#And even took the time to make it anonymous

[gallusrostromegalus]

If you had limitless money, what would you do with yr life?

Limitless?

Become Bruce Wayne.

Not batman. I haven't got the abs or aggression for Batman. But I'd kick ass as Benevolent Billionaire Brucie Wayne. Every library in the country is now fully funded forever. Also everything on GoFundMe. I'm dragging the country by the nuts into fully renewable energy. Hello first nations people, what would be the most helpful thing I can do for you? Also I started a bank and non-predatory credit card company that doesn't have fundie Christian "morals" so that every queer owned shop can do business, or every poor person can bank and build credit without worrying.

I'm not even doing this just as a moral thing, I LOVE being able to handle stuff for other people. It's better to be rich and anonymous than rich and famous but if fame is coming anyway, it's best to be known as "that guy who ended homelessness and took whales off the endangered species list", while I spend most of my time just hanging out with phenomenally cool people and generally fucking around.

Give me a cause and I'll fucking make it happen. I'm an infintillionaire and the world's future is my Sugar Baby.

[niya-writesshit]

cowboy!artdonaldson x fem!reader

based on this request :

Anonymous asked:

art donaldson cowboy au where he works as a ranch hand for your dad.... and then he fucks u in ur daddy's grand farm mansion when he isn't home. hello im hard! ~ 🌸

TW: use of y/n (1), smut MDNI - oral (f receiving), swearing, not proofread

word count: 2264 (THIS IS SO LONG WHAT THE FUCK)

¡! ❞ a/n: uh im bricked anon! also basically dodge mason and panic reference! and this is kinda shit im sowwy. REPOST BC LAST TIME IT FLOPPED AND IDK WHY.

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there was something about your pretty little accent that got art's damn mind spinning. clear, sort of clipped and lilting, the typa accent one could only get from living in the big old city of new york. you were his boss's daughter, which made it all the more sinful when he imagined that accent in... other (less proper) situations he shouldn't've been. unlike the other ranch-hands, he kept a polite distance. he didn't leer or ogle at you as you walked by — his momma taught him better than that — but he sure as hell wanted to as you bent down to pick up something from the front seat of your convertible. tiny little white skirt rising higher and higher and higher and higher and art was hooked. oh how he would love to ruin you, daddy's dear little girl visiting carp for the summer. oh how he would love to grab you by those meaty thighs, defile you 'till you were crying his name. oh how he would love.

he trudges through the mud up to the ranch house, all done for the day and ready to wash up in the worker's quarters in the back. his legs feel like lead after hours of wrangling the cattle and fixing fences in the blistering sun. the thin flannel he wore today clung to his skin, soaked through with sweat. before he even gets to look in mirror, he knows his face is all ruddy-like and burnt, even though his hat supposed to be protecting the damn sunburn that made his cheeks string.

he splashed cold water on his face. he grabbed an old rag to wipe his face, just about ready to head to the showers, when he heard it—that damn voice, right behind him.

he turned, and there you were. standing in the doorway, looking a little out of place in your crisp, white summer dress. your eyes scanned the tiny room like you weren’t sure if you should be there or not, and art figured you probably didn’t have much reason to be back here.

you gave a sheepish smile. "hi… i, uh, think i got a little lost. do you know where the main house is?"

he’d dreamed 'bout this moment before, though maybe not quite like this. you, standing there all pretty, looking gorgeous in your spotless attire, while he was still dripping in sweat and grime. the polite distance he’d vowed to keep suddenly felt a lot tougher to maintain now that you were looking at him, lips slightly parted as you waited for an answer.

he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, trying to focus on your face. "main house is back that way," he drawled, pointing out the direction you missed. his voice came out rougher than he meant it to. "reckon you took a wrong turn."

you smiled wider, stepping a bit closer. damn near makes him swallow his own tongue. "thanks," you reply, your tone light, conversational. "still trying to figure out my way around."

art nodded, eyes flicking up to meet yours, though his heart was beating faster than it should’ve been. he shifted on his feet, gaze shifting from your eyes down to your lips down to your chest down to your thighs down to — back to your eyes.

"i can walk you back if you want," he offered, tipping his hat back slightly, trying to stay cool about it, but hell, you already had him wrapped around your finger and didn’t even know it.

you gave him a slow nod, tongue flitting out to lick at your lips. "i'd appreciate that, thank you."

as the two of you made your way back to the main house, art tried his best not to tip over sideways at the sheer thought of you being this close to him. he feels like a pathetic little dog, all worked up over you just walking in line with him, brushing your arm against his every once in awhile. he's so focused on keeping his cheeks from flushing that he doesn't hear you the first time.

"hello?"

art blinked, shaking himself out of his daze. "huh? oh, sorry, darlin' —didn’t catch that."

you tilted your head slightly, a playful smile on your lips as you repeated your question. "what's your name? i'm y/n."

"art," he cursed himself for his curt response, but you didn't seem to notice, bright smile still holding as you nodded.

"nice to meet you, art." your gaze held his with a sort of lingering intensity that unfortunately made art's pants tighten even further than before. "so, what do else do you do here in carp when you're not showing lost city people around?"

art shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets. "dunno. i work, i guess."

you roll your eyes slightly and nudge at him with your elbow. "okay. what about for fun?"

art shifted awkwardly, feeling your elbow nudge him gently, sending a spark down his spine. he cleared his throat, "fun?" he repeated, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "ain’t much time for that out here, if I’m bein’ honest. mostly work, and maybe a beer with the boys now and then."

you let out a soft laugh, the sound teasing him in all the right ways. "that’s all? no girls? no beautiful maiden waiting around for you to finish all this hard work?"

art swallowed hard. he glanced down at his boots for a second, trying to collect himself, then back at you. "no, ma’am. no one special like that," he muttered. "guess I ain’t much for courtin’ these days."

your lips curved into a lazy smirk. "hmm. that’s a shame. a guy like you? figured the girls would be lined up." your eyes glint with a darkness that art knew all too well. it was the same hungry look he felt in his own gaze, pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded with desire.

art rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to flush under the heat of your stare. he bit at the inside of his cheek, his self-restraint fraying as he fought the urge to just jump at you right then and there.

as you neared the main house, art's mind shifted to your father. the last thing he wanted was for the boss to catch wind of any unprofessional behavior. with a deep breath, art managed a strained smile, trying to redirect the rising heat in his chest. "well, here we are. better get you inside before your dad starts wonderin' where you’ve been."

you glanced at him with a smirk, seemingly unfazed as you adjusted your skirt. "funny thing, art," you said, your voice low and sultry, "i think daddy's still out of town. he won't be back 'till tomorrow." you took a step closer, hands reaching out to dust off art's collar.

he swallows hard at the feeling of your finger brushing against his neck. "we got the place to ourselves then, huh?" art drawls, voice rough and husky with barely contained desire.

"looks like it." your arms wrapped around his neck, finger curling around a stray blond locked as you watched art's face contort. deciding, deciding, decided. his hands found your hips, and with a light tap to your thigh, you jumped into his arms, kissing him hard.

your lips were warm and soft, and they parted slightly as art slipped his tongue inside, his one hand scrabbling for the front door handle. it clicked open and he stumbled inside, heading straight for the living room. your fingertips brush softly against his back as he sits down on a couch, letting you straddle him at the hips. he's still sweaty, but you seem to like it, burrowing your head in his neck as he nips at yours, breathing in the sharp, musky smell of him.

the both of you pant heavily as you scrambled to take of his shirt, and then him your dress. art presses slobbery kisses down your chest and torso, salivating at the sight of your little blue panties, pressed down against his crotched. little sighs and moans left your lips as he trailed his fingers along with his mouth, to the very top of your underwear, kissing along the seam. before you can object, he's shifted you over and laid down. "hop on, darlin'," he mumbles, referring to his mouth as you pull off your panties with a crooked finger. hesitantly, you crawl up his chest. apparently not quick enough for art, he hooks an arm around your waist and places you on his face himself, moaning at the pure scent of you.

he starts by kissing the inside of your right thigh, then suckling the inside of your left. he revels in your scent for a few more seconds before burying his face inside you, lapping you up with long, thick licks against your folds. you squeal when you first feel his (clearly) expert tongue against you, flexing and swirling as he find your sweet spots immediately. it hasn't even been 5 seconds when he stops with a pop! - peeking out from under your thighs with a wild expression on his face. his hat is tipped over under him, the rim sticking out from behind his unruly blond locks. "you're hoverin'. " he was right, you were, too scared to put your full weight on this poor man you had met not half an hour ago. "sit on my face, baby, please," he practically whimpers.

and how could you say no? eyes wide, face slick with your juices, looking so goddamn angelic — you couldn't. and even though you were scared to crush him, craving the feeling of his tongue inside you again, you sit — nice and proper this time.

he starts up again with a kind of feverish intensity you could only expect from a starved man. you moan and whimper on his face, scratching against his scalp as you looked for something to grip onto. art groans in pleasure against your folds when you tug at his hair, his grip that of iron as he holds you down by the hips hard enough to bruise. his other hand is groping at your tits, pinching and swirling at the nipples as he watches you shake on his tongue.

his own dick is being completely ignored, even though it's brick-hard and leaking enough pre-cum you can see it through his pants. the only pleasure he needs is your sweet little whines and needy moans as he laps up your juices like your pussy is the holy grail. before you even know it, he's driven you through orgasm after orgasm, happily sucking away at your cunt as you squirm and scream on top of him. "ohmygod, art. oh my fucking god!" your yells are loud enough that your little boyfriends from new york could probably hear you.

and after he's been there for so long your head's rolling, and your clit is swollen and overstimulated, he's finally done, pulling back to rest his face on your thighs. his cheeks leave your own slick against your legs, nose shiny at the tip but with a big old stupid grin on his face. you're panting, pussy throbbing and puffy as you rake your fingers though his hair, looking down at him with your mouth agape. "holy shit, art."

his grin grows even wider as he watches you, fingers rubbing lazy circles on your hips as you struggle to compose yourself. "am i good?" he asks, already certain of the answer, but eager to boost his ego even more.

you nod, eyes dazed and glossy as you ran your hands over his cheeks. "so good, art. holy fucking hell." you could already hear him boasting to all the other ranch hands in his stupidly attractive little southern accent — i made that city girl cum 5 times on my tongue!

he nods slowly in response, pretty eyes looking up at you all proud. "that's what i like to hear, darlin'."

the next thing he heard made his heart sink all the way from where it was, up in the clouds all dazed, to his stomach. the front door click open, and the booming voice of your father, "baby, i'm home!"

you'd heard it before him, and you jumped off of his chest and pulled your dress back on before poor art even had time to register what was happening. you sat straight up next to him, looking perfect — albeit a little red, as your terrifyingly massive father stomped into the room. his expression changed from exhaustion to pure anger as he took in art, sprawled half-way up on the couch, shirt off and hair a mess. "what the hell do you think you're doing?" he roared from across the room.

"get out of my damn house!" your father bellowed. art scrambled off of the couch, grabbing his hat from under his head. clumsy and hurried as he fumbled with his shirt. you were too stunned to move, thighs still throbbing, as he sprinted out of the back door before your father could make it to him. the barrel of a man slammed the door behind him, making you wince.

as art scurried down the backyard and past the worker's quarters, shirt still off and hat placed haphazardly on his head, the first thoughts in his head was — 'i am so fucking sacked.'the next ones placed a lazy smile on his face. 'goddamn, that was worth it.'

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¡! ❞ © niya-writesshit 2024

¡! ❞ a/n: i believe this is the longest thing i've written on this blog everyone applaud!

[saintzweig]

nsfw patrick zweig x camgirl!reader

–based on this blurb

– wrote this with 5 hours of sleep, not proofread because i'm lazy so i apologize in advance for the mistakes or if its shitty :3 wasn't actually going to write this but i couldn't stop thinking about it sooo

it was 3pm on a thursday, you were sat in your history class bored out of your mind. it was your last class of the week and it had only half an hour left but with the way your professor was droning on and on about god knows what, you couldn't wait to get out of here fast enough. 

you had a live scheduled in two hours, as well. you needed enough time to rest and freshen up before you turn your camera on. you did live cams anonymously on some sketchy website just to get by, a cam girl if you will. you grew up in a strict religious household so you've never thought you'd end up doing this but desperate times call for desperate measures, it was an easy way out of your financial problems. plus, if you were careful enough no one would have to find out. its not like you were going to do this forever, only until you graduate and find a job with a decent pay. by then, your account will be deleted and forgotten about, as if it never existed in the first place. 

your mindless scribbling was interrupted when your professor called your name. "l/n, zweig"

your head snapped up to the front and then to patrick zweig who sat two rows infront of you. 

"your presentation will be a week from now, your topic will be on the reconstruction. i expect you'll do a thorough research." 

you quickly wrote down the details as your professor dismissed the class, students rushing to get out of the room while you stayed behind to gather your things. before you knew it, patrick stood infront of you. his backpack slinging over one shoulder and his hands in his pockets. 

you didn't know patrick zweig, you knew of him. a great, cocky tennis player who was supposed to go pro after juniors but his friends, art and tashi, convinced him to accept his standford offer. so he'll have something to fall back on if things don't go to plan. 

you've heard people talk about him, how he's reckless in his plays yet he keeps winning. how he doesn't do anything in class yet he keeps passing. you had to stop yourself from sighing in front of him, is he going to make you do everything? 

"y/n, right?" you've never heard him talk before, atleast not anywhere near you so you were surprised that his voice sounded ... attractive. you took this time to actually look at him, he wore a plain white shirt and denim jeans, which isn't much but he made it look so good. his face was slightly scruffy, his nose statuesque and his pink lips was pulled into a slight smirk. you had no idea why his appearance made your heart beat faster than normal. 

the two of you discussed when to meet, deciding to do the work in your dorm every other day during his free time. so now, on friday evening, you were sat on your desk working on the outline for your project as you wait for him to arrive. 

not long after, there was a knock on your door and patrick entered in his tennis attire, carrying his equipment. "a single room?" he asked with his eyebrow raised, taking in the sight of your room. the white walls adorned with tapestry and posters, your bed covered in a pink bedding and your desk was cluttered with your study materials. 

"i got lucky" you sat on your chair as he settled on your bed, laying on his back in exhaustion. there was something familiar about your room, he just couldn't put his finger on it. has he been here before? did the two of you hook up and he had just forgotten about it? or maybe it's because most dorms look the same, it's probably just similar to tashi's. he put the thought on the back of his mind as you started to discuss your project with him. 

it went surprisingly well the first day, although patrick was stubborn, he knew he couldn't just skip on this project because he'll end up having to do it alone so he decided doing it with you now was the better option. the next day, he got too comfortable that he's so easily distracted. you started bribing him with his own pack of cigarettes, taking it from his hands and putting it under your thigh as the two of you sat across from each other on your bed. 

it was a little difficult to work with him, considering he's not so good at studying but it was fun, you had fun with him. he made jokes that you tried to keep a straight face on but end up laughing so hard your cheeks were starting to hurt. he keeps trying to flirt with you too, which just ends up with you scowling at him and slapping his arm. 

and as soon as he left, you turned your camera on and positioned yourself on your bed. normally, you would only strip and massage your body, never going as far as playing with yourself in front of your viewers. but this time, you couldn't stop thinking about patrick. how big his hands were compared to you, you imagined it wrapped around your wrist, or holding your waist, or choking you. the thought making you squeeze your thighs together. you made soft noises as your massaged your breasts, imagining what it would feel like to feel his hands cupping you. you felt yourself get wet as you pressed your fingers against the fabric of your panties.

tonight's live felt a bit more sensual, it was almost difficult to stop yourself from getting carried away but you needed to be careful. so after an hour, you turned the camera off and placed your laptop under your bed. as soon as you lay back, your hand found its way inside your white, lacy panties. you shiver as the pad of your pointer finger brushed against your sensitive clit, feeling the slick against your skin as your press against your cunt. 

you spent the next hour touching yourself to the thought of patrick using your body, feeling his lips against your skin, lapping up the juices leaking out of you. the sounds you were making were too pornographic that you had to place your hand over your mouth. your fingers covered in your juices as you desperately fucked yourself. it felt like a pretty sight to see that you almost regretted turning your camera off. 

you wanted someone to see you, you wanted him to see what he was doing to you. 

the next time he came over, he had just come straight from tennis practice. his skin was slightly moist with sweat and he wore shorts that rode up his legs when he sat on your bed. you couldn't focus on anything but his thighs. 

“you feeling alright? you're looking kinda red, zoning out too” you blushed, feeling like he just caught you red handed. 

you nod, “yeah, it's just a little hot” 

he smirked, telling you to take your shirt off if it's that hot, he wouldn't mind it at all. you rolled your eyes at his suggestion, turning your attention back to your laptop. you were tempted to do it, it took you everything in your body not to. even with your choice of work, you still had a little bit of self respect and discipline left. 

that night, you ended up touching yourself on camera for the first time. making yourself cum infront of your viewers while they had no idea you were thinking of patrick, again. having your lips on his skin, straddling his lap and feeling his bulge press against your clothed cunt, his hands on your breasts as you bounce on his cock. you made the highest amount of money you've ever made since you've started. but you made sure to tell them it was a one time thing. 

the next evening, was the day before your presentation. patrick was on his way over so the two of you can practice and prepare yourself for tomorrow. 

you bumped into him on your way to the communal bathroom, telling him to go right ahead. 

patrick entered your room, dropping his equipment by the door as usual. instead of laying in your bed like he always does, he sat on your chair. leaning back with his arms crossed as he observed the trinkets on your desk and the photos pinned on the corkboard. 

a few minutes later, you walked in and sat on your bed, facing him. he turned around in your chair to ask you something about the photos but the sight of you on your bed left him dumbfounded. the realization of why your room looks familiar finally came to him, the only reason it took him so long was because the only way he's ever seen it was through the camera, facing the exact direction he's looking at right now. 

you were the anonymous cam girl he had been jerking off to after your sessions, you were the girl he had just sent a hundred dollars to the night before. 

[aziraphales-library]

Hi!!! Do you have any fics where aziraphale is famous and crowley's just a "nobody"? preferably without explicit scenes, please :)) thank you so so much <3<3

Hello! We have a #famous aziraphale tag. Here are some fics in which Aziraphale is famous and Crowley is not. I could only find a couple of non-explicit fics, I'm afraid, but I'm pretty sure the smut is minimal/skippable in most of these...

First Thing In The Morning by FeralTuxedo (E)

Aziraphale Fell, erstwhile nerd, now successful fantasy author, is signing books at this year’s Heaven and Earth convention when he spots a red-headed man in the crowd. Someone he hasn’t quite been able to forget since his school days. And as luck would have it, Anthony Crowley, former troublemaker, now responsible adult, seems keen to reconnect.

Pride Month and Prejudice by TawnyOwl95 (E)

They say that you should never meet your celebrity crush. Especially when you know what an absolute bastard he is. So, of course, Anthony J. Crowley's participation in a queer adaptation of Pride and Prejudice for Pride Month has nothing to do with the involvement of A-lister A.Z. Fell. Crowley is only doing it so he has some gossip for his column. He didn't mean to get cast as Lizzy Bennet, he certainly didn't mean to be acting opposite Fell's Mr Darcy. And to make matters worse, Fell keeps staring at him...

Veni Vino Vegas (I Came, I Got Drunk, I Got Married) by A_N_D (T)

After a whirlwind drunken evening, author Az Fell came home from Rom-Con without his heirloom pinkie ring – but with a wedding license from a 24-hour Las Vegas chapel. Elsewhere, book fan Tony Crowley woke up with a hangover, vague memories, and a brand new ring he’s only seen in author photos. Mutually attracted, mutually terrified the other one thinks it was all a regrettable mistake, they turn to their dear but anonymous online friend to vent and ask for advice. …Maybe they should tell each other their screennames someday.

and now all of my garden is grown in lavender by ilikeblue (E)

Popular queer romance author, A.Z. Fell, has been lying about having a husband and a happy marriage for years. Longing to escape a string of failed relationships and looking for a fresh start, Aziraphale moves into the cottage left to him by his Great Aunt Agnes. When a TV adaptation of one of his books leads to sudden popularity and throws him into the limelight, his fans (and the press) are eager to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale's own mysterious leading man. Unfortunately, he still has to cast someone for that role. Enter the handsome gardener… Under Crowley's meticulous care the cottage's neglected garden slowly comes back to life, and Aziraphale finds himself writing the most important love story he'll ever write: his own

Once upon a time by elf_on_the_shelf (E)

‘Hello, my dear.’ Crowley bit his lip for a couple of seconds before he took a deep breath and just went with it. ‘Would you like to go for a coffee sometime?’ There was silence at the other end. Oh shit. ‘That was my friend messing around with my phone…?’ ‘You do realise that only works over text.’ ‘Myeah.’ Why was he like this? He had wanted to kill Bea for doing the same thing and yet here he was, doing the thing. At Bea’s behest, mind you. ‘I would love to go for coffee. Oh, and cake!’ Aziraphale is a very rich and successful writer. Crowley is at the worst possible moment of his life - living off Bee's couch and posting his mum's fairy tales on some random sites only to be ignored by everyone except one random person simply called A. This is a story about how both of our main protagonists get over the ghosts of their pasts, learn to work together and maybe - just maybe - fall in love in the process. Not to mention that all of the characters that we love (hate - looking at you, Gabe) make an appearance.

The Infernal Bodyguard by Santillatron (M)

Alistair Zira Fell is a popular author. Loved by everyone he meets. Well, almost everyone. Someone is trying to hurt him, and right now, he needs a bodyguard. Anthony J. Crowley is the best, although he doesn't work with celebrities. He has three rules. He never gets too close, never stays once the job is done, and Never Gets Involved. But this isn't a thriller. This, is a love story.

- Mod D

[to-thelakes]

nothing but a pass time (lip gallagher x reader)

content warning(s); underage smoking, mentions of underage drinking, sad!lip, comfort, hints of angst (unrequited love)

summary; the summer had come around but you and lip were always the same. except it was harder to ignore your brewing feelings now.

series masterlist

i have edited and read this part over so many times that i feel like i'm not actually making it better anymore, so here it is! more of my babies, the next few parts are gonna get a little angst-heavy from both lip and reader's side but then i think it's gonna settle a bit and hopefully get a little better, i have the next three parts all partly/fully written and they're sad but also sweet (comfort is real and lip NEEDS iT, this poor man), so anyway, here's the new part hehe

“My dad would kill you if he found us,” You said as you rounded the corner with Lip. He had texted you, asking you to come and meet him. You didn’t mind. You’d been dying to see him after a too-long shift at the store. You had been there all day, sweating and dealing with shitty customers, and that one text was enough for you to be filled with a familiar sense of glee. 

You didn’t need a reason to see Lip, you never had but something about him asking to see you made you giddy. That text was enough to have you halfway out the door in minutes, changed, showered and beaming.

Though, that had always been the case.

The cigarette between your lips was new though. You had never been one for smoking but Lip had somehow gotten you into it. You only smoked with him though.

“They still think we’re dating?” Lip asked as you stopped by one of the pillars that held the El tracks up. The train only came every twenty minutes or so this late at night. So it was peaceful, quiet and you could smoke without being disturbed.

You were the one to plop yourself down first, feet aching from being on them all day. Working nearly a 10 hour shift was not for the weak and you were wondering why you’d bothered to do it to yourself.

“I dunno,” You shrugged as you took a drag of the cigarette Lip had handed to you. He sat down beside you, head resting back against the concrete. You let the smoke fill your lungs before you breathed it out into the night air. It was cooler than it had been all day, you didn’t feel like the air was suffocating you, just the cigarette, “Hard to tell with them at the moment,” You shrugged, the hint of something more beneath those words but neither of you dug into it. Lip simply nodded and you offered the cigarette back. He took it from between your two fingers and took a long drag.

He looked sad. You assumed that’s why he had even bothered you this late. He knew you’d been working all day and he had always used it as an excuse to keep to himself. But tonight, he seemed to want to see you. You were never going to deny him.

You hadn’t ever denied him anything.

You watched as he blew the smoke out through his nose and you leaned closer, resting your head on his shoulder. He briefly tensed up before relaxing. 

He had gotten so jumpy recently. 

You tried to ignore it.

“What’s up?” You asked after a moment of silence. He offered the cigarette to you but you waved him off. You could feel the nicotine buzzing through your system, not used to the high after nearly a week of not seeing Lip.

“Karen’s got this guy,” Lip said after a moment of silent contemplation, “Jody. Some fuckin’ asshole twice her age,” He explained, waving his free hand out. He then put the cigarette between his lips, breathing in the smoke and speaking as he exhaled, “Hasn’t even fucked her. She says it’s some Sex Addicts Anonymous shit. I don’t get it,” Lip said as he choked slightly on the smoke. You should have known this is where the conversation would go so you simply reached your hand out for the cig.

Lip passed it over without question.

Part of him hated himself for corrupting you. You had never touched a drop of alcohol until he convinced you otherwise. And you had resisted smoking cigarettes until one night a few months back at a party with him. 

You had been pretty drunk at that party and he had casually offered his cigarette to you. He hadn’t thought much of it, expecting you to shake your head and tell him to ‘fuck off’ as you always did. Instead, you had taken it from his fingers, taken a drag and coughed on the smoke. 

But that didn’t stop you from taking another drag.

Now every time he watched the smoke curl out from between your lips, he felt bad. Like he had doomed you to some horrible fate.

“And she said that they’re together and just sit under the stars and talk and shit. I mean, who does that?” He asked. You tried to bite back the reply that that’s exactly what the two of you did but you kept your mouth shut, “We’re teenagers. We’re meant to be fucking each other and doing stupid shit. Not- not watching cartoons and fucking cooking together. It’s- it’s just bullshit,” Lip was frustrated. You could tell and you couldn’t blame him. Not really.

Part of you just felt sorry for him. You knew that he had fallen for Karen but she never really shared those feelings. At least, not that you could tell. She liked him and she liked to fuck him but you were never sure if it was more.

Another part of you was happy she was fucking with Lip’s head. Maybe it made you spiteful but you wanted him to understand how it felt to have someone always keep you at arm’s length.

You tried not to think about that though. 

You were his friend. 

You were there to help him, not celebrate his pain.

“Are you still fucking her?” You asked after a moment. You weren’t entirely sure how to make Lip feel better. You weren’t well-versed in this shit.

He nodded.

“Yeah but it’s this guy. He’s a fucking asshole,” Lip bit back, cigarette hanging from his lips. You rolled your eyes and took the cigarette from between his lips to take a puff yourself. You stayed quiet for a minute, not sure what to say.

“At least you still get to fuck her,” You responded, trying to see the bright side. You wanted to make him feel better, “Clearly if they aren’t even fucking, it doesn’t mean that much. So, give it a few months and she’ll be past him.” The words felt heavy on your tongue, trying to ignore the truth in what you were saying.

Lip had never fucked you and you had always been nothing but a pass-time for him. A friend to cry to and seek comfort from but nothing more. You knew that you didn’t mean that much to Lip. Not as much as Karen anyway.

“Yeah, maybe,” Lip said as he glanced down to watch you blow the smoke from between your lips. You tapped the edge of the cigarette on your thigh, ashes flying through the air just as an El train passed overhead.

It was deafening but the noise gave you some solace. You hadn’t noticed Lip looking at you and so you let yourself feel the heaviness. It was just for a moment and then you put your guard back up.

But for a moment, you let yourself frown. Let yourself feel sad. Feel lonely. Feel fucking stupid.

Then you were back to normal.

Once the train had passed, you spoke again.

“The way I see it, he’s either gonna break up with her or they’re gonna fuck. Either way, she’ll come back to you,” You decided after a moment. You weren’t sure if it was true. You had no experience with relationships. You’d only ever kissed people drunk at parties so you were talking out your ass.

But Lip just hummed along and took the cigarette from between your fingers. He took another drag and then smushed the butt of it against the grass, putting it out.

“Everything okay with you?” Lip asked after a beat of silence. Your head lifted from his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. You couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked if you were okay. Usually, you told him anyway but he never asked.

“Yeah, why?” You responded, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He shrugged, meeting your gaze. Your eyes were boring into him and he felt guilty seeing the confusion. The way your eyebrows furrowed at his question as if you weren’t his best friend. As if he didn’t care about you.

“Y’just seem tired, that’s all,” He responded, shrugging. He was trying not to be defensive but it was hard not to be.

“Had a long day, it’s fine,” You retorted as you reached into the top pocket of his shirt. You didn’t ask before you grabbed the pack of cigarettes. Instead, you just plucked a stick out and grabbed his lighter. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked. You looked up at him, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Bumming a smoke,” You stated before you placed the cigarette between your lips. You used your hand to shelter the end of the cig before flicking the lighter on. The bright flame illuminated your face, eyes shining in the light. It was there for a split second before you had successfully lit the cigarette.

“You been smokin’ with someone else?” He asked. You scoffed, dropping the cigarette pack and lighter back into his pocket before you took a drag.

“Fuck off, as if,” You dead-panned as you exhaled. You then took another drag, leaving the cigarette hanging off your lips as you blew the smoke out of your nose. It was Lip’s turn to take the cigarette from your lips now. He made eye contact with you as he took it, placing it between his own.

Fuck. You hated when he did shit like that.

The way he looked at you like he really gave a shit.

You tried not to think about it.

“Good,” He said before he took his own drag. You two sat in silence like that for a while, sharing the cigarette. You knew it was bad for you. You had told yourself you’d never be a smoker but the summer was long and being around Lip was painful. The nicotine made it easier to deal with.

So you just smoked until Lip - once again - put it out in the dirt. He then just stared, another El train passing overhead. You were both quiet for a moment before you sighed. You needed to go home.

“Got work tomorrow,” You muttered after a beat. It was you saying you needed to leave without really saying it at all. But you did, you needed to get out of here.

“Stay at mine tonight?” He asked. You shook your head.

“Gotta leave early, starting at 6. Would just wake you up. You’re grumpy that early,” You stated as you looked up at him. He frowned. You didn’t know what else to say to him and so you just looked at each other for a moment.

“Want you to stay over,” He mumbled, looking away. You ran your hands across your face, wondering if you were really gonna let this happen. But you already knew the answer the second he had asked the question.

“Let me grab my shit,” You gave in. Lip couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face. It felt like a victory, a small victory. 

[rootedinrevisions]

Jealousy in Motion: Part 2

SUMMARY: Your relationship with Damian is going great. That is until you're put into a storyline where you have to kiss Jey Uso. Damian's reaction to seeing you kissing Jey in the middle of the ring is less than ideal. Later that night he makes sure to remind you who you belong to.

WARNING: Jealousy. Possessiveness. Biting. Leaving marks. P in V Sex.

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to the person who requested this! (will refrain from mentioning anyone in case they wish to remain anonymous.) Hope you enjoy it!

TAG LIST: @miss-kuki-nz I @just-another-personal-side-blog I @caramara3 I @yana3sworld I @terrortwinunicorn I @hotwheels1108

The hum of the crowd already gathering outside the arena was palpable as you pulled into the parking lot. You parked your car, exhaling deeply as you took a moment to collect your thoughts before heading inside. The last few months had been a whirlwind of great storylines, and tonight, you were particularly excited. You grabbed your bag from the passenger seat and slung it over your shoulder, stepping out into the late afternoon light.

As you walked through the side entrance, security gave you a familiar nod, and you couldn’t help but feel the usual buzz of adrenaline that came with show days. Inside, the hustle and bustle of crew members, wrestlers, and staff filled the hallways, but you were quickly intercepted by one of the backstage producers.

"Hey, they need you in the meeting room with creative," he said.

You raised an eyebrow, slightly confused. You weren’t expecting to be pulled into anything major right away. Normally, you'd get time to settle in and catch up with some of the other superstars, but it seemed today was going to be different. You nodded and followed him, your mind already spinning with what could be on the agenda.

As you approached the meeting room, you could see through the open door that a few familiar faces were already seated. Jey was there, his usual confident demeanor slightly subdued, and around him were a handful of writers, along with Triple H at the head of the table. A quick glance from Jey gave you a hint of hesitation, which only made you more curious about what this meeting could be about.

You took a seat, nodding at everyone, and before you could ask what was going on, Triple H jumped right in.

"Alright, let’s get to it," he began, fo+5+lding his hands in front of him. "We’re shaking things up tonight. We’re putting you into the Rhea Ripley and Liv Morgan storyline.”

Your heart leaped a little at the mention of Rhea. She was one of your best friends, and working with her was something you’d always looked forward to. Plus, you had great chemistry with Liv, so the idea of being inserted into this feud was exciting.

But the excitement quickly shifted to confusion when Triple H continued. "You're going to turn on Rhea during tonight's segment."

You blinked, processing his words. "Turn on Rhea?" you echoed.

"Yeah," Triple H confirmed, leaning back in his chair. "You’ll go out to save her after Liv attacks, but then the twist—you're going to kiss Jey in front of Rhea and Damian. You’ll take off your shirt to reveal Jey’s underneath, showing that you’ve been aligned with him the whole time. Jey we’re going to spin it that you’ve been getting close to Rhea to get to what you actually want…her best friend."

You glanced at Jey, whose expression mirrored your shock. The idea of turning on Rhea, one of your closest friends, especially in such a public and dramatic way, made your stomach churn. And then the added element of kissing Jey in front of Damian, well… that complicated things even more.

Things between you and Damian had been going great for the past few months since that night in the club, and you knew Jey and Rhea were in a solid place in their developing relationship, too. This on-screen twist felt like it would blur the lines between real life and the storyline in ways that could create all kinds of tension.

"Are you sure?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Triple H gave you a knowing smile, as if sensing your hesitation. "This is going to push the feud to the next level. The audience won’t see it coming."

You could feel your pulse quicken, the weight of the storyline hanging heavily on your shoulders. "And we’re doing this tonight?"

"Yep," he confirmed. "First segment. You, Jey, Rhea, and Damian all in the ring. Liv’s going to attack Rhea. You run in for the save. After the dust settles, you turn on her. Kiss Jey, reveal your loyalty, and we’re off to the races."

Your head was spinning as you tried to absorb the full scope of what was being asked of you. Glancing at Jey again, you could tell he was just as thrown by the sudden twist.

"Any questions?" Triple H asked, looking around the table.

Neither you nor Jey said a word, both of you too stunned to fully process what was about to happen. Triple H took that as a no, standing up and signaling the meeting was over.

"Good luck tonight. This is going to be big."

After the meeting, you left the room, still reeling from what had just been laid out. You made your way down the hall toward your locker room, your mind racing. A storyline shift like this had the potential to be game-changing, but it also came with its fair share of risks. You couldn’t help but worry about how this would play out not just on screen, but backstage as well.

Once you reached your locker room, you set your bag down and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nerves. The wardrobe team soon arrived, handing you the shirts you’d need for the segment—Rhea’s signature shirt for the first part of the show, and Jey’s to wear underneath for the big reveal.

“Don’t worry, it’ll look great on camera,” one of the wardrobe assistants assured you, sensing your unease.

You nodded, managing a weak smile as you slipped into the outfit. You kept your black jeans and shoes on, not needing full gear for this segment, but the weight of the two shirts felt heavier than any ring attire you’d ever worn.

The plan was simple enough: you’d run out to help Rhea after Liv blindsided her, and the four of you would stand tall in the ring together—until you turned on Rhea in front of everyone. The kiss with Jey, the shirt reveal—it was all designed to shock the crowd and push the storyline into new, dramatic territory.

But as you stared at yourself in the mirror, wearing Rhea’s shirt over Jey’s, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at you. This storyline was about to blur the lines between reality and fiction in ways you hadn’t expected, and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would affect your relationships off-screen.

Glancing in the mirror one last time, you exhale sharply and leave your locker room, your thoughts racing as you head down the corridor in search of Damian. You need to find him before the segment starts, to explain the last-minute storyline twist.

You weave through backstage, checking every corner, but he’s nowhere to be found. Frustration builds as you text and call him, but every attempt goes unanswered. The minutes seem to slip through your fingers. The show’s about to start, and the clock is ticking.

From your spot near the monitor backstage, you watch as Dominik and Liv make their entrance, smug looks plastered on their faces. The crowd greets them with a mix of boos and jeers. They take the ring and start cutting their promo, Liv with a mic in hand, mocking Rhea and Damian.

“Rhea Ripley? Damian Priest? Pathetic. Honestly, it's embarrassing how they think they can stand up to us,” Liv sneers, pacing the ring as Dominik smirks at her words. "At the next Premium Live Event, they’ll finally be put in their place, and we’ll prove once again that we run this show."

The crowd stirs, boos growing louder as Liv continues to berate your friends. You glance toward the Gorilla, just in time to see Damian and Rhea poised to make their entrance. Your heart races as you watch them, knowing the storm that's about to hit.

“Hey, I need to talk to you,” you start, grabbing his arm gently.

Damian turns, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Before you can answer, the producer barks, “Rhea, Damian you’re on, go!”

You watch helplessly as Damian and Rhea stride through the curtain, completely unaware of the bombshell you’re about to drop on them. Your stomach tightens as you realize you won’t have time to warn him before the kiss happens.

“Great,” you mutter to yourself, running a hand through your hair. Damian’s not going to take this well—especially not without a heads-up.

Rhea and Damian hit the stage to a wave of cheers from the crowd. As they walk down the ramp, Rhea has a fierce expression on her face, playing up the intensity of the moment, while Damian’s presence is brooding and confident. You can feel the electricity building in the air as they enter the ring.

“You two think you’re untouchable?” Rhea growls into the mic, glaring at Dominik and Liv. “You’ve got another thing coming. At the PLE, we’ll show you exactly why you should’ve never turned your backs on us.”

Damian steps forward, his eyes locked on Dominik. “Scared little kids playing in a grown-up’s world. You don’t even know what’s coming.”

Predictably, the promo escalates into chaos. Liv and Dominik waste no time in turning the verbal sparring into a full-blown brawl. Liv throws the first punch at Rhea, and before you know it, fists are flying. Just as planned, JD, Finn,  and Carlito emerge from the crowd to join the fray, jumping into the ring and overwhelming Damian and Rhea.

It’s only a matter of seconds before Jey’s music hits, and the crowd erupts. You spot Jey sprinting down the aisle from somewhere in the audience, slipping into the ring to even the odds. The chaos in the ring intensifies as the three of them—Rhea, Damian, Jey —try to gain control of the situation.

Then, your music blares through the arena, sending a surge of adrenaline through you. The producer waves you toward the curtain, and before you know it, you're sprinting down the ramp. Your heart pounds in your chest as you slide into the ring, jumping straight into the fight.

For what feels like a chaotic blur of moments, fists are flying, bodies are colliding, and the crowd is on fire. You and your thrown-together team manage to push back the new Judgement Day faction, sending them retreating up the ramp as the crowd roars in approval.

Just as you, Jey, Damian, and Rhea stand tall in the ring, victorious for now, you feel the cue from the cameraman at ringside. This is it. The moment you’ve been dreading all night.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Jey is standing just to your left, his breathing still heavy from the fight. You turn toward him, heart hammering in your chest. The crowd is still roaring, but in this moment, everything seems to slow down.

You step closer to Jey, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. His eyes meet yours, and for a split second, there’s a flash of understanding between the two of you—this is about to change everything. Without hesitating, you lean in and press your lips to his.

The reaction from the crowd is instantaneous. Gasps, cheers, and shouts fill the arena as Jey’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss lingers for a moment longer than normal, the way Triple H had scripted it to be, the tension between you and Jey was palpable. Neither of you was fully comfortable. When you finally pull back, the heat of the moment is still coursing through you.

You glance over at Rhea and Damian. Rhea, ever the professional, has perfected her expression of betrayal—her wide eyes and clenched fists sell the shock and hurt brilliantly. It’s almost too perfect, and for a moment, you’re grateful that she’s been fully briefed on the angle.

But Damian... Damian is a different story. He’s not acting. His jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed, and the look he’s giving you and Jey could burn a hole straight through the ring. If looks could kill, you and Jey would both be six feet under by now.

Your stomach drops as you realize the fallout from this moment is going to be far more intense than you ever anticipated.

The segment ends with a chaotic blend of cheers and murmurs as the crowd begins to dissipate. As the ring clears, you and Jey make your way out, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. You’re grateful for the moment of quiet, but the heaviness of what just happened weighs on you.

You navigate backstage, Jey’s presence beside you a comforting constant. The backstage activity fades as you spot Rhea, who is headed toward the locker room. She gives you a quick, sympathetic nod before disappearing behind the door. You hope she understands how hard this is for you, despite her well-played betrayal.

Your gaze scans the area, searching for Damian. Your stomach twists in knots as you think about the confrontation you need to have. The minutes tick by slowly, each one stretching into what feels like an eternity.

Finally, you spot Damian walking down the hall, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable. Your heart races as you call out his name, “Damian!”

He doesn’t turn, his steps steady and deliberate. You quicken your pace, desperation mounting with each step. You reach out and touch his arm gently, trying to catch his attention.

“Babe, please—”

He jerks his arm away from you, his face still averted. “Don’t.”

The single word cuts through you like a knife. It’s sharp and final, the hurt and anger in his voice unmistakable. He continues down the hall, not sparing a glance back, leaving you standing there, heart heavy and eyes stinging.

You watch him disappear around the corner, the space between you feeling impossibly vast. The crushing weight of the night’s events settles on your shoulders, and you feel a wave of sadness that’s almost unbearable.

Jey, noticing your distress, approaches cautiously. “Hey, are you okay?”

You can’t find the words, only shaking your head slightly. Jey’s hand rests on your shoulder, a silent offer of comfort, but it does little to alleviate the ache inside you. You turn back toward the locker room, trying to steady your breath as you prepare for the fallout to come.

Back in the locker room, you sit down heavily on a bench, the adrenaline of the night giving way to a wave of exhaustion and emotional turmoil. The door opens and Rhea steps in, her face a mix of concern and understanding.

“I tried to talk to him,” Rhea says quietly, sitting beside you. “He didn’t seem like he wanted to hear it.”

You nod, unable to speak as your emotions bubble up. Rhea reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your back. “You did what you had to do out there. I know it’s hard.”

You take a shaky breath, trying to hold back tears. “I didn’t want it to end like this. I just wanted... I wanted to be honest with him. I tried to find him before the show–”

Rhea gives you a sympathetic smile. “He just wasn’t expecting it. I was briefed on the segment, but I don’t think he was. It’ll take time, but he’ll come around.”

You hope she’s right, but the uncertainty gnaws at you. As you sit there, surrounded by the remnants of the evening’s chaos, you can’t shake the feeling that tonight’s actions have set in motion a chain of events that may be impossible to fully unravel.

With a heavy heart, you prepare yourself for the long night ahead, hoping that somehow, things might start to heal before it’s too late.

Once you get back to the hotel after the show, you make your way up to your room on the fourth floor. The hallway feels impossibly long.. The dull hum of the elevator ride lingers in your ears, and your mind races, replaying every moment of the night over and over again. The kiss. Damian’s cold departure. His refusal to even look at you.

You reach your door, fingers trembling as you pull the keycard from your pocket. You hesitate for a moment, the thought of Damian not being there gnawing at you. The two of you were supposed to share this room, but after the way he walked away, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d found a different room—putting even more distance between you.

But still, hope lingers as you slide the keycard into the lock. You take a deep breath as the door clicks open. Stepping into the dimly lit room, you brace yourself for an empty, quiet space, but instead, your breath catches in your throat.

Damian is there. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. His head is bowed slightly, and the shadows from the dim light cast across his face, making it hard to read his expression. But you can feel the tension radiating from him—tangible and heavy in the air.

The door clicks shut behind you, and Damian’s eyes flick up to meet yours. For a moment, neither of you speaks. His jaw is clenched tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. The silence stretches between you, thick with unresolved emotions.

You take a tentative step forward, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on your chest. "Damian…"

He doesn't move. His gaze remains locked on yours, but there’s a storm brewing behind those dark eyes, a mix of hurt and anger swirling beneath the surface.

“Why?” His voice is low, barely above a whisper, but the pain in that single word cuts deeper than anything he could have yelled.

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you search for the right words. “I didn’t want it to go down like that. It was the storyline—creative made the call.”

Damian’s lips twitch into a bitter, almost mocking smile as he finally stands, towering over you. “You think I care about the storyline? About what creative wants?” His voice rises slightly, the frustration bleeding through. “I care about what you did out there—kissing him in front of everyone. In front of me.”

You take a step back, feeling the weight of his words, and the hurt they carry. “It was just for the show, Damian. It didn’t mean anything.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his movements sharp, and agitated. “Didn’t mean anything?” He shakes his head, disbelief flashing in his eyes. “You expect me to believe that after what I saw out there? After how you kissed him?”

Your heart aches at the accusation in his voice. “Damian, I—” You stop, unsure of how to explain, how to make him understand that the kiss, while real, wasn’t what he thought it was.

He takes a deep breath, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "You could’ve told me. You should’ve told me before the show, before I had to stand there and watch it happen.”

"I tried," you plead, your voice breaking. "I tried to tell you, but you had to go out for the segment before I could. I didn’t want to hurt you."

Damian lets out a bitter laugh. “Well, you did.”

The air between you feels like it’s thickening, the tension palpable as Damian turns away from you, pacing the room. You stand frozen, unsure of what to say, how to fix this. The weight of the night crashes down on you, and for the first time, you wonder if this is something that can even be fixed.

“Damian,” you whisper, taking a cautious step toward him, “I’m sorry. Please, just talk to me.”

He stops in his tracks, his back still turned to you. For a moment, he doesn’t move, the silence deafening. Then, slowly, he turns around, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten.

“What do you want me to say?” His voice is quiet now, the anger simmering down into something deeper—something raw. “That everything’s fine? That I’m not furious? That I don’t feel like you broke something between us tonight?”

You feel your heart shatter at his words, the weight of them too much to bear. “I didn’t want to break anything,” you say softly, tears welling up in your eyes. “I just… I didn’t know how to make this right.”

Damian’s shoulders slump slightly as if the fight has drained out of him. He stares at you for a long moment, his expression a mixture of hurt and exhaustion. “Maybe you can’t,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

Damian sits back down on the bed, his frustration and confusion still thick in the air between you. His jaw clenches as he runs a hand over his face, trying to make sense of everything that happened during the show. 

You take a cautious step toward him, heart pounding in your chest. You don’t say anything, but the unspoken tension between you crackles with intensity. Gently, you place your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back just enough that he leans onto his elbows. He looks up at you with a mix of uncertainty and disbelief, his dark eyes searching yours for some kind of explanation, some kind of reason for your actions.

But instead of talking, you swing a leg over him, straddling his lap. You feel the tension ripple through his body the moment you make contact, his muscles tightening beneath you. He knows what you’re doing, and for a second, you can see the conflict flash across his face. 

His hands instinctively come up to your waist, as if to push you away, but he hesitates. “Stop,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, but there’s no real force behind the word. You can tell he’s trying to maintain control, to hold onto the anger that’s keeping him grounded, but you also know that you’re chipping away at his resolve.

Ignoring his half-hearted protest, you lean in close, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whisper, “I want you to show me who I belong to.”

You feel the shudder that runs through him at your words, and a low groan rumbles from his chest. His eyes close for a brief moment as the temptation washes over him, the possessive side of him that you know so well stirring just beneath the surface. But still, he’s fighting it, trying to hold onto the anger that’s been keeping him distant.

He tightens his grip on your waist, trying to lift you off his lap, but before he can, you roll your hips down against him. The motion elicits another involuntary groan from him, his breath catching in his throat as you grind against him, making it clear what you want. His eyes snap open, dark and filled with both desire and frustration.

“Don’t,” he warns, but his voice falters, betraying the struggle within him.

You lean in closer, your breath hot against his ear as you whisper the words you know will push him over the edge. “I want you to have your way with me.”

His grip on your waist tightens as he inhales sharply, the possessive part of him rising to the surface. But there’s still a sliver of hesitation in his movements, as if he’s trying to keep a hold on his self-control, to resist the pull of the temptation you’re offering him. 

You know he’s torn between wanting to claim you and still being angry about what happened tonight. And then, you say the one thing that you know will break him.

“I want you to leave marks.”

The tension in his body shifts instantly. His eyes darken, and the possessiveness that’s always been just beneath the surface finally takes over. You’ve never let him leave marks on you before, always worried about appearances and what people might think if the cameras were to catch any during a match or promo. But now, you’re giving him permission, and that’s something Damian can’t ignore.

He exhales slowly, his hands still gripping your waist, but there’s a new intensity in his touch now. The anger may not be completely gone, but it’s morphed into something else—something darker, more primal. You feel the shift, and it sends a thrill through you.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice is deeper now, rougher, and you can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This is a line you’re both about to cross, one that will blur the boundary between control and release.

You nod, your gaze steady as you meet his eyes. “I’m sure. I want you to.”

Damian’s expression hardens for a split second, the last shred of restraint slipping away. In one swift motion, he flips you over, pinning you beneath him on the bed. His hands roam up your body, and you feel the heat radiating off him as he leans down, his lips brushing against your neck.

“You asked for it,” he murmurs darkly. 

Damian wastes no time once he’s unleashed. His hands move with purpose as he grips the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down along with your underwear in one swift, practiced motion. You lift your hips to help, and before you know it, your legs are bare beneath his gaze. He tosses your clothes aside, his eyes dark and unreadable as they trace the lines of your body.

You feel his hands slide down your thighs, rough and warm, before he spreads your legs apart. The vulnerability of the position sends a thrill up your spine, but it’s the look in Damian’s eyes—the possessive hunger—that makes your heart race. 

He leans down, his lips ghosting over your inner thigh. The anticipation of his touch is almost unbearable, and then you feel it—his teeth sink into your skin, not too hard, but enough to leave a mark that will last. The sensation sends a shiver through you, a low moan escaping your lips.

Damian pauses to admire his work, the dark bruise forming under his lips. Then, without missing a beat, he shifts to the other leg, repeating the same rough treatment. His lips press against your thigh before his teeth follow, leaving another mark that will be a reminder of this moment long after tonight.

Once he’s satisfied, he crawls up your body, his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of you. His face hovers inches above yours, his breath warm and heavy against your skin. 

You’re still wearing Jey Uso's "Yeet" shirt, and as Damian glances down at it, a dark smirk curls his lips. You expect him to pull it off, to strip it from you in one fluid motion, but instead, Damian grips the fabric in both hands and rips it clean down the middle. The sound of the tear fills the room, and your breath catches as the cool air brushes against your newly exposed skin.

“Oops,” he mutters with a smirk, the smugness in his voice sending a wave of heat through you. His hands run down your sides, the pads of his fingers grazing the sensitive skin just beneath your ribs, making you arch up into him. The intensity of his touch, combined with the sharp contrast between his anger and desire, has your mind spinning.

His hands slide around your back, and with one swift motion, he unclasps your bra, pulling it away. Before you can react, Damian leans in, his mouth finding the soft skin of your breast. His lips are soft at first, but then you feel his teeth again, biting down just hard enough to leave a dark bruise behind.

A gasp leaves your throat as Damian continues, alternating between soft kisses and rough bites. He takes his time, marking you as his, leaving evidence of his claim all over your skin. Each mark feels like a promise, one that will stay with you long after the night is over.

You feel the heat rising between you, the desire building to a breaking point. Damian pulls back for a moment, his breath coming fast, his eyes locking with yours. There’s no more hesitation in his gaze now—only pure, possessive hunger.

"You belong to me," he growls, his voice deep and commanding as he captures your lips in a rough, bruising kiss.

Damian’s eyes remain locked on yours as he leans up and swiftly pulls his belt free from the loops of his jeans. The metal buckle clinks against the floor as he drops it carelessly, his fingers already working to unbutton and unzip his pants. He pushes his jeans and boxers down to his knees, his movements rough and hurried, his need for you palpable in the tension rolling off his body.

You bite your lip in anticipation as Damian positions himself between your legs, the heat of him pressing against your entrance. His large hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer, and then with one smooth motion, he slides into you. The sensation of him filling you so completely draws a long moan from your lips, but Damian isn’t satisfied.

“No,” he growls, his voice deep and commanding. “Say my name.”

His thrusts start slow but powerful, each one driving him deeper into you. You comply immediately, moaning his name breathlessly. “Damian…”

But it’s not enough. His grip tightens on your hips, and he begins to move faster, harder, his pace becoming relentless. He’s hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur, and your breath quickens as pleasure coils tight in your core.

“Say it louder,” Damian demands, his voice edged with authority. His hips snap against yours, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. You call out his name louder, your voice trembling with the intensity of each thrust.

“Damian!” you cry, your hands grasping at the sheets as your body arches beneath him.

A dark smirk crosses his face as he watches you, clearly satisfied with your response. “That’s my good girl,” he growls, his tone dripping with approval. His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, making your body tremble beneath him.

He continues to pound into you, his pace ruthless, every thrust driving you closer to the edge. Your moans become more desperate, and you can feel yourself unraveling, your climax approaching fast.

“I want to hear you scream my name when you come,” Damian demands, his voice husky and low, his possessive gaze locked on you as his hips slam into yours again and again.

The tension inside you snaps, and with one final thrust, you’re sent over the edge. You scream his name, your body trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through every nerve.

Damian isn’t far behind. He groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release. His grip tightens on your hips, holding you still as he pulls out just in time. He finishes on your chest and abdomen, his warm seed painting your skin as he releases a deep, satisfied groan.

Breathing heavily, Damian looks down at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly as a proud, almost smug smile spreads across his face. He surveys your body, covered in his release, marking you in yet another way.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft now, but the possessive edge still lingers. He leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, a stark contrast to the roughness of the moments before.

As Damian catches his breath, his eyes soften as they sweep over your body, the intensity of moments before melting away. Without a word, he leans over and presses a tender kiss to your forehead before standing and making his way into the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the room, and a few moments later, he returns with a warm washcloth in hand.

He kneels beside the bed and gently wipes the cum from your chest and stomach, his touch so tender it makes your heart swell. His gaze meets yours as he leans down and brushes a soft kiss to your lips, so different from the fiery passion you shared earlier. This kiss is slow, comforting, filled with unspoken reassurances.

Once finished, Damian returns to the bathroom to dispose of the washcloth, and when he comes back, he heads straight for his suitcase. Rummaging through it, he pulls out a pair of sweatpants for himself. After slipping them on, he tosses one of his oversized t-shirts to you. You smile, feeling a warmth in your chest, and eagerly slip it on. The familiar scent of him fills your senses as the soft fabric drapes over your body.

Damian climbs into bed beside you and immediately pulls you into his arms, his strong body enveloping yours. You nestle into him, resting your head on his bare chest. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat under your ear brings you a sense of calm, and you let out a soft sigh of relief, feeling safe in his embrace.

After a few quiet moments, you tilt your head up to look at him, your voice barely a whisper as you ask, "Are we okay?"

Damian looks down at you, his thumb gently stroking your arm as he meets your gaze. 

"Yeah," he says softly, his voice deep but tender. "We’re okay." He takes a breath, his expression softening further. "I probably could’ve handled it better. I just… seeing that kiss…" He trails off, shaking his head slightly. "I know it’s just a storyline, but it hit me harder than I expected."

You nod, understanding the conflict he must have felt. 

Before the tension can return, Damian gives you a playful smirk and gently nudges your side. "But let’s be real… you look way better in my shirt than Jey’s."

A small laugh escapes your lips, and the playful banter instantly lightens the mood. You snuggle deeper into his chest, feeling the weight of the night slowly lift as you share this intimate moment with him. His arms tighten around you protectively, and you close your eyes, knowing that despite the challenges, everything between you two will be alright.

[deprivedofbraincellsandsleep]

aint no way I js got my first hate anon, why am I so giddy abt this

[gendertrickster]

i find very cool how you're dating the writer of the comic you were (still are) swooning over

it's literally so fucking funny. you guys cannot even comprehend all the reasons why this is the funniest shit ever

[skunkes]

If you were truly an abandoned project like you say. You wouldn't care so much. Even in your comic you mention you being worse for "the next person" you already are thinking of another person. That's not a bad thing. You're young. And by God you have some fire in you. I hope you become happier with yourself. I hope good things happen to you and the people around you will cheer for it. -💛🦭

thank u... im actually flopping between it rn... though i know i dont have the actual power to decide to be done with it, bc life is full of unexpected events, and i am young, but my line of thinking was, well because it would be so much more of a hassle for a next person, its best to just remove that hassle from the "market" completely lol...

but its out of my hands in either direction. i already wasnt expecting much as just the one time was such a rarity. now its just made the whole ordeal much much more difficult for all parties...aroo...anyway thanks again

[yuwuta]

i can not get your poly yuuta and inumaki fic out of my head !! it was absolutely amazing ❤️

would you consider writing this dynamic again?

so few days go by where i am not thinking about either one of them so yes absolutely i will hehe

[d0d0-b0i]

Word of advice from a guy who gets shit on by people hating his comfort medias. People are assholes sometimes for no reason, they hate art on a surface level because they want something to hate. Your favorite medias aren't bad, in my opinion they're really cool (people who can get into rwby are like superheros to me same with sonic but I'm slowly getting into that) don't listen to the haters and keep loving what you love!

ty fr 😭🙏 i am a consistent enjoyer of what people often consider "bad" media, but i never understand why its bad. it simply doesnt register

[spookyboywhump]

Every day I get more sad about Zander 😭 I was listening to music and there's this line "I'm so much older than I can take" and it just made me think of like...how that last bit of his childhood was taken away and he finally got free but now he's a grown up and his adult responsibilities but he never got a chance to like...adjust to that and I'm just so upset about him he needs a hug

ANON PLEASE

[relaxxattack]

“oh they’re not taking away chronological dashboard, well everything’s okay then” they also said in the post they’re making reblogs collapsed (like comments on twitter) so you won’t see the full conversation in a post. they also won’t get rid of tumblr live despite it being an annoying and cancerous data-miner that isn’t legal in much of the world. they won’t even let you opt out of tumblr live for more than seven days. they implemented a terrible photo viewer that mimics tiktok and makes it so you can’t zoom in on images. they took away the ability to view prev tags. they’re making it so you have to sign in with your email to view almost any thing on tumblr. they’ve already made it so you have to sign in to send asks, even on anon. they’re slowly phasing out custom blog themes.

the things that make tumblr at all usable and favored by us-- the older web blog features, the anonymity-- that is still being taken away. it HAS been being taken away for some time now. i am urging you people to reveiwbomb the tumblr app. force them to acknowledge that users do not like these changes.

[skzdarlings]

the ride ; skz ; chan x reader

original ask: requested by @rosequartsz : chan with the prompt ❛ i want to fuck you so badly. ❜ like the reader is the same age as jeongin so chan kinda feels bad but at the same time he wants to corrupt the reader so bad cushsisjsis

+

original ask: requested by anonymous : Chan and ❛ please. make me feel good. no one else can like you. ❜ ❛ have a little trust in yourself, i know you can take it. ❜

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: friends to lovers, chan is a little older than reader, reader is not actually that innocent but pretends to be and they both get off on it lol. some not very safe driving lol keep ur eyes on the road. car sex, dirty talk, teasing, corruption play, puuuuure smut. word count: 2400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

-

“That’s not fair,” Jeongin says.  “I called dibs.”

“Too bad.”  You stick your tongue out at him.  “Learn to run faster, loser.”

Jeongin scowls, once more relegated to the backseat of Chan’s car.   You are sitting pretty in the passenger seat for the fourth day in a row and Jeongin is playfully annoyed about it. 

You and your twin brother have been racing into Chan’s car since high school.  You are both at university now, but Chan still offers the occasional lift.  With storm season making public transit a bigger hassle than it’s worth, Chan has been offering more rides. 

Just because of the weather.  Not any other reason.  Of course.      

You smirk, casting a side-glance into the driver’s seat.  Chan is smiling at Jeongin through the rearview mirror, looking less like Channie, the boy of your teenage fantasies, and more like Bang Chan, the man of your adult dreams.  He is wearing a baseball cap and leather jacket, his whole demeanour oozing an effortless masculinity, the bearing of a competent man who knows he can do anything. 

And still, despite his well-earned cockiness, he has an undoubtedly shy side.  When he looks at you, the tips of his ears flame an embarrassed, fiery red, and his dimpled smile is almost boyish in its sweetness. 

“Right then,” he says.  Then, like the endearingly cheesy goofball he is, he adds, “All aboard, ready for takeoff!” 

“Jeongin,” you say, blinking innocently at your twin through the mirror.  “You have your presentation notes, right?  You don’t want to forget them.”

Jeongin double-checks his bag but you already know he won’t find them.  You deliberately took them out and placed them on the kitchen counter.

“Damn,” he says, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt.  “I thought I put them in here.  Sorry, I’ll be right back.” 

Jeongin practically flies out of the car and up the driveway, leaving you and Chan.  It happens quickly, before Chan can even compute it.  You can see the gears turning in his head, but you are faster, sighing melodramatically while gathering the hem of your skirt. 

“Silly boy,” you say.  “What should we do while he’s gone?”  You draw your skirt up your thighs just enough to tease the skin of your upper thighs. 

Chan is staring there with his mouth open, his words evaporating on his tongue.  He clears his throat after a second, ripping his gaze away.  He looks across the dashboard and laughs, a shy, awkward laugh. 

“Your brother will be back in a second,” Chan says.  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, yeah?”

He is white-knuckling the steering wheel, like all his restraint is being poured into that physical grip.  Even so, it is not hard to pry his hand off the wheel.  You know a stronger, more belligerent shove could not bend a determined Bang Chan, but the softest touch from your gentle hands will have him breaking in seconds.   

You are slow, casual despite your racing heart, guiding his hand onto your knee.  He makes a little noise that turns your whole body to pure, liquid heat.  You make a similar sound, a faint whimper in the back of your throat, as you slide his hand up your thigh. 

“Channie,” you say, your too-sweet, too-innocent voice part of your acting, but your breathlessness undoubtedly real. 

“Don’t—”  His voice breaks and he clears his throat.  “Don’t say my name like that.  You know—”  

“What do I know, Channie?” you ask, blinking at him with wide eyes while you curl his fingers around your thigh.  You bring your legs together, holding his hand between them.

He visibly swallows, throat bobbing.  The redness has spread from his ears down his neck. 

“We’ve talked about this, baby girl,” he says, his tone stricter, taking on that darker edge that makes your heart – and everything else – gush.   “We’ve been good so far, okay?”   If stolen kisses, open zippers, and groping touches count as good.  “You’re my – you’re my friend.  You should be like a little sister or something to me… yeah?  Yeah… Yeah!”  He shakes his head, pulling himself out of the distraction caused by you unzipping your jacket.  He squeezes your thigh, a firm, warning grip.  “Don’t make this so hard,” he says. 

“What’s hard for you, Channie?” you ask, reaching into his lap and touching his thigh, then higher, finding the evidence of his words.  A shiver moves across his shoulders, his breath catching as you cup your palm around the bulge in his jeans.  “Is it something I can help you with?”  You lick your bottom lip then smile. 

“Oh,” he says.  His eyes crinkle with amusement but there is a score of different emotions on his face, all of them smoldering.  “You really wanna play that game, huh?” 

There is no chance for an answer because Jeongin returns, hopping into the car with his notes.  You and Chan separate, looking out the dashboard window.  You pat your hot skin and try to slow your racing heart. 

Sensing the oddly silent tension, Jeongin narrows his eyes and looks between you.  Eventually, his expression sours like he smells something bad. 

“Oh my god,” he says, then punches Chan in the shoulder.  “Are you fucking my sister!”

“What!” Chan says, getting redder by the second.  “Jeongin, how could— I wouldn’t— I don’t—”

“What, you don’t fuck?” Jeongin asks, then laughs until he is wheezing.  “You can do better, man.”

“Jeongin, shut up!”  You reach back to smack at him, rubbing your hand all over his stupid face and messing up his hair while he wails in protest.   

“All right, all right!”  Chan says, breaking you up.  “Let’s just… let’s just go, okay?  Okay.” 

“Yes, daddy,” you say, mostly out of spite. 

Chan squeaks. 

Jeongin pretends to gag then slumps against his window.  

“I’m gonna need to start taking the bus,” he says, morose.

-

Fortunately, thanks to the impromptu revelation of your shenanigans, it does not take much convincing for Jeongin to find another ride home.  When Chan pulls into the campus parking lot to pick you up, you approach his vehicle with a grin and a wink.    

You slide into the passenger seat, smoothing down your skirt while he sighs.  It sounds more amused than frustrated.    

“Where’s your brother?” he asks. 

You shrug with theatrical exaggeration. 

“Right,” Chan says, starting the car.  “Got it.”

He puts a hand on your headrest to leverage himself, looking out the rear window as he reverses the car.  That proximity alone gets you hot, the temptation to grab him already strong.  You play a patient game, as always, stealing glances and suggestive smiles while he drives. 

Halfway home, you put a hand on his knee.  At first your touch is innocent, tracing slow circles on the denim, then you get a little more brazen, fingertips brushing up his thigh. 

“Baby,” he says in that warning voice, eyes on the road.  Holding the wheel with one hand, he uses the other to stop your wandering ascent. 

“Yes?” you ask with all that faux-innocence.  Rather than fight his touch, you guide his hand to your lap, placing it on your knee. 

Unlike this morning, he does not play nice.  You make a startled, high-pitched sound when he immediately dives under your skirt, his rough palm pressing down where you are already aching.   Your thighs slam shut out of instinct but his hand is where it wants to be, his fingers curled around your pussy in a proprietary touch. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice playfully mean.  He grinds the heel of his palm against your throbbing clit.  He never takes his eyes off the road.  “Isn’t this what you wanted?”  

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, though you cannot help but rock yourself against his hand. 

“Mmm,” he says, patting your pussy then stroking your thigh, guiding your legs open again.  “We’ll see about that.” 

You keep your eyes ahead too, pretending not to notice when he glances at you.  Then you gasp because he reaches out and tugs the zipper on your hoodie.  You instinctively clutch it, wearing nothing but a bra underneath, having taken off your other layers to surprise him.  He is the one surprising you, a secret sexy menace under all that shy sweetness.  He unzips the hoodie halfway then reaches past the material to squeeze a handful.  Your body practically sings under his touch. 

“Channie,” you say, breathless again. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says.  “Channie’s gonna take care of you, yeah?  Always.” 

“Take care of me how?”  Your question toys with that false innocence, the little game that gets you both hot, but there is genuine curiosity there too.   This game has been escalating slowly over time.  You want more and you are starting to get desperate. 

Chan looks at you.  His gaze moves over your mouth then your body, your skirt rucked up and breasts practically spilling out of your hoodie.  He swears, looking back at the road with that red blush on his ears again. 

“Fuck,” he says.  “I want to fuck you so badly.  You have no idea.” 

His words have a raw, honest edge.  He swallows, hard.  You feel like one tightly coiled ball of tension, ready to snap apart. 

“Please,” you say in that breathy voice.  “Make me feel good.  No one else can like you.” 

You do not make it all the way home.  There is a nearby lookout point at the park, a shrouded parking area that has undoubtedly seen its fair share of hook-ups.  Chan parks there and you dive at each other like randy teenagers.  You climb into his lap, bumping everything on the console on your way, the honking the horn with your backside for good measure.  It makes you both giggle.

Then your laughter is swallowed by hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses.

“Mmm,” you hum against his lips.  You push his hat off his head and sink your fingers in his curly hair.  “Channie, please,” you say. 

He cups the back of your neck, holding your head where he wants it so he can kiss you thoroughly.  His ravishing touch leaves you shaking with need, rocking against him to no relief. 

“Poor baby,” he says with a little laugh, squeezing your neck then drawing his hand down the curve of your chest.  He unzips the rest of your hoodie.  His mouth follows the same path as his hands, down your chest and back up again. 

He is working you up, deftly and swiftly, using just a few well-placed throat kisses, a few flicks of his fingertips across the sensitive peaks of your breasts.  He seems so composed under you, other than the flush to his complexion, the heat to his skin that has him shedding his leather jacket.   You feel completely undone, half-naked and writhing in his lap.  Your hands tangle together, fumbling around his belt. 

“Let me,” he says.  He gets his belt open and his fly undone, then his hands are on you.  He doesn’t just tug your panties to the side but rips them apart, snapping the seams like they’re nothing.  Then those strong fingers are inside you, finding just how wet and ready you are for him.  He makes a low, guttural sound, thumping his head against the headrest.  “Fuck, baby girl,” he says.  “You know what you do to me?” he asks. 

“I dunno, Channie.”  You pout and bat your eyelashes.  “You better show me.” 

He laughs.  He holds your hips and moves you, positions you where he wants you.  You are pressed so close together, chest-to-chest, so you cannot see when he finally enters you.  But you feel it, hot and hard and filling you, stretching you, almost painful but burning so good.  You slap a hand to the roof of the car, eyes closing as you moan. 

“S-so much,” you say, because it feels like you have been sinking forever and he is still not all the way inside. 

“Yeah, I know, baby,” he says.  His thumb is expertly circling your clit while your whole body seems to soften, changing to fit him, like you were made for this moment.  “That’s it,” he says.  “Have a little trust in yourself.  I know you can take it.”

His thrusts are small, his hands guiding your hips over him, grinding him deep inside you.   Then you are clutching his shoulders, moaning into his neck as he fucks you slowly and steadily.  It is everything you needed and not enough, only spurring more desire.  You know you will need him again, the way he needs you.  Just the way he says your name as he holds you, as he fucks you, as he takes you apart and puts you together again.   It feels like that when you come, when he fucks you through it, saying your name and praising you. 

“Good girl,” he says, barely above a breath.  “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

When he gets close, he pushes the seat back.   You get on your knees between his legs and take him in your mouth.  He comes with a low groan and another breathless slur of your name.  Then you are back in his lap and his hands are everywhere, clutching you possessively to his chest.  You are both breathing hard, riding the slow come-down of your frantic desperation. 

“Fuck,” he eventually says.  He seems shy again, giggling as he looks at you with a blush on his face.  “We, uh, we just did that, in the car, uh wow, yeah, I, uh—”

“Channie,” you say with a laugh of your own, grabbing his face and kissing him.  He smiles into the kiss, returning it with the same tender softness. 

You kiss for a long time, ignoring the world around you.  Eventually you have to crawl back into your seat and mostly redress yourselves, still smiling and giggling at each other the whole time.  Your phone was buzzing in your bag so you finally check it, rolling your eyes at the message there.   

You show it to Chan who laughs, blushing again, but nods. 

“Right,” he says, “We should probably go get him.”

You laugh too, sending an emoji with its tongue sticking out in response to Jeongin’s message that reads:  My ride fell through.  When you are done not-fucking each other, can you come back and get me?  Thanks.  Sluts.   

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: Say Don't Go

Request: Anonymous asked: “​​I think your writing is one of the best on here for Tyler <3 i’d love to read your take on the reader sticking out a big tornado with Tyler, i guess similar to the rodeo scene in the movie with Kate but i’d like to read your own take on him just comforting the reader and making sure they get through it <3”

Word count: 3.7k 

Warnings: Blood & injury mention, tornado, hurt / comfort

A/N: thank you so so much for the kind words :((( absolutely loving these requests & all of the comments / replies to my recent tyler fics. please keep them coming!!

 “You could’ve stayed home if you didn’t want to come,” you said to Tyler frustratedly. 

“It’s not that I didn’t want to come,” he replied, trailing behind you as you ventured into another store. “I just didn’t realize that picking up a birthday gift was going to entail being at the mall ‘til sun down.”

“I told you I didn’t have anything picked out and that I’d probably have to look around–” you reminded him, stopping in your tracks so that you could turn to face him. 

Tyler put his hands up in surrender. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’ll shut up.”

As soon as he backed down, your gaze immediately softened. “Well I don’t want you to be miserable,” you said as you crossed your arms. 

The corner of Tyler’s lip tugged upward in a cheeky grin. “Now how could I ever be miserable when I’m spendin’ time with you?” 

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that crept across your face. “Yeah, whatever,” you said with a smirk. “Why don’t you head to the food court? Once I finish up, I’ll come find you.”

He tilted his head to the side, like a puppy looking for permission. “You sure?” 

You nodded, adjusting the bag slung over your shoulder. “Yeah, of course. Just, don’t get ice cream without me,” you warned.

Tyler took a step forward so that you were now only inches apart. You felt his hand rest on the small of your back before he pulled you closer and leaned forward. The second that you felt his lips press against yours in a soft, gentle kiss, all of the annoyance and frustration you’d previously felt melted away in the blink of an eye. Even though you and Tyler had been together for nearly two years now, he still had that kind of effect on you. 

When he stepped away, a smile lingered on his lips. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured you. 

You kept your eyes trained on the back of his head as he made his way from the store, because the truth was– even when he pissed you off, you loved him more than you’d ever loved anything. 

Only when he was out of sight did you finally turn and resume your search. As much as you loved spending time with Tyler, you had to admit it was easier to shop around without him constantly moaning and groaning the entire time. 

You settled into the silence, taking your time as you made your way through the store. After inspecting all of the assorted knick knacks and smelling nearly every candle in the place, you finally settled on a necklace for your mom’s upcoming birthday. 

Once you’d paid, you tucked the jewelry box inside your bag and began making your way out of the store, planning to head straight for the food court to find Tyler. 

Except the second you stepped out of the store, you nearly jumped out of your skin at the loud sound of cracking thunder above. It was close– enough so the building trembled. You watched as other shoppers stopped in their tracks too. 

And then, to your absolute dismay, you heard the emergency alert systems on everyone’s phones start going off in unison. 

You pulled yours out of your pocket and read the message flashing across your screen. 

National Weather Service: TORNADO WARNING in this area until 8:30 PM CDT. Take shelter now in a basement or an interior room on the lowest floor of a sturdy building. If you are outdoors, in a mobile home, or in a vehicle, move to the closest substantial shelter and protect yourself from flying debris. Check media for more information. 

You swallowed thickly before glancing up from your phone. Gradually, others began doing the same. Then, as soon as everyone had read the warning and realized what was going on, panic ensued. 

People began running in all directions– pushing others aside and rushing towards exits. You tried your best to remain calm, but you couldn’t ignore the fear spreading through you. 

Instantly, your eyes began scanning the crowd as you instinctively began looking for Tyler.  

He’ll come for you, you thought. Tyler will come. 

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t meet him halfway. You tried to keep close to the wall to prevent being crushed in the crowd– unfortunately for you though, other people had the same idea. As hard as you tried to keep to the side, soon, you were sucked right into the mass of people. The only thing you could do was move with them and try desperately to stay on your feet as everyone pushed and shoved their way around you. 

Eventually, you dared to careen your neck up and scan for him. At first, all you saw was chaos– but people all seemed to be moving in the same direction now. You watched as parents picked up their children and spouses grabbed each other’s hands. Employees ran out of stores and customers dropped bags. 

It took a few minutes, but eventually, you spotted a familiar tuft of sandy brown hair– the only person in eyesight moving against the crowd.

“Tyler!” you screamed. 

He reacted to your voice, his head turning in the direction he thought it was coming from. 

“Tyler!” you yelled again. 

This time, his eyes landed right on yours. 

But before you could even sigh the breath of relief that was sitting in your chest, you felt something, or rather someone jab into your side. The force was enough to make you stumble on your feet and fall to the ground with a thud. People continued rushing by– feet stepping on you, knees colliding into your back. At one point, you tried to place your hand on the floor to give yourself enough leverage to stand up, but as soon as you did, a white converse stomped right on your fingers, causing you to hiss out in pain. 

Panic began creeping up your throat– making it harder to breathe, let alone think of a plan. A dark cloud began clouding your vision, numbing your senses to what was happening around you. Until suddenly, you heard your name being called. The sound broke through the haze. Before you could react, you felt two hands sliding underneath your armpits from behind. And suddenly, you were being hoisted up from the ground. 

“I got you,” Tyler’s voice said in your ear. You didn’t even get a chance to turn and look at him before he was pushing you forward. “We gotta move.” 

Thankfully, his grip under your arms never faltered, otherwise you were sure you wouldn’t have been able to keep up. But eventually, Tyler pushed you towards the outer edge of the busy mall hallway. Once you were no longer in danger of being flattened by the crowd, he spun you around– hands clutching your shoulders tightly while he blocked the remaining traffic from reaching you. 

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. At least you didn’t think you were… But when you glanced down at yourself, you quickly realized why Tyler even asked. Your button down shirt was ripped– presumably from being grabbed, and the tank top beneath it had a few spots of blood splattered across the fabric. You weren’t even sure where it came from. 

“We gotta go,” Tyler said urgently.  

“The shelter–” you began, but Tyler shook his head. 

“Everyone’s heading that way, it’ll be full by now. Plus, we don’t have time– I looked outside and… it’s close.”

“What do we do?” you asked, voice trembling with fear. 

Tyler let his arms fall from your shoulders and instead grabbed onto one of your hands. He gave it a reassuring squeeze before nodding in the opposite direction of where everyone else was running. 

“The stairwell,” he said. 

You nodded shakily. “Okay.”

With that, Tyler was off– weaving his way in and out of the crowd. Luckily, it had thinned out dramatically– most people heading towards the parking lot or the storm shelter on the other side of the mall. Once you broke away from the thickest part of the crowd, Tyler’s grip loosened slightly on your hand. 

“C’mon,” he urged, leading you around the corner. At the very end of the hallway was the door that led to the stairwell. 

But you only made it a few feet down the hallway before you felt the floor shake beneath your feet. Only moments after, there was a loud bang just as a chunk of the roof was being ripped off the building. 

“Tyler–” you yelled. 

“Keep going,” he pleaded. 

With part of the roof separated, you could hear the winds whipping outside more clearly. The sound was deafening, like a freight train barrelling right for you. 

But even above the raging winds– you heard the cries of someone nearby. You looked to your left to see a mother and her child huddled underneath a display booth. 

“Tyler,” you said again, tugging on his arm. 

He slowed down, turning towards where your eyes were fixated. He hesitated, clearly conflicted on what to do. 

“We have to help them,” you said. 

His eyes scanned yours desperately before he nodded. “Wait here,” he said, releasing your hand. 

You watched as Tyler crossed the hall– trying to avoid the debris now falling from the roof. He called something out to the woman, but you couldn’t hear above the sound of the wind. It was enough to catch her attention though, because soon she was passing her son to Tyler. The poor boy couldn’t have been older than five or six. Tyler pulled him to his side with ease before reaching his other arm out and helping the mother up from underneath the table. 

Once she was on her feet, Tyler passed her back her son and pointed towards where you stood against the wall. She tucked her son’s head against her chest and began hurrying forward– Tyler at her heels as they fought against the increasing winds. 

“Take my hand,” you yelled. With the arm she wasn’t using to support her son, she reached for you. 

You grasped onto her and helped pull her against the wall. 

“Go to the stairwell,” you explained. “Get underneath them, as low as you can.”

She nodded, unshed tears glistening in her eyes before she began heading down the hall. 

Just then, you heard a deafening crack. You turned to see another piece of the roof being pulled off– causing large chunks of debris to begin falling. 

“Get down!” you heard Tyler holler. Using your arm, you shielded your head the best you could and shrank to the floor as the largest piece fell. A cloud of dust enveloped you as soon as it landed and you felt small pieces of debris bouncing against your skin– After a brief moment, you dared to look up. 

But Tyler was no longer standing in front of you. 

“Tyler!” you screamed. Without thinking, you moved forward, trying your best to stay low. But despite your best efforts, you were still caught off guard by the piece of metal that blew past your head, slicing open your skin– “Fuck!” you yelled, grabbing at your temple. When you pulled your hand away, your fingers were coated in a thick, crimson liquid. 

“Tyler!” you yelled again, voice growing increasingly frantic. 

“I’m here–” you heard him yell back, causing your shoulders to deflate slightly. As you crawled around the largest pile of debris, you saw him on the ground, moving a chunk of roofing off his foot. His eyes met yours, a flash of concern crossing his face when he saw your head. “You gotta get to the stairs–”

“No, no, no. Not without you,” you shook your head, continuing to move towards him as you felt the blood trickle down the side of your face. 

“The storm’s here– you gotta go. You gotta take cover,” he pleaded. 

“I’m not leaving you–” you cried, unable to control the tears burning behind your eyes. As they fell down your cheek, they mixed with the blood from your temple. Once you were crouched beside him, you used what little strength you had left to Tyler’s hand and pull him from the small pile of rubble. 

When you looked at the short distance between yourselves and the staircase door– you were surprised to see the woman, propping it open with her body and waving towards the two of you to hurry up. 

“Move–” Tyler encouraged, pushing you against the wind. “Go, go, go–”

You army-crawled forward, wincing as more debris nicked your skin. But finally– you reached the door. Tyler moved his hand to your waist and guided you towards the staircase. 

The woman reached for her son, who was crouched low in the corner. Meanwhile, Tyler moved you towards one of the railings. 

“Hold on to this–” he instructed. You wound your arms around the fixture.

"Don't go–" you begged.

But immediately after, you felt the warmth from his body wrap around you. You looked up and saw Tyler shielding your body with his own– his hands gripping the part of the railing just above yours.

“I got you,” he promised. “We’re gonna be okay, I got you,” he repeated. But soon his voice was swept away by the sound of the storm. 

The winds grew even louder as the tornado moved closer– the noise of various chunks of debris slamming into the ground around you made you shake. You squeezed your eyes shut– hoping and praying to whatever God might be out there that Tyler was right and you’d both be okay…

You weren’t sure how long the storm raged on. It felt like hours, although you knew that couldn't be right. Eventually though, the winds died down. In their absence, you could hear the sound of the woman comforting her son, along with Tyler’s labored breathing above you. 

With a shaky hand, you reached behind you– like you didn’t quite trust that he was still there. You felt the fabric of his jeans beneath your palm and sighed out the choppy breath that had been lodged in your throat. 

“Tyler,” you heaved pathetically, voice cracking. 

“I’m here,” he gasped, voice equally shaky as he gasped for air. “I got you.”

Nodding, you brushed your hair from your sweaty face and felt Tyler shift. Following his lead, you turned towards him. As soon as your eyes landed on him– hunched over and breathing like he’d just run five miles, you let out a choked sob. 

“Are you okay?” he panted.

“Tyler–” was all you could manage to blurt out. 

A calloused hand cupped your face– thumb trailing along your hairline. You winced when his thumb passed over a sensitive spot on your head from where you’d been hit earlier. “You’re okay,” he soothed. “We’ll get it checked out.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch as you desperately craved comfort from him. Seemingly picking up on your need, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and tugged you into his chest. “We’re okay,” he repeated, hand moving to cup the back of your neck. You let your eyes fall shut– inhaling the scent of his T-shirt. Even though he was coated in sweat and dust, he still smelled so comforting and familiar. 

He planted a kiss on top of your head before panting, “We gotta get out of here.”

You nodded, and forced yourself to pull away from him. Tyler helped you to your feet, eyes studying to make sure you were steady before he turned towards the woman. 

“You guys okay?” he asked. 

She nodded, clutching tightly to her son, who was still in her arms. 

“Alright, c’mon– be careful where you step,” he said, helping them out from the staircase. Tyler led them past you and into the hall before coming back for you. 

You desperately tried to steady your shaking legs. You were wobbly on your feet, but with Tyler’s help, you managed to maneuver your way out from underneath the staircase. 

As soon as you were back in the hall, your breath caught in your throat at the sight. The entire mall was destroyed– the roof had caved in, creating mounds of rubble everywhere you looked. There was dust all over– and no one else in sight. 

“Tyler–” you croaked again. His name seemed to be the only words you were able to form in your shock. 

“C’mon,” he urged gently, pulling you along. 

You let him lead the way, eyes scanning the debris hopelessly. You stopped in your tracks the moment you saw the first body– it was a woman, probably in her late twenties, just like you. She had a mound of tile stacked on top of her and a trail of blood soaking through her yellow sweater. Her eyes were still open– like they were frozen in fear. 

“Don’t look,” Tyler’s voice cut through the fog. 

He put his body between you and her and placed his hands on both sides of your face, forcing your gaze to meet his. 

“Sh– she’s dead,” you trembled. 

Tyler nodded solemnly. “I know,” he nodded. “Don’t look, okay? Just keep your eyes on me.”

Tyler wound his arm around your shoulders and tugged you into his side. With his fingers digging into the fleshy part of your hip, he led you forward, bearing the majority of your weight. Eventually, he managed to lead you all out of the rubble of the mall. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Tyler turned and asked the woman again. She nodded before thanking him and heading off in the direction of an ambulance. 

Tyler seemed to have something similar in mind. 

“I want to go home,” you insisted. 

But Tyler shook his head. “You need to get your head checked out first.”

“Tyler, please–” you whimpered. 

He glanced down at you– seemingly noticing the way your voice cracked. His face softened the moment he saw the tears sliding down your cheeks. 

“Hey–” he said gently. “Baby, you’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“I just want to go home,” you repeated. 

“I know, baby. I know,” he soothed. “But your head– I really want them to take a look. Then we can go home.” 

You sunk your teeth into your lower lip. After a moment, you nodded defeatedly and let Tyler lead you the rest of the way to one of the many ambulances parked near what was left of the mall. 

The paramedic who got to you first was a middle aged man with a kind smile. He told you how brave you were as he shined a flashlight in your eyes, checking your pupils. 

When he moved to the wound on your temple, now coating your entire hairline in gooey blood, you grimaced. 

“This is gonna need a few stitches,” he said after inspecting it. 

Tyler sat beside you and let you squeeze his hand as tightly as you needed while the paramedic stitched you up. He applied a local anesthetic but you felt every second of the needle threading through your skin. 

You held onto Tyler like your life depended on it, trying to allow his words of affirmation and comfort to consume you. 

“Almost done,” the paramedic said before clipping the remainder of the thread. He placed a clean bandage on the side of your head and offered you a soft smile. “You did great,” he told you. 

Although you were feeling detached from just about everything right now, you nodded in response before letting Tyler pull you to your feet. 

“Think you can walk?” he asked. 

You nodded again, although you didn’t entirely hear him. 

“The parking garage collapsed– but Boone’s on his way. He’s gonna give us a ride home.”

“Okay,” you mumbled softly, letting yourself melt into Tyler’s side again. 

The road where you met Boone was a short walk, and you were thankfully starting to get feeling back in your legs. But even still, you let Tyler support the majority of your weight as he guided you towards Boone’s familiar, beat up truck. Tyler held open the door and helped you climb inside.

“Christ–” Boone said, turning in the driver’s seat to get a good look at you. 

“She’s okay,” Tyler answered, sliding into the backseat beside you. Although he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Boone. 

“How the hell did you guys make it through that?” Boone asked as he surveyed the destruction around you. You forced yourself not to look. Instead, you rested your head against Tyler’s shoulder. “The blockade guy told me the entire storm shelter collapsed. I guess too many people crammed inside, so they couldn’t shut the door good.”

You swallowed thickly. If you hadn’t found Tyler, the storm shelter was going to be your plan B– 

“We hid under the staircase,” he said as Boone began down the road. “Had Dexter been tracking anythin’ out this way?” 

The two proceeded to talk about the sudden impact of the storm and whatever else tornado chasers cared about. Meanwhile, Tyler’s thumb trailed up and down your bare arm soothingly, allowing you to tune it all out. 

When Boone pulled down your dirt driveway and put his car in park fifteen minutes later, he turned to face you. “I’m real glad you’re okay.”

You offered him a weak smile. “Me too.”

After thanking his friend, Tyler helped you out of the car and towards the house, his hand never leaving your waist until you were inside. 

“Couch or bed?” he asked, shutting the front door behind him. 

“Couch,” you murmured. The bed meant stairs, which you weren’t sure you were ready for quite yet. 

“You got it,” he said. 

Gently, Tyler helped lower you to the couch, where you curled up against the corduroy fabric and sighed. 

But your eyes snapped open quickly as soon as you realized that Tyler wasn’t laying down with you. 

“Where are you going?” you asked, trying (and failing) to mask the panic in your voice. You shifted and sat up, a sudden wave of pain hit your head, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. You tried your best to mask it and force your eyes back open. It felt pathetic, but you didn’t really want Tyler out of your sight right now. 

He turned around instantly. “I was just gonna get you some water and an ice pack, baby. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” you said uneasily. Your eyes remained trained on him the entire time he maneuvered around the kitchen. You could tell he noticed, too. His eyes kept flickering up to check on you. 

He was back in less than a minute– but still you sighed a breath of relief. He set the glass of water down on the side table before taking a seat on the other end of the couch. 

He handed you the ice pack and watched sadly as you placed it on your temple with a wince. 

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Will you– will you lay down with me?” you asked him. 

Tyler nodded. “Of course, baby.” He opened his arms, making a spot for you to lay between his legs. With your back resting against his chest, Tyler wound one arm around your middle and used the other to hold the ice pack against your head for you. 

Using what little strength you had, you gripped his forearm. “Just... please don’t go,” you begged. 

Tyler pressed his lips on the top of your head. “I won’t– I’m right here,” he assured you. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

You exhaled a sigh of relief and laid your head back against his chest, finally feeling content.  

After a while, you were finally able to drift off in his embrace. Your body ached and your head throbbed, but everything felt more bearable when you were in Tyler’s arms.

[monzabee]

the smallest man who ever lived - cl16

masterlist || part 2 || part 3 ||

Summary: The one where you’re thrown into a conundrum when you learn the news of your husband, Charles’, infidelity.

Pairing: charles leclerc x wife!reader; carlos sainz x reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: angst, cheating, crying, manipulation(?), charles is an absolute asshole (but so is the reader) (but she’s kinda also badass?) (toxic relationship?), even more assholish carlos (gasp), blackmail, mention of pregnancy, mention of sex and sexual acts, physical confrontation (literally just pushing someone off but still)

Request: “Hey girl can I request something angsty with Charles? Maybe Charles cheating on Y/N (we’re already famous and have been married to Charles for years) and the fighting, the finding out, his guilt, angst, etc.”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! thank you to the anon who requested this because i had the time of my life working on it, and it might be the first fic i wrote in one go for the last six months or so!! also thank you to the getting cheated on playlists i found on spotify and amy dunne for giving me the inspiration to make the reader as toxic as i could. special thanks to @norrisleclercf1 and @percervall who had to listen to me talk about this fic NONSTOP. this is definitely something very different to what i usually write, but i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

There are moments in life where you feel like a complete and utter idiot. Although it could be for no apparent reason at all, there is a perfectly explainable reason why you feel like that right now, in the middle of your trailer on the set, with your manager and publicist both looking at you like you could explode at any given moment. It took you a good amount of time to wrap your head around the news, the news that wrecked you into a million of pieces which left you as the only person who can put them back together.  

“Let me get this straight,” you start, still trying to wrap your head around the news, “they were photographed leaving the club, and there’s a–?” 

“Sex tape, yes.” Your manager mumbles, earning himself a side-eye from your publicist. “It was so kindly attached to the email.”  

“And it is anonymous?” You ask, earning curt nods from both. “Well,” you manage to get out, pressing your lips together not to let out a sob, or a laugh, both? “That is very ambitious of him.” 

Your publicist shares a concerned look with your manager, then turns to you, “I guess so? How would you want us to handle this? I can buy us some time until these are released to public, but I think getting a statement ready just in case is essential given the fact that both of you are public figues. We can say that you’ll attend marriage councelling–” 

Your loud laugter cuts her off in the middle of her sentence. “And just why would we do that?” 

“I–” She gives you another concerned look as she softens her voice, which is quite uncharacteristic for her, you realise. “How would you want us to approach it then?” 

“I don’t want you to approach it at all.” You voice cuts through the tension, your gaze fixed on her. “I’ll handle it.”  

“But Charles–” She tries to reason, but you cut her off again.  

“Decided to get his dick wet where it certainly didn’t belong, he’s a big boy – he’ll survive.” Fixing her with a final look, you turn to your manager instead. “I don’t want this going to Charles or his team’s ears, that’s what the email said, and we should honour it, no?”  

His expression turns into a smirk, matching the one playing on your lips as he nods in thougt, “Would you like us to do anything else? We can talk with the production if you need a couple of days to… well, recuperate. Greta would understand.” 

“No.” Your answer is final as you shake your head. “She thinks this is an Oscar worthy project, I’m not throwing it away because my husband decided to think with his dick and not his brain. Just call my lawyers and tell them to be on stand by.” 

“Should I also book you tickets to Monaco still?” He asks in a monotone tone. 

“Well of course,” you reply in a sweet voice, widening your eyes for dramatic effect, “it’s a family event.” 

Your publicist eyes the both of you, “Okay,” as she drags the word out, “are you sure you don’t want to take a couple of days off?” 

“Positive. I have an EGOT to win.” Raising the script you have in your hands in the air, you announce, “I have lines I need to go over, is that all?”  

And as they leave your trailer to give you some space to ‘go over your lines’, you let a few tears escape your eyes, promising yourself that you would make Charles feel a thousand worse what he made you feel in the moment. 

It is not surprising or a sudden revelation that Monte Carlo has good weather all year around. But as it happens with the last few weeks following you learning about your husband’s infidelity, all you feel is cold – and no amount of warm weather is enough to make your heart feel warmer again. As you stand at the terrace of Café de Paris, overlooking the cityscape of Monte Carlo, all you can think about is how you just want to get this part of you plan over with as fast as possible.  

“Chérie!” The voice you hear makes a lump perpetually situate itself in the middle of your throat, but you brace yourself for the worst as you turn on your heels to face the person you’re most scared of facing in this whole situation. “Look at you, you look incroyable! You had me scared when you told me you were catching the redeye, and that we just had to talk!” 

“Pascale,” you breathe out as the woman pulls you into her arms with the warmness of any mother would do, and for that brief moment, you feel better than you have in weeks. “It’s so nice to see you again,” giving her the warmest smile you can muster up in the circumstances as you pull back, fixing your gaze at the figure behind her as you nod your head in acknowledgement, “Arthur.” 

“Maman is right,” Arthur says as he opens his arms, “you do look good.”  

“Well, thank you.” You reply as you give him a quick hug, and motion the table as you pull back. “Shall we?” Call it common curtesy, or cowardice, the fact that you don’t directly get to the point. Either way, you talk about what you’ve missed in the couple of months in which you’ve been away filming. You’re not necessarily paying attention, though the endtail of Pascale’s sentence catch your attention. “Excuse me, can you repeat that?” 

“Well, I was just telling how sad I was that Charles doesn’t come home as often this season. Though I understand he’s coming out to see you on set, distance can be so hard even for–” 

“He’s not coming out to see me, Pascale.” You voice is softer, and appears more broken than you would want it to be, but your words convey the message enough. It takes you a couple of moments to organise your thoughts, and Arthur calling out your name, to get you back into the moment. “There’s something I need to talk with the both of you, something I’ve already talked with Lorenzo, but I thought it would be better for you to hear it from me.”  

“Okay?” Arthur mumbles, then gives you a supportive smile, “You can tell us anything. Though don’t tell me I’m about to be an uncle because I don’t think my ego can take it at the–” 

You attempt to swallow the lump in your throat as you direct your words to the woman sitting across from you. “I’m divorcing your son, and I thought you should hear it from me and not him.”  

It takes a few minutes for both Pascale and Arthur to say something, and it concerns you that you somehow managed to give your mother in law a brain aneurism, but eventually, she manages to get out, “What? How? Why? Are you okay?”  

“I’m… fine.” You reply, albeit it comes off calculated. “I found a couple of weeks ago that he was cheating on me, I’ve came back to give him the papers myself.”  

“He what?” Arthur exclaims, then realises the level of his voice, and lowers it down as he asks, “Are you sure this is not a misunderstanding? The guy has been in love with you for over a decade, he wouldn’t do this.” With a resigning sigh, you find what you’re looking for in your phone and hand it over to Arthur. Who then, upon seeing what you have pulled up, immediately hands it back to you and turns to his mother, “Trust me you don’t want to see it.” 

“I’ve came to tell you the news, and well, to apologise.” You turn to face Pascale again.  

“Apologise?” She repeats, “Why on earth would you apologise to me when my son cheated on you?” 

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me ever since we’ve met, both of you.” You acknowledge Arthur with a look, and then focus your attention back on the woman, “Though I will make sure you don’t get caught in the crossfire in any way, I wanted to apologise for what I’m about to put your son through.”  

You honestly don’t know how you manage to act as if everything has been going fine in your life during race day. Given the fact that your husband doesn’t expect you to be at his race due to your rigorous filming schedule, and his family members being willing to hide your existence from him, you have no obstacles in your way to carry out the rest of your plan in motion. Which is exactly why you’re sat in the dark, waiting for your husband to walk through the doors of your apartment overlooking the city. With you seemingly being absent for the weekend, he has no reason to not believe that he is coming to an empty house.  

So, imagine his surprise when he enters his home; with his girlfriend in his arm, no less, and sees his wife sitting on the couch with her legs crossed and a drink in her hand. The look on his face is priceless, and despite all the pain and frustration you’re feeling, it manages to bring you some semblance of joy, knowing that it’s going to hurt him just as much as it hurt you.  

“Ma chérie,” Charles stammers, eye wide as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights, “I – I didn’t know y–you were coming back this weekend.” 

“Well obviously,” you scoff, taking a generous sip from the drink in the glass tumbler in your hand, “otherwise you wouldn’t bring your little girlfriend into my house to fuck her.” You hear a gasp from the scaredy brunette wedging herself closer to your husband’s side, and for the first time you take a good look at her – young, much younger than you, tall, leggy; all the telltale signs that she is exactly your husband’s type. Tilting your head to the side, you rest the glass on the arm of the armchair you’re sitting in, “If you could leave now, I would greatly appreciate it.”  

You hear Charles whisper something in her ear, probably telling her to leave and that he’ll contact her tomorrow, and watch as she gives him a scowl, screeching, “You’re just going to let her throw me out?” 

“Well, considering the fact that this is my house, yes.” You give her a look of pity, watching her face light up with anger.  

“Listen to me, you bitch–” She starts, but your husband quickly cuts her off.  

“Mon cœur!” He exclaims, “S'il te plaît!” 

“Yes, listen to him, like a good little girl,” you egg her on, a smirk widening on your lips as you start swinging the leg resting on your lower one, choosing to focus on your nails instead of your husband trying to soothe his lover. 

You hear her scoff, take a few steps as her heels click on the marble floor of the entrance, “I wouldn’t be so calm if I were you, I’m not someone you want to be on bad terms with, considering the fact that he’s going to leave you for me!” 

“Oh, honey,” you coo, focusing your attention back on her and seeing the look of concern in your husband’s face through the corner of your eye, “and when did he tell you that, like a year ago? Two? Three?” A realisation dawns on her face as the smug expression starts to fade. “Don’t worry, though, you can have him when I’m done with him.” Pushing yourself off the armchair, you down the rest of the drink in the glass before slamming it down onto the glass coffee table. “And not only do I not care if you think I'm a bitch, but I hugely prefer it. Now get the fuck out of my house before I call security and get your ass thrown out.”  

You watch as she looks at Charles with indignation, lets out another screeching sound and slams the door behind her as she stomps out of your apartment. Only then you turn your gaze back to your husband, who has the guts to look at you with a worried look on his face. “How long have you known?” Is the first thing he asks you, taking a few steps closer.  

“A couple of weeks, a month, maybe?” You answer him, leaving your place to get to the small bar in the corner of your living room to get another refill of your drink. “There’s a video of the two, it somehow got into my hands, and it has very graphic details of the two of you having sex.” Popping a lemon into your cup, you make your way back to the armchair and sit down, “Are you stupid enough to cheat on me and make a fucking sex tape, Charles?” 

“I-I didn’t mean to–” He tries to plead, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.  

“You didn’t mean to what?” You ask him; your voice soothing, almost understanding, and it does the job of fooling him. “Cheat on me? Fuck another woman in my bed? Break the vows you’ve made?”  

“Ma chérie,” he whispers, “please.” 

“No.” Your voice is colder all of a sudden. “Tell me how long this has been going on for. Was I right? How many years?” 

“It started five years ago,” his voice is soft, somber and he tries to appear as genuine as he can in the situation, you suppose, “but I knew her, from before...” 

“Before what?” You’re seething now, the complete opposite of his calmness, “Did you fucking cheat me when we were dating, Charles?” 

“Ma chérie,” he gives you another pleading look, “please, I can change. I’ll go to therapy.”  

Now that, manages to get a bark of laughter from you. It’s ripped from the back of your throat, making you throw your head back as you lose yourself in the laughter to the point that there are tears in your eyes when you finally manage to calm yourself down. Putting the glass down on the coffee table once again, you wipe them off, mindful of your mascara, as you shift your attention back onto your husband. “Are fucking kidding me right now?” He gives you a concerned look, hands on his hips as he opens his mouth to answer you, but you quickly shut him down again. “You were bringing her into my house to fuck her, I caught you, I have your fucking sex tape – which is going to be streamlined for the world to see within twenty-four hours, do you honestly think I would go back to you?”  

“Wait, what?” He exclaims, looking at you with wide eyes and a shocked expression. “What do you mean they are going to streamline it, why didn’t you go to the lawyers? 

“I did go to the lawyers,” you shrug, innocently, “my lawyers,” you point out. “Why would I cover up your mistakes after everything you’ve done?” 

“Because I’m your fucking husband!” He barks, his arms widening to his sides as he finally loses his mask and his composure.  

His little tantrum only makes you let out another laugh, “Now, you’re my husband? Not when you’re cheating on me when I’m away shooting, but when you need me to clean up after your mistakes?” 

“How did you even get the video?” He asks, eyes narrowing down, “Who- who– who?” 

“Who? Who? Hoo? What are you, a fucking owl?” You exclaim, this time raising your voice. “You’re honestly more concerned about where I got it and not about the fact that the entire world is about to see you fucking someone other than your wife?” 

“What are we doing to do?” He asks, “Fuck, I have a race tomorrow.” 

“We’re not going to do anything.” You shrug, leaning forward to grab the glass and take another sip, “Or scratch that, we’re actually going to do something.” You stand up from the armchair, walk towards the table and hand him the file. “Congratulations, we’re getting a divorce.” 

“That is not happening.” He scoffs, not even bothering to look at the papers.  

“I don’t think you’re in the position to bargain with me, Charles.” You seethe, “You’re going to sign the damn papers, and you’re also going to sign away your rights to the baby.”  

“What the–?” He looks at you in disbelief, “You’re pregnant?” 

“Congratulations, it’s a boy.” You bite out, “Like you wanted.” 

“You’ve been drinking the entire night.” He points to the glass, “Do you expect me to believe you’re pregnant?” 

Offering him a sweet smile you hand him the glass, tipping it towards him, “It’s soda water, would you like a sip?” 

“Don’t make me do this,” he pleads, “give me another chance.” 

“I would’ve, if you were honest with me from the start.” You resign, a sincere look in your eyes. “I’ll give you a choice: us, or her.”  

He rears back with the offer, looking at you in disbelief. “What?” 

“You either choose me and the baby or you choose to be with her, and in that case, I will never let you near my baby, Charles.” You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach protectively.  

For a second, his eyes linger around your stomach.   But you know his choice when he meets your eyes again.  

“What have we done to each other?” He whispers, and you can barely see the tears in his eyes.  

“We didn’t do anything, Charles. I gave up everything for you, but you just took me for granted.” Walking back to the dining table, you grab your coat and bag, and when you come face to face with him again, your voice is soft despite all the anger you still feel towards him. “You, Charles Leclerc, are truly the smallest man who ever lived.”  

The hotel lobby is calm and empty as you sit at the bar, and it’s surprising when you consider that fact that it is the weekend of the Monaco Grand Prix, meaning that there must be hundreds and thousands of motorsports fans visiting. Not that you’re complaining about the silence, of course. After the night you’ve had, silence and calmness are all you could ask for.  

“I’ll get a whiskey, please, whatever top shelf stuff you’ve got.” A voice cuts through the moment you are having, and you instantly recognise the distinct accent of the stranger sitting next to you. “Thought you were in the States, finishing off filming.” This time, the comment is directed to you, and you roll your eyes as you push the empty glass towards the bartender on duty.  

With a sigh, you turn to the man on your right, “What do you want, Carlos?” Your voice conveys your lack of energy, and Carlos is not dumb enough not to notice the dark circles under your eyes beneath your makeup.  

“I came to check on you.” Is his answer. Simple, curt and to the point. You’d certainly appreciate it more if you had the patience for his antics.  

“Well, you did, have a good night.” Slamming down a hundred-Euro bill onto the counter, you make a move to get up from your place, but a gentle hand on your wrist stops you. “Let me go.”  

Though there is no venom to your voice, Carlos knows that it is not the time, nor the place, to test your patience. “I’m sorry,” he starts and when you take a good look at him, you can tell that he’s being sincere, “I really did want to check up on you, and considering the fact that you have a perfectly good penthouse but instead in a hotel, I think I was right to do so.”  

Crossing your arms across your chest as you get back onto the barstool with a huff, you glare at him lightheartedly, “I didn’t want to stay in the same house as him,” raising your eyebrows, you continue with a lower voice, “thanks to chilisade5594@gmail.com, but I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.” The way his cheeks redden under the dim lights of the lobby bar would make you chuckle under normal circumstances, but you push the thought aside, “Honestly, what were you thinking? You’re lucky it was me who realised it was you, if it was my agent or publicist, we’d have another scandal to deal with.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he brushes you off with a swat of his hand, “I’m sorry I put you into that position.” 

“Don’t be,” you mumble, tilting your head to the side, “I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t sent me the video. Just tell me why you did it.” 

“What?” He turns you with a confused look on his face.  

“Why, Carlos?” You ask, voice encouraging yet soft, “Why did you send it? Why now?” 

He keeps quiet for a while, not answering your questions but not taking his gaze off you either. Eventually, he exhales a deep sigh as he gives you a sheepish shrug, “I didn’t like the way he treated you. And I didn’t want to make you worry about it without concrete proof, so I guess everything just... worked out.”  

“Huh,” you let out a small hum in agreement, “I guess you’re right.”  

Expecting more than the words you chose to answer him with, he raises an eyebrow as he takes a big gulp of whiskey from his glass. “That’s it?” 

“Well, what more is it there to say?” You ask, sheepishly shrugging. “We’re getting a divorce; he’s going to move out and I’m gonna make sure the entire world knows just why.” 

Carlos flags down the bartender as he mumbles, “I feel like you need a stronger drink if we’re going to talk about your impending divorce, cariño.” 

Taking a deep breath and exhaling an even deeper sigh, you shake your head. “I can’t.” Thank God Carlos is one of the people who is the proud owner of a braincell around you, because he catches your insinuation quickly.  

With widened eyes, he quickly turns towards you, eyes softening as you offer him a sad smile. “Dios mío,” he murmurs, eyes running over you worriedly, “are you okay?” 

“Well... no.” You let out an unexpected laugh at his expression, patting him on the shoulder lightheartedly. “I’ll be fine, Carlos, I’m a big girl. I can handle this.” 

“I know you will,” he assures you, “but does Charles know?” 

Now that manages to bring a grimace to your face. “He signed his parental rights away along with the divorce papers.” The look he gives you after hearing your words has you worried that his eyes are going to pop out of their sockets, but you try to calm him down as best as you can. “Carlos, it’s fine.” 

“It’s most certainly not!” He exclaims, his voice echoing in the almost empty hotel lobby. “Is he out of his mind?”  

You give him an awkward smile and another shrug of your shoulders. "I... feel like whatever I’m going to say is going to be wrong. So... yes?”

“Cariño,” he says, exasperated, “how are you so normal about this?” 

“Lots of women raise their kids as single mothers while working, Carlos.” Your expression quickly taking the form of a frown, “I can handle this, I don’t need Charles or anyone else to hold my hand and tell me I’m doing such a good job.” 

“I know you can do this alone, tonta,” he rolls his eyes as the endearment making you roll your eyes, “but you’re not going to be alone. Because I’m here.” There’s a certain finality to his words. And just as you’re about to object to his words, he quickly shuts you down. “I know you can do this on your own, but you don’t have to, okay? I’m going to be with you every step of the way.”  

“What if I need waffles in the middle of the night?” You ask, your eyebrow raised in a skeptical way.  

“I’ll adjust my pancake recipe.” His reply his immediate, and he shrugs lightly as he adds, “Pancakes are better, anyway.”  

Rolling your eyes you continue, “What if I need someone to hold my hand in the delivery room? It can get quite gruesome, you know?” 

He provides you with another nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve never really been affected by it.”  

“Okay, this is ridiculous, Carlos!” You exclaim, pushing yourself off your seat as you turn your body to face him. “I don’t need you to bail me out, I don’t need your help!” 

“I know you don’t,” he nods.  

“I am capable of doing this on my own!” You shriek, and the fact that your face is starting to get progressively redder worries Carlos.  

“I know you are, but–” he tries to reason.  

“No buts! I’m going to be a good mother, okay?” You point an accusatory finger towards him. “I’m going to choose him!” 

The way your voice breaks at the end of your sentence has Carlos instinctively pull you into his arms, which is not that hard given the fact that you are almost the same height as him as you stand in front of the bar stool he’s sitting on, and he doesn’t say a word as you sob into his chest – letting out all the emotion you’ve bottled up over the past few weeks, no less. He doesn’t you offer you empty promises or tries to soothe you with cliché phrases. Instead, he stands still, holding you between his arms as you sob continuously into his chest. Giving the bar tender an awkward smile over your shoulder, he hands him his card to close out your tabs.  

He only starts talking again once you’ve pulled away and trying to wipe the remnants of your tears from under your eyes. “Do you feel better now?” He asks, handing you a napkin.  

“Yeah,” you mumble, sniffing as you play with the corners of the napkin. Then, you flip your eyes toward his, and fix him with a glare. “You are not becoming my kid’s stepdad.” 

“Of course not, cariño,” he assures you, “I’ll be the dad that stepped up instead.” 

You let out a teary chuckle as you slap him lightly on his chest. “I’m serious, Carlos.” 

“So am I.” He replies softly, and you can see the genuine look on his face. “You’re not alone anymore, I’m choosing you.” Tentatively, he presses his hand softly against your stomach as he maintains your gaze. “Both of you.” 

And though the last thing you want is a promise, this one seems like a real one. So, you let yourself believe that he might just keep it up.