaria de um sorvete de limão em amor, por favor."

Oh, he thinks. This woman is definitely not Portuguese.

"Amor?" the young man behind the counter asks, eyeing up suspiciously.

"Sim, amor e limão. Em um potinho pequeno em vez de um cone, por favor."

The man scrutinizes the woman in front of him as if horns had just sprouted from her head. Even though Carlos had planned to remain rather discreet, the young woman's confusion prompts him to intervene.

"Ela quer de amora. Limão e amora," he says to the man behind the counter, stepping forward.

"Ah, amora," the vendor repeats, grabbing the ice cream scoop.

"Oh my god," the woman says in perfect English, turning to face him. "What did I ask for?"

"A lemon and love ice cream. Quite original," he responds, suppressing a laugh. The young woman blushes deeply, covering her mouth.

"This is the last time I try to speak Portuguese."

"You were doing great," Carlos says, still laughing. "The accent was perfect, at least. Could have fooled me."

The man behind the counter hands her the ice cream, and she gives him a bill in exchange for some coins. She thanks him and gives a little wave to Carlos, thanking him too, before leaving the shop. The Spaniard places his order in perfect Portuguese, and a few seconds later, he too is once again facing the boiling sun, ice cream in hand. The young woman is still there, leaning against the shop window, trying to enjoy the shade of the small awning at the storefront.

"Thanks again," she says, licking the side of cup where a drop threatens to escape.

"My pleasure," he responds, sitting down next to her in the shade. "But perhaps I shouldn't have intervened? If it's really love you wanted to order from that innocent man."

She laughs, with a radiant, luminous laughter.

"No, you did well to come to my rescue. I thought the poor guy was going to have a heart attack."

"If you had insisted, I'm not sure he would have refused the proposition of such a pretty girl," he responds with a smirk, his eyes fixed on his cone.

"You, Portuguese men," she says, smirking at him. "You've certainly earned your reputation as charmers."

"Well, that might be true, but I wouldn't know. I'm Spanish," he replies with a grin.

"Oops! Sorry," she replies. "It's not very far, after all," she adds.

"Yes, we're neighbors. That's why I come here so often," he explains.

"Oh!" she exclaims, her eyes suddenly sparkling with excitement. "So, you know the city well, then?"

"Like the back of my hand," Carlos replies, gazing into her eyes.

"Okay," she starts. "I've been here for four days. I'm leaving tomorrow. I feel like I've already done all the important stuff : Praça do Comércio, the cathedral, the castle, the convent," she begins to list, counting on her fingers. "Belém Tower, of course. Absolutely magnificent. Alfama, too... But I'm afraid I might have missed something. Is there anything else that's a must-see?"

Carlos takes a moment to think, bringing the ice cream to his lips.

"Well," he says after a few seconds. "Have you crossed the 25th of April Bridge?"

"The one that looks like the Golden Gate?" she asks as Carlos nods. "No, I've only seen it from afar. I didn't dare to walk across it," she admits.

"Yeah, it's better to avoid walking across it," the Spaniard agrees. "But if you want, I have a scooter. If you feel like crossing the bridge. No pressure, of course," he says, focusing back on his ice cream.

"You'd do that?" she asks, her eyes widening. "Oh, that would be so amazing. I mean, if you don't have anything else to do, of course."

Twenty minutes later, done with their ice creams and feeling a bit refreshed, Carlos starts his scooter in a small Portuguese alleyway, while the young woman, seated behind him, fastens her helmet.

"Hold tight," he says, starting the engine and venturing into the cobbled streets, making her yelp before grabbing onto his waist.

The journey to the bridge takes about fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes during which Carlos explains to her what's around them, from cathedrals to varieties of trees to famous murals. The rushing air and their helmets make conversation a bit difficult, so she leans into him, chin resting on his shoulder to hear better. When finally the bridge stands before them, she can't help but let out a "wow" of surprise and admiration. "It's so beautiful!" she shouts for Carlos to hear, and she feels the Spaniard laughing, his back trembling against her chest. In the distance, the statue of Christ stands with outstretched arms, as if waiting for them.

"Just like in Rio!" she says.

"You've been to Brazil?" Carlos asks, eyeing her up in one of the rearview mirror.

"Yeah," she says. "Have you?"

"Yes," Carlos replies. "For work."

The driver accelerates to overtake a car, and the wind cuts off their conversation. Behind him, her arms tighten around his waist, and he finds himself enjoying the sensation. A few minutes later, they've finally crossed the bridge, and they take the opportunity to stop at the statue and explore the surroundings. Lost in the streets of Almada, the two strangers get to know each other, exchanging life and travel anecdotes. The chemistry is so good that neither of them realizes how much time has passed until the sun sets on the horizon, in front of the terrace they're seated at.

"Wow, I can't believe it's already almost 8 p.m.," she suddenly says, looking at her phone.

"Did you have plans after this? Sorry, I've stolen you for quite some time," he asks apologetically.

"No, nothing planned. And I've quite liked being stolen, to be honest," she replies, looking at him over her spritz. "Thank you for being such a great guide."

Carlos looks lost in his thoughts for a moment, silent.

"Would..." he starts, hesitant. "Would it be weird if I invited you to dinner? My cousin lent me his apartment, there's a beautiful view of the city. I bought some groceries when I arrived this morning, I have wine, and..."

He's interrupted by a hand placed on his, and when he looks up, his eyes meet those, dark, of the young woman. He's never been extremely confident, but he's never felt as exposed as he does under her piercing gaze. It's... unsettling. Kinda sexy, too.

"I'd be really happy to. If you're not already tired of my company," she replies, laughing.

An hour later, she's sitting on the terrace of the Spaniard's cousin, overlooking the Tagus Bay, a glass of white wine in hand. The sun has set, but the air is still warm. Below, the noise of restaurant terraces adds to the evening's liveliness. Behind her, in the kitchen, the driver is busy slicing vegetables, cutting meat, draining pasta.

"Are you sure you don't need a hand, Carlos?" she asks, turning around. It's been a while since they exchanged names, back at the bar in Almada. She also learned that he was a driver. He didn't really say much more, so she interpreted... like a taxi, or something. They talked about her job, as a lecturer at the University of Oxford in England. Foreign civilizations, she'd explained with a smile, beaming with pride.

"No, I want you to enjoy the evening. I invited you to dinner after all, not to cook," he replies with a smile. She smiles in return, turning her attention back to the water. She could stay here forever. But already, her departure is approaching. The notification on her phone informing her that her flight takes off in a few hours is proof of that. A surprisingly disappointing proof. Almost painful. Painful? Ridiculous, she thinks, shaking her head to dispel the absurd idea.

"It's ready," the Spaniard announces suddenly, placing two steaming plates on the small table where she's seated.

"It smells incredibly good," she replies, closing her eyes and flaring her nostrils. "Do you cook a lot?"

"Not as much as I'd like," the man responds. "I'm often on the road for work. It's not easy to find the time and motivation to get into the kitchen."

"Yeah, I bet," she replies, raising her glass in his direction to toast. Their two glasses clink gently, and each takes a sip, settling into a comfortable silence.

"I'd like to cook more too, but when you get home at 9 p.m. from a day of long and tiring lectures... Food delivery works just fine," she confides, laughing.

The conversation goes on, each opening up to one another, asking questions, answering some. Neither of them says it, but each is surprised by how easily they open up, reveal themselves. It's almost unsettling, he thinks. To know someone for just a few hours and feel so comfortable. Truly unsettling, she thinks. Having dinner with a stranger and wanting to tell them your entire life story. The dinner continues, as does the wine, and slowly, the conversation drifts. Without either of them really noticing. Or caring enough to stop.

"What's a girl like you doing here all alone?" the Spaniard asks after a moment.

"Right back at you," she says. "What's a guy like you doing here alone?"

"What's a guy like me?" he asks, a playful smile on his lips.

"Come on now, you're just fishing for compliments. I don't care, I'll bite," she replies, smirking. "A charming guy. Very charming. Well-dressed, multilingual, good conversationalist, and who cooks amazingly well. A guy who knows how to please a woman," she adds.

"I do know how to please a woman," he says, tone low. "Thanks for noticing."

Realizing the innuendo, she blushes, drinking from her glass.

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"I know," he replies, smiling. "But thanks for the compliments. To answer your question, I often come to Lisbon when I need to be alone. To gather my thoughts," he responds.

"And yet, we've spent the day together. That's not what I call being alone. Did I ruin your plans then?" she says, eyeing him intensely.

"You haven't ruined anything. If anything, you've improved them."

"There he is," she replies, laughing. "The Portuguese man in you. The charmer!" she says, throwing the bottle cap in his direction. He catches it effortlessly in the air, laughing out loud.

"What about you, then? You haven't answered the question," Carlos says, serious again. "What's a splendid, refined, elegant woman of knowledge like you doing alone in Lisbon?"

The conversation pauses for a moment as she looks away from his eyes, gazing into the river in the distance.

"I don't know why I'm doing this," she begins, "but I'm going to tell you something I haven't told anyone yet. Not my family, not even my closest friends. In fact, I've only just admitted it to myself, but... I'm searching for meaning."

"Meaning?" he repeats, arching a brow.

"I love my job, I've worked hard to get here. Living in Oxford isn't so bad, if you forget about the rain. I'm well surrounded, I have friends, I get along great with my loved ones. But..." she continues, hesitantly. "I've been feeling lately like my life doesn't have any meaning. Like I'm moving forward without direction. Like something is missing."

"And what could this something be?" Carlos replies softly.

"I don't know. I'm here to find out," she says, meeting his eyes.

It must be the wine. Or the adrenaline from the day... But probably more the wine, which prompts Carlos to lean over the table and capture her lips. She's surprised, her whole body seeming to stiffen, and for a moment, Carlos regrets it. But a few seconds later, her tongue finds his, intensifying the kiss, her hand moving to the nape of his neck. Things escalate quickly. It only takes them a few minutes to abandon plates, glasses of wine, and clothing along the way and throw themselves onto the double bed in the apartment.

All day, she let him make the decisions. The one to leave the gelato shop. The one to cross the bridge. The one to eat dinner at his place. So Carlos is particularly surprised when she pushes him onto the bed, kissing him passionately before descending to his groin, and his already almost painful hard-on. Her hand barely brushes against his cock, her touch delicate, but already, his whole body is on fire. At her mercy.

"Wait," he says, sitting up on his elbows. "Are you sure? I can make you feel good."

"Let me thank you for this fantastic dinner," she says, watching him through her lashes, eyes dark.

Her hand wraps around him, and her expert movements begin, running her thumb over the tip, letting a trickle of saliva drip from her mouth to its tip.

"Fucking hell", he swears, falling back.

Her mouth finds him, and she plays with her tongue, hollowing her cheeks, taking him as far as she can until tears well up in the corners of his eyes. His moans intensify, assuring her that she's doing well, that he appreciates her efforts. Her little game lasts for a while, his hands lost in the mass of her hair, pulling at the roots, uttering profanities. Praising her. Then suddenly, he sits up, letting out a "wait" that makes her stop abruptly.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asks, wiping her mouth.

"No, you did... Everything right. Too right. I was going to, erm..."

"Oh!" she utters, stiffling a laugh.

"Now, let me take care of you," he says, flipping her over on the bed, his body on top of hers.

They kiss, something she's never done with other flings, other one-night stands. Something so deeply intimate, so dangerous. Their tongues meet, explore each other. He bites her lip and she lets out a moan so loud that she surprises even herself. This guy has way too much of an effect on me, she thinks, getting lost in his eyes. Hypnotizing eyes, he thinks, surrendering to them.

Pressing kisses along her neck, on her collarbones, and then on her breasts, his mouth finds one of her nipples, over which he slides his tongue, eliciting moans from her. Feeling her receptive, he tries something else, nibbling on it, pressing his warm mouth against it. For several minutes, he alternates from one nipple to the other, from one nipple to her mouth, from her mouth to the other nipple. His mouth, his teeth, are everywhere. Warm. Intoxicating. Suddenly, she clings to his shoulders, her mouth slightly open, and he can't help but scrutinize her, observe every movement, every expression on her face.

"Oh, god," she says, her head thrown back, a strand of hair in front of her eyes.

And she cums. It's probably the most beautiful, the most exciting thing he's ever seen in his life. His cock pulses, aching, and for a moment, he thinks he's going to empty himself there, on her stomach. Like a fucking teenager. But he has other plans, and he intends on making good use of them.

"Wow," she says, coming down from her orgasm. "I've never come from this before."

"Well, you did say that you wanted to find out things about yourself," he replies with a cocky grin.

She smiles, grabbing the back of his neck, pulling him towards her. He settles between her legs, his hand sliding between them, to her core. She's wet, her excitement glistening along her thighs. Onto the sheets. And who is he to judge, he, whose erection is almost painful, fueled by thoughts of slipping into her, making her his home for eternity.

In a kiss, he spreads her legs, positioning himself at her core, casting her a final confirming glance to which she responds by kissing him again, feverishly. He's inside her in one motion, and once again, he must focus to not explode within her walls.

"Fuck," he says, going as deep as possible. "Where were you all this time?"

"Oh, you know, at the ice cream shop. Asking for love," she replies, laughing.

He bites her shoulder, starting to move. Alternating between deliciously long moments where she moans, begging for more. And others where he ravages her, devouring her neck. Her lips. After some time, they're both panting, and he presses his forehead to her.

"I want you to ride me," he says, kissing her again. "I want to see you. All of you."

And she complies, swapping positions, sitting on his hard cock. Riding him without even thinking. Throwing her head back until her hair tickles his thighs. His hands find her breasts, holding them, kissing them.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers. "So good at riding me."

"Stop talking like this or I'm gonna cum," she says, whining.

"Would this be a bad thing?"

"I want this to last as long as possible," she says, pressing her nose to his.

He helps her, lifting her thighs to ease her movements, caressing her shoulders, her breasts, her hips. It lasts a moment, until she places both hands on his chest, her legs trembling.

"Let it go, hermosa," he says, holding her ass. "Cum for me, baby."

And she does, releasing a series of moans that make him bite his lip. He himself can't take it anymore, holding back his pleasure for some time. She feels it. The way his penis twitches. The squinting of his eyes. His short breath.

"Cum inside," she says, eyes still closed. "I want to feel you."

A few thrusts later, he empties himself deep inside her, with a grunt that could make her go for another round without thinking.

"La hostia," he breathes, panting. "¿Qué me has hecho, hermosa?"

"Was it that bad that you lost your English?" she asks, her head resting on his chest.

"You almost had me speaking French, that's to say," he laughs, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

"Please, stay."

Several hours later, Carlos is snoring softly, and doesn't even hear the alarm clock of the young woman ringing. She grabs her phone, squinting against the brightness, checking the time. Four in the morning. Her flight is at 7, on the other side of the city. She has pre-ordered a taxi that should arrive within thirty minutes to take her back to her rental, so she can grab her suitcase before heading to the airport. She reluctantly slips out from under the warm covers, casting a glance at her lover, peacefully asleep. Should she wake him up? Say goodbye? She's always left her one-night stands without a word, without a glance. But him... she thinks. This was different. Maybe...

Spotting a notebook and a pen on the bedroom desk, she seizes them, scribbling a few words. Nothing seems good enough, yet she wants to try. She writes mindlessly, throwing in a thank you for everything, a best night of my life, a hope to see you again someday before leaving the note on her pillow. Twenty minutes later, she's gone, her perfume still lingering in the room.

Ten days later

"What's up with you?" Charles asks, eyeing him suspiciously.

"What?"

"You're not there. So, where are you?" his teammate asks again.

So, he tells him everything. His trip to Lisbon to clear his head. His meeting with her, the very first day. Their afternoon. Their night. The next morning, alone. Her note. And the thoughts haunting his mind ever since.

"Why didn't you write to her if she affects you so much?" Charles asks, perplexed.

"She didn't leave me her number," Carlos sighs, dejected. "Not even an address. Nothing."

"You said she was a professor? At Oxford?" Charles asks, invested, as Carlos nods, zipping up his firesuit. "Foreign civilizations, yeah?" Another nod from Carlos. "Have you searched for her email? It must be on the university website, right? For students who need to contact her?"

Carlos' face lights up in a second.

"You, fucking cabrón," he says, holding Charles by the shoulders. "How did I not think of that?"

A few minutes later, as he's about to put down his phone before heading for the qualifying session, Carlos writes the final words on the email destined to his beautiful stranger. Finding her email was surprisingly easy. Summarizing everything he wanted to say in a few lines was more challenging. Letting out a deep breath and pressing the send button, the Spaniard sets his phone down before joining his race car and slipping inside. Nervously on edge. Not about the upcoming session, no. Something else. Deliciously nerve-wracking.

As he speeds around the track, completing lap after lap, he misses the screen of his phone lighting up, announcing an email of which only the first line is visible.

"Hi stranger... I was beginning to think you'd never find me."

[mrsparrasblog]

Layover in Glasgow

Summary: You're living your dream working as a flight attendant after a very bad breakup. On your layovers, you meet all sorts of men from a special Taskforce, each trying to charm their way into your heart. Who will succeed in finding his way into your heart?

Rating: E

Pairing: Soap x plus size readers

MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI

TW: Oral sex, p in v sex dirty talk , a tiny bit stalking

Next part: Layover in Liverpool

why does he remind me of Johnny

Layover in Glasgow

Being a flight attendant has always been your dream. You have already seen many places; unfortunately, not anything outside of Europe since Ryanair couldn't give you the luxury of layovers in LA, Shanghai, or Bali. It was still more than enough. This time, you could scratch Scotland off your bucket list.

And it was just like you imagined: cold, rainy, and beautiful. Instead of admiring nature, you found yourself in one of Glasgow's most famous pubs with your crew, drinking pints.

After a while, your best friend left, sneaking off with the captain to the bathroom—typical.

You wanted to pay your tab before a pretty handsome guy walked towards you and said, "Let me invite you to a drink before ya leave, bonnie."

God, he was the most handsome man you’d seen in a while. He was a bit short for your liking, but his ripped muscles and icy blue eyes definitely made up for it. "Sorry, I need to go; start early tomorrow,“ you sighed, not being able to flirt a bit more with this man.

"Where urr ye aff tae this late, anyway?“ He asked curiously; he was already ready to offer you a ride, but you looked like one of those girls who would call the police if he asked.

"Hotel,“ you replied shortly. If you were a bit less drunk, you’d probably tell him a lie, like to your boyfriend, so he would toss off, but he was cute, and your best friend left you for the captain anyway.

"Yer not from here, then, are you? You got a bit of the tourist in ya," he muttered.

"I'm not a tourist,“ you replied, bratty. Well, kinda you were, but kinda not, though.

"What brings you here, then?" Soap asked curiously as he shifted his weight on his legs, glancing down at the bar. He already liked you, beautiful and snarky. God,  he was down for you. "Business? Family? A lover?" He asked, his voice teasing a bit as he looked back at you. He really hoped and begged God that you hadn’t a lover over here.

"I'm a flight attendant.“

"A flight attendant..." Soap repeated slowly at first, taking a second to process that before a grin split across his face, imagining you in your uniform and how he would rip it apart. "Oh, so you're one of those ones who get to travel the world. Yer a lucky lass.“

„Mhm very lucky, my first layover in Glasgow“

Soap grinned at this, his blue eyes brightening with amusement as his gaze wandered back to you. "Yer first time in Scotland, eh? You have no clue how lucky you are.“ He leaned forward, almost into your personal bubble. "The accent, the history, the food—the women are a bit crazy, though," he admitted with a sheepish chuckle. Oh, how he could brag around having a girl like you by his squad; you had the exact body type Price would kill for, the exact attitude Kyle loved from a lass, and the height and confidence the Lt preferred. 

„And the men aren’t crazy here?“ You raised a brow; he seemed seemingly crazy with his mohawk and the way he was able to walk into your personal space. Thoughts about how you could pull on his hair while riding him lived rent-free in your head.

Soap burst out in a deep, rumbling laugh as you asked. "Oh, they're even crazier," he grinned, a cheeky glint in his icy blue eyes. "I don't reckon you'd like 'em all that much, to be honest. Most of 'em are either drunk, dumb, mean, or a combination of all three," Soap chuckled, his head tipping to the side.

"And you are drunk, dumb, or mean?“ Fuck, his eyes already got you memoized. Would it be really wrong to take him to the hotel just for a little fun? Maybe you could ride that beautiful face.

"Well I  cannae say ah'ament a' o' th' 'boon at time, but, ah reckon a'm' the most braw." Soap asserted, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. 

„You think of yourself as the most handsome?“ 

Soap smirked. "That's fur a'm." He maintained absolute confidence. "I could be the most arrogant person alive, and it'd still be true," he laughed. "I bet I'm the most handsome bloke you've ever seen.“

„So what's your name, arrogant handsome guy?“ 

"The handsome, arrogant guy in question would happen to be John 'Soap' MacTavish," he answered with a grin. You didn't even question that his nickname was a fucking cleaning product.

„Nice to meet you, John.“

"Aye, same here, but whit dae I  get the pleasure of cawin ye?"

You didn't want to answer this; you weren’t open to a relationship too much, and you were already hurt by your last ex-boyfriend idiot pathetic way too tall military guy.“Let me be honest, I'm not really into anything serious with my job, but if you want to come with me in my hotel room, I wouldn't mind.“

Soap blinked at your bluntness, the corner of his lips twitching as a grin spread across his face. "I wasn't looking for something serious, but I'm sure your hotel room wouldn't be too bad.“ Sleeping around was never a problem for Johnny; he was the one to get the most lays around his squad, mainly because Garrick didn't participate, Ghost scared lassies, and Price was too afraid to hurt the woman he liked. Soft little things with wide hips and round faces weren’t for his callused hands. He kind of wanted more from you than a lay; you were just so damn perfect, but he was sure you were just like every girl he slept with, telling him it was a one-night thing, but after six screaming orgasms, they all wanted to become Mrs. MacTavish.

You walked with him towards your hotel, his hand always around the end of your back, slowly gliding to your ample bottom, squeezing it through the tight skirt you wore.

Before you arrived at the hotel, you gave one last warning: „I don’t do relationships, only sex.“

Soap grinned at your bluntness. "Good, 'Cause that makes two of us; I'm not the kind to fall for someone. I'm too busy for all the emotions and nonsense crap," Soap said bluntly. "Just good fun. Nothing else.“ He practically copied his LT words, but you don’t need to know this. 

Soap followed you into the hotel room with a satisfied grin, closing the door silently behind him as he pressed you back onto the bed, one hand resting on your upper thigh as he leaned in for another kiss. His large hands quickly began running along your sides, tracing up along your back as his lips gently tugged at your bottom lip. “Ne'er bin wi' someone as tall or muscular as me?“

You laughed at that, unfortunately hurting his ego "You're the shortest guy I ever had sex with,“ and you didn't even lie, especially not after your 6’10 bastard of an ex-boyfriend. 

Soap laughed aloud at this, his accent practically rumbling as his grin grew. "There's no way you're tellin' me there's been a load of men taller than me. I'm six feet tall!" Soap complains, "Am I really the shortest?" His face grew kind of insecure, but if you only knew your moments, they would make him want you more.

„Yes, but don’t worry, your accent makes it up.“

„Mhm, like my accent?“ He smiled, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. 

„Yes“

„Good thing my accent is not the only thick thing about me,“ he replied with a smirk, removing his shirt and showing off his perfectly thick Lucious abs. You traced along the happy trail, eager to remove his pants, and he was right; he was incredibly thick. He wasn’t by any chance the biggest you had with his 7 solid inches but by far the thickest. His dick didn't spring up; it hung heavy and low with his angry leaking tip. You licked your lips, eager to finally have something other than your finger inside of your pleading hole.

„Like what you see, hen?“ He smirked, an arrogant Corky bastard, but somehow you liked it. 

He pulled you onto your back, pulling off your tight skirt and that long-sleeve top you wore. When he saw your body, all the dimples and curves and the beautiful stretch marks around your hips, he was gone. „Fuckin hell, bonnie could have told me what you hide under those clothes,“ his hand nervously fiddled over the lacy fabric of your bra, smirking when he saw your nipples hardening under his touch. „So eager for me?“ 

Without a thought, he wrapped his mouth around your clothed nipples, sucking them in and gently biting on them. You wanted to remove your bra, but he stopped you. „Shh, hen, that's a sight for next time.“ 

„There will be no next time, John.“

„Thalere wull always bee a next time hen,“ he said, and before you could argue with him, his lips were already around your clothed mound, licking over the blue lacy fabric. „Didn't need tae dress sae cute fur me hen,“ he lured against it, pressing his thick palms deeper into your clit making you moan and whimper like a feral cat. 

You couldn’t remember if you had shaved or not the last few days. "Johnny, I'm not entirely shaven down there." You warned him, afraid of his reaction. For most guys, it was an immediate no. Yes, for fucking, but no for licking, but he just looked at you with a devious smirk: „A'm mair hairy than a bear myself sae a dinnae mynd a bawherr locks aroond mah meal.“ With that, he removed your thong, completely placing the soft fabric of your thong next to his jeans so he could steal them on deployment, wanking himself on something better than the porn he had saved on his mobile phone. 

„Mhm, such a bonnie cunny you have,“ he purred and started to lick thick stripes from your hole to your clit, you weren’t the patient type, so you pulled on his mohawk directly to your clit, where you pressed him inside of you. „Not very patient, hen“ 

He finally stopped all the teasing and used his mouth for God, licking at your clit slowly sucking her in while working your pleading mound open, his thick digits always pressed against your gummy wall.

„Fuck Johnny“

„Mhm, so wet for me, hen.“ 

He licked at your cunt like it was the last meal he ever had. He slurped and moaned, God, he was a messy eater, his fingers pressed against the plush fat of your hips, holding you down so you didn't run away from the orgasm he tried to give you. As he inserted a third finger, pressing against the sweet spot, most men didn't find - it was over for you. 

You clenched around him, milking his thick finger for all of its worth, and experienced one of the most intense orgasms in your life. He pated some taps on your clit making you shake from the overwhelming feeling inside your tummy.

„God yere looking so bonnie when you cum,“ his eyes sparkled in admiration. He knew he had to have you for more than just a one-night thing.

„Do you have a condone, Johnny? I don’t have anything in your size.“ 

He could have just cum from that praise; he knew he was thick, but this was so fucking good to hear from you. "Aye,“ he said, wrapping the condom down on his shaft. His dick was a bit sad about not having the chance to fuck the most beautiful cunt he ever saw raw, but better than nothing. 

He slides his thick member across your mound over and over again, wetting him with your arousal. But you weren’t in for missionary, so you pulled him to his back and sat down on his lap. You wanted to glide on him, but the unconscious fear of being too heavy hit you. 

„Dinnae worry ah dae hip thrust hen“

With that, you straddled him, your legs working overtime to stretch around his big hips, and you glided yourself down on his delicious curved cock. He was surprised you could take him without any problems. God,  could that girl be any more perfect? 

You slowly rolled your hips on his, trying to find a movement where he hit the exact right spot. His hand grabbed your plump ass, guiding you up and down, needing to get some more friction out of you. He was already a needy whimpering mess, and you didn’t even begin fully.

„Please, bonnie move faster,“ he whimpered, and who were you to deny his cute whimpers?

He guided your hips up and down at a mean pace, searching for his orgasm; his dark black curls rubbed against your clit with every movement pulling you closer and closer to your awaiting release. 

Feeling you close to orgasm, Johnny moved a hand between your legs, rubbing your clit firmly as he continued to pound into you. His fingers circled your swollen bud, teasing it until you cried out incoherently. „Johnny"

Johnny groaned, feeling himself getting closer as well. He picked up the pace even more, slamming into you harder as he leaned forward to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting gently through the fabric.

„Johnny, please, I'm close.“

Hearing your enthusiastic moans, Johnny let out a groan of relief as he felt his climax building. With one last hard thrust, he erupted inside of you, his cock pulsing as he shot his hot cum deep inside your wet cunt.

He panted heavily as you continued to ride him needy to reach your own orgasm. The familiar knot in your stomach started to build inside of you, and with a final slap of Johnny's finger, you came screaming his name as you began to squeeze his thick cock. 

You collapsed into each other, and he wrapped his thick arms around your body. "That��was intense, bonnie“ his mouth kissing around your neck.

„Yes, it was great. Would you mind leaving now? I have my flight in for hours.“

„No cuddling?“ He said he was disappointed, and as you saw his puppy eyes, you almost couldn’t resist changing your mind, but you didn’t. 

„No, sorry,“ you said sternly. 

He pulled his pants and shirt on, leaving a paper with his number on the bedside table: "Call me, hen.“.

——————————————————————————————————

"Stop looking at your phone. She won't call you,“ the lieutenant said to Johnny. He annoyed them the whole last week, showing your picture all around and telling everyone how good he fucked you. Ghost couldn’t deny that he found you incredibly arousing, exactly like Price and Gaz.

„She will!“ 

„Maybe she needs someone older.“ Price chuckled.

On his bedside table lay a small paper Roaster July 2023 Y/N. 

Layover Glasgow 

Layover Milan 

Layover Liverpool 

Layover Paris

Layover Manchester

Layover London Stansted 

Whoever and wherever you are, doll, you can't escape us. Maybe you can leave Johnny, but you can't outrun me. In the end, you will choose one of us. I hope, for your sake, it's me. See you on your next layover.

Did I just made Reader a flight attendant since I always dreamt off being a flight attendant in London but Brexit said no ? Yes

[ickie]

♡ come through \ mv1 + ln4.

pairing: max verstappen x reader x lando norris summary: you and lando try to make max jealous because it's more fun that way hehe \ word count: 0.4k warnings: alcohol consumption ?? nothing supa graphic but i guess allusions to sex notes: is this the lando & max fic i promised ? no ! but it's something because i feel like all my writing sucks & so i've rewritten my promised fics like 8 million times ! n e way ! please send any feed back here ! and if you like my work enough to want to be tagged, here's a form for my taglist ! love u all <3

the corner of your mouth quirked, a devious glint evident in your eyes as you stared down max. sure, maybe you were being a brat on purpose... but it was fun. especially when he got riled up, which is exactly what was happening in the crowded miami club. your hand trailed down lando's arm, humming in response to whatever question the winner had asked you.

"come dance with me?" a pout crossed your glossed lips, lightly tugging at lando's arm, pulling him with you before he could protest. you hummed quietly to the words of the song (the weeknd, if you weren't mistaken) placing lando's hands where you wanted them - right on your hips.

"i think maxie is jealous," you giggled into his ear, hips moving to the beat of the song while his hands seemed to help sway you to the beat. "but i think you deserve me more than he does..." looking back towards the blonde, his eyes stared straight at you two, expression unreadable.

lando mumbled something into your ear that had him laughing, which caused oyu to turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck. "hmm?" you quirked an eyebrow, staring into his eyes. his pupils were wide, eyes glassed over clearly from the effects of the alcohol that everyone had been consuming since stepping foot into the club.

"i said," lando mused, hands moving to run over your ass, lightly grabbing at the flesh. "i think i might get killed if we continue this any longer." his teeth grazed your ear, his hands placed lightly on your waist before you felt another presence behind you.

"having fun without me?" the accent was unmissable, your body instantly relaxing into max's body - happy and content between the two men. "i was just giving lando some attention... he won today, afterall..." you teased, your head leaning back to rest on max's shoulder.

"missed you, maxie..." you whispered into his ear, before you looked back at lando. "missed both of you so much today... i don't think you understand." biting your lip, you stood up straight between the two males.

"my hotels only 10 minutes away," lando suggested, eyes flicking back and forth between you and max, he was clearly looking for any signs of 'we shouldn't do this' but he was met with none.

"max... what do you say?" you turned around to meet him, looking into his blue eyes. "fuck, order the uber... now."

ickies taglist !

( @landoism )

[its-avalon-08]

Can you do one where max verstappen x leclerc!sister reader? set this after austria 2019. y/n refuses to talk to max, and max refuses to talk to y/n. both angry for their own reasons. charles hates seeing them so distant so he goes and sorts it out even though he is still furious at max.

Thanks!

to hell with him (mv1, cl16! as a brother)

the champagne showers at the red bull ring were a stark contrast to the storm brewing between you and max. two years. two years of laughter, whispered secrets in motorhomes, stolen kisses under starlit skies, all culminating in this icy silence. the roar of the austrian national anthem barely registered as you stared at the podium, charles' jubilant face mocking your shattered heart.

max's reckless move on leclerc in the final lap had cost him the win and ignited a firestorm within you. the frustration, the fear, the betrayal – a cocktail of emotions that left you speechless. max, on the other hand, was fuming. he'd taken the risk for the win, a win that could have closed the gap in the championship. your disapproval felt like another blow, a rejection that added insult to injury.

charles, ever the mediator, couldn't bear the tension any longer. after the podium celebrations, he found you drowning your sorrows – non-alcoholic champagne, of course – in the red bull hospitality area. "y/n," he started cautiously, "we need to talk."

you sighed, the dam threatening to burst. "not now, charles. please."

he persisted, his monegasque accent soft yet firm. "it's breaking him too, you know."

you scoffed. "right, because it's all about him."

his words hung heavy in the air. a flicker of doubt ignited within you. could he be right? but before you could process it, max entered, a dark cloud following him. he scanned the room, his gaze landing on you.

across the room, charles, his own disappointment at a missed podium simmering, couldn't bear the tension any longer. he stormed over, his gaze hard. "this is ridiculous," he declared, voice taut. "talk to each other."

max, surrounded by team personnel, barely glanced up. "nothing to say."

you choked back a retort, the sting of betrayal raw in your throat. charles, seeing the storm brewing in your eyes, turned to max, his voice low, fierce. "that wasn't racing, max. you almost took me out. don't you get it?"

max flinched at the mention of your name, but his jaw remained clenched. "it was a racing incident, charles. end of story."

the tension crackled. you stood abruptly, tears blurring your vision, and stormed out, the echo of cheers hollow in your ears. hurt morphed into anger. you stormed out of the room, the cool night air doing little to soothe your burning cheeks. tears, stinging and hot, welled up in your eyes blurring the path ahead.

meanwhile, max had been drowning his frustration, not in champagne, but in self-recrimination. he replayed the race a thousand times in his mind, each time cringing at his recklessness. but most of all, he saw your tear-filled eyes, a sight that twisted his gut with regret. he had been so focused on his own disappointment, he hadn't seen the hurt etched in your face.

bursting out , he scanned the darkness, his heart pounding with a newfound urgency. he found you on a small bridge overlooking the track, the city lights twinkling below. you were facing away from him, your shoulders trembling with silent sobs.

he walked up slowly, his voice rough with remorse. "y/n," he called out.

you stiffened at the sound, but didn't turn. he stood beside you, a heavy silence settling between you both. finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, he confessed, "i was an idiot. i took a stupid risk and… and i scared you. seeing you cry… that hurt more than anything."

you still refused to meet his gaze. finally, a choked sob escaped your lips.

the sound tore through max's defenses. he closed the remaining space and took a cautious step closer. seeing the tear tracks staining your cheeks, the vulnerability etched on your face, a wave of regret washed over him. he knelt before you, his voice laced with remorse. "i'm so sorry, y/n. i didn't think it through. thinking of losing...it clouded my judgment."

slowly, you turned towards him. the anger that had burned bright in your eyes had softened, replaced by a deep hurt. "it scared me, max," you whispered. "the thought of losing you...of losing charles..."

max reached for your hand, his touch gentle. "i know," he murmured. "i never meant to put either of you at risk. especially you."

he held your gaze, and in his eyes, you saw a depth of emotion you hadn't witnessed before, an apology that went beyond words.

the road to forgiveness wouldn't be easy, but in that moment, a flicker of hope ignited. the roar of the engines outside might drown out some conversations, but the one between you and max had just begun. and for the first time since that reckless move on the track, a tiny corner of your heart dared to believe.

[hxltic]

𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐓… 𝑴𝑰𝒀𝑨 𝑨𝑻𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑼

Genre: smut

Warning: car sex, mild alcohol mention, fem reader, degradation + praise, pet names: sugar, sweetheart, etc, creampie, birth control

Synopsis: You have been on Atsumu’s ass about he and his brother’s country accent for the longest, so when it comes back around to bite you back on Halloween, you are not ready for it.

A Halloween party!! You’re not sure how it came up in conversation when picking couples’ costumes: police, a Princess and Prince, a scary movie duo; all you know is that ‘Tsumu roared his engine from outside to inform you of his presence while you were rushingly retrieving your perfume.

You had an idea of what he was wearing since you two were supposed to be matching, but he bought you a (super cute) pair of embroidered boots and guided your outfit from afar. Like a personal designer. The shoes with a slight heel on them clacked down your front door steps in the cold night, the brisk air bit at your skin, your breasts rebounded in the low-buttoned flannel, and a holster connected to your ripped jean shorts. The only correct way to style your hair was braided pigtails (even though you are positive this isn’t how someone who actually handles animals would dress) and owning a huge belt to compliment your gorgeous figure even more.

Once you reach the car, ‘Tsumu came around from his side to open your door for you.

Your jaw went slack.

The blonde’s own button down was opened almost farther than yours to reveal his carved chest but a thick belt cut it off. A brown coat to match was being removed from the outfit, one that paired with the folded hat atop his head that left some of his hair to peek out. The dark jeans heavily covered his boots—with an exception for the ends— and were even slightly tainted. The shoes look worn. Has he always had this? Was your boyfriend a country American hottie with an accent and you had no idea? After pulling his long arms out of the garment, he slung it over your shoulders.

“Pick yer jaw up ‘n keep those pretty feet movin’ sweetheart, I know it’s cold.”

He patted your ass twice as if you were a fucking horse instructed to trot, and the worst part was, you obliged and sat in the car with no complaint.

Your eyes trailed his body and face the whole ride. The battery on your phone was slowly rising with it being on the charger, so with nothing to do, it was easy to adore the man to your side before a large, gentle hand was placed on your thigh.

He keeps his eyes on the road before speaking, “There somethin’ on my face?”

You shook your head, “no,” and gazed outside the window until your destination was reached. The last thing you’d do is fuel his ego.

————•————

The liquor in your hand led you around the party, half conscious. You knew it was dangerous—not only drinking—but splitting with Tsumu to get it. Though, you wouldn’t quite say you were in danger, you knew everyone here at least a little bit and was able to pinpoint who was who; but there was a specifically familiar face that caught your attention.

Osamu curled around a stumbling woman once he caught your eye and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, the other hand occupied by a drink as well.

“There y’are, what’s the famous _____ up to? Where’s ma brother?”

You took a sip as he mindlessly walked you around to catch up; you hadn’t been doing anything much, and you had no idea where your boyfriend was.

Speak of the devil, the two of you hit a corner and Tsumu was atop the marble kitchen counter conversing with Sakusa. He reverted his gaze to you, to Osamu, back to you, and cringed a little. It was like a face of disgust with a fake laugh at the end. You were sober enough to see it, but drunk enough for it to piss you off for the rest of the night.

————•————

You turn the knob to the radio up. Whether you were trying to distract yourself from the irritation bubbling in your throat or just ease your mind in general, Atsumu picked up on it. “Fake it till you make it” they’d say, except that you could only hide your emotions to an extent that the liquor would allow.

Having not payed attention to your surroundings, when Atsumu pulled into a scarce parking lot it caught you off guard. His large hand rotated along the leather until he shifted the stick to park, and with a click he locks the doors. If it wasn’t him you’d have assumed you were being kidnapped.

He twists to you, “Kay, what’s the problem?”

“Nuthin partner,” you exclaim with sarcasm dripping off your words. Even if it was a minor look that shouldn’t have bothered you, it did because of the alcohol. And him asking that (with no type of attitude or invalidating tone as if he had no idea) irritated you even more.

His gaze slides back to the windshield while he attempts to hide a growing smirk. It darts back to you in amusement.

“Ya wanna play that way? Alright sweetness.”

He presses down on a glowing button connected to his door that reclines his seat. You only look at him intently as he mimics you with crossed arms, shuffling a bit to flaunt himself getting comfortable before his eyes close.

You stare angrily at him. As angry as you could get when he rests the large cowboy hat over his face. Fuck, he was hot with the thick belt on display and the manspread he boasted.

“What the hell are you doing?” You deadpan anyway.

“Waitin ‘till ya decide to drop the attitude ‘n tell me what’s the matter,” he sighs back.

“Fine, whatever.”

You fall back harshly to the seat and revert your attention to nothing in the windshield. Out of pure sprite you’d sit here and count the blades of grass. Which this Atsumu knew, but he’d rather have this than drive you home angry at him.

About five minutes of your hiatus pass. You’ve calmed a bit but not by much, and one of you has to give in. You turn to Atsumu’s resting figure and take a deep breath, asking, “Why did you look at me like that,” unsure if he was asleep or not.

“Like what? When?” He inquires. His voice is slightly muffled by the hat atop his face.

“I don’t know. You like, cringed at me or something.” Your shoulders hunched up in emphasis, “At the party when I walked in.”

It was silence, then he removed the hat from his face to reposition it on his head and sit upright. He turns to you over the console.

“You know I’d never look at ya like that.”

You just gazed at him incredulously. He came in closer. “If anything, you looked too damn good for ma brother’s grubby hands all on ya.”

Ohhh.

You were too stricken to realize how his arm being thrown over you looked having just split apart at the party. Or a slightly tipsy Osamu leading you around, the twin of your boyfriend.

“That’s what it was? You were jealous?” You quipped. This caught his attention.

His jaw ticked, and even though he knows the answer to the question, he’ll refuse to admit it. He hates that word.

Jealous. Jealous of what? He’s the recognized setter. He’s the one with fans in his dm’s (because Osamu ignores his). And he’s the one with you. “What is there to be jealous of?” he’d question himself and his sanity all the time. Hell, he was even born first.

And he wishes to believe that all the time, except that only one of the twins has dyed blonde hair. It sells him out. The urge to be separated—different, is a drive he’s had since he was a child.

Seeing someone with such importance to him in too close of presence to that one person he wanted to be different from fucked him up.

“Sure, but I wouldn’t say jealous.”

You nibbled the inside of your lip and raised a brow, “What would you say?”

“Hmm… irritated, maybe? I know how ya feel about me. It’s sure as hell not how you feel about him.”

“Do you really?” You teased him. “Do you know how I really feel about him?”

“Do I?” He parrots as a grunt. The atmosphere switches to sexual tension in the second it takes for his big brown eyes to scan you as if he was searching for any hint of truth in your words, eventually not finding any but the thought alone shoving him over the edge.

You’re not sure if you were feeling it before, or it’s the liquor, but that’s how you climbed over the console and into his seat.

His hands were large enough to cover the span of your bottom, large enough to cup whatever he saw fit in those embedded bootcut jeans you’d been wearing all night, and strong enough to guide your hips onto him roughly.

He couldn’t even take his eyes from the jeans. It was so bad he felt like a 13 year-old again. But he couldn’t help it, not when you filled out the jeans better than the lady on the website and your ass practically waved goodbye at him each time you would turn. A deep groan falls from him at the memory.

His pinkish lips attach to the supple skin at your neck and redden it until he sees fit. You tilt as he kisses the spot like he was relaxing it, then more wet ones trail downwards to the swell of your breasts. You arch upwards and away from him.

Your soft moans mixed with his deep ones cloud your vision. He admires you, copying your movements and leaning back to slowly grind you against himself. There was a tent growing in his jeans at the slot located beneath you.

The loud sound of a honk causes you to physically jolt on top of him and his eyes to find yours. Your back was pressed against the wheel.

It didn’t deter the rush of adrenaline flowing through your bloodstream, so you throw the hand that isn’t pressed against the cool window to your chest in shock.

“Holy shit,” you breathe—half a moan and half surprise. He just chuckles. No slick comment, no anything. You were going to say something else comedic about what happened and how badly of timing it was, but that darkness was already in his eyes and it seemed that he’d forgotten about the situation completely. Or if he hadn’t, he had priorities.

You come forward onto him and rotate your hips along the erection below you to the rhythm he set. You catch the sound that falls from his lips and notice the way his eyebrows deepen and eyes close.

Skipping the softness and diving into territory you knew like the back of your hand, it was so passionate, and everything was so sultry. You could feel the moment heating when you begin to feel his tongue on yours, his head leaning to accommodate for the space lost in your mouth, and his position shifting with you on top because it was more than he could handle to have you sitting directly on top of his strained length.

You pull off, mainly for air, but also to taunt him: “Sometimes, I imagine you with a different hair color. A warm grey, maybe?”

Instead of what you thought he’d say, something about how your anger earlier stemmed from sexual frustration, or an insult about how wet your pussy was for him instead of his brother, his eyes don’t even open. The only confirmation that he heard it was the furrow of his brows and the deep groan. He leans in again immediately to feel you on him and it seems he has dismissed the comment completely.

His breathlessness shows itself to you, asking for you to give him strength, oxygen, or whatever it was that he needed to live. His lips are puffy and his eyelashes are long.

You intake his bottom lip between your teeth while your fingertips graze his fallen hair, and you cherish the sound he makes when it plops back into place. Your hands rotate to his jaw so your head can turn comfortably into his mouth.

You feel yourself slowly falling forward, but it’s just Atsumu descending to lay flat on his back. The hat ultimately proves this difficult so you take it upon yourself to remove it and rest it on the console.

Then you crawl off him, turn to face the steering wheel, and begin to unbuckle the large accessory and shimmy your small shorts down. The tight space complicates things, but Tsumu doesn’t mind.

When you attempt to twist back to your lover, he grabs your hips firmly, forcing you to stay with your back to him. You glance over your shoulder confused.

He stares back with a smug expression, eyes low and amused at what he’s about to say next.

“Don’t think I’ll forget about yer little comment.”

You think for a moment to pinpoint which one.

“Keep yer back to me so you can imagine him all ya want. Maybe you’d prefer it if you were bouncing on his cock instead.” Your eyes blow wide.

Never in a million years did he think he would become comfortable enough with the topic of jealousy to use it against you like this. But maybe, just maybe, you’ll come to your senses and beg for who’s right in front of (behind) you. There’s no way to lose here, considering he’s 100% secure with your love for him. “Tsumu you know I didn’t—”

“Ah ah, you’ve made yer choice.”

As punishment, he crosses his arms, making it clear he wouldn’t be touching you. He was essentially allowing you to use him to imagine your supposed attraction to someone else. His twin.

Slowly, you reach behind yourself and feel around for the zipper of his jeans. The cool metal reaches your fingers.

He does lift his hips to push the jeans to his mid-thigh once you get it down, ultimately leaving his length smooth and tall between your fingers. The pads of your fingertips soothe up and down his skin when you begin to stroke him.

He makes it a point to ensure his sounds of pleasure are low. Since you teased him about Osamu, you can’t back out now, and it’s his job to make sure it never happens again.

If you were imagining anything, it was Atsumu’s twisted up face of pleasure. So, instead of going through the trouble of completely removing them, you push your panties to the side and hover above his red tip.

And then you’re sinking, sucking him in, bringing him to lean on his elbows for support so he can see. You manage, “that feels good, Tsumu.”

“Osamu,” he rectifies sternly.

He knows what you’re doing. You can’t butter him up. With nothing but your own wetness, it is a long journey to reach the bottom. Once you are, despite being filled all the same, the emotions aren’t right.

The words should have never left your mouth in the first place. Little did you know, his twin brother’s name grinded through Atsumu’s teeth when he said it, triggering a train reaction that tightens his fists at his sides. There’s a distant frown on his face, a far contrast to what you’re thinking it is.

Hopefully helping to reverse your damage, your palms stretch around his knees, aiding to push you to drag your walls all the way up until your thighs clench. It erupts a curse out of him, but that’s all you get.

“Please touch me, Tsumu,” and your hands go back to search for his, and you find them, to place around your hips. You’re slightly breathless. “I was just messing around.”

The muscles tense before retracting back to wear they were previously, earning a grunt from you. The newfound irritation drops you back down thigh-to-thigh. There was a slight burn, but nothing you couldn’t handle and nothing compared to the one in your chest.

“You know it’s always been you—” back up you go— “There hasn’t been a situation where I even, fuck, accidentally picked him.” And down again. The slap of skin only gets louder and louder each time. He’s listening, you think.

“Please, I miss f-feeling you. You’re the only one I want.” Your ass jiggles with impact now that you’ve set a pace for yourself. But even then he ignores you and just watches the scene unfolding in front of him, calculating when you’d get tired.

He knows you’ll go until you can’t move and he doesn’t think you’ve ever gone this consistent pace before. You’ll run out of gas in due time.

Meanwhile, it takes a lot to maintain his composure when you’re bouncing in front of him. The pigtails practically ask for his hands to be wrapped around the ends, the length of your back is on display, and your thighs are more defined with your “exercise”. There’s a line of translucent white that connects you and thickens every time you come down. He can only imagine your tits if they were let from the confines of your top.

He’s trying to get you to crack, and you’re trying him, but only one can come out on top. He concludes it’s him when a long grunt carries in the car and you start to slow right as the heat gathers in your tummy.

“Ugh, Atsumu…” you halt momentarily to correct your hands on his knees, “P-Please, I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” And he can hear the pout in your voice. He doesn’t even want to think about your upturned eyebrows. Frankly, if he does, he may explode on the spot.

“Are ya really?” He tests.

“Yes.”

You drop your head forward, catching your breath and resulting to gyrating your hips along his waist. None of it matters in the end because you finally feel him rip your pigtail back.

In no more than a few seconds you’re bouncing again, both of his hands around your waist to help navigate your vertical movements. A fresh circuit brings power to your legs especially now that you’re doing less than half the work.

The moans and grunts are music to his ears. He can feel the car shift below him even more when he slams you down onto his thighs creating a red tint to the skin there, and it worsens when he gets to thrusting upwards, cutting you off halfway and finding deeper. His tip prods at your g-spot, right up against your front walls.

You don’t get to tell him. Releasing an animalistic noise and tightening up in the span of a second, the suddenness hits you hard. You squeeze his shaft as if milking him dry and your skin glistens with sweat. He loves watching you chase your high like he isn’t even there, but not more than when he drills into your cunt until you can’t take it. Maybe he should turn the air on in here.

When you’re done and come back to earth, you see a mix of your wetness dribbling down the side of his shaft as your breaths feel like ten pound weights. You try again to turn around. He lets you, guiding the shift of your spin around on his tip and the process of finding somewhere to put your feet. You straddle him completely with them to the side of his hips.

You’re shocked when he kisses you, not gently but not as rough, bringing a hard hand down to your ass. It was like he forgave you but not quite.

“Think you can ride one more out f’me?” He caresses your legs.

You think about it. Honestly, your first reply is no, but there’s no better feeling than watching his facial expressions as you do it, and you didn’t get that luxury the last time. Your body may begin to run its lactic acid because your legs are still troubling from the last orgasm; however, if it meant the sight, then you’d go until you collapsed. “Yes,” you breathe out.

And then you rise up to your toes with the little space you have, determined. With a slow drop and the slide back up, you moan together. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He sends another harsh slap to your cheek just to soothe it out when he’s done.

You watch his eyes flicker closed. His face is red with arousal and his chest was trying to contain the air about to pop out of his lungs. He was cursing under his breath some more.

You keep bouncing and lean forward over him, placing both hands on his cheeks while trying to keep your balance. At the feeling of your soft touch, his eyes blink open, eyebrows still sunken and the darkness clouding his vision.

“Look at me,” you command, hitting his balls every time you come down.

And he does just that, searching either eye above him, a toothy smile spreading across his face with his tired eyes. He laughs almost like it hurts (it does. One wrong move and there’ll be white painting your insides).

You laugh breathlessly too when his hand starts to move. Shifting your focus and following it, he grasps the folded top of the discarded cowboy hat to reach it up over your head. He presses it down so it fits snugly.

Over the slapping, you hear him grunt: “Wear the hat, ride the cowboy. Now yer my real cowgirl, yeah?”

Your head drops into his neck. “You’re so annoying.” And despite the seemingly cruel words, you suddenly feel the twist in your tummy, tightening around him from trying to stop it coming so fast. A non-convincing, pathetic whimper falls from your lips.

“Yer still fuckin’ yerself on my cock though, aren’t you sugar?”

It may sound strained, but it’s still the aggravating, cocky Atsumu you knew underneath. “Sit up,” he demands.

You do, feeling no self-consciousness as your entire body and spread legs is on display for him with the exception of your chest. On that note, he undoes the buttons faster than you’ve ever seen. Your hands propel you since being placed on your knees when the flannel falls past your shoulders, leaving the regular black bra underneath for him to push past.

He loved it. You’re like a painting, ruined for him, but that’s what makes it art right? The emotion behind it?

“Tsumu, I’m g-gonna come.”

There’s a million things going through his head: that he’s about to as well; that when you get home, he’s coming in right behind you; that your breasts look so pretty bouncing in front of him like the rest of you; but in your head, there’s one thing only. The pressure built that is almost at its peak.

He looks so determined watching you, it doesn’t shock you when he hastily raises upright and wraps a hand around your breast. His thumb continuously rolls over your nipple.

You don’t see the other that has crept up between your open legs, now pinching and prodding at your clit.

He looks up at you in your eyes, like he’s trying to reach the deepest part of you with his next words. “Let me see you.”

Your hands relocate to his neck desperately. One thing you can say about Atsumu during sex, he’s extremely vocal. And isn’t afraid to say anything. “I’m—”

“Come all over me, baby, ya earned it. I’ll fuck this pretty pussy just how ya like when we get home.”

The crazy part is, it wasn’t even the encouragement that sent you over the edge. No, it was when both his hands locked around your hips, dragged you all the way down until you were against his pelvis, then rocked you back and forth, rubbing right into your sensitive nerves with the depth you couldn’t reach before. You threw your head back, crying his name.

It’s a chain reaction because all of his muscles tighten simultaneously, as well as his balls, and his cock twitches strong inside of you. You moan again at the feeling of his cum spreading through you. “Fuck.”

He’s still in a state of bliss when you sink into him, spurting out more than you think he ever has. It fills you up full, but you don’t move. You both stay there for a moment, catching your breaths.

The window is fully fogged over so you draw a little heart.

“Don’t move,” he pleads. “It’s worse fer you than it is fer me.”

You wiggle a bit, feeling everything else move inside. You see what he means. “We have to get up set some point before we fall asleep,” you return. There’s just a groan back.

Reaching over into the glove department, you retrieve some takeout napkins that have piled up over the months. You mentally prepare yourself to move.

It’s not enough because you both moan loudly when you raise up, only waiting a moment before white comes falling out of you in heaps onto his angry red, engorged, cock. “Shit,” he grins tiredly. “That’s a lot.”

You only look at him. “You’re gonna override my birth control dipshit.”

He adds languidly: “Oh well. Take 2 to cancel it out this time? Maybe?”

That’s not how it works.

©️ hxltic

[fatkish]

JJK boys x Dullahan reader

You were discovered during Geto’s night of 100 demons attack. You were slaying and killing curses, even big ones like it was child’s play. You had saved plenty of sorcerers that night. Seeing your strength you were thought to be some kind of special grade curse but upon seeing your head in your hands and hearing your obvious accent, it was determined that you were something else. The elders are wary of you and consider you a threat despite you having saved many lives. You will take on jobs that they give you so long as you’re paid. You tend to stay at the Tokyo academy since you live there after having to move.

You are ranked as a special grade sorcerer. You tend to take on jobs for people such as delivering things to and from people and you take on jobs for the mafia. Eventually you met Geto and the others, and this is what they think of you.

Geto:

You’re the most beautiful being he’s ever seen

He doesn’t care if your head and body are not attached to each other, he still thinks you’re beautiful

He will do whatever it takes to protect your head

Thinks you’re some kind of god

Wants you to unleash your full power on Japan and kill off the non sorcerers

Loves watching you slay curses

Knows about your jobs that you take and pays you to collect powerful curses for him

Keeps trying to steal your head

Inumaki:

Is excited and happy that someone else communicates in a different way like him

You seem to always know what he’s thinking and feeling despite not being able to talk

He thinks your head is cool and is extremely gentle with it

Was originally a little disturbed by you practically being omen of death

Loves riding your familiar with you especially in horse and motorcycle form

Texts you constantly and sends you pictures and memes, you send him pictures of food

Likes taking jobs with you

Yuta:

Treats you like a normal person

Doesn’t care whether or not you’re human, you’re someone he loves and cares about

He is extremely careful when handling your head so that he doesn’t damage it by accident

He thinks that you’re a good person despite you being an omen of death basically

Thinks your familiar is amazing and loves riding it no matter what form it takes

Trains with you on weapon usage

Is always amazed whenever you eat since you don’t have a head

Gojo:

Thinks you’re basically some magic fairy since Dullahans are classified as a type of fairy

Is always trying to get on your nerves and annoy you till you snap

Treats you just like he does everyone else, he doesn’t treat or think of you any different just because of what you are

Loves seeing you use your abilities and doesn’t care if you don’t have an attached head

Treats you head kind of like a toy or a plushie which scares the unliving crap out of you

Likes to watch you slay curses and pays you to get food for him like you’re an Uber eats

Likes to play with and braid your hair

Megumi:

Thinks it’s a little weird being friends/lovers or whatever with basically what is a Shinagami

Doesn’t really have an opinion on you not being a human

Originally was skeptical and wary of you and thought you were some kind of threat

Handles your head carefully

Thinks you’re a kind person and respects you due to your strength and power

You both bond over your shared manipulation of shadows and help each other with caring for your familiar and his Shikigami

Itadori:

Thinks you’re amazing

Tried to worship you and thought you were an actual god when he first met you

Totally stuck his finger in the smoke from your neck and checked out your neck where your head should be attached

Loves taking joyrides with your familiar

Handles your head like it’s made of glass

Enjoys taking jobs with you and seeing you slay curses

Loves watching and feeding you when you eat since it’s so weird and interesting to him, it tends to make you a little uncomfortable

Sukuna:

Thinks you are powerful

Begrudgingly respects you due to your strength and power

Thinks you could be the perfect partner/lover

Sees you as a fellow god/goddess

Thinks that your head being your one weakness is dumb but keeps your head in his innate domain so he can protect it

Loves watching you kill and slay curses with your shadows

Thinks you deserve to be worshipped and wants to rule the world with you

Makes out with your head when it’s asleep

[thatbitchery]

'Power' and 'power hungry' are those words that we have demonized and sacrificed to spread the level down propaganda that's egalitarianism and anti- hierarchy, when power is not only inbuilt meaning we all seek it but extremely important and useful to life.

Power is the ability to influence the outcome, perception and course of events. People that have power are people that have- control or at least influence over lives, theirs or otherwise. Lack of power is the most painful position one can be in- exhibit A your childhood if you had one of those parents. Lack of power power leads to slavery, bring under dictatorship, resentment, self loathing, humiliation, shame, etc. The most painful position you can be in is one where you Lack power over yourself.

Neitzsche (I can never correctly spell his name) insists that power over yourself is the most important form of power, and that a good life is a life spent garnering and exercising power over yourself. Power over yourself is simply- discipline. When your will is stronger than your impulses and urges and wants- when you're disciplined- then you have achieved the highest form of power in existence- which makes this the first point. An easy way to be powerful is to be disciplined.

Power over others, however , is just as important. As social species we are constantly in need of company, in fact isolation is a death- to be at the mercy of others is also a death. Since as a social species we are dependent on each other for survival it is important to have some level of power over others- we are also animals and people will naturally treat you at the lowest level they can- it's important to make this level as high as possible.

So then, some cheap / completely free easy to do ways to be powerful?

Articulation and eloquence. Jordan Peterson says the most dangerous thing a person can be is to be articulate and eloquent. Why? Because words are the most powerful weapon out there. Everything social happens through words , and it's a social species so do the math. Wars have been declared and ended over and through words. Relationships formed and destroyed. Governments created and disbanded- words. In my religion save for human beings Everything was created by words- its that powerful. The most powerful you can be is articulate. The way you speak- from your surface lexicon to your intonation to the speed you use to your accent- people judge you over this. It influences how people treat you and think of you. It's soft power that's also explosive. Increase your surface lexicon. Get rid of your original accent and get one that people either a) find superior or b) commonplace ie most people have it (fun fact before skin color and origin we assess each other on accent basis and subconsciously decode if we like you or not. Explanation: people in the same tribe have the same accent , so consider eo brothers and safe. Strangers, not so much). Learn to pace your words. Be straightforward and open. Which drives me to point two

Honesty and authenticity. Look , I think you should lie. Manipulate girl boss gatekeep - these require lying at some point- go for it. What's more powerful, though, is to learn to ger what you want by manipulating the truth. You know what they say- the truth will set you free. Here's the problem with lying- we can tell. There are tells and subconsciously cues that your body sends when you lie and we subconsciously detect them and when you're caught in one lie it destroys your credibility all round. It's like a castle of jenga falling apart, everything that was once in harmony just- trips over. Credibility is the backbone of all relationships- you lose that you get isolated. Honesty is such a powerful tool because a) its vulnerable b) it signals confidence c) it builds trust d) the gift of companionship- you meet people that can actually relate e) you don't need to remember too much or always hold up a facade, the truth will set you free f) it's such an idgaf move that makes you seem superior especially if it's something you'd get judged harshly on. Just- be truthful- I've given f ways in which it influences how people treat you. The trick here is to do the mystery thing- keep things to yourself, unlearn your need to overexplain or justify, learn to give vague, short and true answers and when in doubt, cry.

Knowledge is power- what more must I add. Read. Keep up with the economics and government politics. Learn personal finance and build a financial base. Read fiction. Listen to podcasts. Be informed. Know the things that matter, and no that isn't drake X Kendrick Lamar it's things that matter. Get good grades and hold, at the very least, a bachelor's. Watch movies and go to the opera. Subscribe to newsletter. Be informed. Know. Knowledge is power. Join training camps and whatnots. Be skilled and efficient.

Networks. Power is stored in webs and security is in numbers. Exhibit a) try attack someone with a strong fan base see how that goes for you. You want to be powerful? Have friends, and not just friends. Powerful friends. I don't mean a team of CEOs necessarily- loyalty at the top is tricky and unless you're also a CEO that might not be easy- I mean people that can influence the turn of events. Sometimes- like in fandoms- it's simply just, people. Who your networks are made up of is dependent on what you want- as long as you keep in mind security is in numbers. Run up your numbers, ma'am. Forget your introvercy and self isolation methods , leave your house and learn to talk to people and run up your numbers. The most powerful you can be, is to get to a point where a) you have numbers on every level b)you have a cult leader like presence- that people worship you and are willing to die for you. Like most celebrities do. That's security, that's power. If you have a Nicki Minaj level fan base people treat you well because if they don't your fans will tear them apart. & you can get away with anything because they will justify it for you.

Grooming and mannerisms. We- inclusive of you- judge our books by their covers. Before you speak your Grooming and your etiquette speak for you. That's, I'm not explaining this. I know you know.

START HERE

[permanentswaps]

Grindr Swap With A Twink

Read Part 1 from @ghostinthedude here.

Lets just say that college was a LOT of fun. Sure, on the outside I looked like an immature pretty boy with nothing going through his head. But on the inside, I was a self-possessed adult, who knew exactly what he wanted.

From them moment I set foot on campus, I was inundated with attention from upperclassmen guys – and even some of the younger professors – who were eager to get to get me into their beds. I won’t go too much into the details, but I definitely got around that year.

Eventually, I hit my growth spurt. Better late than never I guess. And over the course of sophomore year I had packed on about 20 lbs of muscle, grew a solid 6 inches, and got a haircut. By junior year, I was no longer a slutty bottom twink being plowed by every closeted senior on the football team, I was a sexy vers twunk making my way through the swim roster.  

All the while, I was acing all my classes, leading me to graduate Summa Cum Laude and get a job in investment banking for next year. I knew its going to be a hard path, but it made my parents so proud and it will set me up financially for the rest of my career. This week, I just moved into a brand new apartment by myself in Boston’s Back Bay. I’m due to start work in a few weeks, but I wanted to get settled in, explore the city, make some friends, and maybe even build up a roster (I’m not gonna have a ton of time to meet guys once work starts up).

---

That’s why tonight, I found myself scrolling through Grindr. Here's my profile pics btw:

There’s quite a selection to choose from. Hmmm, the international guys from Harvard seem kinda hot, but I bet they’re super full of themselves. What about a true Boston native, there’s something weirdly sexy about their accents.

I kept scrolling until one guy caught my eye, making my stomach flip. It was my old body, he had tapped my profile. That's weird, I thought he would still be in Cincinnati. But anyway, his profile is kinda super hot:

"Hey, what's up," I messaged.

"Hey cutie, how's it going?" he replied.

"Alright alright, just moved to town, looking for some fun," I joked, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Hahaha, I love some fun," he replied, his enthusiasm evident even through text. "Top or bttm?"

"Vers ;)" I replied.

"I can work with that," he replied eagerly. "So, what's your name?"

I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. "You really don't know?"

"No, why would I, cutie?" he responded.

"I just figured you'd remember your own face after all these years," I teased, adding, "Although I guess it's not your face anymore."

"OMG.”

I quickly sent him my location, to which he responded almost immediately, “Be there in 20.”

---

"Shit," he said as he walked through the door, looking around wide eyed. "This place is super nice."

"Yeah, I mean, it's not totally furnished yet, but it's pretty nice," I replied, trying to downplay it a bit.

"How did you afford it? I know my parents don’t exactly have deep pockets," he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.

"Yeah, actually," I began, feeling a pang of sympathy for my former self, "I got such good grades freshman year that I actually got a scholarship for the rest of college. And now..."

My old body's expression shifted, a hint of sadness creeping in.

“And now, I’ll be making 110k starting with no loans. So yeah mom and dad didn’t really need to give me anything.” I said, feeling a bit odd that he still referred to them as his parents. “And how about you," I asked, trying to keep the conversation going. "Where are you living these days?"

"Oh, I have a shared flat in Dorchester," he replied. "It's nothing special, but it's all I can afford on a bartender's salary."

"You moved all the way out here for a bartending gig?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "I didn't really have a choice. I got fired from my last job for showing up late too many times and kinda got blacklisted from all the good bars in Cincinnati. But a buddy who had moved out here set me up with a new gig. It's okay, I guess."

"But anyway," he said, changing the subject, "look at you, you've done really well for yourself."

I couldn't help but smirk as I ran my hand down my toned abs. He wasn't wrong.

"And you," I said, diverting the attention away from myself, "you must still be pulling in all the hot twinks with that bod."

"Hahaha, yeah," he replied, his confidence shining through. "Although none of them are as sexy as you are."

His compliment caught me off guard, but I couldn't help but be drawn in as he pulled me in for a kiss. The chemistry between us was undeniable as we quickly made our way to the bedroom, shedding our clothes with eager anticipation.

He climbed on top of me, his lips finding their way to my eager member. I couldn't help but marvel at how he still remembered all the right moves. Within minutes, he had me on the edge, his skilled hands finding their way to my sensitive nipples, pushing me to climax.

With a satisfied grin, he eagerly swallowed every last drop of my load. Luckily for him, I had a rapid recharge time, and I was ready to go for round two within minutes.

As he whipped out his beer can thick cock, memories flooded back. I remembered that thing—it was definitely fun to top twinks, or twunks like myself, back in the day.

In doggy, he hugged my body tightly, in a way that felt almost nostalgic. It was almost like he was reminiscing about living in this body, even though it didn’t look anything like this when he last had it.

Then, with surprising finesse, he flipped me over into missionary, his eyes locking with mine as our bodies moved in sync.

In a half-whisper, he asked me a question that caught me off guard: "Can we swap back?"

Just then, it dawned on me. To swap back, we both needed to swallow each other’s cum. Panic surged through me. He had already swallowed mine. Shit.

Still thrusting into me, he paused, his eyes searching mine with a mix of desperation and longing. "No, you don’t understand," he pleaded. "This could’ve been my life."

Struggling to fight him through the ecstasy I was feeling from his cock plunging into me, I shook my head. "No, it wouldn’t be," I gasped out between breaths. "You'd never work hard enough for this."

I looked up and saw a look come across his face that I’d know anywhere. He was about to cum. I couldn't let him pull out and risk the chance of him trying to shoot his load all over my face.

Quickly, I pushed him backwards and positioned myself on top of him, impaling myself on his throbbing cock in cowboy. He looked up at me, a mixture of bliss and regret evident in his expression as his load erupted.

Relieved but seething with anger, I stepped off the bed and quickly grabbed his pants, tossing them at him with a firm command. "Get out," I said, my voice carrying an edge of finality. "And don't contact me again."

He silently complied, skulking towards the door where he saw himself out. Locking it behind him, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

Returning to the bedroom mirror, I faced my reflection with a newfound clarity. Taking a good, hard look at myself, I uttered the words that had been swirling in my mind.

"I am Devin Connors," I declared, the weight of the statement settling over me. "And I deserve everything that I’ve worked for."

Really happy with how this one turned out. Let me know if you have any suggestions for which story I should finish next.

[jsprnt]

Americano PT. 10 | Jude Bellingham x Reader

What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?

A/N: wrote this in between study breaks, I’m totally spent 😭😭

W/C: 3.523

part nine

"So, uh- do you have any allergies?"

I mutter awkwardly, standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes on Jude as he sits across from me at the kitchen island.

He folds his arms across his chest, raising his head to look over at me.

"Are you planning something?" He eyes me suspiciously, causing a tired sigh to leave my mouth.

"Shut up- answer the question.." I raise my wooden spoon, threatening him.

"No, I don't have any allergies. Is that good enough?" He replies, Brum accent making him sound even more defensive.

"Ungrateful ass.." I mutter, turning around and starting to work on breakfast.

I had slept horribly after last night’s events. I'd reckon- maybe, six hours in total. It was our day off- thankfully, but that didn't mean that I trusted Jude to rummage through my house on his own while I rotted away in bed.

My dad had called earlier, wanting to explain the situation to me clearly without leaving any important details out.

Apparently, last night Jude's place was broken into again. This time, he was at home to actually witness it happen. I'm not sure what transpired between the intruder and Jude. Since, my dad had told me it would be too invasive for me to know.

From what I knew, it was the same person as last time- or how many damn times this had happened. This case had been keeping my dad busy for months now, and it only found a way to piss me off even more.

Either Jude had the shittiest security, or- did he even have security?

"Can't believe I'm cooking for you.." I mutter, hearing the drag of his house slippers against the floor as he walks up to me.

"What are you making?"

I move away, so he doesn't touch me, giving him a side eye as I crack four eggs in a pan.

"Eggs.." I say, moving back when oil splashes up.

"Can you cook?" He asks, eyes moving in between the stove and my face.

"Kind of.." I say, hesitating with my reply.

I knew how to cook the basics. Say, your pastas and soups. Though, I like to think I'm improving every time auntie Carmen comes over to show me how to cook another delicious meal.

"How do you like your eggs?" I ask, raising my head to look up at him. He has a confused expression on his face and his gaze is fixed on me.

Fuck, did that sound wrong?

"More runny or cooked?" I ask, grimacing to myself as I sprinkle salt and pepper into the pan.

"You've cooked it- enough.."

"Oh, okay.." I mentally curse at how stupid I sound, looking away from him.

I quickly plate it up for him, not forgetting the avocado and barely toasted pieces of bread.

Well, too bad for him.

We eat our breakfast without speaking to each other. I can only hear the crunch of my bread and clatter of the cutlery against the plates.

I look up at him when I've cleared my plate, wiping crumbs from the corners of my mouth.

"How long are you staying?"

"Are you trying to kick me out already?"

I give him a look, raising my brows as if to tell him he already knows my answer.

"I don't know- depends on the situation.." He says, rubbing his hands against his gray sweatpants.

I sigh, rubbing my temples in irritation.

"Where's your mom anyway?" I ask, remembering that they literally lived together.

"I made her go back to England for my brother’s games. She's always spending more time with me- felt bad for the lad.." He answers, looking away.

"Last night?" I ask, raising my voice in surprise.

"No, during international break. I wasn't playing remember.."

"Oh- that's good, I guess.." I trail off, realizing we're going to be home alone for a while.

Silence falls in between us, and I begin picking at the loose threads of my old pajama top. It was old, but so comfy to sleep in.

"Okay, uh- let's clean up, and I'll give you a quick tour of the place." I jump up from my seat, grabbing my plate off the table, and walk over to the sink.

I look back when he doesn't get up. I raise a brow, sending him a questioning look.

"What are you doing? Clean up.." I say, waving him over. I watch him grab his plate and cutlery- a comical sight that had me struggling to keep my composure.

He places the plate in front of me, looking at me like he's expecting me to do something.

I step back, folding my arms.

Woah, he looked clueless.

"Do you even know how to do- like the dishes or laundry?" I ask, eyeing him up and down.

"Not really.."

"You're what? Twenty and don't know how to do your own laundry?" I pull a horrified face.

"Do you think it's okay to freeload?" I question, immediately grabbing his wrist to drag him upstairs to the laundry room.

Did he think this was a five-star hotel or something?

"I can't believe I have to drive you there. Why don't you have a license?" I whine, walking into the bathroom and seeing him fix his hair. The array of skincare, haircare and bodycare all on the counter in front of him.

Why did I think that he only used a block of soap and aftershave?

He turns away from the mirror, taking a step closer to me as I passive aggressively grab my toothbrush.

"Why wouldn't you want to drive me?" He questions, his voice full of mockery.

I wet my toothbrush and the blob of toothpaste, starting to brush my teeth as I look up at him.

"Do you know how crazy it looks for a staff member to arrive with a player in her car?"

I mumble, probably half audible, as I spit foam into the sink.

He grimaces at me, and I watch him take a step away from me via the mirror.

"Oh, you're dramatic.." I mumble, running the brush over my teeth again.

"Everyone thinks we're together anyway- does it even matter at this point?"

I freeze, turning to him with white foam dripping down the corner of my mouth.

"That's even worse.." I shake my head, giving him a once-over before starting to rinse my mouth.

"Pre-match meal is at...?" I question, waiting for him to finish the sentence while I dry my hands and mouth.

"Half past two." He replies, making me nod.

"Okay- give me an hour.." I say, quickly running to my room to change and get ready.

It was match day against Granada. Thankfully, after this we got some more days off.

We had to get to the training center early, mainly due the fact that I had become Jude’s private driver.

When my father told me I had to drive him around, I almost fell to my knees in sheer despair, not believing the torture I had to go through.

I didn’t even get anything in return, well, maybe I’d bug my dad for another pretty handbag- or two.

Pre-match meals are usually about three to four hours before the match. Normally, I could arrive very late and still manage to snatch a nice plate, but because of Jude - that wasn't possible today, and probably until he’s moved out of my place.

y/n's only half-way through her 'getting ready' playlist when she hears multiple loud knocks on her bedroom door.

"What?! Stop banging on my door! You don't even pay rent!" She shouts over the music, watching the door handle twist.

She turns away from her vanity mirror, makeup brush in her hand, as she sees Jude walk into her room.

"Who invited you in?" She questions, gasping when he goes to sit on her nicely made bed, wrinkling the fabric.

"Me, you’re taking so-” He begins, but he's immediately cut off when she shouts.

"Wait- shut up.."

She says, turning away to sing along with the song currently playing from her phone.

"We do the things but we know it's wrong

All on my skin, you all in my palm

I sent you a envelope, came with a poem

You possess venom that came with a charm

You get the good out me when I perform

I know the bad in you, that's what I want

And you a baddie, you turnin' me on."

Seems like she forgets he's even in her room, singing along to the Future verse while she dots a good amount of blush on the apples of her cheek.

He sighs loudly, continuing to stare at her from behind. She doesn’t notice at all, now way too invested into getting ready while listening to her favorite songs.

Jude runs a frustrated hand over his face, taking in the way she sings along with the all-too-familiar-sounding song lyrics, hoping she can hurry up soon.

"Do I have to take you home too?" I ask, getting up from the comfy chair I'm in. Following Jude towards the dressing room. Relieved after a 2-0 win against Granada.

The sound of his cleats hitting the floor is loud, and I stop right at the entrance of the dressing room when he stops in his tracks.

"I can call a taxi, probably.."

I search his face for any annoyance or anger, but don't see anything like it. Instead, in a strangely familiar way- his eyes are wide and expressive. He looks more unsure and uncomfortable than I've ever seen him.

"It's fine- we're going to the same house anyway.." I whisper, dismissing his words with a wave. 

"I have to go back to the training center though.. Can you stand tagging along with me?" I question, raising my brows in anticipation.

"Yeah, I'll just get freshened up really quick.." He says, stepping inside and closing the door since he was the last player to enter.

After saying bye to everyone, I sneakily walk up to my car. Almost jumping out of my skin when I see Jude already standing at the passenger door.

"What are you- get in.." I sigh, unlocking the door and stepping in.

The ride over to the training center is awkward and quiet, to say the least. I'm not in the mood to look through my playlist- and I'm sure he isn't either, by the way he's busy scrolling on his phone.

I park my car in my designated spot in the staff parking lot, looking over at him.

"Do you want to stay in the car?" I ask, unbuckling my seatbelt, and glancing at him.

"No, I'll come with you.." He replies, stepping out of the passenger’s seat and following me inside.

"I need to leave this bag here.." I inform, locking the car as the both of us walk inside the center.

He doesn't reply, not that it's necessary.

I walk up to the office, still hearing Jude walk right behind me.

"You're following me like a lost puppy.." I mutter, unlocking the door of the room I'm supposed to leave the equipment in.

"Okay, damn, I'll be downstairs.." He sneers, turning away and leaving immediately.

I shrug to myself when he leaves, finishing my business before going down as well.

I shove my keys into my bag, swinging it on my shoulder, then go looking around for Jude.

I enter the meeting room he and other players would hang out in, but don't see him. Stepping out, I look up from the door, walking in and out of the other meeting rooms.

"Where the fuck are you?" I mutter, reaching for my phone to call him, only to remember that I don't even have his phone number.

"Looking for something?"

I almost scream out loud when I hear a deep voice behind me. I turn, trying to not look like the person scared the crap out of me.

Oh, the creepy coworker. How fun.

"No, just dropped off some equipment upstairs.." I quickly say, rubbing my hand against my jeans.

I watch his eyes flicker to the keycard around my neck, which I forgot to take off.

"Coming from Bernabéu, y/n?"

Why did he know my name?

"Yeah, busy day.."

He stares at me, not saying anything else. I mentally hype myself up to say something, maybe to learn more about him.

"What's your name? We've seen each other around, but I don't know your name.” I say, shifting nervously as his blue eyes peer into mine.

"Andrés, fitness department. I'm new.." He says, sticking out a ghostly hand for me to shake.

"Right, nice to meet you. I would introduce myself too, but you seem to know already. How come?" His grip is tight, so I tighten it even more.

Give me a rough handshake, and I’ll break your hand out of pettiness.

"Everyone here knows you.." He replies, there is a harsh, but breathiness to his voice and it causes chills to run down my spine.

I clear my throat, realizing he still hasn't let go of my hand.

"Because of my father, yeah.." I fake a chuckle, trying to pull my hand back.

"No, not because of mister l/n.." My breath hitches audibly at his tone, and I try to snatch my hand back even more forcefully.

He doesn't even flinch, continuing to stare down at me.

"y/n, here you are.." I hear a familiar voice say, breaking out of this weird fucking trance.

My head snaps up, my eyes going wide, when I see Jude stepping out of the meeting room I had not checked out yet.

I use the opportunity to snatch my hand away from Andrés, rubbing my hand to fix my blood flow.

I watch Jude give him a look, death stare imminent when he walks up to us.

"Andrés? What are you doing here, it's late." He says, for some reason, slower than I have ever heard him speak.

"Work, busy.." He answers, trying to speak English with a broken Spanish accent.

Oh, he didn't speak English?

I watch a strange interaction between them, a jumble of Spanish and English. I try my best to understand, but it seems like both men throw in some gibberish too.

Finally, when they're done with their simlish, I'm grabbed by my hand, dragged away by Jude.

"What the hell is his problem?" I exclaim, still feeling my hand ache from the pressure.

"He's been fuckin' weird, don’t like him..” He mutters, walking ahead of me while still dragging me along.

I struggle to catch up with his long strides, his warm palm pressing into mine as he looks back at me.

"You okay?" He questions, stopping abruptly, causing me to smash my face against his arm.

"Ow- not anymore.." I mutter, rubbing my nose in agony with my free hand.

"Oh- shit, sorry.." He spits, his hand still on mine. I remove my hand from my face, raising my chin to look up at him.

"Am I bleeding?" A dramatic question, but you never knew with his rock-hard, muscular- arms..

I blink up at him, feeling his hand come up to my chin. He pinches my face, making me move my head.

"No, no blood- I think.." He breathes out, eyes roaming around my face to check for any blood.

I make sudden, close eye contact with him. His brown eyes catching mine, breath fanning my face.

We stare at each other for a moment. His hand still clearly on mine while he cups my face to look at me.

I realize the position we're in and step back. I eye our intertwined hands, looking back up at him as if to tell him to let go.

He clears his throat, dropping my hand like it's hot, and stepping back.

I decide to pretend I don't give a fuck. Ignoring the drumming of my heart, and grab my car key out of my bag.

"Get in.."

"Smash.." I say, maybe for the 10th time this hour.

"Oh my days, can you stop saying that?" Jude exclaims, a bewildered expression on his face as he looks over at me.

"Can't, it's Michael B. Jordan, and you want me to sit still?" I ask, earning a grunt from him.

"You're unbelievable.."

I ignore him, continuing to drool over the screen while I shove popcorn into my mouth.

"What are you going to do? You're off for four days.." I ask, sprawled out on the couch, in front of the TV.

"I have physical therapy every day, can't leave the city.." He complains, sitting on the couch across from me.

"Oh, how inconvenient- wait, who's driving you?.."

"Don't you worry, I've got someone driving me.." He sneers, folding his arms.

I roll my eyes, going back to watch the movie on the screen.

A hot man could make a boring movie so incredibly interesting.

"I'm not home tomorrow. Will you survive being home alone for the rest of your day?" I question, flickering my eyes back to him.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking my last exam, library helps me focus better.." I stuff another handful of popcorn into my mouth.

"Last one?"

"Yeah, I need to go revise a little." I sit up, pausing the movie, and getting up from the couch.

"Have it.." I shove the bowl of popcorn into his hands, walking up the stairs to my room. Ready for this exam to be over already.

“What the fuck was that.." I whisper to myself, hitting my head on my steering wheel repeatedly. I had long driven home from the library, not caring to step out of the car, parked in the driveway.

I had studied hours on end, but when I was presented with the questions, my brain practically short circuited, causing me to blank out so much information I needed to know.

I'm on the verge of tears at this point. Normally, after the last exam of the semester, I'd be jumping from joy, but the way this exam had gone- I wanted to cry buckets of tears.

I sniffle, wiping my nose with my sleeve. Not caring about the foundation stain left on it, and grab my bag from the backseat. I get out of my car, unlocking the front door of my house quickly.

I expect the house to be quiet, but instead I hear loud music. Old 80s songs, solely about love. Music only I knew auntie Carmen loved listening to while cooking.

I drop my bag at the front door, blinking repeatedly to hide the tears in my eyes. I shrug my jacket off, the December cold had come in full force. Though, to me, nothing was worse than winter in London anyway.

"Harina, say it, young man.." I hear auntie Carmen say in Spanish, a voice following behind her.

"Harina? Harina.." A broken accented voice says. I raise my brows, my tears and worries in the back of my mind now.

Curiosity takes over, and I immediately walk towards the kitchen, where the noises are coming from.

I'm greeted by the sight of auntie Carmen and Jude standing next to each other. Both wearing aprons as they are kneading dough on the kitchen island. Flour sprinkled on the marble as I hear Jude repeat random Spanish words, often getting corrected by my auntie.

She didn't even speak a lick of English. How did they even communicate?

I clear my throat, taking their attention away from the slabs of dough on the counter.

"Oh- you're home.." She smiles warmly at me, beckoning me over with a flour-covered hand.

"What's this?" I ask, stepping closer and speaking in Spanish.

"We're making pizza from scratch, sweetie." She says, giving me a kiss on my cheek.

"With him?" I point to Jude, watching him pound the dough with unnecessary aggression.

"What do you mean? Jude is so good at this, look at him go..” She smiles, saying his name with the utmost affection. He looks up confused, but I ignore him further.

What the hell did he do to make her like him already?

"Your boyfriend is a better cook than you already..”

I pull a horrified face, eyes going wide as my arms fall to my sides. I glance at Jude, noticing that he hadn’t even flinched at the words.

Thankfully, his Spanish classes weren’t so advanced yet…

I lean in close to her, whispering, well whisper-shouting.

“He’s not my boyfriend..” I say, pulling a face. I watch the corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiles.

“I know, I’m just joking. Your dad called me about this entire situation already..”

“Why would you say that, then?”

“He’s handsome, isn’t he..” She says out loud, making me facepalm.

First, he steals my dad’s time, then my house, and now my auntie?

I look at him, watching him knead the dough, a smirk forming on his face.

I want to strangle him right here and now..

It’s only been a couple days, and this was too much for me already.

[fbfh]

Hello, a request please, how does Leo react if he discovers that his girlfriend (reader) is a minor goddess, daughter of Poseidon and host (Percy goes into brother mode)

disclaimer that I haven't read the kane chronicles yet and don't feel like I really know enough to write about that so this will be more focused on the whole minor goddess thing bc I LOVE this ask.

You're a minor - and very new - goddess, so most people haven't even heard of you. Your dad is poseidon, and your mom is a sweetbay magnolia dryad, so your dad ended up entrusting you to watch over the coast, and everyone who lives there. Anywhere the water meets the land is your domain. It's a pretty niche job, but you have fun quietly tending to the plants and animals, all the little otters and beavers and water birds. you especially loved the long island sound near camp half blood. eventually you asked your dad if you could stay there, pretend to be a normal teenager for a while. he thought of your brothers, Percy and Tyson, and decided that was a good idea. So he talked to Chiron and sent you over, informing Percy he has another half sibling. Even though it was a little rough at first, you bonded with him so fast, turning into the dynamic brother sister duo you'd both always hoped for.

then you met Leo.

He fell first, and he definitely fell harder. Leo has been enamored with you, practically drooling over you since day 1. Of course this really didn't do much to fix the occasionally tense relationship between him and Leo - if anything it exaserbated it more. You never really outright told Percy what you are, he just sort of... pieced it together over time. You were a little scared to tell him. You were scared of how he'd react, that he'd be mad at you for lying or hate you for what the other gods have put him through. You can still remember sitting at the bottom of the lake with him, watching the sun set from underwater.

"Percy, I need to tell you something. I just- I don't want you to be mad at me."

that got his attention.

"It's about- um- it's about me... who I am. What I am." You'd continued, the horrible knot in your stomach eating away at you, getting bigger and bigger. your pulse raced and your hands shook. He looked over at you, but you kept your eyes firmly on the surface of the water, glowing coral and green in the fading light.

"I know what you are."

he had said it so surely, your heart sunk.

"You're my sister."

you looked over at him, and he knew that if you were on the surface there would be tears prickling in your eyes. You sputtered something and he cut you off, his new york accent getting stronger as he felt a surge of older brother protectiveness through him.

"you're my fuckin' sister." You looked at him and saw everything else he wasn't saying. you're my sister, and that's it. I don't care what else you are, because I'm your brother and you're my sister and that's all I care about.

Ever since then you'd started feeling a little more comfortable about your status as a god. you didn't hide the way certain birds and animals would flock to you, or how just being near the water made all surrounding plants flourish. and eventually, with percy's unspoken support, you decided to tell Leo. You've been going out with him for long enough where you already know most of each other's secrets, and you just feel like it's time. You're walking along the coast, your hand entwined with Leo's warm one as he plays with your fingers.

"Did I- uh, did I ever tell you about my mom?"

You hadn't, and Leo's intrigued. He knows about your dad - hell, he's even met him once. But you never mentioned your mom. You start telling him about her and he listens with rapt attention.

"She's great with plants, too. She's, uh... a dryad, actually. Lives in a sweetbay magnolia tree."

You're quiet for a moment, hoping he'll put two and two together. You see a million thoughts and realizations and emotions flash through him so fast you'd miss it if you blinked. Then finally, he nods.

"So you're..."

"Yup." You say softly. "In charge of the coast. Where land meets sea."

A frog hops over to you and you smile, bending down and scooping him up. He puffs up his throat proudly, and you pet him a little. Leo watches you as you two continue to walk leisurely. The sun hits the water and the trees, basking you in a glittering light and soft shade at the same time. And it makes sense, he thinks. this little strip of land full of plants and animals, where you get your ankles splashed by the tide and get sand between your toes... you look at home here. And you are. Leo realizes that every time you've taken him on one of your little walks like this, you've been inviting him into your world without him even realizing it. it fills him with a sense of warmth and awe and gratitude like nothing he's experienced before. and in that comfortable silence, you know he has your back. Besides, he's sure Percy would kick his ass if he didn't.

[emolionsrawr]

buck: did you know that cows have regional accents?

tommy: really?

buck: yeah! they moo differently depending on where they're from, they still moo, but it just sounds differently

tommy: tell me more baby

buck: wait, really?

tommy: really, why do you ask?

buck: well... i've been told i ramble a lot

tommy: i love your rambling

buck: really?

tommy: really! now please tell me more about cows

buck:... okay so did you know-

[hazbin-honey]

Physical Touch (nsfw/minors DNI)

Alastor x Reader (GN)

**disclaimer: if you do not like nsfw content for Alastor- simply ✨do not read this✨**

The faint sound of static buzzed in the air as your fingers hesitantly reached out to unbutton the collar of the radio demon’s shirt. He had given you permission, of course, but a palpable tension hung in the air between the two of you since Alastor had asked you to do the honor of undressing him. Your fingers lightly grazed the exposed skin of his collarbone pulling a small gasp from him. Your eyes flicked up Alastor’s face and he had his ever present smile, although it seemed a bit tighter than usual.

“Don’t stop on my account,” He urged your fingers to continue their exploration in that fake transatlantic accent of his. With his permission, you unfastened the next button on his shirt, revealing more of his skin.

“Don’t be so shy, my dear,” Alastor spoke in a sickeningly sweet tone that seemed to be mocking your hesitancy, “I did say you could touch me.”

You made quick work of divesting him of the garment, unbuttoning the last buttons and then gingerly slipping the dress shirt down his shoulders. Alastor shimming slightly to assist you with the task of getting the lanky man out of his clothes. With a small tremor in your hands you lightly grazed your fingers against his chest, taking your time to feel his skin under your hands before working your way down his body.

“Is this okay?” You asked softly when you noticed Alastor’s fingers gripping the cushion of the couch below him as your fingers brushed against the skin of his abdomen gently. You gazed up at his face and saw that his smile seemed strained.

“Yes, darling,” He replied, his crimson eyes baring into yours with an intensity you were not accustomed to from Alastor. More used to him flitting around in a passive, dismissive manner. To have his full, undivided attention made you feel good, special even. “It is more than okay, please do continue.”

Alastor and you had been intimate before; however it mostly had been him touching you. Alastor was in control of all situations when it came to your pleasure and his. Not only were you in uncharted waters, but he was as well.

Your hand drifted down to ghost over the hardness straining against the fabric of his slacks. Alastor’s reaction was immediate, his hips bucked up against your gentle touch seeking more friction, his erection pressing eagerly against your fingertips. When you gave him an experimental rub, his eyebrows furrowed and he bit his bottom lip and his smile wobbled just slightly.

“Do you like this this?” You asked trying to be teasing, despite feeling your whole body light with excitement seeing Alastor unraveling before you. His fluffy ears were flattening back slightly as his hips involuntarily rolled against your hand seeking more of that delicious friction you had given him a taste of. The squeaking of Alastor’s gloved fingertips as the gripped the leather fabric of the couch became more pronounced.

“More,” Alastor’s voice came out raspy, unfiltered, “Touch me more.”

His eyes were tightly shut and his eyebrows were pulled down while his breath came out in pants. You were only too eager to oblige in his needs, your fingers gripping his erection through the fabric and rubbing up and down his shaft. A strangled moan he had been trying to hold back slipped between the clenched teeth of his forced grin.

“Please, more. I need more,” He whispered as his eyes opened slightly and he gazed down at where you were situated next to him. Never in your life did you think you would see Alastor beg for anything, but who were you to deny him?

“I’ll give you anything you want.” you replied

[lesbojournals]

being an american muggle meeting poly!marauders would look like... (part two?ish?)

-okay so let's rewind and rewrite i have new ideas

-you're lily's cousin, she visits quite often! she invites you to stay with her in the uk for the summer

-obviously you say yes, you've never been before

-(you know about magic, lily told you a while ago) so when lily introduces you to her friends, you're flustered and embarrassed to say the least

-she assures you there's nothing to be embarrassed of...then they arrive

-and they're the most handsome men you've ever seen

-you didn't realize you had a thing for an accent because goddamn

-you catch all of their attention immediately, but especially sirius'. he wants you to open up more so he encourages you to drink a little HAHA.

-this works. but you also make a downright american FOOL of yourself because "why do you all get the cool accent and i'm stuck with this one? and you get magic too? unfair"

-somehow, someway, you end up continuously rapping kanye west's verse from american boy

-seeing you so open and silly has the boys so soft

-james dances with you, remus watches over that you AND sirius don't drink too much more

-sirius invites you to their flat, promises a beautiful breakfast filled with pancakes and waffles

-lily is all for you going and that's how you know you're safe to go

-somehow...you end up kissing sirius in the back of the car while remus is driving?? both of you are equally drunken messes and you won't stop raving that "maybe british boys kiss better than american ones because WOW"

-james is locking it all in the memory bin to bring up in the morning, shooting remus cheeky smiles as he already knows what james will be up to

-you don't have sex with anyone (but you were SO close to having it with sirius), but sirius does promise that if you remember this night he'll give you all the sex you desire

-james gives you pajamas to change into (his clothes)

-you pass out on their couch within SECONDS

-james takes a photo for memory's sake and drags sirius off to bed where remus is preparing to help him get in pajamas

-i'm addicted to this prompt help

[astronicht]

Do you have a strong accent poll: Screaming, weeping, gnashing of teeth. If I open my mouth to speak English around a fellow native usamericans they say, sometimes literally, “what the fuck” and always “where are you from??” I CAN fake an american accent near-perfectly if I focus but I still confuse my vocab. If I talk around British ppl they just go “oh 😊 you’re american 😊” while the americans stare in horror. However, if I’m drunk, tired, stressed, or not concentrating I will be assumed perfectly RP British (or once, memorably, perfectly Irish by an Irishman I accidentally parroted). Meanwhile in German I am regularly told I don’t have an accent by Germans living in Austria and a few Austrians, which causes immense difficulties bc this leads to the catastrophic assumption I understand German. I cannot pronounce an o correctly in any language, nor kebab. I pronounce Turkish and Arabic with horrific American i (ee) sounds and i must be stopped. I used to speak French with a perfect Basque accent; i no longer speak French.

Sometimes i slip back into a flat Florida accent as if none of this has ever happened in my life, everyone breathes a sigh of relief, and then like a horror movie I say “trousers”