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amplifyme · 1 year

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Squirm

The X-Files. MSR. Angst. UST. Implied self-harm. Post-Ep: One Son. Teen and up. WC: 3,333. Read on AO3.

Tagging @today-in-fic

He doesn’t wait for an invitation to come in, just pushes through the open door and past her, coming to a stop in the casement opening between the living room and kitchen.

“Mulder, what are you doing? It’s almost midnight.”

She looks small and fragile in her fuzzy white robe, and his mind conjures up the image of her standing slouched and nearly broken with grief in a hospital hallway in Allentown, Pennsylvania, two years past. Ages ago. Countless missteps ago. But he’d held her in his arms back then, held her up, and she’d held him up, too. He doesn’t know if they can ever get back to that. But he wants to try. He can’t stand any more of this icy détente they’ve uncomfortably settled into.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but we need to talk.”

Her sigh is long and audible. “Mulder, it’s late and I’m on my way to bed. Can it wait?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. You can sleep in.” And he thinks to himself, It needs to happen now, before I lose my courage. Before it gets worse than it already is.

“Okay, fine,” she sighs a second time in defeat, her chin dipping down. “What is it?”

This is his fault; it almost always is. He’s done this to her. Ground her down and made her question everything she thought she knew. Whittled away at her until she exists now as a shadow, an almost unrecognizable sliver of what she was when she first came to him. All because he’s an idiot, because he doesn’t know how to care for delicate things. Because he’s never wanted to, before now.

“I came here to apologize,” he blurts. This is not how he planned it, rehearsing the words on the way over. So many things just leave his mouth without thought of the consequences. “I was wrong.”

“An apology for what?” she asks warily. Her eyes slide across his as she tightens the belt on her robe. It doesn’t escape him that he fucks up often enough that she needs clarification.

“For what I said to you at the Gunmen’s the last time we were there,” he tells her. “Before everything went to shit. What I said about you taking things personally. I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair.”

“Why?” she immediately challenges, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “Why wasn’t it fair? I’d like to know.” He won’t get off easily this time, nor should he. She wants it all laid out in front of them, poked at and prodded, questioned and analyzed, until there’s nothing left to hide behind.

“Because I make everything personal, Scully, everything. And it’s wrong of me to be dismissive when you do the same.” He swallows past the lump lodged firmly in his throat. “I think you’re… there’s a very good chance you were right. I’m not sure anymore that Diana can be trusted. Not like I thought she could.”

“Is your change of heart based on the fact that she crawled back into the woodwork as soon as you failed to show up at El Rico? Where has she landed this time, Mulder? Do you even know?”

No, he doesn’t. Diana hasn’t bothered to return any of his calls; all of them made after he went back to the Gunmen’s and did a deep dive into the information they’d compiled on his former friend and lover. And it’s déjà vu all over again: he’s down in the basement where he belongs, and Diana is just gone.

But that’s not Scully’s problem and he won’t let this train change tracks. So he reminds her, “You were right there with me that night. I wasn’t going anywhere without you.” She opens her mouth, but he raises a hand to stop her. He’s not finished yet. “Regardless. I’m sorry I treated you badly and dismissed your concerns. You don’t deserve that.”

“Well,” she says after an interminable time. “That’s a start, anyway.”

He knows he should be grateful and just keep his mouth shut, but since when has common sense ever triumphed over the wisecracking corner of his brain. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

“Easy, Mulder? Since when is anything ever easy with us?” She clearly has no patience for his misguided attempt at lightening the mood.

“All right. You’re right.” He runs a hand over his face. “Well, then, let’s just get this out in the open, okay? Acknowledge it, discuss it, and move on. What do you say?” He doesn’t have to wait long for a response, although when it comes it isn’t at all what he’s expecting.

“Have you been fucking her?” Her features are as sharp as her words, and he can’t escape the accusation of betrayal in her eyes.

“No!” He’s genuinely shocked that she would even think that. “God, no, Scully! I didn’t… I wouldn’t do that to you.“ He lifts his hands, pleading. “It’s not her I want.” He takes a step toward her, and her spine pulls straight as he hesitantly palms her shoulder and murmurs, “It’s not her I love.”

There. He’s said it. This second time feels less risky than his first, even coming as it does without benefit of opioids. That’s a good sign, right? That’s progress.

They lock eyes for long moments, playing chicken, neither daring to break the silence after his bold declaration. Finally, Scully wheels away and heads into the kitchen, yanking the tea kettle off the stove and filling it from the tap. She methodically goes about fetching mugs and a box of teabags from the cabinet. Mulder takes a few steps into the room, stopping at the table and laying one hand flat against the wood. He studies her from a safe distance and looks up quickly when she turns back to him.

“This is not about love, Mulder,” she announces. “This is about trust and where you choose to place it. It’s about respect.”

“You’re right, it is. And I’m sorry I fell short of that for you.” In for a penny, in for a pound, he thinks. “But this is also about whatever this… thing is… between us. I don’t know what you want from me anymore, Scully, or what you expect. Because you won’t tell me. You have to know whatever it is, it’s yours. It’s always been yours. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to fix it.”

“What do you want to do?” Her movements are jerky as she turns away to add a teabag to each mug.

Despite the emotional ground they’re uneasily treading, and his hyperaware sense of the danger inherent in pushing things with her right now, muscle memory refined over six years causes him to pull out a chair and take a seat. If Scully is making tea for them, then this is where he’s supposed to land: at her table and across from her usual spot. He scrubs his forehead and his tried-and-true method of deflection kicks in again just as the kettle begins to whistle and she yanks it from the stovetop.

“You want the Disney version or the two consenting adults version?”

“This is not a joke, Mulder.”

“No, it most certainly is not. So, answer me this one question, Scully. Do you love me?”

She swings around to face him, steaming mugs in hand, and he briefly wonders if she might launch them at him. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because I want to know. It’s a simple question.”

She doesn’t answer him right away. Instead, she takes the time to set a mug in front of him first, and warily sits down across from him. “It isn’t simple, though, is it?” she finally says. “And it isn’t a question I should have to answer.”

“Why? You think it’s inappropriate of me to ask?”

“No, I think it’s unnecessary. You already know. You’ve known for a very long time; even before I did. But that knowledge didn’t stop you from… Well, you know what it didn’t stop you from doing.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you come here to apologize for your behavior?” Off his nod she says, “Then you already know, don’t you?”

But that’s not what he’s asking. And he knows that she knows it and is doing some deflection of her own. Jesus Christ, how did they manage to get this fucked up? “Are you gonna answer my question or not, Scully?”

“Why is it so important that I- “

“Because it fucking is!” He shoves away from the table and takes to his feet. The only part of Scully that moves are her eyes, tracking him on his way up and holding him there. “Because it would be nice to actually hear it, you know?” He can’t handle the way she’s looking at him, with her eyes all big and dark and bottomless, sucking him down into her depths. He could easily drown there. He turns away and raggedly confesses, “I can’t remember the last time anyone told me they loved me. You have your mom and your brothers and I’m sure you hear it all the time. But I don’t. And you won’t say it.”

He swings around to plead with her as the lead ball in his gut expands and makes it hard to breathe. He’s panting now and can’t seem to stop. His right hand lifts and presses against his chest, over his heart. He’s certain he’s just going to die. Crumple right here on Scully’s immaculately clean kitchen floor. “Sometimes I think I’ve lost my mind and I’m deep in a psychotic break and imagining things that aren’t there. If feels like the walls are closing in on me and there’s no escape. Sometimes I don’t know what’s real or what I should believe. I don’t know what to do.”

“You can start by sitting down.”

“What?” he gasps as she gets up and heads back to the cabinets. This time she pulls out two squat glasses.

“Sit down, Mulder, before you completely fall apart.” So, he does. Because she’s told him to and because she’s right. Usually with this amount of adrenaline pumping through him, he can find some slightly insane way to disperse a little of it. Like jumping off a bridge onto a moving train, for example. Or breaking into a top-secret air base. Or kicking down a door. Or any number of other incredibly stupid things. But he can’t do any of that right now. And he wouldn’t do that to Scully anyway.

“Now breathe,” she says very calmly. “Deep breaths.” Before he realizes what’s happening, she’s back sitting across from him, pouring out two hefty shots of whisky and pushing one of them his way.

“Drink.”

“Scully, I don’t -”

“Shut up and drink it, Mulder.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

“Okay,” he mouths. He screws his eyes shut, tips his head back, and throws it all down his gullet. It burns, god but it burns, all the way across the back of his tongue and down his throat and settles into a glowing ember deep in his belly. He chokes out a cough and forces his eyes open, blinking against the stinging tears gathering there.

“Jesus, Scully, are you trying to kill me?” He looks over just as she takes a delicate sip of her own drink.

“There are three fully loaded weapons in this apartment. If I intended to kill you, I wouldn’t waste this fine Irish whisky on you beforehand.” She reaches and pats his forearm, like she’s soothing a grumpy toddler, and announces, “We have to stop doing this to each other, Mulder.”

He folds both arms on the table and hangs his head, studies his trembling hands, and gives voice to an earlier thought as he wearily shakes his head. “We’re so fucked up.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“No,” he retorts, lifting his eyes and looking over at her. He’s pointing an accusing finger at her that he doesn’t recall cocking. “No, don’t talk like I’m the only one who’s fucked up here.” He is suddenly aware that his tongue is fuzzy and feels larger in his mouth than it should. He always has been a cheap drunk. “You’re just as fucked up as me, Scully.”

He reaches for the bottle and splashes another, narrower shot into his glass. He downs this one without preparation or build up and looks over to find her watching him. Her features mimic the look he usually sees when she’s trying to process one of his more outlandish theories. The one that’s accompanied by a tight little smirk. He wants to kiss that smirk right off her face. More than anything.

“I don’t want to have any more regrets, Scully. I don’t want to lose the chance to love you the way I want to, the way you deserve. Just tell me what I have to do.” He punctuates his request with a third shot. This one doesn’t creep up on him like the first two have. It’s more like one second he’s pretty much okay, but the next he most definitely is not. He hasn’t been this buzzed, this quickly, in a long time. Scully pulls the bottle over to her side of the table and caps it. Probably for the best, he blearily decides.

“When’s the last time you slept, Mulder?”

There she goes again, throwing nonsensical questions at him from right field. He played right field in high school. It takes a good arm. “I dunno. When did we get back from Florida; two days ago? I slept that night,” he answers, and his mouth doesn’t move quite enough to enunciate properly. He blames it on his fat tongue and the whisky. Did she intend to get him drunk? He wouldn’t put it past her. So he asks.

“You tryin’ to get me drunk, Scully? You don’t have to do that if you want to take advantage of me. Despite your protests, I’m actually pretty easy.”

“In that respect, I have no doubt,” she responds smartly. “But I have no intention of taking advantage of you tonight.”

“Ah, come on. You can admit it to me. I won’t tell anybody.”

“My only intent is to put you to bed so we can both get some badly needed sleep.” He can imagine the look he’s presenting her. He felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop open. “Not with you in my bed, Mulder. I’m assuming you drove over?”

“Yeah,” he sheepishly admits.

“Then you have no business driving. The couch is yours tonight. There’s a new toothbrush in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. Feel free to use it. I’ll make up the couch for you.”

That’s it, then? They’re not going to hash this out tonight, once and for all?

“But, Scully,” he begins as she leaves the table and heads for the linen closet in the hallway.

She stops and swings back around to him. Her little fists rest at her hips, knuckles digging into the curvy flesh there. “Yes, Mulder, I do love you. There, now I’ve said it. It might be nice to hear, but it doesn’t solve our problems, does it?”

“Do you mean it?”

“Oh, Mulder, of course I do. I’ll meet you in the living room in five, okay?” And then she disappears around the bend.

He ponders his choices for a few seconds, the best he can, and decides to follow Scully’s lead. After all, he can be a good boy, and easily obedient when he wants to be. So he does as he’s been told for the first time since the last time she ordered him around. He sways in his chair a little and then folds in half and carefully unties his sneakers and toes them off. He heads for the short hallway in the opposite direction of the way she went, and they pass like two ships in the night, Scully’s arms full of bedclothes and a pillow.

He makes it back to the living room in under five, breath minty fresh, face scrubbed clean, bladder emptied. He considered shedding his jeans and tee in the can but decided against it. Bad enough he’s shouldered her with taking care of his drunk and maudlin, half-crazed and anxious self tonight. She shouldn’t have to put up with him in nothing but his boxers and socks on top of that. Somehow his belt has ended up slung around his neck, though, and he fakes hanging himself when Scully glances up at him from bed-making duty, gathering both ends of the leather in a fist and cocking his head to the side, tongue lolling out. He adds sound effects, too, so she’ll get the whole picture.

“Don’t give me any ideas, Mulder.” She punches the pillow for emphasis. He inspects her work and nods approvingly. She’s created a fine little nest for him. There’s even a tall glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol waiting for him on the coffee table.

She straightens and turns to face him and he’s feeling suddenly shy and a little bit ashamed. This late-night visit hasn’t gone down anything like the way he thought it would. He buys himself a few seconds, dropping his gaze and absently scratching his belly. He sneaks a peek at her from the tops of his eyes. “Would it do any good to apologize?”

“You’ve done it once already. That’s enough for tonight,” she proclaims.

“Because I really am sorry, Scully. For makin’ you doubt how important you are to me.”

“I don't doubt that. I just wish your methods of expressing it were a little less…” She circles an open hand in the air, searching for the right words, he guesses.

“Messy?” he offers. “Thoughtless. Boneheaded. Selfish. Stupid,” he finishes. “Take your pick.”

“All of the above,” she decides. But the corners of her mouth have lifted just the tiniest bit and he’s momentarily overwhelmed by the depth of her generosity when it comes to him and his foolish ways. “C’mere, Mulder, I’ll tuck you in.”

He carefully weaves his way around the coffee table and his belt hits the floor. He sits down and she squats and pulls off his socks and tosses them over her shoulder. Another few positional adjustments later and he’s under the blanket, his heavy, fuzzy head sinking into the feather pillow beneath him. She perches on the edge of the couch and smooths the soft blanket over his chest.

“Do you think you’ll need to vomit? I can grab a trash can for you, so you don’t have to worry about making it to the bathroom in time.”

He smiles up at her and thinks about how nice it would be to close his eyes while she continues to gently pet him. And then he does close them. “M’fine, Scully. I can hol’ my liquor.” Her snort of laughter shocks his eyes back open, and he has to blink a few times before her face comes into focus.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Something she’d said to him earlier resurfaces in his head and he echoes the words back at her as his eyes slip shut again. “We gotta stop doin’ this to each other.”

“We’ll figure it out,” she says. “But not tonight. Go to sleep, Mulder.” And then she’s gone from his side. And as he begins to sink into what will be a rare dreamless sleep, he can hear her putting mugs and glasses in the kitchen sink and turning out lights, putting her home to bed, just like she has with him. And he thinks that he loves her so much that he’ll never find the perfect way to show her. He thinks that this unique alchemy, composed of the exquisite pleasures and deepest pain that loving her brings him, makes him feel the most alive that he has ever been.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Notes:

So in the midst of working on my passion project, that elusive One Breath fic, the muse approached me bearing a silver platter on which a tiny seed lay. “Here,” she whispered in my ear. “Let’s take a minute and plant this one, see what grows.”

I have no shame. I am her bitch, now and forever, world without end. I will always do her bidding.

Till next time…

#the x-files fanfic #msr #squirm #mine

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katieamnesiaandrews · 8 months

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Title: What do you want of him, I ask myself

Chapters: 2/3

Fandom: The X-Files

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Fox Mulder/Alex Krycek

Characters: Fox Mulder, Alex Krycek

Additional Tags: Episode: s04e08 Tunguska, Missing Scene, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Whump, Hints of Alex's backstory, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Physical Abuse, Painplay, Fantasizing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary:

“You’re not gonna mention my father again,” Mulder says calmly. “Or I’ll break more than your wrist.” He's leaning over you, gloss black eyelashes, round childish nose, drowsy full lips. You realize with a terrible clarity that you want to kiss him. “I'm going to vomit,” you say, and it is not because of the pain.

#alex krycek #fox mulder #fox mulder x alex krycek #the x-files #the x files #x files #tunguska #the x-files: s04e08 #the x-files fanfic #fanfiction #teeming brain

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agentwhalesong · 2 years

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Delirious

Originally posted as a chapter of a longer fic that I decided to do away with. You can also read it on ao3.

Delirious

I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anybody but you.

How fast things change, he thought, a small smile surprising him as he drove home through empty streets and avenues.

Why was he smiling? His subconscious was telling him he knew why, but his conscious mind wouldn’t let him see the truth, or even try to see it all a little clearer.

Oh god, he was indeed delirious; Scully took over that stakeout right on time.

Scully.

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t been curious about her since she first stepped into his office.

No, no, it was even before that. He had been curious about her from the moment her file happened upon his table as a reminder that he was going to get a partner he didn’t ask for. Why was she being sent to spy on him when she had so many remarkable credentials? Why now?

He had had those and many other questions running around his brain at the time, but the most important one came after they were formally introduced: Why did her first handshake and her kind introductory smile unexpectedly send a jolt of energy throughout his body? He had been so taken aback by that feeling that he had buried it into the back of his mind, so deeply that it only surfaced in times like these, when he was too sleepy to fight it.

He couldn’t help wondering sometimes if she had felt the same—that jolt of energy— and if her thoughts about him had changed since that first day.

He sped through another traffic light and was just a few blocks away from home. It wouldn’t be long now until his couch would welcome him into its comfortable arms and make him forget whatever it was that his mind was making him feel just because of a single sentence.

I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anybody but you.

It had come as a surprise for he wasn’t used to seeing this side of her, this side that was brutally honest about her feelings. Did his surprise show when he stupidly replied with “If there is an ice tea in that bag, it could be love”?

Where had that come from, anyway? And where would have their conversation gone if she had indeed brought ice tea?

He didn’t mean love in the romantic sense of the word, of course not, but love in any form was not exactly a feeling he was used to. In his mind, love always came hand in hand with pain, so he saw her friendship as life’s way of telling him that it didn’t always have to be like that.

Sometimes it was hard to believe that she kept choosing him every time even when other chances and paths presented themselves. It was not every day that someone chose to keep working with him instead of being transferred to another division and being with the real living people—agent Colton wasn’t very happy about that one, for Mulder’s delight—and it was certainly not every day that someone chose him over a date with a guy that she seemed to like. Thoughts for another day, maybe.

He pulled over and parked at his usual spot in front of his apartment building, making a mental note to call her before falling asleep just to make sure she was going to be okay out there all by herself. Was it really the reason why he wanted to call her, though?

His own incredulous chuckle at his own silent ramblings was what woke him from his reverie and made him realize he was still sitting in his car. Did he really have to walk up all the way to his apartment? Maybe the car would be comfortable enough for the night.

If Scully saw or heard him right now, she would probably put on a cute face and pretend to roll her eyes before saying, “Mulder, you’re crazy”.

You’re delirious. Go home and get some sleep.

Her voice inside his head was strong now, so he got out of the car and shut the door behind him.

It was funny how her voice stayed with him even after she was gone.

Delirious, that he was.

Only delirious Mulder wouldn’t stop himself from thinking of his partner as cute; only delirious Mulder would be so confused to the point he would drive home and then sit in his car thinking about Scully and what her friendship meant to him. He couldn’t help wondering if she thought about him too or if his voice followed her around even after he was gone. He also asked himself if she was still thinking about why he had laughed when she called him by his given name.

He opened his front door and threw his car keys onto the table, his coat following suit and falling haphazardly onto a nearby chair.

Before making his final move to the couch, he opened the fridge to try his luck—he should really start getting better at grocery shopping— and found only one item standing there, waiting for him, a bottle that suddenly brought back a smile to his face and Scully’s voice to his head once again.

It must be fate, Mulder. Root beer.

He took it and walked to the couch, picking up the phone as he passed by it. He pressed number one on his speed dial as he sat and it didn’t take her long to answer.

“Is everything okay, Mulder?”

Her voice was a little dragged and he pictured her rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, I just wanted to make sure everything is okay there.”

“Yeah, Mulder. It’s the same as when you left 20 minutes ago. You should be in bed already.”

He chuckled and fought the urge to reply that he didn’t have a bed. She certainly knew that by now, right? Which reminded him.

“Hey, Scully?” He took a sip of his beverage as he waited for her ‘go ahead’ signal.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I laughed when you called me Fox.” There was something similar to static on the other end and he could vividly picture her head moving slightly, as she shook her head to say she didn’t mind. He wondered if she too forgot he couldn’t see her due to his image being vivid in her mind as well.

He cleared his throat before continuing.

“It’s just that… sometimes, I feel like I’ve known you my entire life and I forget that there are things about me you don’t know yet.”

He felt his cheeks warm up and he was glad she couldn’t see him, although he couldn’t really understand why he was blushing in the first place.

There was a moment of silence, but he knew she was still there. He heard a sound as if she were swallowing and then her voice.

“I have the same feeling sometimes, that I’ve always known you…”

He could hear some sort of hesitation in her voice, but he could also almost hear a smile.

“Is that ice tea you’re drinking, Scully?”

She chuckled.

“Root beer.”

He raised his bottle as if proposing a toast.

“Same here.”

“What happened to your love of ice tea?”

“I prefer root beer now.”

“Oh well. Ice tea, root beer… it’s all the same in the end.”

He drank from his bottle to try not to think about the meaning behind her words and heard that she did the same. Did her mind go to places it shouldn’t, too?

It was time to hang up before they let sleepiness and the words that usually came with it take over. He had one last thing to say, though.

“Thank you, Scully.”

“What for?”

“For… everything.”

She was silent for a couple of seconds and her voice was a little lower than before when she replied.

“Likewise.”

She hung up first, but he knew she did it only after she was sure no other words were necessary. He placed his bottle on the floor and lied down on the couch, feeling the taste of root beer and love on his tongue. That night, he slept like he hadn’t slept in ages.

#The x-files #The x-files fanfic #mulder and scully #msr #mulder and scully fanfic #todayinfic

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verstappen-cult · 4 months

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GETTING CAUGHT MAKING OUT WITH THE BOYS | F1 GRID

INTRODUCING THE BOYS. lando norris. charles leclerc. oscar piastri. max verstappen. alex albon. daniel ricciardo. mick schumacher. logan sargeant. BONUS. . . lance stroll.

★ — LANDO NORRIS (4)

it stared with a couple of innocent kisses in lando’s driver room before the race. you don’t usually engage in that kind of behavior at least until after a race, but lando was feeling a little under the weather and while you were only trying to comfort him, he had other plans. and, well, if that makes him feel better you won’t deny him a little bit of fun. now, you’re straddling your boyfriend’s thighs, it’s hot and you want to rip your top and his fireproofs off, and lando, as always, is one step ahead of you. his hands slip under your shirt, the pad of his fingers softly caressing your skin as his lips find the pulse point on your neck. you don’t know if the whimper you hear belongs to you or lando, the only thing you know is that the race can wait a few minutes.

“lando it’s time to g–” you don’t hear the end of the sentence because lando’s race engineer it’s too stunned to finish speaking. you’re quick to jump off of your boyfriend’s lap, but you’ve been caught and it’s impossible to deny what you were doing, there’s evidence on yours and lando’s face. the man just laughs and closes the door, saying something about keeping his head clear of any distraction.

★ — CHARLES LECLERC (16)

you were just trying to help charles clean his shirt after you spilled your drink on top of him. but he was so close to you, his breath tickling your cheek and sending a shiver down your spine, and it just happened. the kiss was shy at first, both of you uncertain of what you were doing. but then you were being lifted up by charles and sat down on the sink, legs immediately parting to make room for him. you didn’t care that you were in dani’s guest bathroom and anyone could walk in on you, you also didn’t care when charles’ hands found your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh while his mouth kept the assault in yours, neither did you care when those same hands lifted your dress up, up and up until you could clearly feel the effect your kisses were making on him.

you were ready to ask charles to do something when the door opened startling you both. charles stepped away and you jumped off the sink, trying to brush your hair and looked presentable to the owner of the house who was now looking at you, surprise written all over his face before bursting out laughing. “guys! you won’t believe this!” it only took a panicked looked between you and charles for the boy to sprint down the hallway to try and shut his friend up.

★ — OSCAR PIASTRI (81)

you don’t know if australia has something in the air or if being in oscar’s childhood bedroom is making you feel a certain way. but the second the door closes, you’re leading him to the bed. oscar is a little uncertain at first and looks like he’s about to say something, but the words die in his throat the moment your lips find his. he doesn’t wait a minute in taking control, and lays you down on the bed, his body on top of yours. then your impromptu kissing session it’s not enough, you need to feel him closer, you want his hands everywhere.

“would you like some lemonade?” it’s too late for you to pretend to be doing something else than being in an intense making out session when oscar’s mom, the woman you’ve just met that same day, opens the door. when she sees the scene, she quickly closes her eyes, hiding behind her hands. it would make you laugh if it were any other situation. oscar doesn’t move but looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “i did not see a thing!” you would pretty much prefer for the earth to swallow you whole than to face the woman again.

★ — MAX VERSTAPPEN (33/1)

it’s not max’s fault that you look so, so good in that damn dress that all he wants is to rip it off of you. if the FIA gala wasn’t so important—it’s not. not for him, at least—he would get out of there immediately. instead, he has to settle with crowding you against a wall in a secluded corner of the building when he finally has some time for you. he can barely keep his hands to himself, and is touching you even before you can feel his lips against yours. max whispers sweet nothings as his lips go from your mouth to your neck and then up again, making you feel dizzy. he lifts your dress up around your thighs, and you allow him access in a heartbeat, not caring about anything but how addicting his kisses are.

“ejem,” a cough makes max pull away, and doesn’t hesitate on shielding your body with his, giving you enough time to fix up your clothes. “we’re next.” christian horner tries to look at anywhere but you, and you don’t know if you’re supposed to laugh or feel ashamed. both, probably. max dismisses him with a simple nod of his head, and once you’re alone, max goes back to what he was doing before. you still have a few minutes to spare, he says.

★ — ALEX ALBON (23)

you were having the time of your life choosing an outfit for a party next week, your boyfriend waiting for you just outside the changing room; you actually were focused on trying to zip up a beautiful black dress you had chosen when the door opened, revealing alex with a mischievous smile on his face. as quick as he opened it, he closed it behind him. you didn’t question him, it’s definitely not the first time he’s done something like this, so, you, more than happy, welcomed him with open arms and a set of pink and plump lips. and alex is immediately swiping his tongue across your bottom lip and kissing your properly—kissing you so slow while gently cupping your face, trying to take as much as he wants from you, and you’re ready to give it to him freely.

“is someone there?” a girl’s voice startles you both, but before you can think of hiding alex or saying something—not that you can with your boyfriend’s mouth against yours—she’s opening the door. neither you nor alex know what to do other than to stay very still and very quiet, as if that would make the girl forget what she saw.

★ — DANIEL RICCIARDO (3)

you told daniel that hiding in the airplane bathroom to make out wasn’t a good idea, but you still got up and went voluntarily when he gave you the signal. waiting for him to knock was torture, you were pretty sure you were going to get caught. but when you opened the door and your boyfriend pulled you in to finally kiss you, you forgot about everything. the way daniel kisses should be illegal—how he lets you take the lead until your kisses become sloppy and your head feels dizzy and you can’t keep up with it because it feels so good. then he takes control, gripping your waist with such force it’ll leave marks; the mere thought makes you weak in the knees.

“open up! you can’t do that in here.” a huge knock on the door makes you pull away, but daniel doesn’t let you go, chasing after you until you give up and kiss him again. this time the kisses are more intense and the tiny bathroom it’s too warm and you’re wearing too many clothes. the person behind the door is forgotten the moment daniel gets so close that you become one. you’re already in trouble, so, it’s doesn’t matter if you stay a few more minutes in there.

★ — MICK SCHUMACHER (47)

kissing at clubs is not something you would’ve done in the past, not even when lights are so low and no one cares what the person next to you is doing. but ever since you started dating mick, there are a lot of things you’ve already done that you never thought you would do. and making out in a corner of the club with mick pressing against the window, his body molding into yours just in the right spots is definitely one of them. mick is practically knocking the air out of your lungs with the way he’s kissing you, and you have to hold onto his shoulders afraid of melting to the ground. you don’t know where you are, and you really don’t care as long as mick keeps kissing you like that, so you don’t push him away when you feel his hand making its way up your thigh, getting closer to where you need him the most.

but then you hear people laughing. mick pulls away first, groaning for being interrupted, but then you look around and you’re right next to the bathroom from where a group of girls are walking out. you feel all the blood in your body rushing to your face, they look amused but you want to disappear. you hide your face in your boyfriend’s chest and don’t look up until mick is the one lifting your chin up to kiss you. this time he takes your hand while saying something about going home to finish what you started.

★ — LOGAN SARGEANT (2)

it’s childish. and all of you are adults. you definitely should not be playing truth or dare in a party like thirteen years old. however, you don’t say anything when oscar dares you to spend seven minutes in the closet with logan. it’s true you both have been dancing around each other for a while now, what you didn’t know it’s that it was so obvious for everyone around you too. the cheering from your friends dies down when the door closes and you and logan are alone. you look into each other’s eyes for a minute, pure silence in the secluded space, then logan glances down at your lips and you suck in a sharp breath when you realize he’s asking for permission. your eyelashes flutter as you take a step closer, and he wraps his arms around your waist without a trace of hesitation. you’re gasping into his mouth the next second, his lips warm and soft. his fingers brush along your jaw and, in that moment, you decide this won’t be the last time you’re gonna be tasting his lips, you want to do it every hour of every day.

but then the door opens and you immediately pull away as if you’ve been burned. there are a lot of eyes looking between you and logan for a moment before someone shouts “fucking finally!” and everyone’s laughing and cheering. when you look at logan again, he has a lopsided grin plastered on his face.

★ — LANCE STROLL (18)

lance made sure you two were alone in his parent’s house before taking you in his arms and sitting on the couch. he smiles at you with the same bright and pretty smile that stole your heart one time two years ago as you run your hands through lance’s hair, down his neck and over his shoulders, letting them rest on his chest. lance grabs onto your waist and meets your lips halfway, all his body relaxing immediately. he kisses you so softly but determined, licking into your mouth when you give him access, like it’s his last day on earth and he needs you to keep breathing, surviving. you let his hands roam freely over your body and you can feel your heart pounding so hard, almost as if it’s gonna jump out of your chest and you can’t do anything about it. when your boyfriend’s hands graze your lower back for a second before grabbing your arse, a tiny mewl escapes you.

and as you’re about to grind down, “oh my god!” lance’s sister screams in surprise. you both look at her, more embarrassed than afraid. you know your cheeks and ears are as pink as the shirt you’re wearing, and you feel like your skin is actually burning. ”well, i guess we had the same thought.” she says stepping aside, her boyfriend coming into view with a shy smile on his face.

requested by @biancathecool. . . The boys (individually) Nd fem!reader getting caught making out, with the driver having thier hands shoved down their gfs pants or up their shirt 🫠❤️ Alsin if you could please add lance in this one.

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formulafics · 2 months

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❀ MAKE IT REAL | OP81

Scenario: basically ‘the winner takes all’, but oscar edition…or, the one where despite yn being the closest to oscar, no one suspects the two to be dating. that is, until a video of the pair at a valley concert comes out. (inspired by the song ‘Cure’ by Valley (bless @renarots for this one))

Pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

A/N: squadron, it is an oscar day. it took me entirely too long to get to this request, but i’ve finally made it. i hope you guys like this fic as much as i liked making it 🫶🏻

MASTERLIST

ynln on instagram

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, logansargeant, and 92,431 others

ynln happy halloween 🎃😚

view all 3,212 comments

landonorris why is oscar standing like that

⤷ ynln he’s just a boy leave him alone

papayabull MY BABIES THEYRE SO CUTE

dreamyalbon this friendship is everything to me

⤷ formulaferrari not a single thing about yn and oscars relationship is giving “friends” but okay

⤷ dreamyalbon there’s no way they’re anything more than friends though 😭

rizzciardo the way yn’s whole feed is becoming oscar is so funny

formulaverstappen who’s gonna tell them that daphne and fred had a romantic relationship

⤷ ln4nation to be fair, it’s pretty common for friends to go as romantic duos, platonically.

ynln on instagram

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, maxfewtrell, riabish, logansargeant, and 142,211 others

ynln the best mornings ☀️ (also i made oscar the bracelet he’s wearing in the third slide i feel so proud of myself)

view all 3,456 comments

oscarpiastri ❤️

riabish second slide 🥹

⤷ norrisnation ria and yn’s friendship is my favorite thing ever

dreamyalbon yn making oscar a bracelet is so cute </3

formulaferrari another day, another oscar post from yn. i love it here

landosbeachball THE ONLY BESTIES EVER 🫶🏻 the slide of them holding hands omg

f1wagsdaily on Instagram

13,621 likes

f1wagsdaily do you think yn ln is dating anyone on the grid? if so, who? 👀

(left to right) yn and lando, yn and daniel, yn and charles

view all 1,342 comments

norrisnation im so convinced that if it’s anyone it’s danny ric 😭 how do you go to music festivals and football games together so often and NOT date

⤷ charlesrrari yes but also they don’t hang out NEARLY as much anymore? also to be fair, yn’s closest friend - oscar aside - is lando, so it’s kind of natural that she would be in the mclaren garage more, so it just SEEMS like it’s daniel? idk im not convinced that it’s him

formula44 idk i feel like lando is the only one that makes sense

⤷ papayabull what about oscar?

⤷ formula44 idk i just can’t see them together

xf1x oscar piastri (solely based on how much they’re togwther)

⤷ papayanorris lore drop: yn rejected oscar in f3 because he was too busy so id imagine it’s the same now 🤷🏻‍♀️

⤷ xf1x to me that makes it seem more likely since that means they were obviously interested in each other?

⤷ papayanorris good point but maybe theyve moved on? 👀

⤷ pastrypiastri okay but imagine dating oscar and he’s THAT close with another girl, and same with yn being that close with another guy? idk this thread might have put me on the ynoscar agenda 🤭

shumirrari wild guess: jenson button (if you know you know)

⤷ chilisainz what am i missing?

⤷ shumirrari basically lando and jenson button are sort of friends so lando introduced yn to jenson at a race, and lando took pictures of them together. i’m pretty sure yn posted them a while back? idk but it was just a silly guess (her and jenson would be cute though, but i highly doubt it’s them LMAO)

formulaferrari i am TIRED why does no one have faith in the oscyn agenda

⤷ formulaferrari also does no one notice that oscar always is kind of shy around yn or am i actually delusional on this one

⤷ charlesrrari wait lowkey you’re onto something rn 👀

grandprixsandgossip on Instagram

liked by ynln and 24,532 others

grandprixsandgossip Oscar Piastri and Yn Ln, a known friend of many drivers on the grid, seen kissing outside of a concert arena last night.

view all 2,321 comments

norrisnation girl there’s three pixels on my screen that could be anyone

papayabull oscar jack piastri what are you DOING

piastrisgirl never, and i mean NEVER, did i expect that out of all the f1 drivers, oscar would be the one where we find out about his girlfriend like this

ln4world this cannot be real

formulaferrari SCREAMING IM INSANE THIS IS EVERHTINH TO ME

stardustf1 okay but wasn’t oscar wearing a hoodie in the other picture that the one guy posted?

⤷ rizzciardo yes, but i’m assuming oscar took the hoodie off and gave it to yn, because not only can you see her wearing a hoodie in this picture (even though it’s blurry, it looks like the same one oscar was wearing), AND ria posted a story of her and yn goofing off after the concert where yn was wearing a black hoodie so 👀

chilisainz were not gonna mention yn in the likes?

⤷ norrisnation she’s having her pierre moment 🤷🏻‍♀️

ynln on Instagram

🎶 Cure - Valley

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, alex_albon, danielricciardo, and 124,521 others

ynln concerts are my heaven, but they’re paradise when i’m with him 🫶🏻 @/oscarpiastri is my concert buddy for life whether he wants it or not

view all 3,452 comments

landonorris but are you dating or?

⤷ ynln i’m gonna need you to be so fr rn lando

oscarpiastri fortunately for us, i’m more than happy to be your concert buddy. ❤️

⤷ ynln music to my ears 😚

riabish literally the cutest couple i know *liked by ynln*

princepiastri THE CAPTION, OSCARS COMMENT, THE PICTURES?? THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE

formula44 yn im sorry for not believing in you and oscar

dreamyalbon AND WHOS GOING TO MENTION THE SONG??

⤷ yukit22enthusiast AS A VALLEY LOVER I AM RIGJT THERE WITH YOU

formulaferrari THE FACT THAT THESE SRE ALL DIFFERENT CONCERTS OH MYGOD

formulaferrari i can finally call them my parents and not get flamed

papayabull and so whatever you do don’t listen to the song because i’m so upset

⤷ stardustf1 someone harassed(/j) the guy who took the picture of them at the concert into telling them what song was playing when he took that picture and it was cure 🫠💔

⤷ papayabull NOOOOO it’s officially their song, i don’t make the rules

TAGLIST

@renarots @jsjcue @treehouse-mouse @lovstappen @illicitverstappen @vellicora @lokietro @arkhammaid @piasstrisblog @leclercvsx @i-love-ptv @pretty-little-bunny382728 @kortneej81 @elliegrey2803 @marshmummy @spidersophie @stopeatread @minkyungseokie @jellyfish123guts @harrysdimple05 @fastcarsandshit @motorsp0rt @sadieurlady @cixrosie @hiireadstuff

Thank you for reading! All feedback is appreciated 💞

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fangirleaconmigo · 1 year

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You know what I think is missing from modern M/F ships? Women who Fuck Shit Up to protect the men they love.

Yes ok I’m queer and I love queer ships but I was thinking…I did used to have a M/F ship. I did love Mulder/Scully. What did they have?

It was this:

This is like ep TWO and Scully finds out that someone has kidnapped Mulder and THIS is what she does to find and rescue him. LOOK AT THOSE EYES THE HOMICIDE IN THEM!

I feel like modern writers think feminism and Strong Female means that women characters have to be unimpressed and cool and so critical of the love interest that you can’t even tell she likes the guy.

Fuck that.

Because when that happens I COULDNT GIVE TWO SHITS About that ship. She doesn’t even like his ass!! She should find someone she likes!!

The only caveat of course is that you make the man someone who is worthy of her (I.e. he respects her mind, supports her dreams, is loyal etc)

David Duchovny was asked about the chemistry between them in 1996 and he said:

Do you play it like Fox has impure thoughts about Scully?

No, what I tend to play is that I always want to check with her. Whenever I hear something interesting, I’ll look at her. That’s sexy to people.

If you’ve established that he respects her, then yes she should be a fucking simp. Otherwise I am not rooting for them!!! Otherwise! I! do! Not! Care!

Scully believed in Mulder immediately! She didn’t believe in aliens but she believed IN HIM. She defended him from DAY ONE to the higher ups, she fought for him, she respected how he really listened and how he really cared about regular people getting fucked over by the government.

In the same interview, Gillian said:

I think what makes the relationship between Scully and Mulder sexy is the respect they have for one another. They don’t manipulate or take advantage of one another. I’m sure that’s very intriguing for the audience.

So yeah.

Real respect. Real devotion.

And a woman who will demolish a motherfucker for harming her man.

#the x files #mulder x scully #fox mulder #dana scully #fandom #fanfic

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actual-changeling · 6 days

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It's "ice queen" until they're waiting in front of Skinner's office and Mulder makes her laugh so hard she has to half-bury her face in his shoulder to keep it contained. Until she is breathlessly blushing and whispering something that makes him bend over in return. It's the first time any of the agents passing by have heard her laugh.

It's "ice queen" until Mulder brings her a hot coffee and her favourite kind of muffin for an early meeting, and her smile could melt glass. Until a room full of accountants watches them pass the paper cup back and forth without even looking, spilling not a single drop. Until she gives him an undecipherable look and Mulder comes back after their ten-minute break with yet another one to share. Until she leans in like she is going to kiss him before simply bumping her shoulder against his, her lips parted and her cheeks flushed.

It's "annoying" and "insufferable" until Mulder almost trips over his own feet while clinging to every single word spilling from her lips. Until he walks straight into Skinner because he was looking at her and only her. Until he listens to Scully and Scully only, until he silences people with a glare when they interrupt her during meetings, until he starts introducing her as Dr. Special Agent Scully, daring anyone to contradict him or drop an honorific.

It's "ice queen" until Mulder gets injured, and she refuses to leave his side even as they make their way through the crowded building. It's just a hair fracture, Scully, and she almost shoves someone into a doorway to make space for him. Your ankle is broken. Hair fracture. Broken.

It's "prudish" and "prissy" until people occasionally catch them in an empty corridor, watching as Mulder wipes away dark red smudges from the corners of her mouth while the same colour is smeared across his lips. Until there is enough visible adoration in the way their hands brush together that it makes any bystander blush.

It's "standoffish," "uptight," and "unapproachable" until they are no longer in the basement, and no matter how hard she might try, she cannot hide the person she is around Mulder. Until she drags her chair towards his desk more days than not, until they move in sync, sit down in sync, breathe in sync, and they both don't seem to be what everyone else always imagined.

Soft. Warm. Loving. In love.

Scully smiles at Mulder like he's her whole world, and he smiles back like she hung every single moon and star into the sky.

It's "Mr. and Mrs. Spooky" from their very first case right up until the day a ring is glinting on Mulder's finger and another one on a thin gold band around Scully's neck, resting above her heart.

#alex writes x files #txf #the x files #x files #dana scully #fox mulder #scully x mulder #mulder x scully #msr #msr ficlet #msr fanfic #the x files fanfic #idk what this is but take it

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megamindsecretlair · 3 months

Text

When It Feels Right

Pairing: Lamont Diggs x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, protected PIV, oral (female receiving) fingering (female receiving) teasing/mocking, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Use of n-word. Drug use.

Summary: Lamont invited you to his studio to help work on his new beat. You help him in more ways than one.

Word Count: 5,057k

A/N: Hello, my loves. I have been feral for this man since watching this show. This was LONG overdue. This is the winner of the Fic poll, thank you to everyone who voted! ONE SHOT. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @babybratzmaraj @browngirldominion @we-outsiiiide @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @wide-nose-and-wonderful @hereformiles @flydotty @blackerthings @notapradagurl7

Lamont released a heavy cloud of smoke in the air. You bobbed your head to the new beat he made. Lamont matched your bobbing head, a slow grin working its way across his face. You rolled your eyes and turned away from him, trying to feel the beat without him coloring your opinion.

Just because he was your best friend didn’t mean that you couldn’t lay down the truth when needed. The good Lord knew that he didn’t need an even bigger head.

As the beat faded and came to a close, Lamont clapped his hands in the too silent studio. It was a rare night where he didn’t have Melissa, couldn’t sleep, and his boys weren’t in the background smoking up all the weed.

“Go on and tell me that’s hot!” He yelled and clapped his hands again. He played with a few switches on the switchboard and then swung his chair to face you. You swung idly on your own chair, back and forth.

You gave him a funny look, not willing to admit that it was good. Of course it was good. Dude really knew his fucking craft.

“It’s aight,” you said and dismissed him with a wave.

“Bullshit!” Lamont yelled. The joint hung from his lips as his long, delicate fingers flew over switches and knobs and he ran the track back. The deep bass thumped through the speakers once more and he turned to you, brows furrowing to gauge your reaction.

“Damn, I’m playing!” You said and giggled. You pushed away from his too intense stare. He sucked his teeth and pushed you back.

“Tell me what you really think, damn,” he said.

“Nah, that shit is fire, Lamont. Seriously, you tore this up,” you said.

“Thanks, thanks. Just need some dope lyrics on it. Tired of them mumble rapper m’fucka’s,” Lamont said.

He shook his head, his locs tussling over his face and dropping into his eyes. Your hand itched to push it away so you could continue looking at him. You swung your chair away from him so that your face didn’t give you away. It was the weed talking, nothing more.

You played with the sleeves of your sweater, swinging around and around in circles until his studio became a dizzy array of green and red. Like Christmas. That was a much safer line of thinking. You could think about lights, gingerbread houses, and pinecones and not about how Lamont’s lips poked out, ready to be kissed.

Lamont turned down the beat and deposited the joint in the nearby ashtray. The smell was loud, filling your senses with its aroma. You smacked his shoulder as you passed him and then smacked it again until he relented and handed it to you.

You took a lungful, holding it in and rolling it around your tongue before releasing it back out into the studio. You watched the smoke lift towards the popcorn ceiling, wishing it would take your thoughts with it. You smoked so that your brain could pause like a TV show. So that you could stop to take in the details around you and make sense of it.

Your stomach turned and roiled so you stuck your foot out to slow your spins. Lamont was on his phone scrolling through Instagram.

“You always on that damn phone,” you said, grinning as you realized that you sounded like your mama.

“Okay, Ms. Etta,” he said.

“Shut up! That is not my mama name!”

Lamont peeked at you from the curtain of his locs and smirked, holding out his hand for the joint. You took one last inhale, the burning embers at the end filling your peripheral vision before you handed it back to him. He dumped the ashes and then took a puff, putting it down on the ashtray.

Lamont returned his attention back to his phone, head slightly bouncing to the beat he made. Your eyes slowly tracked over all of the mini orange, red, and green lights blinking from the switchboard.

This was the kind of laid back music that would be in a lounge somewhere. Your mind’s eye filled in details of blue ambient lighting. Black men and women and those in between dressed in their finest business casual. Men in deep, monochromatic suits and shiny shoes. Women in dresses a hair shy of too short, showing off long, thick legs and strappy high heels.

You pictured glasses clinking, words whispered amongst friends, and glances thrown across the room. Ballers sending trays of drinks to the group of women at the bar knowing exactly what they were doing by leaning over it.

It was a type of sexy beat that you felt in your inner thighs first. The thrumming bass making your thighs jiggle. Warming heat working its way up your spine until you couldn’t help but nod your head, bump your shoulders, and look at your friend to see if they were feeling the beat like you were.

You turned to Lamont, ready to tell him, when his nose was buried in his phone again. You groaned and reached out to slap your hand over the phone.

“You said you wanted no distractions tonight, remember?” You asked.

“I’m done with the beat though,” he said. He moved his phone out of your way and you leaned over a little further to try and snatch it from his fingers. His arms were longer than yours and he easily held it away from you.

“You said not to let you get distracted. Hand it here,” you said. You snapped your fingers. Lamont shook his head, his locs whipping across his face. His gold chain glinted in the low lighting and it was stark against his white T-shirt, dyed green in the studio lighting.

“You ain’t gon’ snap yo fingers like you somebody,” he said.

“I AM! SOME-BODY!” You cackled at your own joke, eyes wide and smiling so big that your cheeks ached.

“Goofy ass. You need to stay off this shit,” he said.

“Boo, you’re no fun,” you said. You continued to reach across the short space between you, trying to reach his phone. You were high, but not that high. Your thoughts were coherent and slow. Like you could pluck each of them out and lay them on a blanket. That you could take your time and choose between them like choosing your outfit.

“C’mon, watch out,” he said. He nudged you back but you were undeterred. Your tongue stuck out of your mouth, so deep in your concentration. Lamont chuckled, effortlessly fighting you off.

You huffed and you huffed but you could not blow this wolf down. You sat back in the seat and sighed. “For real, Lamont. I did not come over here, at midnight, just for you to play on your phone. I wanna see some magic,” you said.

“Girl, I just showed yo ass the Magic Kingdom,” he said.

You laughed at his corny ass line and shook your head. “One beat is all you got?” You asked.

“All I got?” Lamont scoffed, affronted that you would even suggest such a thing.

You inwardly grinned, using your knowledge of him to your advantage. He always rose to the occasion. He was almost too easy as he sat forward in his seat. His left hand dropped the phone in between you while he focused on the board once more.

Where you only saw switches and gears, he saw instruments. This board was a modern orchestra and he knew exactly which sounds to pull from it. Which drums sounded dirty enough to warrant adding snares and strings.

You snatched his phone from beside him. He instantly balked, trying to get it back from you. You didn’t have the length he did, so you had to resort to putting it behind your back and trying to slide your chair away from him.

He put one hand on your chair to stop your retreat and then the other went in search of his missing phone.

“C’mon, stop playing!” He laughed as he struggled to get the phone from you.

You only had so many places to stick it. You kept moving it like you were playing hot potato with it, tossing it from one hand to the other. “You come on! I know why you call me here. So I can keep yo ass focused!”

“I focus just fine without you. Ever think I just want your company?” He asked.

“Duh, you always want my company,” you teased, still moving the phone every two seconds while he lunged for it. A giddy feeling swelled in your chest like a balloon, filling up all of your hollow crevices and giving you the feeling of floating despite feeling heavy.

“Always? You loud and wrong,” he said. He sat back with a huff, eying you. You grinned, looking for any type of eye twitch or flicker. Anything to indicate that he would make a sudden move and try to snatch it from you.

“Oh? I guess I should just leave then,” you said. You leaned out of the chair, butt hovering over the seat that was practically molded to your ass by now. You felt a few twinges. The side effect of sitting too long. All this cushion in your ass didn’t mean shit.

“Man, sit yo ass down and hand me my phone. Please?” Lamont asked. But the please was not sincere. You stuck out your tongue while you placed the phone down your shirt.

The warm metal laid across your skin and you grinned at Lamont’s expression. His face kind of froze. Or paused while he stared at your chest. It was nothing new for the two of you, so you couldn’t name why it made your belly flip.

“You think that’s gon’ stop me?” He asked. Was it you or did his voice get a little deeper? A little rougher?

You adjusted the phone against your cleavage and threw up your hands. “What you gon’ do?” You asked.

Lamont licked his lips, a small smile forming on his lips. “You know I can just turn you upside down and shake you like a toy?”

Nope. That did not make your pussy flutter. You did not imagine shaking for entirely different reasons.

There was always this thickness between you and Lamont. A sort of sticky, gooey middle that kept you glued to his side all these years. You had been friends for so long, you didn’t remember the exact number. Where one went, there went the other. There was always a lingering look, a hand on the hip placed too long, a bite to the lip.

You never crossed the line. The timing was never right. Either you were with somebody or he was. He was nursing your broken heart while you were getting him turnt up for his. He had an entire baby with Mia who had him wrapped around her tiny manicured pinky. Despite his protests otherwise.

Now. Now you were both single. Unattached. No messy drama getting in the way.

“Whatever, Lamont. I am here to keep you on track,” you said. You shook your head and smacked your lips. “Literally and figuratively.”

“Gimme my phone,” he said, that same rough voice dancing along the sticky gooeyness that made your toes curl. He didn’t need to see the way you looked down trying to get yourself under control.

“What you gon’ do?” You asked, rolling your neck for emphasis.

He smiled and shook his head. He waved his fingers in a ‘come on’ gesture and you smacked his hand.

“What you gon’ do? What you gon’ do?” You kept asking, waiting for him to reply. To say something. Anything. You were tossing out the question like a fishing line, baiting him with delicious chum. With the irresistible urge to either latch on and let you know that it wasn’t just you or toss it aside and let it drop once and for all.

“Say it one more time and I’ll show you what I’m gon’ do,” he said.

“What you gon’ do?” You said slowly, enunciating each word so there were no misunderstandings.

Lamont’s hand shot out and pulled your fuzzy sweater away from your chest. His other hand snuck up your shirt and went fishing around for his phone. But his hands roamed too broadly, lightly squeezing your titty every so often.

“Lamont!” You yelled.

He licked his lips and got closer. His breath fanned across your face, a subtle mix of candy and weed. His hand continued to roam while he slowly closed the distance between your lips. He looked at you the entire time, giving you ample opportunity to back away.

But you wanted this. You casted that fishing line out into the ether, so you closed the distance for him. You pressed your lips against his finally. Your dreams didn’t come close. It was nothing like what you thought it would be and everything you dreamt it could.

His lips were soft against yours. Smooth tongue running over your lips and sloppily slanting against yours. You hummed, low and softly but you were sure he heard it. His hands continued to roam under your shirt, no longer seeking his phone.

Instead, his hands found your breasts and began to knead them, fingers grappling for your nipple. As soon as his fingers found that little pebble – no bra because you hadn’t felt like throwing on one just to chill with Lamont – he squeezed and rolled it between his fingers.

“Oh shit,” you said against his lips, finally pulling back far enough to get some air. Some room.

“Mhm,” he moaned. “You think I ain’t been paying attention these past few years?” He asked.

“Wh-what you mean?” You asked. He rolled his lips around yours, kissing you but only just so. His wide nose danced against yours. One thing about high sex that you loved was how sensitive you became. How the little hairs on your skin picked up the different changes in temperature or tingled with every brush of skin.

“All them nasty ass stories you liked to tell. About how men never hit it how you like,” he said.

He switched his hand to your other titty, seeking your nipple a lot faster. He rolled it in between your fingers and your breath stuttered.

Already, he was leagues better than half the guys you’d been with. Or perhaps it was your lingering, previously unclaimed chemistry, doing most of the work for you. This was inevitable. Your lips would always meet his. His hands would always press into your skin.

“You remember that?” You asked.

“Kept hoping it would be me in one of them stories. ‘Cept, I know what I’m doin’,” he said.

You giggled and pushed away from him. “Big fuckin’ words, boy,” you said.

Lamont had a playful frown on his face, considering your words, before he slapped his hands onto the arm rests of your chair. He caged you in your chair while he leaned down for more kisses.

His lips were like little clouds of heaven. Each one sweet, soft, and lazy. He lowered himself to his knees, still too tall for his own good. He kept kissing you, even while his hands went roaming again.

He pulled your sweater off and took in the white tank underneath. His lips found yours again as if he didn’t want to be gone too long. He mixed in nips and licks to keep you on your toes. He grabbed his phone from out of your tank and placed it on the edge of the switch board.

He returned his attention to your body, kissing and biting you through the fabric of your tank. You felt him, but you didn’t really feel him. You lifted the tank and threw it over your head.

Cool air from the studio hit your upper body and you immediately shivered. Even with the thumping beat and lingering smoke, you weren’t warm enough. Lamont helped you lower your leggings and panties, pulling them off and throwing them across the room.

You were fully naked, staring into his dark eyes while he was still dressed. He leaned back, took in your curves, dips, and valleys with a satisfied grin.

“So that’s what you look like underneath all them damn sweaters. You been keepin’ this from me?” He asked.

He rubbed the goosebumps from your arms, scooting in between your legs and making you spread them wider to accommodate him. He looked you in the eye while he lifted one leg, kissed it, ran his tongue right behind your knee before placing it on the arm rest.

You felt ready to explode. He did the same to your other leg, but trailed more kisses down the length of it before placing it on the arm rest.

“You gon’ answer me?” He asked.

“Waat?” You asked.

He chuckled. “You were just gon’ keep hiding this from me?” He asked.

“I-I wasn’t trynna hide it,” you said. Your words were slow to form and even slower to get out.

“You wasn’t? Then why I ain’t never get a taste yet?” He asked.

He leaned across your body. His cotton shirt was almost too rough against your skin. You hissed, moving away from him but he moved forward anyway. The shirt tickled your skin but you didn’t have enough air in your lungs to giggle.

Anticipation flipped in your belly, like it was playing hopscotch in there. You didn’t know what he was going to do next. You were on an infinite precipice of waiting.

He didn’t make you wait long. He kissed you, moving his hands between you to brush his fingers along your wet seam. You jerked in the chair but he had you effectively pinned. You had nowhere to go. Trapped in the chair with him covering your naked body.

You moaned, licked your lips in between kisses, and then went back to feeling those sexy lips on yours.

His fingers pushed in, separating your pussy lips and dipping into your heated essence. He moaned into your lips, tugging on your bottom lip. “You always get this wet?” He asked.

“Uh-uh,” you said.

“No? I just bring that out of you?” He asked.

“Uh-huh,” you said. You had no words. With every swipe of his fingers, he pulled them out of your head. Each pass of his fingers around your clit made one more word disappear like air.

“So that means I get to taste it right?” He asked. He moved his nose against yours and you sighed, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Uh-huh,” you said, lips finding his again and again. His wet, suckling kisses made you see stars behind your eyelids.

His knuckle nudged into your clit and you hissed, releasing the air in short bursts. “Oh, she a little excited,” he said.

“Oh shit,” you moaned. “Don’t tease me.”

“Don’t tease you? I like teasing you. I finally know how to shut that attitude up,” he said.

“You too damn cocky,” you moaned.

“Still running that mouth,” he said. He moved his fingers to dip in and out of your pussy, pushing his fingers deep to his knuckle. Your mouth dropped open, eyes turned bruising.

He moved his lips to your jaw and kissed down to your neck. He sprinkled kisses across your chest and then licked your nipple into his mouth, suckling. “Oh my god,” you gasped, back lifting from the chair.

Your pussy greedily sucked his fingers inside. “That’s right. Grip them fingers. Show me you like what I’m doing to you. Getting wetter over here, I’m gon’ have to buy a new chair,” he whispered around your nipple.

Your hands came up to play with his locs, rolling them between your fingers and loving the feel of them. You were in sensory overload. Everything was too much and not enough. Lamont’s filthy words had you screaming towards a climax, thighs shaking and pussy gripping him tighter.

“That’s fuckin’ right. Been dyin’ to know what you look like when you cum. You gon’ look like that riding this dick? Huh? How many pretty faces can you make while I’m rearranging your guts?” He asked.

“Lamont!” You twitched.

He continued to pump his fingers as you calmed down. It was like he was exploring your pussy with his fingers. Trying to gauge how deep you could take him. Your grip tightened around his neck and he hummed, flicking his tongue against your nipple.

When you relaxed against the chair, Lamont slowed down his fingers until stopping altogether. He licked his fingers and moaned. “Taste so fuckin’ good. You doing okay?” He asked.

You nodded, loosening your grip on his neck. You wiped up run away drool, feeling a bit embarrassed that a little finger action made you cum quicker than a man in a porn store.

Lamont shook his head, shaking the locs from his face as he pressed his face into your pussy. He took a loud, deep breathe and blew air between your pussy lips.

“Oh shit!” You screamed, hands flying back to his head. You gripped his hair while he began to eat you out in earnest, using his tongue first.

He leaned back and hummed, slapped your pussy. “Damn,” he moaned. “So fuckin’ good.” He was a messy eater, digging in like it was his last meal. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. He brought his hands up to roll your nipples between his fingers, squeezing and squeezing until he pinched them.

“Fuck, fuck. Lamont! Damn,” you moaned, biting your lip. Fuck! It felt too good. So damn good with his lips between your thighs and his locs tickling your skin, and your hands digging into his head. Smashing his face into your pussy, giving him free rein to explore this thing between you.

“Name sound sexy on your lips. Say it again,” he said, coming up for a bite of air.

“Lamont,” you said with a grin. His eyes flicked to yours while he continued to make out with your pussy.

“Again,” he said, muffled against your wet core.

Lamont!” You moaned while your orgasm was cresting the surface. Pressure built in your lower belly, getting so close with each new flick. Each new lick. Each new moan that told you he liked what was between your thighs. The thought that you could please him, even by the small act of being wet for him, turned the tide.

Your hand flew back to the back of the chair to steady you while your back arched. “Oh shit, Lamont!” Your neck rolled against the top of the chair while your body twitched and convulsed. Your body turned limp, riding the orgasm wherever it took you. However you looked while you spasmed.

“Tasting so fuckin’ good. Fuck, I been missing out,” Lamonst said into your pussy. He continued to lap like a cat to cream. “So fuckin’ sweet. So fuckin’ good.”

He lumbered to his feet, tossing off his white shirt. His chain bounced against his dark skin. His tattoos were darker still, spread out all over his body. You watched him through slitted eyes while he unzipped his pants.

He freed his dick and rubbed the hardened length. Shit, he was perfect. Big and girthy. It was always the skinniest niggas that packed the biggest punch. It had a slight curve to it and your pussy clenched just seeing it.

He dug into his pocket and grabbed his wallet, flipping it open and grabbing a condom. He tore it open, found the right side, and then pinched the tip. You watched him as he rolled it onto his dick, adjusting here or there until it was fully on.

He pushed your thighs back on the chair. It protested with a loud groan, conflicting with a different beat in the background. Something laid back, lazy, and slow. Light danced over his features while he leaned forward, towering over you bent like a pretzel in his chair.

“You feelin’ aiight?” He asked.

“Yes, nigga!” You said with a smack of your teeth. He chuckled, grabbing your throat with his left hand. Your eyes rolled involuntarily, hand flying to grab his wrist. Not to push him away, but to keep him there. To push for more pressure.

He obliged you, squeezing harder until you were ready to cum just from that. “You must need some dick to get you right,” he said.

“Umph, yesss,” you moaned.

He used his right hand to grip his dick and run it through your damp folds, getting the condom slick with your wetness. He pushed in slowly. You hissed, pushing against his thighs.

“Uh-uh, don’t push me away. Move them hands,” he said.

“But Lamont–”

“Move. Them. Hands,” he growled, getting close to your face and squeezing your neck.

You moved your hands with a whine. He was too damn big. He rolled his hips, sliding inside of you and working his way deeper. Your hands flew back to his thighs, pushing at him.

“Move them fuckin’ hands,” he rasped.

“Please,” you begged. You were going to pass out. There was too much pleasure. Too much desire and lust. Too much of him. His scent, his sighs, his scorching looks. He lit fires in your veins that made you whimper and pout.

“Move them fuckin’ hands right now,” he said.

Again, your hands slid away from his sweat-slick thighs with a whine. The sound was needy and desperate. You had no way of slowing this down. Slowing it down to a pace you could quickly adjust to.

His dick didn’t hurt, he just stretched you deliciously. So much so that you had a goofy smile spread across your lips like icing on a cake. You moved your hands back to his hand on your neck.

He rolled and moved his hips, stroking into you with deep, long thrusts at a steady pace that stole your breath. You whined, choppy hums in your throat. “Why you doin’ this to meeee,” you moaned.

“‘Cause I been waiting too long to get in this pussy. I’ma enjoy that shit,” he said. He smirked and dropped down to kiss you while he stroked deeper still.

You sank onto his dick while he rolled his hips, moaning with every glide. He lifted his head and rolled his neck, closing his eyes. You watched his face while he stroked, watched as he found some type of groove like your body was the switchboard and he was making a complicated beat.

He lined up perfectly. Your back arched. “Oh fuck, oh fuck. Right there, right there, Lamont,” you moaned.

“Right there?” He asked. He kept hitting your sweet spot, not deviating in the slightest.

“Right there, oh my god, I’m gon’ cum,” you moaned.

“Give it to me. Let me feel that pretty pussy grippin’ this dick. She feel so fuckin’ good. Wrapped around this dick. This what you needed? Huh? This what you needed? Them other niggas ain’t have all this for you, did they?”

Each of his questions grew fainter as your orgasm came closer and closer. Your hand pushed against his chest. Your eyes were too far in the back of your head. You were worrying a groove into your bottom lip by biting too hard.

“You still with me? This dick got yo tongue?” He asked.

“I’m-” You came with a loud moan, louder than you had ever moaned before. You twitched in the chair, the groans from it sounded violent. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Feel so good, Lamont!” You cried out. Yelled out.

It was a good thing that you were in a proper studio and there was no one around to hear you. Had you been at your place, your neighbors would know his fucking name.

Your hands scratched at his stomach while he chuckled and kept stroking. “Fuck. You squeezin’ the fuck outta me. You ain’t trynna let me go, huh? Now that you know I know how to hit it right. What got you screaming. What got you moaning. What got you cummin’ on this dick like that,” he said.

“Oh baby,” you moaned.

“I’m baby now? What happened to my name?” He asked.

At this point, you didn’t know your own name. You clenched around his dick and he cursed, slamming into you one more time before you felt him twitch inside. You had an errant fantasy about him cumming inside you, spilling his fat load into you and then fucking it into you.

You tucked that particular one to the back of your mind while Lamont dropped against you, loosening his grip around your throat. Your matching pants and gasps made the moment soft but fuzzy around the edges. Like when you first woke up from a good nap and didn’t know what year it was or what you were doing beforehand.

Lamont slipped out of you, stumbling back. He took off the condom, tied the ends, and threw it in the nearest trash can. He sat in own chair. He tucked himself back in but didn’t zip up his pants.

You slowly lowered your legs from the chair, feeling thoroughly fucked out. You looked towards Lamont who was studying you in the same way. He smiled first. Your smile matched his as the gravity of what you just did sunk in.

Sunk down deep into your bones. There was no going back from this. There was no way to pretend this didn’t exist. That he wasn’t just deep enough in your guts to still feel the lingering effects. You felt empty without him.

“We wasted too much fuckin’ time,” he said softly. You nodded and licked your lips.

You tapped the tips of your fingers trying to reorient yourself. Bring yourself down to reality. The reality of you with Lamont. You smiled. “Let’s not waste anymore.”

You had sex again on his red, leather couch. Nasty, intense sex where his hands were back around your throat, he was stroking deep in your guts, and staring into your eyes while he continued to shatter your world over and over again. You grinned and giggled in between his nasty words and your faint pleas for mercy.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but you were excited to find out.

THE END

Psst, over here! The Secret Lamont Files.

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anthonycrowley · 7 months

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i think this will get me tarred and feathered if i don’t word this properly but i do genuinely think that fandoms with canon relationships - gay or straight - as the most popular pairing kind of suck a little. like as a rule. not the media itself, that usually is very good. and especially in the case of actual lgbt rep i would rather that over well written fanfic every day of the week. but. man. something really is lost when you no longer have to have a downward spiral of madness with your friends for 2-4 weeks before you go ‘fuck it they’re in love i’ll do it myself’ and instead you’re all shaking hands going good game good game. a kinder world, truly. but none of you are going to write a 150k word fanfic set in an alternate apocalypse universe that showed up in a single episode out of 200 just to prove your blorbos truly Are in love.

#this is mostly about the state of azcrow fanfic plummeting the SECOND neil said that was his intention on twitter and also a little about #ofmd fanfic being. not bad but slightly uninspired in comparison to a Lot of fandoms i read for #but HONESTLY the gays are not alone. jaimebrienne fic got soooooo fucking boring after they fucked #and they broke up in canon so now i have NOTHING. which whatever. it’s fine. fuck you got. anywY.#text #my post #mobi #***to be clear i don’t know if mulderscully could do the apocalypse thing i didn’t finish the x files. other than them tho.

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keulixeutin · 2 years

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Lovelorn & Laughable

a/n: tried something more casual and shorter.

summary: it’s laughable that your friends think that bakugou, of all people, is dangerous to you. bakugou x gn!reader.

cw: fluff. established relationship. mentions of drunkenness and alcohol. mentions of friends being afraid that reader is in an abusive relationship (they're not). gender neutral pronouns used.

wc: 986.

You’ve been dating Bakugou for eight months, and your relationship with the infamous explosive hero is a confusing case among your friends.

However, you don’t know how confused they are until Uraraka pulls you aside one day to ask if you’re okay—read: to ask if you’re safe.

You almost laugh in her face, but you’re able to keep it together in front of her honest expression. It’s surprising how little they know, and it’s hilarious how wrong they are (which is wild to you, because aren’t they close with Midoriya who considers him one of his closest friends?).

It’s laughable that they think Bakugou, of all people, is dangerous to you.

Bakugou, who gives you his credit card three months into the relationship.

Bakugou, who changes his phone background weekly because he can’t decide on one favorite picture of you.

Bakugou, who searches for your hand to hold even in his sleep, who jerks awake whenever he feels you shift too far away in bed, whose frantic fingers search the sheets for you in his half-sleep.

That Bakugou. Right.

Though you have enough self control to not laugh, you do let out a wicked snort. You tell her to watch carefully next time you’re all together, and even when she tries to tell you that she has been, you shake your head and repeat it—watch carefully.

At the next group outing at a pop-up carnival, you arrive arm-in-arm with Ashido, Bakugou following close behind. Midoriya’s the only one who eagerly greets your boyfriend, though you wouldn’t say the others give an unkind welcome. You grin at the ones you know are worried—Asui, Iida, and Uraraka—though they don’t find this as funny as you do.

Watch close, you mouth to them.

And they do.

At first, they think you’ve got some mild form of Stockholm Syndrome; they think that you must be used to trauma and that you can’t tell your relationship is a bomb ready to go off. All they can see are his scowls and shouts. All they can see is the angry child who grew bigger, stronger, and more powerful than he was a decade ago, a man who must be utilizing all of his strength and anger to keep you trapped.

Watch, you tell them again when they try to pull at you for a quick intervention.

They’re still doubtful, but for you, they try again.

This time, they see things—they see Bakugou, maybe not the way you do, but different than how they used to.

They see how his shoulders always touch yours when he’s seated, how he accompanies you to the food stall so he can pull his wallet out, how he always glances back to see where you’re at as you linger at each stand. They see him scowl with cheeks colored pink as you fix his hair in the whipping wind. They see him lean into your ear and whisper something that makes you laugh as he points to an ugly pig plush prize. They seem him pull you away from the group and sneak off into the crowd when he thinks no one’s watching.

Still not fully convinced, they finally approach Ashido about your relationship, about whether or not you’re truly safe and loved. She’s first taken aback because she thinks they’re making a dumb joke. Then, when she sees that they’re genuinely concerned, she doubles over in laughter, cackling so hard and so loud that there are hot tears in her eyes and painful cramps in her stomach. She gasps out in between giggling and snorting about how incredible it is that they could believe something so obviously impossible, ignoring their expressions of irritation and shame.

Well, Bakugou doesn’t drink around you guys, so that’d probably help, huh, she says when she’s finally calmed down, wiping at her eyes. At their confusion, she explains that he’s needy when he’s drunk. I’ll give you a sneak peek, she smiles conspiratorially.

Pulling out her phone, she opens up the folder created specifically for sentimental Bakugou photos. Ashido shows them a picture of him passed out on the couch, face resting against your lap with a firm grip on your calf (This was last week when he was plastered after four drinks!), another of him with you up on his shoulders in the pool, fiery smirks on both your faces (They beat me and Denki in Chicken, ugh!), and finally, a picture of him kissing you around a corner, which was immediately followed by a blurry photo of Bakugou swinging at the camera (I don’t remember this one, actually, but this happens pretty frequently!).

Perhaps they hadn’t been watching closely after all, they think.

Ashido shows them several more photos, each with Bakugou sappier than the last, and she ends it by cooing about how cute the both of you are. She says she’s surprised that neither you nor Midoriya have shown them anything, and Midoriya stammers out something about privacy, and they mention that they hadn’t expressed their horror in full until recently.

Horror, Ashido repeats, and then it turns into another full-blown cackle in public.

When you and Bakugou make it back to the group, you take one look at your friends and grin, seemingly aware of their newfound understanding. They look back at you, abashed, but you’re too preoccupied with your bag of souvenirs and the ugly pig plush in your arms to be mad about their misconceptions. Anyways, the pig was bought, not won, and you’re excited to share the story with the others. Bakugou is on his phone again, subtly leaning against you; when Uraraka passes by behind him, she sees that he’s not scrolling through his apps but deciding a new background photo, stuck between one of you throwing the camera a kiss or laughing in the sunlight. She watches him pick one and then favorite the other one.

#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ reader「 gender neutral 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ fandom「 bnha 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ character「 bakugou 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ titled「 lovelorn & laughable 」#╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ novae writes 」#bnha x reader #bnha x gn!reader #mha x reader #bnha fanfics #mha fanfics #reader inserts #dynamight x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x gn!reader #bnha fluff #bakugou fluff

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itsonlydana · 8 days

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Heyy I just wanted to ask if you could write something for Thranduil x gn!reader just something really light and fluffy maybe like how he takes care of reader what they do in a day and just spending time together doing romantic things and reader really just enjoying life without a care in the world... (Deine Fanfictions sind soooo super ❤️Ich stecke grade sowas von in der Prüfungsphase es ist echt Gold wert wenn man deine Stories zu Lesen hat🤌🏻 )

Spoil Me, Pamper Me, Love Me | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x gn!reader 👑

a cozy day spent with Thranduil

warnings/tags: none, fluff!

words: 1,4k

an: such a lovely request; had such a fun time writing it :) take the elvish terms of endearment with a grain of salt.. i literally googled them lmao but i made sure to use gender neutral names. [Ich wünsche dir viel Erfolg bei deinen Prüfungen, anon! Ich hatte meine im Februar und hoffe du kommst da gut durch <3]

+ masterlist + rules +

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Being Thranduil's beloved comes with positives as well as negatives – he is a king, a leader after all, and most of his waking hours are dedicated to keeping up his political alliances.

This spanned from week-long travels to other kingdoms to meetings that could last long enough for most of the day to pass without seeing each other much.

Many of these affairs do not require personal attendance though and only expect Thranduil to correspond through letters; a convenience you both treasured admits all the dragging conferences at round tables that were more draining the less importance of the topic to be discussed – even a royal elitist like Thranduil, who took great pleasure in all things rich and extraordinary drew the line after twelve hours of staring at two types of wood to repair a bridge.

Paperwork days – as you called them – were the perfect opportunity for lazy mornings between you and Thranduil. Drowsily cuddling underneath silken sheets that caught the sunrise in their translucent fabric, shutting out the world for unhurried fooling around in each other's arms and with only your giggles and his huffed laughter carrying any indication you were awake at all.

Breakfast was served in your shared chambers and instead of getting up and dressed you took the small feast in bed, unbothered by the missed chit-chat and gossip that eating in the great hall brought forth for Thranduil's kisses are much sweeter than anything anyone could have done.

There is nothing the Elvenking wouldn't do for his significant other, including providing you with the ripest fruits to feed you only to lose himself in peppering kisses to your lips – chasing after the taste of the fruits that colored your lips red and pink.

"The sweetest," Thranduil mumbles, his lips moving from one upturned corner of your mouth over the bow of your lip to the other corner where he breathes another kiss into the crinkle of amusement that makes no effort of hiding across your whole face.

You are sprawled across the bed, still in an airy night robe that's pushed up to your thighs to leave room for Thranduil's hands to gently caress the skin.

The elf himself towers over you, the comfortable weight of his lean yet strong body pressing down on you as his hair falls over the both of you like a curtain of starlight. Your hands trail over his muscles as kisses the spot behind your ear that has you giggling and nudging your knee against his abdomen to push him away.

"Stop, my King–" you laughed, hands sprawled across his chest without any real strength behind them, "you know I can't stand this teasing!"

You feel the pull of his grin against your skin before you hear the rumble of his deep laugh. "I do, meleth e-guilen, I do," Thranduil says, and tipped his nose against yours, "but that makes it all the more tempting."

Your hands trail up to his shoulders and gather some of the light strands of hair, sweeping it over his back. His skin glows in the sun pouring through the window, thrumming under your touch, and with him draped over you, one warm leg between yours, the heat travels to you even if his broad back blocks out the golden light.

"Awful," you huff, "you are nothing but a dreadful lover, keeping me trapped here in bed." Like your hands on his chest, the words carry no harm behind them or any attempt to push him away from you.

If anything, you revel in the attention he peppers you with. The last weeks had dragged you apart and moments like this, where you had to think about nothing except for your lover's care toward you.

"Awful?" he repeats in a playful tone and makes a move to sit up. "Whatever did I do to deserve such harsh treatment?"

Instead, he quickly grabs you by your waist and before you can realize what's going on he has flipped you over, laughter bubbling up your lungs and spilling out while he falls back onto the mattress, pulling you with him and leaving you to topple over across him.

His fingers dig into your sides, holding you down onto him so you can't even escape the tickling that he dooms you with. "Awful, they say! I will show you dreadful, you minx."

Whenever you do make it out of bed eventually, hair all messed up by his hands, Thranduil insists on dressing you.

He treats you like you are made out of glass, warming up the milky creme in his hands before he massages it into your skin so that the chill doesn't bother you, and he sits behind you on the bed while he combs through your hair.

"Looks like thrush nested here," Thranduil chuckles. He barely evades the hand you swipe back at him as you snort indignantly. "Careful! You will scare the birds if you are not mindful of them"

The curse you throw at him instead has him gasping at the pure filth that leaves your mouth that, after hearing his reaction, curves into a smirk. "Get back to combing, Your Majesty. I do not have all day."

"Your word is my command, guren vell."

Thranduils lips kiss your neck, featherlight and then again, lingering. You sigh and let your head drop backward, falling to his shoulder, and blink up at him through lowered lashes, your eyes full of adoration.

His smile lights up a fire in your heart, the softness of it on marble features a reason to go to war just to see it again and for you to be the only recipient of this gentleness with which he wraps his arms around your middle, the hair comb long forgotten, that fuels the fire for all eternity.

On any other day, the duty to dress you would lay in the hands of your most trusted servants or your own, though nothing reached the level of wonderful that Thranduil made you feel right now, helping you to flowy robes.

For you, he even sinks to his knees, the only being alive that deserves this honor of the Elvenking kneeling in front of them, and you smile down at the crown in his hair, the silver circlet glittering just like his cerulean eyes in the midday sun, as he fixes your shoes for you but not without breathing more kisses on the inside of your calf which he carefully holds.

"Shall we walk through the gardens later?" Thranduils hand falls to your lower back on your way through the intricate floors of the underground palace, evoking a pleasant buzz in your stomach.

"We could go riding out," you muse, thinking back to the last time you and Thranduil had taken out the royal elk.

Thranduil steps closer, ignorant of the servants and elves rushing past you with lowered heads and bows, to nip at the curve of your pointed ear.

For everyone else, it looked like he had just kissed you, but his teeth grazed the delicate skin in a hidden manner.

That's how the public display of his utter devotion to you goes; loving kisses that – away from prying eyes – turn completely devoid of etiquette, as well as his hands that never seem to leave you, whether it's in the form of a simple pressure in your lower back or resting on your side to hold you close to him.

Thranduil did not need to put you on display for everyone to know you were his, the expression in his eyes told the story of a King completely in love in a way that didn't need flashy gems or luxuriant robes; not that those weren't gifts you regularly found yourself unpacking nevertheless.

"Whatever you wish for. My heart is your loyal servant," Thranduil vows, smiling at the bright-eyed expression you gift him at that.

The letters on his desk could wait for a day longer, he had all of eternity to manage his kingdom.

Thranduil spends the rest of the day tied to your side – or behind you on our royal moose, as you take him outside to the forest, Thranduils arms around your waist and his chin propped up on your head, as you let yourself fall into his chest. In these woods, with your beloved's sharp senses taking in all of your surroundings even while he busies himself with twirling the fabric of your robes between his fingers or drops kisses to your shoulder and neck, you are completely safe.

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