#You can’t win and I do not care enough to try

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: Hellllllooooo 😁

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You can’t help but admire the books balanced in your lap. You’re overly aware of another set of eyes on you as you once more trace the title with your fingertips, not wanting to touch too much but simply unable to resist. It can’t be real. All the books you ever had come from the Goodwill or your grandmother’s closet. 

Bucky leans into you, his proximity still sweltering to you. You glance over at him sheepishly as you grip the edges of the top book to hold them steady. 

“Thank you,” you babble again, probably for the ten dozenth time. 

“You like them, doll?” 

“Yes, very much,” you push your shoulders up bashfully. 

“See, doll, all I wanna see is you happy,” he intones, “you’re happy, aren’t you?” 

“Sure, yes,” you stammer, “thank you.” 

He chuckles, amused by your incessant thanks yous. He rubs your shoulder and grips it tight, pulling you closer. 

“So, I made you happy,” he shifts his body slightly against the seat belt, “how are you going to make me happy?” 

You blink and gulp, clutching the books tighter. You bite down as you stare at him. Oh. 

“Can I tell you how?” He brings his fingertips up to pet your chin, “promise, it’s not too much.” 

“Mm, okay,” you utter. 

He grins and presses his thumb against your chin, “a kiss? Just one.” 

You let out a wispy noise and barely keep the books from slipping away. What? You can't be entirely surprised, you have no illusions, well as little as you can have, about what he wants and yet it’s like you’ve been slammed into by a sixteen-wheeler. Your clamp your lips tight as your bat your eyes. 

He considers you and his lips straighten, his dimples pitting beneath his beard, “you don’t want to?” 

“Uh, no, it isn’t...” your bottom lip quivers and your voice quakes. “I just...” 

You shudder and look at his mouth then his neck. You can’t look him in the face. Your whole body is alight and your heart is throbbing. How do you tell him the one thing you’re terrified to ever admit to anyone, though you’re certain they can see it clear enough. 

“You just what?” His voice is grittier, deeper. It adds an extra beat to your heart. 

“I never...” your eyes wander away, “I never kissed anyone. I’m sorry. I’m just... nervous. So I... I don’t know if I would be good.” 

He hums and rubs your chin, turning your head to him. He moves his hand to cradle your entire jaw and your throat bobs once more. You can’t help but reach to his wrist, clasping around his silver watch as your other hand strains to keep hold of the books in your lap. 

“Why wouldn’t you be any good, doll? Those lips can’t be anything but delicious.” 

You squeak and squirm in the seat. A tingle flows up your spine and strangles you. Your lips open and close like a fish out of water, a fluttering breath escaping you. 

“Doll, close your eyes,” he says. 

You can’t argue. You can’t move. You can barely think. So you obey. 

You shut your eyes and feel the heat around you stir. You can sense him leaning in and you stiffen as his breath glosses over you. He tilts your head up as his lips brush yours, his beard tickling your skin, and he presses firmly against you. You squeeze your eyes tight as he hums again and you let out a surprised squeak as his tongue pokes against your mouth. 

He pulls back as the books fall out of your lap onto the floor. Your eyes flick open and you try to look down. He holds you in place and pushes you back against the seat. 

“Forget them,” he urges as his hand stretches across your neck, “and open your mouth, doll.” 

He leans in once more and you’re plastered against the seat by his weight and the seatbelt. His mouth covers yours again and you let your lips go slack as his tongue delves within. You let out a murmur around him and slap your hand against the suede as his hand moves under your ear, a perfect vee beneath your lobe. He groans as he keeps his tending firm but soft, drawing back with a nibble as he leaves your lips wet. 

You sit there, eyes closed, puffing and trembling. He caresses your chin and purrs, “how was it, doll? Everything you expected and more?” 

You force your eyes open and look at him, shrinking down as you reach for his arm and try to dislodge his hand, “wow... I...” 

He smirks, “been a while since I left a lady breathless.” 

“I’m... sorry.” 

“Sorry?” He drags his touch along your jawline, “for what?” 

“I... was I bad?” You ask. 

He once more looms over you and you brace yourself. He kisses your forehead and slowly retracts his arm, “you are too good, doll. If I don’t stop myself...” 

You look around, fluttering lashes, shaky hands, and slowly bend forward. You gather up the books and slowly sit back. You stare forward, stunned stupid as the feel of his lips lingers. It wasn’t bad, just new, a little bit scary. Just like his words. 

What would happen if he didn’t stop himself? Could you stop him? 

🃏

The car rolls through a gate topped with golden points. You peer up at the urban mansion. You’ve never been to this part of town. The towering homes and curated lawns make you feel tiny. More so than usual. 

You fumble to undo your seatbelt as Merv opens the door. You slide out ahead of Bucky and he trails after, his hand on your back as he guides you up the stone walk to the front door. He punches in a code into the keypad and lets you in ahead of him. 

As you enter, you smell maple and bacon. He stays close to you, directing you with a point over your shoulder. You enter a dining room, the large table only set for two. He takes the books from you and sets them aside on the corner table. You swallow tightly. 

“My personal chef should be about done,” he pulls out a chair and looks back at you expectantly. 

You scurry up and sit with a thank you. He tucks the chair in under you and takes the chair on the other side of the corner, still close. Before you can settle in, a woman appears with two stemmed glasses. She sets one down before each of you as Bucky nods in fleeting acknowledgement, though his blue eyes only twinkle in your direction. 

“Smells good,” you chew your lip nervously and his gaze follows the gesture. 

“Nothing but the best, doll,” he winks and sips from his glass. 

You do the same, surprised by the bubbliness. There’s a slight tang to the orange juice you don’t expect. He’s still watching you, seemingly amused by the play of emotions on your face. 

“What?” You give a brittle giggle. 

“You,” he says, “it’s a mimosa...” he leans forward, “still tryna figure out what you like.” 

“It’s nice. Sweet,” you look at the glass and take another drink. 

“Mm, maybe something strawberry next time,” he suggests. 

“Ooo,” you smile but stop yourself as you feel goofy. 

You blow out between your lips, trying to expel the tension as his eyes stay stuck to you. His attention is flattering but no less intimidating. You were never one to be in the spot light. You peer around the room, admiring the modern but elegant decor. 

“Your house is so nice,” you rub your hands together nervously. “Must be nice living here...” 

“Eh, bit empty but not bad,” he says, “lonely.” 

“Oh,” you turn back to him. 

“Doll,” he pinches the stem of the glass, “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea here. I know I got a reputation, you probably read all about it online. But I’m a changed man... or trying to change.” 

You lower your brow in confusion. It’s strange to have anyone, let alone him, explain themselves to you. 

“You know, I was with a certain type for a long time but... nothing serious. No one like you.” 

Oh, you know. Why would he be with someone like you? You don’t dare to ask the question. 

“It’s... okay,” you stammer. 

“I don’t know any other way to do this,” he sits back and pushes his hair away from his face, “I’m taking it slow but...” his chest rises and he exhales heavily, “I hope you know how into you I am.” 

Your cheeks sting hotly and you can’t help but touch them. You avert your eyes, looking down, then cross your arms across your chest. You look at him and shrug. 

“Why?” 

He narrows his eyes and brushes his fingers along the trim of his beard. He puckers his lips thoughtfully. 

“I didn’t know until I saw you,” he drops his hand, resting it against the table. “I don’t know, you just looked... sweet. A bit lost. But I meant what I said, the skirt was cute. Kinda hoped you’d wear it today.” 

“Oh?” You let out apologetically. 

“That’s okay, doll, wishful thinking,” he says, “can’t have everything I want at once. I’m learning that.” He sits forward, “you’re teaching me how.” 

“I am?” 

“Sure you are,” he smirks, “waiting on you, aren’t I?” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” you twiddle your fingers nervously. 

Before it can grow awkward, the same woman returns. She has a tray in her hands, large and spread with serving dishes. She leans it on the table and lays it all out; bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, french toast, waffles, pancakes. Everything you could dream of for a perfect breakfast buffet. 

Your stomach grumbles loudly and Bucky tilts his head coyly. Did he hear that? You wait until the woman leaves to reach for your fork and knife, mirroring him as he does the same. He uses the tongs to put some bacon on his plate and offers you some. You take only one, it usually makes your stomach hurt. 

“You’ll be waiting on me tomorrow,” he says, as he continues to serve himself. Each time, he adds some to your plate as well.  

“I will?” 

“Probably a long day for me. You’re gonna have to get into the night shift, doll,” he explains. “Business and all that tripe. I’d rather have you by my side later anyhow. I’m not much of a morning person. Besides, I’ll need something pretty on my arm at the casino.” 

“Casino?” You echo. 

“Sure thing, doll. I gotta keep a watch over what’s mine,” he insists. 

“Right, er...” you look at your plate.  

The idea of stepping back into the casino makes your insides jelly. It’s so crowded and bright and busy. And with him, the one person everyone will be watching. At least there are no cameras permitted on the floor. 

“Just stick close,” he says, “shouldn’t be hard. I won’t let you get very far.” 

He chuckles and you poke at the scrambled eggs. What do you wear? What do you do? Just follow him around like a duckling? 

The woman returns, plaintive as she stands in the doorway. You glance over at her but Bucky keeps his attention on his food. 

“Thea?” He calls to her. 

“Sir, a package,” she declares. 

“Ah, yes, bring it in,” he demands and bites into a sausage. 

He chews and you opt to turn your focus to the growling in your stomach. You may as well enjoy what you can and you’ve never been shy of a good meal. You pour syrup onto the waffle and dust some icing sugar over it. He’s watching you, you peek up briefly to confirm it. You make your bites small and tidy. You wilt beneath his constant surveillance. 

The woman, Thea, returns. Bucky waves her over as she carries a white box. He drops his fork and stands. You hover your cutlery over the plate and watch as he dismisses her with a curt nod. 

“Please, enjoy,” he insists as he sets the box on the other side of the array of food. 

You stick to your conservative progress, curiously watching him as he pops open the lid of the box. He looks inside and smiles. He goes back to his seat to retrieve his napkin and wipes his hands. 

“How do you like them?” He pulls out a shirt, the edges scalloped around the bottom and neck, little purple hearts speckled all over. 

“Pajamas?” You wonder aloud. 

“Thought they’d be cute,” he smiles and drapes the shirt over the back of the chair in front of them, revealing the matching shorts. “You can take some pictures for me tonight.” 

You nearly choke. You tried to forget that picture. Both of them. His and yours. Right then, you can only think of him in the towel. 

“I’ll have it packed up with the books for you to take,” he puts the pajamas back in the box and closes the lid. “Let’s finish our food.” 

“Uh, okay, thank you,” you stammer. 

“Doll, it’s all just beginning,” he sits and reaches for his mimosa, holding it out. You take yours and he clinks your glass. “Here’s to us.”

[melodramaticatheart]

Lighten Up

Dean has a panic attack when Micheal suddenly appears out of the blue and distracts him from stressing thoughts.

Pairing: Dean Redding and Micheal Townsend

Word Count: 753

Book: The Naturals

Author's Note: the bromance guys!!! this was interesting to write since i rarely write from a guy's pov, especially in 1st person. anywho yeah i love my boys so writing about them and their dynamic was fun. had to cut some words cause it came down to just a bunch of yapping lol. also im kinda proud of this one!

taglist: @nqds, @reminiscentreader, @urbanflorals, @art-of-fools, @deprivedofbraincellsandsleep, @lxvebelle

The heat on my chest was brewing. I needed air. The doors stood at the end of the hall taunting me, so close yet so far away. I stumbled forward, getting closer to my goal. I finally made my way outside, breathing in the night. I took a moment to compose my shaking hands, counting as I stared at the moonlit pool. The panic in my chest only rose. I stood there, trying to make sense of how I’d let myself break. 

Again. 

Sterling was ordering Agent Locke to take me to visit my father for a new case, something about patterns. But every time I walked into that interrogation room, all I wanted was to shoot him in the head, his eyes on me. I’m not like him. I repeated the thought to myself until I half believed it.

“Y’know, I’ve never seen someone so pouty while staring at the moon.” My back straightens at the sound of Michael’s voice. “Fuck off, Townsend,” I grunt, not having the energy to deal with his bullshit. “Why the long face, Redding?” Michael teased, his grin seemed to have a presence of it’s own since I felt it before I saw it. He came to stand before me, two beers in hand and glinting eyes.

The tension between us was palpable; about a dozen arguments and unresolved fights helped make that. I stumbled forward, sitting on the familiar cobblestone steps, getting away from his figure.

“What do you want, Townsend?” I snapped, not bearing his company. My hands still trembled; the cool night breeze helped, but not enough.

Michael quietly came to sit beside me for a long moment before offering me a beer. “Thought you might need this.”

I stared at the bottle, temptation running on my tongue, before silently laughing. Only Townsend would offer the solution of drinking away my problem. “No? Ok, more for me I guess,” He says uncapping a beer and taking a chug. “Look man I know that Sterling has you going to see your dad again, it must suck ass I’m just trying to,” He lowered his voice to a whisper “Make sure you’re ok.” “What no way the Micheal Townsend cares about me?! This can’t be” I feigned sarcasm not caring to put a single inch of emotion into my words. “Shut up, I’m just doing it 'cause if you fall apart so do the girls and I don’t need to be taking care of three sad wimps.” I stare at him and take a beer out of his hand temptation winning over. 

“Y’know you shift your shoulder when you lie, Lia must be bored with how easy it is to figure you out.” 

“Shut up” He retorts with a snort,

A long silence seems to settle itself between us, leaving us to drink and drink. “I can handle it y’know” I take a moment before continuing, ignoring the sting in my eyes. “I don’t need you worrying about me, especially not Sloane or Lia,” I say with finality, not wanting them to worry about me, it was bad enough when Sterling looked at me like the same broken child I was so long ago, I didn’t need to see the worried glances from the girls every time I went out. “Can you? Handle it I mean?” He takes another swig from his beer before pointing to where I was standing just 20 minutes ago. “Cause from over there it looked like you were losing it.” 

I knew what he was saying was true and yet I couldn’t let myself admit it. “Every time I see him I feel so helpless. It’s like i’m back in that house” I cut myself off  taking a shuddering breath. “Don’t worry Redding, whether you like it or not you’re stuck with the lot of us, we’ll help you get though it and then when we go through our shit you’ll be there for us too.” I nod stiffly to his words knowing the truth behind them. “We’re a team, and if one of us breaks, well we can’t have that happening” The familiar word of Agent Locke sound through my head as Micheal stands up finishing up his beer. “Hey you notice how much calmer you are with my presence? It’s almost as if i’m a relaxing thought for you” He backtracks to the door his cocky grin back on his face. I give him my middle finger, happily confirming that no amount ‘heart to heart’ could change our relationship.

[bigleoenergy]

Obviously this isn’t the last chapter of my hero but even so I think the ending of this final battle was done very shallow anyways. Like happy for bakudeku people fr I’m happy they got their destiel moment but I sincerely feel like horikoshi said whatever to the actual story he was writing in favor of pleasing the izuku and bakugo fans which are the majority of the fandom. Because besides them literally every other character has just been side lined into an “okay? That’s it I guess??? “ ending. I’m so serious if you step outside of Bakugo and Izukus storyline not a single other character has had any proper wrap up for this war. Over half of these characters aren’t even acknowledged despite being set up for a more impactful story it’s crazy.

And I’m sorry but genuinely what is the point of anything right now if Touya, Himiko, and Tomura are dead. I literally don’t care if one of them did actually survive and we see that in the next chapter, we should see them alive now….getting help…being acknowledged. What was the point of emphasizing to your viewers how fucked and unfair hero society is and how so many people suffer and become villains because of never getting help if the three characters who represent the unfairness just die??? All of them??? Like okay… hope that their deaths impact the hero students so hopefully when they grow up they….feel more inclined to be sympathetic to future villains, instead of actually writing how current society should’ve acknowledged our marginalized characters and through enough help these people could be rehabilitated into a better society. Like the point of emphasizing this entire time how this new generation of hero’s, Izuku especially, are better than the hero’s before them and are going to right past wrongs should be shown in the characters actually doing that… not just hoping they will. Like because these characters are dead there can’t possibly be any justice brought. If they are all truly dead how can we see hero society face their mistakes and work to fix them because nobody else in this universe if going to care about the deaths of these villains besides Izuku, Ochako, and Shoto who knew them personally. It truly feels like he backed out of writing the harder story in favor of just pleasing the majority of fans there’s no other way to spin it.

Also….the way izuku didn’t even reach his goal like bro failed….and not poetically like you can spin it as “he’s just a teenager!!! He can’t be expected to actually succeed at everything!!!” We know. We’ve seen him fail plenty before. Showing us this in the final battle is unsatisfactory. “It’s realistic to show that you can’t save everyone! Not even the good guys can meet their goals it wouldn’t be realistic .” First of all this is a fantasy story. This is a fictional story written by someone to share a message to his audience. And he failed at showing the message he had built up since the start. Like there’s plenty of times you can show me how the good guys don’t win every battle and I love it but trying to say this at the price of your characters who represent abuse and mistreatment is bad writing and it’s lazy. You can not spin it any other way.

I’m just spur of the moment rambling so if anything I say is incoherent sorry I just genuinely expected so much better.

[rahabs]

Toxic law culture is watching your coworker stay at the office past midnight to work on something and then get reamed out the next day because it doesn’t meet the mercurial standards of senior counsel or the “partners”.  And he wonders why I continually refuse to work past office closing hours.

[drunk-poets-society]

Man, working with kids is so entertaining. This 8th grader I’m teaching is so enamoured by me and I just lie to him abt the most inconsequential shit lol.

[shastafirecracker]

I restarted horizon zero dawn and fuck me do these games get me in my feelings. how dare they ask things like what do we owe our descendants, and what do we owe our ancestors, and what do we owe ourselves? and can these things be reconciled, or only balanced, or not even that much but merely attempted, and the only failure is not to try? how do we process the grief of and for people we never knew? is living in the moment enough, or is it cruelly neglectful of both the past and the future, or are the past and future the cruel ones for removing us from the presence of the sublime? stop in a moment when the music is gone and there’s only the rain, and hold your hands up to feel it falling. turn your face to the sun and feel the wind. don’t save the world, save the people in it. there will come soft rains: the video game. and Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, would scarcely know that we were gone.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。yours, always yours

synopsis. satoru has always been yours—and he needs you to know you’ll also always be his

— word count. 2.4k (read the breakup fic first for better understanding, but can be read as a stand-alone)

— contents. fem! reader, college! au, rich boy! gojo, post-getting back together angst that gets a little heated <3, minors do not interact, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, satoru cumming too quick <3, creampie, tbh the smut is short and a lil rushed my b, it ends in fluff tho !! trust !! there is fluff !!

— notes. tbh this will probably get flagged rly fast but oh well u win some u lose some. anywayyyyy here is the make up sex bc yall nasties deserve it <3 jk love u guys

satoru falls first. and he falls hard. everyone knows it, it’s never been a secret.

“you want me to wash your hair?” you ask gently, kissing his shoulder as the water falls over his head. he hums, nodding absentmindedly as he stares blankly at the tiles of your shower wall.

“sure,” he mumbles, “don’t tug.”

“i never tug,” you roll your eyes, snorting. he huffs a small chuckle, but it’s not the usual laugh satoru gives you. it’s mechanic, almost—just there to fill the space. “baby?” you ask softly.

“yeah?” he asks, “oh, should i bend a little? sorry, i—”

“what’re you thinking about?” your hands cup his cheeks, gentle and warm from the hot water as it soaks his skin.

he shakes his head, trying to smile as he clears throat. “just how nice it is to be pampered. maybe i’ll let you break my heart every once in a while so i get my back scrubbed and hair washed like this.”

“satoru,” you insist. you know—and he knows it too. “tell me?”

“why’d you do it?” he mumbles, “why’d you listen to him?”

“toru, you know why,” you sigh, “you know i didn’t think there were any other options.”

“you could’ve talked to me,” he furrows his brows, “just because my stupid old man threatens you with my stupid inheritance doesn’t mean we have to break up.”

“i was afraid you’d choose me.” it comes out as a whisper, like a confession you can’t bear to admit.

“i would have chosen you,” he agrees, “why’s that bad? how’s that wrong—”

“you’re not thinking about the bigger picture,” you shake your head, “that company is yours. you’ve spent your whole life—”

“so what? was i supposed to give up the rest of my life for it too?” he asks tiredly—satoru’s defeated. he’s never been defeated, it’s the most magnetizing thing about him.

even before you date him. he asks and asks and asks no matter how many times you say no. because there’s always a chance you’ll say yes, and he’ll never stop as long as there’s a chance.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffle, lips wobbling, “i could have….i should have said something. i didn’t want you to make a choice young and then….and then regret it.”

“you think i’d regret you?” he’s wounded—absolutely wounded at the words.

satoru has always been careful, diligent and so, so meticulous to love you right, to love you how you need to be loved. hadn’t that proven enough? that he was in it for the long run—for forever? he’d been so sure you’d be his future, that the break up feels like waking up from a peaceful dream to a house fire—devastating, with smoke in his nose and lungs that he can’t breathe right, and everything gone within a moment before he can even register it.

he stares at the ashes in despair. nothing prepared him for the hollowness of not being yours—because satoru has never cared to make you his. all he’s ever wanted was to be yours.

you’re quick to remove him from everything, deleting pictures from your socials, untagging him from posts, removing him from your private stories and close friends list. he doesn’t understand how you could change your mind so quickly—and then he realizes you probably don’t. because he knows you—better than anyone ever has, satoru knows you.

so he’s comes to you, drenched from the rain, from standing outside your door even as the water pelts against his skin because he’s determined. he’s going to get an answer out of you, going to make you explain why you pulled him in so close, let him reside in your heart and fall asleep to the comforting rhythm of its beating—and then push him out like he’s nothing. what made you push him out?

and finally, when he does, when you let him be yours again and admit it’s never what you wanted, that it’s because it’s what his father wanted—well, satoru can’t keep his composure. don’t you know? hadn’t he always told you? hadn’t he poured his heart out and let you know every moment he’s always been stuck dangling from his father’s fingers? stuck somewhere between the sky and ground, too high to feel the floor under his feet but never high enough to feel the wind in his face.

you’ve always known, always listened—and fuck, you held him some nights too, let your fingers dip into his hair and soothe his sorrows of always being stuck.

satoru’s always been stuck, always had every choice made for him and every instruction carefully laid out on the table. and then you decided to make his choice for him too, walking away and choosing his future for him like he’s never had a say.

he’s always been stuck, but never with you—but now, he wonders if that’s changed.

“no,” you squeeze his cheeks, “no i don’t think you’d regret me….but satoru losing what you have is a big thing,” you mumble, “people work their whole lives not having a fraction of what you do. that’s a lot to let you lose.”

“i’ve never seen my dad kiss my mom,” he stares at you, hard and unwavering, his eyes stare into yours, “he’s never held her hand or made her laugh. and you know what she told me? that she would sell her share of everything to have what we do. why do you always look at me for what i have first?” he asks angrily, the water pouring over his shoulders as they shake, “why can’t you just look at me first for once?”

“i do look at you,” you insist, “toru, all i ever see is you—”

“then stop caring what he says,” he says louder, his voice echoing through the small bathroom of your small apartment.

everything about your home is small—smaller than satoru’s especially. but he loves it, thinks he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

because it’s yours. and as long as you’re here, the world fits into this tiny apartment, the galaxy too.

“okay,” you say shakily. and then you nod, looking him in the eye, “you’ll handle it?”

he nods, kissing between your brows, “yeah, i’ll handle it. who else is gonna take over that company anyway?”

“but what if he finds someone else? and then he—”

“he won’t. my grandpa will shred him.”

“but he’s old, and he stepped down, so what really can he do if your dad decides—”

“god, baby,” he groans, pushing your body against the wall gently, “i love your voice, but you talk so much. i’m wanna listen to something else.”

his lips find your neck, sucking gently at the skin, hand trailing to your tits before his thumb circles your nipple. it’s slow, deliberate, teasing as it rolls over the bud.

you whimper, clutching onto him as a breathy, “t-toru,” leaves your lips.

“yeah,” he nods, “that’s what i wanna listen to instead.” his lips are in a grin against your neck, kissing and biting until he reaches your collarbone. “anyone dm you after you took me out of your socials?” he asks bitterly.

“j-just one,” you admit through a stutter, “b-but i didn’t even open it! i wasn’t really—oh, toru,” you gasp as his finger finds your clit, spreading your legs as he lets out a soft growl at your words.

“what? just cause my face isn’t on your instagram suddenly you’re not mine?” he asks, thumb rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves—you close your eyes, moaning as your arms wrap tightly around his neck. “you’re always mine,” he murmurs against your ear, low and careful so you hear him well, “yeah? got that?”

“got it,” you nod furiously.

“got what?”

“‘m al-always—oh, fuck,” you mewl as one finger prods at your entrance, gathering your slick before slowly sliding through your walls.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he says firmly, “finish your sentences.”

“always yours, toru! always yours—please, please j-just…”

“just what?” he raises a brow.

“more,” you sob—it’s a broken plea as your hips thrust against his finger.

he’s quick to slide in a second, thrusting his digits mercilessly into your soaked cunt, his palm gliding over your clit as the slick sound of his fingers fucking you is almost drowned by the water in the back.

your water bill will be high this month. you decide it’s a sacrifice satoru deserves.

“you think someone could ever learn this body better than me? make you cum like i can? you think anyone will ever love you enough to learn you like i do?”

“n-no,” you pant, his fingers hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, you feel that dull ache build up quickly. it’s good—everything with satoru is good. his other hand finds your chest to pinch a nipple, twisting and squeezing until your nails leave indents on his shoulders as you moan loudly. “no one—no one but you.”

“exactly,” he growls, “how could you leave me? how could you leave us?”

“‘m sorry,” you sniffle, whimpering when the tips of his fingers slam against that spongey spot of your walls, fluttering around him and squeezing him in. you’re close—so close that you almost don’t know what he’s saying anymore, too focused on the way your impending orgasm is approaching. fast. “i’m sorry, i’ll never—ever leave again.”

“say you love me,” he demands.

it sounds like he’s pleading, though, if you listen closely. there’s a small crack in his voice, a slight shakiness that makes you force your eyes open and stare at him and whisper, “i love you, satoru. i love you.”

and then he rips his fingers out—right before you’re about to cum. you gasp, pleading nonsense as you cling to him and buck your hips and search for something, anything to take you over the edge.

and then you hear a sniffle. is he crying? is that wet droplet on your shoulder a tear or the water? you’re too busy calming down from your orgasm dying before it ever came to focus.

satoru’s hard against your thigh, throbbing and painful to sink into you. he strokes himself a few times, whimpers as his thumb gathers the pre cum from the sensitive tip, smearing it along his length as he shakily lets out a quiet moan.

“f-fuck, i gotta feel you. please, can i? please—”

“yes,” you pull him closer, grinding your heat over his hard-on, “yes please, toru. more, need more.”

he’s sliding along your folds, dragging the tip of his cock along your entrance and smearing a mix of your arousal with his. and then slowly, ever so gently, he’s pushing into your after that, pushing past your walls and bullying into your soaked cunt, curving into you perfectly.

it’s only been a week—you feel like you haven’t felt him in years. but it’s familiar. you remember every part of him, including every vein that drags along your walls and makes your head spin. he remembers every part of you, including where that spot is that he needs to angle his hips to find.

he slams into you, hard and rough and fast—doesn’t even let you adjust your position to hold onto him tighter before he’s thrusting his hips and fucking into you desperately. you can feel him, every inch of his skin against you, every part of him that’s touching you. and you can feel the way his cock nudges past your folds, the friction burning pleasure through ever nerve.

satoru knows how to fuck you, just like he knows how to love you, he knows your body—every dip and ever curve, every place to touch and every part that has you gushing around him. it’s just the way he is, too good at giving you what you want, what you need.

when he moans, it’s breathy and he’s panting as he lets out those soft whimpers that make your head spin. “feel that? feel me?” he asks, grunting as you squeeze around his length.

“yeah,” you breathe, “‘m so full.”

“i need you. please, please,” he murmurs, “can’t lose you, baby. never you,” he chants, the quiver in his voice tearing you apart.

“i’m right here,” you gasp, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing his hand. he squeezes back, just to let you know he’s there too, “right here, baby. you got me.”

and then he cums, just as soon as you whisper that—he spills right into you with a broken cry, his hips rolling, needy and desperate and so, so lost on the pleasure. he’s too busy working himself through his high, trembling over your body to care he’s cum too quick—and you don’t have it in you to tease him. you can feel the hot ropes of cum filling you, painting your walls white, fucking deep into you as the blunt head of his cock slams into you without a second of hesitation.

but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter that brutal pace as his hips slam into you, perfectly kissing your sweet spot every time. and before long, you break—your head pushes back against the wall behind you, mouth parted as you wail his name and cum—hard. you’re quivering and spasming around his swollen cock, enough that he whimpers at the way you’re so tight.

it’s good, it’s always good. satoru makes you feel good. he’s the best you’ve ever had—the best you’ll ever find.

and then you hear it again, the sniffle into your neck as he clutches you tightly. you know for sure that wet droplet is a tear this time, and your fingers tangle into his hair as you stroke the wet strands.

“i love you, toru,” you murmur, “my sweet boy. i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry.”

“don’t do that again,” he huffs in between tears, “that was so mean. so mean.”

“i said i won’t,” you chuckle, fighting back your own tears, “how long are you gonna hold this against me?”

“how long do you plan on being mine?”

“well,” you pull him from your neck, cupping his cheeks as you wipe away tears and peck his lips softly, “i think….forever.”

“well, get ready, then,” he glares softly, “i’m gonna hold this against you forever too.”

“okay,” you nod, “that’s fair.”

“and i love you too,” he adds, “but block whoever dm’d you. it better not be that zenin boy.”

“block those girls who’s pictures you liked,” you shoot back, glaring at him with a pout of your own.

“don’t yell at me,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch as your thumb strokes his cheek, “i’ve had a rough week. you have to be nice.”

dabitee anon. are u seeing this. did u see the satoru who cums too fast. did u see it. report back if u saw this. i repeat, dabitee anon report back if you see this

[byakuyasdarling]

.

[fanaticalthings]

Bruce coming home one day to find Robin Jason clinging onto a chandelier with Dick below him cheering him on.

Bruce: Jason what are you doing?

Jason: Dick said that you missed his antics after he moved out and so he’s teaching me how to be a better son

Dick: After this we’re going to drive the Batmobile into the bay :D

Jason: We’re going to what? I mean yeah! Right into the water.

Jason trying to whisper to Dick: Dick I can’t swim though

This just further fuels the chaotic dynamic of Dick and Jason during a time where Dick was still going through his teenage angst and was absolutely not a benevolent role model LMAO

I mentioned it in this post, but it's just so funny to me to imagine a Jason who grew up with an absolutely WILD Dick Grayson as an older brother, while the younger batkids grew up with a more mellowed out and mature (arguable but when measured against the other kids, he wins by a landslide) Dick Grayson.

Robin!Jason era:

Dick: You wanna go out and get high?

Jason: I can't, I have homework.

Dick, sputtering: HOMEWORK?

----

Dick, about to do an elaborate (and totally not dangerous) acrobatic move in the manor: Watch this, littlewing

Jason: You shouldn't do that, it'll make Bruce upset.

Dick, on the brink of angry tears: Why are you like this.

----

Jason, dejected: Listen, I know you don't approve of me because you think I'm not good enough as Robin, but-

Dick: Not good enough as Robin? I don't care about that, I just think you're a little bitch

----

Dick taking Jason out on a hangout for the first time: OK, looks like I got my work cut out for me. Take out a notepad and write everything down. I will NOT have my successor embarrass me like this. So what you wanna do to piss of Bruce-

---

[Years later, Jason returning to Gotham with the fury of a thousand suns and the chaos to match it]: I'm gonna make your life a living HELL, Bruce

Dick, older and relatively more chilled out: Okayyyyy, maybe let's just– calm down a lil, haha, no need for the theatrics

Jason, betrayed, observing a Dick Grayson who is teaching his new younger siblings to behave and be mature: Dick, what the FUCK

-----

Present!Dick, mentoring Tim: Make sure not to be too impulsive, don't wanna raise Bruce's blood pressure

Red Hood!Jason spying on them from afar: Who even ARE you??

-----

Jason: So you teach me ALL of that, only to turn into the ONE thing you despised so greatly all those years ago

Dick, sweating: Well-

Jason: I'm ASHAMED. How can you be worthy of being called my PREDECESSOR?

[screeching-bunny]

Yandere! Game Show Host Hcs

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

A/N: I saw this request and was like this is such a cool request but what if we made him an evil game show host. Like one that would put contestants in deadly scenarios.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host who kidnaps all of the contestants and forces them to play this twisted game that he created for money. Don’t worry though, he rigged the entire game to be in your favor. It was discreet enough for the viewers not to really care but apparent enough for you to notice the favoritism. Did you care? Hell no!! As long as you were getting paid you and survived this whole ordeal could give a rats ass about what happened next. Even when you do manage to get certain questions wrong, he will just brush it off and pretend that it was just a warm up question. The contestants are definitely seething whenever they see this happening.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host is a psychopath by nature. In each round, he presents the contestants with morally ambiguous dilemmas, enticing them with promises of grand rewards while dangling the threat of dire consequences for failure. Whether it's forcing them to choose between betraying a fellow contestant or facing a treacherous obstacle, he revels in their anguish, relishing the psychological torment he inflicts.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host is doing everything in his power to make sure that you win the game. He can’t have his poor baby feeling upset if they fail to win the grand prize. He would absolutely give out the most insane questions that practically no one knows the answer to. The punishment for getting a few questions wrong is mutilation of certain body parts and if you get too many questions wrong then you’ll end up being sent to your death. While everyone is basically being tortured in their punishments, he’d never allow that to happen to you. At most he’d probably just flick your forehead and call it a day. I imagine that most of the people watching the show are people who paid for the contestants to be kidnapped and be brought there against their wishes. Everyone who is put onto his show is a horrible person, including yourself, and have done something to be warranted to be there.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host bends all the rules of the game for you, providing subtle hints or covert assistance to ensure your safety. Although he has a strong desire to see others in pain and suffering, his love for you is stronger. At first justifies these actions as preserving the "entertainment value" of the show, but deep down, he's driven by an inexplicable desire to protect you.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host would baby you during your time there. He’d make a fuss whenever you tried to do anything remotely dangerous or touch some blood. I could totally see him using a baby voice to try to convince you to stop what you're doing. He has no shame, and everyone is looking at him with utter disbelief/confusion on their faces.

Yandere! Game Show Host: “Oh No! Please don’t go over there! You might slip from all the blood on the ground! Come here let me carry you across.”

Viewers: “…”

The contestant with their leg cut off: “…”

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host thrives on the power he wields over his contestants, reveling in their suffering as they navigate his challenges. As the game progresses, his demeanor grows more twisted, enjoying the contestants' internal conflicts and emotional turmoil. He taunts them with mocking laughter, reveling in their discomfort and manipulating their decisions to heighten the drama. God forbid that you manage to develop a crush on someone while you are there. He’d absolutely lose it and do everything in his power to crush them. You best believe that he’s going to keep them alive for as long as possible and give them the worst punishments known to man.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host has cameras everywhere and when it's time for the contestants to rest for the night he’s going to be observing you. He’s a loser who doesn’t really know how to act around you without becoming a mess. In his spare time, he likes to just watch you through the cameras and imagine himself right next to you. He’s absolutely delulu about your feelings towards him and believes that you feel the same way. Even when you do manage to win this fucked up game, he’s not letting you go. There’s no way that he’s letting you leave after you managed to steal his heart. After this is all over, he’s taking you to his house and locking you there.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host holds pride in knowing how many people are at the mercy of his hand. Has a minor God complex and has this skewed mindset about how everyone else is beneath him besides you. Believes that you were made just for him and that you're his one true love. Would rather die than give you up or allow anyone to “take you away from him”. He’s like an annoying roach and almost impossible to get rid of. He’s making sure to stay with you for as long as possible.

—

Yandere! Game Show Host strides onto the stage with a wicked gaze, his piercing gaze fixed on the contestants. His voice, a chilling blend of charm and malice, booms through the speakers as he welcomes the participants with a mocking flourish. Thom who were strapped onto a table with heavy objects over their heads.

Yandere! Game Show Host: “Alright contestant number one, what is the mass of the Sun divided by Planck's constant in nanometers.

Contestant One: “HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT!?!?!”

Yandere! Game Show Host: “Unfortunately, that's not the correct answer. You’ll now be facing the consequences.” In a matter of seconds, the heavy object comes flying down with alarming speed. Upon impact, it mercilessly crushes against their skull, unleashing an overwhelming and unimaginable force that distorts bone and flesh. Yandere! Game Show Host then makes his way towards you and begins to speak.

Yandere! Game Show Host: “Alright, it's your turn now. No pressure, I know you’ll do great just take your time. Okay what’s 1 + 1?”

You: “2.”

Yandere! Game Show Host: "Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it."

Other Contestants: “What the hell!?!? How is this fair!?!!

[alyakthedorklord]

Batman the Playboy

Justice League, not quite early days but before proper identity reveals, though everyone knows Batman knows theirs, bc he has Opinions™ and Constructive Criticisms™ on their secret-keeping.

The issue is brought up on random occasions. The most notable incident- the Justice League, including Batman, being Drunk for Bonding, and Batman, in a fit of paranoid good intentions because he CARES about these idiots, damnit, why must they be so careless, starts insulting them.

Batman, leaning heavily on the table: “GL, you’re a mess, I don’t even know where to start with you. And Arrow! Your goatee is so distinctive, it’s a wonder no one has called you out on it-“

Green Arrow, also drunk: “Alright, there’s no need to insult my awesome facial hair-”

Batman, in despair: “It’s so ugly.”

Green Arrow: (offended noises)

Green Lantern: “Okay, the only reason you know our secret identities is because you’re a rude nosy bastard who needs to know everything about us like a creepy stalker who needs an ego boost! We’re not stupid, Spooky, we’re just polite. We could figure you out easily if we wanted to. Superman can see right through your mask!”

Usually, Batman would have a good response to that. Something smart and reasonable like “villains won’t care for your privacy, I’m testing you,” or something cutting like “I don’t care enough about you to go digging, I set your secret identity as a training exercise for Robin.”

However, Batman is Drunk, because for some reason imbibing drugs that dampen higher brain function is socially acceptable and often, for some reason, expected, because it’s “team bonding” and “come on just loosen up a bit.” (Also for him, drunk=Brucie)

So what Batman ends up saying is: “I could kiss you full on the lips in my secret identity and you wouldn’t know a thing.”

Superman, plucking the glass from Batman’s hand: “Aaaand that is enough alcohol for you!”

Batman nods. Thank God. He wants to go home and sleep. But first: “Superman, yours is so stupid it’s almost impressive-”

———

Of course, Green Lantern has smelled a challenge. And Green Lantern must annoy Batman. It’s his true superpower. So, the next time they meet (sober) he brings up the issue again.

GL: “So about what you said at the party… the part where you could kiss us full on the lips without us knowing. You still confident in that without liquid courage, Spooky? Bet you your real name you can’t do it.”

Batman, regretting the fact that alcohol has ever passed his lips: “I could do it, but I will not.”

Flash, curious: “Why’s that?”

Batman: “Informed Consent. I will not risk making any of you feel violated, or manipulated, for the sake of a stupid bet and my ego.”

GA, still offended by the goatee comment, trying to back Batman into a corner: “So if we give consent, we’re fair game? Try me, Batman. Even you can’t pull this off. Anyone else game?”

Some of the Justice League laughs, raising their hands.

Flash: “Come get me, hot stuff! I’ll call you out!”

Wonder Woman: “It could be amusing.”

Martian Manhunter: “I would be far too difficult a target.”

Green Arrow: “Not just you. C’mon, Spooky, flirting well enough to get a kiss from me? I’m a classy lady.”

Black Canary: “D-class, maybe.”

Superman, wants a kiss in on the fun: 🙋🏻‍♂️

“So that’s it then!” Green Lantern says smugly. “Batman, if you can kiss… how many people raised their hands? Ah yes- HALF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE, without anyone realizing it’s you, then you win.”

Batman scoffs and walks out, leaving the Justice League in stitches at their joke. Because- Batman? Being good enough at flirting to land a kiss on half the league, without it being forced or awkward, without them recognizing his body language, his voice, his build? How ridiculous!

The Batman is Autistic. The Batman does not understand jokes, especially not ones that are half truths. The Batman has consent, and something to prove.

And Bruce Wayne, billionaire, playboy, and sexy DILF, has targets.

(Please tell me how you think he gets each League member.)

Edit: there have been a bunch of awesome additions in the notes! My own take here.

[kissitbttr]

this is miguel o’hara being a dick

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader

-

miguel knows he’s fucked.

he has been neglecting you, putting his work above your needs and ditched on dates he can’t count with his fingers. at first you were okay, given that you’re dating such a busy man like him, you understand the consequences.

but you’ve had enough. there were nights where you cooked dinner, only to be left untouched by him or where you softly cried yourself in the middle of the night because he was still out. the only time he comes home is when you’re already asleep, then he left to the HQ in the morning before you’ve gotten the chance to wake up.

you confronted him about this. paid a visit to his office before going to work. Jess and Lyla had warned you to not disturb him but you managed to make them back off with a single frightening look.

yes. they are scared of you. a lot of them are. they do not want to test you at all.

the moment you stepped into his office, he didn’t even bother to look. eyes were just too focused on his work that he assumed Jess was the one who walked in.

“oh, you’re fucking your co-worker now?” your tone laced with sarcasm and anger with arms crossed over your chest,

hearing the familiar voice, he had never whipped his head so fast. “y/n? what are you doing here?”

“well” you start, heels clicking against the floor as you step towards him. “since my boyfriend has been MIA for almost a week i figured i should stopped by.”

his head shook, turning his focus back to what he thought mattered most. “not right now, mi amor. I’m working.”

“i can see that, dumbass” you respond in a cold tone. frowning as to why he couldn’t take one second off from that god damn screen. “you and me are going to get breakfast together. now. before i go to work.”

“i told you I can’t. I’m busy” he replies, brushing you off with his hand. “next time.”

“i’m a busy woman too!” your voice shakes, wanting so bad to scream at him and throw that tiny desk at his head. “but I always want to make time for you, Miguel!”

no response. he muttered something under his breath but you couldn’t hear him.

un-fucking-believable

“you’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?” tone laced with venom as you spit the words. clenching your fists by your side as you struggle to hold back the tears. “i feel like this relationship is one sided, the only person that is truly making an effort is me. you don’t—“

Miguel couldn’t take it anymore. he threw a desk and it went flying, thankfully it didn’t hit you. though your eyes went wide in shock, a loud gasp left your lips as you covered your mouth with your hands.

“you’re right! I don’t! I don’t care about some silly little fucking breakfast when the universe depends on me!” he pointed at himself as his irises turned red when he looked at you. his breathing went heavy and he still wasn’t aware how scared you were at him at that point.

“do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to keep all this shit together?! how many people will die if i don’t do what i gotta do! I don’t always like it, y/n but i have to do it! and here you are trying to play house with me it’s fucking pathetic!” he scoffed, putting his hands on hips.

oh he did not realize how much his words hurt.

the room was filled with silence. you stared at him in disbelief but remained a stoic expression. you were taught better than to be weak before any men. Miguel was no exception. your mother would be disappointed if you let a man win.

“wow” you breathed, nodding. “that was a good speech actually, the longest one I’ve ever heard you talking” you tried to sound sarcastic but how you felt and how you sounded failed you.

Miguel was quick to notice this and his features quickly soften. he reached out quickly to hold you.

“cariño i—“

“I’m returning back to my apartment by five. do not fucking look for me” it was final. the way you said it, how your eyes remained empty as you spoke to him. Miguel knew better than to test you,

but he just did and now he’s paying the price,

his heart broke when he heard you said that. you were so tired of him and you just wanted him back. you want your man back but he couldn’t see how that mattered to you.

“baby, please—“

you held your hand as you turned around. “don’t you even think about sending Jess or Miles my way.”

with that you walked out of his office without uttering another word. leaving him speechless and heartbroken. he knew better than to follow you out, it would just make things worse. he was just going to let you cool off.

he didn’t know how long it was gonna take.

it has been almost a month that you two have been living separately. and he’s losing his mind. he can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he can barely walk out of the house without seeing all the things that remind him of you. the team even sensed something is wrong because he has been more short tempered than before and it almost made the rest of spider society terrified of talking to him.

he’s gotten more violent, that’s for sure. every enemy he encountered, he would leave them bleed with their faces unrecognizable. it was his way of taking his stress out. not exactly healthy but it’ll do for now.

but he thinks that this has gotten too far. he misses you terribly, your scent, your laugh, your voice, your body, and mostly… your pussy

God, the amount of times he sniffed your panties while he jacked off as the image of you clouded his mind was simply not enough.

and now here he stands before your apartment door. dressed nicely in a white buttoned up shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbows and a pair of black pants. his ring cladded fingers nervously grip around the boquete as the other hand shoved into his pocket.

Miguel had never been this nervous before. toeing his shoes and tapping his toes against the floor rapidly. it’s probably already been fifteen minutes that he’s standing like that staring at your door. thinking far too carefully what he wants to say.

he decides it’s now or never as he raises his fist and knock softly against the wooden door, hoping that you’re home.

“coming!” he hears your voice, his stomach somersaults hearing that after what it felt like a thousand year. “i am so hungry, why are you delivery guys always taking so—“

soon as you open the door, you freeze. definitely not the takeout delivery boy and instead it’s the one person you’ve been avoiding for God knows how long.

Miguel’s mouth hangs open slightly as he slowly taking in the sight of the gorgeous woman before him. you put on your favorite lime green night gown that stops just above your knees with a white silky robe, your hair fall down gracefully. natural curls framing your face. eyes glinting under the light, he almost falls to his knees and thank the Lord for your existence.

beauty doesn’t even begin to describe how you look tonight.

Miguel realizes how he probably looks like an idiot. clearing his throat to regain his composure as he smiles awkwardly at you. “Hi.”

you stare at him as your features then showcase a displeased expression. “what are you doing here?”

you’re leaning your body against the doorframe, arms crossed in annoyance. eyes flickering from his face to the flowers he’s holding and back up to his eyes. as much as you hate to see him, you can’t help that little feeling of butterflies in your stomach when you see the flowers he’s holding.

tulips. your favorite

he takes a one step closer to your frame, breathing out a sigh as he looks down at you. “I’m sorry, mi amor.”

that earns a scoff from you, looking away. “good start.”

“i was a horrible boyfriend.” he admits, gulping as he sees how sadness and exhaustion taking over your face just like that. “you don’t deserve that. what i said to you that day… none of it was true. you were not… pathetic, nor were the idea of having breakfast together… I appreciate every single thing we’ve done together, baby. believe me, por favor…”

a hard stare is the only thing he gets from you. the way your lips form into an angry pout and how your eyes seem to get tired and bored from his confession.

you’re a difficult person to please. he knows that.

“i know that being stress is no excuse of what I’ve done… I should’ve—fuck I should’ve done better. a month without you was like hell, mi corazon. ay, me sentí como si estuviera perdiendo la cabeza.” he sighs in frustration, head shaking as he recalls many sleepless nights. “i love you so so much. i do not want to go through that again … i know that it’s going to take forever to get your trust back and everything, but i swear on my mother’s grave that i—“

“stop talking”

he shuts his mouth after that. eyes looking up to you when he realizes you’re talking to him after a prolonged silence that’s taking over.

seeing how broken he looks almost feels like your heart got plucked. as mean as you are or as much as you wanted to look like you don’t care, you can’t when it comes to Miguel. you love this man far too much and despite his cold cold persona, that’s a huge sweetheart underneath.

“you hurt me, Miguel.” eyes casting down the floor as you try to keep your voice low. “you threw a desk to my direction…”

he shakes his head at that, resisting the urge to cradle your cheek. “lo siento, mi amor. I didn’t mean—“

“yes i know, i heard you.” you sigh, eyes closed momentarily. “you scared me”

Miguel feels his heart breaks when he hears how your voice breaks. he carefully lifts his hand to softly palm your cheek, thumb grazing against the skin. he exhales a soft sigh when you aren’t pushing him off.

“I didn’t mean to do that to you, my love. fuck, I’ve hurt you. i will never forgive myself for that. i was supposed to be the one who protect you and i was being a huge asshole.”

“a cute one though” you pout at him,

he chuckles at that, feeling the tension between you two are finally cutting down. “you’re too sweet, baby… after all i had done to you”

“nothing compared to how you treated me for the past two and a half years.” you smile sweetly at him, hand wrapping around his wrist. feeling at home once he holds you in his palm. “still a good man.”

he shakes his head in disagreement. “no, no that doesn’t excuse it… i was in the wrong.”

you hum in response, looking at the pretty flowers still in his hand. “are those for me?”

he nods with a smile, “you’re my only woman, no?”

you bite the inside of your cheek as you smile, taking it from his grasp as you sniff the pretty petals. “i love them. thank you.”

he once again goes quiet, taking another step closer. eyes looking down at your glossy lips and he can’t take it anymore. he doesn’t care if he’s stepping boundaries here. “i miss you, cariño. can i show you just how much?”

his offer sends shiver down your spine, making it impossible for you to stand still. Miguel always knows your sweet spot, how to make your knees feel wobbly without having him to touch you.

you do miss him touching you,

“i have a ballet class to teach tomorrow, papi. Saturday morning class, you remember ?” a pout formed on your lips, yet you still allow him to pull you close to him as he closes the door behind. “plus don’t you have work too? i bet Jess needs you.”

Migue nearly growls at you calling him ‘papi’. his jeans growing tight as you look up to him with doe eyes that you know he loves. though sometimes, you don’t understand the effect you have on him.

“that can wait… you’re more important to me than anything” he whispers, giving your open hand a kiss. large palm coming down to grip your waist, giving it a light squeeze. “do you want me too?”

you respond with a slow nod, biting back a smile as you interlock your hand with his pulling him inside. his smirk grows wider as he leans over to capture your mouth in his,

“let me fuck you real good then we can come home, eh mi vida?” he promises against your lips, slipping your soft silky robe off of you before picking you up in bridal style causing to shriek and giggle,

“i wanna hear you scream my name.”

-

part 2?

[pucksandpower]

Changing Lanes

Charles Leclerc x Horner!Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc always thought he would spend the rest of his career racing in red. But you make him see that he deserves better than false promises and unrequited love

“Took you long enough,” you say, lounging casually on the small leather couch in Charles’ driver’s room, your fingertips tracing intricate patterns on the cushion beside you.

Charles raises an eyebrow, letting out a dry laugh as he kicks off his shoes. “Every single time I see you, Y/N, you always have something to say.”

You linger on him. “Is it my fault you had to chat with the entire paddock before coming here?”

He smirks, crossing the room. “It’s called being polite. Something you could learn from.”

“Polite?” You scoff, feigning innocence. “Oh, like how Ferrari celebrated that P3 like it was a win? That kind of polite?”

Charles stiffens but he keeps his cool. “We take what we can get.”

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing. “Starting on pole and settling for P3? Charles, you deserve better.”

“I know,” he sighs, avoiding your gaze. “But this is racing. Sometimes it just doesn’t go your way.”

You lean in closer, your voice dropping an octave. “It could, though. If you were with a team that actually valued you, that gave you a car worthy of your talent.”

He looks up, meeting your gaze with a challenge. “You mean Red Bull?”

A coy smile plays on your lips. “It’s not a secret that Dad wants you. And imagine … you, in a competitive car, and me, right by your side as your race engineer.”

Charles’ eyes dart to your lips then back up to your eyes. “Tempting,” he murmurs, leaning in just a fraction closer. “But is this for the team or for you?”

“Can’t it be both?” You whisper back.

His breath hitches and he pulls back slightly. “This isn’t just about racing, is it?”

You hesitate. “I see how they treat you. How they let you down time and time again. But with us ... with me ... it would be different.”

He looks conflicted. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” You press. “With Red Bull, you’d have support, a competitive car, and … me.”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not just about what happens on track. It’s about the politics, the contracts, the media ... it’s all complicated.”

“You make it sound like an impossible puzzle,” you say, tracing circles on his wrist. You gaze locks with his, trying to convey everything you feel.

“It might be.”

You lean in, lips just inches from his. “Then let’s solve it together.”

He hesitates, searching your eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N.”

You smirk, confidence oozing from every pore. “Isn’t that what racing’s all about?”

Charles chuckles softly, the tension in the room slowly melting away. “You always have an answer for everything.”

“It’s the Horner in me,” you retort with a smug smile. “Besides, aren’t you tired of being just another pawn in Ferrari’s game?”

“It’s not easy. To just switch teams, to give up on something you’ve worked for your entire life.”

You reach up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Who says you’re giving up? You’d be making a choice. A choice to be somewhere you’re valued. Somewhere you have a real shot at the championship. With people who truly care about you and actions that reflect that.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “It’s not just about the racing. There are so many other factors.”

“Like what?”

He opens his eyes, meeting yours. “Like us.”

You blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“If I come to Red Bull … if I work with you … it changes everything. Our relationship. Our dynamic. Everything.”

You take a moment, absorbing his words. “We can handle it. We’re strong enough.”

He gives you a sad smile. “I wish I had your confidence.”

You cup his cheek, your thumb stroking his skin. “You have me. Together, we can face anything.”

Charles looks at you for a long moment, his emotions raw and exposed. Finally, he speaks. “I’ll think about it. But whatever I decide … know that it’s not just about racing. I refuse to give you up.”

“Just promise me one thing.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

You lean in, your lips brushing his ear. “Never settle for less than you deserve.”

He smiles, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. “Same goes for you, Y/N Horner.”

***

“I still can’t believe they forgot to remove the radiator blank,” you murmur, your fingers softly tracing patterns on Charles’ bare chest as he lies next to you in his São Paulo hotel. The dim light from the bedside lamp paints soft shadows on his face, emphasizing the frustration in his eyes.

Charles sighs heavily, turning his head to look at you. “Neither can I. Another race, another issue. I don’t even know why I’m surprised anymore.”

You lean in closer, lips brushing against his ear. “You don’t deserve this, Charles. You’re better than this. Better than them.”

He chuckles humorlessly, eyes closing. “It seems like it’s one thing after another.”

“Come to Red Bull,” you whisper, fingertips dancing down his arm. “You know it’s the right move.”

He opens his eyes, looking deep into yours. “Y/N, we talked about this.”

You press a gentle kiss on his jaw, speaking against his skin. “Hear me out. If McLaren overtakes Ferrari in the Constructors’ standings, you can activate your exit clause. You could leave them, Charles.”

Charles swallows hard, feeling the warmth of your breath on his neck. “And if they don’t?”

“Then we’ll buy you out,” you say confidently, trailing kisses down his collarbone. “Dad’s already spoken about it. We want you. I want you.”

Charles’ breath catches as your hands explore his torso but he tries to focus. “Equal status with Max?”

“Of course,” you assure him, pressing your body flush against his. “You and Max, racing side by side. Just think of the possibilities.”

He groans, both from your touch and the tempting offer. “A car designed by Adrian Newey ...”

You nod, “With plenty of oversteer, just how you like it. No more one-sided compromises.”

He laughs softly. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

You smirk, lips hovering over his. “Always. And instead of Xavi, you’d hear my voice on the other end of the radio, guiding you, supporting you.”

Charles captures your lips with his, deepening the kiss before pulling back. “You’re making it very hard to think.”

“That’s the point,” you whisper with a playful grin, your hands tugging at his waistband.

He bites his lip, trying to resist your charms. “But Y/N ... it’s not just about the racing. It’s ... it’s us. What happens to us?”

You cup his cheek, gazing deep into his eyes. “We fight together, we win together. Every podium, every championship, we celebrate together.”

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “You make it sound so perfect.”

“It can be,” you promise, pressing soft kisses on his eyelids. “With Red Bull, you’d have everything you’ve ever dreamed of. And me.”

Charles smiles, caressing your cheek. “You’re very persuasive, you know?”

You grin. “It’s one of my many talents.”

He chuckles, capturing your lips once more. “I’ll think about it.”

“Whatever you decide, I’ll still be by your side.”

He smiles, pulling you closer. “I know. And that’s what makes this decision so hard.”

***

“Absolutely unbelievable,” your father mutters, watching the replay of Ferrari’s disastrous double stack. “You would think they’ve never done a pit stop before.”

You nod, equally shocked. But your attention shifts as the familiar figure of your favorite Monegasque storms into the Red Bull garage, his helmet still on and visor obscuring his face. You can feel the fury emanating from him.

“Charles?” You question hesitantly.

He doesn’t respond to you but instead turns to your father, “Christian, can we talk? Now. Somewhere private.”

Christian looks taken aback by the intensity in Charles’ voice but nods. “Of course.”

Charles glances at you. “You too, Y/N. Please.”

You follow, the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders. Once inside the small office, Charles finally removes his helmet, revealing eyes red from restrained tears. He takes a moment, collecting himself before he speaks.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Charles exhales. “Every single time I think they’ve hit rock bottom, they find a new low. Today was the last straw.”

You approach him, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Charles, I’m so sorry.”

Your father is equally sympathetic. “That was hard to watch. I can’t even imagine what it felt like.”

Charles closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “It’s not just today. It’s everything. I gave them everything. I wanted to win with them. For my father. For Jules.”

You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “They would be so incredibly proud of you. No matter what.”

He blinks back tears, voice strained. “I wanted to drive that red car to the top for them. But I can’t keep sacrificing myself for a team that clearly does not value me in return.”

Your father speaks up, “Charles, if you’re thinking of a change ... Red Bull is ready to welcome you with open arms.”

Charles looks up, locking eyes with him. “I know. And as much as Ferrari has been my dream, my home, I can’t do this anymore. I want to be with a team that values me. I want to join Red Bull.”

You’re taken aback by his sudden declaration but the look in his eyes tells you that he’s made up his mind. “Charles,” you whisper, stepping closer. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“It’s hard,” he admits. “But this is where my heart is telling me to go.”

Your father gives the two of you a moment, leaving the office to give you privacy.

Charles takes a shaky breath, pulling you close. “I never imagined leaving Ferrari. But after everything, I know it’s the right decision.”

You wrap your arms around him, resting your forehead against his. “They will be so proud of you, Charles. No matter what colors you wear or what car you drive.”

He smiles weakly. “Thank you. I really needed to hear that.”

You pull back slightly, searching his eyes. “This is a big step. I don’t want you to regret anything. Are you still sure?”

He nods, determination in his gaze. “More than I’ve ever been.”

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Then welcome to Red Bull.”

***

“I have to tell Ferrari,” Charles straightens, determination evident in his eyes. “I just need to get it over with. Will you come with me?”

“Of course.“

Charles grabs your hand, pulling you towards his driver’s room. “Wait here,” he says, going in and returning moments later with his Ferrari jacket. He places it over your Red Bull team polo, attempting to keep your allegiance concealed for now. You both then proceed to the debrief room where the Ferrari team is waiting.

Fred Vasseur begins his speech the moment you both enter, “This wasn’t how we wanted to end the year but looking ahead to next season—”

Charles cuts him off, “Actually, there won’t be a next season. Not for me.”

The room falls into a tense silence, all eyes on the driver who has given them his heart and soul.

“What do you mean?”

Charles takes a deep breath, “I’ve decided to leave Ferrari.”

Gasps fill the room. Fred’s eyes land on you, finally noticing the Red Bull logo peeking out from under the jacket you’re borrowing. “And you bring her, of all people, here to tell us this?”

Charles squares his shoulders. “Y/N is here because I asked her to be. This decision is mine and mine alone.”

Xavi stands up, “After everything we’ve done for you! This is how you repay us?”

You can’t hold back any longer. “Everything you’ve done? You mean the countless strategy mistakes, the endless car issues, the complete lack of support?”

Another team member cuts in, “This is not your place, Y/N!”

“It is today,” you retort. “I’m here to support my new driver.”

Charles’ voice shakes but he speaks with conviction, “I gave everything for this team. I bled Ferrari red. But I can’t keep doing this. Not when it’s clear that my effort and commitment is not matched in return.”

Fred’s voice softens. “Charles, we’ve had our challenges but we can overcome them together.”

Charles shakes his head, tears threatening to spill. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m joining Red Bull. My manager will send over the necessary legal paperwork as soon as possible.”

The room is filled with murmurs, disbelief evident on every face. Charles takes one last look around, his eyes filled with pain, and turns to leave.

You follow closely, feeling the weight of every step as you exit the debrief room.

The second you’re around the corner, Charles breaks down. He rests his forehead against the wall, tears rolling down his face silently. “I didn’t ... I didn’t think it would hurt this much.”

You pull him close and try to find the right words. “It was never going to be easy. But you did what you had to. For yourself. For your future.”

He turns to look at you, eyes red-rimmed but determined. “I just wanted to make them proud.”

You cup his cheek, wiping away a tear with your thumb. “They would be proud of you. Not for the badge you wear or the car you drive but for the man you’ve become.”

Charles takes a shaky breath, pulling you into a tight embrace. The two of you stand there for a moment, finding solace in each other’s presence.

When he finally pulls away, he manages a weak smile. “Thank you. For standing by me.”

You squeeze his hand. “Always.”

***

***

***

Charles stands in front of the massive two-story trophy wall at the Red Bull Racing factory in Milton Keynes, eyes wide with wonder. “Ferrari would never do something so ... gaudy.”

You smirk, sidling up next to him. “And yet, you love it.”

“I do,” he laughs. “It’s … different.”

You lean in, whispering conspiratorially, “Well, Ferrari hasn’t had all that much to exhibit in the last two decades. Not for lack of trying from the drivers, of course.”

He playfully nudges you with his elbow, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Cheeky.”

The two of you walk further into the factory. “So,” Charles draws out, “I was wondering if you could recommend a good real estate agent in the area.”

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Why would you need an agent when I have a perfectly good apartment we can share?”

“Really? Are you sure? I just … I wasn’t sure if you would want that and I don’t want to pressure you.”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Of course I do, Charles. It’s not even a question.”

He smiles, the weight of the decision to move seeming a little lighter now. “Thank you.”

You wink, taking his hand. “Come on, let me show you around.”

As you guide him through the factory, he’s like a kid in a candy store, eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. “This place is incredible,” he murmurs, running a hand along a piece of machinery.

You grin, pulling him towards the simulator room. “Wait until you see this.”

He steps inside, eyes immediately drawn to the impressive simulator setup. “Wow.”

You gesture for him to sit down, watching as he takes a seat, adjusting the settings. “Ready for your first sim run in the RB20?”

He nods eagerly, “Let’s do it.”

As he starts the simulation, you watch closely, monitoring the data and providing feedback. The two of you work seamlessly together, the connection between race engineer and driver already forming and growing.

After several runs, Charles steps out of the simulator, a huge grin on his face. “That was incredible! The car feels amazing.”

You smile. “I’m glad you think so. The team has put a lot of work into it.”

He pulls you into a hug, burying his face in your hair. “I can’t wait to get on track with you on the other side of the radio.”

You pull back, looking into his eyes. “Me too. We’re going to do great things together. I know it.”

He nods. “I know we will too.”

***

“I have to admit,” Charles says, eyes scanning the paddock, “I’m thankful that Mercedes and McLaren are between our motorhome and Ferrari’s. Makes things less ... awkward.”

You glance towards the distant red of the mobile Ferrari building, understanding the sentiment. “Must be weird being so close and yet so far.”

He nods, a hint of melancholy in his gaze as he looks at the place he called home for so long. “It’s bittersweet.”

Pulling him from his thoughts, you nudge him playfully. “Come on, Mr. Pole-Sitter. We have a race to prep for.”

Charles smirks, playfully rolling his eyes. “Always so professional, Miss Horner.”

You grin. “Only when it counts.”

The atmosphere in the Red Bull garage is electric. Mechanics and engineers hustle around, getting everything ready. The RB20 sits gleaming, waiting for its moment to shine.

Charles adjusts his gloves, taking a deep breath. “Feels different,” he admits, looking at you. “Being here, in this car, with this team. But a good kind of different.”

You lean in, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You’ve got this. It’s just another race.”

He smiles. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one in the hot seat.”

“True, but I’ll be with you every step of the way. Just listen to my voice and trust me.”

“I always do.”

As he gets into the car, you lean in closer to his helmet, your lips touching it’s hard shell. “And Charles? Stay safe out there.”

He looks at you and winks. “I’ll come back to you.”

The race begins with a burst of energy. Charles takes off from pole, holding his position as the field jockeys for placement behind him.

“Good start,” you say through the radio, your voice calm and composed. “Keep it steady.”

“Copy.”

The race is intense, with Charles and Max battling for the lead, their cars dancing on the edge of perfection. The radio chatter between the two of you flows naturally, filled with technical details, strategy adjustments, and the occasional personal quip.

“Feeling the heat from Max?” You tease after a particularly close call between the two Red Bulls.

Charles laughs breathlessly. “Just keeping things interesting for the fans.”

The race continues at a blistering pace, with Charles and Max pushing each other to the limit. But through it all, Charles remains in the lead, with you guiding him from the pit wall.

“Final lap,” you inform. “Bring it home.”

He nods, pushing the car to its limit. The cheers of the crowd grow louder as he crosses the finish line, securing his first victory with Red Bull.

“Amazing job, Charles! I knew you could do it!”

He lets out a whoop of joy. “Yes! Thank you, team. Thank you, Y/N. I couldn’t have done it without you all.”

The two of you celebrate the victory, and as the rose water sprays and the cheers of the crowd fill the air, you know that this is just the beginning of an incredible journey together.

***

“You’re sure about the medium tyres, Y/N?” Charles asks nervously as he looks at the other cars lining up. “Everyone else is starting on softs.”

You nod confidently, tapping the race strategy on your clipboard. “Yes. The upside of using the mediums is it gives us flexibility. We can extend our first stint if needed, especially with possible rain on the forecast. While everyone else has to pit early for hards and then again for inters when the rain starts, we’ll only have to pit once. Trust me.”

He inhales deeply, trying to quell the unease bubbling inside. “I do trust you. It’s just ... Ferrari ... the strategies there ...”

“I know,” you interrupt softly, understanding the trauma and distrust years with Ferrari had instilled in him. “But this isn’t Ferrari. It’s Red Bull and we work differently. I’ve got your back.”

“Alright,” he looks into your eyes, finding assurance and conviction there, “let’s do this.”

The race begins, and Charles holds his ground well on the medium tyres, though the drivers running softs initially show quicker pace. But as predicted, the clouds soon darken and the threat of rain becomes increasingly evident.

“Stay focused,” you guide through the radio. “Remember the plan.”

He pushes on, expertly handling the streets of Monaco. The cars around him begin to lose grip and one by one they dive into the pits for hard tyres.

Charles keeps lapping. He moves up the order.

“You’re doing great,” you encourage. “Stick to the plan. We’re right on schedule.”

However, as the first raindrops begin to fall, panic sets in among the other teams on the grid. Those who just pitted for hard tyres are forced to pit again for intermediate tyres, losing precious time.

“Now,” you command, “Box this lap.”

He follows your instruction, driving into the pits, and with a flawless stop by his Red Bull crew, re-emerges in the lead.

The rain continues but Charles navigates the treacherous streets of Monaco expertly, maintaining his lead. When the chequered flag waves, it’s Charles who crosses the line first and finally claims victory at his home Grand Prix.

Tears of joy and relief pour from Charles’ eyes as he takes in the moment. “Thank you,” he says over the radio, voice choked with emotion. “I can’t believe it. We did it in Monaco!”

You smile, tears in your own eyes. “We did. I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”

He laughs, the sound full of pure joy. “You did. And I’m so glad I did. Thank you for everything.”

As he steps out of the car and jumps on its nose, arms spread wide, the crowd roars in approval, their prince finally crowned in his home race.

Then he rushes to the barriers and jumps into the cheering crowd of dark blue waiting for him. When his sweaty lips find yours surrounded by the celebrating Red Bull team, you take a moment to whisper a promise, “This is just the beginning. It will only get better from here.”

***

The season flies by in a blur of champagne showers. Heading into the Italian Grand Prix, Charles find himself leading the Drivers’ Championship with Max nipping at his heels.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” Charles confesses, staring out at the Autodromo Nazionale Monza. “This was home. I don’t know how they will react now that I’m no longer wearing red.”

You rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Many fans support the driver, not just the color he wears.”

He takes a deep breath and looks over the crowd. “The Tifosi are different. They bleed Ferrari red. I’m afraid they will see me only as a traitor.”

“You gave them your all,” you counter. “They’ve seen the struggles. They know why you left. They understand. Trust in them and in yourself.”

As the two of you make your way towards the paddock, the familiar chorus of cheers fills the air. But instead of the jeers and boos he feared, a chant begins to rise among the crowd of red: “Charles! Charles! Charles!”

Charles stops in his tracks. “They’re ... they’re cheering for me.”

You nod, a smile playing on your lips. “Told you.”

He’s soon swarmed by a group of fans, all clamoring for autographs, photos, and just a moment of his time. It’s clear that the bond between Charles and the Tifosi remains unbroken.

An older fan steps forward, his Ferrari cap worn with age. “You are still Il Predestinato. We wish it ended differently but we have eyes. We watched the races. We know why you left. No matter what team you drive for, you always have our hearts.”

Charles blinks back tears, deeply touched. “Grazie,” he whispers and claps the fan’s weathered hands in thanks.

Another fan, a young girl with a homemade sign that reads Once a Tifosi, Always a Tifosi, shyly approaches. “We still love you, Charles,” she says.

He kneels down to give her a gentle hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs, taking off his Red Bull cap and placing it on her head.

As the day goes on, the support from the Tifosi only grows. They cheer for him during practice, during qualifying, and every time he appears in front of the stands.

It’s clear that the bond between Charles and the Tifosi is as strong as ever.

That evening, as the two of you sit in the garage looking over data, Charles reflects on his day. “I was so afraid,” he admits. “Afraid of being rejected, of losing their love. But today ... today was incredible.”

You close the analytics. “The Tifosi love you. Not because of the car you drive or the colors you wear but because of who you are. Just like I do.”

He nods slowly. “It’s overwhelming. Monza has always been special to me. To feel this level of love and support ... it’s more than I ever expected.”

You lean closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “They see your passion. They see how much you give on and off the track. Anyone who does not love and respect you for that needs to reconsider.”

He exhales slowly, “I just ... I wanted to make them proud, to win for them in red and bring glory back to Maranello. But knowing they still support me no matter what ... it means everything.”

You look up into his eyes. “And they always will. Because they know you always gave and will continue to give your best. They love you because they are loved in return.”

He laughs, pulling you into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. “For always being my rock, especially in moments like these.”

“Now let’s go out there tomorrow and win.”

***

“Vegas, baby!” Charles shouts, swinging an arm around your shoulders, both of you holding champagne glasses that have been refilled one too many times.

You giggle, distinctly feeling all of the alcohol you’ve consumed. “We won! We did it!”

Charles laughs, pulling you closer. “We did! And do you know what people do when they’re in love and win in Vegas?”

You think about it for a moment, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes. “Get ... married?”

Charles nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! Y/N Horner, will you marry me tonight?”

You don’t hesitate, “Hell yes!”

The two of you, in your drunken stupor, begin your mission to find a wedding chapel. However, before you can get very far, Max spots you and quickly catches on to what you’re planning.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Max exclaims, grabbing Charles by the shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going with Y/N?”

Charles replies with a sloppy grin, “To make her Mrs. Leclerc!”

Max bursts into laughter, trying to play the voice of reason. “Mate, as much fun as that sounds, I think you might want to sleep on that idea.”

But you’re not having it. “No, Max! We’re in love and it’s Vegas. We’re doing it!”

Before the conversation can escalate further, your father joins the fray, looking both amused and concerned. “What on earth is going on here?”

Max chuckles, “Your daughter and Charles here have some ... ambitious plans for the evening.”

You pout and stumble slightly, “Daddy, we want to get married! Right now!”

Your father’s eyebrows shoot up. “Married? Tonight? Seriously?”

Charles nods with absolute seriousness, though his precarious swaying contradicts his tone. “Christian, I love your daughter. And we won. In Vegas. So ... wedding?”

Your father places a firm hand on his driver’s shoulder. “Listen, Charles, I have no doubt about your feelings for Y/N. But my baby girl deserves the world. When and if you ever decide to propose, I expect you to get down on one knee, stone-cold sober, and ask her properly.”

Charles blinks, processing the words. “But ... Vegas?”

You laugh and go to hug your father, almost falling over in the process. “He’s right. Let’s just enjoy tonight. And if we still feel like getting married in the morning, we can discuss it then.”

Max smirks, “Trust me, you’ll thank us in the morning. If you can even remember this conversation, that is.”

***

“Charles,” you begin, your voice echoing in his helmet, “The team has made the call. You and Max are free to race. No team orders.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “Understood. May the best man win.”

The tension in the garage skyrockets as soon as the lights go out. It’s evident that this is going to be an epic battle from the very first turn. Max and Charles swap places multiple times, pushing their cars to the very edge of their limits.

“Breathe,” you remind him calmly as the laps go by, “Don’t loose sight of the race as a whole. There’s a championship at stake.”

The entire race is a blur of overtakes, pit strategies, and nail-biting moments. The two Red Bull cars battle wheel-to-wheel lap after lap. One side of the garage against the other.

Coming into the final laps, Charles is right on Max’s tail — the championship hanging in the balance between them.

You know there’s not much you can do to guide him anymore … it’s all up to Charles.

“Last lap,” you try to sound composed despite the pounding of your heart. “You can do this.”

The cheers and gasps of the crowd are deafening as Charles makes his move, taking the inside line and overtaking Max on the penultimate turn.

“Push now! Just a few more corners.”

As Charles crosses the finish line, the enormity of the moment crashes over both of you.

“Charles Leclerc,” you scream over the radio as tears stream down your face, “you are the World Champion!”

“Yeeeesssss! Yes! Yes! I ... I can’t believe it. This is ... thank you, everyone. To the entire Red Bull team, you’ve given me the chance to chase and achieve my dreams. To my friends, my family, to every single person who’s been by my side, believed in me, and supported me … thank you. And Y/N, you’ve been my rock and my oxygen. Without you, this wouldn’t have been possible. Thank you! Thank you. Thank you so much!”

***

“Whew! That was a lot of rose water!” Charles laughs, wiping the bubbly liquid from his eyes.

You chuckle and try to wring out your hair. “You didn’t have to drench me, you know!”

Charles grins cheekily. “It’s a special occasion, after all. Both of us on this podium? It’s a dream!”

Then suddenly, he turns serious and signals to his brother in the crowd below, who throws him a small leather box. Charles catches it and promptly lowers himself down on one knee in front of you, making the crowd fall into a stunned silence.

“I tried this in Vegas,” he starts with a laugh, “But I might have been too drunk and missed a few pretty important steps.”

Charles takes a deep breath and his eyes lock onto yours, saying everything that words would never be sufficient to. “Y/N, being on this podium with you, winning the World Championship, it’s the pinnacle of my career. But what we have ... it’s the pinnacle of my life. I can’t imagine going on this journey with anyone else, facing the highs, the lows, the in-betweens. Will you marry me?”

Tears flow steadily down your cheeks and you nod with a fervor that would make bobbleheads jealous, “Yes! There’s no one else I’d want to spend forever with.”

The crowd erupts into cheers and applause, the deafening roar echoing around the Yas Marina Circuit. Max gives a loud whistle, his face lit up with a big grin next to you on the podium stage.

Charles rises to his feet and pulls you close, attacking your lips as the crowd goes wild.

“Promise me we won’t head to a chapel right after this race?” You joke, sniffling and giggling at the same time.

Charles laughs, looking slightly sheepish. “I promise, mainly because I’m too young to die and your father would definitely kill me if I even thought about pulling the stunt we tried in Vegas again. You deserve a fairytale wedding.”

You press your face against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat as fireworks explode overhead. “All I need for my fairytale is you.”

[atyourmerci]

Vengeance (500 followers celebration!!)

The boat scene we deserved ;)

♡ ♡

Summary: Abby finds you drunk, hiding away on a boat. Will you leave your girlfriend and run off with your childhood love?

Warnings: smut, MDNI, dom!abby, sub!reader, hate sex, abby being possessive, cheating (tsk tsk don’t do this), fingering, slapping, slight overstimulation, dubcon since reader is drunk but consenting

A/N: so this is the overall winning poll for the celebration so I hope you all enjoy! I don’t think I’ve ever read boat scene for queer abby so I’m like lowkey scared if this is uncharted territory lmao. Also this like loosely?? Follows what happens in g2 but I just made it gay as fuck also unrealistic for the relationship dynamic but I! Don’t! Care! Okay bye!

♡ ♡

“Thought I’d find you here,” she looks disappointed, but knowingly. Of course she would find you here, where the fuck else would you have gone, home? There was no home.

“Ya’no he’ll kill you too for just coming to find me,” slurs out your mouth, you’d be drinking since dawn perhaps. Drinking every bit you have left, not like you’d have a rainy day in store for you come sunlight.

“I’ll take my chances…” she situates herself up on the bench with her forearms lazily cast over her thighs, “how much have you had to drink,” it’s not accusatory, more of a redundant question she knew the answer to before she’d ever taken off to find you.

You take another hefty swig straight from the dirty bottle, letting the lip knock against your teeth. “Fuck off,” you throw out at her, eyes cast on the doorway she had walked through, both dead men walking now.

“So you want to tell me what happened,” now she begins to pry, all the rumors she had heard, maybe they were true, but she thought she knew you better. Once she did, when she was yours, if you could even call it that. Perhaps unspoken puppy love, a trauma bond of sorts. Whatever it was, was over, not that you ever had the decency to tell her. You were with someone else now, whether it was right or not, it was your newfound reality.

“I’m not like you…” your gaze meets hers at last, the words trail off, she knew what she had heard was true. “I couldn’t fucking do it, she was pregnant, begged for me to spare her…the kid. You don’t understand what it’s like, my morals are fucked from those people. This isn’t us. This isn’t you.”

“You don’t think I’ve been put in fucked situations?”

“That’s my point abby, this is all fucked…” you throw your hands hazardously in the air that springs droplets of the honey liquor flying out. Your feet move on their own, bringing you into an upright position as you begin closing in on her, “we are all just chess pieces in their game, when will you understand that.”

She rises out of her seat to meet your stance, she was much stronger, much more intimidating than you could ever surmount to, but the honey liquid encouragement was working overtime. “So you’re just going to run off? you can’t escape this,” her words reek of venom now.

“Come with me,” it comes out as a plea, but confident in meaning. She lets out a scoff at your attempt, shaking her head at your scheme. “What you’re just going to leave her?” She didn’t need to give a name, a further explanation, you both knew the predicament well enough.

Would you leave her?

“Yes.”

“You’re a fucking ass you know that-“ she begins to walk past you but you take grip at her muscled bicep, you feel as it twitches under your grasp.

“Abby-“ you begin to plead. She gives you one last look of adoration before ripping you to pieces.

She begins backing you into the nearest wall, pushing her hands into your chest to get you to her desired location, “no- fuck you- you don’t get to do that anymore.” She continues to dig her palms into your chest, you try to pull them off of you to no avail, on any day you’d be no match for her strength, but today the liquor only worsened your case.

“You know you’re different,” you bite at her, deepening your gaze, letting your eyes speak louder than your words could. She takes a moment to stare at you, truly wondering if you’d even meant it, if she knew the truth. “Don’t fucking do that-“ her palm grips at your throat now with no real threat as her other palm continues to dig into the flesh of your chest.

“You know it’s true abby.”

“God I fucking hate you,” she says through gritted teeth. She can barely get out the sentence before clashing her mouth against yours. She ravenous, eating you alive, digging her fingers into your soft flesh. She wasn’t allowed to have you for so long, but now, for however long she could, she’d reclaim what was hers.

Shes sloppy, mouth messy against yours as you both fight for dominance, dueling for the right over one another. While her teeth begin to bite down at your lip she brings her wavering fingers to the button of your jeans, attempting to break you out of any confines that are in her way. She rips them down off of you with no generosity as she whips you around so that your chest and palms are pressed into the wall.

You can’t see her, she wanted it that way. This was wrong, but she couldn’t stop herself. In the end you were always hers anyways.

You’re left panting into the cold wood of the walls, awaiting her punishment. Her large hands grip into your bare hips, jutting them out so they meet her completely clothed pelvis.

“Always were so pliable huh?” She taunts into the shell of your ear, making you shutter under her breath.

“I hate that you made it happen like this,” her hand swings down and lays a stinging smack into the meat of your ass, you breathe out hoarsely. “I hate what you do to me,” another smack is laid into you, this time eliciting a whine to escape your throat. “I fucking hate what you make me feel,” this time the infliction came harder than the rest, the slick now beginning to run down your thighs, aching so badly to be touched.

“Abby- please.”

Her knee comes between your own, opening them up wider for her, your slick stringing a sticky web between your thighs. Her hand snakes around your waist, without warning leaving a gentle smack onto the mound. You let out an eager whimper at the decadent pain. She rubs the wound quickly after, feeling your built up arousal in her fingertips that elicits a smug groan in your ear.

She continues to rub down your slick slit with no true target in mind, coaxing as many pathetic moans she could get at her indirection for your pleasure.

“Does she touch you like this?”

You don’t respond, brain too fuzzy to play into her antics. Another smack is laid into the soft pink flesh, hitting your swollen clit perfectly.

“Do you let her?” She says with more aggression this time, rubbing harsh circles around your clit now. You can’t help the guttural moan that comes out, “y-YES.” You should lie, but you didn’t want to know what she would do if she found out you were lying.

Her pace doesn’t falter, continuously circling the swollen bud, “does she feel better.” You pause for a moment, knowing the answer but forced with the moral dilemma of speaking it- “no.”

“I know.” Her fingers come off your clit causing a pathetic whine out of you. Her hand comes to the back of you now, her fingertips prodding at your fluttering hole, teasing the impending doom of her cruelty.

“Deep breath,” she commands of you. You pace your rapid breathing to suck in deep- when she hears the air hit your lungs she plunges her pointer and middle finger deep inside. There’s no grace, no sympathy as she beats into you. Her fingers already coated in your slick haphazardly plunging into your sweet spot.

Your screams don’t stop now, so completely full from her fingers, lust coating your eyes over white. You bite into her forearm placed next to your head to stabilize herself, teeth cutting close to the bulging veins. Her own breath beginning to falter, you can hear the faint moans trailing out her own mouth, almost completely covered by your moans.

Your walls start closing in on her fingers, she rips her free hand out of the tight enclosure of your mouth, in seconds working tight circles on your enlarged clit. The sensation of both stimulants drawing you to the edge of your climax “abby- I’m going t-“

“Tell me you don’t love her.”

She wasn’t going to make this easy, of course she wasn’t. But you’d do anything for release now. “I don’t- I- don’t!”

Her fingertips on your clit stop circling as she pinches onto it, and thrusts even harder into your hole, “say her fucking name.”

You’re screaming out, breathless, mind numb, you’d kill to finish at this point.

“I don’t love Ellie! Please!”

“Good girl now cum on my fingers,” and like that she continued, fucking into you relentlessly, fingers barely stable coated in slick at your clit.

Your ears began to ring as your orgasm took full autonomy over you, sending waves of pleasure down your pathetic structure and out through your needy throat. All you could muster out was incoherent spells of curses and the name of your capture. She took everything she could from you, never letting up till you begin to shake from the overstimulation.

Her fingers trailed from your clit to your hip, she dug her nails into the flesh there. The fingers wedged in your hole remained, gently thrusting when she felt it pulse, eliciting strained whimpers from you.

“I hate that I love you,” as she pulled her fingers out of you, leaving you there limp.

What happened before this?

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson5 @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow @a-little-bit-of-everybody

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, childhood bestfriends to lovers, tlou'verse, jackson era, mild hurt/comfort

word count: 4.9k

summary: When your boyfriend is desperate to win back what he lost, he bets on you this time without your knowledge. And everyone knows you don't go back on your word when it comes to Joel Miller.

warnings: okay so technically not cheating because your boyfriend literally gambled you buuut if that's not your thing I totally get it, piv, dirty talk, choking, spitting, size kink, soft!joel & feral!joel, he likes hearing how big he is, affectionate whore calling™, a hint of analplay, oral (receiving and giving)

a/n: another joel fic inspired by p.orn, we love to see it

a special thank you to @nothoughtsjustmeds for the beta! 💕

Joel was never that into gambling. 

Back before everything had gone to shit, that had always been more Tommy’s forte than his own. Joel doesn’t remember the amount of times he’d had to bail his brother out, either by protecting him while putting himself in the middle or by giving him loans he’d never ever see again. Joel hadn’t minded. Tommy was his baby brother after all. As long as he was safe Joel was happy—annoyed, for sure, but happy. 

He was surprised when he learned that Jackson had a pretty heavy gambling scene and that Tommy wasn’t a part of it. He didn’t know why that was, because even on the nights where he had to go bail him out and bring him home all bloodied and bruised, Tommy just made the same mistakes. Not even Sarah’s worried expression, while she peered from between the wooden stair railing, deterred him from it. 

Guess it was different when your own kid was on the way. 

However, despite his lack of interest in gambling, he found himself betting away what little he had for someone else—someone he thought he would never see again. But honestly, he wasn’t half bad at it so he didn’t mind it that much. His only complaint was when he had to get messy hunting down those who didn’t pay up. 

One by one the men around the table folded, only leaving Joel and Liam. A huge stack of weaponry lies in the middle of the table, Liam’s eyes constantly flit between the stack and Joel. They stare at each other long and hard. Joel knows that he’s going to win. He usually did with these face-offs. 

Liam folds. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of Joel’s lips. There’s nothing better than to take what someone he absolutely detests wants. 

“Let’s go again,” Liam grunts, his forehead shining with sweat. 

Joel raises an eyebrow, “You don’t have anythin’ else to bet on.” 

“Come on now, Miller,” Liam leans back into his chair. “There must be something that you want.” 

Joel’s eyes bore into his long enough for the man to grow uncomfortable and nervous. Only then did he speak. 

“You still have that pretty girlfriend?” 

Someone Joel didn’t bother learning the name of pipes up from his right, “I thought we were only betting huntin’ supplies this time.” 

“Come on, let the man try to win his rifle back.” Joel grins. 

“Fuck you, Miller.” 

“Careful now,” he slowly places his elbows on the old table, his weight on it enough to let out a threatening creak. He cocks his head to the side, his smile small but still there. “My kindness wears thin.” 

Liam’s an addict. And of course, he says yes. 

“You fucking gambled me away?!” your voice is shaking, body trembling all over as you pace back and forth in front of the couch Liam was nestled on top of. At least he has the decency to look guilty. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Liam? I’m your girlfriend, not some kind of deer hide you can put on the table.” 

“Look I said I was sorry alright?” He stands up fast enough to make you flinch. He holds you by the shoulders, thumbs moving in a soothing manner. “Won’t happen again, I promise.” 

You scoff, “We both know that’s a lie.” You lift your chin up in defiance. “I won’t do it. I have free will. You can’t make me.” 

That makes Liam sweat. You can’t blame him, you’ve heard of Joel’s. . . outbursts. But honestly, that’s the least of your worries. You’re mostly confused as to why Joel asked for you specifically. You’re positive that he’d been avoiding you ever since he came into Jackson, only talking to you a handful of times. Why now? And why like this?

“Baby,” Liam whines, snapping you away from your thoughts. “You have to. He’s crazy, he’ll kill me.” 

“You should’ve thought of that before.” 

“Please. All you’d have to do is entertain him for the night, make him happy.” 

“So to be his plaything? Is that what you want?” 

“Maybe he’ll ask you to cook him dinner, hell if I know.” 

“Sure,” you roll your eyes. “I’m sure he’ll just want something to eat.” 

You give him one more look before slipping away from his gentle hold. Your heartbeat is slow, hours spreading across every beat, making your chest feel heavy and lightheaded.

“Fine,” you cave, wrapping yourself with your shaking arms. “But after this, I’m done, Liam. I’m so tired of bailing you out.” 

“You can’t leave, where would you go?” 

The soft tone he used while begging you to spread your legs for Joel quickly turns into a tone with sharp, dagger-like edges. You don’t say anything. Don’t answer him or agree with him. You’re lost in a broken world. 

And now, amongst all the things you’ve been through, you have to see the pity in your childhood best friend’s eyes. 

You don’t want to be here. You don’t. It’s embarrassing. 

Your boyfriend is in the other room, brooding on his couch, examining his life choices. You’re not doing any better. Your robe loose over your shoulders, the chill of the bedroom settling over your skin. It’s especially embarrassing because it’s Joel for crying out loud. You’ve known each other since you were kids causing mischief all around the neighborhood. You still remember the time you fell and scraped your knee, how he kissed it better and placed a pink bandaid over it because it was your favorite color. 

Why the hell had he asked for you? To humiliate you? Well, he definitely succeeded. 

The door opens and you jolt. His presence is large in the room, making you shudder despite yourself. Your pulse quickens. You shouldn’t be afraid of him yet here you are, trembling like a newborn doe. He closes the door with a gentle click, the wood creaking and solidifying your fate. 

You haven’t known him for years. Even before the outbreak had torn the world apart. You had moved away two years prior and after everything went down you never expected to see him again. When he showed up in Jackson you barely recognized him. He looked rugged, more salt than pepper in his beard, his eyes drained of life. He had scars that ran deep and he had found a kid along the way. You were surprised but relieved to see he still had a big heart. 

You were ashamed the first time you two sat down after years. Everyone knew of Liam’s gambling problem, he couldn’t help it, and you knew that Joel knew. You hated the idea of him pitying you, of him seeing the world weighing down on you. You’ve heard from around that Joel also started to place bets. Nothing too big though, unlike your boyfriend who would bet on almost anything in the house. You knew those bets could turn out violent and people feared Joel. Even in a safe utopia like Jackson, the kind of man he’d become traveled from ear to ear, striking fear. And when someone that owed him money ended up with a bloody nose and broken jaw. . . no one dared to deny him of anything. 

And it seemed like you were no exception. 

Joel stands in front of you, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, exposing sinewy muscle. He stands close. Close enough that you feel his breath on your lips. Your eyelids flutter before you avert them, tears stinging the corners. 

You drop the robe, the old fabric pooling at your ankles. You’re left in a decent enough-looking bra and somewhat matching underwear. 

“Not interested,” Your entire body goes taut, eyes wide. You hear the blood rush in your ears. Joel moves past you and takes a seat on the bed, crossing his arms over the expanse of his broad chest. You stare at him and a thick knot forms in your throat. He gives you a brief look before explaining. “I only wanted to teach your boyfriend a lesson. He’s reckless. One of these days he’s gonna be in real debt to me and, darlin’, I don’t want you gettin’ caught in the middle.” 

Your heart drops. You don’t know what you’ve been expecting but it certainly isn’t this. Tears blurring your vision, you quickly bend over and scoop up your robe, throwing it over your shoulders. Somewhere along memory lane, you forgot to remind yourself that Joel was your first; first crush, first love, first kiss, first time. But it just hadn’t worked out. You had stayed close friends until you moved away, he had Sarah, you had a promising career. You were planning on getting back to him. It just never came to be. Liam didn’t know you knew Joel, only Tommy knew about the connection you two had, mainly because he was there. 

And now you had Liam—Boyfriend who calls you names because he hates everything, Liam. Shitty boyfriend, Liam. Boyfriend who put you up as a prize, Liam. 

It’s just too much. All of it. Your heart can’t handle how unfair it all is. The pity Joel shows you, the way Liam treats you. He loves you, you know that much, but he just doesn’t care enough to treat you right or tend to you when he’s so broken himself. He doesn’t understand that you would take care of him just as much. 

And now you’re just a shell. A shell of your former self. 

The first salty tear slips from your lashes, it’s followed by another and then another. 

You manage to reach the end of the bed on shaky legs, collapsing, you cover your face, heaving silently into your palms. You don’t want Liam to hear you cry, deep down you want him to think Joel is fucking you this very instant. You want him to feel guilt, or at least a sliver of the way you feel. 

There’s a gentle hand on your shoulder. Your brain doesn’t even register that Joel is pulling you into his chest, wrapping solid arms around your shaking frame. He holds the back of your neck, squeezing tenderly just like he did when your mom yelled at you and he wanted to calm you down. 

“Why are you cryin’?” he mumbles. “I told you I’m not gonna do anythin’ to you. Or to him. I just wanted him to think before he put you in any danger. What if it wasn’t me there? Not everyone is as they seem in this town.” 

After all this time Joel Miller is still looking out for you. 

“It’s not that,” you answer, between sniffled and muffled hiccups. “I’m embarrassed and so fucking tired. I don’t want you thinking I’m some damsel in distress, even though me crying isn’t really helping,” you take a deep breath and peel yourself unwillingly from his chest. “I don’t feel good about myself. I never do with him. I just feel like shit with some more shit thrown over. And well. . . now I know that you don’t want me either. It’s just too much. But I’ll be okay, thank you for looking out after me even though I’m a mess.” 

He suddenly grips your chin and pulls you close enough that your noses almost touch, “What the hell makes you think that I don’t want you?” 

“You. . .” with a sigh, you look away. “You didn’t want to fuck me.” 

“You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

Squeezing your chin, he forces your gaze back to him. His lips are parted, pupils wide enough to hide the chocolate brown of his eyes. He seems just as surprised as you feel. Arousal pools between your legs, heat dripping down the curve of your spine. You press your thighs together and swallow. 

Joel’s hand moves up to your cheek and cups it gently, thumb toying with the corner of your lip, “I just never thought you’d be interested if I’m bein’ honest. Especially not after. . . everything I’ve done.” 

“You’ve done what you’ve had to do to survive,” you kiss the curve of his palm and he shifts, coming even closer. “I always wanted to come back to you, you know? You’re my first love, Joel Miller. Deep down I always wanted you to be the last.” 

Joel was never an emotional guy. He always had trouble expressing what he thought and felt, thinking he always had to hide behind large invisible walls. The outbreak had put a magnifying glass over that quality of his. You can only tell that your words affected him by how the crease between his brows softens and his cheeks gain a subtle red hue. 

He only grunts as he forcefully brings your hand to his crotch, his cock hard and throbbing under your palm. His lips skim down your neck, kissing where your pulse beats frantically. Joel grinds into your palm, “You still want to fuck with your boyfriend waiting in the living room?” 

“God, yes.” 

You stand up and he parts his legs for you, allowing you to take your rightful place between them. Looking up, his fingers dance up your shoulders, pushing off the robe so it once again pools at your feet. The fabric of your bra has worn away with time, meaning that your nipples meet no resistance as they stiffen under his gaze. Joel licks his lips and brings both thumbs to the peaks, rubbing them until they’re fully hard. 

Then he suddenly shoves you closer to him, your aching nipple met with his wanting mouth. He sucks through the fabric. Saliva darkens the color. He sucks and moans each individual nipple until both are hard like diamonds and only then do you find yourself on the bed, his mouth still on you, starving for more. Your back forms the perfect arch, the sheets feeling like silk against your skin despite them being years old—almost rotten.

He drags his lips down your body, rough facial hair tickling your skin, your hips helplessly stutters into the air. Two large hands pin your hips down. You can’t help the noises that tumble from your lips. For the first time, you’re feeling whole. He lays soft kisses against your inner thighs and finally, he reaches where you want him most. 

Joel sucks your clit through the fabric and your body jerks, seeking the heat of his mouth against your bare cunt instead. He smiles, digging his blunt nails into your flesh. 

“Patience,” he licks a stripe down your clothed folds. “I want you to be loud, sweetheart. Make noise for me. If you want me to fuck you, that’s my price—your sounds.” 

Liam never liked the sounds you made. Unless you were mimicking porn and whispering how close you were, which was a very rare occasion. 

Joel slides his hands up to the softness of your stomach, squeezing gently. Like you might fade away at any given second. He kisses the lips of your pussy and his eyes flutter closed. 

“Doesn’t it feel good,” he begins, his southern drawl more prominent as his voice grows deeper. “To have that prick in the next room listenin’ to me fuck you, riddled with guilt because he bet on his pretty girlfriend?” 

It does feel good. “You think I’m pretty?” 

“‘Course I do,” his brows furrow, eyes finding yours. “Prettiest girl I’ve known since the first day my dick got hard.” 

The words send a tingle up your spine but Joel doesn’t allow you to linger on them for long. He slides your underwear to the side. The fabric sticky with slick, he immediately presses his lips deep into your cunt, tongue swirling around your entrance and teasing it by pushing in the tip. You cry out and grip his head, your legs pressing against his ears. Your heart hammers within the confinements of your ribcage. 

“Gonna ruin you,” he groans, licking himself deeper and rutting the bed. Your eyes roll back, your body melting with every fat stroke of his tongue. 

Joel takes you apart slowly. His jaw moves, head lazily going from left to right. You feel so wet, soaked, from both his mouth and your slick. It’s almost like he goes slower the more soaked you are. He draws various shapes around your throbbing clit. You're left withering under him, shaking, begging, and moaning his name loud enough that the entirety of Jackson could probably hear. The wet smack of his mouth is followed by loud slurps and groans, and your stomach coils tight. 

After all these years, Joel Miller had certainly learned a few new tricks. He wasn’t that same teenager anymore, though, neither were you. He feels different, yet he also feels the same. Like a familiar wind stroking your skin. 

“So damn wet and sweet like honey, fuck.” 

He moves away and you nearly cry out of frustration, fingers burrowing into the old sheets. You only move when you hear the deafening sound of a belt buckle coming loose. Joel’s pants drop to his ankles, cock painfully hard and slightly curving to the side. Your mouth waters, “No underwear?” 

“Got too lazy to wash’em last Sunday,” he lazily strokes himself. Today is Tuesday. He’s been going commando all this time. More saliva fills your mouth, you don’t know why but the thought excites you and he seems to notice. “You always did get turned on by the weirdest things,” he mutters. “Now get on your knees, sweetheart. Been waitin’ a long time to feel those lips again.” 

You pout, “Forearms are sexy, ask anyone.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, his dark gaze makes you clench around nothing. He ignores your comment entirely.  “Don’t make me say it again.” 

You sink to your knees immediately after that. 

He’s so much thicker than you remember. The bulbous head a beautiful shade of red, shiny beads of precome gathered at the slit. You notice the vein meandering down the underside of his cock and you trace it with the tip of your tongue. The blood pumps harder in response, his length twitches and smears the shiny pearls against your cheek. 

You moan as you finally take him between your lips. The corners of your mouth sting from how wide you need to open to accommodate him. You manage to take him half way in, swirling your tongue, you hollow out your cheeks. 

“That’s it—That’s it, fuck—suck me harder, sweetheart, please—” his hips rock forward, his cock filling your mouth until the head is hitting the back of your throat. You choke on him and his head falls at the way your throat constricts around the width of him. He then pulls out, prompting you to look up. His hair is a mess, lips swollen and parted. “Use your spit, need you to wet my cock good if you want me to fit darlin’. I ain’t that teenager anymore.” 

You kiss the soft crease between his balls, rolling them with your tongue. You’re delighted to witness how he shudders at the soft caress of your lips, “I can see that.” 

“Get on with it then.” 

Joel sounds almost annoyed—no, not annoyed, but eager, desperate—to have your mouth wrapped around him with Liam in the other room. You don’t want to make him wait so you slowly allow a thin line of saliva to drip from between your lips. His thighs tense when it touches the head of his cock. 

“Is his dick as big as mine?” he asks, jaw locked, words bouncing off of clenched teeth. 

“No,” you gasp, dragging your lips down the length of him while staring at him through heavy lashes. “No, it’s not as big as yours.”

Suddenly you’re lifted to your feet, your body nothing but a ragdoll as he pushes you to the bed, the old mattress creaking with protest at the added weight.  

“Play with that fuckin’ pussy for me, I want to see it.” He wraps a hand around his weeping cock, his strokes hard and calculated. Your breasts tingle as you push a hand between your thighs, he clicks his tongue in disapproval, approaching the end of the bed. “Spread your legs wide, honey.” 

As soon as you open your legs and spread your folds for him to see how soaked you are, he’s quick to climb up the bed. Turning you to your side, he gets right behind you. Joel wets his own fingers, sucking on them with a loud groan before replacing yours with his own. He rubs your clit with precise movements, each stroke hitting the mark and making you see bright, dazzling stars. Your body moves on its own. Heat pools between your legs, your hips grinding back to feel the heft of him on your ass. 

“Joel, please,” you whimper. “Please, fuck me, please—” 

His lips touch your cheek and he breathes heavily, his chest heaving and rattling with every exhale. You feel the head of his cock slowly sinking into you, stretching you wide as his lips decorate your sweaty skin with fleeting kisses. 

“You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ well, honey,” your eyes roll back, a mild pain blossoming from where you two connect. He brushes his fingers over your clit, the sharp pleasure shortening your breath. “That’s it. That’s my girl takin’ my big cock so well. So good. So good for me.” 

Your jaw drops as you take him inch by inch. He continuously plays with your clit, kissing you and whispering words of praise while his tongue plays with your earlobe. You feel like mush. Like dough that only he can mold. Your lashes grow wet with tears, your heart beating so wild that you swear he can hear it as well. Joel slightly pulls back his hips and pushes back in, your breath catches in your throat, and soon enough he begins fucking you with shallow thrusts. 

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” he mutters into your ear. You nod helplessly, your body burning from the inside out. “Tell me, louder, come on,” a smack echoes in the small room, and pain blossoms over your ass cheek. “Come on, louder.” 

“Yes!” you cry out. In a weak attempt to meet his thrusts, you roll your hips. “Yes, this is what I wanted. I’ve never stopped thinking about it—never stopped thinking about you.” 

“Is this pussy mine?” 

“Yes, it’s fucking yours.” 

Your voice must’ve come out too much like a whisper because Joel’s pace quickens. He fucks you hard, deep, hammering into you until you’re struggling for air. He wraps thick fingers around your neck, squeezing until there’s pressure building under your eyes, your lungs burning. 

He loosens his grip around your throat, “I wanna hear it, come on now, don’t make me beg for it. Tell me, is it mine?” 

“Yours! It’s fucking yours!” 

Suddenly Joel is underneath you and you’re on top, his hips relentless as he snaps his hips up into you. It feels even better now. The way his cock massages your walls shooting crackles of electricity up your spine. He holds your ass with both hands and spreads you for his liking. 

You moan his name and when you look down, seeing him staring at your face, a sudden gush of embarrassment overwhelms you and with a small whimper, you cover his eyes with both your hands. Joel grits his teeth at that. He fucks you harder, the vicious way he presses inside making you gasp and drop your hands so you can brace yourself by flattening your palms over his chest. His eyes flash with anger. 

“Why the fuck—” he growls, “would you cover my eyes?” 

“I–I got embarrassed—” you squeeze your eyes shut and open them back again. You push down your hips, taking him to the hilt as a form of apology, but he doesn’t seem to accept it and holds you still. Your head falls back with his every thrust. 

“If you ever pull that stunt again, I’ll take you over my knee,” he rasps, ignoring the way your pussy clenches at his words. 

His finger teases your asshole and beads of sweat gather at your tailbone. Joel’s grin is dangerous, something you’d run away from rather than run towards. But you can’t help it. A wanton moan rattles your throat, your pussy clenching hard around his cock. He presses forward, burying his finger down to the first knuckle. You shudder over and over, your body building tension and releasing it simultaneously. 

“You like that, wildflower?” he groans, thrusting his finger in and out while snapping his hips up. “You enjoy it when I play with your tight little asshole?” 

“Fuck, fuck—Joel—yes, yes I do.” 

His other hand snakes around the back of your neck and yanks you down. His damp lips touch your ear, “Gonna fuck this hole one day, pretty thing. . . gonna fuck it so hard you’re not gonna be able to stand for weeks.” 

Before you can catch your breath, you’re being hauled towards the closed door, the emptiness you feel sudden and cold. He pulls your hips up, presses your cheek against the barely standing wood. Your hard nipples graze against the surface, a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine. Again, Joel thrusts forward, filling you to the brim. The mild pain tingles within your lower abdomen and you melt against him, eyes rolling back as you wiggle your ass for him. 

With every rock of his hips, your body hits the door with a thud and you’re sure Liam can hear every forceful fuck, “Tell him how fuckin’ bigger I am than him—I wanna fuckin’ hear, it come on.” 

“He’s so much bigger than you!” you groan, bracing your palm against the door. “You hear me, Liam? Never had a bigger cock in my life, I’m soaked.” 

Liam’s muffled voice follows through, “Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is wrong with you? You fucking whore!” 

You know it shouldn’t, but his words still jar you. 

“I’ll fuckin’ break his hands for that, don’t you worry darlin’,” Joel mutters into your skin, his words marking you as something untouchable. “And I’ll make it fuckin’ hurt.” He then kisses your shoulder and shouts towards the door, slamming especially hard this time so the thud of you hitting the door echoes. “You’re the one who gambled her like some kind of prize you dickhead. Don’t blame her for feelin’ good about it!” 

“You could never satisfy me,” you say barely above a whisper, like you’re not entirely sure you’re allowed to feel good about this. About finally having him all to yourself. 

“That’s it, tell him,” Joel growls, pushing his cock even deeper. You swear that if you looked down at your stomach, you’d see a bulge, as impossible as that sounds. “Tell him.” 

You desperately grab at Joel’s forearms, feeling the sinewy muscle tense. Your slick drips down his length and wets the inside of your thighs. With a loud moan you repeat your words and it feels delightful. 

You only smile when you hear the outer door close shut. Liam is gone. 

“Yes yes yes,” Joel murmurs into your neck, ramming into you harder. “That’s it, come on my cock, sweetheart, please—I wanna feel it—” 

Your breath catches in your throat, body seizing, “B—Bed,” you manage to choke out. 

If he pulled out, you’re not aware. His body is a constant presence against your back, lips always latched on to a patch of skin, tasting the salt. Joel lays you down gently and pushes your legs high enough that it grazes your forehead with every desperate snap of his hips. 

“Is this what you want?” he groans, the wet noises of him fucking into the tight fist of your cunt bouncing off the walls. 

“Yes, Joel— this is what I want.” 

“My whore,” he leans over and grinds into you. He slips his tongue into your mouth, sucks on your tongue. The back of your thighs ache with protest but you whimper into the kiss anyway. Breaking the kiss, Joel breathes into you, “My good sweet little whore,” and another kiss. 

Your eyes roll back, “So deep,” you groan, breaking the kiss. 

“Deeper deeper deeper,” Joel mocks you by mimicking your dazed tone with his drawl. He slowly pushes in, holding himself there, he halts your breath. “How’s that, wildflower? Deep enough for you?” 

“Oh god, Joel—” you choke. You fist the sheets, your cunt fluttering and throbbing. He doesn’t move, he flexes his cock and the pressure of that is enough to break you. 

Joel wasn’t expecting it, this much your muddled brain is able to realize from the shocked groan he lets out. His lips find purchase on your forehead, kissing and mumbling praise as your entire body clenches and releases, your pussy gushing around him. You feel the trickles of fresh wetness ripping out of you and all you can do is take it when Joel resumes his thrusts, fucking you through your messy orgasm. 

Despite your insistent begging of wanting him to come inside, Joel pulls out, coming undone instantly as he does so. He rubs himself over your mound, thick ropes of come spurting across your stomach and even the underside of your right breast. He releases your legs and they fall limply to his sides. 

Joel kisses you long and deep, his weight comforting above your trembling body. When he finally pulls away, he lets out a low chuckle and brushes your noses together. 

“I think he left, sweetheart.” 

“Good,” you mumble and press a quick kiss to his flushed lips. “All I want is you.” 

Liam’s not your boyfriend anymore. 

[teapartyprincess4two]

Intrusive Thoughts- M. Sturniolo

pairing: bestfriend!reader x bestfriend!Matt

classification: SMUT SMUT NO FLUFF (well a little fluff bc filler parts)

warnings: 18+, MDNI, literal sex, masturbation, use of y/n, cursing, suggestive content, forced proximity, Nick and Chris can drive bc if not this wouldn’t work & I don’t want to make up extra characters, short

inspiration: request^^

summary: You’re forced to sit on Matt’s lap during a long roadtrip and once you arrive at your destination he lets his intrusive thoughts win.

Intrusive Thoughts PT.1, PT.2

—

“Stop moving,” Matt grumbles, his legs going numb from the constant applied pressure. You’re currently sitting on his lap, every other spot in the car completely overtaken with bags, blankets, pillows, and warm bodies. “Sorry, I can’t help it. I have to pee,” you reply in a hushed tone, feeling embarrassed for all your constant squirming. You’ve had to pee for the past two hours and you won’t reach the next gas station until 30 minutes.

Matt hates himself for enjoying this, despite his legs being completely numb, he can feel everything on his lap. The view is nice too, your tight leggings hugging your round ass perfectly. You squirm again, accidentally grinding down onto Matt hard enough for his dick to twitch. All he can do is hope you can’t feel it and pray he can think of anything other than you for the remainder of the trip.

“Nick, pull over I actually can’t hold it,” you say, standing up slightly to point to the side of the road. Your ass is on full display for Matt now, he just wants to reach out and grab it. Nick sends you an annoyed glare as he pulls off the highway and onto the access road.

A relieved sigh leaves your lips, your body plopping back down onto Matt’s lap aggressively as you rush to get out of the car. Matt groans at the contact, the force at which you sat on him sending him into a frenzy.

“Don’t look!” you exclaim, running deep into the forest that ligned the road to hide behind a tree. Nick is annoyed and tired from all the driving and Chris is fast asleep. Matt was too busy trying to hide his erection to even care.

Why did he agree to come on this road trip? Why didn’t he just offer to drive? Now he’s stuck in the backseat with you on his lap and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Finally,” Nick groans in annoyance, watching as you run out from behind the trees and hop back into the car. You sit yourself on Matt’s lap again, this time much closer to his crotch and he swears he sees stars from this alone.

This was going to be a long, painful car ride.

—

You’re asleep, leaning into the bags and pillows that litter the middle seat, a blanket thrown over yours and Matt’s lap haphazardly. You stir slightly with each sharp turn or sudden bump, scooting back onto your make-shift pillow each time. The blanket serves as the perfect shield from wandering eyes and Matt uses it to his advantage, allowing his hands to hold you in place dangerously close to your inner thighs.

The car drives over a bumpy road causing you to bounce slightly on Matt’s lap, the pressure creating a sensation that he begins to welcome. Once the road smooths out again, you readjust yourself and wiggle your hips in an attempt to anchor yourself. Matt bites his lips and looks away, trying to fight the perverse thoughts that form in his mind.

All he can think about is you in your shared hotel room, clothes discarded and scattered on the floor. He imagines you laid out for him on the plush white comforter, ready to do any and everything he says. The bed would rock with each thrust causing the headboard to slam against the wall, informing all your neighbors that you belong to no one other than him.

His eyes are closed tightly, head leaned against the cold window as he tries coming back to reality. He exhales sharply, willing himself to stop thinking about you that way. You’re his best friend, and best friends weren’t supposed to imagine how the other would look naked. He wasn’t supposed to be fantasizing about your lips wrapped around him, or your legs pressed against your chest while his large hands held them in place.

“We’re here?” Chris croaks from the front seat, his voice still hoarse from his long nap. Nick hums in response, pulling up to the hotel parking lot.

Suddenly the car stops making Matt’s head bump against the glass slightly. You wake up from the sudden movement, stretching a little before turning towards Matt. You offer him an innocent smile, “Hi.”

He returns the smile, trying to pretend like he wasn’t just imagining you with his dick in your mouth. “Hi, sleep good?” he asks, still holding you securely in place by your thighs. He squeezes them briefly, before reluctantly dragging his hands away.

“Mhm,” you reply, your voice cracking a little from not talking for hours. He wants you making those noises from under him.

Chris opens the backseat car door before Matt can reply, causing you to jump off of his lap. You, Nick and Chris work towards getting all the bags out of the car while Matt tries to compose himself.

Finally, when he’s almost 100% his erection isn’t noticeable, he gets out of the car.

—

Matt knew he was sharing a room with you from the get-go, especially because he was the one who invited you on this trip in the first place, but the thought was still enough to excite him. It spiked his nerves, sending all his blood to his dick as he imagined all the possibilities.

“You can sleep, I’m gonna shower,” you say once you’re in the room, locking the door behind you. He fights the urge to follow after you, desperate for a little show. He’d have to save it for his dreams though, because despite being sexually frustrated, Matt was really tired and his legs were sore from the car ride.

“Okay.” He’s kicking his shoes off and undresses until he’s only in his boxers. Matt gets comfortable under the sheets, closing his eyes and trying to fall asleep before you get out of the shower. But it’s no use, his mind is racing with thoughts of you.

You in a bikini, you in a short skirt, you with a low cut top, you eating a popsicle, you kneeling down in front of him and letting him slap you in the face with his dick. So many dirty thoughts run through Matt’s head, all of them involving you in a compromising position.

His hand instinctively travels down under the waistband of his boxers, tugging until his cock is free. You were still in the shower, the steam coming out from under the door and the soft pitter patter of the water filled the room. Matt knew he had at least 15 minutes before you returned into the room ready for bed, plus the plush comforter served as an illusion, it was so big that you couldn’t even tell there was someone laying under it.

Slowly, he strokes himself, biting his lip to stop himself from making any noise. All of his fantasies play through his head, and like credits at the end of a movie, they're never ending. He picks up the pace, trying to finish before you’re done in the shower.

He hears the water turn off, mentally cursing himself for somehow not being able to finish. Just moments ago he was ready to bust at the idea of you and now the performance anxiety is inhibiting his climax. “Come on, come on,” he mutters, thrusting into his hand relentlessly, imagining that it was your hand instead of his. Finally he feels it, his climax builds and with one last pump he’s cumming into his hand. A quiet whimper comes from Matt, finally feeling satisfied.

The bathroom door opens, the light illuminating the rest of the room as you walk out in nothing but a cropped tank top and tight shorts. Your head is tilted to the side, your hands working a brush through your wet, tangled hair.

“Can you help?” you ask Matt, hoping he’ll help you get the knots out faster. He closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep to avoid the awkward situation under the sheets. His boxers are midway down his thighs, his soft dick laying on his stomach as remnants of his session linger on his hand.

You realize he’s asleep, or that he’s pretending, and huff in annoyance before returning back into the restroom to finish your night routine.

He didn’t know how he was going to survive the rest of the night.

—

Matt tosses and turns all night, unable to get comfortable no matter how hard he tries. You’re facing away from him because he’s sleeping on the side with the window and the sheer curtains do nothing to shield the obnoxious hallway light. Your soft snores fill the room, and even though Matt’s still physically tired, his mind is awake with thoughts of you.

After you got into bed, he hurried into the restroom and you wondered why. He stayed in there for a while, giving you enough time to think about a night with him and not an innocent one either. You fell asleep thinking about everything he’d do to you, all the positions he’d put you in.

“Y/n,” Matt whispers, nudging you gently. You’re out cold though, soft whimpers coming from you. At one point he swears he hears his name. “Y/n!” he whispers again, but much louder.

You finally stir, your head turning to face him as your eyes drowsily finding his face, adjusting to the dark. “What?” you croak, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You were having a good dream and the sooner you could return to it, the better. So, whatever Matt wanted better be good.

“I can’t sleep,” he whispers, pulling the comforter up higher against his neck. You groan in annoyance, turning away from him once again, “count sheep.” You close your eyes, preparing to enter another deep sleep full of dreams of Matt.

Matt snakes an arm over your waist, sneakily managing to go under your shirt. He’s only testing the waters though, not trying to take things too far too fast. “I did already,” he mumbles, tracing mindlessly shapes on your skin.

“Think of something boring,” you instruct.

How could he though when you’re right here, infecting his thoughts with perverse fantasies. “Can’t. Can only think of you,” he whispers, finally giving in to his intrusive thoughts as he presses a kiss onto your shoulder.

Whatever sleep you felt immediately leaves your body at the confession. Matt’s hand travels further up your shirt, holding one of your boobs. You groan at the sensation, instinctively scooting closer to him. Your ass presses against his crotch and immediately you feel his dick, it’s begging to be set free.

“I was dreaming of you,” you admit, one of your hands traveling behind you to massage Matt’s clothed penis. Your fingers manage to wrap around him despite the boxers being in the way, massaging him slowly. “Yeah? What was I doing?” he asks through strained moans, trying to see how far you two will go.

“Making me feel good.”

“Be specific, baby,” he grunts, bucking into your hand.

You proceed to describe your dream, all the dirty details only adding to Matt’s already active imagination. “First, you fucked me in the shower, lathering me up with soap and kissing all over my body. You fucked me against the glass and we left our handprints all over it,” you whisper, tightening your grip around his cock slightly. Matt’s breath hitches in his throat at the idea of you covered in sudsy bubbles.

“Then, you fucked me on the bathroom counter. You made me feel so good I screamed your name,” your voice is so seductive it has Matt whimpering. You move your hand from over his boxers and trail just above his waistband, allowing your fingers to linger there for a while before finally diving in.

“I sucked your dick on the balcony while you sat in the lounge chair. You came all over my face, all over my chest. All over, baby,” you pump his cock slowly, listening for his whimpers. His eyes are squeezed shut, he’s imagining every single scenario in full detail.

“Then I sat on it and bounced on it for hours. It felt so good,” you added. He squeezes your tit in his hand, pinching your nipple in the process and eliciting a small moan from you. “You sucked on my tits while I bounced on it, baby. You made me feel so good.”

Matt groans at the visual, he can’t take it anymore, if you keep going he’ll bust all over your hand without warning. “Stop,” he groans, pushing your hand off him before he can finish. If you two are going to do this, you’re going to do it right.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he says, eagerly tugging your shorts off. You kick the shorts off, clenching around nothing at the thought of him inside you.

He lines himself up with your entrance, groaning at how warm and ready you are for him. Slowly, he pushes in, allowing himself to adjust to the new sensation. You feel so good clenching around him as you try and take as much of him as possible.

“Tell me more, princess,” he moans, his hips slowly beginning to rock back and forth at a rhythmic pace.

You’re struggling to remember the dream now, but you’re afraid that if you don’t speak Matt will stop. “I was on the edge of the bed, face down ass up for you and you were- fuck.” His hips snap into you, the angle hitting a sensitive spot inside of you.

“Keep going,” he instructs, using his hand to work circles on your clit.

With each thrust your brain becomes foggier and foggier, but you’re eager to please. “You were fucking me from behind and your balls slapped against my pussy,” you spilled out quickly, a loud moan following right after.

“Then?” Matt grunts, you clenched around him in desperation for more. “Ugh.. then we did it in the hot tub. You undid my bikini and I sat on it. I bounced on it, felt so good,” you’re babbling at this point, struggling to form coherent words.

“Bounced on what?” He’s fucking you so hard and fast right now you don’t understand how he can even think straight.

“On your big dick,” you whimper, feeling your climax approach quickly. Matt stops asking questions, instead focusing his attention on pushing you past your breaking point. He’s starting to see stars, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as he nears his orgasm.

“So fucking good,” he grunts, biting down on your shoulder as he cums inside of you, his hand still expertly drawing circles on your clit. The combination of stimulation is enough to make you cum, your body convulsing as you clench and cream around him.

You’re chanting his name, your thighs instinctively pushing together as the overstimulation becomes too much. He smiles at how fucked out he has you, removing his hand and finally slipping out of you.

The room goes silent, both of you so tangled in eachother that you can’t tell where one of you starts and where the other ends. He feels the drowsiness settle in his eyelids, they start to feel heavy and he fights it until he can’t anymore.

Shortly after him, you fall asleep too. Whatever consequences that were going to arise from tonight were tomorrow’s problem.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

🤫🤫

Shh they eepy.

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @sturniololovers