#also in this Jean is another mechanic

[arolesbianism]

Vibrates. Normal. I'm normal. I'm so normal.

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Bite my lip just for the taste

nonnie request here

Blurb: Eddie isn’t only good with his hands. He worships the ground you gracefully walk on and he is determined to satisfy you in every way that he can. Your pleasure is his pleasure and thanks to your mutual friend Steve, he might just have a chance to give you what you deserve.

Pairing: Older!Mechanic!Eddie x Reader

Warnings: 18+, lust at first sight, rough!dom!Eddie (careful what you wish for, right?), oral (m receiving), p in v sex, sloppy kisses, naked bodies and underwear description, reader referred to as girl, pet names, praise kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), alcohol, characters are of ages 25+ and 30+

-

divider by @cafekitsune

Not only was Eddie Munson phenomenal with his hands when it came to mending cars and tinkering around with bolts and nuts… but he knew a trick or two with his strong muscular tongue and his long skilled fingers; and they weren’t associated with playing guitar or singing a epic chorus.

Eddie knew how to fuck— and he was fucking great at it.

But he couldn’t just come out straight with it and tell you that— he had to ease into it. It was like a dark lustrous dance of longing and need and he didn’t mind if he were in it for the long run.

Eddie wanted you but he knew that perfection took time.

It all began on a sweltering summers day. The metal head was very well educated on how car batteries and engines reacted to intense heat— but no amount of study could have prepared him for the way your car trundled into his garage.

Wiping the sweat from his thick brow he watched how you swung open the door with a tired groan and a chesty grumble. Full of merciless rage as you rattled your hands against the metal plating of the evidently old vehicle. Swearing like a sailor on a sinking ship, “Piece of shit!! I hope they crush you!”

Eddie couldn’t control the way his jaw nearly hit the dusty courtyard floor as your heeled foot struck against the cars front tire multiple times. Your rage wasn’t what surprised Eddie— he was accustomed to watching customers let out their pent up rage onto their dying automobiles. But what stunned him was you. You presented yourself in a way that made Eddie question why you decided to bring your car all the way down to this side of town when you clearly could afford to go elsewhere.

Not to toot his own horn, but Eddie was one of the best mechanics this town had to offer. However, he did hold a reputation that much of the community did not agree with. He had a look that made people uncomfortable— that made them run away.

But not you.

You charged toward him fiercely and determined. You made Eddie shrink in his boots.

“Hi, I’m looking for Eddie? Eddie Munson? I’m told this is his place.” Your sugar coated tongue had Eddie’s mind reeling. The contrast of your actions and your personality made him want to laugh aloud— but he managed to keep his humour to himself. For now. You hoop your keys around your index finger, swirling the metal so they would clank and chime against one another.

“You’re looking at him, princess,” He wipes his large oil covered hands against the dark denim of his jeans, toying with the chunky silver rings that graced his fingers as he drank you in further— having a better view of you now, “How can I help?” He briefly glances over to your car, his two front teeth puncturing his bottom lip as he recalls the way you were attacking it just moments earlier.

“My friend Steve said if anyone can fix this hunk of shit then it would be you.” You offer Eddie a tight lipped smile, your hands resting comfortably on your hips as you also gaze back over at the rust bucket your father gifted you 4 years prior, “She isn’t much to look at, but she meant a lot to my old man so… I sort of have to keep her around, Y’know?” You roll your eyes comically and Eddie hums in acknowledgment, crossing his heavily tattooed arms over his plump chest that is clad in a tarnish white tank top.

“I get it.” He grins and winks at you, walking over to where you had abandoned your prized possession, “I hope Harrington put a good word in for me, his car would’ve been scrapped last year if it weren’t for my talent.”

“He said you were the best… alongside some other things that I best not mention if you wanna keep your friendship with him on good terms.”

Eddie laughs as he leans against the bonnet of your car, his wandering eyes flickering from your skirt that is stretched across the fullness of your thighs and up to your face and all over again. He couldn’t seem to pull his attention away from you.

“It’s unlocked, if you’d like to have a look inside.” You gesture toward the hood of the car which the metal head is leisurely draped on and Eddie’s cheeks warm at the inkling that he was caught gawking at you.

“Yeah, I’ll pop it open. It might just be the heat…”

It was now your turn to rake your eyes over Eddie’s frame as he peers into the organs of your nearly dead vehicle. He was only older than you by a couple of years and yet he seemed much more experienced in life than you did. The tattoos against his pale skin had you nibbling on the plush flesh of your bottom lip. His jeans hung loosely on his hips, held up by a studded black leather belt and above the hem you could see the waistband of his boxer briefs peering out at you.

One thing Steve had failed to mention to you before your arrival was how smoking hot Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson was. If you had known sooner, you would’ve dressed up a bit more— maybe you would’ve gotten changed out of your PA office attire.

But still, your tight fitted blouse and shiny black heels would just have to suffice.

“What are you doing right now?” Boldly you move around to meet Eddie’s line of vision. His eyebrows knit together in slight confusion and he flicks his fingers toward the open hood of the car, “No, I mean, after this. What are you doing? Do you.. have plans? Maybe going home to a girlfriend, perhaps?” You weren’t very subtle, but screw it! You saw the hunger in his eyes when you first showed up— he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him and you hadn’t been taken care of in a long time.

You were needy. Desperate. And Eddie may as well have been served up to you on a silver platter!

“Plans? Oh uh… no. Not at all. I uh… I was going to go home and have some shitty wine,” His pink lips perk up into a toothy smile, a knowing smile, and you bite the inside of your cheek to suppress your own, “Does that maybe interest you? You don’t seem like a shitty wine girl.”

You shrug your shoulders and a transparent smugness settles deep into the apples of your cheeks, “I like shitty wine.”

“The good thing about being your own boss is that you can finish whenever you want.” He slaps the bonnet of the car shut and dusts his large hands against one another, “How about I look at this tomorrow and we can take my car back to mine? Or would you like to check out my ass for a bit longer?” He slyly winks at you and your face tilts toward the ground as you make a feeble attempt to conceal the blazing fire that was torturing your skin.

“Hmmm that depends— can you guarantee that you’re not some psycho and that I won’t end up on the front page of the paper tomorrow?” For someone whose body may as well be a ferness with how hot it is, you sure are making Eddie work for what you both want. Something about him made you brave, but it also made you… timid. Quiet… obedient.

And boy oh boy, Eddie was enjoying every second of the power he had over you.

“How about I let you drive? You have the keys… you have the control.” His husky voice drops an octave as he takes a few steady strides toward you. His gaze penetrates yours and his dangerous eyes have an addictive allure. Captivating and intimidating. Revealing little but knowing much… it was exciting. He excites you.

“That could work…” your voice betrays your facade of confidence and Eddie grins wider at the soft falter in your tone. He could read you like a book. Your inviting body language, the blown darkness in the centre of your glossy eyes and the way you don’t back away from him as he stalks even closer to you. You were his prey… and he was the hunter set on a target.

One of Eddie’s rough calloused hands gently takes yours. He positions your palm flat out toward the sky so he could drop his keys onto it all while his focus on your face remains unwavering, “The keys to the castle.”

“Fitting, since you called me a princess earlier.”

“Maybe I orchestrated this from the beginning?” An entertained eyebrow perks up behind his stringy damp bangs.

“Is that so?” The sound of your hushed voice echoes back at you and your lips part longingly at Eddie’s close proximity. He is close enough to kiss— tasty enough to devour. A banquet of all of the most desirable and finer things in life.

“I saw you in those heels and with those legs… I couldn’t resist. They don’t call me a Eddie the freak Munson for no reason, princess.” There is a clip to his voice, a new intensity piercing through his words like a pin to a voodoo doll.

“You might just have to show me how freaky you really are then, Mr. freak…”

-

Eddie was right. The wine did taste like shit.

You were currently draped across Eddie’s large sofa, the soft suede fabric welcomed the mould of your body as you sunk into airy cushions and you sipped hesitantly from your stemmed glass. Smearing your dark lipstick across the pristine rim as you did.

Eddie was perched on a chair across from you which was cut from the same material as the couch. His feet were planted to the floor and his legs were spread wide; like a King on his throne. There was a coffee table separating the two of you and part of you questioned why he was so far away.

You and Eddie locked eyes, a welcoming and long stare. It was comfortable, patient but growing. Neither of you looked away, but none of you made the first move, either.

Eddie was assessing you. He was trying to figure out how this would go. How it would play out. Who was going to be the dominant one and who was going to submit?

You wanted it to be him. You wanted him to know that you needed your decisions made for you tonight.

You bring your glass of wine back to your mouth, taking a small drink and proceeding to lick and bite your lip afterwards. An unspoken invitation that Eddie silently accepts.

The warm light that glows from the table lamp next to you illuminates Eddie in a gorgeous orange hue, darkening his tattoos and brightening the metal around his fingers and his neck. You envision how he would look above you— glistening in sweat with his necklace shimmering as it dangles atop of your face. The image nearly causes you to whine aloud.

Nearly.

You surveyed your surroundings, “This is a nice place you have— very cozy.” You place your wine glass on a coaster, coming back to snuggle into the pillows of the sofa and Eddie hums, pleased.

“It’s no bachelor pad but it’s home.” He tilts his nearly empty glass toward you and a mischievous smile toys with the edges of his lips, “Thank you.”

He finishes his drink with one swift movement before he is leaving his post from across from you. You watch him with blown eyes, eyes that are bright and eager. He settles his lean and sturdy physique against the door frame that leads into his kitchen space.

Your heart rate quickens with anticipation and your hips squirm beneath you as you try and remain confident under his abysmal and sinful demeanour.

You were overly aware of the lewd events hurtling toward you and the excitement of it causes your face to flush with colour.

“I’ve never fucked a girl in heels before… I think you should keep them on.” He prowls toward you, his body language animalistic and focused.

He’s been wanting to pounce on you from the moment you stepped foot through the door— but Eddie is a gentleman and gentlemen take their time.

Eddie was in front of you now. His eyes such a deep shade of chocolate brown that they seemed to swallow the light rather than reflect it. They were adorned by long dark eyelashes that you were envious of and strong clean eyebrows that framed the chiselled structure of his face. He looked like a painting. Like he wasn’t real.

“I… I can keep them on.” Your face tilts toward your feet as you try to remind yourself of the appearance of the shoes that you chose to wear that day however Eddie is quick to tensely grab you by the flesh of your cheeks and snatch your attention back to him.

“Eyes on me.” His voice is a hushed purr as his nose teeters on the edge of brushing yours, “I wanna see your pretty face.”

His grip remains tight and it forces your lips into a cute pout which Eddie coos at, “I wanna kiss you. Is that okay?” You nod your head feverishly. Without wasting a single second your lips finally met, tinged with impatience. His lips were magnificent, full and defined and soft. His tongue tastes of alcohol and mint and you moan at the contact of his wet tongue wrestling against yours. His teeth nip at your bottom lip and your eyes are lidded as your fingers touch the exposed skin of his shoulders with a feathery graze; causing goosebumps to arise on Eddie’s inked skin.

“I need to know that you want this…” He breathes heavy laboured breaths, “That you want me to take control. I like it rough, baby, so we need to have a safe word… okay? Safe word is Cherries. You got that?” His domineering mask slips for a quarter of a moment as his black hues sweeten. You nod again, your mind clouded with lust and desperation.

“Repeat it back to me.”

“Cherries is the safe word.”

“Clever girl.” Without a beat Eddie is dragging you up and onto your feet. You are wobbly on your legs for a moment but you are fast to regain composure. As Eddie goes to lead you through to his bedroom you stop, your body set alight.

“Eddie can I… can I taste you first?” You are a blushing mess as the words drool from your lips. You hadn’t stopped thinking about it since you seen him man spreading in front of you in his armchair earlier. You wanted to dip down between his thighs and make his cock twitch with need, “Please.”

The metal head looked bewildered for a moment however he quickly welcomed the request. How could he possibly deny such a sweet girl when she asked him so politely?

He walks the both of you over to the comfortable chair, sitting himself down and allowing his hands to have free roam of your ass and hips, “Ask me as nicely as that and I’d give you anything you want, princess.” The pet name was now tainted with naughty intention as it rolled off of his slick tongue and your knees weaken at the sight of him gazing up at you.

It was nice to be able to study a man features without any shame or embarrassment. You were so used to stealing glances at attractive men but the visual feast sitting in front of you was enjoyed without any guilt.

You offer Eddie an intoxicated smile as his eyes venture over your face, your neck, your breasts and your exposed legs. You weren’t worried about the way your body looked— there was something so calming about Eddie that struck a match of confidence within you and he seemed to like what he was looking at.

“Such a pretty thing, aren’t you?” He rips down your skirt from around your waist, letting it pool around your ankles and leaving you stood in the pile of bunched fabric. His hands work quickly on your blouse and Eddie growls at the sight of you. Nothing to you but your matching lace underwear set and your heels.

Your nipples peak at the change of temperature in the room and the sly man pinches them with the tips of his slender fingers, rolling the buds mercilessly and smirking devilishly as he does. The action causes a soft whine to emit from your throat and Eddie’s lips perk into a grin at the sound. He was obsessed with you.

“Kneel.”

And you do. The bones of your knees meet the floor with a pathetic thud and Eddie smooths the palm of his hand across the softness of your hair; enticing you that he will be gentle at first but he yanks the strands seconds later, causing you to yelp.

“Open up. I wanna see if I’ll fit.”

Bracing yourself with your hands on his jean clad knees you unhinge your jaw, opening wide as Eddie slots two of his fingers onto your tongue and they slide deep in the crevasse of your mouth. They tickle the back of your throat and your thighs clench together at the thought of him fucking of your face.

“It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I’m sure you can handle it. Right, hon?”

“Yes. I can take it. Please…” You babble around his digits.

There you are again with your manners and your begging bambi eyes. It awakens something within Eddie— something that had been sitting dormant but has now stirred from its slumber. A darkness. A line he had never crossed but he was so close to it now. He wanted to own you. He wanted you to belong to him… to be his and only his.

“Go on then, baby. He’s waiting.” He winks at you and your adrenaline shaken hands find the zipper of his jeans. Eddie’s thick bulge strains against the stiff denim and you chew on your bottom lip furiously as his long and full shaft springs from his boxer briefs.

Your mouth salivates at the sight and you look to him for permission, which Eddie gives, before you are popping his throbbing tip into the hot cave of your mouth. A vibration travels down Eddie’s cock and reaches his balls as you moan around him. He felt so good— so natural to have him in your mouth. Like sucking on your favourite treat.

“Fuck— that feels so good.” Dark curls spill onto the back cushion of the chair and Eddie’s hands fist your hair into a ponytail, guiding your slobbering mouth up and down the length of his aching cock.

Your mind was blank of anything except for Eddie’s body and the way he felt inside of you. He hadn’t even penetrated you yet and your panties were dampening with slick more and more with every passing bob of your head.

“Shit—“ Eddie seethes through clenched teeth, his hips rocking up to meet your sloppy movements and he punctuates each thrust with a rewarding moan. “I need to feel you.” It was abrupt, the way he ripped your mouth away from him— but you understood. You needed to feel him too. You hadn’t felt this desperate for anyone before; this sultry and seductive. This needy and submissive. You didn’t want this night to end.

You cant contain the soft pants that leave your throat, a mixture of excitement and arousal as you climbed onto straddle Eddie’s thighs. His body felt hard and masculine beneath your touch and you shivered at the way he laid a harsh spank to the meaty flesh of your ass.

“As innocent as you look, you really are just a dirty little slut, huh?” He slaps you again, this time harder than the last and you nearly collapse against his chest. Eddie laughs mockingly, forcing you to sit upright as his fingers plunge down into the soaking fabric of your panties.

You gasp, your already primed body becoming slippier as his fingers thrust softly into you— testing the waters.

“Such a wet pussy, all for me…” His fingers twitch inside of you and you release a sound which can only be described as a moan combined with a helpless whine. With his free hand Eddie rips your breasts from the confines of your bra, allowing the skin to spill free.

His tongue bathed your breast while he used his teeth, giving you peppered bites that shot pleasure through your body like a lightning bolt. He drew your coiled nipple into his mouth and he let his teeth roughly drag over the tip. You moaned loudly. He leaves your breast and looks up into your face.

“Tell me how badly you want my cock.” His voice is a clipped and cool demand.

“I want you to fill me up so bad. I need it, Eddie. Please… fuck, I want it more than anything.” Your hips grind against his fingers and your words must’ve struck Eddie in a pleasant way because before your brain has any time to catch up to his ever changing movements, his fingers are pulling your panties off to one side and his cock is teasing and toying with your dripping hole.

The eye contact between the pair of you was intense as Eddie’s entire length slowly slid inside of you. Your breathing catches in your throat at the stretch of him. Before long, Eddie settles inside of you and your eyes remain shackled to one another. Sex with a stranger shouldn’t be this intimate— so you screw your eyes shut.

Big mistake.

“Open your fucking eyes,” He snarls, his hand grabbing your throat harshly as he pulls your body down toward his, “I want you to watch me as I fuck you.” Your eyelids snap open and Eddie’s features are slack but intimidating as he looks at you. The feeling of being brutally and totally full was almost too much for you to stand. Too much for you to handle. He pulls back from you and begins to thrust.

“Wait—“ You plead and your hands find Eddie’s chest as you support yourself on top of him, “I just need a moment to adjust… you’re so big.” You squirm at the pulsing of your walls around Eddie’s shaft and he grins egotistically up at you.

“Perfect thing to say.”

He repositions his grip onto the back of your thighs, slowly readjusting himself beneath you and easing himself in and out.

“Okay,” you breathe with a soft nod, “You can fuck me now.”

Eddie sensed that your body was ready for his size and he then started to brutishly slam his body into yours. Unbelievably erotic sounds hit your ears as you feel and hear his hips slapping against yours. Sticky skin meeting sticky skin.

“Feels like someone is fisting my dick.”

“Wettest little pussy I’ve ever fucked, yknow that?”

“Shit, I could cum from just the sight of you.”

“Listen to that, baby. You hear how much your pussy is loving my cock?”

“Keep those stunning fucking eyes on me.”

Eddie’s deep grunts and moans mixed with his dirty commentary only heightened the erotica. You’re gentle to take his hand into yours, timidly welcoming two of his fingers back into your mouth as you bound up and down to meet the crack of his hips against yours. Eddie’s eyes gloss over from the view of you above him and his thrusts get snappier and more intentional. Harsher. Quicker. Deeper.

As his cock fucks your sweet hole, his fingers are busy fucking your mouth as well. He took note of how much you liked to have him in your mouth— no matter what part of his body that may be. Eddie got an inkling that this would be the first of many nights together. And he wasn’t mad at the idea— he was actually thrilled by it. It spurred him on.

“Rub your clit for me, sweet girl.” It was as if you were in a trance and the only thing you were able to do was obey Eddie’s every beckon and call. Your finger tips find your sensitive bundle of nerves and you sigh out in complete bliss at the euphoria that shocks up every vertebrae of your spine.

“That’s it, baby. I want you to cum so fucking hard. I’m getting so close— want you to cream all over my cock.”

The speed in which your fingers circled your clit increases and your eyes fight to stay open. You could feel the desperation punctuated in every one of Eddie’s quickened thrusts and you feel that familiar build coming to build in your tummy.

“Fuck— I’m gonna cum. Keep rubbing that clit, baby. You’re being such a good girl for me.” His tired pants fill the air and your mind whizzes and bubbles as you whine out loudly.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, of fuck!” Your mouth gapes open wide, mirroring the sweaty sex symbol below you and your eyes widen as your orgasm floods your every cell. Shaking your body from head to toe. You feel Eddie’s cock swell inside of you— causing your high to continue

“Shit!!” A yell breaks past Eddie’s swollen lips as his orgasm hits. You watch as his face contours as he cums inside of you. His eyes squint shut and his mouth is pulled into a grimace. The veins on his forearms bulk and tense. It was the sexiest thing you had ever fucking seen.

Your heart paced rabidly in your chest as you both breathed heavily, trying to control the heaving of your chests as you both came down. You’re relying on Eddie’s body to keep you from collapsing and Eddie is wise to this. His strong arms wrap around your body as he pulls himself out of you, bringing you to rest on his chest.

Too tired and sated to do anything else, you press yourself against Eddie’s bare and empty sack, grinding lightly down onto the tender flesh of his balls and the noise that leaves Eddie’s throat is indescribable.

You shoot up to look at him and it’s now your turn to smirk and it’s Eddie’s turn to flush a shade of bright red.

“Ignore that.” He coughs to clear his oesophagus, followed by a light hearted chuckle as you come to lay back against his limp body and a knowingness fills your mind.

This wasn’t just going to be a one night stand… and this wasn’t the last time you were going to be laying on top of Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson.

This was just the sweaty, sexy beginning.

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers @rainybloo28 @munson-enthusiast @godcreatoreli @littlefreckles4 @what-the-jams @tlclick73 @ameliapond1995 @thepurplelovewitch @somethingvicked @costellation-hunter @munsonzgf @emxxblog @ingridvasquez @sadbitchfangirl @im-julessssss @munsonburn3r @unclecrunkle @cierra222 @ziggeddie @yarafae @sidthedollface2 @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @purplewitchcauldron @jasminelafleur

[ipushhimback]

my world

pairing: lando norris x reader warnings: none word count: 1.2 k

summary: lando with a woman and 2 kids in the paddock?

Lando has always been a private person. Of course, he occasionally posted a vlog, showed clips of his golfing, streamed, or just showed some racing related stuff.

What no one of the fans knew was, that after every single race there is his family waiting for him. They nearly found out when Lando streamed and their daughter decided that it was the perfect moment to throw a tantrum because she didn’t want to eat her dinner as it was ‘the wrong shape’.

But now that Livy was three and understood what her dad does for a living she really wanted to watch a race so Y/N and Lando had agreed to take her to the Monaco Grand Prix. It was near their home so if anything became to much for the kids, Y/N could just take them home and they would watch the rest of the race from their balcony.

So today you were dressed in a simple baggy jeans, that weren’t so baggy anymore when you compare them to Charles’, and a papaya colored shirt, though no one could see the ‘LN4’ printed on it because of the wraparound baby carrier in which the one month old Aiden was sleeping peacefully.

Livy was wearing a cute white dress with tiny orange flowers printed on it. She was holding Lando’s hand and happily walking through the paddock as if she had done it a million times before.

“I’ll just introduce you to Oscar real quick. Lily isn’t here today so if you want to go to another garage to talk to someone other than the mechanics you can just do that, ok?”, Lando asked as he looked at you with a wide smile that let you know he was happy for you to be here today.

“I know, Lan. You’ve told me that ten times already”, you said leaving forward and pressing a kiss on his lips.

“I know, baby, Just making sure”, your husband said, still smiling.

“Daddy? Why are there no cars?”, Livy said as she looked up at Lando, looking completely confused. Her dad picked her up.

“They are in the garages, baby girl. You will see them later, ok?”

Livia scrunched her nose in disappointment.

“Hm. Wanna see cars now.”

“I know. Oh! There is Oscar! Hey, Osc. How’re you doing?”, Lando asked casually.

You couldn’t help but see how confused the Australian looked.

“Uhm… good? Who… is that?”, Oscar asked while he tried to be polite but he looked absolutely puzzled.

“That is my family. Surprise, I guess. Y/N, my wife. Livy, my daughter. And the little one is Aiden, our baby boy. Sorry I didn’t tell you about them but I really didn’t want the kids to be in the media so much already.”

What Lando didn’t know was that the whole internet was already going wild.

#####

f1gossip Lando Norris seen at the paddock with a woman and kids. Does he have a new girlfriend?

username1 omg. lando is dating a single mom??

username2 pretty sure she is a gold digger…

username3 did she baby trap lando…?

username4 please tell me lando isn’t going to retire now bc he feels like he has to take care of those kids…

username5 pretty sure she only wants his money…

username6 guys do your research. she is Y/N L/N… ceo of some company and literally richer than lando…

#####

Livy in the meanwhile was mesmerized.

“Oscy has pretty hair”, she whispered into her dad’s ear though it was so loud that Oscar heard it and started laughing which made Livia all shy.

“Thank you, little one”, he said while he was still laughing which made Liv hide her face in Lando’s neck who just bounced her a little and laughed.

“She is a little shy. Sorry, mate”, he said to his teammate.

“All good. And this is Aiden? He is super cute”, Oscar said while looking at Aiden who was peacefully sleeping.

“Yes. That’s our little one. He was super mad today when I woke him up to get him dressed though so he is mostly sleeping now”, you said smiling at your little baby boy who sighed in his sleep.

Oscar smiled while looking at the newborn and you started wondering if he will ever also have a kid with Lily.

“Daddy. Wanna see the cars now. Please?”, Livia asked though she was immediately distracted when she saw Charles with his girlfriend Alex walking by. But these two weren’t the ones who got Liv’s attention. It was Leo who was running after the couple on a leash.

“DADDY! THERE IS A DOGGY!”, she explained and squirmed in her dad’s arms to make him put her down.

The second her feet touched the ground she started running over to Leo and plopped down on the ground next to the dachshund who immediately started licking her face.

“Livia Norris! You can’t just run off, did you hear me?”, Lando scolded his daughter. “There are many people and cars which can be dangerous. Mommy and I told you to always stay close to us.”

„Sorry, daddy. I didn’t mean to but dog is cute, look!“, The toddler said while pointing at Leo. „What’s doggy‘s name?“, Liv asked Charles who was standing next to her.

„That’s Leo. He is cute, isn’t he?“, the Monegasque said to Liv while looking at his dog with a proud smile which made Livy nod enthusiastically.

Livia was now looking at Alex who was standing a bit behind Charles.

„You pretty“, she said looking at Alex‘ red dress and then looking back at Leo.

„Thank you sweetie! That’s very nice of you! But so do you. Such a pretty dress. Did you choose it yourself?“, Alex asked while crouching down to be on the same level as Liv.

„No. My mommy said I should wear it because it makes me look like a princess. But daddy said I wear it because the flowers are orange“, she answered shrugging nonchalantly.

Alex just nodded not knowing what to say now. But it didn’t really matter anyway as Liv already spotted Lewis and was immediately obsessed with his braids. She squealed and ran over to the ferrari driver.

„Your hair is so pretty! Did your mommy do that? My mommy always does my hair!“, the little girl said looking up at Lewis while Lando just groaned.

„She already loves half the grid more than me“, he said to you pretending to pout as he wraps an arm around your waist and walked over to Lewis and Livy while he pulled out his phone. „Oh wow the internet is calling you a gold digger now. Interesting“, he said rolling his eyes.

„Let them talk. They will find out who is paying for your golf trips soon enough“, you said chuckling.

But Lando really couldn’t just let them talk. You were his family and important to him.

lando My world (and just for the record she is not a gold digger)

username1 lando has been hiding a whole family for years???

username2 cant believe lando is dating her… he could do so much better

username3 the haters are always gonna hate…

username4 such a cute family they look so happy

username5 not liv loving half the grid more than lando…

a/n: y’all don’t know how long this took me even though it isn’t long or anything…

taglist: @strawberryy-kiwii / @a-distantdreamer / @requiemforthepoets / @martygraciesversion381 / @l-vroom4 / @comicalivy / @sid-is-gr8 / @picklesbuddy93 / @sadiemack9 / @f1fantasys / @cloud-55 / @sunny44 / @widow-cevans / @gigicisneros / @mbioooo0000 / @sinfully-yoursss / @bravo-delta-eccho / @rue-t / @mayax2o07 / @alexanderachillesisgay / @maviesamour / @suhchenjun / @pippyth3hippy / @sweate-r-weathe-r / @joannaln4 / @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy / @aleatorio1234 

[valentine-cafe]

May I have a tiramisu please?

Bottom male reader perhaps meeting Alessio at a club or party and being smitten with him and decides to have a one night stand with him

Also is it ok if I am 🖍️anon? (Pronounced like craynon)

˖⁺. “ pretty party boy ! ” : 

﹙ top punkgoth mercenary x bttm male reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

 . . . verse 781 alessio x male reader !! 🍒 : ﹙ punkgoth ˖ mercenary ˖ immortal inhuman  ﹚ 

you found the flirtatious hunk at the club rather cute - and it seems like the both of you can't keep your hands off of each other. might as well head over and get into his pants, right?

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ one night stand ˖ penetrative sex ˖ fingering ˖ size difference ˖ degradation ˖ rough sex ˖ spit ˖ creampie ˖ alcohol consumption ˖ club scenes | wc : 1.6k

﹙ receipts ﹚: oh I had wayyy too much fun with this and yes ! welcome 🖍️<3

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

Parties seemed to be his scene. Even moreso when he's got a pretty lil' thing like you grinding up on him on the dance floor. He barely knew your name but he sure as hell knew the taste of your lips. Fuck. You were fun to kiss.

He found that out especially so when you stumbled with him through the hazes of booze and bright lights. His hands were all over you from the crowd to the bar. He bought you a drink, then two. Let you pipe on about how you're so happy you can unwind after exam week. He finds out you're a student at his uni. Well ain't that convenient?

"Mechanical huh?"

"Yup! First year."

"Well if you need a tutor," his lips smile into the rim of his glass. Glossy emerald eyes flicker over in time for you giggle. Your hand shoves at his arm. Electric. Your touch, your eyes. Everything about you.

So eager too. You just slipped off of his lap after another steamy makeout. Did you even remember his name? "You offerrin' me something, 'essio?" Seems you do. He quite likes it on your tongue.

His hand falls back to your thigh, just as greedy. A calloused thumb strokes along the fabric of your pants. If he could he'd dig in here and now. You'd love the feel of his silver rings clamped round your thighs as he split your pretty little hole open. "Maybe I am. It working?"

What a charmer. His words couple with a grin and a wink. Dangerous. That's the only way to describe. But like most forbidden things, the man donned in silver and black drips with allure.

You are no saint. Indulge, why don't you?

What else were you to do? Pass up on a guy who's so evidently packing something in his ripped black jeans? No way in hell. You snatched him up the second you could. A second make-out, then a third. All the way back to your apartment.

The door shut and the next second he shows you his strength. Wraps large hands round your thighs and hoists you up. Shoves you back into the wall just as his tongue does your mouth. Chills wash over you as a silver piercing graces your pink muscle so graciously. How friendly.

Alessio's far from a patient man. He'll tongue kiss you breathless all while stripping haphazardly at your clothes. Chuckle when you whine and buck at the hand that had just been pre-occupying itself with your pleasure. Another cute thing — your dick in his palm. Especially how it squirts and twitches all over.

"Pobrecito," his tongue clicks beside your ear. His hand returns to your hard cock and squeezes at the head once - twice - as he drops you down into your sheets. Handling you and your furniture as if he owned the damn place. "Too greedy for a man you just met? Or are ya just that pent up?"

The jerky motion of his palm is cruel. You hiccup and he makes sure to kiss on your adam's apple while you grind into the calloused feel. "Please," you quiver. "Please - please please."

Warmth withdraws, you nearly whine and reach for his hair to cling. "Oh baby I haven't even stretched you out yet." Spit streaks your hole, he's got good aim. You can't really appreciate it as his words run rampant through your mind.

Stretch you out? "I can take it - jus' need some lube. I'm not a virgin." So proudly you say it and yet - the shadow of emerald peering down at you renders you nearly timid. He chuckles, deep and dark as his thumb flicks across your tip.

"Aww that's cute."

His free hand circles fingers at your rim. The centre of his brows crease and knit upwards as he croons while you throb around his slowly inching fingers. "That so? Please." Another snicker. Cocky bastard. But maybe he's right, with the way two fingers stuff you up you're suddenly reconsidering what he might be hiding down there.

He'll stretch you out on his fingers more than once. It's slow for the first round. You wonder if that's what he prefers — but the second has you jerking, crying as he fucks his fingers in till the knuckle. So effortless too. Like he's done this multiple times before.

Seems like it. The way he croons and cooes at you tells you he's said these words before. The way he so expertly know where to curl his criminally long and thick fingers only motivates the fact. He'd get you off twice like that. Lean down and kiss your sticky tip so messily before he finally backs off.

What the fuck. Oh that's more than you could have ever imagined. His fat cockhead slaps back into him. Tall and proud with throbs at his tip to match. And that vein that pulses on the underside? You lick your lips to restrain the urge to swoop down and suckle on it. Not that he'd give you a chance with the snatch to your thighs that yanks you to the end of the bed, his cock rests atop your thigh. Fuck — it's heavy too.

He asks if you're ready. What a gentleman. As if he wasn't making you cream on his fingers just a second ago. Caresses your sides and positions. He even made sure to jerk you off a bit while he pushed in. Maybe he's addicted to your pleasure.

Pop! The tip alone has you straining. You squeeze out lube he drizzled all over combined with his saliva. What's Alessio doing? Grinning. As he splits you open on his cock and grips your waist when you try to squirm. Yanks you back down on his dick so that your ass is spread wide as he jams between your legs.

"This the same cock you said you could take hermoso?"

Skin slaps wet and rapid. Plap plap plap! His balls smack against your ass. Strong hands yank you down on every plough of his cock. You're drooling. Loopy. Head limped into the sheets and hands barely gripping anymore.

A mess of your cum stains your thighs and splatters your tummy. Runs down your poor abused ass to mix with Alessio's seed. He's pumped you full who-knows how many times.

And he's still going.

Your dick squirts more when he grabs it with his free hand that's not got your thigh hunched over his muscled shoulder in a tight slot. "Answer me pretty boy." Even his hiss drips with sex appeal.

You try to nod. Try to speak. How can you when he starts bullying a gummy spot so deep inside. Knocking so roughly. Sloshing up your heat with sprays of more cum. How isn't he stopping?

"C-Can - can take it - can take - hngh - 'e-essiiioooooo I can't takkeee iiitttt."

With a shaky hand you pathetically clamp on his bicep. You want him close. And he's so gracious for a man you just met. He drops his weight and squishes you in half. Pours kisses down your neck as he slams all the way. Throbs a few times. Then shallowly fucks you through another orgasm.

You search for his lips. Messy. Just like the kiss he wretches your jaw into. Oh how he suffocates you. How he pumps you full and has your smaller body creaming all over him.

"Tha's what I thought. Yeah. Fucking whore thought he could take me first try huh?" He keeps a grip tight around your jaw when he parts from your lips. Saliva is the only connecting. Strings of slick just like down below where your tight ass spurts messes of cum again and again.

"Right baby? You can take it. Not a virgin after all - fuckk - so take it!"

Another slam. Your body jerks on the bed. You tear nails down his back and sniffle out a sob as you spray his toned abdomen again. The knot in your tummy is tight. Legs tremble on his shoulders. "Please - pleasepleasee-ease-easseeee"

How pathetic. All Alessio can do is chuckle along the crook of your neck as he paints hickies in return of your cum that decorates him.

He thought you were cute at the party alone. But you're fucking adorable when you struggle to take his cock.

  Despite the roughness he'll pepper soft kisses all over your face once it's over. Hoist you up into his big arms and carry you to the bathroom. How the hell isn't he spent? You can barely see straight!

You'd be in and out of consciousness but he'll make sure to clean you up. Get you nice and comfortable in your bed before slotting in beside you.

You're surprised to see he's still there in the morning. In your kitchen - making you food? "An apology for wrecking your ass." He jokes. You could get used to this. . . but it's just a one night stand, right? You're reminded of that once he's out the door.

Well. Until later that night when your phone pings. When did you give him your number??

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[phoenix-art-official]

Stan did things to survive he wasn't proud of. Just now, he was using his teeth to break off the locking mechanism of the car trunk he was tied up in. He felt cracks and jolts of pain, and he kept having to swallow blood, and every moment that passed was another that he had to think about everything that had lead him here.

Betrayal, mostly. Cruelty, definitely. Stupidity, sadly.

Stan knew he was stupid. He thought he had wised up over the years, but it turned out he was just as gullible and hopeful as he had ever been. Even now some small part of him was planning on finding the closest payphone as soon as he got out of here, so he could waste a couple of quarters calling a man who he hadn't spoken to in years and who hadn't cared about him in even longer.

He'd made friends on the road. Or he thought so, anyway, but it turned out those "friends" were actually "enemies," and those "girlfriends" and "wives" were also "enemies." Go figure.

His shoulder cracked from where it lay on the floor and he groaned through his teeth. He thought for sure he'd popped the damn thing back in its socket. Oh well. He liked to brag about being able to pick any lock with his hands tied behind his back and blindfolded, but so far that didn't seem to extend to field medicine. Or maybe that was just because he had already wriggled out of the blindfold.

He was maybe panicking a bit. Which was good, he needed the adrenaline. It helped him keep yanking and tugging and cracking against that stupid latch, no matter how often he had to pause because he felt enamel crunch between his jaws instead of metal. That familiar beating in his chest, in his head, in his soul.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Sur-vive. Sur-vive. Sur-vive.

Eventually, the trunk popped open. Eventually, a haggard, sweaty man covered in blood wriggled out and flopped onto the sand. Eventually, he pulled his hands down around his feet and in front of himself, popped his shoulder into its socket again, and broke the zip ties around his wrists and ankles. Eventually, he levered himself upright and shivered in the cold Nevada night air, looking at the miles of stars above and desolate nothing below. Eventually, he saw the light pollution down the road and began stumbling towards it.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Well, he hadn't died this time. That was good. And what was more, he currently had a grand total of a dirty dress shirt, some jeans, some loafers, a fleece hoodie, and... oh yeah, absolutely fuck-all else. He was also beat to hell, probably concussed, thirsty, hungry, cold, and...

Huh. How did he feel?

The physical, bodily complaints were always loud and easy to pinpoint. But emotionally, where he expected a white-hot boiling furnace of rage in his chest, he felt instead something icey cold, heavy, and leaden.

Hm.

He made it to a gas station. There was a payphone under flickering sodium lights, a single car being filled with gas- Stan still couldn't say he missed not being able to siphon gas, everyone pumping it themselves made it so much easier- and a young woman doing the filling. He started towards the payphone, not even really thinking about what he would do when he got there, and then someone screamed.

It was the woman. She stared at him. He stared back. The light flickered over her wide eyes. A long moment passed where Stan didn't really know how to fix that.

He lifted a hand to wave reassuringly at her, spin some tall tale, maybe ask for a bit of change.

"Stay back!" she shouted. Then she took off a shoe, screamed, "Scram," threw it at him, and got into her car, driving off into town.

The shoe hit him in the face.

It didn't hurt that much. It was just a shoe. Everything else hurt way more. Especially his jaw.

So why did he feel like he was dying?

Maybe because it was always like this. People shouting at him, throwing things, telling him to "Get off my lawn," or "Stay away from me," or "Keep your mouth shut."

"Stay in line." "Get back in your cage." "Sit down." "Don't ask stupid questions." "Don't come back until you've made millions."

"Go." "Sit." "Stay." "Shut up."

People sucked.

Stan looked off in the direction the woman had driven in.

People were after him. Sooner or later, they'd find out he was still alive, and try to correct that mistake. There were no people who would try to keep him alive. Just him. Always him. Stanley Pines against the world. Alone.

He looked up. The stars looked dimmer from here.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Just until the heat died down. Just until it was safe. Just until he could stomach the looks he was going to get. The hate. The disgust. The disappointment.

Stan crept toward the back of the gas station and hid.

[pizzaapeteer]

Sucking isn’t always bad

Been thinking about Mechanic Mattheo, in which reader needs a little road help and in return offers a little roadhead. Warnings: NSFW 18+, fem! reader, throatfucking, semi-public, swearing, hair pulling, degrading, i literally no shit all about cars 🙃 around 3k.

A/n: also, I am sleep deprived so apologizes if this has some minor mistakes, and Ty to my pookies @thatdammchickennugget @amongemeraldclouds 🤍

Sweltering heat blisters down on your skin, messing with your vision and increasing your frustration. You wipe your forehead, looking down at the hood of your car in confusion. You never should've trusted that dealer. The car was a piece of junk and now, thanks to them, you were stranded on the side of the road.

Dust kicks up, swirling on the desert road around the thick rubber of slowing tires, a car pulling over to a stop in front of yours. The ignition is killed, and a pair of dirt covered boots hit the ground, your head craning over your shoulder to see who's stopped. Prayers run through your mind in hopes of someone kind and actually useful, and they're answered a little too well. The air stills with an itching sensation that spikes your adrenaline as you gawk at the handsome specimen exiting his car. 

Jean-cladded burly thighs roll into view, revealing his intimidatingly tall frame that grows in his quick stretch. He's covered in an overlay of tattoos that decorate the sun-kissed canvas of his muscular arms. They constrict in his approach, moving to take a drag from the cigarette that hangs loose in his mouth, and you wonder how one can smoke those in the heats thick let alone wear black.

He walks with a relaxed stride, waving a friendly hand, his dark curls tousling by the movement. "Looking a little stuck there. Want a hand?"

Eyes that hold a deep brown search your face, determining the kind of person you are. He flickers them intensely down over your summer fit, drifting them back up, chuckling lightly at the black smudge of grease smeared across your forehead.

Mattheo had been enjoying the sweet tunes of his radio, strumming a hand against the heat of the steering wheel on his drive back into town. The smoke from his cigarette coolly inhaled into his lungs, his eyes flickering over the lane when they narrowed, zoning in on your bonnet popped up.

His eyes had taken your appearance in, wetting his lips in thought about whether he should pull over. Helping a gorgeous damsel was one of his favorite things and it seemed to be an often occurrence on the edge of town. Being a mechanic, he found people were pretty thoughtful in their payments, and the more he had gazed at you, the more the idea grew in seeing how you might help his pockets out. 

A hopeful and wishful grin bears on your face at his offer and his casual approach relaxes your posture. You lean against the edge of the hood, trying to appear nonchalant. "Oh please! You wouldn’t mind? I’ve been staring at this hunk of junk for the last 10 minutes, completely lost in what’s wrong."

His eyes soften, giving you a charming smile of his own, taking a step closer to inspect the inside of your car. Inhaling in the final smoke of his cigarette, he drops it, crushing it under the toe of his shoe. He hums in thought, a deep vibration that vertebrates like a car itself. His gaze flickers over to you momentarily before he begins to work, his eyes analyzing all areas searching for the fault.

Wiping your forehead, you fan your face huffing out a breathless laugh, "Sure is hot, huh?" you grin, making light conversation while he works. He hums in agreement, another low tone that makes your core ache. Your eyes drape admiringly over his biceps, that flex in his movements, watching the way his fingers fidget around the machine. 

Protruding veins probe at his skin under each flex and the dryness in your mouth thickens, overcome by a new sensation of heat. He straightens up, looking over at you, licking his lips subconsciously. "Could you grab something from my backseat? It’s a wrench." His words hold humour and a slightly degrading teasing tone, having noticed your puzzled look while you stand prettily doing nothing. 

Nodding eagerly, keen to be of assistance to this oh-so-fucking sexy god of a man, you move with a run in your step towards his black car. You peer over the backseat through the window and spot the metal wrench, bending down to grab it.

He calls out again. "And my water, if you don’t mind?" He turns to make sure you heard and watches delightfully, with greedy eyes at the sight before him.

Thighs that shine with sweat under the blazing sun, reflecting like an ethereal being. His eyes nearly pop out of his sockets at the way your ass hugs against the tight jean shorts, half of it falling out of the material. He rests his weight on the hood of the car, stretching his legs out as he takes his time in appreciating the ravishing view in front of him. The curve of your back bending so sensually as you reach further in to grab his water. Such a good little helper.

Fuck. He’s already thinking about how he’d like to help himself to something from you right now, a salvation that could only release him from the thirst his body was craving. He stifled a groan, knowing this was not the time to get hard. He watches, still amazed at the cute stupidity that you could have just opened the door, questioning the delectable actions before him. 

He graciously accepts the water from you, riveting in your adorable dazzling grin in the retrieval of it, and he downs half the bottle generously. “Thanks. I’m Mattheo by the way.” He lifts his fingers off the bottle in a playful wave, wanting to make sure you remember his name before he sends you on your merry way. Hopefully, with a little trade that leaves him just as satisfied with the hard work he’s putting in. 

Flashing a sweet grin back, you repeat the name over in your head, Mattheo. It fits him perfectly and you can’t help but get lost in the daydream as you watch the way he pours a little water over his head. The liquid seeps into his locks, darkening them. It helps to battle the intense heat that was becoming unbearing; the coolness refocusing his sinful thoughts aside to finish the job. His fingers grab the wrench from you with a boyish grin and he shakes his hair, wiping his hands on his cloth, cleaning them throughly before running his fingers through his hair.

Happy to have been of service, you gaze hypnotically as the water drips, sliding with slowness along the base of his Adam's apple, dipping beneath the covered barrier of his shirt. You know he can probably sense your gaze, but you don’t really care, you’re already thinking of ways to repay him. At the small clearing of his throat, you realize you never told him your own name. "Nice to meet you, I go by y/n." Smiling sweetly at his manners, you ask, "You do this often?"

His head turns as he leans in, tightening a part, smiling at your pretty name. "Likewise." A deep, flirtatious laugh ripples from him and he raises a brow charmingly. "What? Help out pretty girls?"

Easily flattered, a giggle unlike yourself slips out and you cringe inwardly, before leaning an elbow on the edge of your rental car, trying to reattempt some coolness. "Uh I mean fixing cars…. you seem to know a bit about them."

He finds your flustered expression a level of adorableness that makes his head imagine what you'd look like whining and begging for him and it’s clear his cock agrees as his pants stiffen. He bites his lips and closes the hood with a firm shut. "I’m a mechanic. But I’ve always known my way under a hood." He flashes a cheeky smile, watching to see how perceptive you can be at his innuendo.  

The reddening of your cheeks flush to match the crimson of the paint job, making his eyes gleam before he continues talking, becoming appreciative. "You got a nice car here despite the small adjustment, should continue to run smoothly." 

He walks past, brushing against you in his fascinated inspection of the vehicle. He opens the side door, looking at the vintage interior, exhaling a low whistle. "Damn, this is some quality leather." Even the view from behind is divine, toned back muscles roll back as he stretches his hands out, pressing his hands into the texture, rubbing his fingers along the groves of the seat. 

Lost in the way Mattheo admires the interior, you bite your lip, figuring out a way to keep him around a little longer. "You should lay on it. It's the most comfortable thing. I’ve taken many naps in it during my time away."

Finding your offer only kind and sweet, Mattheo doesn’t hesitate in stretching himself along the length of your backseat. His arms find comfort tucked under his head, and he closes his eyes, imagining taking a nap out away from the blizzard heat. He releases a content hum. His blissful relaxation is stalled with the fact you’re still looking at him from outside the car, and he opens his eyes. 

Your face tells him it all and he understands there's no need to hide the clear arousal protruding tight into his jeans with how your lips are pursed, practically salivating at the vision. His lips curl into a tantalizing grin and you raise a brow, reading his look all too well.

"Thanks for helping me out there. I'm so useless at cars, I totally suck with them." The exaggerated helplessness of your tone doesn't go unmissed by him watching you stepping forward in between his widened legs. "But I’m real good at sucking at other things."

His eyes glimmer with understanding, making him sit up with rapid speed and pull you down onto him. There’s no room for shyness when he connects your lips onto his, teeth clashing amid the hungry kiss. Mattheo works skilfully, he’s agile and through the same way he is with a car and it’s clear he knows his way around a woman. 

The confidence radiating off him doesn’t take you by surprise when his hands don't hesitate in tracing your body. Sturdy hands grope the outlines of your curves like they’ve caressed you a thousand times, sparks of heat left behind every touch. He shuffles, multitasking in his efforts to keep you busy while unbuckling his jeans, his pants practically bursting, having thought about this for the last twenty minutes.

His needy hands roam curving inwards, grabbing eagerly at your overspilling tits. He squeezes aggressively, the soft, supple flesh glistening with a sheen of sweat, releasing a low groan into your mouth. He’s enjoying the way your breathing heightens the feel of your chest rising against his palm and he continues grasping the back of your neck and guiding you down to where he needs you. 

"Good at sucking, you say? Don’t mind if you give me a tester first, yeah?" An amused smirk pulls brushing your lips and his hands push the crown of your head down with determined force, his hips lift sliding out of his trousers. 

You don’t hesitate in taking initiative, tugging hastily at his tight boxers, pulling your lip between your teeth in anticipation at the holy sight being revealed. The depths of your eyes lighten, glossing over him with a shine that matches the leaking pre cum dripping from the head of his cock. Eagerly your hand reaches, pumping the length of it, listening to the low husk of his breath, encouraging you in wanting to make him feel good. 

"Oh, fuck.." Mattheos' hips jut at the feeling of your luscious lips wrapping around the head of his tip, it's flushed as pink as his cheeks are under the heat of the car. His hands tangle deep into your strands, gripping at the roots to angle your head further down.

"Y-yeah -ah- that’s it. Come on a little deeper." Your feet slide on the gravel road, knees buckling out and fall onto the edge of the car, the indents pressing into your skin leaving behind a marking in your pleasurable help towards him. His cock guides inching further inwards, suffocating snuggly down your throat. You groan gagging on the thickness of his cock at the sudden brute force his hips exceed, your nails digging intently into his thighs.

"Oh yeah, Atta girl, that’s it." His praises make your legs melt like jelly and you squeeze them together, the sweat making them stick. You whine pathetically, happy to be pleasing him. Developing a rhythmic motion, your lips slide along his length, sucking with an eagerness that causes a multitude of deep groans. His hands push, enforcing your pace to speed up, listening to the sweet sound of the way your lips slurp around him.

He wipes your lips, collecting your drool and pulls you off momentarily, shoving his fingers inside your gasping mouth. "You’re making such a mess, can’t send the rental back dirty," he tuts with a delectable grin, watching with satisfaction as his fingers disappear down your throat, creating more spit. "Atta girl." 

Your mouth reacts to the depth of his fingers, gagging around them, feeling tears well in your eyes, and he retracts them, giving you a moment to breathe. "Good to know you’re not dehydrated." 

An impish smile graces his lips as he watches the way you continue onwards, grunting at the feeling of your hands gliding around his soaking cock. His length glistening drenched in a mix of pre-cum and your spit. Kissing hungrily along it, your tongue flattens, slurping up the taste of him. Your movements are relentless and rapid, pumping him with a tight grasp, ignoring the way the sun burns down on you and leaves dried tear stains on your face. 

"God fuck- you’re so eager to be helpful, aren’t you?" His cock twitches and his hips jut again, "You're just fucking lovin this...come on sweetheart, put your mouth back where it belongs." He helps guide your lips back on him, watching lustfully as his cock disappears around your wet lips.  

His cock twitches, throbbing under the sensations of your wet lips. "look so pretty with your cheeks full." His lidded eyes flutter trying to watch you take him, lost in the control of admiring how easily you’ve made him fall apart. The tight suction of your hollowed cheeks slurping makes his hips jut, "f-fuck fuck.." He groans, grasping the back of the headrest chair, thrusting his hips up to continue staying in the warmth of pleasure. 

Watching with ravenous eyes at the way Mattheo’s body thrashes, becoming more restless has you choking a moan that vibrates around his cock. The desperation was becoming unbearable, and the craving was insatiable, bopping with clear determination to make this undeniably hot man fall apart.

His chest heaves, his shirt feeling the dampness of the heat soaking in and he’s struggling to keep his eyes locked on your movements. He’s had his fair share of beautiful women at his feet and you fit in among his top 10 for sure. But the way your eyes linger aimlessly on him, watching with intrigue and eagerness at every expression he makes, has him gripping your hair harder. Hissing out a groan, he stays panting, mumbling filthy praises, his hips jutting further. He’s close, he can feel it and his eyes finally roll back, slamming his dick deep into the depth of your throat. 

Your gags only spur his orgasm to come faster, feeling the constriction of your throat close, squeezing him and he pulls back with a desperate need. Grabbing himself, he pumps himself, decorating your face like a pretty picture drenching his cum across it. Watching how you take it unsparingly like you were anticipating it desperately, your tongue sticking out to taste any extra drips. 

His eyes flutter lazily, taking a deep breath to calm his adrenaline, his teeth sinking into his swollen bottom lip, exerting redness from the tension he had caused it. He adjusts himself, searching his jean pockets for his version of aftercare - his spare clean hand cloth he carries with him, leaning forwards to cup your chin and wipe your face of his excess. 

You hum catching your breath, appreciating the thoughtfulness, licking the spilled cum within your tongue's reach. Offering a thanks to him, you allow him to tend to you. Rarely did a man show any sort of kindness after such a vulgar act, and it just makes you want to repeat the action again. But Mattheo is already sorting himself out, concealing his pretty cock behind the covers of his boxers. 

You straighten up offering him a hand, out of the backseat, which he accepts, it swallows yours within the size of his. The firmness of his hold almost creates the opposite effect, and your feet slip on the dirt. He’s quick to catch you resting a study hand on the roof of the car and a tight grip around your waist. 

He throws you another cheeky look amused, "Already so eager for seconds, sweetheart you’re gonna give me a heart attack in this heat."

Bashfully, you laugh finding your footing on the desert road and you bite your lip at the idea of another round, "I mean…maybe there's also something wrong with my trunk?" 

His eyes light up huskily, sliding his hand further down your body giving your ass a solid squeeze, "Defiantly nothing wrong with your trunk sweetheart, but if you're feelin a little empty, I know a place to get you filled?"

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[beholdthebangs]

No Touching

Sebastian x F!Reader

~ 18+ ~

Synopsis: Smut - Sebastian, hoping to participate in some escapism by taking his motorcycle out for a late-night ride, is instead talked into bringing you with him. How’s he supposed to long for you when you’re wrapped around him, hands all over him as he drives you through quiet highways? How’s he supposed to focus on anything else? Your persistence is maddening, but it also results in a little pit stop as Sebastian reaches his limit.

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: dirty talk, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex, choking, praise, smoking

A/N: Finally finished one of my oldest drafts, yay! This is fully the result of my instagram algorithm feeding me hot bikers, though I’ve only scratched the surface of the kinks those men have given me.

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Some people cope with the constant onslaught of shit thrown at them with therapy. Some choose drugs, alcohol, sex, or violence. All Sebastian has ever needed is his motorcycle… and drugs, but mostly his motorcycle.

There’s nothing like the feeling of cool air hitting his face to break him out of a spiral. It’d been his coping mechanism ever since he got his motorcycle years ago and long rides had formed into a weekly habit so long as the weather allowed it. When he drove over to Zuzu City from his home in the mountains, he felt so distanced from this small town. The two places couldn’t be less alike, and there was pretty much no chance he would ever run into someone he knew. He could exist among so many people and blend in, not be perceived for just a moment. Those moments were rare in the valley.

More often than not, he wouldn’t venture out quite that far. Sebastian often preferred to wander down empty highways lit sparsely with street lamps, no destination in mind. On shorter drives, he’d leave his helmet and jacket behind and let his guard down, the feeling of rushing air tangling his hair, smacking him in the face and waving the fabric of his shirt around wildly somewhat of a treat for him. Because yeah, safety is important, but what is life without a little risk? Even without the fear of dying adding some exhilaration to the experience, it was always nice to get out of his house, outside of the somewhat suffocating atmosphere of the community he resided in, and have time to himself to just stop thinking so much. Many of the rides this year had been less about escaping the small town he lived in and more about escaping the racing thoughts he’d been burdened with… the thoughts he’d had ever since he met you.

So Sebastian carefully rolls his bike out of the garage and over the crunchy, fire-colored leaves littering the ground, preparing for another late-night ride. He gives the motorcycle a quick once-over, making sure it’s ready to go and brushing off some of the dust that had accumulated on the metallic black body with a soft rag. As he turns to dig his helmet out of the garage, he hears none other than the voice of his troubles.

“What are you up to?”

He turns back to see you only feet away, a palm running over the outside of the gas tank, the exact spot he’d just wiped down moments ago. It’s dark, long past the early autumn sunset, but the overhead light outside the front door lends just enough vision for him to make out your sweet smile. Your baby-blue worn jeans cling to your ankles, tucked into your black boots. Despite the seasonal chill, you wear a short sleeved shirt with a low neck. He supposes he can’t pass too much judgment as he also has a thin t-shirt on, but only until he can grab his jacket. Yoba knows facing the wind at highway speeds would feel brutal this time of year.

Retreating back through the open garage door, he tucks his matching helmet to his side. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to touch someone’s bike without asking?”

With a subtle roll of your eyes and a grin on your face, you pull back and cross your arms over your chest, the curve of your breasts growing more prominent with the motion. Sebastian struggles to pull his eyes away. “Where are you going?”

He shrugs. “Why do you want to know?”

“Maybe I want to go with.”

He takes the opportunity to rake his eyes down your body more egregiously. “You’re not dressed for it. You have short sleeves.” You look pointedly at his own arms, muscular and tattooed—and bare. “I’m going to put a jacket on,” he explains, exasperated. As if you should be clued in on his internal monologue. He knows it’s ridiculous, but he can’t help but act annoyed with you. You wear his patience thin so effortlessly.

“And you don’t own a second jacket?”

Sebastian hums, leaning against the wall behind him. “You really wanna go?”

“Yep. You promised you’d take me sometime.”

Seb shouldn’t be held to things he said when he was in a better mood. He’d been looking forward to cranking up the volume on his stereo and listening to some emo shit that would make his mom inquire about his mental health if he had done it in the comfort of his room. But here you are once again, ruining all his plans. Instead of snapping back, he simply turns away, grabbing two leather jackets and another helmet before pulling the garage door closed. Dropping all but his old leather jacket that had grown too small for him since he started helping his mom out with some manual labor woodworking projects, he holds it open for you. You turn your back to him, shimmying your arms through the sleeves with his help. He does the same with his own jacket, then sets a helmet on your head and straps it securely under your chin.

He lifts the visor up for you, revealing your eyes. “Do I look cool?” you ask with your hands shoved in the pockets of his worn jacket, his hands still lingering on your helmet.

Sebastian pauses then pulls back, looking at you at an arms length. While you tend to lack an edge in your appearance, the added apparel does bring something new to your vibe. “You look cool,” he finally confirms. Throwing his own helmet on, he asks, “Do I?”

You move closer, fumbling with his helmet and eventually pushing the visor up. Your eyes meet again, sharing a gaze Sebastian can’t deny the intensity of. Your fingers glide across the undone zipper of his jacket, gaze flickering down to break the contact. Finally you snarkily conclude, “No,” with a quick wink before moving away completely. Sebastian scowls, though he can’t help but take in a breath, your scent mixed with that of his old beloved jacket lagging behind as you close the distance with his bike. “Can I touch it?” you ask this time.

“You can touch it,” he answers quickly, because it doesn’t matter—you can touch whatever you want as long as it belongs to him. He’s intoxicated by the way you look and your scent mixed with his, something primal inside him feeling so possessive over you now that he’s marked you as his own in some way. He wants to tell himself to snap out of it, but Yoba does he like the thoughts clouding his head.

You climb carefully onto the back, leaving space for Sebastian to sit in front of you. He tugs on the sides of your borrowed jacket, zipping it up to your chin. As he takes his place, both of you swing your visors down. He starts the bike with a purr and the motion vibrates through your bodies. Even after all this time, Seb can feel the power of it between his legs, and he wonders what it feels like between yours, not used to the dull roar of the idle bike. He revs the engine a couple times and your arms fly around his torso, gripping him for dear life as he takes off down the dirt path toward the paved road.

Despite your presence, he does as he had set out to do and turns up his music, able to hear it clearly despite the wind rushing by his ears and the loud engine of his bike as you weave down the backroads. If he ignores the feeling of your tight grasp against his stomach and the heat of your chest pressed to his back, riding feels just like it always has. Part of him prefers not to ignore it though. He kind of likes the way you’re holding him like he’s your only hope.

Though he’d planned to go into the city, he cuts it short to avoid trapping you on his bike in case you’re not enjoying it, since it’s hard to check in over all the noise. Instead, he decides to head toward an overlook he loves going to, especially when he doesn’t have the time to drive all the way into the city or the patience to deal with all the people there. Pulling into the familiar dirt patch, he stops right where the trees thin to give a glimpse of the city from the top of the mountains. As he shuts off the engine, the quiet of the night is overwhelming. He’d grown so used to the noise of his bike and the blaring guitar through the speakers that the sound of dried rustling leaves in the wind and crickets chirping somewhere beyond the trees is a new, exposed feeling.

Seb climbs off, holding his hand out to assist you. You take it, wobbling on your feet as your body shivers. “You okay?” he questions, sliding the visor of his helmet up to see you better. All you can manage is a nod.

He slips the strap tucked under your chin undone, helping you pull the helmet off. Your hair is strewn wildly around your head, and though Sebastian is well aware of the curse of helmet hair, he can’t help but shake his head at how you manage to pull it off. You run a hand along your head in an attempt to tame your locks. Seb sets the helmet on his propped up bike before reaching over and combing his hand through your hair to gently pull the knots free. You freeze, eyeing him, but he doesn’t linger long enough to meet your gaze. Instead, he pulls his helmet off, resting it next to yours, and shakes his head wildly. His black hair flies around his face and instead of fixing his fringe to fall before his eyes, he simply pushes it back and it lays along either side of his head, shorter pieces framing the edges of his face. You’re still staring and he can feel it.

“What’d you think of the ride?” he inquires.

“Fast,” you breathe. He opens his mouth to apologize for his driving but is cut off. “Freeing. That was so fun.” He grins. You understand it. You understand him.

“It never gets old,” he assures you, turning to look out over the cliff at the city. You slowly move to stand next to him, facing the array of lights sticking out in the vast natural landscape. “Do you miss living there?”

You shake your head as Seb watches you from the corner of his eye. “It’s better in Pelican Town.”

Sebastian’s face falls. He can feel himself grasping onto the last of his dreams. He’d envisioned himself finding a cheap apartment, a new job that really fulfilled him, living life alone for a while. He’d never had the full autonomy to do whatever he wanted anytime he wanted. Maybe he’d meet new friends through work, or at a bar, and maybe he’d meet someone special, too. He’d thought it was surely more likely to happen in Zuzu City than the quaint town he’d spent so much time in where nothing ever changed. Until you.

“If I were you, I never would have left.”

“It’s not all it’s supposed to be,” you sigh. “I felt lonelier surrounded by all those people than I do now. No one cares about you here like they do at home.”

“Really?” You nod, but Seb shrugs. “I don’t think that would be the case for me.”

“You’d be surprised.” He turns to look at you, standing next to him in his old jacket, sleeves hanging past your wrists. “It’s hard to be someone when you’re in the city. You’ve already got so many friends and family in Pelican Town.”

“I’m just…looking for something more than that,” he admits.

“What more is there?”

He crosses his arms, turning back to the silhouette of the city. What more isn’t there? “I think it’s different for me here than it is for you. People talk to me because there’s a sense of obligation. My family didn’t choose me. My friends barely chose me, either. There are only so many kids running around the valley at once. If I can start something in the city, it’ll feel like I really earned it. I wouldn’t mind having someone to come home to every night, either.”

“Maybe you should look at it as fate. How amazing is it that these people you love all happen to be in a tiny little town where you are? That’s impressive.”

He notices the way you skirt around his last statement in particular. Maybe there’s no solace in that area that you can offer him. He pushes the gnawing feeling aside as much as he can. “I just think something will always feel like it’s missing as long as I stay.” Sebastian pulls out a cigarette, fumbling around in his jacket pocket to find his lighter. With a couple flicks, he lights the end and takes a deep breath before letting the smoke bleed out from between his lips. “So… you’re completely fulfilled now that you moved to Pelican Town, right?”

You chuckle. “Something like that.”

“What’s your secret?”

“I just got so busy that I didn’t have time to think about what I was missing anymore.”

He nods as if seriously considering that route. And honestly, it’s not that bad a plan. “And what are you missing?”

You hesitate, surveying the distant city as you speak. “It’s hard not to feel like an outsider. Everyone has known each other for so long that it’s hard to find an opening in a group, I guess.”

“I consider you a part of my friend group,” Seb replies.

“I am, but… it’s not the same. When people see you without Sam, they wonder where he is. No one looks at you without me and wonders where I am, you know?”

The idea warms his heart. Maybe it’s a little twisted of him—you’re pouring your insecurities out and he can’t help but think about the idea of you and him… so inseparable that it feels unnatural for you to be apart, even to others. “Are you trying to tell me you want to hang out more?”

You giggle. “Sure. But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to replace Sam.”

“I’m not looking for a replacement. There’s a lot that Sam can’t do for me.”

You quirk an eyebrow up, looking over to meet his gaze which hasn’t strayed from you in a while. He sucks in another drag from his cigarette. “Oh yeah? Like what?” He shrugs, refusing to elaborate further. He’s exposed himself plenty for one day and you’ve avoided that topic once in this conversation. He won’t make you do it again.

Sebastian finishes his cigarette, stomping it out and shoving the butt in his pocket to throw away when he gets home. “It’s getting late. We should head back.” He holds out your helmet before pulling on his own. When you spend too much time trying to tighten the strap, he makes quick work of it without another word before climbing on his bike and starting it back up. You climb on behind him and rest your palms on his chest, elbows draped over his shoulders. He takes off, the air a little thicker with tension than it had felt before. He can’t even begin to ignore the feel of you against his back, or the way your hands creep over the fabric of his t-shirt. Surely you can feel his heart threatening to beat out of his chest at the contact.

He turns over your discussion in his head, reading into the silence more than the words. If he were having a conversation with someone he had a romantic interest in (and he was), he would bring up romance. He’d lean into subtle flirtation. You didn’t. Maybe he should take it as an indicator that you don’t feel the same for him. That should be a relief. He’d spent the better part of his life planning and working, saving every cent he could to escape into the downtown only miles down the highway and leave the bleak, boring Pelican Town behind. Then you moved here and you began bothering him, gifting him cool rocks you’d found in the mines residing in his backyard, talking to him about whatever he pleased. The sound of footsteps scuffling down the wooden steps toward his bedroom always had him waiting with bated breath, hoping it would be you who swung the door open and interrupted his work. You made him smile and you made the stupid town feel alive.

He’s been conflicted between what he’s always wanted and what he wants right now. He’s stuck trying to figure out if you want it too. It would be so much easier to simply ask you what it is you’re searching for in spending time with him, but that’s far too exposing for the man’s taste. He could’ve pushed the point harder with you back there, but all the bad outcomes are too scary to make the elusive good outcome worth the risk. When faced with opportunity, he continually chooses the path of ignorance and coping with the consequences in favor of avoiding any uncomfortable conversations. And while he hates the feeling of unknown, he hates the idea of confrontation even more.

You pull away for a second and the fear of your hands leaving his torso scare him back into the moment. He can’t help the gasp of air he sucks in when your hands go to his thighs, running up and down the tight denim covering them. Your palm begins to venture a bit too close to his crotch for comfort and he grabs it, placing it on his stomach as if to silently ask you to just hold on. Surely you don’t understand what you’re doing, and the fact that he’s so head-over-heels for you doesn’t help his focus. Even now, fingers absentmindedly running over his abdomen, all the senses in his body are going crazy. Moving lower, lower, until they sneak below the hem and begin tracing over the line of hair on his stomach leading to the growing bulge in his pants.

“What are you doing?” he shouts over the wind and music, turning his head as much as possible while still keeping an eye on the road. Either you don’t hear him or you ignore him, because he gets nothing in return but the persistence of your fingers tracing imaginary lines over his abdomen. That’s not something a friend does. And here he was, wondering if you felt anything toward him.

He grips the handlebars hard, knuckles turning white with the force as he attempts to brush off your movements. His breathing is ragged, the skin of his abdomen burning under your fingertips. Without warning, Seb pulls off the road onto a side path that loops through the surrounding woods just outside Pelican Town. Once he comes to a stop, he kills the engine to avoid having to yell over the noise of it. Turning over his shoulder, he says, “New rule. No touching.”

“No touching?” you ask with a scoff. “That’s kind of difficult given the circumstances.”

“No…touching with your fingers,” he amends.

You undo the strap under your chin, pulling your helmet off and setting it on the ground as you climb to your feet. Standing to the side of Sebastian, you put your palms to the front of his shoulders and give him a small push, forcing him to lean back as he stares at you. The movement gives you enough space to climb on his lap, carefully straddling him. You push open his visor to reveal his eyes, wide as he tries to comprehend what you’re doing. You raise your hands as if to surrender. “So… this is allowed?”

He gulps, hoping the motion is hidden by his helmet obscuring most of his face. It must be so painfully obvious that the game you’re playing is having the desired effect on him, your heat pressed right on his bulge. Sebastian reaches out and grabs your hips, excusing the action as helping you stabilize yourself as you balance yourself precariously on his bike.

“That’s not allowed,” you tsk, tapping his fingers pressed into the skin of your side.

“The rules don’t apply to me,” he mutters, hardly able to form words at this point.

“No?” Seb shakes his head, not able to meet your eye as he looks at your chest so close to his face. “What are you going to do with that privilege?”

His mouth opens but no sound comes out. You reach over and unstrap his helmet, helping him out of it and dropping it at the wheels of the motorcycle. He’s dumbfounded and he certainly looks it, gazing up at you with your hair highlighted by the dim streetlight making its way between the trees separating you from the main road. “I wasn’t completely honest before,” you admit. “I’m missing more than just acceptance. I’m missing romance… and sex.”

“Sex,” he repeats, like he needs to say it to confirm that it’s correct. Like you surely had said something else and he’d just misheard you.

“Sex. I’m missing the excitement of some hot, surprisingly muscular,” your hand slips under his jacket, feeling his biceps through the thin cotton of his shirt, “tattooed bad boy underneath me.”

“You have a type?” he chuckles, hands slowly moving around your waist to rest on your ass.

“I do now.”

Sebastian tilts his chin up, looking down his nose at you through half-lidded eyes. His pupils are dark, part of his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, the skin around it turning white with the pressure he places on the delicate skin. All of his energy is being used to resist; this isn’t the time or place. He’s never thought of you as a one night stand and the expectations for your first time together had always been much more romantic. That didn’t mean he hadn’t spent countless nights rubbing a load out onto his stomach thinking about all the ways he’d fuck you. Because Yoba does he want to right now. But he’s a romantic underneath all the longing and hormones and he can’t make love to you in the middle of the woods and risk someone coming across it. He can’t.

Your head dips down just slightly, just enough to look at him through your long eyelashes. Your lips are pouted, so soft and pink and ready for his. Your tongue darts out just for a moment, running over your bottom lip, and that’s it.

“Fuck it.” His hand reaches toward you, fingers on the back of your neck while his palm cradles your cheek, and he has just enough grip to pull you down to crash his lips against yours. He’s respectful at first, giving you open-mouthed kisses but keeping his tongue to himself, satisfied with tasting the sweet spit from your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck, letting your tongue wander into his mouth and that boundary leaves him. It’s even better this way, able to explore the inside of your mouth and overpower you though you have the upper hand, remaining on his lap. His fingers curl into the fat of your ass, moving you back and forth over his hardening cock restrained by denim, teasing him as he aches for more. Your little moans as his pants provide friction against your clothed clit only fuel him, and he’s sure nothing exists in the world besides you right now as his hips rise to meet yours.

Sebastian parts with you, one palm pressing to the center of your chest as he carefully pushes you back until you’re lying over the gas tank, head tilted up toward the twinkling stars illuminating the night sky. He unzips the leather jacket and lets himself feel over your torso through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. Over your hips, your waist, your stomach, the curves of your breasts. His hand settles loosely around your neck, strained as you’re stretched over his bike. He won’t apply pressure. He just needs to see how good you look with his veiny hand serving as your necklace. He’d cum imagining you in similar positions before but it’s even better than he ever thought. “You’re so beautiful.”

You look down your body at him. “You’re so hot.”

“Thanks, babe.” Pulling back, he pats the side of your thigh and you climb off him with his help. He follows, propping his bike on the kickstand and backing you into a tree only a few feet off the dirt path. His height now aids him in taking charge, looking down at you, both breathing heavily before reconnecting. Your foot slides up the side of his leg and he grabs underneath your knee, pinning it at his hip as he grinds into you. Seb’s fingers are looped into your hair, tangling into it and using it to pull you impossibly close.

His lips begin to wander. They leave sloppy, wet kisses down your chin to your neck, lingering in certain spots so long that he’s expecting you to swat him away, but you don’t. You let him mark you in such an exposed place and it drives him crazy to know that you’re going to have to go to great lengths to hide the evidence from everyone in town or show them what you let him do to you. His teeth nip at your skin until you’re whimpering, back arched against the thick trunk behind you. He moves his attacks downward, lifting the hem of your shirt under the leather jacket he lent you. Seb peppers kisses over the top of your breasts for a moment before pushing your bra up, adding it to the fabric bunched up in his hand and exposing your tits. He has to distance himself for just a moment to take in the view of your nipples, taut in the cool air of the night, surrounded by the leather of his old jacket. He couldn’t have imagined a more amazing sight if he tried. You’re biting on your lip as he surveys you, and Yoba, he could bust in his pants right now. He could die happy right now.

But he takes into consideration your anxious mewls and moves back in, licking circles around your nipples and letting the cool air meet the hot saliva he leaves on them before finally taking one in his mouth and sucking, flicking his pierced tongue over the bud and basking in the sounds you make in response. His other hand unbuttons your jeans and slips inside, over your panties, tracing over your slit. Even without putting any pressure on it, he can feel the wet fabric and he wants to sink his fingers inside and feel you. The only thing more appealing is to wait until you’re desperate for it.

Your fingers run through his hair, pulling on the messy strands as you arch into his mouth, grinding your hips on his hand in hopes of finding some much needed friction. Sebastian holds out on you for as long as he can bear, paying close attention to your other nipple as he runs his digit lightly over your covered clit. Falling to his knees, he licks a long line down your stomach, past your belly button and lands at the waistband of your jeans. You pull your bra back over your breasts to cover yourself, his head no longer blocking the view from anyone who may wander across this quiet backroad, but Sebastian stops in his tracks. “Mm-mmm, keep your tits out.”

“What if someone sees?” you ask, your voice almost a whisper. He can’t hold back a laugh as you pretend you haven’t been moaning with no regard to the noise level for the past few minutes.

“You chose to do this here,” he retorts. “That’s the risk.”

“Sebby,” you whine pleadingly. He rolls his eyes at the nickname, hoping the blush spreading over his face isn’t obvious to you.

“Haven’t you figured out that I’m making the rules?” He gets back on his feet, helping you out of his jacket despite your weak protests. He pulls off your shirt and unhooks your bra, pulling the straps down your arms. You’re clearly afraid he’s going to leave you completely exposed as a consequence of your earlier action, but he’s not that mean. He lets you slide his jacket back on, and though your nipples are still out for his viewing, at least you can cover yourself should any onlookers pass by. Though the risk of being caught does add to the blood throbbing through his dick, he isn’t about to share such a beautiful sight with anyone else.

You accept your fate without complaint and, satisfied, Sebastian kneels back down in front of you and slides your jeans down your legs. You step out of them with his help, left in your wet panties before him. He can’t help but let his tongue glide over your clothed slit, able to get a taste of you through it and his eyes roll back for a moment. You ask him to touch you as if he has any self control left, already pushing your panties aside and laying his tongue flat over your clit, flicking the tip against it as you let out a strangled moan, taken aback by the speed at which he works. The sweet wetness is heavenly and his middle finger slips into you, curling toward himself as he feels your slick pussy envelope his digit. Sebastian could eat you out forever so long as you continue to fill his ear with those pathetic whimpers, so completely under his control and eager to have given it over to him.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans into you, adding a second finger and pumping it in and out, wet leaking down his palm with the additional finger forcing your pussy to squeeze around him. He helps you lift your leg over his shoulder, boot hanging down his back as your otherwise bare leg drapes across his body. The change allows him to reach deeper, his tongue swirling over your heat faster, mixed with eager sucks and nips at your clit with careful consideration for the placement of his tongue piercing as you go a little wilder each time the silver ball drags across your swollen bud. You hold his face to you, fingers tugging at his hair as if that’s what keeps him nose-deep in your sweet cunt. Your hips writhe on top of him, riding his fingers and his talented mouth as if it’s the only thing that has ever mattered. Sebastian is pretty sure that’s true.

The way your body jolts forward, head hanging over his, it’s obvious you’re on the edge of orgasm. Your delicate pink walls suck his fingers in, the pads of his digits stuck to the spot inside you that makes your toes curl as he frantically flicks his tongue across your clit. The force of the knot in your stomach coming undone requires Sebastian to continue working your cunt while he holds you up against the tree, keeping you on your foot despite your trembling leg threatening to collapse beneath you. When you release his hair, obviously expecting him to pull back, you yelp as his assault on your clit and g-spot continues. “Seb!” you gasp out.

“Behave,” he coos, pulling away just long enough to get the words out. Your core, hypersensitive as you try to come down from such an intense high, isn’t taking Seb’s tongue as well as it was before. Your hips buck wildly, pinned to the tree with your leg still stuck over the man’s taut shoulder. Strangled whimpers leave your parted lips and he can’t help the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he hears you struggle to follow orders. You have a tendency to be sassy with him, but fuck does it turn him on to see you so sweet, so eager to please him now that he’s gotten you naked and dripping. Sebastian slowly, painstakingly pulls his fingers from your tight hole, leaving your clit with a sloppy kiss and sets your other foot back on the ground before pulling himself back up to stand before you.

He takes his jacket off, throwing it in the direction of his bike. Lifting his shirt, he wipes his mouth off, sweet slick of your pussy being collected by the soft black cotton of it before he pulls it over his head and tosses it away. Sebastian’s pupils are blown out as he licks his lips, looking down at you. Despite eating you out for as long as you could bear, he still has a hunger apparent to both of you.

He ducks his head down, lips inches from yours as he looks between them and your big, pure eyes. “Let’s give those legs a break, yeah? Did so good for me.”

You nod hesitantly, eyelids fluttering closed as he closes the gap to kiss you and let you taste the remnants of mess you left on his face. The feeling of Sebastian’s hands under your knees is the only warning he gives you before pulling upward. You scramble to catch yourself but soon realize he’s got a tight grip on you, using the tree trunk to aid him. Your pussy, panties having slid back into place, sits against the denim-clad bulge Sebastian sports. He can practically feel you wet his jeans with your first orgasm and can’t pass up the opportunity to hump into you as his tongue fights itself between your lips.

“Need you,” you pant between heated nips.

Sebastian shifts your weight into one arm, using his newly freed hand to clumsily unbutton his jeans and slide his thumb into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down just enough to free himself from the restraints. He pulls your panties to the side and runs his length between your lips. He could melt from the warmth running over his cock and seemingly spreading into his stomach. Waiting another second feels so impossible so he makes quick work of lifting you another couple inches and positioning his thick tip at your entrance, letting you slip back down into his arms as his cock pushes its way between your silky walls.

Sebastian lets out a moan brewing deep in his throat. He’d spent hours alone in his bed imagining this moment with you and while it’s so much different than he’d ever thought it would be, the sight of your chest heaving under his leather jacket, your hair messy from the bark of the tree trunk behind you, and the heavenly way your cunt squeezes around him is something he would never wish to change. Your gasp as he slides in is a sound that will reverberate around his brain for days. Pulling his hips back, he thrusts into you again and holds you tight to him, lingering as he’s bottomed out inside you.

“You feel so good,” he whimpers against your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut so you can’t see them rolled back. “Fuck, why’d we wait so long to do this?”

“You wouldn’t make a move.”

Sebastian thinks back to all the times he felt he was pretty overt with you, coming back nearly empty-handed. Maybe he had hidden it all more than he thought. “I’ll make a move in the future,” he instead promises. You giggle. “Thought about your cunt for so long.” Sebastian sets his pace, nice and slow so he can bask in the feel of how wet you are, how your warmth pulls him in as his hips grind against your thighs.

“As good as you imagined?”

“So much better.”

You wrap your arms tight around Sebastian’s neck, fingers dragging along the taut skin of his upper back as you kiss him. He’s lost all restraint now, content in giving you messy kisses as he fucks into you. And while he wishes he could tell you over and over how sexy you look in nothing but his old leather jacket, how tight you are around his cock, how bad he’s craved this since he met you, he’d rather let you shut him up like this. Even though he’s fighting back an orgasm, desperate to prolong this moment as long as possible, he lets himself take in the sensation of this thing he’d dreamed about for months.

“Feels so goood,” you whine, chest heaving as you press the back of your head to the tree trunk behind you. Your hair is tangling into the bark as he thrusts into you, body bouncing and grinding on his cock like you were made for it. Having you in his grasp like this has Sebastian’s mind spinning. He’s losing himself to lust, even more than before, and all the dirty things he’s done to you in his mind are swirling around and fuck, he’s just gonna do it.

He pulls out, carefully setting you down with your boots flat on the ground. You look inquisitively at him, almost like you’re afraid to ask if he’d cum yet. He chuckles to himself a little. So timid, when just a few minutes ago, you were trying to grab his dick through his jeans as he was driving you 80 miles an hour down the highway on a bike. “C’mere,” he gestures, walking back to the dirt path where his motorcycle remains propped up with the kickstand. He tests it with a heavy hand, trying to wobble it back and forth. Not much movement, even despite it being settled on soil. As you walk up behind him, he wraps an arm around your waist, slipped under the jacket you still wear, and leans down for a kiss before spinning you to stand in front of him and pressing on your lower back until you’re ass-up, bent over the seat of his shiny black bike.

Sebastian runs a hand down your side, leaning into you as he works to position his cock between your slightly parted thighs. “You like the bad-boy look so much, with the piercings and tattoos and motorcycle… well, I thought maybe you’d wanna get fucked on it. Huh?”

He can practically hear your nervous swallow. Just as he positions his tip at your tight hole do you nod, moaning as he pushes himself inside from behind. His eyes roll back as the feel of your tight cunt envelopes him again, feeling so much deeper now. Your moans are heavier like he’s hitting the little spot inside you and as he stands, he admires how sexy you look and how nice your ass presses against his hips with every thrust, peaking out from under the oversized jacket. You grab onto the top of the bike, anywhere you can get a grip, stabilizing yourself against his harsh movements. Seb grabs your hips, pulling you back in time to meet his. The only thing that could make this better is if you’d kept your helmet on, but fuck, your pretty little face looking over your shoulder, lips parted, isn’t something he could bear to cover even for the sake of his fetish.

Staring at you does nothing to stave off his orgasm, so he instead accepts his defeat and leans into it. His chest presses to your back, one hand snaking its way over your hipbone to rub at your clit while the other takes hold of your neck again. He doesn’t squeeze too hard, just needs to keep you close as he speeds up and coaxes out his orgasm. “Gonna be thinking about this for a long time,” he says with a breathy laugh, still in shock that he’s got you in this position out in the middle of nowhere. “Can you be a good girl and cum on my cock right now?” You whine, incoherent, but Seb doesn’t ask you to repeat it. He instead attaches his teeth to the tender spot on your neck already bruised from earlier. You grind back against him, your volume far past reasonable as you whimper his name and groan with every thrust.

Seb finally slows, taking his time to feel you pulse around his throbby length, finally holding tight to your neck as you gasp out for him. “Come f’r me, babe, fuck! That feels so good. M’ gonna cum, too. Keep goin’, keep squeezing my cock.” Seb buries his face into your hair, heavy breaths warming your neck as you cum and only a moment later, he’s nearly frozen inside you as spurts of cum shoot from his pink tip toward your cervix. “Shit, baby…. Your cunt is so fucking amazing.”

When he’s thoroughly milked his cock with your pussy, he pulls out, excruciatingly slow. The rush of white that floods out of you as he tucks his cock back into his boxers and rezips his jeans threatens to reset him, primal urges flooding his brain as he watches it drip down your thighs while you push yourself back up to stand. Seb steals one last stroke down your body before letting his palm settle on your ass, giving it one little smack before you turn to him, on your tiptoes to rest a peck to his lips. “That was fun,” you giggle.

“I’ve got a lot more to say about it than ‘fun,��” he nudges back. “Why don’t you stay undressed and I’ll drive us back like this?” You elbow him, walking past him to retrieve your clothing strewn about the ground. He watches you redress, trying to take in every moment of your exposed skin that he can since you refuse to live a little and ride naked down the little bit of highway left between here and home. Once you’re clothed again, he’s ready with your helmet, holding it over your head as you stand in front of him. He takes a kiss before sliding it on and securing the strap under your chin. He quickly does the same for himself, climbing on the bike and starting it up while you settle in behind him.

“No funny business this time,” Sebastian shouts over the motor.

“Can’t hear you,” you sing back, wrapping your arms over his stomach as he rolls his eyes, unable to stifle the goofy grin all across his face.

So Sebastian drives the remaining ten minutes home, going speed limit the entire way because your body feels better against his back than the enjoyment of an extra 30 miles per hour of wind hitting his torso. He pulls up to the garage in front of his house, turning the bike off and helping you out of your helmet. The temperature has dropped substantially since you’d first left, seemingly gone unnoticed at your little pit stop as you’d both been preoccupied with other things. “You can keep the jacket for now,” Seb offers, “as long as you go on another drive with me sometime.”

You reach out, shaking his hand to accept the proposition. “Give me a day and time. I’ll be there.”

“Want me to walk you home?”

You shake your head. “It’s not far. I’ll be fine.”

Sebastian hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “…Do you want to come inside?”

You blush, enough for Seb to see even in the moonlight. “I don’t know if I have the energy to do that again. I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out the second my head hits the pillow.”

“I’m happy to sleep if you are.” After all that, Seb certainly needs a substantial rest and truthfully, he just wants to get you in his bed and snuggle into you all night. “Plus, I can help you out with all those marks on your neck in the morning.”

“Wh—“ You lean over, looking into the side mirror of the motorcycle to examine your neck, quickly spotting the purpling bruise forming on the side. Seb’s pretty sure he can see the indent of his teeth embedded somewhere in there. You stand up, lips pressed together but you’re clearly hiding a smirk. “Fine. I’ll sleep here if you cover up your mess.” Seb sticks his hand out, shaking yours again to concede to your terms. They’re more than fair.

[elene78-blog]

I think Jeremy and Jean are already pretty much in love with each other, if not almost totally in love.

They are great friends, but they are attracted to each other, they care about each other, they want to protect the other, and they want to comfort the other. But "love is not enough." They need to fix themselves a little (I'm not saying completely heal, that will take years) to take a step.

At the moment, I am immensely happy because Jeremy respects Jean so much, adores him and has so much affection for him, that he does not plan to allow him to be just another one of his flirts. It's not just that Jeremy doesn't want to scare Jean. Jeremy himself doesn't want Jean to be "anybody," so he refuses to try anything, too. Jean will never be "anyone."

"Not you, not with you," not when "I'm learning French for you." Not a single one of Jeremy's hookups comes even close to what Jean is to Jeremy. And Jeremy, who sees sex as a mechanism for self-harm, doesn't want that for Jean.

And Jean wants Jeremy to look at it, but he still has a ways to go and he knows it.

Right now, the fact that both of them do not want to move towards physical affection is, precisely, proof that they are falling in love.

Jean and Jeremy know they like each other. They know it. But they also know that they are hurt and they respect and appreciate each other so much that the last thing they want is to take a wrong step and become the other's villain.

They are taking care of each other, hoping that one day the other will be ready to be together.

[staargxzer]

𓂃　 ⁺ ₊ overdrive ˊ˗

chapter one ; psychopomp

⭒ synopsis ᵎ 〜 it was supposed to be just another late night in a garage that smelled like oil and rust. but then she showed up. car looking like hellfire, grimy tank top, eyes like she's been to places most don't come back from. ellie williams drags you into the underworld of street racing. she races like she's got a death wish. fast, reckless, and alone. you're the right person in the wrong seat and the only shot she's got left. ⭒ content ᵎ 〜 street racer!ellie x mechanic!reader . afab reader . modern au . brief mention of weed . whole lot of tension ⭒ word count ᵎ 〜 3.6k ⭒ notes ᵎ 〜 will have smut eventually. im still not entirely happy with this but i promised this chapter and im already late enough! will be working on chapter two as soon as i can!

It was a year of sunset-glazed rooftop gardens and broken air conditioning units — July of 2039. These warmer months brought along flowers and harvest, but they also dragged pollen and mosquitoes with them. No one’s ever grateful for the winter cold until allergies kick in, and the summer heat is never welcomed until you’re held up in the frozen snow, shivering violently in a downpour of ice. You were standing over a flashy Mazda MX-5, working to swap the engine with that of a Supra’s 2JZ. Chapped flecks of white paint were peeling onto your jeans, and you briefly wondered if car wrap services should be your next side hustle. The harsh smell of the garage was something you weren’t sure you’d ever grow accustomed to. It was greasy floors, flickering fluorescent lighting that threatened to fall from the sky at any minute, the tinge of burnt rubber. There wasn’t anyone left there with you, not at this time of night. They had all cleared out long ago, but you were never the type to discard a project you had already started. Especially when you knew you could finish it if you just gave it another hour.

You hear it before you see it, the sharp rattle of a ruined car sliding into your garage like it owned the entire world. Right then, only one of two things could occur: 1. the sun explodes in a bright white blasting fury across the entire earth and boils you dead, or 2. you’re forced to stay a whole lot later than you initially planned for. You’ve placed your bet on option two. A matte black Nissan 240SX, complete with a faded red stripe that wrapped around the midsection. It was full of makeshift repairs– duct tape holding up the front bumper, scrapes covered by black sharpie. The kind of thing you’d see on a first-time driver’s car. While you weren’t too well-versed in the street racing underworld, it certainly doesn’t take an idiot to see that this car has been in a race (or twenty). The left side sank down heavy to the floor, surely the cause of that incessant rattle and a definite sign of a shot suspension. You squinted into the deeply tinted windshield, searching for any sign of life beneath glass. You tried to imagine who could be driving such a thing: a tall, skinny man, dark brown hair that is just beginning to gray at the edges, ratty unkempt beard framing his chiseled jawline.

That’s not who comes out.

Instead, it’s her. Stained wife beater, jeans one size too big, converse that are falling apart at the seams, and sun-touched auburn hair cut back into a harsh mullet that framed the freckles dotting across her face.

“Hey,” she said, as if this was normal. As if she was always rolling up to random mechanics with her car sounding like judgement day had come.

You should’ve told her to leave. Should’ve said you were closed and to come back tomorrow. But something about the look in her eyes caught your attention, made you feel like you were the last chance she had. So, you scoffed right back. “Hey?”

“You fix cars or just stand there looking confused?” Her voice was deep and tired, but weirdly sharp. Everything about her screamed trouble. 

“Right now?” You glanced down at your watch. The neon green letters flashed tauntingly back at you: 11:27pm. Yeah, option two was looking real possible right now.

The girl merely shrugged, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her sagging jeans. “If not, I’ll find someone else.”

As much as you hated to admit it, her words lit a flicker of irritation in your chest. It felt like a challenge. Like she was saying you couldn’t do it. “I didn’t say no.”

The corner of her mouth twisted up into a smirk– quick, you couldn’t help but think that she didn't mean for you to catch it. “Didn’t sound like much of a yes either.”

You tossed the oily rag you kept in your waistband up onto the workbench, wiping your palms against your thighs one last time for good measure. “Depends how bad you screwed it up. Looks like you drive this thing like you hate it.”

“I get that a lot,” she said, not even blinking. “But it still runs. That’s gotta count for a little bit of brownie points, right?”

“We’ll see.” You shook your head, stepping around her to reach the wreck she called a car. You stole a glance into the open passenger side window as you sauntered around. The dash was cracked, the glove box hanging by hopes and dreams. You took note of the roll cage, the lack of backseats, the rather bare interior. Definitely a racer. A faded out sticker on the rearview mirror caught your eye: if you can read this, i’m already gone.

Outside, tires screeched and a woman screamed. Just background noise in this part of the city. The overhead lights buzzed like angry mosquitoes and you flicked on the beaten radio to drown out the uncomfortable background noise. Static, then a guitar riff, then the sound of a man’s voice. 

Well, come and get it now–

“So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing here in a dingy garage so late at night?” Her voice was pure tease now.

“Flattery’s not gonna make me work faster,” you quipped, flashing her a glare over your shoulder.

“Didn’t say I was trying to be fast,” she said, trailing after you with her hands still deep in her pockets, lazily strolling along like she all of a sudden had all the time in the world. Like she didn’t just disturb your entire night.

You grinned, looking back over your shoulder again with a mischievous glint now dancing in your eyes. “Good. ‘Cause judging by your suspension, you’re not great at going fast anyway.”

She chuckled, low and rough and warm all at once. “Touché.”

You circled back around to the front of the car, crouching down to the concrete floor to get a better look at the sagging frame. She leaned against the matte black hood, arms crossed, watching you with a heat that roasted your skin. You fought to not stare at her arms. The muscle dragged you in, and some part of you longed to trace your fingers along her tattoo. 

“You never told me your name.”

“Williams. Ellie Williams.” Her tone was casual, short. It held a louche quality that hinted at depravity. You yearned to know more, but you held your tongue. “You?”

“___.”

There was something electric hanging in the air now, humming under the harsh buzz of the fluorescent garage lights. You wiped your hands on your jeans again, more to keep busy now than anything else.

“Suspension’s fucked,” you said finally, tapping the left side of the hood. “I’d bet you bottomed out hard. Frame’s probably cracked too… if you were lucky enough to hit a curb instead of some other racer.”

Ellie gave a low whistle. “Bottomed out hard, huh?” she repeated, pushing off her car slow and easy until she was standing just a little too close. Close enough that you could smell the vague scent of gasoline and something sharp-sweet on her. Leather, maybe, and smoke. “I’ve heard that before.”

A blush passed over your cheeks and your heart threatened to sink down into your stomach. You breathed hard, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

She lifted an eyebrow, clearly amused at your fidgeting. You let the blush take over as you popped the hood, the overbearing smell of hot oil engulfing your senses almost immediately. Ellie moved to be at your side, her shoulders brushing yours as she leaned in for a look.

“Something wrong there too?” she asked.

“You sure you wanna know?” you were the one teasing now, giving her a sideways glance.

Ellie shrugged, accompanied with a lazy tilt of her head. “Already here. Might as well hear all the bad news.”

You rattled off a condensed list. Bent control arm, possible steering rack damage, probable oil leak. She just nodded along like you were reciting a grocery list and she was your incompetent husband.

“No big deal,” she sighed, her breathing ragged and uneven. “How long will it take to fix?”

You stared at her, struggling to hide the dumbfounded look plastered across your face. “You’re either incredibly rich or incredibly stupid.”

She smirked. “Why not both?”

That pulled a breathy laugh out of you before you could stop it. A real one, not the hollow kind you gave old men trying to sweet-talk their way into a discount.

“Give me an hour to tear it down,” you said, stepping back and wiping the sweat that had accumulated on your brow. “See if it’s worth saving, then another to fix it.”

Ellie nodded, but it didn’t seem like she was really listening all too well. She leaned her hip against the workbench, freckled arms crossed over her grimy shirt, staring at you like you were the main event and it wasn’t at all a possibility that she could lose her car.

“You’re not gonna hover the whole time, are you?” you coughed, fake annoyance dripping from your teeth.

“Maybe,” She grinned fully this time. Lazy, cocky, dangerous even. “Unless you can’t handle a little pressure.”

You snorted under your breath and ducked your head back into the engine bay, hiding the stupid smile that was threatening to spread across your face.

“Trust me,” you muttered, “you’re not that scary.”

Ellie leaned down to meet you under the propped-up hood, hovering her lips just beside your ear. The feeling of her breath careening down your neck made you shiver.

“You haven’t seen me drive.”

The next two hours passed in a blur of wrenches, grease stains, and the sharp intensity of Ellie’s gaze burning into the back of your neck. She didn’t hover, not exactly, she lingered. She rarely spoke, just leaned against the bench or paced slow circles around the garage, an unlit joint dangling from her lips. Every time you turned to grab a tool, there she was, tossing it to you without a second thought. Each time your fingers would brush she’d smile like she had just won a point, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

At some point, you stopped pretending not to notice.

You slammed the hood closed, a lot harder than necessary, and tried to shake the uncomfortable heat prickling on the back of your neck.

“You’re good to go,” you said, tossing a rag onto the bench beside Ellie. “Mostly.”

Ellie shoved off the wall, sauntering over to you until she was all in your space again. Not that you moved away. “Mostly,” she repeated, that familiar grin spreading across her face. “That your professional opinion?”

“Professional opinions are extra,” you grinned back, taunting.

She chuckled low under her breath, eyes flickering over you in a way that made your entire body tense up. Slow, less like she was sizing you up and more like she wanted to memorize your every curve.

“Good thing I’m a generous tipper,” she said, her voice dipping a little lower.

“Treat it like glass,” you said, tugging at your shirt collar uncomfortably. “Or you’ll be back in a week and it’ll be a whole hell of a lot worse.”

“Good,” her eyes were suddenly serious, a dark look crossing her face in a way that made your pants almost fall clean off your hips. “Was planning on coming back anyway.”

You raised a brow. “Yeah? What else you need?”

She shrugged, a casual but deliberate movement. You could tell she was trying to seem cool. It was kind of cute. “A mechanic.”

“...You offering me a job?”

“Depends,” she spoke carefully, stepping in closer. The air between you crackled with electricity. “You any good at fixing more than busted suspensions?”

Before you could answer she had stepped back, grabbing a pen off of your bench and taking your hand in hers. Her touch made you buzz and you watched intensely as she messily scribbled her number onto your palm in dry black ink. She dotted the “i” in her name with a heart.

“Think about it,” she said, tossing her keys up and catching them one-handed, the metallic clink ringing out in the otherwise quiet garage. “Might be the best bad decision you ever make.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The air was thick with the smell of exhaust, burnt rubber, and pure, unabashed adrenaline. Neon lights glared off of chrome-polished fenders as nearly over a dozen cars lined the abandoned shipping yard, idling like predators waiting for prey. Engines revved and music blared from someone’s speakers. Half the crowd buzzed with pre-race excitement, the other half just buzzed.

Pulling your hoodie tighter around your face, you stepped into the crowd. You had left your own car further away like Ellie had instructed you. It was much less impressive among the racers’, a plush blue Volvo 240 Turbo. Understated, beat down to hell, but modded up to god and back. You grabbed the metal toolbox out of your passenger side, the cold handle grounding you in a way that felt anything but solid.

You had never attended a street race before. You’ve heard of them, sure, even modded a few cars for some, but never actually been to one. You didn’t dress for it, didn’t plan for it, just showed up. Ellie had texted you the location, didn’t say anything else about it– not that you asked.

A familiar rumble cut your thoughts short. It was a low, unapologetic grumble that definitely turned heads in the crowd. It seemed Ellie had a reputation. You turned just in time to see her car slide beside you, the engine purring a whole lot smoother than the last time you heard it. Your handiwork, still holding strong. Somehow.

Ellie stepped out like she owned the place, something you were starting to realize was a normal behaviour for her. She was donned in the same stained jeans as before, this time with a couple new oil smudges. A bright red cropped leather jacket was covering up her old stained wife beater, the sleeves rolled up to reveal her forearm muscles and faded tattoo. You watched closely as her eyes scanned the crowd before locking onto you. Something gleamed in her eyes. Relief, maybe. Moreso amusement.

“You showed up,” she said, strolling over with her hands shoved in her jacket pockets with a feigned air of no fucks given.

You shrugged lazily, trying not to smile. Trying not to give her that satisfaction. “You said you needed a mechanic.”

Ellie nodded slowly, lower lip twitching like she was fighting not to speak her mind. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Yeah, well,” you responded, setting your toolbox down beside her front tire, “I guess I make a lot of bad decisions.”

She grinned, wide and reckless, a strand of her auburn hair falling in front of her eyes. “Perfect,” she drawled, “You’ll fit right in.”

Suddenly, the crowd fell silent, the music that thumped from someone’s trunk was shut off, and an air of competitiveness fogged your senses. Ellie leaned across the hood of her car, eyes glazed over with excitement and a hint of menace. “Flags drop in ten. You might want to hurry it up, little miss mechanic.”

You weren’t entirely sure what flags down meant, but you were sure that it wasn’t time to ask questions. You dropped to your knees, kneeling beside the front wheel. Your fingers brushed the brake rotor.

“These things are whispering their last words,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Ellie pulled a toothpick out of her pocket and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly. You couldn’t help but think how she looked like a llama. “Then tell ‘em to scream louder.”

You shot her a look over your shoulder. “I have a feeling you’re about to be a nightmare to keep alive.”

She only grinned in response. That signature, stupidly charming Ellie grin. She continued to stare at you with an infuriatingly calm gaze as you popped the hood one last time, eyes scanning the turbo lines. Then, you wiped your hands clean on a rag you had tucked into your belt.

“Fluids topped, pressure’s solid, clutch might hate you by the end of it.” You slammed the hood shut with a smirk. “I’ll see you at the finish line.”

Ellie stepped towards you, still grinning wildly. “You always this sexy before a race?”

You raised a brow, feigning vexation. “You want sexy, go find someone that doesn’t know what a brake pad is.”

Her grin turned crooked, it somehow made her even more attractive. “Aw man, but none of them look half as good leaning over an engine.”

Before you even got a chance to fire back someone was yelling from across the lot. “Engine’s hot! You’ve got thirty seconds to line up, and don’t come crying to me when you get smoked!”

She turned to her car, toothpick now discarded on the asphalt, hands already gripping the door handle. “Next time, you ride with me.”

Then she was gone. You watched as she slid up to the starting line, your eyes transfixed on the smoke that pooled out underneath her car and evaporated into the air. The crowd was screaming now, voltaic above the war cries of the engines. The spotters hunched over the overpass began to shift. Your heartbeat reverberated off your eardrums and threatened to hop out of your chest entirely. You blinked, and they were gone. Ellie disappeared around a bend with her tail lights flickering like a cigarette in the dark. You’d never seen anyone drive like that before. All you could think to do was hold your breath.

At first, it was just one siren. Just one, thin and far off. The crowd shifts, anxiety rippling through the crowd and boiling the water around you.

Then the world exploded in red and blue. People screamed around you, but for an entirely different reason now. There’s movement all around you, folding chairs falling and people scrambling to climb chain link fences. You turn to run, but there’s nowhere to go. For a moment, you felt the sickening feeling of being trapped.

Then you hear it– tires drifting in the gravel. A black shape was barreling out of the smoke, angled right toward you. Before you could even think to move there was a passenger door flying open and a familiar face staring you down.

“In. Now.”

You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Just dived in, half-falling into the passenger seat as the air behind you is completely swallowed by flashing lights.

Ellie was white-knuckled around the steering wheel as you shot forward and sliced through the night.

“You came back,” you say, breath coming out uneven and shaky.

City lights blurred past as the two of you skidded between two factory buildings, into an alley that was much too narrow for your comfort. The engine roared as she switched from third to fourth to third again, riding the clutch like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Behind you, someone’s bumper crunches into a brick wall.

“Couldn’t leave you.”

Her eyebrows pinched together as she tried to focus, eyes scanning for any possible exit. Any way to get you back to safety. Ellie was burning with recklessness now, she was in her element. You’re completely entranced as she maneuvers the car with such finesse that it almost scares you. Almost. She curses and yanks at the wheel, sending you slamming into the door and ricocheting off your seat. Ellie glances over at you, partly apologetically and mostly with arrogance. The emergency brake is dropped and the car is sent drifting between two green dumpsters. You clutch the handle above your head to avoid being sent tumbling around the car again.

Ellie shuts the car off with a harsh click and you finally let out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. She drops her seat down, with you following suit in the movement. Smoke was pouring out of the hood now, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the thought of you needing to do more repairs so soon.

It’s silent for a while, the two of you intently listening to the sound of the sirens disappearing into the city. Until, finally, Ellie’s voice tears through the tension.

“You shouldn’t go back to your car until tomorrow. Place’ll still be crawling with pigs.” She didn’t look at you when she said it, eyes still focused on the ceiling of her car. “You can crash at mine.”

You glance at her, blinking rapidly. Crash? At hers? You thought back to when you had first met Ellie in your garage. Back when you wouldn’t have ever expected to be running from police with a girl who looked like hell had sent her back.

“If you want,” she says after you’re quiet for too long, shyer this time.

You nod in response, still not trusting your voice to not break at the first syllable. The corner of her mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but on the edge of one. Neither of you speak as the engine hums to life and you peel out of the alley.

You can’t help but feel like you just crossed a line you won’t be able to uncross.

⭒ taglist ᵎ 〜 @mayanneaa

[expia]

Mechanic Abby ily come save me

This is not how you wanted to spend your afternoon driving up to a small town about 30 minutes out from the city to go find a limited edition book just for your car to break down in the middle of the highway right after getting said book and having to go push your car to the nearest mechanic, which thankfully was only about a five-minute push, but it was still hell to push a car for five minutes.

Finally getting to your destination, you look up at the sign ‘Redline Garage’. It doesn’t look like there are many cars in the shop, but also it’s a random Tuesday, so you guess you shouldn’t expect much, not really knowing anything about the mechanics, always having your dad take your car to the shop when needed.

The smell of rubber and engine grease hits you the second you step into the garage—and so does the sight of her. The first thing you see is her back—broad, strong, sweat glinting off her exposed shoulders in the open bay light. She’s bent over the open hood of some beat-up truck, muscles flexing beneath a grease-stained tank top that used to be white, hair tied back in a loose, low bun.

You can’t help but pause at the doorway.

She doesn’t notice you at first, too focused, arms deep in the engine like she’s fighting it into submission. There’s a streak of black grease running down her forearm and another smudged across her cheek. She looks like a walking Home Depot lesbian fantasy. Strong. Quiet. The kind of woman who could lift you and your car, then fix the engine while you recovered.

When she finally glances up, wiping her hands on a dirty rag tucked into her waistband, you swear your knees go weak. She blinks once. “You lost?”

And suddenly, you remember your car broken down outside. “no ma’am” you force yourself to spit. “I- um, I think I broke my car?” Abby raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s holding back a smirk. “You think you broke it?” You nod, fighting the urge to melt into the floor. “Yeah. Like, smoke was coming out of it, and it ended up breaking down. I had to push it here.”

She chuckles—actually chuckles—and you swear it sounds like gravel and honey. “That’s usually not a good sign.”

She tosses the rag onto the workbench, wiping her hands one more time on her jeans before stepping closer. And now she’s right here. Bigger in person. Hotter, somehow. Her eyes scan your face for a beat too long before she jerks her chin towards the lot. "Which one’s yours?" she inquired, her voice a mix of curiosity and mild amusement.

"Uh—the yellow beetle," you replied, pointing to the small car that looked like it was on its last legs, its bright paint a stark contrast to its pitiful condition. "The one crying for help."

A sly smirk spread across her face, a spark of interest lighting up her eyes. "Alright. Let’s see if we can figure out what’s wrong with her, sweetheart."

With that, she turned on her heel, her confident stride leading the way as you hurried to keep up, your heart pounding with the sudden realization that you'd developed a full-blown crush in under sixty seconds.

[joejhang]

nathaniel wesninski vs neil abram josten

something that fascinates me abt the aftg books is the nathaniel vs neil dichotomy. so i'm gonna analyse and dissect it like a completely normal and fine person. spoilers ahead !!! continue at ur own risk

i feel like the fandom has the wrong idea abt nathaniel and neil; they aren't foils, they're mirrors. they're a lot more similar than i think the fandom likes to acknowledge. and i actually don't think neil himself has too much of a problem with that.

allow me to elaborate. neil isn't scared of nathaniel, and nor is he very sensitive about his father. he actually references his father sometimes as a defence mechanism ("you think i'm afraid of your knife? i'm the butcher's son.") his feelings towards his father are, i'd say, deep-rooted fear and resentment. this has to extend somewhat to nathaniel, given how deeply entwined nathaniel wesninski is with both the butcher (neil's childhood abuser, the one person he truly fears) and mary hatford (also one of neil's abusers imo but their relationship is a lot more complex), both of whom neil says he doesn't want to become like. but he also says it might be inevitable that he is a little bit like them anyway (he's right).

i think this is how the fandom differentiates between nathaniel and neil; nathaniel is cold-blooded, ruthless, analytical, a criminal mastermind. nathaniel wesninski sealed the deal for his own survival with ichirou moriyama. nathaniel wesninski endured the torturous conditions in the baltimore house. nathaniel wesninski watched the butcher of baltimore brutally murder a man in front of him at ten years old in castle evermore. nathaniel wesninski followed his mother on the run for eight years, twenty-two cities, sixteen countries and a dozen fake identities. nathaniel wesninski watched as his mother left bodies and sacrifices in their wake for their own survival. nathaniel wesninski orders hits on the people who have hurt the people he loves. more than once, others in the series note that neil will always be nathaniel wesninski at heart (ichirou, jean) and neil doesn't correct them.

neil josten, on the other hand, is scrappy and messy and impulsive. neil josten has sharply honed survival instincts that he throws away at the first chance of getting to live a real life. neil josten chose to stay at palmetto state university with the full knowledge that he would get himself and many others killed. neil josten clocked r*ko's shit on live tv and at the fall banquet. neil josten trusted a five foot nothing goalkeeper with his life for a year. neil josten saw the opportunity to do what he loved, even if it would kill him, and he took it. neil josten isn't afraid to run his mouth, be it to a teammate who overstepped or a reporter broadcasting on national tv. neil josten doesn't think about the past or the future but lives in the moment, all consequences be damned. neil josten gets to know and starts to care about the foxes even though he knows he shouldn't.

in short; nathaniel wesninski is ice all the way through, unapologetically the butcher and the bird's son, and neil josten is all fire, a young man and a runaway who chose living over survival and friends (family) over safety.

that's the dichotomy, but i actually think people don't realise that they're two sides of the same coin. i don't mean like "neil is nathaniel is nathan" i mean like neil chose to be neil josten, with full knowledge and agency, but that doesn't change that he was nathaniel first. in the fandom's declawing of neil, they forget that he's still the butcher's son, and he isn't afraid to show his teeth.

"neil josten" doesn't exist on his own. he is a product of neil's time with the foxes. neil says himself, at the beginning of the series, neil josten wasn't a person, just another identity that could be discarded at the drop of a hat. it was the foxes that made "neil josten" a real person. they pulled out from that facade the parts of neil that "no disguise could change". neil's character arc from the scared nobody at the beginning of tfc to the brave and happy young man at the end of tkm wouldn't have ever happened without the foxes' influence on his life. that pivotal narration change from neil to nathaniel in tkm is in a sense, neil shielding the foxes and the person he was around them from the cruel reality of his past. the identity of "nathaniel wesninski" is real and undeniable, already bloodstained from his brutal childhood, and untouched by the foxes, and so can't really be ruined by his father's hand (sweet mourning lamb, there is nothing you can do, it has already been done). everything that happened in baltimore, from the legal name change to neil and andrew's conversation in the car ("can i really be neil again?" "i told neil to stay. leave nathaniel buried in baltimore with his father.") is more of a decision to choose a new life than it is a new identity. "can i really be neil again?" is neil asking if he's really escaped his past and he can truly stay with the foxes and be who he was around them freely. and andrew's "leave nathaniel buried in baltimore with his father" is more of an assurance to let neil's bloody past go in favour for a new and better life.

note: "let go" does not mean forget or disregard or lose. it just means to accept it but move on. this is important i promise.

after that, neil is able to continue freely in his life. wait no he's not. ichirou comes to find him. right.

the neil and ichirou conversation is one of the most interesting in the series. it says a lot more about neil's character than people seem to notice. neil actively "switches" into the persona of nathaniel wesninski specifically for that conversation. something about how every word has to be true and it has to be the biggest lie he's ever told. neil's switch to nathaniel is a little jarring and a little uncanny. the way he speaks is pure business, coldly rational and disconcertingly subservient to ichirou (disconcerting because of how adamantly neil refused to submit to r*ko and testuji and even his father's people). but it's interesting because it's still neil josten speaking. the narration doesn't change, and the way neil talks is still very much himself, just honed and polished to suit the man ichirou thinks he's speaking to. ichirou wasn't looking for neil abram josten, starting striker for the psu foxes, he was looking for nathaniel wesninski, the only son of the butcher of baltimore. neil knew this, and knew he had a part to play and he plays it so easily it actually fucking works. he isn't even afraid of ichirou. everything he says and does in that scene is careful and thought-out and logic-based, but there is no fear. all of neil's fear in the aftg series quite literally is caused by his father, and can always be traced back to him. since nathan is dead at this point, neil isn't fearful of ichirou, just cautious.

the narration change in tsc is also notable. jean thinks of neil as nathaniel wesninski until the foxes beat the ravens and r*ko dies. this is significant because the idea of "nathaniel wesninski" is also deeply entwined with the perfect court. if neil had signed with the ravens he would've been nathaniel wesninski (03) not neil josten. but once r*ko is dead and once tetsuji steps down, the perfect court no longer exists, and neither does the phantom partner jean was clinging to all these years. there is no nathaniel wesninski (03), no forever partner for jean, even though he has nathaniel's auburn hair and ice-blue eyes and cruel smile, he doesn't have the mark of the perfect court anymore and r*ko and tetsuji aren't around to reinforce that delusion so for jean, now there is only neil josten.

still, he also says later on that neil is a wesninski at heart. neil doesn't really take this personally, from what we can tell. killing a rapist isn't something particular to neil or nathaniel, he would do it whether he was neil abram josten or nathaniel wesninski. but the method, the subtlety, writing the numbers on a napkin, handing them to his mobster uncle, that is such a nathaniel-characteristic thing to do that jean comments on it. neil might have problems with wearing his father's face and his father's smile, but he never denies the truth that he is a little like his father (referencing his hot temper), and he isn't hurt or offended by jean's comment.

this post is getting way too fucking long, even for me, so i won't go into the "abram" of it all, but just know there's something to be said about that, too. i just think the fandom takes the whole "leave nathaniel buried in baltimore" thing a little too literally. nathaniel isn't gone for good, he will always be a part of neil, but neil's accepted that and moved on. he's living his best life, doing what he loves with people he loves, and even tho he does act a little bit like a wesninski at times, he's come to terms with who he is and who he chose to be: neil abram josten.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 21

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD Violence and Gore; Sexual content; Animal death (hunting - not descriptive); Mild description of vomit; a little sad angsty moment; Non-con sedation

You had to admit that holy shit, it was nice to be out in the fresh air. It was cold as fuck, but you were bundled up in the coat that had been brought to you all those weeks ago. It sucked to keep it situated for easy gun and knife access but it was enough. Your feet were warm in your boots, two pairs of socks since they were a little big to accommodate any swelling of your feet as the pregnancy progressed but that only meant that your toes were nice and toasty. Leggings under maternity jeans were a hindrance when the baby decided to drop kick your bladder, but otherwise, necessary to ensure you didn’t get frostbite in very inconvenient areas, as well as your legs. 

You had been walking through the snow for about an hour before coming across any walkers. There were two, both women. One a little older than Beth and one about your own age. They moved slower in the cold, you had noticed. After putting them down, you became aware that their skin appeared to be freezing solid. 

“Walker popsicles. Huh.” You muttered, storing that information to share. Another fifteen minutes went by and you had still seen no game, so you decided to stop and rest. You weren’t necessarily out of shape but you were growing a human inside of you. That tended to take a bit out of the energy department. You had swiped a canteen and some of the jerky, partaking of both to make sure you could carry out what you came to do. 

“Alright, Thumper. Let’s see if we can figure out daddy’s weapon of choice. Can’t be that hard, right?” You promptly came very close to shooting a bolt into your own foot. You blinked at it and looked around as if there had been anyone else to see the incident before putting a hand to your belly. Thumper rolled as if just as shocked. “Let’s just keep that between us, okay?”

It was the operation that hindered you. Once you figured out the mechanics,—with about forty-five minutes of tinkering—aiming and firing were things that came naturally to you. Daryl was going to murder you when he had to fix everything you had fucked with in your exploration of the weapon. Collecting the bolts you had used for practice, you froze, eyes narrowed on the small indentations in the snow. Rabbits.

Small game was your specialty. You always hunted rabbits and squirrels when it was just you and father. There was nowhere to keep an abundance of meat in your small home. No smokehouse. It had been different when the family would come over, your aunt and uncles. They loved their venison and you never had to be concerned with wasting anything. 

The smile that lifted the corners of your mouth was one born of bittersweet longing. You wished your father could be there to meet his grandchild, but you were—at the same time—thankful that he wasn’t around to see what had truly become of the world, that it would never go back to how it used to be.

Still, you chuckled as you wiped away a tear. Your father would have had one hell of a time getting used to the idea of Daryl being the father, but in the end, he would have been the first to see through that rough exterior to the man hidden underneath. And he would not have wasted a single second before calling the archer out on it.

“If you’re a boy, I could name you after your grandad. Maybe after your uncle, if your daddy wants.” Daryl still hadn’t revealed much about his family. Maybe once he was better, you could sit with him and just talk, quid pro quo. You ask a question about him, and then him about you. He seemed to be okay with that sorta thing. He never liked being the center of attention.

He also appeared interested in learning about you in every way he could. It hadn’t taken you long to notice the way he picked up on things and filed them away. He knew how you liked your meat cooked when it was being eaten outside of a stew. He would take it from Carol and do it himself, usually. He knew how things touching the front of your throat made you feel uncomfortable, like scarves or the top buttons of a flannel, stopping Maggie from wrapping a rather pretty knit fabric around your neck one bitterly cold morning. 

Daryl also knew just how to touch you, how to curl his fingers inside of you and how much pressure you needed when his thumb would graze over your clit. He excelled in making you shiver by wetting his digits with your own arousal before dragging the tips over your skin to stimulate your nipples. He did all this while pressing soft kisses just behind your ear or over your pulse, everyone sleeping around you being none the wiser. It was always so incredibly erotic to be brought over the edge knowing that any of them could simply open their eyes and see that he was working you over. 

Maybe you could show him what you knew he liked while he recovered. You knew for a fact that he would groan if you lapped and nibbled at a specific area just above his collarbone. He would never admit it but you had noticed the way touching his nipples made his hips jerk when he was inside of you. The first time you’d gone down on him back in the woods, you had kitten-licked at his tip and pressed your thumb against the vein that ran underneath, dragging the digit up his length. He had clawed at the tree behind him so hard that you were certain he’d be picking splinters from beneath his nails afterward. 

It took a soft thump to the cranium, snow falling from a branch overhead, to bring you from your pleasant thoughts. With an ache between your thighs and the prospect of maybe getting some alone time with your boyfriend—you still needed to clarify what you could call him, if anything—while he wasn’t trying to evict his lungs from within his chest, you whined quietly. You kinda wished you had stayed there and were curled up in bed with him. Was he okay? Were the meds helping? Was Carol whacking him over the head with the bedpost to keep him from chasing you?

You had nearly convinced yourself to turn back when you saw the first rabbit, a decent sized cane cutter that would make a nice stew to last a couple of days. It hadn’t seen you and taking it down was easy since you had not yet shouldered the crossbow.

“One down, Thumper!” You took one step and then paused. “It’s kinda insensitive to call you Thumper when I’m hunting rabbits, isn’t it?”

You had two rabbits by the time at least three and a half hours had passed, a little disappointing but it was freezing and you did have to make periodic stops to put down walking corpses and even more stops to pee. You were feeling a little nauseous as well, so it was likely beyond time to head back. Maybe Daryl would rest just as well the next day and you could come back out since this excursion would show everyone you could handle yourself out there.

Wiping your knife across your thigh after yet another slow moving walker, you had barely secured it into the sheath before you noticed the tracks. 

Deer. 

A single deer, young but more than a year. Based on the depth of the tracks, you could likely manage to haul it back on your own if you could take it down. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you glanced at the way back to the house; back to Daryl. 

This was all for him, after all. The more food you could secure, the longer he could rest and recover. The decision was simple after that. Ensuring a bolt was loaded, you set out to do what you once did best. 

You were still her. 

The only differences were the people in your family were no longer an aunt and two uncles, the main man in your life was no longer your father, and you were 11 or so weeks away from having your own baby. You had never needed to be provided for, always the provider. There was no reason you and Daryl couldn’t share that responsibility. When the baby came, you’d adjust and adapt, providing differently and that was okay. The longer you could nurse Thumper, the easier it would make things. You’d step back then, let Daryl take over. It would be even more important to him then, the need to provide. You’d be a team, each caring for the baby in your own way. 

The prospect was equal parts exciting and terrifying. New parents in a dystopian world. It wasn’t impossible. It was just dangerous. Daryl had done so well, thinking ahead when he had cleared that Wal-Mart. So much that would be needed already secured, ready to carry with your group when moving from place to place. With a small, tender smile, you glanced at the bracelet for morning sickness you still wore. It likely no longer worked, but you couldn't really bear to part with it.

You wanted to search out a baby store eventually, or make a request for a run. Cloth diapers would be a lifesaver once the disposable ones had been used. Infant and children’s medications needed to be stocked. 

Thumper gave your ribs a jab, earning a hiss in response. “Okay, okay. I’m focused. Jeez, kid, can you be any more like your father?” 

The tracks were getting closer together in clusters, the deer stopping to check out areas in search of food. You were catching up, the falling snow not yet filling in the prints. In the back of your mind, you maintained an active regard for the time you’d been gone, one eye on the sun to ensure you’d make it back before dark. You would be late and you’d steered off course but you were confident.  You’d need to circle around and place yourself downwind soon if you wanted to stand a chance. This is what you knew. 

You’d meet up with the search party at the very least on your journey back. That is if Carol hadn’t grown anxious and sent them earlier. Or Daryl—dear god, if Daryl hadn’t somehow managed to drag himself out of that house. No, they wouldn’t let him. You had to believe that. It would be Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog. Maybe Maggie. They’d likely be sore at needing to come find you but if you were hauling a deer, that disgruntlement would likely be forgotten quickly. You just needed to ensure you succeeded and that you stayed safe. 

Just as you continued to track, you muttered a curse at a slow shuffling walker. One bolt needed to remain untainted for hunting and, so far, your knife had been sufficient but you were closing in on your target. Using the crossbow would be ideal for the dead at that juncture. Nearly silent kills. The crossbow was level with your eyes when you saw it.

The doe’s head perked up just beyond some snow-covered shrubbery, ears twitching. “Fuck.” You whispered. You had to take the deer first or risk it running from the walker. It had already spotted the threat, getting ready to move. There was no time to think. The deer went down easily, your muttered apologies and gratitude for what it would provide for your group were unheard as you dropped the bow and sprinted for the corpse. 

Loading another bolt would take too much time, the deer would be lost to the walker. You were already cutting it close this way, the snow and the off-centered weight of your belly slowing you down. Just as the dead man began to fall on top of your kill for the unearned feast, you tackled him. There was a jolt of pain in your midsection but your knife was already sinking into an eye socket, the deed done. 

“Ow,” you muttered. Scanning the area for threats as you unzipped and moved clothing, raising your sweater to look at the deep red mark on the side of your belly, just below your right rib cage. “Fuck.” A knee or elbow must have been angled just right to jab you on impact. “You okay in there?” Your sweater still rolled up, you laid your knife on your thigh and caressed the taut skin with both hands. “Come on, Thumps, need you to move.” A foot or hand pressed firmly into the injured side. “Okay, okay! Point taken! No more tackling walkers. Ouch, you little gremlin.” With a huff, you adjusted your clothing. You’d have Hershel look you over and check on the baby when you returned. 

Wiping your knife on your jeans, you secured it on the sheath and crawled over to the deer. It remained unsullied and perfect to feed your family. It was a clean, quick kill and it didn’t suffer. You were always thankful for those. 

“Alright, let’s get this back—” No time to register what was happening before you tilted over to retch violently. “Shit.” You panted, looking away from the mess of bile, water, and undigested jerky. Of course this couldn’t just go smoothly. Once again, the world had decided to fuck you. “At least Daryl beat it to getting me pregnant.” You laughed at your lame joke and laid back against the belly of the deer to catch your breath. 

“Fucker.” You growled, angling your leg to kick the man's corpse. The baby moved as you laid there, the slightly ripple showing beneath your coat and sweater. “Oh, hey. I could see that.” You smiled, rubbing your very upset stomach. “Your father is gonna skin me right along with this deer.” You nodded to yourself. Closing your eyes, you took deep, calculated breaths in an attempt to gain control over the nausea. 

But when they opened again, it was dark, the sun having fled and the moon bright in the star-filled sky. You groaned as you sat up, checking yourself and the area around you for any signs of walker activity. No bites. Your deer was frozen but whole. Shaking off the snow that had gathered on you, you rubbed your hands together, digging through the pockets of your coat with numb fingers in search of your gloves. 

“You good in there, Thumps?”

Nothing. 

You had just finished pulling on the second glove before stilling to stare at your round stomach hidden beneath your coat. “Thumper?” You had grown so accustomed to the baby reacting when you spoke that to feel such stillness made your chest tighten. “Baby?” Swallowing hard, you adjusted your clothing again, shivering when the chill of the night air struck your belly. “Come on, baby, can you move for mama?”

What if the baby had died inside you? Does the virus affect a fetus? What if you carried the baby only for them to be born a walker? 

Then there was movement, gentle ripples below the skin. Some that you could see, some that you couldn’t. But the thought remained, a very real terror that your baby could already be dead and just trying to get out. 

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. You could only jerk your eyes back and forth at the sound of footsteps getting closer. 

“Whatcha sittin’ in the snow for, Peanut?”

Now you definitely couldn’t breathe. There, bathed in moonlight, standing on two very there, very functioning legs, was your father. “Dad—daddy?”

“Hey, there.” You sat stock still, sweater still rolled up, eyes still frozen on him as he approached and crouched in front of you. “Let’s get you all fixed up here.” Gentle hands fixed your clothing, zipped your coat, and ruffled your hair.

“Am I dreaming?” You asked with the slightest wobble to your voice. 

“‘Fraid so, Peanut-butter.” When the sound that punched out of you was like a painful sob, he was ducking to find your eyes. “Hey, hey. None of that.”

“I miss you.” You sniffled, letting him pull you close with his chin on your head. “There’s so much—”

“I know, baby girl. I’ve been watching.” He pulled back, thumbing away your tears. “Gonna be a grandpa, I see. Daddy wouldn’t have been my first choice but he surprised me.”

“You like him?” You smiled, lopsided and silly, giggling when he rolled his eyes. 

“No father thinks any man is good enough for his little girl, but this one? Well, he keeps surprising me.” He offered you a hand, pulling you up with him as he stood. “He needs you. He’s always needed you just as much as you’ve needed him. So you need to get you and my grandbaby back to him before he loses his mind.”

“But the baby—”

“Is fine.” He chortled, gently stroking your cheek. “You’ll be an amazing mama, Peanut.” He was starting to fade right before your eyes. “You’ll see.”

“Don’t go.” You pleaded, hands passing through his shoulders when you tried to pull him back. 

“I’m so proud of you.” His voice was echoing, distant even when you could still see his face. “You’ll be fine, all three of you. But now you need to wake up.”

A tear was frozen to your temple, pulling at your skin there when your eyes opened. Snow peppered down from the dark sky, the moon barely visible beyond the clouds. You felt no panic, breaths coming calmly and the baby kicking periodically, even if it did smart when the little extremities connected with the sensitive injury. 

You winced pulling yourself away from the deer you knew would be at least partially frozen. The meat would keep, at least. You’d let the men handle the thawing and prepping anyway. The area was dark, no signs of flashlights or sounds of voices. They had either passed you by or never came at all. 

It wouldn’t matter in the end. 

Because you were going back to them.

Getting to your feet, you gathered your things and prepared to drag the deer. It would likely be about 115 pounds so carrying it was unlikely. You wouldn’t risk leaving it for later retrieval, not when 45 to 50 pounds of meat was likely from that single kill. Hell no. 

You had once dragged Daryl while he was soak and wet and he had at least 60 pounds on that deer. This was doable. You just needed to think. Eyes darting around, you let your fingers drum on your tummy while you pondered. With a deep breath, you started to believe you’d just be dragging the damn thing by hand but then you noticed the walker you had put down. Grabbing your knife, you grinned like a damn fool and set to work.

Lori was pacing in front of the door, watching the men prepare to leave. “You should have already been out there hours ago! Before dark, Rick!” When the deputy stood with a sigh, she didn’t back down. “Do you remember when the decision was made to leave Daryl out when he didn’t come back? Who went to get him? What shape he was in when she brought him back?”

“Yes, I remember, okay! I was just trying to give her the benefit of the doubt! She seemed like she had something she wanted to prove.”

“She said four hours. Carol came to you before that because we were about to lose Daryl on a crazy quest to find her.” Maggie was looking at Glenn but then sent a pointed glance to each of them.

“He’s gonna have a lot to say when he finds out you waited, especially after what we had Hershel do.” Carol said from her spot on the top of the stairs. 

“What did Hershel do?” All eyes turned to you in the doorway, dropping the straps you had made from the walker’s overalls. It was Lori that made it to you first, her arms winding around you awkwardly with two different sized bumps barring the way.

“Carol told us you had left to hunt and all I could think about were the things I said upstairs.” The other woman’s eyes were wet and sincere. With a smile, you pulled off one of your gloves and wiped a thumb below her eye. You didn’t say anything because what could you say? She had been incredibly insulting to Daryl and you wouldn’t speak for him. Maybe she would get the hint and talk to him eventually. Maybe not. 

You looked past Lori toward Rick, T-Dog, and Glenn. "Got a deer and two rabbits." Then your next smile, wry as it was, aimed up the stairs. “What did Hershel do, Carol?” Carl and Beth came thumping out of the kitchen, throwing their arms around you. You hugged them close while your eyes flitted over to the old veterinarian himself walking along the banister from Daryl’s room. You were gentle when pulling away from the kids, tossing a kills are on the porch, have fun at the men while you began your ascent. 

Carol fell in step with you. 

“Before anything else,” you started, unzipping your coat, “I had a literal run-in with a walker. Hershel, can you—?” You rolled up your sweater, the skin already bruising. 

“Has the baby been active?” He asked immediately, probing the area with tenderness while the other hand struggled to place his stethoscope in his ears.

“It’s Nascar in there, I promise.” You felt the baby squirm slightly before they settled again, your eyes on the old man’s face, watching for any concern. You found none and let out a breath when he straightened.

“Seems like all is well. Heartbeat is just fine and it is indeed the Indy 500. You were lucky.” There was a bit of a reprimand in that last statement, one you couldn’t say was unwarranted. Nodding in agreement, you made up your mind that as long as the meat could last until Daryl was on his feet, you wouldn’t venture out alone again.

You then turned to Carol. You had told her to do whatever it took to keep him there, even knock him out. If Hershel was involved, you assumed the knocking out was of a medicational nature. He wasn’t dead, they would have been smart enough to tell you that around people that could restrain you. “Okay, what’s the damage?” You asked from just beside the doorway, afraid to look inside just yet. “Is he tied down?” Carol shook her head.

“He was determined, Y/N. He pulled out the IV, only made it to the stairs before collapsing. They couldn’t get him back into the room, weak as he was, he fought all three of those grown men.” Hershel sighed. “I gave him a very small dose of morphine. It was enough to sedate him without compromising his respiration.” 

You groaned. That man was going to verbally rip you a new asshole, but you’d take it with grace because it was going to keep him safe and give him more time to recover. As long as the meat was prepared and rationed correctly, it could last a while. Maybe that would give you a chance to get back on his good side. 

He needs you. He’s always needed you just as much as you’ve needed him. 

“Okay, so what do I need to do?” You asked, finally rolling your back against the wall to place you inside the room. Daryl was out. You had never seen the man so unconscious, and you’d seen him nearly die. That was a frightening thought. The plus side was that his color was so much better and the rattle in his chest couldn’t be heard until you were much closer. He didn’t stir in the slightest when you sat down next to his left hip, all the way around toward the wall, avoiding the arm with the replaced IV. 

“You won’t need to do much of anything. Monitor his breathing and fetch me if it gets too slow. It shouldn’t with the dose I gave him but his body has been fighting a horrific illness, so we can’t be too careful. It’s been a couple of hours so it will likely start wearing off soon, regardless. When he wakes up, make sure he drinks and encourage him to cough. Coughing and keeping the lungs free of mucus and liquid is crucial.”

You were nodding almost robotically, your fingertips just brushing his hair back and forth with no particular rhyme or reason. Just touching him. 

“His fever has yet to break but it’s lowered dramat—is she even listening to me?” Hershel finally asked Carol, who chuckled and leaned across Daryl to clasp your shoulder until you looked at her.

“Watch how he breathes, don’t let it get too slow. Only for an hour or so. Get him to cough and drink when he wakes up. Fever has come down but hasn’t broken. I’ll come tell you when to give him more tylenol. Okay?” 

You smiled, both embarrassed and grateful. “Okay.” With a nod to Hershel and an eye roll at Carol’s wink, you watched them shut the door. 

Your hand on his cheek had to be freezing. They had just said his fever was down but he felt like a furnace to you. Shit. You were still in the clothes you had been wearing out in the snow. Coat, boots, jeans, and one pair of socks were quickly shed, you were in your sweater and leggings with your thicker socks still covering your feet. You’d been gone long enough and couldn’t seem to wait another second to crawl onto the bed with him. He shivered once but settled, his head turning toward you. You thought for a moment he might wake but he remained still. 

With a deep breath, you settled yourself against his shoulder so that you could look up at his face. “I know you’re going to be mad as fuck at me, and I get it. You have a right to be and I won’t tell you otherwise. I was careful, I promise.” Your palm settled on his chest, feeling his heart lazily thump against it. “I have a—well, it’s just a bruise. Hershel looked at it. Thumper’s okay. I’m okay.” Why were you even talking? He was sound asleep. “I didn’t like being away from you while you were so sick. I don’t think I would have liked it even if you weren’t sick.” 

Your hand left his chest for your fingers to dance along his jaw while you admired just how peaceful he looked. No lines of worry or pain. Just resting, fully relaxed. Seeing him like that just made your own exhaustion compound into something nearly unavoidable. With a large yawn, you snuggled closer and placed your hand back on his chest, counting his breaths like sheep. You knew you were losing the battle to stay awake, a tinge of worry sparking to life in your chest until you felt him move, nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head. He wasn’t so sedated that he couldn’t move. 

Sighing, you smiled and finally let your eyes drift closed. “I love you.” You whispered, too far gone to react when the hand sporting the IV came to rest on top of yours.

“Me too, crazy girl.”

[cloudsmateria]

double agent! leon kennedy x reader

i actually really love this fic i wrote I'm proud of it tbh.

summary: you have been fucking your roommate, leon kennedy. little does he know you work for the british government as an agent against America, little do you know, he's an american spy. you finally tell him how you feel, with a mixed response of a fear of commitment and confusion about these feelings for the first time in 6 years, battling suspicions from both sides.

warnings: spicy smut, porn with a lot of plot

You and Leon had been participating in flatcest for the past two months and your feelings for him had been festering for at least another two before that. When you had both first moved in you managed to work your way around that awkward phase by going out at night after your shifts to grab a bite to eat and you had kicked it off instantly.

The reason you opted for a roommate was because the nature of your job as an agent had meant you were rarely home anyway, why would you waste money on rent? Not soon after meeting Leon through a mutual friend of Jill you found that he was also rarely home since he worked for a global weapons company rather high up and said he had a lot of abroad business trips, but your holidays and spontaneous days off had always managed to line up.

This week after you finished your mentally draining mission you went into Leon’s room who had just gotten back from his shift, rather than going to your own. He was at his desk finishing up paperwork at his desk and sipping at his coffee. 

“How was work?”

“Miserable.” You mumbled, changing out of the jeans and top you had changed into at work after your shower to avoid suspicion of going onto public transport, coming home in full tactical gear, and smelling like days of brewing body odour and gunpowder. You took one of the shirts out of his wardrobe and fell onto his bed, which made him smile. 

“Want to talk about it?”

“That stupid bitch Graves couldn’t stop giving me shit the entire time when he was doing barely anything compared to me, he just- Ugh. I don’t even know how to explain my co-workers sometimes, there are some truly insufferable characters.” You had told Leon that you were an aircraft mechanic as it was one of the only things you had an idea of what was going on in that profession as your dad was one, it also excused coming home looking like you had lived in a cave for the past few years when you were on the verge of passing out let alone having the energy to shower at work. 

He lets out a light laugh. “Insufferable characters? You wouldn’t last a day working with my team.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” You whisper, so quiet there was no way he could’ve heard, forgetting of his abnormally good hearing.

“Hm? What was that?” He grins, turning around his chair. 

“I think you’re the one who wouldn’t last a day at my job.”

“Oh really? What couldn’t I survive at your difficult job?”

“The imminent threat of death.” You say sarcastically, making him laugh at the irony knowing he almost got stabbed last week. “You’d blow something up for sure.” Sounds pretty accurate.

“I wouldn’t survive a day there because I’d always be distracted by you. Can’t even focus on my paperwork right now.” He says, getting out of his chair and sitting on the side of the bed to cup your face, leaning down to kiss you. You wrap your arms around him and kiss him back until he eventually drags himself away with a final kiss on your head before getting up. 

“You’re not taking me away from my work this time, I need to finish it.”

“I was going to sleep anyway.”

“I’ll join you in an hour.”

You nod and toss over, closing your eyes and falling asleep in an instant. The next time you opened your eyes, you felt the weight of Leon sinking into the bed next to you, both of you being such light sleepers. You wrapped your arm and leg over him, placing your head on his bare chest and kissing his cheek, prompting him to duck his head down to meet your lips. 

“I missed you on your trip.” He muttered in the brief interval of you both pulling away. 

“Shut up, you’re going to make me think you’re in love with me.” He only smiled and rolled over, in a position on top of you where he could slip his hand up your baggy shirt to hold your trace his fingers along your waist as his mouth slowly worked down to your neck. 

The soft pads of his fingers eventually met with the delicate mounds of your chest, gently pinching the bud and rolling it between his fingers, all whilst marking your neck. He tried to remove your shirt, but you knew his weirdly good vision, he would see your body littered with bruises, cuts and other trinkets you acquired on your body over the last week. You stop his hand, holding it in place and shaking your head to avoid any questions from him which would be impossible to explain.

“You okay?”

“Just- want to keep my shirt on today.” He nods reluctantly, slightly sensing the off-tone of your voice. 

“Something off today?” He asks while trailing his fingers down to the lower parts of your body instead.

You shake your head, leaning up to capture his lips and avoid his questions, he seems concerned but you make quick work of getting him distracted, letting his hand continue its path down your body, pulling off your shorts, slipping his hand under the waistband.

His finger traced circles on your clit, his teeth gently biting down on your bottom lip as he slips a finger into you, making you gasp and your body instinctively buck up to meet his finger. His fingers were so thick, so talented and always like heaven, he watched your face change as he started moving, you clamping around him, completely drenched. 

"Oh, you really missed me." He smirked, making you bite your lip. He slipped a second finger in, curling them up and hitting that spot inside you, you gripped onto his arm as your hips continued to move with him, his mouth back at your neck, sucking and nipping. Your free hand was buried into his hair, the other still holding onto his forearm.

He was driving you crazy, your breathing becoming heavier and louder as your nails dug into his arm, he moved faster, you were practically soaking his fingers, the sound was filthy. 

"I had a long mission." You say embarrassed. He pulls his fingers out of you and holds them in front of your mouth.

"Open."

You part your lips slightly, and he shoves his fingers into your mouth. You start licking his fingers, tasting yourself on him, wrapping your tongue around him, looking into his eyes, they were dark and hungry, watching his fingers move in and out of your mouth, watching the way you sucked and licked them clean.

"Fuck, did I miss you too." He groaned, slipping his fingers out and leaning down to kiss you, he could still taste the slight tinge of you on his lips. You wrapped your legs around him, he pulled away, his eyes scanning your neck and then back up to meet your eyes, his hand slipped up your shirt to grab at your breast, his thumb gently grazing the scab he could feel under your shirt. "What's this?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Did you get hurt?"

"It's fine, don't worry." He nods, doubtfully. You kiss his neck until he pulls away, ripping your legs open to kiss the flesh of your thighs, slowly moving up until he hits what's in between. His tongue laps against the damp fabric, you whine, he pulls the fabric aside and immediately begins lapping up at your folds, your hips moving with him, and his hand pushing down, pinning your hips against the bed.

"So impatient." He says, kissing it.

"Leon, please."

He doesn't tease anymore, burying his face into your pussy, his nose nudging your clit, his tongue flicking in and out of you, tasting you again. He pushes two fingers into you again, curling them up and moving them in and out, his other hand holding you down as he eats you out, you were squirming, moaning loudly, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling.

"Ah- I- fuck, Leon, I'm gonna-" Your walls tightened around him, the knot in your stomach snapped, a warm and pleasurable feeling spread across your body, he slowed his pace, dragging his tongue out slowly to catch the juices running out of you, before sitting up and wiping his face, crawling up the bed.

"Fuck, I missed that." He grinned.

"Shut up." You kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. He moves your panties to the side, dragging his tip against you to get himself wet, before lining up and pushing in, making you gasp and bury your head into the crook of his neck. "Oh, fuck, Leon."

"Shit, you feel so good." He grunted, starting to move his hips, gripping onto the flesh of your hips, you held onto his arms, feeling his muscles flex and move. His thrusts were hard and fast, the room was filled with the sound of his hips meeting your skin, the squelching sound of you both, his grunts, your whimpers, his name constantly on your lips, his praises and his dirty words, all his sweet nothings that felt so real. Fuck, he was such a good liar.

"Leon-" You moaned, squeezing his arms.

"Give it to me, sweetheart."

"Oh, Leon-!" You cried out as you came, tightening around him, feeling him twitch inside you and warmth filling you from the inside. He slowed his pace, riding out your orgasms and then slowly pulled out, collapsing on the bed next to you, quickly getting a towel to wipe you both up. He slips back into bed, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Leon…?” You ask quietly a few minutes later. He hums in response. “What are we?” You felt his body tense up instantly from beneath you.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“I mean… we’re basically cohabiting instead of being roommates.” He doesn’t reply. “Let me ask you an easier question. Do you like me?”

“Of course I do.”

“More than friends?”

He sighs. “Why don’t you just go to sleep? We can talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

You nod, trying to remain optimistic about it. You doubt there’s a chance he doesn’t like you unless he’s an utter sociopath. The way his arms wrap around you now must mean something, how he strokes your hair as you fall back to sleep.

Little did you know, Leon got barely any sleep tonight. Maybe managing to get a light rest at 5 am. He should’ve expected the question, but he didn’t. Of course, his luck evading it had run out, did he really expect he’d continue like this forever? 

He hated the idea of talking about this, he hated the idea of talking about any of his feelings. Every relationship she had ever had in his life, his parents, mission partner, his ex-girlfriends had only ever left him or died. He knew he had been lying to you as well, the nature of his job he wouldn’t even be able to disclose to you. And it would only put you in danger, no matter how much your laughter warmed his heart, your presence at night shielding him from his night terrors, the way your small little intricacies and-

He hated the idea of falling in love again, but he already knew it was too late. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let this go on this long.

The next morning, he woke up at 9 and couldn’t get himself back to sleep, laying there regardless to give your pretty head a soft pillow. You only woke up 30 minutes later, squeezing your arms around him and propping yourself up on his chest to kiss his nose.

“Morning.”

…

After breakfast, you both ended up spending the whole day on the couch watching movies and then reading. Getting some food ordered to the house as you lazed around in pyjamas, but you could now feel a slight tension from Leon. He didn’t return as many of your touches or show as much emotion. 

You put your book down, looking up at him. 

“So my question.”

“What question?”

“The one I asked last night.”

“Oh… That question,” He sighs and closes his book, looking you in the face. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Well, flatmates with benefits… I guess the thing I’m really getting at is that I like you a lot, and I think we should be more than that.”

The moment of uncomfortable silence rips you apart slowly. When he looks at you, he can see Ada, Claire, his ex, every single woman who has ruined him, every single time it’s never worked out. He can see the pain on your face when he eventually tells you who he’s working for, and he can see the pain on your face now. 

He shifts his eyes down, and his next words come out slowly, thinking deeply about his response. “You want me… But you wouldn’t want us…”

“What? Leon, I love what we have. I love us right now.” You say, holding his hands, looking into his eyes deeply as he looks back up at you. 

“Then we can keep what we have.” He says, softly.

“Right… Okay… I’m sorry I think I was just getting the wrong idea.” You say, leaning back on the coach defeatedly, out of it as you think back disappointedly. There’s no way you could have gotten the wrong idea, were you an idiot?

“Please don’t take it the wrong way.” He said, sitting up to cup your face, only this time you sat there still, no reaction, so unlike you, it already hurt him and he should’ve expected this, yet he can’t get over it. “I like you so much, I think you’re wonderful. And it’s me, it’s not you. You don’t want me. You know how often I’m out with my job.”

“So am I, I just thought we’d go together well. Low maintenance relationship, similar dedication to our jobs, our holidays usually line up as well.”

“But that could change at any time.” He sighs deeply. “I just don’t think that it’s a good time for me to get into a relationship, as much as I would love to, with you.” He watches you bite your lip, nodding your head slowly. For fucks sake, how is it that he manages to ruin every good thing in his life? To hurt every good thing in his life when he knows that this couldn’t go anywhere? Now he’s fucking lying to you too, relationships scare him more than anything, he hasn’t even thought about one in the last 6 years, he couldn’t even admit to himself how much he loved you.

“I understand.” You said, standing up, he held your wrist stopping you from walking off.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t want to hurt you.” He knew he could die at any time, the fact he was still alive was a ridiculous stroke of luck, and it had been so long, that he didn’t even know if he was capable of loving someone anymore, it was already so confusing. “Please don’t let this affect you.”

“Hurt me? How could you possibly hurt me?” You said, frustrated with the vagueness of everything he’s said, left wondering with festering feelings and no idea what was going on. You knew something was off, you could sense it in his tone, something you had too much experience with dealing with, interrogations. 

“I wouldn’t be a good boyfriend.”

“Well that’s a lie, you’ve acted like a good one and we’re not even dating, so what are you not telling me, Leon?”

“What?” He said, incredulously.

“You’re hiding something.” His gut twists, but he can act naturally. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Is it another girl? Have you been lying?”

“No!”

“Then what is it? I’m not stupid, with all this vagueness you’re giving me, skipping around the real reason.” Fuck. He needs to come up with something. 

“I’m not.”

“Say it.” 

“I don’t-” His eyes drop down to your wrist, he was holding onto, seeing a deep scab under your shirt - his instincts take a hold of him, lifting up the sleeve and seeing the amalgamation of cuts, bruises, you pull your hand away straight away. “What is that?” He says, worried. 

“It’s not important.”

“Is that what you didn’t want me to see last night? There’s more, isn’t there?” 

“There’s not- It’s just.” He stands up, stepping towards you, and you back yourself into a wall. He puts his hand out for your other arm, not saying a word. 

“Why do you care? I’m not anything to you.” He keeps his hand out, wordlessly. “Leon.” You say, warningly. You try to sidestep him but he grabs both of your wrists, you break yourself out effortlessly, and he raises an eyebrow at how you’ve done it so easily, with the exact military technique. He slams his hand against the wall to stop you from leaving, you try to step under, getting stopped by him again. 

“What are you hiding?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything. All you’ve been doing to me is lying.”

“Show it to me.”

“Why?”

“I want to see what happened.” His hand grabs your wrist again, roughly to an extent that you can’t overpower. You quickly knock your legs between his, knocking him on the floor with his grip still tight on your wrists so you fall with him. How do you know how to do that? He thinks, and with such a graceful agility and power like you do this every other day. He rolls over, his weight on your waist so you really can’t move. To try to flip him with your hips but he keeps himself down, and although he was expecting it, you manage to do it again although with some strain. 

He grabs your ankle as you try to quickly run off him, quickly putting you underneath him again, keeping his pressure firmly on your hips and your wrists above your head. And how does he know how to detain people so easily? It’s not just his strength, it’s his calculated movements. 

“Don’t you dare.” His hand pulls up your shirt, to his absolute horror a bruise so dark it’s basically black covers half of your stomach, cuts on every inch, some long and deep. He had seen your scars, but this was fresh. 

“What is this?” He says, looking at you. He had seen some cuts and bruises on your thigh last night, which were ignored, but it was nothing compared to your top half. You turn away, refusing to look at him in frustration.

“I told you to stop.”

“What is this? What happened?” You don’t answer. “Who did this to you?” You manage to split you arms apart, breaking out of his hold, and flipping him over again, taking all of your strength.

“Leon, please. Stop it. Haven’t you hurt me enough today?” He holds your thighs down against him, not letting you get up. 

“Do you honestly think I’m enjoying this?! Do you honestly think I enjoy hurtning you?!” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Please tell me, Y/n. I can’t look at you like that, I’m sorry, I can’t. I care about you.”

“I got mugged on my business trip and I thought I could fight back because of some stupid self-defence classes!” Is what you manage to come up with. “Now can you fucking leave me alone?!” You rip his hands off of your legs, finally getting up, you feel him coming up behind you and you slap his arms away. You see a call on his phone on the couch, you stare at it until it stops ringing. Hunnigan. Then two messages. ‘Call me asap.’ ‘I need you.’

“I’m so fucking stupid.” You said, walking back to your room. 

“Let me explain.”

“I’ve seen enough.”

“Wait!” You slam your bedroom door, and he has no choice but to pick up that phone call. In a matter of minutes, he’s run out with his bag, and who knows where to. 

Hunnigan had called him about an emergency relating to a breakout of Las Plagas in the lab, and he needed to detain it. He texts you on his way there. 

‘She’s my colleague, it’s a work emergency.’ It’s been a matter of months and his job has already completely fucked up everything. But you? His head is rushing with you, with that little fight. Why were you so tactical? Why were you battered up? You must’ve been trained. He shakes his head, trying to chalk it up to some self-defence classes although it doesn’t feel right. He clears his head for the next few hours. 

You’re stuck in your room in shock about what has just happened. Rejection? Fine. Well, not fine, but it was better now than later. But he saw everything. What type of questions does that bring up? That came out of nowhere, everything built up to that 5 minutes where everything came out, every doubt brought up in those 5 minutes. And why is he trained? Dear lord.

He tries calling you, sending you a message on his way there. You don’t even know if you believe him, she might be why he doesn’t want to commit. You groan, calling Jill.

“Hey, it’s early, you alright?” She asks. 

“Are you free?” 

“Yeah, I’m going out with Carlos to the shooting range. Wanna come?”

“I’ll be over in 10.”

“What’s up?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there, it’s a lot.”

“Alright, love you, bye.” You hang up the phone, getting out immediately before you can let yourself think any more about it. Jill had no idea what you worked as, making it only more difficult to try explain things. She was waiting outside her house for you to give you a hug as soon as you got out of the car. 

“Is it Leon?” She said, knowingly. You nod. 

“Oh God, what did that idiot do now?”

“He’s hiding something from me.” Her stomach dropped, Jill may not have known about you, but she knew Leon’s job and every single detail, the fact he had somehow gotten you to catch on was even more concerning given how good he was at hiding things, although she knew how perceptive you could be, maybe it wasn’t a good idea letting you both meet each other. 

“What do you mean?”

“He’s, I don’t know… He’s hiding something. I told him I liked him because we’ve been…”

“Sleeping together?” She finished. “Thought so, we’ll talk about that later. Continue.”

“He said you don’t want me, his job, something about how I wouldn’t want us, it was just all vague and I can just tell. Then he got a call from this girl named Hunnigan and he left straight away.” Relief washed over her, oddly. Hunnigan was a colleague, at least he wasn’t actually cheating, and you didn’t suspect him. 

“You think he’s sleeping around.”

“No… But, who gets a call from their coworker on a Saturday morning saying ‘come now, I need you.’?”

“I guarantee you he’s not sleeping with her, that’s his colleague and she’s a lesbian.”

“Well then I think he’s hiding something from me, I just don’t know what. And we got into a physical altercation.” Carlos came out, he was listening from the doorway. 

“He hit you?” He burst out. 

“Carlos!” Jill shouted, slapping the back of his head. 

“I wanted to hear the gossip for myself!” He said, bashfully. 

“Let’s just talk about this inside.” She said, letting you in. 

“No, he didn’t hit me but he grabbed my wrist when I was trying to leave and saw some bruises, we fought as he was trying to see my other wrists and… he’s trained?”

Carlos and Jill looked at each other worriedly, did he just get himself figured out? 

“How do you know he’s trained?”

“I took some classes and I was a cadet in secondary school. I can tell he’s literally trained, to perfection. So what the fuck? Is he cheating on me or is he a fucking… I don’t know, some kind of mercenary, assassin, agent?” You say, finally trying to put the dots together. 

“He was a cop.” Carlos said. 

“For 1 day.”

“He trained before that, and he was the top of his class. It makes sense.” You drag your hands down your face in frustration, leaning back on the couch. His training was almost 6 years ago, why would he ever remember it?

“What is going on?”

Jill sits forward. “You’re overthinking things. His coworker called him, and he was trained in the police force. Maybe he just doesn’t want a relationship?” Which would make sense, knowing Leon who’s afraid to hurt anyone, who would have to keep secrets from you for the rest of your life. 

“He’s told me.” Carlos butts in. “He’s had a lot of difficulty with past relationships because of his jobs, being a cop, and the one he has now. His ex, of how many years he had broken up with him when he became a cop. His other one died in Raccoon City, he doesn’t have a good track record.” He thinks for another second. “You promise me you won’t tell anyone because he’ll actually fucking kill me himself.”

“I swear.”

“He likes you, he’s in denial but I swear he does, he doesn’t shut up about you and whatever you guys have been running around doing.”

“And you didn’t tell me, Carlos?!” Jill shouts. “And neither did you tell me what was going on Y/n!”

“I said he’d kill me! Because you’d tell her!” She crosses her arms annoyedly, that’s going to be long for Carlos later. But secretly, at least you’re off of Leon’s case, of course they have to do his work for him. 

“He hasn’t admitted it to himself yet but he does. He’s scared of committing to someone else again and having the same thing repeat. He’s not with anyone else, he just doesn’t know what’s going on in his own head, I don’t blame him for everything he’s been through.”

You nod your head slowly. He wasn’t playing you, you’re still confused. “So what? What am I meant to do?”

“Just give him some time. Keep telling him. Try talk to him.”

“I… I don’t know if I can after what happened. I’m still mad at him, he tackled me for fucks sake, doing everything I told him not to. I’m still having doubts.” You end up going to the shooting range with them, agreeing to just try and take your mind off of him. You find yourself frustrated throughout the extension of it, it still hurts. 

… 

Leon was stuck on the truck to the lab, trying to clear his head, but he just couldn’t. You were trained, fine, you had an excuse for that as off as he felt forcing himself to believe it. Even worse, you wanted him as more than friends, he loved hearing those words come out of your mouth, but it terrified him. It didn’t matter anyway as he already ruined his chances. 

He thinks about messaging you again, but he can’t. Those cuts and bruises everywhere on you play on his mind like a constant film on repeat, pissing him off every time it flashed in his head, it was even worse every time he thought about the fact you could let yourself get hurt. The argument had him heated enough to take it out with a rampage at work. What was going on with you?

...

Part 2 guys? I don't know whether I should continue it or not.

[fandomloreblog]

i need post-dmc5 headcanons for nero im begging 🥀/lh

AAAAH COMPLETELY FORGOT TO SHARE THESE!!! I’ve been out of the country for the last week I forgot to feed le masses 🤣

This post also counts as my announcement that I am accepting post DMC headcanon requests now :3

⚔️ Post-DMC5 Nero Headcanons 🍇

Again! While these are takes for my DMC6 sequel, you are more than welcome to use these for any sort of fanart, fics, whatever! Just please tag me, not for credit or anything, just because I wish to see what I accidentally inspire in y’all! I’m parched for DMC content!

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD and Trauma from DMC4, but otherwise all fluff!

Probably has the healthiest body out of the whole Sparda family. While he is on the leaner side, both Kyrie and Vergil make sure he has a healthy diet (unfortunately). He and Dante have cheat days where they sneak out and order pizza or other junk foods. Somehow Vergil always finds out, though.

Takes on a more emo/punk attire after Vergil and Dante get back, piercings, lots of torn jeans and shirts, the works. Part of him did it to contrast with his dad’s more prim and popper attire, but another part of him did it because we wanted to.

Still rocking the faux hawk, only because he tried dying his hair a bit ago and realized that color DOES NOT come out of white hair without God themselves intervening, so Kyrie had to buzz it all off so it grow back normally. He cried and looked like a shaved kiwi for almost a month. Dante never let him live it down.

Ends up getting really into DIY stuff. Mostly it’s with clothes and outfits, such as cutting up his own jeans and shirts and styling them into something he’ll like, but he does end up helping Nico when making new devil bringers. Strictly in a cosmetic sense, she never lets him touch any of the mechanical components.

He tried doing that once and ended up causing the prototype she made to combust and nearly set the van on fire. Since then there has been a “Nero Isn’t Allowed To Touch Nico’s Shit” rule.

Preferably spends time with Kyrie when not doing missions for DMC. Kyrie went to college after the events of DMC 5, so whenever she’s busy with schoolwork or classes, he’s at the Orphanage in Fortuna he and Kyrie own, helping out and watching over the kids.

Inadvertently has become somewhat of a Credo figure to the orphans, which he’s extremely conflicted about. Technically he’s almost the age Credo was when he died. (Nero’s 25 ATP, Credo died at 26 in my lore)

Speaking of Credo- He’s still hung up over his death. He still blames himself for what happened, and it haunts him. On the worst days, he’ll end ip having nightmares of what happened, or worse. It usually ends with him just lying awake in the living room playing shitty videogames or watching some childish cartoon show.

Occasionally Vergil or Dante wake up and join him as well. They don’t judge or ask why he’s up, just if he wants some snacks or why he chose Power Rangers to watch or something.

Kyrie also occasionally catches these moments. She usually just gives him hugs and cuddles and asks if he wants to talk. Sometimes they do, about how Credo was and funny memories. Sometimes they don’t, and just wallow in the silence until Nero starts crying. He’s been looking into possibly doing therapy, but then again, try explaining to a mental health professional that yes, demons are real, my older brother figure got killed by one, and no I’m not crazy.

Somehow has become MORE reckless after DMC5. Because all regrowing his arm taught Nero was that he could do that. And now he gives Vergil and Kyrie a heart attack whenever he comes back missing a leg or a hand because “Dante said the fish didn’t bite”.

Absolutely despises (and enjoys) how close Kyrie and Vergil have gotten. His girlfriend and his dad now tag team on him to take care of himself.

For hobbies, he mostly does artsy stuff. Sketching is his main go-to when bored, drawing concept art for a new Devil Bringer, or sneakily sketching one of the DMC members before they spot him. Has a whole sketchbook that is just pure Kyrie art which she stole from him. (He was embarrassed about it until she went “This is my most treasured possession now”)

He still also plays video games, mostly teaching Dante how some of them work. He’s basically the only computer literate one in DMC, so he’s the one that gets summoned when the wifi router breaks or when Dante can’t figure out the controls.

Also got into writing a little bit, mostly from Vergil. The poem book he left inspired him somewhat, so he started messing around with that. Vergil accidentally found one of Nero’s poems and assumed it was some lost page from his own book from “how good it was” which nearly made Nero cry. They occasionally have little poem/book club sessions.

Speaking of family- he ends up meeting Patty 3 days after the events of DMC5 because she kicked down their door with a sword questioning why Dante went AWOL. They end up getting along really well, with Patty teaching Nero most of what she knows about DIY. She started helping around at the mobile branch as an assistant, getting trained by Dante how to use some of the weapons until Dante says she’s “demon ready”.

He’s also been looking more into his mother and her disappearance. Not out of a familial sense, more so as just a way to get answers on his family tree and genealogy. He honestly assumes her to be dead, but he doesn’t verbalize it after seeing how hung up on LIR Vergil was. Also because a small part of him wants her to be alive too.

An even smaller part wishes that if she were alive, for her to come back and they could all be a proper family.

[threewaywithdelusion]

If AFTG was set in the world of The Hunger Games:

Allison is from District 1. She’s a career from the district that makes luxury goods and it explains why her parents are so image-obsessed. Her district-partner, Seth, died in her arms during her games. Many of the Ravens are from 1 or the other Career districts, 2 and 4.

Kevin and Riko are from 2. Two is the darling pet of the Capitol and they’re “brothers” who win consecutive years (they’re Cashmere and Gloss, but from 2). The Moriyamas were a Capitol family who got stuck in 2 when the borders closed (they moved in the opposite direction as the Plinth family). Kayleigh Day was the victor of the first Hunger Games (or maybe the 10th? Maybe she’s this world’s Lucy Gray, who accidentally transformed the Games for years to come and who disappeared mysteriously). The Moriyamas took in Kevin when Kayleigh died, which is how Kevin and Riko grew up as “brothers.”

Renee is from District Three, breeding ground for technology and rebels. The Capitolites love her because she’s a good girl, a model victor. She also makes concessions to Capitol fashion in a way most other victors don’t (rainbow hair). But it’s all a façade to hide her aid to the rebellion. Laila could also be from Three, which is why she has mysterious connections even though she’s not a Career. She’s tied to the rebel network from birth because her father is neck-deep in the plot.

Jean and Elodie are from District 4. A Career district, but not as highly valued as 1 and 2. Jean goes to the Games at 16 and emerges victorious. Elodie is reaped two years later, when Jean, 18 and a Victor, can do nothing to stop it. He cannot help her escape his fate. He mentors her and he watches her die.

Cat’s from 6, transportation. Her family runs a mechanic’s shop and Cat drives an illegal motorcycle as a kid.

Matt is from District 7, lumber, which is why he’s so strong.

Andrew, Aaron, Nicky, and Katelyn are all from District 8, textiles. I imagine this is a district with a lot of child labour in factories and which is pretty poor. The only one of the four of them to go to the Games is Andrew. Aaron’s name was the one reaped. Andrew didn’t even volunteer. He just marched up there, claiming to be Aaron and has been living as his twin ever since. Andrew Minyard is the youngest victor to ever win the Games (he tied Riko for winning at 14, but Riko was almost 15 while Andrew was barely 14, and Riko had never gotten over Andrew "stealing" his achievement).

Neil is from District 10, livestock. His father is The Butcher in more ways than one. His father was a Peacekeeper who stayed in District 10 past his initial assignment and became a sort of hitman, taking orders from the Capitol and local authorities alike and killing for fun whenever he got bored. Jack is also from District 10, the year after Neil, and having to mentor him is making Neil reconsider taking up his father’s career.

Dan is from 11, agriculture and the first district to join 12 in the rebellion. She was an upset victory, because no one expected the girl from 11 to ever win anything. She grew up in the poorest part of town and, like girls from the Seam in 12, had to turn to sex work to survive. She’s a really good mentor and she often volunteers to mentor 12 when they need a someone, which means she mentors Robin alongside Andrew.

Robin is from 12. Twelve never had a victor (or has no living ones) the year Robin is reaped and someone from another district gets assigned to them. Andrew is Robin’s mentor, even though they’re from different districts.

Jeremy is from the Capitol. He’s not a victor, because he would never be reaped. He comes from a prestigious Capitol family, one that didn’t even turn to cannibalism or sympathize with the rebels during the Dark Days. But he’s the Sejanus Plinth black sheep of his family and he’s entirely opposed to the Hunger Games — he joins the rebels as an inside man.

Others:

Given the gender situation in Panem, Cody’s either from 12 (and Covey) or 1. Either way, their gender is looked at with complete bewilderment in the very binary games, but is viewed as either a weird cultural aspect of the the Covey or something that’s just “the latest fad” in 1. If Cameron Winters also exists, then they have to be from 1.

***

The Mentors:

Tetsuji mentors 2. Maybe he’s eventually hired as a Gamemaker, but maybe the main branch of the Moriyamas family never left the Capitol and it’s Kengo/Ichirou who are Gamemakers.

Wymack is either a mentor in 8 (Andrew) or 11 (Dan). He knocked Kayleigh Day up on her victory tour and never found out about Kevin’s existence, until the day Kevin volunteered for the Hunger Games. He doesn't know he's Kevin's father until after the rebellion starts.

Rhemann is a mentor in Three and is a rebel (this world's Beetee).

***

Kathy Ferdinand is Caesar Flickerman.

***

Victors by year:

60: Drake Spear (18)

61: Thea (18)

62: A male career, age 18, to balance out all the younger winners from non-career districts on this list. Grayson Johnson maybe.

63: Renee Walker (15)

64: Riko Moriyama (14)

65: Kevin Day (15)

66: Allison Reynolds (17). Seth Gordon (17) is her district-partner, but he dies.

67: Dan Wilds (17)

68: "Aaron" Minyard (14)

69: Laila Dermott (16)

70: Matt Boyd (18)

71: Jean Moreau (16) -- Zane goes in this year too, becomes an ally to Jean because Jean's a Career and he wants to join the Career Pack, then tries to kill Jean in his sleep.

72: Neil Josten (17)

73: Catalina Alvarez (18)

74: Robin Cross (14) and Elodie Moreau (13) are both reaped. Both die. Jean, Andrew, and Dan are their mentors and grow closer. Jean stops trying to be good after Elodie dies and throws his lot in with the rebels. The Mockingjay is... Lucas Johnson? Cody Winters? Or maybe Robin shouldn't die and should be the Mockingjay instead, with Andrew as her Haymitch.

75, Quarter Quell: Final ages for everyone the year of the 75th Hunger Games: Drake (33), Thea (32), Renee (27), Riko (25), Kevin (25), Allison (26), Dan (25), Andrew (21), Laila (22), Matt (23), Jean (20), Neil (20), Cat (20). Robin, if she's alive, (15).

[softnspiky]

Trafalgar Law Headcanons

(That no one asked for)

☆ He has generally good hygiene and showers often, but Law is bad about washing his hair. It feels like a waste of time, since he wears a hat constantly. He uses a lot of dry shampoo to look presentable. Everybody has one hygiene thing they're lazy ab, and for Law, it's his hair.

☆ Socially awkward. Anytime this man has rizz, it's because he rehearsed in his head beforehand, or got lucky/accidental. (It's ok, we love him anyway)

☆ Carries hand sanitizer (he gets unscented, but bonus points if his significant other gets him one of those glittery rubber holders in the shape or a polar bear or something, and gets some scented ones for him to try. If people comment on what smells so good, he never admits that it's his hand sanitizer, but he DOES use them and secretly likes them.)

☆ He's highly perceptive/tuned in to the people around him. He may not be participating in the conversation, but he's following every word and picking up on emotional queues from people's tone. (This is bc of his time in the Doflamingo family. I headcanon Robin this way, too. They developed this habit to survive.)

☆ Wants to be COOL (if the tattoos aren't evidence enough, look at how this man presents himself.) If his design didn't have to be re-drawn so much, I fully believe it would include more jewelry: rings, necklaces, bracelets, a belt chain. This man shops at hot topic; have you seen his under-eye makeup? But ye, very much wants to be perceived as cool, mysterious, and powerful.

*This is largly a coping mechanism he picked up bc of the Doflamingo family, where keeping up appearances and having a cool exterior was literally a method of survival.

☆ Calculation has become second nature to him in social situations, so it's hard for him to relax and "be himself" when he's in a safe space to do so. The Heart Pirates and the Straw Hats must often remind him. "It's just us, you're safe, no judgments here, relax," ex.

☆ Probably goes without saying, but he absolutely has trust issues and struggles to be vulnerable.

☆ In a relationship, his love languages would be quality time and acts of service (giving), and words of affirmation and physical touch (receiving).

☆ Law typically refrains from smoking or drinking alone, but he will sometimes partake if offered in a social setting.

☆ However, Law does drink caffeine excessively. Definitely has a caffeine addiction even though he knows it's bad for him. Tries to spread his caffiene into different formats bc it feels less like an addiction if he doesn't have to confront the "i had 3 monsters today" issue in his mind (because instead he had a monster and a coffee and tea and snacked on caffeinated chocolate.)

☆ He struggles with insomnia and has a hard time getting real deep sleep that's uninterrupted by unpleasant dreams or sounds from the crew. He's a light sleeper even without any caffeine and doesn't typically find much relief from sleeping.

☆ Sharing a bed would be a big thing for him in a relationship. He would sleep much more deeply with another presence in bed. A physical reminder of his safety keeps him grounded. (He slept so well when he traveled with Cora for this reason.) His s/o would also be able to help convince him to come to bed, simply to receive snugs. This has a positive impact on his overall mental and physical health.)

*I see Law not getting enough rest/not allowing himself to rest as a subconscious form of self harm/punishment from his survivor's guilt. :(

☆ He is a sucker for cute things. Look at Bepo. Heck, look at the Polar Tang. He tries to keep this under wraps bc it would humanize his mysterious, uncaring Surgeon of Death persona. Here's a list of things I think Law would secretly adore: beanie babies, keychains, patterened socks with sushi or Sanrio characters on them, *hidden under his boots and skinny jeans

☆ Law runs cold. Perhaps it's a side effect of his disease that never quite went away after he cured himself. I know he would be used to the cold after spending so much time in a submarine, but he's usually in a big coat of some kind regardless. At the very least, he has poor circulation to his feet. His s/o would be in for a shock, brushing up against his toes when sharing a bed. Those mfers are CLAMMY.

☆ Definitely has shrimp posture

☆ Has some mother hen habits as a result of being a doctor. He reminds his crew (through gritted teeth) to drink water, wear sunscreen and sunglasses, eat enough protien ex. They know it's his way of showing he cares for them, so they don't mind. He usually receives a chuckle followed by an "Aye-aye Captain".

☆ Law carries a fanny pack. (Hidden on his back beneath his coat) I cannot explain how I know this, only that it is true.

☆ I see him being a trinket guy. He has a drawer of random stuff that he's picked up from the islands he's been to. Bits of nature, ephemera. To the untrained eye, it's a drawer of useless items, but to him, they're mementos. Law doesn't have many good memories, or much of anything from his childhood, so he holds onto items that have significance, even if he probably doesn't need to. (Hence the hat) He does open the drawer from time to time and look through them, especially if he's feeling lonely.

☆ Despite this, he generally doesn't have a lot of possessions. He's used to traveling and wandering, not settling. He packs light, and most of his stashed items are back at the Tang. If he picks up keepsakes, they're nearly always pocket sized. (Fanny pack, I'm telling ya)

~~~

That's all for now! Lmk what you think in replies :>

The art is an edit of a piece by Gokujounomaguro on Twitter! They make sooo much gorgeous Law fanart 😍