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downbadf0rficppl · 8 months

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i didn't mean to love you so much

Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Summary: You don't know what you have until it's gone. Or is it?

Word Count: 6.0K

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It took 3 days to arrive on D'Qar.

The Naboo N-1 Starfighter that you stole from the junkyard on Bracca was one wrong move away from falling out of the sky. Even with your constant mid-flight repairs, only prayers to the Maker were keeping her together. The BB unit you found kept you posted with constant, and frankly worrying, updates on how the ship was holding. Let's just say the plane was soon to be out of use.

When you entered the atmosphere in D'Qar, the landing gear erupted into flames, eliciting a series of explicit beeps from the BB unit. If not for the life-or-death in front of you, you would have burst into a fit of giggles.

Instead, you just grit your teeth: "Happy beeps, bud."

You and the BB unit left the carnage that used to be a starfighter flaming in the trees, bickering the whole time, and heading towards the Resistance Base. Towards new beginnings. Towards freedom.

Bracca was a junkyard, where scavengers and smugglers looked for parts to sell to the highest bidder. It was dark and dangerous at the best of times, and work was never-ending. It wasn't the kind of place you would want to grow up, but it was better than Kessel. Anything was better than Kessel.

It took a week to get to the Rebel base. Your head throbbed painfully with each passing day, with hardly any food in your system and little water to quench your thirst, the journey to salvation seemed almost unattainable. You had thanked the Maker for rain when it first came, but after 4 days of non-stop rain, you had cursed the skies for it. It only seemed to fall harder.

By day 5, the BB unit was running out of power, its movements slower than before. It was far too heavy for you to carry and without it, you would never reach the Resistance base. There were no sarcastic quips or complaints for its master anymore. No, the two of you traveled in silence, aside from the odd groan from either one of you. Its tiredness mimicked your own. You could only pray that the base would come into view soon. You weren't sure how much longer you would last.

When the planes came into view, you almost cried with joy. With newfound energy, you and the BB unit near-ran the way to the tarmac runway that signaled life on this dratted planet.

And while the BB unit was welcomed with cheers and open arms, you weren't so lucky.

You were marched to the medical bay by two men almost twice your size, flanked on the left and the right so you couldn't run if you tried. Your heartbeat in your throat. Of course, the resistance had to be careful, but surely this was excessive.

After you received treatment for your assortment of cuts and burns, you were delivered to a small room, adorned with only a bed and curtains to block out the light. Before you could say anything, let alone protest, the doors shut, leaving you alone in a small cell deep in the heart of the Resistance base.

As terrifying as the whole situation was, when you laid your head to rest on the bed in the dingy room, sleep came. It beat thorns and nettles on the forest floor of D'Qar. It beat sitting upright for 3 days, trying to avoid meteors and Tie Fighters. It beat restless nights on Bracca, hoping to gather enough for a meal. Sleep came to you better than it ever had before, and you reveled in it.

You woke up to familiar beeping outside the large metal door.

"BB-3?" Your voice came out as a hoarse whisper. The beeping got louder, almost unbearably loud, "Calm down, bud. I don't know how to open the door."

"Step back." A male voice came from behind the door, startling you. You stumbled backward, falling on the floor as the whooshed open. A tall man stood there, and if he were surprised you were on the floor, he didn't show it.

You scrambled to your feet, brushing the dust off your clothes as BB-3 rolled in, circling around you like a vulture would his prey. The man stood there observing you and the droid got reacquainted, before clearing his throat.

"Vice Admiral Holdo would like to speak with you." His tone was authoritative. You didn't want to be on his bad side. He led you toward an office on the opposite side of the building, your legs shaking as you walked. He shot you a pitying glance as BB-3 followed at your heels, before returning his face to its emotionless expression. You hated it.

It must have been early, as only a few people were up, and those who were seemed to want to rather be asleep. But no one batted an eye your way, despite the grime you still felt clinging to your face, and the ripped clothes you were wearing. You wondered if this was normal to them. People coming home grimy, hurt, and disgusting.

Only one man seemed to notice you on your journey.

"Snap!" A voice called out to you. The man in front of you - presumably Snap - broke into a huge grin. "Long time, no see, buddy!" Snap clapped the other man on the back, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

You stood there as the other man regaled the story of whatever mission he'd been on to Snap, and for a moment, you thought you were forgotten.

Until he turned. His eyes seemed to scorch your soul with their searching gaze. It was heavy, but you felt safe under it. Almost as if you knew that he would do nothing to hurt you.

"Heard all about how this one came in yesterday." He stretched out his hand, "Captain Poe Dameron. Pleasure to meet you."

You shook his hand and returned the favour, telling you his name. He tested it on his tongue, repeating a few times. Once he seemed satisfied, Poe turned back to Snap.

"How come you got stuck on babysitting duty?" He asked, mirth dancing in his eyes. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes or butt in - you wanted these people to like you. Sarcasm could be saved for later.

"Kid brought back my droid."

"BB-8 told me the story. Something about running from a resistance fighter, blowing up a depot train," you kick BB-3 gently, "and exploding an N-1. It was impossible. Maybe you should get your droid checked for gossiping?" Snap punched him in the arm, "Hey, it was just a suggestion." Poe grinned widely, "Oh, and the shootout. How could I forget the shootout?"

"It wasn't a shootout." You slapped your hand to your mouth. You hadn't meant to say that out loud. So much for saving the sarcasm for later.

Poe turns to look at you. "Oh?" his grin infuriatingly wide. "That's not what the droid said."

"It wasn't a shootout, we were shot at." Your confidence floods back into you. "And the depot train wasn't us. Wrong place, wrong time. Am I right, bud?" You glare down at the BB-unit.

He mumbles something about ruining a good story before whirring off to stop behind Snap. Stupid BB-unit.

"Guess you're more interesting than I gave you credit for kid." Snap stepped towards you, hand coming to rest on your shoulder. "The name's Temmin, Temmin Wexley. But everyone calls me Snap."

"Pleasure to meet you Snap," you echo Poe's words from earlier.

Your meeting with the Vice Admiral went well. She believed your story, well corroborated by both BB-3 and the bounty on your head placed by a well-meaning neighbour. She cleared you to start training with the resistance, though you surprised both her and Snap when you asked to be a mechanic.

Though when you started working on ships, it was clear to see why. It was almost like there was a secret language that ships spoke that only you seemed to understand. You scoffed at that. Beginner's luck you called it. Still, there was no denying that you loved working on the ships and that you were good at it too.

Months went by and you settled into the routines of the Resistance. You were given a room closer to the other mechanics, who, despite the constant tension of competition, seemed to like you well enough. You often sat with them for meals, although passing up on opportunities to spend more time with them. They seemed content with that. You got used to the early morning wake-up calls when the sun streamed through the window and urgent repairs needed to be made. You learned to enjoy the quiet evenings when everyone else had closed up shop and you could finetune repairs for those who needed it. You finally felt like you had a purpose. It was freeing.

Snap kept you up-to-date on the comings and goings of the First Order - never in much detail of course, but enough to satiate your desire to know more. In return you smuggled him extra jogan fruitcake when it was served while he was away. Sometimes, in thanks for saving your life, you made extra updates and repairs to his X-Wing when he came back from long missions - more often than not to save his those extra hours of tedious work.

Black Squadron had come home after a week long mission the night before. You had worked late into the night the day before, and you were now regretting it. Blue squadron had come into contact with a few Tie Fighters on night patrol, and the damage was hair-pullingly extensive. You were in for a long day. It didn't help that you could barely keep your eyes open, hands glued to a cup of Caf that was doing little for the tiredness clouding your brain. You didn't even notice Snap come storming in.

"WHO WORKED ON MY SHIP LAST NIGHT?" He yelled over all the mechanics. Shit.

You had done some basic repairs for him the evening before last and had spent the better part of last night finishing up repairs and repainting his ship. You knew how pilots were with ship paint. Maker, you were screwed.

After a few moments of silence, you decided it was better to own up than let everyone suffer. "I did, Wexley."

He slowly turned towards you, before grabbing you and pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, lifting your feet off the ground. You were shocked. He was happy - no, elated. The rest of the mechanics, equally as confused as you, turned back to their work, ignoring the scene in front of them.

He still had you gripped tightly when Poe walked in. "Easy tiger, you'll kill the greenie. What did she do to deserve your wrath?"

"My wrath?! No, no, no, Poe. This kid is my new favorite person on base."

"I'll try not to take offense to that," Poe grumbled jokingly, "What did she do to deserve such high praise then?"

"Have you seen my ship? She's beautiful, more beautiful than Jess that one time." He started, about to regale a story, you did not need to know. You elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"My sentiment exactly," Poe said to you, giving you a fist bump before walking over to Snap's X-Wing, closely followed by Snap himself. You trailed behind them, still unsure of what was going on. Poe dragged his finger across the paintwork, "He has a point though. I've never seen Snap's X-Wing look this good." Poe turned towards you, his warm brown eyes sparkling with pride. "Good job, Greenie."

You smiled gently, before turning away. It was high praise from Captain Poe Dameron, flyboy of the resistance.

"Maybe I'll snap her up, you know, give her a real ship to work on?" Poe said, his flirting tone making an odd double entendre that made your face light up in flames.

"Not a chance. Kid, you're my new mechanic. Officially."

"What if I don't want to be?" You countered, your sarcastic tone making both Snap and Poe burst into laughter.

You accepted the role though. There was no world in which you didn't. You enjoyed the perks of being Snap's favored Mechanic - you could sleep in more often, you were privy to more information than the average mechanic. He would tell you if he was to leave the base soon, you were often told just how bad a situation was. Snap trusted you. And if Snap did, so did the others.

'The others' being the other pilots on Black Squadron: Jessika Pava, Karé Kun, L'ulo L'ampar. And of course, Poe Dameron. It was almost like you couldn't escape him. His infectious laugh, his boyish grin, his boisterous personality. His ability to make even the most mundane task into a story for the ages.

No wonder he was so popular.

You began to sit with them in the cantina and you frequently ended up leading the repairs on Black Squadron, no one else being as trusted as you. You opened up to them slowly, telling them about growing up on Kessel and being brought to the Scrapper’s guild on Kessel. You told them the truth about your escape - Poe ended up on the floor laughing, saying “the real story’s so much better, BB-3”. They found out about your impeccable aim after a fun night in the cantina that ended in a tense game of holodarts. They became your family - more of a family you had ever had in your life.

And while, you saw Snap, L’ulo and Karé as your brothers, you could not say the same for Poe. Poe was a flirt, everyone knew that. But as you got closer and closer, it was harder to ignore the way you're heart sped up when he looked at you. How you're palms grew clammy when he smiled in your direction. How his praises and compliments made your knees weak. God you were in love with him.

You knew that half the women on the base had either slept with him or wanted to, and yet not one of them got even a second of his time. None of them except you. Poe would walk you to your room in the evening, and to the cantina in the morning, regaling stories of his adventures before he knew you. He’d bring you caf when you were working late, and sit under the stars with you at the end of a long day. He’d tell you stories of Yavin 4 and his mother. He showed you the ring that hung on the end of his necklace.

“I want to give it to the one, you know?”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Captain.”

He groaned, “Don’t rank me.” You just smiled.

“So, no lucky lady in your life, Dameron?”

“No lucky man in yours, greenie?”

You scoffed, “If there was ever a chance, they’ve all been scared away by you.”

“Good.”

You laughed it off, but inside your guts twisted at the idea that Poe was happy you were single. Your insides warmed at the idea that he might just feel the same.

The next morning, you walked out of your room to the sight of Poe sneaking out of the room opposite yours. Half-naked. His eyes widened at the sight of you, and your hand quickly hid your eyes from the view. Your heart dropped. He lied to you.

Poe sought you out later on in the day. He came up behind you on the landing deck, with a cool glass of jogan juice in hand. You had stripped out of your mechanics jumsuit, the arms tied loosely around your waist. Your tank top was almost a shade darker with the sweat of exertion and ridiculous heat. And yet you declined it, your face barely concealing your childlike annoyance. You knew it was stupid. You and Poe were barely friends, let alone anything that would justify your anger.

“I’m sorry.” Poe huffed, still standing underneath you in the beating sunshine. You were surprised: Poe Dameron never apologises.

“For what?” You said, your back still facing him. He sighed - he didn’t like it when anyone was annoyed at him. Least of all you.

“For this morning.”

“Why does it matter, Poe? You can sleep with who you want to.” You said, anger colouring your voice.

“It matters,” he yells, “because it upset you. Because, for whatever reason, the idea of me sleeping with other people, made you mad at me.”

His obliviousness tugged at your heartstrings, as if to say ‘he doesn’t feel the same’.“I’m not mad that you’re sleeping with other people.”

“Then why are you ignoring me?”

“Because you lied to me, Poe.” You say, dropping down from the ladder, sweat dripping down your back.

“What are you talking about?”

“You said there was no one special in your life.”

“There isn’t.” You raise a brow, before grabbing the glass of jogan juice from his hand. “Just because we had fun for a night, doesn’t mean I’m getting down on one knee.”

“I think you’ve done it enough times for that to be proven, Poe.”

His cheeky smile returned, “Glad we’re back on first name terms.”

You shook your head at him, “For the record, if I ever catch you sneaking out of a room in my wing again, I’ll skin you myself.”

“If you catch me you say? Well, I like myself a challenge.” You slap him on the head, before climbing back up the ladder.

“Leave me alone, Poe. I don’t need your love troubles plaguing my every hour.”

“There’s no place for things like love in the middle of a war, greenie. First thing you learn in a place like this.”

If he hadn’t been walking away, he would have heard your heart burst into a thousand tiny pieces. Maybe it was for the best if you didn't love him.

Instead of wallowing in undeserving heartache like an idiot, you forced yourself to forget all about the way Poe made your heart feel. He became just another friend, pushed so far into the friendzone that was no conceivable way out. To his credit, you didn’t hear of another escapade of his again. He probably just got good at hiding them.

That always got difficult when he was sent on week-long missions. Your heart would migrate into your throat and even swallowing became difficult. Your mind would swim with worry, all for him to come back completely fine, his ship always seemed to come home the least scathed. A fact for which your heart was grateful.

"Hey, flyboy," you called, as you walked into the cantina. There were less than 10 people in the whole room - probably due to the ungodly hour of the day.

Poe was sat in the corner, the light of his datapad shining on his face. He ran his fingers through his hair. It was unusually disheveled, which could only mean one thing. He was nervous.

You walked up to him. Evidently, he hadn't heard you from across the room, because when you came up to him and rested your hand on his shoulder, he flinched and grabbed your hand. You winced at his tight grip as he turned to face you.

Poe released your hand when he saw it was you. He leaned back into your chest, eyes fluttering shut. "I'm sorry," he whispered, gently.

You grabbed the datapad from his hands, and placed it face down on the table, "It's ok. What's going on?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

You absent-mindedly run your hands through his hair as his head remained leaned against your chest. "It's not nothing. Is it a mission? You're leaving again soon?"

He hummed in agreement.

"You're leaving today, aren't you? That's why you're up early."

"Why do you think Snap got you to wake up early? You're not just a sight for sore eyes, you know."

His words made you blush. Never have you been more glad that he isn't staring right at you - it would give your heart’s deepest darkest desires away.

He left that afternoon. After you completed routine checks for him, he was off on a top-secret adventure. Sometimes, it was easy to hate his rank, because it made it so hard to find out where he was, or what he was doing. But as always, you let him go and, as always, you prayed he'd come home safe. To you. You always pray he comes home safe to you.

Hours turned to days, days turned to weeks. And while it wasn't unheard of for Poe to be gone this long, your heart could barely take him being gone for a day. That's the price of being in love. You'd never thought of yourself as still being in love with Poe until he left on that mission. You'd never thought much of the way your heart still raced when he talked to you. You'd never thought much of the way your heart still ached when he left for missions. You'd never thought much of the way your heart still burst when he smiled at you. But without him there, it's like your heart could not find a reason for beating.

You continued on with your job, trudging through daily repairs and meals, trying to keep your mind away from Poe. You forced a smile when you talked to Snap - missing Poe hit him just as hard as it hit you. You forced a smile when you taught new recruits - you couldn't afford to have them hate you just because the Captain was missing. You forced a smile when you came down for dinner - there was no use in moping around in the middle of a war. But when you were in the comfort of your own room, you let the smile fall and the tears drip down your face. You cried almost every night for the first week that he was gone, trying to reconcile your newly found feelings and your newly lost friend.

It was a surprise to everyone when Poe crash-landed back on D'Qar with burns and cuts littering his body. You were up at an extremely early hour as working on Snap's ship when he landed, and you were immediately filled with concern. A tight knot wound its way around your throat, as you watched the scene unfold. BB-8 was nowhere to be seen. The ship is smoking dangerously, and parts of it are falling off, but most worrying of all, Poe was struggling to get out of the cockpit. You quickly threw yourself onto the X-Wing, hitting the emergency ejection latch with the spanner in your hand. The cockpit lid flew open and Poe climbed out, coughing heavily and clutching his side. Snap came running out of the base, and grabbed Poe's arm. You ran up and grabbed the other, and the two of you dragged him towards the med wing.

Two nurses snapped him up, cleaning his wounds and applying bacta spray where necessary. Snap turned away, mumbling something about an early morning briefing, but you stayed rooted to the spot. You couldn't take your eyes off his broken state, and tears slipped out of your eyes before you could control them. After a beat, you spun around on your heel and sprinted to your room.

When the door clanged shut, you slumped onto the floor and burst into tears. You couldn't bear to see Poe in pain. You hated yourself for not being strong enough to fight through your tears to be with him. And you hated yourself for still being in love with him, when you promised you would be. When your datapad lit up with tasks for the day, you made the rash decision to call in sick. In the time you had been on the base, you had never called in sick. This job was your lifeline, your passion, and nothing, not even illness, would affect that. At least, that's what you had thought. You spent the majority of the week in that same spot, tears subsiding when you became so dehydrated that your body refused to let you cry.

On the fifth day of your hibernation, you finally left your room, having showered and gotten ready. Few people were on the base, apart from the mechanics and medics, and the injured - which included Poe. Given the lack of a real threat in the vicinity, General Leia had given the day off. You didn’t want to relax. You couldn’t relax.

You snuck over to where Poe’s beat up X-Wing was parked, and the sight of it almost made you tear up. The memories hit you like a brick. Poe barely limping towards the med wing. BB-8 being carried to the droid repair room. Fire extinguishers coating the X-Wing with hopes that it may be able to fly again. You got to work.

You were finally satisfied as the sun set over the vast treescape of D'Qar, covered head to toe in oil and grease. After some gentle coaxing by Paige - the only one aware of your all-consuming feelings for Poe - you agreed to grab something small to eat with her.

What you didn't sign up for was to see a broken and battered Poe sitting at the table, laughing at some stupid joke that Snap had probably made. He looked up as you walked in, almost as if he was expecting you. His eyes met yours, and you felt the tight knot in your throat begin to form again - just as it had the morning Poe crash-landed on the base.

Poe tried to lift his arm up to wave but winced at the action, the stitches keeping his wounds bound together stretching at the extreme action. You pressed your lips into a tight smile, willing the Maker to take your tears away. Paige handed you a bottle of water, before leading you toward the table. She left you standing in front of the table, where you awkwardly shifted your feet.

"Gonna sit down?" Snap asked, mirth dancing behind his eyes, "Or are you planning to put on a show? Wouldn't put it past you to have hidden another talent."

You smiled weakly, sitting down next to Jess and unscrewing the cap on the water bottle you had been given. Jess leaned over and whispered gently, "Feeling ok? Paige came up to ask if you were ok when you didn't show up at drills this morning."

"Yeah, felt a bit under the weather after morning rounds."

"Probably the shitty sleep you've been getting worrying about this guy." Karé said, pointing his knife at Poe.

Poe looked at you, his eyes wide, but you tried to brush off Karé's words, sarcastically replying, "Oh please Karé, the only thing you're worried about is whether or not they have that drink that you like from Sorgan, which is disgusting by the way - I don't know how you can drink it."

Everyone laughs as Karé splutters about how delicious spotchka is, the anxiousness wracking your body easing its reins slightly. Under the table, you feel Poe's foot nudge yours gently. You smile lightly at him, careful not to let him have a good look at your red-rimmed eyes and splotchy face. As much as it shouldn't matter, you don't want him to know how much you care.

"You don't have to pretend you don't care for the captain, kid. You should have seen how she leaped to open the hatch Poe, something from a Naboo holodrama. Or one of those superhero films." Snap laughed, as your face burned red.

Poe raised his eyebrow, "Now that's something I would like to see. Maybe I'll get myself stuck in a cockpit again, just to see you in action." He laughs, but you don't laugh with him. You feel your chest tighten, and the knot in your throat return. Your vision clouds with tears, and you quickly got up, excusing yourself on the notion that your headache has returned, and that you should probably get some rest before drills the next day. You stumbled out of the cantina, breaking into a sprint as soon as you were out of sight.

Poe’s eyes followed you as you left, worrying tinting his gaze. The group had fallen almost silent at your abrupt exit, looking at where you’d run, before turning back to Poe. Snap slapped the back of his head.

“Why, in the Maker’s name, would you say that?”

“What?” Poe said, rubbing the back of his head. Jess gave him a pointed look, “What did I say?”

“You joked about getting hurt, Poe! Why would you do that?”

“He didn’t just joke about getting hurt, Wex! He joked about almost dying!”

"Oh please, it's not that big of a deal. Everyone knew it was a joke. Right?" No one looks at him. "Right?!"

Jess waves at Paige, whose eyes were trained at the door. She meekly walks over, leaning down to talk to Jess.

"Is she ok?" Paige asked, her eyes brushing over the group until they landed on Poe, "What did he do?"

Poe's eyes narrowed in confusion. "I'm so confused," he muttered under his breath.

"He made a joke.”

Snap butt in, “About almost dying."

Paige’s eyes widened, "You're not serious."

"Look, I don't know what's up with her today, but something tells me that that was the last thing she needed right now."

Paige turned towards Poe, "If you weren't injured right now, Captain, I would beat you up."

"Hold up. I don't even know what I did." He said, standing up. "I get that the joke was a little misplaced, but it was a joke. I didn't put myself in this situation willingly."

"We get it, Poe. But you haven't been here. She's literally been destroyed - she's barely sleeping, I barely see her come down to eat, she spends all her time working on different ships, drowning herself in work. Today was the first day in the year she's been here that she's called in sick." Paige said, her eyes flitting between Poe and the door. She was in a half-mind to run after you, to console you.

Poe beat her to it. He got up, ignoring the protest from his teammates, and headed towards your room. He knocked lightly on your door, hearing the gentle sobbing from your room.

His heart broke. He knocked again.

“I’m fine Paige, I just need sleep.”

“Nice to know you’d lie to Paige.” Poe said, his voice steady and gentle. You open the door to you room, the door whooshing up to reveal Poe in all his glory, “Would you lie to your Captain?”

“Don’t pull rank with me, Poe.” You joked as he bent to meet your eyes.

He reached out to caress his fingers against your cheek and wipe away the stray tears. You leaned your head into his hands, the callouses on his hands like comfort against your cheek. He touches his forehead to your eyes, his eyes closed as if he couldn’t quite believe you were here. That this was happening.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. Poe’s eyes met yours, softly searching for something. Answers, probably.

“Why are you sorry, darling?” The pet name gripped your heart, so familiar and yet so foreign. The tears begin to flow freely again. He soothed you, mindlessly carding his fingers through your hair, “Don’t cry, don’t cry.”

You look into his eyes, and can’t help but to sob harder. Why did you have to fall in love with him?

Your head curled into his chest, seeking the comfort only he could give. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He asked, whispering into your hair.

“I didn’t mean to.” You said through tears. Poe looked at you.

“You didn’t mean to what, love?” He asked. You repeated it over and over, your tears soaking through his shirt. He lets you cry until your weak, pulling you further into his arms.

He asks you again.

“I didn’t mean to love you so much.” You confessed through whispers. It was so quiet that you thought that Poe didn’t catch what you said.

His widened eyes told you otherwise.

“You…?”

“I love you.” You whispered.

“You-you love me?”

“I love you so much that whenever I see you my heart quickens until it’s uncomfortable.”

“Love -”

“I love you so much that my hands become so sweaty that I can barely keep a hold of my datapad.” You showed him your hands that were covered in a sheen. He gives you a watery laugh, before wiping your hands on his already soaked shirt.

“I love you so much that when you leave, I can’t bear to survive.”

“Love-” You interrupt him again.

“There’s no life without you, Poe.” Your voice broke as you dissolved into another bout of tears.

“Love, please.” Poe sighed, kissing your forehead, “Please, just-”

“I know. It’s a war. I shouldn’t have, but I did and I can’t help it. Please don’t hate me, please-”

Poe grabbed your face, pulling you into him. He grazed his lips over yours, before pulling away way to fast.

“I could never hate you, love.”

You pull him back towards you, smashing your lips onto his. He pulls you into his lap deepening the kiss further. You run your fingers through his hair, and over where the bandages cover his fresh wounds. Poe winced, and you pulled back.

“You should rest. And heal up.”

He looked at you with such adoration, that for a moment you thought you’d melt away. “I have the rest of forever to heal up. I want this now.”

“You have me for the rest of forever. I think you should heal up now.” He rested his forehead against yours, sighing and closing his eyes. You kissed his nose gently.

“The rest of forever is too far away.” He whispered.

“You made me wait for this long. I think you could wait for a little longer.”

“Only a little bit, love. Only for you.”

He stood up, holding his hand out to you. You grabbed it, and he pulled you to your feet. The sudden motion had you dizzy, head pounding due to the dehydration. He caught you gently, lifting you into his arms, before gently depositing you on the bed. He left light kisses on your forehead, and left with the promise of coming back with water and a little food.

He walked out of the mechanics wing and back towards the cantina, intent on his mission to get a little food and water into you.

The whole of black squadron watched him walk in. Poe nodded to them lightly, not knowing exactly what they had been expecting. Apparently it was enough for them, as they turned back towards each other.

He grabbed a small muffin and a bottle of water, before heading back to your room. He walked into see you asleep on the bed, and he couldn’t help but smile. God, she’s beautiful.

Poe sat down on the bed, rubbing your arm gently. You opened a bleary eye to see Poe crouched next to you, blocking the moonlight streaming in from the window. He pulled off his shirt, and lifted your head up to get you drink some water, before settling down next to you. You rested your head on his chest before falling back to sleep.

Poe moved under you, pulling his necklace from around his neck and placing it around yours. Your hand immediately migrated to the metal ring strung on the end. Poe froze. What if it’s too soon. He relaxed almost immediately, as your fist closes around his rings.

He relaxed, pushing his nose into your hair. You smiled as he whispered something that he probably only said because he thought you were asleep.

“I love you too."

fin.

buy me a coffee

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fuck-customers · 6 days

Note

I just need to vent about something that happened last week.

I work for an Airline at a small airport. Couple weeks ago, we had a flight come in, pretty late due to delays in the plane’s route. When it landed, it was super late, and the Pilots were going to time out. For some reason the Airport’s Weather system was down

Ops told us to proceed as normal. Pilots didn’t notify us anything was wrong until the end. We had all the bags loaded and passengers on and THEN they decide to tell us something is wrong :)))

Pilots time out, and the flight is pushed back to the next morning and we have to remove all the bags and passengers. Reaccommodate or refund those that want those options.

We unloaded the bags, and my coworker takes them to the baggage carousel. Then I go help unload the plane. Eventually it comes down to the wheelchair passengers, who always come off last. I took care of 5 of them. One at a time. Took them to the baggage carousel helped them get their bags, and take them to their cars separately. All 5, by myself

That matters because, once I help the final wheelchair passenger, my coworker that was putting the bags on the carousel takes off the bags that weren’t picked up, and drives them to our office so we can contact the passengers about their bags so they can get them.

As I come back inside after helping the final wheelchair passenger to their car, I hear a shrill yell from a woman standing by the Carousel. She yelled out to me asking where her bag was. I TRIED to tell her that after a bag has been on the carousel too long we take it off and back to our office. I say tried because she kept cutting me off yelling “Where’s my bag?”

This woman, who was not a wheelchair passenger, and was sitting in the front of the plane, so she was one of the FIRST to get off the plane, did not make it to baggage claim in time to get her bag. In the time it took to unload all 155 Passengers including the 5 Wheelchairs I did on my own at the VERY END, she was the only one not able to get her bags.

At this point it was 2 AM, I had been up since 6 AM, I was so close to just telling her to fuck off. But I bit my tongue and kept a professional attitude.

Once I was able to tell her that it’s being taken to our office, and if she follows me to the ticket counter I can help her. And she starts going off on me, asking why couldn’t we just leave it there. Why we take it back to the office, don’t we know they’re coming?

I did my best to keep calm and tell her that if she just comes with me to the ticket counter I can give her her bag.

I tried to explain our policy at the airport. First, we can’t just leave bags unattended, because we have to treat it as a threat or it could get stolen.

Then she asked why we can’t just pull it off and stand there with it. They do it at X Airport that is 10 times larger with 20 time more employees.

I explained to her we are not allowed to, it is airport policy and we could lose our SIDA privileges and even get a ticket. And on top of that, we are a team of 6 fucking people. We do not have the man power.

Eventually we make it back to the counter. I tell her to wait there as I go into the back to find her bag. I’m going through the bags left behind, I’m back there for less than a minute. Then comes this loud banging on the door.

She walked behind the ticket counter, and started slamming on the door so she could get her bag. She couldn’t even wait the 2 minutes it took me to find it.

I grab it, then go to the door she’s slamming. I open it and she almost hits me because she’s mid bang.

I ask her very politely not to do that or I will have to call the police. She just scoffs and asks for her bag. I ask for her ID to confirm the bag is hers, and she’s about to lose it. She was ready to blow and I was very much done with the situation. She started going off about how bad this airport was and how she’s going to blast us on social media.

She kept asking why we could take her bag to the back but not have anyone watch it at the carousel like Airport X does. I told her what I did before, We are not allowed to, it is airport Policy, and we don’t have the man power.

She said “No you just don’t care”

I was 🤏 this close to blowing up on her. I wanted so badly to lay into her. But I didn’t. I just kept calm, centered myself, and just let her go on with her day. Thankfully there were other passengers that saw and were understanding and helpful to me.

Anyway once that was all done I got her itinerary number and had her black listed from our airline. :)

I know I’m preaching to the choir here, but please for the love of god, if your flight gets canceled, don’t take it out on the ground crew. We want you gone just as badly as you do. We lose money on canceled flights, we lose hours, and it just makes our lives harder.

If you know anyone that acts like the ground crew has ANY control over the operations of the airline and abuses them, please slap some sense into them.

Posted by admin Rodney

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ladymunson · 1 year

Text

Mile High 18+

Fic summary: You Spot the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen in the business class lounge at the airport and then he happens to be on the same flight as you. Things are about to get very interesting.

A/N: This is a short one shot Drabble, there will be no additional parts. No use of y/n. No minors, shoo!

Warnings: strangers to lovers, SMUT 18+, mutual public masturbation, public nudity, airplane bathroom, unprotected sex (wrap it up!) cream pie.

Word count: 1244

I do NOT give permission for my work to be copied, translated or posted to any other platform.

Support content creators by hitting that reblog tab.

You arrive at Boston Logan airport an hour earlier than you need to, and spend time in the lounge after checking in. It’s mid evening so they offer you a glass of wine, business class sure has its perks. You take a seat at the bar and sip on your wine as people come in and out of the lounge. While waiting for your flight to be called, something catches your eye. He enters the lounge and stops, standing over by the door, his expensive suit opening up as he stretches revealing his tight and broad shoulders. He’s fucking gorgeous! And possibly the sexiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. His beard full and luscious, his eyes a sparkling blue matching his tie.

He looks around the lounge and stops when he sees you. The top button of your white blouse is open, he catches a glimpse of cleavage, his eyes widen as he continues staring at you.

Your black skirt was short enough to reveal your thighs and he looks at your legs, the black stilettos on your feet... Hunger in his eyes. You both eye fuck each other across the lounge, he keeps his distance and doesn’t approach, at which you quickly glance down at his left hand that is holding a briefcase. He’s not wearing a wedding ring.

The flight is called so you pick up your handbag and head towards the door, brushing past him. Making sure there was a little contact. You can feel the electricity as you touched, had he felt it too? Doesn't matter you think to yourself, because you won't see him again.

You board the plane, the flight attendant pointing you the the right direction. After settling in your seat, you feel someone was standing next to you, you think it might be the flight attendant. But it isn’t... It’s him.

He smiles at you, and you return his smile.

The flight attendants go through the preflight routine which you’ve seen many times before, so you concentrate on the book you’re reading.

As the plane takes off, the rumbling of the engines starts to turn me on. A dampness in you underwear causing you to shift. You haven’t realised, but you’ve been caressing your collarbone and the contours of your breasts (you do that sometimes when you’re thinking about sex). But he’s noticed and been staring at you.

He looks a little uncomfortable; you look around to see if you can figure out why.

Then you see it...

The hard on he had been trying to conceal with his copy of 'The Boston Herald’.

You look him in the eye, and smile. A boldness building within you, so you kick off your shoes and rearrange yourself into a more comfortable position with your legs crossed. So, he can see your black lacy French panties. You pull the gusset of them side to side gently, enjoying the friction against your pussy.

His hand disappears underneath the paper and you hear the sound of a zipper.

He was stroking himself under there, and you couldn't see.

You pull your panties to one side...

For a few seconds you just let him look at your Pussy, wet and pulsing, aching for his touch but having to make do with your own.

You begin to rub your clit, gently at first but soon that wasn't enough. You raise an eyebrow, challenging him.

He lifts up the paper to show you his cock, it’s large and thick and looks like it could give you immense pleasure. His hand works up and down on his shaft, as you work mine on your Pussy. Doing this in such a public setting is so naughty but so exciting, it’s heightening the pleasure you’re feeling.

You’re seconds away from coming; he must've sensed it cos he snatches you hand away and transfers it to his cock...

When your fingers close around his warm skin, you hear him moan.

Then he throws your hand away, zips himself up, and moves out of the chair.

Why?

Disappointment must've shown on your face because he winks and nods towards the lavatory door.

You can’t follow straight away; you don’t even bother to put your shoes on when you get out of your seat and walk down the gangway towards the lavatory.

You knock lightly on the door, the door folds to one side and a strong arm pulls you in...

He’s got his pants down round his ankles, his beautiful dick standing to attention before you.

He pulls you close and kisses you, urgent and probing around in your mouth.

He sits down on the lavatory seat and pulls you towards him; he rolls your panties over your hips, and you step out of them.

You part your legs so they are either side of his lap and lift your skirt so he can see how wet you are....

You lower yourself down onto his cock, letting the head rest against your dripping cunt for a moment. You had meant to hover, teasing him but you can’t. You desperately need him inside you.

You lower yourself down, letting his cock prise open your wetness and penetrate you. Filling you up, giving you what you need.

You lift yourself and begin to pound your Pussy onto his cock, hard and fast.

He bites your hard swollen nipples through your blouse, which sends thrills through you...

One hand on the mirror steadying yourself as you bounce up and down on his cock. Your other hand on his shoulder.

You kiss again. His hands on your hips, guiding you up and down, beads of sweat rolling down your forehead.

He starts rubbing your clit making you moan, you started squeezing your cunt around his cock, making him groan as he starts to shake...

You can feel your orgasm getting closer and closer, and from the look on his face he isn’t far off either.

"The plane will begin its descent in ten minutes, please return to your seats" came over the tannoy. It was now or never, you grind your pussy down hard onto him, his pubic hair tickling your clit and triggering your orgasm..

You come hard; the contractions of your cunt sets off his climax. You come together, his cock filling your pussy with hot white cum. He lets out a long moan, your head buried in his shoulder, muffling your screams of pleasure.

You take a moment to catch your breath before you stand up and he helps clean you up and rearrange your skirt down, gives you a quick kiss and shoves you out of the bathroom into the corridor.

Walking in a straight line after such an intense orgasm is a challenge but you manage to get back to your seat. By the time you check your make-up and straightened your blouse he was back in the seat next to you.

When you disembark the plane, he walks straight past you and gets into a car that’s waiting for him.

'There he goes' you think 'The best fuck of my life.'

You smooth your skirt down and stop, feeling something, so you reach into the pocket of your skirt and pull out a business card, Andrew Barber; Assistant District Attorney. His cell phone number is written on the back, along with the hotel he was staying at and room number.

'I know what I'm doing tonight' you think to yourself smiling.

THE END

Tags: @cevansbaby-dove @patzammit

#andy barber #andy barber x female reader #andy barber smut #andy barber x reader #ladymunson

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shoshiwrites · 2 months

Text

In which I said “there’s no way I could make Jo and Stalag Bucky truly cross paths other than postwar but a bitch does wonder for the vibes” and then proceeded to take it totally seriously. Enabled by: @floydmtalbert, @basilone, @mercurygray

@junojelli, @upontherisers, and @rosies-riveters. (Seriously, most of this is direct quotes.)

My apologies for the time skips, but it’s just the way the brainstorming cookie crumbled. For those of you unfamiliar with Jo, 1. I'm sorry 2. More here! Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC

→ Jo’s even more restless in this version, and doing some very stupid things. Namely, getting herself in Buck’s fort for the Bremen raid. → (Why would you do that, Jo? Well.) → Bucky’s been wearing his heart on his sleeve — much more obvious, with regards to her, and she doesn’t want him to be a rebound. Maybe said something in an unguarded moment that sounded a lot like love, and she’s not ready to let herself be loved like that. Maybe a sleepy mumble into her hair. It just slipped out. → So she’s really running away. → Easier to fling herself up into a plane, clearly. → And maybe people are doubting her previous stories. Some pencil-chewing prick in the London office telling her the folks back home need to feel more of what our brave boys are doing in the sky to stick it to the Germans. Maybe Jo’s trying to record à la Ed Murrow, so they can broadcast it over the radio later. Maybe the original thought is a milk run, and she pushes for a mission over Germany. A milk run could turn into something else, but she knows it needs to be something bigger for a chance at a harder-hitting story. Tells them that if they want to know “what it’s really like,” they’ll send her on a different mission. → Kay would be furious but also ! at the story and good thing Jo doesn’t quite tell her. → The way she's trying to prove to herself that she has nothing tying her down. Benny’s not about this at all. Buck: "Come on then. Before I find you mid-flight in a place you shouldn't be." He’s practical like that. → If she hadn’t been up before she would not be getting the time of day. And Buck's not about to let her fly with anyone else. He sighs, just the tiniest bit. Gestures, like, well, come on then. "At least you know the risk." Benny's little "last chance to go to London, Jo. tell Buck to scrub this flight." Later — "Going to tell home about this, Jo?" (he’s shouting a little, gesturing at the amount of enemy fighters).

→ So Our Baby goes down. → "John is going to kill us" — Buck’s first words when he sees Jo. To be fair to him, Jo is alive. Which is Benny’s argument. “She’s not dead, Buck, I think we did okay??” Buck just shakes his head. → So Bucky’s in that phone booth. Unaware that Buck went down but also that Jo was even there. Red only tells him about Buck. Because the people who know he should be told about Jo are not anywhere near a phone. → He heads back to Thorpe Abbotts. Red is fuming about a reporter crashing with them. They’ve got the worst discipline, they’re not hitting their targets, and now they’ve gone and killed a reporter, and a woman reporter to boot. There’s no good way to sell that to the homefront. Red and Harding and maybe Kidd are having a bitch session in an office. Bucky goes up to the door, to tell them he’s back, and overhears. “What a goddamn mess. That reporter — she was on the goddamn plane too. Brown, was it?” Bucky, in the doorway, on the edge of the fucking darkness: “Brandt.” → Because he wouldn’t know what to do with himself beside get in the plane, right. → Like maybe no one saw any chutes. Maybe she’s reported missing presumed killed. → And let’s not pretend Harding would be able to keep him off the roster, Major Rear Backup Observation Pilot, who is definitely not in the rear or backup or observing. He'd assign himself another made-up role just to get on the next plane if he had to. → I’m even sorrier to Brady than to Bucky and Buck in this whole thing actually. Jo owes him drinks for the rest of his life. He wanted a passenger princess who could be trusted with the aux cord, and instead he got Bucky.

→ So Bucky’s lying on the ground in the forest thinking he doesn’t mind if he dies right there. → We see a man ten miles from the end of his rope and we drag him further away. → Jo seeing him again, seeing him all bloody and bruised. Maybe this is the processing camp and they see each other in the corridor — he’s coming in, she’s being taken somewhere else. The double-take. The recognition. Both of them fighting the guards to try to get to each other. In her jacket that’s too big for her and her hair messed. → I don’t know how this works from an intelligence standpoint shh I know it doesn’t but her using those few moments to tell him Buck’s alive. Just the quietest whisper, if she can manage to get that close to him, trying to hide it with a cough. → So he knows they’re both alive now. Can’t get that info out of him if he already knows. So all you get is John Egan, Major, fuck you very much. → I know it doesn’t really have lasting potential because she wouldn't really stay with them in the stalag (like any of this is really plausible lmao) but if I want her to then, well, it's my AU. Like, maybe she’s with them in the stalag for a little while, while the Germans figure out what to do with her/negotiate some kind of prisoner swap with the allies. They've never had this happen before. They’re wary because she’s a reporter — about keeping her but also about letting her go. She could get swapped home after the processing, or some time in the stalag if we’re going for something longer. → So there’s a version where he sees her first when he arrives at SLIII, standing back from the crowd or back at the hut. → The embrace though. He's never held on tighter. Her toes are scraping the floor. → He’d absolutely brawl if he sees her being flanked by soldiers being taken out of the camp by herself later on. Maybe she gets out on one of the Swiss Red Cross visits.

→ Also. The issues this causes between Bucky and Gale. Very chewy. Gale letting her. Not telling Bucky he is letting her. Bucky's "wouldn't flat out stop her from doing stupid shit because he also does stupid shit and also knows she's her own person" vs. Bucky’s "why didn't you stop her, Buck.” → Gale knows what running away looks like. And he knows she won't stop until she realizes some things. This will make her realize faster. IT SURE WILL, GALE. → This is the dumbest thing Jo has done in any universe in a very long time and I’m processing but also living for it tbh. → Benny, probably: can I interest you all in talking about how you fucking feel. → Buck and Jo at the same time: shut up. → Benny’s bailing half to get away from them lbr here. Composing a letter to Kay in his head about this. → I have a hard time believing that Bucky would hold onto this toooo much once he's in SLIII and they're all alive but also. Like the relief is there but so is the "why didn't you tell me what the fuck.” And Gale is very…easy about it. “She wanted to, John." (If you have to argue take it up with Miss Wanted To, John.) “Maybe you need to hear her out." → The unspoken "maybe you need to actually say things" at Jo (even though she's not here for this conversation). Which he’s made pretty clear — maybe no in so many words, but his "I hope you had the right reasons to fly with us" is loud. Jo: wow must be a coincidence that I feel nauseous rn it’s definitely not Buck’s tone. → Speaking of Benny’s “leave me the fuck out of this” — Brady. He’s sinking down next to Benny, holding his head like it’s about to explode. "He wanted to go down with the plane, Ben.” (Benny, not paid enough for ANY of this.) → Jo this is an awful lot of trouble to cause because of your situationship. → Benny's commiserating. telling Brady they will get a very strong drink when they get out of here. And Jo is buying. → Once again, Jo, drinks are on you for the rest of forever. → Uhhh that’s all, folks! → For now.

#i need...to go put in some laundry #mota oc #bucky egan x oc #john egan x oc #motaverse #jo's tag #tumblr made me put in spaces because i apparently i talk too much #the formatting i had to do on the tags is hurting my heart #anyway. sliding this post across the table before i can change my mind

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melanieph321 · 3 months

Note

Hi there,

I'm a long time reader here and i really like all of your fics. I don't know if you're taking requests or not but if you do, could you perhaps make a fic based on this :

https://www.tumblr.com/youandiwerealive/748931841255522304/httpswwwtumblrcomyouandiwerealive74892968529?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/youandiwerealive/748933629341761536/flight-attendant-ruben-ok-but-how-about?source=share

Idk why but these brainrots really intrigued me and i think you have the capabilities to turn them into a fic

I understand if you don't take request. Anyway, have a good day ❤

I AM SCREAMING!!!!

Like no. I saw @youandiwerealive and anon, whom assume is you, talk about this. And I found it so hilarious and relatable. Ruben as a flight attendant 🤣🤣

Of course I will write this request. Even better. Imma make it a 3 parts series 🤪!

Ruben Dias x Reader - Flight Hours Part 1/3

Part 2 Part 3

Ruben and Reader are flight attendants on their way to Portugal. Although they are off to a bad start, the two end up finding common ground.

Enjoy!

Back to back flights were such a nightmare. But when you as a flight attendant complained to your bosses about it, they would hit you with the usual "It's holiday season, it will blow over" bull crap.

You made sure to arrive at your gate early. Earlier than the rest of your cabin crew members. It was a fancy plane this one, where passengers in first class could take a shower if they wished to. Since you weren't given a chance to do so this morning flying from Frankfurt to Dubai, taking a shower is exactly what you were going to do now. It wasn't exactly protocol of you to use the passengers' accommodation, though, especially not the first class ones. But since the airline had such high demand on personal hygiene and frankly a quite misogynistic beauty standard amongst it's employee. You saw it fitting for you to at least clean yourself ahead of your flight.

"Excuse me, is somebody in there?"

"No, wait!"

However, just as you were rinsing out your hair, someone unlocked the doors, exposing you mid shower.

"Puta." The man said, or more so gasp. His eyes shamelessly traveled down your naked body, eyeing you like some kind of prey.

"Shut the fucking door!" You shouted, however the man remained in the doorway, causing a draft. He was another flight attendant, you were sure of it. You could tell just by the way that this sort of situation failed to startle him.

"You must be Frankfurt?"

"Pardon?" Your hands left your hair, a sudden urge to cover yourself. However, the man had already seen it all.

"You came in this morning, no? From Frankfurt Airport?"

"Right."

"I'm Ruben Dias, I'll be flying with you from Dubai to Lisbon."

The man was such a dickhead, having audacity to offer you to shake his hand, with a large grin on his face. Mind you that you stood before him in a shower, butt-naked.

"I'm Y/N." You shook his hand just to end the conversation and for him to go away.

"Nice to meet you, Frankfurt. And what a lovely tattoo."

"You fucking...."

Ruben shut the door in your face, his laughter trailing down all the way to the cockpit where he probably ran to tell the captains about your encounter. Your hand went to the butterfly tattoo on your hip, awfully close to your....you know what. If Ruben had spotted it, he would have also seen your newly waxed kitty cat on full display.

"What a fucking nightmare of a flight this is gonna be."

Based on how it started you expected the worse, however, things turned out pretty quiet on your side. Luckily for you the two male flight attendants were assigned to first class, while you and another female flight attendant stayed back in economy. It was the first time sexism worked in your favor. However, you ran into Ruben every now and then when the two of you were either on a break or topping up your snack and beverage carts.

"Frankfurt? What a pleasure meeting you here."

You rolled your eyes, having heard Ruben coming from a mile away. He always seemed to leave first class with a trail of giggling women. It wasn't uncommon for flight attendants to be charming, but to flirt with passengers was simply unprofessional.

"My name is Y/N, not Frankfurt."

"It doesn't matter up here." Ruben said, reaching for something in the cabin above your head. The smell of him invaded your nostrils without consent, the worst part being that he smelled amazing.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

Ruben had gone to grab himself a can of coke and two plastic cups. Your name doesn't matter up here in the sky." He explained. "It's no mans' land. Up here, we only care about where you came from and where you're going. Up here, you're Frankfurt, and I'm Portugal."

"Well, that's stupid." You muttered.

Ruben chuckled and poured the can of coke into the plastic cups. "Here." He said, offering you one.

You only accepted because you were thristy, not because of the way Ruben was staring at you as your hands touched when he handed you the cup. Nor because of the way that the soft lights hit his face as he leaned back against the wall, regarding you even more seductively.

"So..." He sighed, after finishing his cup of coke, waiting for you to do the same.

"So." You smiled, perhaps your first time doing so, at least in front of Ruben.

"Are you member of the Mile High Club?"

You should have known that only something stupid would come out of that pretty little mouth of his.

"Wait, wait. I'm just kidding." Ruben said, grabbing your wrist as you turned your back on him. "Jesus Frankfurt, is it that hard for you take a joke?"

"For your information, nothing of what you say is funny to me. And to answer your question, no, I've never fucked in a airplane bathroom. As a flight attendant yourself you should know how disgusting and unhygienic that would be."

Ruben regarded you with interest, shrugging his shoulders. "It doesn't have to be in a bathroom, could also be in a shower."

"Fuck you."

The last thing you saw was Ruben's large grin. You left him on your way back to economy, where you planned to spend the rest of your flight, avoiding Ruben at all cost. It was incredible, though, how handsome he was. How the stewards uniform suited him as if it was tailor-made. It outlined his braud shoulders and swollen biceps. If it wasn't for his big mouth, you wouldn't hesitate to go for a man like him. And, no, it wasn't unusual for flight stewards to have affairs with each other, certainly not when the airline was paying for your hotel rooms. However, once you landed in Lisbon, all you wanted to do in your hotel room was to sleep.

Part 2 Part 3

#fanfiction #football imagine #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #ruben dias #man city #football angst #manchester city #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine

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royallyprincesslilly · 2 years

Text

Title: Twice Seals The Fate***

Title: Twice Seals The Fate ***

Pablo Schreiber x GF Reader

Warning: NSFW, SMUUT, Cursing, Male & Female Receiving, Mild Crude Language, Fluff, 18+ Mature Content, Unprotected Lovin, Implied Preggo Talk

Words: 4.2k

Summary: While Pablo is on location filming the latest season of HALO, you pay him a visit after a nice chunk of time frees up on your calendar. One morning you wake to see him mid workout and laying eyes on this sight, there is only one possible outcome.

Note: I couldn’t resist this one. You’re welcome!

Thank you all for reading. I appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this.

If you enjoyed it, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!!

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

~~~~~~~~

Chirp-Chirp, Chirp-Chirp.

The sound was so soft you almost missed it. However, the bevy of animal sounds continued.

Chirp-Chirp, Chirp-Chirp.

Squawk- Squawk, Squawk - Squawk.

Neeeeeeigh.

Moooooo.

“Mmm.”

You groaned feeling as if you’d put yourself through a rigorous two-hour workout. You rolled to your right and your arm flopped onto a pillow—an empty pillow. It took a few moments but when your brain registered that and the sounds you were hearing your head flew up. The brightness around you felt unnatural as if it was artificial. Squinting, you looked around and immediately didn’t recognize your surroundings.

“What the--.”

It took nearly a minute for you to remember the last 24 hours. Your head was heavy and everything hazy. You got bits and pieces of your travels. You on the plane after agreeing to make a long-awaited visit to none other than the love of your life. It was a trip you’d both been unable to make but also reluctant to make.

Your schedule was insane as was Pablo’s thanks to him being on location filming the second season of Halo. To make things worse you hated flying after the two scares you’d had. Flying was the bane of your existence, and you could never do it unless you drank your way through it. Not even Valium fully worked on you, so you incorporated some self-medication—liquor.

You groaned again as it all came back. 4 valiums, 4 bottles of wine and an eight-hour flight took you all the way out. When you’d gotten off the plane you were more than tipsy. You cringed thinking you may have embarrassed yourself or Pablo when he and his assistant picked you up.

“Oh god, Y/N,” you croaked as you flipped onto your back.

You knew you’d gotten into the wrong career for the level of shambles you found yourself in whenever you had to fly. Nothing worked. Pablo knew this and had always been so supportive of you with working around it and it only made you love him even more. You replayed a memory from last night of Pablo putting you in the bathtub and giving you a bath like an actual toddler then tucking you in forehead kiss and all.

“Oh god.”

Guilt filled you. He’d probably had a long day on set and needed to be taken care of and loved on too, but you were so out of it he’d ended up taking care of you. Knowing him he was probably feeling guilty making you come all the way out. At the thought of him, you looked beside you and found his side empty. You sat up with the intention to go looking for him but the view out the sliding doors held you captivated.

“Wow.”

Thankfully your legs were in full working order now. You walked over to the doors and marveled at the view before you. As far as the eye could see it was white with peeks of greenery. The expansive field was so wide and free of clutter, litter, and people that you could not help but step outside onto the veranda. The crisp, fresh air hit you and it was clear you weren’t in LA anymore.

Despite the strong chill in the air thanks to the freshly fallen snow, you couldn’t find one fault. This may actually be heaven, you thought to yourself. Off to the left you saw the responsible parties for the farmland orchestra. There were actual cows grazing in the pasture like they had not one care in the world and free roaming horses.

“Must be nice.”

A flock of birds passing overhead caught your eye and you watched them flit merrily in the air as their song echoed around. This view and atmosphere made up for the eight-hour nightmare. You took a few more moments to enjoy the view but when the cold got too much to bear in your state of undress, you then went back inside to brush your teeth before finding Pablo.

When you made your way through the quiet house you wondered if he’d left to set already. Peeking into rooms you found them Pablo free. You thought to go back to the bedroom for your phone to call him but decided to look everywhere first. Turning the corner, you expected to be the only one there, but you stopped in your tracks as the most delicious sight laid before you that cleared any residual haze in your brain.

Pablo was in the center of the large and minimalistic living room with his back braced on a rolling sit up wheel with his arms behind his head. His feet were firmly planted on the hardwood floors with a pair of brown sweats sitting dangerously low. From the angle you stood you could count each and every ab muscle that popped from his perfect form.

Slowly, you raked your eyes over every inch of skin that was on display. Have mercy you thought. The pictures he’d been sending you over the last three months had not done an ounce of justice to what you were looking at now. From the pictures he looked good yes, and you’d wanted to run your hand along every inch of him, but in front of you now, you wanted so much more.

You watched him use the contraption underneath him, no doubt a new torture device from Eddie. He rocked forward and brought himself into a crunch and if it was possible those abs popped even more. He held the position and the longer he did the more parched you became. Thanks to those low sitting sweats you could see those brain numbing indentations at his sides that disappeared inside those now annoying sweats. Your eyes lowered and caught sight of a half-asleep monster skimming the surface.

Without thought you licked your lips. Pablo rolled backward releasing the position he’d been holding and arched himself back. Your eyes roamed up his sweat glistened body to see he wore headphones. He probably had no idea you were up much less ogling him like this. You slowly and carefully walked into the room taking care to not make a sound. Once you came around him and stood just between his legs you took the time to admire him some more.

His usual fit and build were always impressive to you because he always kept himself in good shape no matter what. However, his Halo level of fit was insane, and you thanked the producers every day that they’d chosen him for the role and that he was so dedicated to portraying an authentic master chief. Needless to say, your sex life since had been at a whole new level of explosive. It was a level you didn’t think was possible since you were already at wildfire levels.

Before he could move you dropped down onto your knees and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and pulled them down. As soon as they moved, Pablo flinched swinging his head up to land on you. Your attention was taken by the half soft meal you’d revealed.

“Jesus! Y/N, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Did I?”

You looked at him without moving your head, so it was only your eyes that bored into him. You always knew this made him weak. Sure enough, Pablo groaned.

“God, don’t look at me like that.”

Smirking, you wrapped your hand around his length that was much firmer than seconds ago.

“Mmm. Looks like you like being scared and the way I’m looking at you.”

Pablo scoffed and made a move to get off the wheel, but you gently squeezed him.

Groaning, he met your eyes again. “What’re you doing? You know that’s not a toy, right?”

“No? I thought it was my toy?”

His clear hazel eyes darkened as the tip of his tongue dipped out to wet his bottom lip.

“No worries, I’m not looking for a toy right now…just a snack.”

You tipped your tongue and licked from the base of his cock to the smooth tip. A deep moan that sounded like a big cat’s purr rumbled in Pablo’s chest and filled the room. You loved hearing him moan.

“I’m—I’m sweaty. Let me--.”

His words were cut off by another moan when you sucked his head into your mouth and moaned on it hoping that was answer enough for him.

“Uuugh!”

Pablo’s head dropped back to hang down as you swirled your tongue around him quite enjoying the slight saltiness to his skin. A wave of hunger hit you so hard that you couldn’t control yourself. Dipping your head lower, you took him into your mouth until he touched the back of your throat.

Pablo hissed as his head flung back up to watch you. Using his hands, he bracketed your head holding you gently. His mouth fell open as if he’d planned to say something, but no sound came. Rotating your head from left to right you rolled your tongue along the underside of his shaft.

“Fuuuuck!”

“Mmmm.”

Pablo’s grip tightened. It wasn’t enough to hurt you but just enough to let you know he was quickly losing control.

“God baby,” he breathed keeping a close eye on your mouth.

You slowly bobbed on him bringing your mouth all the way down so your top lip brushed against the spray of dark neatly trimmed hair there then up just until his swollen tip slipped out of your mouth. When it did, he grunted and thrusted upward showing his eagerness to be back inside your mouth.

“Shit Y/N,” he muttered through trembling lips.

That wasn’t the only thing that was trembling. From the way his body shook, you could tell he was quickly getting to the point where his muscles would give way. Increasing the power of your suck, you clamped onto his need and moaned. Suddenly Pablo jerked up sending his arousal down your throat tempting your gag. Suppressing it, you pulled back lifting your mouth off of him leaving a trail of thick saliva.

“For fuck’s sake,” Pablo rasped before he yanked you to him. Your body crashed to his and it was at the last moment that you worried the wheel underneath him would break that Pablo smoothly held you to him, rolled to the right while cocooning you so you didn’t feel the impact of the wooden floors.

“I’ve missed you so much, dollface.”

You smiled and smoothed the back of your hand against his bristled cheek.

“I missed you too. I’m sorry about--.”

That was all you got out before Pablo’s lips pressed to yours for your first kiss in months. You both moaned against each other as your lips sweetly danced together reacquainting themselves with the feel of the other. When you felt Pablo readjust himself so he was perfectly nestled between your legs, you moaned at the heaviness of his length pressed against your core. His lips sped and the kiss turned desperate, urgent, and so much more sinful. He kissed you like a hungry man. A man who’d had to go months without sustenance and couldn’t get enough now with his first taste.

Soon you both were wildly making out on the floor pawing at each other wherever you could. The t-shirt that you’d found yourself in when you awoke was now pushed to your hips exposing your lower half where you only wore one of Pablo’s boxers. His large hand snaked underneath the shirt to cup your bare breast. You arched thrusting it further out to him like a sacrificial offering. Pablo groaned then buried his head into your neck where he nipped, licked and sucked your skin.

“Oh Pablo.”

His roughened thumb swiped across your nipple once, then twice before he flicked the now hardened peak.

“Yes,” you breathed.

As one hand cupped your breast, the other dipped inside those boxers and found where you wanted him the most. A high-pitched gasp left your lips when Pablo’s fingers dipped between your folds.

“Mmmmm,” Pablo rumbled finding you already wet for him.

Pablo then pressed his forehead to yours as his fingers explored the slickness between your thighs.

“Fuck dollface, you’re already wet for me?”

You nodded unable to find your voice. He scissored your clit between his fingers and slid them up and down sending such powerful sparks of pleasure through you, you nearly came right then.

“Aaah!”

Pablo must have sensed it because his body stiffened, then he slid one finger home into your core. You both groaned in unison. It wasn’t nearly enough but it was still so fucking good and so much more than you’d had all these months. When you opened your eyes, you found Pablo’s hazel ones locked on you. His mouth was slightly ajar as he continued dipping into your cavernous heat one centimeter at a time. When he’d finally sent that one digit as far as it could go, he curled it up making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“You’re so tight. It’s like I’ve never claimed this sweet little pussy as mine.”

You whimpered when he hooked his finger deeper.

“Fuck, I’m going to have to teach her again how to take me, huh?”

You nodded.

“I can’t hear you dollface.”

Pablo added another finger rotating his wrist, so his fingers spiraled inside of you.

“Ye—ye—yes, yes, yes!”

As if on their own, his fingers pulled out of you only to slam back in again and again before Pablo pulled them out completely. You watched as he licked them clean like a man with his favorite flavored cone.

“You taste as good as I remember. I want more.”

Before you knew it, Pablo had flipped you so you were straddling him with his thick, hard cock pressing against your sex. The feel of him nestled between your legs but not inside of you was so tempting that you couldn’t resist ricking against him using your slickness to ease your glide.

“Aah,” Pablo growled gripping your hips but not stopping you.

You began slow but that didn’t last. After the second or third rock you were quickly rubbing yourself against his need half using him for your own pleasure and half teasing him. The only sounds in the living room were your combined panting and moaning. Pablo’s grip on your hips tightened and soon he was pulling you toward his face.

When his mouth latched onto your clit you instinctively bucked against him swiping your pussy across his mouth and nose. Pablo moaned then locked his arms around your waist holding you right where he wanted. His tongue set the pace telling you that he planned on devouring you until you were breathless and trying to run away and even then, he wouldn’t let you.

Before even three minutes had passed you were so close, and he knew it from the way your moans turned to mewls and mewls turned to pants then finally whines.

“Ah, ah, ah, Pa—oh my god!”

You tried to pull away, but his arms held you tighter and deciding to just lose yourself to the pleasure you rocked on him, riding his face. Your wail of pleasure echoed throughout the house as your orgasm crept up on you taking you by surprise. Pablo moaned as he lapped at your flesh taking every drop you gave him. Even then he didn’t releasee you, he kept on coaxing another.

Trying to pry yourself from him was futile so you gave yourself to the wild, consuming feeling bubbling within you. A feeling that threatened complete destruction and rebirth, a feeling that wanted as much as it would give, a feeling that was almost terrifying in the way that it made you feel so utterly out of control, but you didn’t run from it. You found Pablo’s eyes on you, and you lost your shit. You came so hard you nearly fell back on him. If it weren’t for his strong arms holding you, you were sure you would have.

The next thing you knew you were cocooned in Pablo’s arms with your head resting in the crook of his beauty mark speckled neck while straddling him. Your eyes met and your hearth thundered even more.

“Hi,” Pablo whispered before kissing the tip of your nose.

“Hi.”

“I’m sorry, I took too much too soon,” Pablo said.

Your brow crinkled. “Too much?”

“After flying, now with jet lag, I should have--.”

You cut him off with a kiss. When you felt his hardness lurch underneath you, you realized then you’d blacked out and he hadn’t come yet. This man was too good to you. Kissing him with renewed need, you shifted just a little so his cock was between your bodies throbbing against your belly. Then you shifted onto your knees and hovered just above his length. Every time your wet entrance grazed the tip of his need he flinched and stiffened. He was barely hanging on.

“You haven’t taken enough.”

You then slid down taking him inside of you inch by slow inch. Pablo threw his head back and clenched his jaw. His Adam’s apple bobbed uncontrollably tempting you to nip him which you did. Biting down on his skin you marked him not caring who saw it. Pablo groaned, wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down onto him filling and stretching you to capacity.

“Fuck!”

Pablo shook as he held you still. Every muscle in his back and chest jerked, then clenched and unclenched. He was right, he would have to teach you how to take him again. You were so impossibly full of him you were tethering on that fine line of pleasure and pain, and it drove you mad.

“So tight, so fucking tight,” Pablo muttered allowing his vulnerability to shine through his voice.

You slowly raised off of him allowing a few inches to slip from you before lowering yourself again. When you did, Pablo whimpered. Doing it again and again his reaction to you only intensified. By the time you’d picked up your speed both of your pleasure had synced. It felt as if you could feel his pleasure and he could feel yours. You were on the same seesaw ebbing back and forth, up and down on the way to the most powerful shared orgasm.

“You’re so beautiful,” Pablo whispered into your ear before he bit your lobe.

“Mmm. You feel incredible baby,” you countered.

“Did you miss my cock dollface?”

You nodded before you bit onto his bottom lip then sucked it into your mouth. Pablo squeezed your hips then began moving you on him. First, he rocked you back and forth then lifted you up and down slamming you down every time. By the time you were seeing stars behind your eyes, you pushed him back, so he laid down onto the floor, then lifted his t-shirt off of your body. Pablo’s eyes immediately dropped to your breasts and seconds later his hands cupped them.

Using him as an anchor you planted your hands on this ripped torso then bounced on him. With every crash down onto him the goosebumps on your flesh beaded tighter and tighter, your telltale sign you were close.

“I’m so close baby.”

“Come for me dollface. Come all over this cock.”

The man was an expert dirty talker. You didn’t stand a chance. As if on command, you did just that. As the sensation wrapped you up and took over you sat on top of him allowing yourself to fully let go after so many months apart. Pablo gripped your hips then jackhammered up into you inching your closer and closer to another release.

“Ah, ah aahhaa, Pablo!”

he grunted once, twice then you felt him filling you like a twinkie.

“Ah, uh, uh, ah, uuuugh!”

He held you so tightly against him ensuring that not even a drop escaped you and with every spurt he released inside of you, your body trembled. After several long moments, you both were a panting mess as you clung to one another.

“Mmm, I love you, Y/N.”

Your eyes met. “Yeah?”

He looked so open, so vulnerable, so free for the taking.

“I do. I love you so fucking much. Shit after today you just may be stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

He kissed your collar then brought sloppy open-mouthed kisses to your breasts before wrapping his mouth around your nipple.

“Mmm. What’s that supposed to mean?”

He took his time licking and sucking your nipple reawakening that hungry, desperate need within you. Pulling his mouth from your flesh, he bit his bottom lip then brought one hand to your stomach.

“I think I may have just planted Pablo Jr and Pabuela right here.”

Your eyes bugged as you took in his words. Both of you snorted then laughed heartily.

“Pablo!”

You playfully slapped his chest.

“Is that what your goal was? Let’s trap her so she’ll stay?”

You playfully pinched and poked him until he rolled onto you pinning your arms above your head.

“Trap? That’s such an ugly word. I prefer locked down, wifed up.”

Both of you stopped moving as your eyes lingered. This was not the first time ether of you had heard the W word in reference to your relationship. It was however the first time Pablo had used the W word in reference to your relationship. This was also the first time he’d joked about having kids with you. He hovered over you, searching your eyes. You didn’t know what to say so you remained silent as your heart raced uncontrollably.

“What do you think?”

“Pabuela is a hideous name. There is no way my—our daughter will be named that.”

You knew what you’d said, and you’d said it on purpose. His eyes remained on yours, but they sparked with intensity.

“But Pablo Jr?”

“PJ, sounds good,” you whispered.

It was as if you were having two conversations in one. This lighthearted hypothetical one with the real and much deeper one hidden between the words, a serious one, one that was heavy with promise and intent. Pablo bit his bottom lip as he readjusted himself between your legs.

“It does. Maybe Y/N Jr for—our daughter?”

Hearing how heartbreakingly soft his voice got when he said “our” made your heart skipped a beat. It was a horrible idea, no way would you want to make your daughter a Jr, but hearing those words from him took your breath away. Shit you were so gone--hook, line and sinker for this man.

You widened your legs then wrapped them around his waist. “There’s room for improvement but—I think we should be sure they are planted properly. Once may be all it takes but twice—seals the fate.”

Pablo slowly smiled until he was full on just teeth and gums. With one thrust of his hips, he connected you again, stealing your breath all over again. The whole time he thrust into you his eyes never left yours. You were having a full-on conversation with your eyes and the beating of your hearts. The intensity of the exchange made you overly sensitive. You could feel everything ten times more. Every rub of his skin against yours felt like sparks from fireworks landed on your flesh. Every collision of his hip bone into yours was the rake of nails along your skin. Every tap of his thighs against the backs of yours sent a frisson of fire through you. It all felt so incredible, so completely perfect.

When you felt his movements lag becoming even less controlled, you knew the intensity of the moment, of your lovemaking was also making him more sensitive as well. He was close and neither of you wanted to stop it or slow down. Pablo quickly thrusted into you racing for his release and you held on to him never taking your eyes off of his. Suddenly he stopped moving leaving your body in heightened suspension. Your first thought was he’d changed his mind and was pulling away from you both physically and emotionally. The thought made your heart clench and eyes prick with tears.

“I love you, Y/N. Forever and always.”

His brow crinkled and just like that he’d made the conscious decision and deliberate choice to seal your fate and lives together. A tear rolled out the corner of your eye as you joined him in the sweetest orgasm you’d ever had together. When you felt Pablo’s thick digit swipe at the tear you saw the question, worry and fear in his eyes. Smiling, you cupped his bearded jaw and erased any doubt in him with three words.

“Forever and always.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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gretavangroupie · 2 years

Text

Burgundy

Word count: 5.7k+

Pairing: Daniel x Female Reader

Warnings: Drinking, Language, Smut, Fluff.

Summary: Attending a wedding alone can be kind of a drag, especially when you show up late and sit next to a stranger. Right?

A/N: This idea was born from the recent photos of Daniel attending a wedding looking extra delicious in his Burgundy suit. I hope you enjoy.

You pick up your phone on the bathroom vanity to check the time again. 4:24.

Why is it taking so long for this curling iron to heat up?

You run back into the main room to grab your phone charger out of your bag and quickly pad back into the brightly light hotel bathroom to plug your phone in, hoping that it will gain enough of a charge to last you through the night. Your flight arrived 2 hours ago, and it was questionable if you were even going to get on it to begin with.

You and Briley were great friends in college, but your communication dropped off after graduation. You were still friends, but not like you used to be. So when you received the invitation to her wedding you were a bit shocked. You immediately told yourself you weren't going but, over the next few weeks you wondered what it would be like if you did go. You wondered if you would see anyone else you knew from college, and you needed a little vacation. So you decided to go.

That is until yesterday. As you tore apart your closet looking for a dress, you were coming up empty. ‘What exactly is Nashville Formal?’ you thought to yourself. The invitation left nearly everything open to interpretation. You would find out later, exactly what that meant, but in the moment you were lost. You eventually decided on an emerald green chiffon spaghetti strap dress with a scooping neckline. Classy but still sexy. It hit about mid calf, and had a slit up the front, showing a little bit of leg. Now, typically you look for any excuse to dress up and go out, but this time you were dreading it. You knew you would more than likely not know anyone else at this wedding and the thought of socializing already had you sweating. Not to mention it would be half of the Nashville music scene in attendance thanks to Marcus. So when the time came to board the plane, you almost made a run for it, back to the safety of your apartment.

Ultimately you did board the plane, taking the short flight into BNA, giving you roughly two hours to get checked in, and get ready for the wedding. That's where you find yourself now, curling your hair as quickly as possible, and touching up your makeup. You slide on the dress, and fasten the straps on your heels, praying your feet will last the night in these things.

You pull your phone from the charger in the bathroom, giving yourself one last spritz of perfume, and shoving your phone into your clutch as you head out the door, hearing it slam shut behind you. You call an Uber and see that you will arrive within 5 minutes of when the ceremony is supposed to start. You’ve never really been great with being on time.

As the Uber pulls up outside of the Symphony Hall, you follow the signs and the smell of florals to find people gathering waiting for the ceremony to begin. You quickly rush into the doors and scan the crowd for an open seat. You see a few open seats towards the front, but you are more of a middle, or back type of gal. Needing to make a decision quickly you spot an open chair near the middle, next to a guy in a burgundy suit.

“Hi, is this seat taken?” you ask in a hushed tone, hearing music beginning to play.

His eyes flick up to yours, covered by a pair of amber lenses, “No, it's all yours.” he smiles.

You quickly sit as the music gets louder, and groomsmen begin to enter. You look around the room and have yet to see a face that you recognize, as expected. As you turn back to face forward you catch the scent of the cologne the man sitting next to you is wearing, as he continues to peer down the aisle.

Well that is…a nice smell.

You turn to look at him briefly, and then look to the other guests in the row behind you, that you saw him chatting with when you walked in. One of the girls flashes you a quick side smile before you both turn your attention back to the doors shutting, indicating that the bride is coming.

You all stand and turn towards the doors as Briley makes her grand entrance. She is even more beautiful than you remember. Of course she is. She was the crush of every guy on campus back then, but she finally found her prince. Her 'King' if you will.

As her father walks her down the aisle past you, you hear clicking behind you and turn to see a tall guy in a red suit snapping photos on his vintage camera. He makes eye contact with you through his sunglasses, ‘did I miss the sunglasses memo?’ and flashes you a toothy grin as you all take your seats. The man next to you turns to whisper something to another guy behind you and you put the pieces together that this must be his group of friends. You try not to eavesdrop but you can't help it when you are sitting directly next to them.

“Did you see Josh?” the man says.

“Yeah, he was in the middle, they both were.” the man behind you answers.

“Okay, good.” the man replies.

You turn your attention back to the front and watch as Briley and Marcus commit themselves to each other for life in a beautiful ceremony. As Marcus reads his vows to Briley you find yourself starting to feel choked up, a small sniffle leaving your nose. But to be fair, you weren’t the only one.

The man next to you leans over and pulls something out of his pocket, holding it up slightly to you in question, as you try to dry your eyes with the side of your finger.

He leans to you and offers you a white handkerchief, and you accept with a gracious tight lipped smile. Your fingers brush his hand and a swirl of something flutters through your chest, you think he must have felt it too by the way his eyebrows raised subconsciously.

You take it from his hand and notice the embroidered initials adorning the corner in beautiful navy blue letters.

DRW

Fancy… Who is this guy?

You quickly dab the white linen at your waterline, collecting your tears and clutching it back in your grip, hoping you wont need it again. As the ceremony concludes you feel his eyes boring into the side of your head.

Gosh he probably thinks I am some emotional nut case…

The officiant has everyone stand as they have their first kiss and everyone cheers in congratulations. As they make their way back down the aisle as everyone claps, the guys behind you hooting and hollering for their friend. A smile crosses your face as you make eye contact with Briley, and you can tell she is glad you came.

They walk out the double doors and the officiant invites everyone to join cocktail hour in the great hall.

As you gather your clutch from under the seat you turn back to the guy next to you and wait for him to finish his conversation. He stops when he sees you waiting.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but thanks for letting me borrow this, I was not expecting to cry.” you giggle.

He takes off his sunglasses and folds them up, sliding them into his pocket, and it's only then that you get a good look at his deep chocolate brown eyes that practically suck you into them. Your eyes glance up to the tendrils of curls hanging loosely around his face, the rest of his clearly long and curly locks, pulled tightly into a claw clip. You find your eyes diverting down to his lips as he responds.

“Hey, it happens to the best of us, why do you think I had it?” he says with a wink.

You can feel the crimson blush washing over your face.

Why are you blushing, you don’t even know this man…

“You are very kind.” you say handing him the monogrammed square of fabric.

He grabs it from your hand and pushes it into his coat pocket. You nod your head and go to turn away, when his hand stops you by resting on your bicep.

“Are you here alone?” he asks.

You turn to face him as guests begin to file out of the space.

“Yeah, I am. I knew Briley in college and decided at the last minute to come. I don’t think I know anyone else here. I was actually planning my escape during the ceremony.” you laugh.

He flashes you a quick smile, as he responds. “Well, I’m Daniel and now you know me. Don’t leave just yet. Come hang out with us, we don't really know anyone here either. Plus I’m the only one in my group without a date, so we can be stag together if you want. I hear it's an open bar...” he says with a laugh.

You bite your lips inwardly, as you turn to look at his group, each one of them with a date, just like he said. You purse your lips and squint your eyes, “Okay… I’ll stay a little longer, but only because I feel bad that you are the only one without a date.” you say playfully.

He shrugs his shoulders and nods his head as it's your turn to exit the seating area. He places his hand on your lower back, the warmth from his large hand radiating up your spine as he guides you out of the row and into the aisle.

You don’t hate this…

He follows behind you and stops you as you wait for the rest of his friends to join you.

He points everyone out, to give you a quick introduction before actually meeting them.

“Red suit is Sam, his girlfriend Hannah in the green dress. Jake, in black, his girlfriend Jita in Blue. I’m Daniel, obviously, and….. Josh…. Is around here somewhere. We will find him later.” he says.

“I think I may remember that, but don’t quiz me later.” you laugh. You quickly tell him your name, just as the group approaches.

You all make your way to Cocktail Hour and the drinks are already flowing. You all gather around a tall table and the guys decide to go grab drinks.

“What would you like?” Daniel asks you.

“Mmmm maybe a red wine? I’m not picky, whatever they have.” you reply.

“You got it.” he says with a smile.

You and the girls chat at the table as the guys get the drinks. They introduce themselves and ask you how you know the bride. You give them the quick run down on your history with Briley and they tell you theirs. Apparently you are hanging out with a band? Just as you find that out, the guys are returning with drinks.

“They had Burgundy and Merlot, and to be honest I don’t know the difference. I picked Burgundy.” he says nervously, handing you the glass.

“Seems you have an affinity for Burgundy.” you say pointing at his suit up and down.

“Seems I do.” he says with a smirk, sipping his cocktail.

You all begin to chat with the group, introducing yourself to the rest of the guys and meeting the mysterious Josh they kept mentioning.

Turns out he and Jake are twins, Sam is their younger brother and Daniel is their best friend. They are all in a band together and apparently Daniel is a drummer?

You aren't sure if it's the wine, but your head is spinning with new information.

“You want another?” he asks, taking your empty glass.

“I don’t know if I should. I do have to make my escape…” you tease.

He slides his hand across your lower back, “You can't leave me yet…” he whispers as he walks away to the bar, shooting you a look over his shoulder. You shake your head and smirk.

How has this man convinced you to stay at this wedding?

A few minutes later he is returning with fresh drinks, and you accept with a whispered thanks.

“Daniel, are we going to see you on the dance floor this evening?” Sam laughs.

“Depends on if I have a good partner…” he says, and all eyes shoot to you.

“Ohhhh, no… no no. I do not dance.” you says waving your hands in front of you.

“Everyone dances if they have had enough to drink.” Jake jokes, and everyone laughs as a small smirk crosses his face.

“I’d have to switch to the hard stuff for that to happen.” you say.

“Can be arranged.” Sam says.

You shake your head and let Josh steer the conversation in a different direction.

Daniel leans over to whisper in your ear, “Sit at our table.” his hand finding its place on your lower back.

“We have assigned seats…” you whisper back.

“I know, but when I RSVP’d I had a plus one, the seat was accounted for. Now… it's an empty seat, and I have a new date.” he says, his velvety voice traveling the length of your spine.

“Is that so…” you reply.

“Sit with me.” he says again, eyes peering into yours.

You nod slowly, and he bites the inside of his cheek, hoping to stifle the smile that wants to spread across his face.

Forgetting where you two were, you both look back to see the group staring at you suspiciously.

You both laugh and are perfectly interrupted from an explanation, by the doors to the reception space opening. The space is beautifully lit in pink and green tones, large tables with flowers line the length of the grand ballroom.

“I think we are up front.” he says, leading you to the table. You are near the dance floor, the looming thought of yourself dancing in the back of your mind sends a shiver through your body.

As you all take your seats you gush over how beautiful the venue is and the choice in colors and design of everything. It’s perfectly Briley and you expected nothing less. She always did love to be vibrant in every aspect of her life.

A waiter comes by your table, depositing plates of food at each place setting, and taking drink orders.

As he returns the drinks are served in plastic cups with a caricature of Briley and Marcus, and you know you have to take one of these home. You have switched to vodka tonic and you already know you’ll be at this wedding longer than you ever intended thanks to the beautiful man in the burgundy suit sitting next to you.

The group is fun, someone is always cracking a joke, or telling a funny story. You have been in stitches for over an hour. You make a mental note to look up their band when you get home and see what they sound like.

The bride and groom enter and immediately go into their first dance, and again there isn’t a dry eye around. Daniel notices your tears and chuckles, shaking his head. Both of you laughing at your emotional state. He places his hand on your thigh, a soothing gesture, but one that heats your body from the inside out. You bite your lip and glance at him, his eyes locking with yours. He looks down to his hand, watching his fingers rub small circles into the soft skin, before he looks back to you and then back to the dance floor. You don’t want his hand to ever leave that spot, but inevitably the dance ends and everyone claps, Daniel included.

You are having a way better time than you expected and a few drinks later you do find yourself on the dance floor. The glow sticks have been passed out and everyone has had way too much to drink. It is rowdy on the dance floor and you see Josh across the way absolutely tearing it up with strangers. Everyone around him, joining in on his fun. Just from your 10 minutes of conversation with him, you are pretty sure he has never met a stranger in his life. He is a ball of sunshine and everyone around him feels his warmth.

You turn back to see Daniel approaching you, sliding his hand over your waist and pulling you into him as a slow song begins to play.

“Oh are we slow dancing Daniel?” you ask playfully.

“Call me Danny, and yes, if you want to that is.” he answers.

“I do.” you answer.

He smiles, “I think that's the bride's line.” he winks.

You smack his chest playfully and lace your fingers around his neck, letting him lead.

“I’m glad you don’t have a date.” you say, into his shoulder nervously.

“What do you mean? I have the prettiest date here.” he smiles, sweeping the hair off of your neck.

You slide your hands under his suit jacket and feel his torso through his black shirt, before running them down his abs and sliding them back up around his neck.

“You’re warm, you should take the jacket off.” you say playfully.

“Already trying to get me undressed… tsk tsk tsk.” he says jokingly, shaking his head.

“Maybe I am.” you say looking up at him through your lashes.

“Careful what you wish for.” he says, tongue darting out over his bottom lip.

“Are you a genie? Do I need to rub your magic lamp three times?” you reply.

“Not the lamp, baby...” he says, as he pulls away and heads back to the table, smirking at you over his shoulder.

You find yourself wanting to follow after him, but deciding to keep a bit of distance, mingle a little, get another drink… Make him wait.

As you approach the bar you order yourself a new drink, and make conversation with the people next to you. You are approached by a striking looking blonde man in a black suit. You can tell he is looking to get lucky tonight by his approach.

“What are ya drinkin’” he asks.

You casually look him up and down before answering, “Vodka Tonic” you say.

“Need a new one?” he asks.

“Nah, just got one.” you answer, grabbing a cocktail napkin.

“Friends with the bride?” he asks, leaning on his elbow.

“Yep, college friends. What about you?” you ask.

“I work with Marcus. Well with his management company.” he answers smugly.

“Oh so you’re a suit.” you reply.

He reaches his hand out and places it on your arm, his ice cold hand sending a shiver through you. “You could say I know people.”

Okay, what a prick…

A voice comes up behind you, and a hand slides around your waist. “You good, baby? You get your drink?” Danny says, marking his territory.

“Yeah, I did. Thanks babe.” you say playing into it. His grip on your waist tightening.

He liked that.

“You trying to steal my girl John?” he playfully asks the other guy.

“My bad dude, didn’t know she was with you.” he replies.

He knows him?

“All good, but yeah, she's with me.” he says, placing a kiss on your cheek.

They shake hands, his other hand never leaving your waist, as John walks away.

He releases you, and you spin to face him. “You know him?” you ask.

“Oh yeah, everyone knows him. He’s kind of a douche.” he says, raising his eyebrows.

“I kinda noticed, thanks for rescuing me.” you say flirty.

“You don't strike me as the kind of girl who needs rescuing. I bet you could have handled him all on your own. However, I couldn’t watch him continue to touch all over my girl.” he says, tracing his pointer finger down the length of your jaw.

“Your girl, huh?” you ask, seductively.

“Definitely.” he replies in your ear.

You lace your fingers with his and pull him behind you back to the dance floor. They are passing out hats and you both get one, yours reading “This Wedding Sucks” and his reading “Shitty Advice for $1”. You both laugh hysterically at all the funny hats and begin to dance to the music playing. His hands are all over you, and yours all over his. After a few minutes you face him and pull him closer to you, feeling him pressing up against the thin material of your dress. His lips graze the side of your neck, and you lean into it.

You pull back but lean into his ear, “Wanna go get some air?” you say with a devilish look.

“I thought you’d never ask.” he says, guiding you off the dance floor and through the crowd. You see Sam on the way out, and Danny stops to tell him something, before rejoining you.

You look at him with a smirk.

“Just told him we are stepping outside to get some air…” he says playfully.

You walk out of the ballroom and into the beautiful corridor from earlier. He pulls your hand to the side and you follow after him, walking down a long winding hallway that's dimly lit and practically a ghost town.

“I found this earlier while looking for the bathroom.” he says, backing you up against a large wooden door. His hands have caged in your head, and you slide your hands around his waist, locking your fingers through the belt loops of his Burgundy suit pants.

His eyes search yours for a few seconds before you answer by pressing your lips to his, feeling all of the pent up tension from the night releasing from you. His hands come down to cup your face as he kisses you again, this time running his tongue along your bottom lip, asking for permission. You open your lips allowing him to slide in. Your tongues dance together in a way that you could never replicate on a real dance floor. You can taste the alcohol on his tongue, and you are sliding your hand up and onto the back of his neck, pulling him in closer to you. As your lips continue to explore each other your other hand wanders down his waist, gliding gently over his belt buckle and resting on the hardened bulge pressing against you. A groan falls from his lips into your mouth and you swallow it down like fine wine.

He pulls away from you, a whimper leaving your lips at the loss of contact. He looks at you, and looks both ways down the hallway before twisting the door handle.

The door opens behind you and he pushes you in, closing it quickly behind you, twisting the lock and flicking the light switch.

It's a very small room, just a chair, a small table and a piano. You look around the room puzzled, as Danny smiles and answers your silent question.

“It’s a practice room. This hallway is lined with them. I told you I couldn’t find the bathroom.” he laughs.

You slide his coat over his arms and he throws it onto the chair. He takes the clip out of his hair, and lets his curls hang freely on his shoulders.

Holy shit, he is hot.

He pulls his black turtleneck over his head, revealing his chiseled tan torso. Your hands instantly reach out to touch his skin, hot and flushed. His hands reach for your face, pulling you up to meet his lips as he kisses you over and over.

Your hands reach his belt buckle and begin to unfasten the metal and leather. Your fingers shakily unbutton the buttons on his slacks and glide the zipper down. Your hand slides into the front of his pants over his boxers and you can feel the magnitude of what he was hiding under the pants.

He slides his hands over your shoulders pushing the thin green straps over the curve of your shoulders letting them fall to your arms. His finger traces the dipping neckline of the dress, leaving a trail of goosebumps across your chest.

“So responsive…” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your collarbone.

You reach behind you and pull the zipper down on your dress, letting it fall around your ankles, leaving you in just your thong. You feel his rough fingers come up to meet your hardened nipple and roll it beneath his thumb and forefinger.

You hook your fingers into his boxers and tug downward, pushing them and his pants down his legs, letting his dick spring free. You place a kiss on his collarbone, just like he did to you, but you don’t stop there, you continue down his chest, placing soft kisses as you make your descent.

“Now what was it about my wishes?” you ask in a flirty tone.

When you reach his groin you push him backwards to sit in the club chair. Crawling up to meet him, you take his length into your hand and a groan leaves his lips. You look directly into his eyes as you lick from his base to the tip, his hands clawing into the leather chair.

“Don’t you rub the magic lamp three times to get your wish?” you say, pressing a kiss to his tip.

You take him into your mouth and begin to bob your head slowly up and down his length until you have worked him up to a good speed. You know you have hit that point when he is unable to stop the string of groans and curses falling from his mouth. He refocuses and looks at you, grabbing your head and pressing you closer to him and further down your throat. You moan around him as he grazes the back of your throat.

“Fuck…” he says, releasing his grip on your hair, and letting you pull back and releasing him from your lips.

“Keep going, do it harder.” you say, placing your mouth back around him.

“You sure?” he asks.

You nod in response. You begin to suck him back into your mouth and he replaces his hand on your head, this time forcing himself further down your throat with a little more pressure. As he hits the back of your throat repeatedly, you suppress the gag by gripping your hand into his legs.

“God you’re so gorgeous…fuck me…” he says, in a breathy pant.

The wet noises coming from your throat are obviously doing something for him as you feel his dick begin to twitch in your mouth. Tears are pooling in your eyes slowly leaking out of the corners.

Swirling your tongue as you work his tip, he starts to thrust his hips into your mouth.

“I’m close baby, do you want to…” he starts before you pull away and cut him off.

“In my mouth.” you say and he groans.

With a few more thrusts into the back of your mouth you feel him tense up and the warm rush of his release spills down the back of your throat. You swallow him down and pull off of him with a kiss above his base, watching him as he quickly grabs his coat from behind him, pulling out his handkerchief from earlier.

“How many times are you going to cry tonight, baby?” he says, wiping the tears from your face, and the spit from your lips. “The only thing I want you to cry, is my name.”

You stand up and push him back in the chair. You make a show out of sliding your panties down your legs and crawling onto his lap. Straddling his still hard length, you press a kiss to his lips. His fingers run slowly through your folds, collecting the wetness on his fingertips.

“Oh, you’re ready aren’t you baby... I think you earned your wish.” he says, grabbing his dick and lining it up with your center.

He places his hands on your hips and you slowly sink down onto him, with a groan. You wrap your hands around his neck and lean forward to kiss him, his tongue swirling with yours. You lift your hips off of him slowly before crashing back down into him. A moan leaves his chest as you clench around him at the sound.

“Oh you feel so good, so tight… Jesus…” he pants.

His hands are guiding your hips up and down his length, and you are enjoying the constant pressure on your g spot. His mouth connects with your nipple, his tongue swirling around the tight flesh. You start to roll your hips in a wave pattern as he groans into your chest. He pulls back from you and locks eyes with you.

“Stand up.” he demands.

You slide off of his lap and stand, he stands to meet you and pulls the chair from behind him.

“Lean over the back.” he says, and you follow his instruction.

He positions himself behind you and grabs both of your hips in his hands, guiding you to meet his length. He presses into you at a new angle and you both cry out at the feeling.

He begins to furiously pound into you, hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves in just the right way, that you can feel the tension growing in your stomach.

The sounds of your skin slapping together so loud, you are positive anyone who walks by will know exactly what is happening.

“Say it. Say my name baby. Tell me who is making you feel good.” he says punctuating each sentence with a deep thrust.

“Daniel! Fuck, you are. You make me feel so good Danny. Keep going.” you cry out.

“That’s right.” he grunts into you. “You’re my girl. I make my girl fucking feel good.” he says, twitching inside of you.

“Danny please…” you beg.

“I’m gonna cum baby, I need you to cum with me.” he says, reaching around the front of your hips, and placing his fingers on your clit.

You moan at the sensation, as he swirls perfectly in rhythm with his thrusts.

“I’m there Danny, I’m there, fucking cum…” you beg him.

“God damn….” he says, with one final thrust, both of you reaching your release simultaneously, his hot ropes of cum painting your insides. You’re glad the chair is supporting your weight because you would have surely collapsed with the sheer force of the orgasm washing over you.

As he pulls out of you, his release threatens to spill down your thigh.

You feel the soft familiar feeling of the handkerchief begin to wipe away the evidence. Danny cleaning you up the best he could with the small piece of fabric.

You stand back up and turn to face him, his free arm snaking around your waist and pulling you into him for a desperate and passionate kiss. Your hands find his curls, and scratch against his scalp as the kiss grows deeper. You feel his hands gripping to your back like life or death and you still don't feel close enough.

He pulls away quickly, scooping up your panties and handing them to you. You smile and slide them back on, before stepping back into your dress. You know the party is winding down and you have to get back before anyone gets suspicious. Danny quickly redresses himself and fixes his hair the best he can without a mirror. He slides his coat back on, shoving the soiled handkerchief into his pocket with a smirk.

He is so gorgeous...

He zips the back of your dress and places a soft kiss on the back of your neck, before spreading your hair over your shoulders.

“Beautiful.” he whispers, looking at you before unlocking the door.

He pokes his head out to see if there is anyone coming, and he quickly rushes both of you out, turning off the light and quietly shutting the door.

“I should stop by the bathroom….” you say.

“Oh no you don’t, you’re gonna keep that right where I left it. I am going to check on it later.” he says with a kiss on your shoulder. Your face flames bright red at the thought of a repeat later.

As you walk back into the ballroom you search for the group and find them all sitting at the table, talking and being rowdy.

“Daniel! You have returned brother!” Sam says playfully in his drunken state.

“Yeah where have you been Daniel?” Jake asks with a smug look.

“We were just getting some air....” he says with a smile.

Jake turns to his girlfriend, “Remember when we got air at your cousin's wedding?” he says with a devilish laugh.

The table erupts with laughter and you both know your cover is blown.

“Jake!” she says smacking his arm. She turns to you and apologizes, “I’m sorry, he has clearly had too much to drink.” she laughs.

You grab your trucker hats from the table and put them on, to fit in with everyone else proudly displaying theirs.

You both sit down and talk for a little bit longer until the Newlyweds decide to make their grand exit. The reception was fantastic and you couldn’t imagine this night without Daniel. You are so glad you chose to stay.

As you make your way out of the reception hall, you are arm in arm with Daniel. He has invited you to come with him to the after party and you have graciously accepted. You walk through the front door of the Symphony Hall, and around the side of the building, he stops you and spins you around, dipping you down dramatically for a kiss. He pulls you back up and places his hand on your cheek.

Looking at his hat again you quickly dig a dollar bill out of your clutch and extend it to him.

“What's this?” he asks.

“Your hat. It says shitty advice for $1… but how about you give me good advice instead.” you say leaning into him.

“Hmmm… good advice?” he asks, as you continue the walk to his car.

“Mhmm…” you say, stepping into the car, as he closes the door behind you.

He slides into the driver's seat, and starts the car. He turns to face you, and places his hand on your thigh.

He smirks and laughs to himself before he finally says, “My grandpa always told me, 'never leave home without a handkerchief'. Now I know why.”

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lewsnumerounofan · 2 years

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late last night (lh x reader)

summary: lewis flies you out for a fun weekend, and maybe something more.

notes: nsfw, established hu to smth more?, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), tiny bit of angst. 2k words. did i change tense halfway thru? yeah i did. we dont talk abt it tho. all heavily inspired by @lewisyellowhelmet !!!!

+ check out other works here

+ was too lazy to fix formatting issues. oops

-----

The text came in just after midnight. In typical Lewis fashion it was short, to the point.

Come get away for a few nights. Promise I’ll make it worth your while.

And then a plane ticket, first class.

You tucked your phone into your chest, eyes scanning the street in front of you. He always did this. A late-night text and plane ticket, a promise for a fun weekend. And it was fun -- visiting Lewis’ expensive hotels under a fake name, eating lavish meals in the private rooms of the most esteemed restaurants, touching him quietly, secretly under the table. But Monday always came around and you’d wake up to an empty suite, cold coffee and a note from Lewis thanking you for a good time.

Sighing, you texted back, fingers clumsy with cold.

Cant. Work is busy.

You closed your messages and made to head back inside when your phone lit up again.

A photo this time. It was poorly lit, but you could tell that whatever exotic timezone he was in had him in bed, shirtless, tattooed fingers resting easily over a white sheet. A white sheet that sat dangerously low on his taught hips. Though his face was cut out, the compass stretching over his muscled chest was unmistakable.

Even now, hundreds of miles between you, you felt a slow curl of heat between your legs.

And then: See you tomorrow

Cocky bastard.

It was mid-afternoon by the time your flight touched down, and the heavy race-weekend traffic ensured it was almost sunset before you arrived at the hotel. The man at the desk handed you a key and a knowing smile when you gave him your name.

The lobby was full of people, well-off couples preparing for a night out. You had to look away from a pair giggling together on one of the high-backed love seats, the brush of their lips intimate and familiar.

Lewis answers the door on your first knock. Doesn’t wait to help you drag your suitcase in, only cups your face and let his full lips slant over yours. Everything slips away as he holds you so reverently in his tattooed palms like you were the most precious thing in the whole world.

“Missed you.”

His voice is rough as he speaks, sleepy almost in its comfort. You smile at him, turn to kiss his wrist, bite it quickly.

You hear him groan as you shift back to your suitcase, pulling it inside the high-ceilinged room. You can barely concentrate on the dim candle-lit interior with Lewis’ hot body at your back, but you let your eyes linger on the twinkling sky line for a moment -- the stray lights of other lives, so far away.

And then Lewis, all pressed up behind you. Hands around your waist, pulling you back to him, back on him.

“Lewis...”

“Missed the way you say my name.”

You let him shuffle you to the couch, low set and plush, soft on your cheeks.

His hands on your jeans, eager but not rushed as he pulls them down. You shiver at the cold, at the glaze over Lewis’ eyes as he watches you squirm. A hot, wet kiss to your thigh, quick as he kneels between your legs. Kneels for you. Your lips part as his big hands wrap around the outside of your hips and tug you to the edge of the seat. Eyes on you, he tucks a finger into you, knowing you want more, need more. It’s too much and you look away, afraid he’ll see the vulnerability you’ve been biting back since he first opened the door. But he tuts and forces you back with a hand on your jaw.

“Eyes on me. Want you to watch what I do to you.”

And then he’s tugging your underwear off too, leaning down to replace his fingers with his tongue. You arch into him, trying to get away, trying to get more, but his hands are solid on your hips, keeping them open and splayed out for him.

“Lewis-”

He doesn’t bother responding, too busy fucking his tongue into you and circling your clit with his calloused thumb.

“Lewis, Lewis, Lewis.”

A prayer now, as you tug at his braids. Already your core is clenching, legs twitching on either side of his head. The sinful image of his ringed hand pressing into your stomach to pin you down --

You can’t stop yourself from tipping over the edge when he looks up at you, cheeks rosy, mouth red, tongue still working you.

Hazy as he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom. The hotel now rests in a dark navy. Your breathing is loud in the quiet of the big room. Laying you down, Lewis kisses your forehead once, twice. A firm press of his lips. You feel him shift away and catch his wrist as he goes to stand. He can see the question in our eyes.

“Gonna get you a cloth to clean up,” he says, real soft and low.

You have to swallow before you speak again, quiet like it's a secret.

“You don’t have to. I mean, I want you. If…”

You’re flustered now, heat rising on your cheeks. Lewis’ sharp eyes don’t move from your face. He cuts you off with a kiss, harder this time. I want you too, it says.

“Okay,” he mumbles against your lips.

He’s moving over you now, the strength in his shoulders, his arms, making the predatory advance up your body easy. But he’s gentle as he nudges you back like he too can feel the shift.

The sheets are cool at your back, a stark contrast to the feverish heat from where your bodies are joined. You can feel him heavy and thick at your thigh even with his pants. Fumbling, almost desperate through kisses you unzip him, palming him once over his briefs before slipping your hand under to touch him.

He curses into you, breaking from your lips to rest his forehead on yours, eyes shining as they watch where you grip him. You’re aching to take him into your mouth, to finally taste him like you’ve been dreaming of for weeks, but Lewis has other ideas, instead going to fully remove his shirt and pants.

Seeing him like this always takes your breath away. The steady strength of him, the dark markings of his tattoos, the hard length of him. Looking at you from under a few escaped braids, Lewis looks like a god. A god intent only on worshipping you.

He’s crawling back up to you, groaning into your mouth as you brush together. His tongue claiming you, running along your teeth. He draws back quickly, pulling your thighs apart deftly to spit on your cunt. You throw your head back, gasping -- too tight, too frenzied at the feel of his spit coating you.

And then he’s back over you, crowding you. All Lewis, only Lewis.

“Okay?”

You nod into his shoulder, hands already leaving marks on his muscled back. Tomorrow, in the paddock and in the car, he’d feel them sting and think of you. The idea was enough to have you clenching on air, begging him to let you take it.

He only laughed, a lazy smirk revealing the tooth gap you loved so much.

“So needy for me, huh princess.”

And then he was forcing into you, even the tip a stretch, filling you up and more, more, more. You bit down hard on his shoulder as he sank into you.

“So good. S’always so good.”

His hips finally resting flat against yours, and the pressure of him inside you was more than you could bare. Lewis slipped his hand down -- down to press on the bulge in your stomach where he was now seated, chuckling roughly again when you cried out.

“You take me so well.”

He tongues the words into your mouth, finally moving inside you. A long drag out and then a snap of his hips and you knew you wouldn’t last. Not with him watching your lips with half-lidded eyes, jewellery glinting from the city’s lights, mouth open and red.

“Lewis.”

He shivers mid-thrust, burying his head back into your neck, kissing up your throat.

“Lewis,” you gasp, watching the push and pull of his back as he moved in you, the bunching of his shoulders and quick, timed rhythm of his hips. His hands on your leg, forcing you wider, taking more. Mouth wide as he bites at your neck, forces you back into the pillows. It’s too much, too good -- the clench of you around him, the moans he keeps spilling onto your skin.

“Lewis, I’m gonna-”

A slightly different slant to his pelvis, the hard slide of it over your clit as Lewis bottoms out inside you and you’re cumming, vision white as you gasp into his chest.

“Almost there baby. ‘M so close.”

Everywhere he’s touching you is fire, the overstimulation casting stars across your vision.

“Almost there,” he murmurs again, so low and husky. You can feel the stutter in his thrusts, hear the break in his voice as he pants above you.

“Finish in me.”

It’s a plea more than anything else but you know as soon as you speak the words that there’s nothing you’ve ever needed more.

“Cum in me Lewis, need it.”

His whole body tenses, eyes near savage as they meet yours.

“Yeah?”

You nod once, whimpering as his pupils blow wide, darken. His thrusts pick up again, harder this time. Vaguely you’re aware of the clock being knocked off the nightstand beside you, but you’re too busy watching Lewis to care.

“Gonna fill you up. Gonna make you mine, only mine.”

And then he’s cumming, pulsing in you as his hips weakly stuttered through a last push. Your weave your hands into his hair, place soft kisses over his nose, forehead, cheeks. He’s lazy as he kisses you, his full weight boring you down, keeping your legs open and aching. Only when his heart stops pounding does he pull away, a hoarse groan leaving his parted lips as he slips out of you. Not even self-respect could stop you from reaching for him but he stayed kneeling before you, big ringed hands parting your knees.

“Lewis?”

His hot gaze on your core, he drops two fingers down to push his cum back inside you. Arching against the mattress as he watched, mesmerized, as you fluttered around them, desperate for him again already.

“Need my cum inside you, yeah? Need me marking you.”

God. What was he doing to you? So desperate -- for what? What more could you take? But then he was moving again, tucking his semi-hard cock back inside you, pushing his cum deeper.

“Lewis,” a half sob this time, nearly drooling at the press of him, the sensitivity.

Tears in your eyes as he kissed you.

“S’okay. You can take it.”

The weekend was over before you knew it. Another win for Lewis. You watched from the hotel TV, suddenly feeling so very far away from him. The sticky lingers of champagne you licked off him when he got back.

This time was different somehow. He’d stayed to eat breakfast with you each morning, fingers playing over yours as you cradled your coffee. Or Saturday after a disappointing quali when you’d opened the door and he’d folded himself into you, kissing softly at your neck. You’d fallen asleep to a stupid TV show, room service discarded on the floor, Lewis’ chest rising and falling at your back.

But now it’s Monday. And when you check the clock -- the clock you’d had to get replaced after its untimely demise -- you see it’s late and you know Lewis has already left.

It shouldn’t bother you so much. Shouldn’t make you feel quite so empty. You take your time getting ready, showering but leaving your hair down and wet along your shoulders. It’s only after, when your stomach begins to grumble, that you leave the bedroom and the lingering smell of Lewis.

Except at the kitchen counter, clicking through data sheets and absentmindedly sipping at a steaming mug of tea is Lewis, sweats low at his hips, braids drawn back.

“Lewis?”

You wonder if you've got your days wrong, if you’d somehow dreamt up the glory of yesterday's win.

“Hey sleepy head,” he grins, twisting to watch you. You’re confused. He knows it too, tries not to flush as he clears his throat.

“Uh, I know I promised the weekend only. But my favourite caffe is only open Monday to Friday, so I thought I’d stay another day and we could go together.”

He’s not looking at you, hands twisted quietly in his lap. The seven time world champion sat before you blushing like a school girl. Oh, Lewis.

“We don’t have to though, I know you’re busy so-”

“What about tomorrow?” you ask.

Hi eyes are on yours now, brow furrowed.

“Tomorrow?”

You bite your lip, smile. You can’t help yourself as you move towards him, dragging your palms up his muscled legs.

“Yeah, what're we gonna get up to tomorrow?”

He’s grinning back at you now, all tooth gap and eye-crinkles.

“I’m sure we can come up with something. Okay?”

You're leaning into him, pushing up onto your tippy toes to kiss him, to fold the word into his mouth:

“Okay.”

#bigkeepup #lewis Hamilton smut #lewis hamilton x you

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odinsblog · 6 months

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Ex-CNN Anchor Presses Billionaire On Claims About Lower Standards For Female And Minority Pilots

Former CNN anchor and now ex-X talk host Don Lemon, released yet another segment of his sit-down interview with X owner Elon Musk today, with the clip showing Lemon pressing Musk about the latter’s claim that the airline industry has lower standards for female and minority pilots than for white male pilots.

Appearing on ABC’s The View today to tout his upcoming, now-YouTube series The Don Lemon Show, Lemon brought along the new interview clip that features a persistent Lemon questioning a seemingly flustered Musk about the pilot issue.

Lemon points out that, after a door-sized panel blew off of an Alaska Airlines/Boeing jet mid-flight, the female pilot landed the plane safely and without further incident.

Musk has repeatedly tweeted and amplified others’ tweets that “DEI” – Diversity, Equity & Inclusion – is being prioritized by the airline industry over safety.

In the clip of the show, set to debut Monday on YouTube and other platforms, Lemon asks Musk, “Do you believe that women and minority pilots are inherently less intelligent and less skilled than white male pilots?”

“No,” Musk replies, “I’m just saying we should not lower standards for them.”

“But,” says Lemon, “there’s no evidence that the standards are being lowered when it comes to the airlines…”

“Ok, you’ve repeatedly said that there’s no evidence that the standards are being lowered,” replies Musk. “Then watch the replies showing all evidence that it is.”

“Replies on social media and twitter are not necessarily fact and evidence,” Lemon says.

(continue reading) related ↵

#politics #elon musk #don lemon #racism #antisemitism #twitter #great replacement theory #dei #elon musk is a racist #misogyny #apartheid clyde #eugenics musk #techno grifters #cryptobros

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ralfmaximus · 8 months

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Remember that 737 MAX whose door plug blew out in flight?

A boeing whistleblower created a burner account and reported the following (reproduced here in its entirety in case the original gets deleted):

Current Boeing employee here – I will save you waiting two years for the NTSB report to come out and give it to you for free: the reason the door blew off is stated in black and white in Boeings own records. It is also very, very stupid and speaks volumes about the quality culture at certain portions of the business.

A couple of things to cover before we begin:

Q1) Why should we believe you? A) You shouldn’t, I’m some random throwaway account, do your own due diligence. Others who work at Boeing can verify what I say is true, but all I ask is you consider the following based on its own merits.

Q2) Why are you doing this? A) Because there are many cultures at Boeing, and while the executive culture may be throughly compromised since we were bought by McD, there are many other people who still push for a quality product with cutting edge design. My hope is that this is the wake up call that finally forces the Board to take decisive action, and remove the executives that are resisting the necessary cultural changes to return to a company that values safety and quality above schedule.

With that out of the way… why did the left hand (LH) mid-exit door plug blow off of the 737-9 registered as N704AL? Simple- as has been covered in a number of articles and videos across aviation channels, there are 4 bolts that prevent the mid-exit door plug from sliding up off of the door stop fittings that take the actual pressurization loads in flight, and these 4 bolts were not installed when Boeing delivered the airplane, our own records reflect this.

The mid-exit doors on a 737-9 of both the regular and plug variety come from Spirit already installed in what is supposed to be the final configuration and in the Renton factory, there is a job for the doors team to verify this “final” install and rigging meets drawing requirements. In a healthy production system, this would be a “belt and suspenders” sort of check, but the 737 production system is quite far from healthy, its a rambling, shambling, disaster waiting to happen. As a result, this check job that should find minimal defects has in the past 365 calendar days recorded 392 nonconforming findings on 737 mid fuselage door installations (so both actual doors for the high density configs, and plugs like the one that blew out). That is a hideously high and very alarming number, and if our quality system on 737 was healthy, it would have stopped the line and driven the issue back to supplier after the first few instances. Obviously, this did not happen. Now, on the incident aircraft this check job was completed on 31 August 2023, and did turn up discrepancies, but on the RH side door, not the LH that actually failed. I could blame the team for missing certain details, but given the enormous volume of defects they were already finding and fixing, it was inevitable something would slip through- and on the incident aircraft something did. I know what you are thinking at this point, but grab some popcorn because there is a plot twist coming up.

The next day on 1 September 2023 a different team (remember 737s flow through the factory quite quickly, 24 hours completely changes who is working on the plane) wrote up a finding for damaged and improperly installed rivets on the LH mid-exit door of the incident aircraft.

A brief aside to explain two of the record systems Boeing uses in production. The first is a program called CMES which stands for something boring and unimportant but what is important is that CMES is the sole authoritative repository for airplane build records (except on 787 which uses a different program). If a build record in CMES says something was built, inspected, and stamped in accordance with the drawing, then the airplane damn well better be per drawing. The second is a program called SAT, which also stands for something boring and unimportant but what is important is that SAT is *not* an authoritative records system, its a bullentin board where various things affecting the airplane build get posted about and updated with resolutions. You can think of it sort of like a idiots version of Slack or something. Wise readers will already be shuddering and wondering how many consultants were involved, because, yes SAT is a *management visibilty tool*. Like any good management visibilty tool, SAT can generate metrics, lots of metrics, and oh God do Boeing managers love their metrics. As a result, SAT postings are the primary topic of discussion at most daily status meetings, and the whole system is perceived as being extremely important despite, I reiterate, it holding no actual authority at all.

We now return to our incident aircraft, which was written up for having defective rivets on the LH mid-exit door. Now as is standard practice kn Renton (but not to my knowledge in Everett on wide bodies) this write-up happened in two forms, one in CMES, which is the correct venue, and once in SAT to “coordinate the response” but really as a behind-covering measure so the manager of the team that wrote it can show his boss he’s shoved the problem onto someone else. Because there are so many problems with the Spirit build in the 737, Spirit has teams on site in Renton performing warranty work for all of their shoddy quality, and this SAT promptly gets shunted into their queue as a warranty item. Lots of bickering ensues in the SAT messages, and it takes a bit for Spirit to get to the work package. Once they have finished, they send it back to a Boeing QA for final acceptance, but then Malicious Stupid Happens! The Boeing QA writes another record in CMES (again, the correct venue) stating (with pictures) that Spirit has not actually reworked the discrepant rivets, they *just painted over the defects*. In Boeing production speak, this is a “process failure”. For an A&P mechanic at an airline, this would be called “federal crime”.

Presented with evidence of their malfeasance, Spirit reopens the package and admits that not only did they not rework the rivets properly, there is a damaged pressure seal they need to replace (who damaged it, and when it was damaged is not clear to me). The big deal with this seal, at least according to frantic SAT postings, is the part is not on hand, and will need to be ordered, which is going to impact schedule, and (reading between the lines here) Management is Not Happy. 1/2

2/2

However, more critical for purposes of the accident investigation, the pressure seal is unsurprisingly sandwiched between the plug and the fuselage, and you cannot replace it without opening the door plug to gain access. All of this conversation is documented in increasingly aggressive posts in the SAT, but finally we get to the damning entry which reads something along the lines of “coordinating with the doors team to determine if the door will have to be removed entirely, or just opened. If it is removed then a Removal will have to be written.” Note: a Removal is a type of record in CMES that requires formal sign off from QA that the airplane been restored to drawing requirements.

If you have been paying attention to this situation closely, you may be able to spot the critical error: regardless of whether the door is simply opened or removed entirely, the 4 retaining bolts that keep it from sliding off of the door stops have to be pulled out. A removal should be written in either case for QA to verify install, but as it turns out, someone (exactly who will be a fun question for investigators) decides that the door only needs to be opened, and no formal Removal is generated in CMES (the reason for which is unclear, and a major process failure). Therefore, in the official build records of the airplane, a pressure seal that cannot be accessed without opening the door (and thereby removing retaining bolts) is documented as being replaced, but the door is never officially opened and thus no QA inspection is required. This entire sequence is documented in the SAT, and the nonconformance records in CMES address the damaged rivets and pressure seal, but at no point is the verification job reopened, or is any record of removed retention bolts created, despite it this being a physical impossibility. Finally with Spirit completing their work to Boeing QAs satisfaction, the two rivet-related records in CMES are stamped complete, and the SAT closed on 19 September 2023. No record or comment regarding the retention bolts is made.

I told you it was stupid.

So, where are the bolts? Probably sitting forgotten and unlabeled (because there is no formal record number to label them with) on a work-in-progress bench, unless someone already tossed them in the scrap bin to tidy up.

There’s lots more to be said about the culture that enabled this to happened, but thats the basic details of what happened, the NTSB report will say it in more elegant terms in a few years.

#737 max #boeing #january 2024

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bekolxeram · 4 days

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Hi! I have 2.5 questions I was wondering about while thinking of a possible 802/803 disaster. Could you help clear a few things up for me?

If a plane were unable to land for some reason, how could it be brought down to earth without crashing?

Upon landing, a plane has to decelerate. Hypothetically, could there be a failure of some kind that would prevent the airplane from slowing down before it reaches the end of the runway? If so, are there any ways to help slow it down?

I’m sure there are plenty of answers available on the Internet, but I was hoping to get some more nuanced insights from you. If you don’t feel like answering, though, please don’t feel any pressure to respond. I can wait a few weeks before I find out what they came up with. 😅

Thank you! I love answering asks like this!

Full disclosure, I'm not a pilot, just an enthusiast. Everything I know about aviation is based on observation, years of consuming content about the industry and lurking on pilot forums. Please correct me if any professional happens to come across my posts.

This is NOT an argumentative piece against other theories or predictions for S8, just an opportunity to be curious about flying, maybe learn a cool thing or two. (Yes, on my part too.) If you don't care for this, please do not read further and block the tag #aviation realism.

To answer your first question, it depends on why landing is deemed riskier than staying airborne in that particular case.

If something happens to the flight crew, incapacitating both pilots, it actually would go pretty much like Airport 1975. Now, I have to point out how improbable this scenario is. The pilots in a flight crew are not allowed to be served the same crew meal on board in case of food-borne illness, some airlines even advise them against sharing a meal at the same restaurant shortly before a flight. Let's say there's some spy movies level sabotage taking out both pilots without damaging the aircraft or harming the passenger, the cabin crew would enter the cockpit and try to revive the pilots with oxygen and remove them from flight control, just as they're trained to. You don't want someone passed out against the yoke or control column and pushing the nose of the plane down. Then, the cabin crew would ask for medical professionals amongst the passengers, but they'd likely avoid openly requesting assistance with the flying itself unless absolutely necessary. A panicked cabin never helps surviving a serious aviation accident.

There was a Southwest flight last year with its captain fainted mid-flight. A member of the cabin crew should've stayed in the cockpit with the remaining pilot according to protocol, but an off-duty airliner pilot in full uniform commuting to his place of work was spotted, so the cabin crew invited him to help out with radio communication in the fight deck.

If both pilots in the cockpit are totally incapacitated and no one else is qualified to fly an airliner on board, the cabin crew would probably take over radio communication with ATC and ask for further instructions. Even if that particular airline doesn't train their cabin crew to operate the radio, they can always call their airline for help via onboard wifi or satellite phone. Exactly like what Nancy the stewardess does in Airport 1975.

The cabin crew would never ask a random passenger into the cockpit and fly the plane. Also, we unfortunately live in the post-9/11 world, where the cockpit door is locked during flight. Only the pilots in the cockpit and the cabin crew with a secret code can open the door, which is bullet proof. Except when there's a breach in the cabin section of the fuselage, resulting in an explosive decompression, the cockpit door would fly open by itself to balance out the pressure difference.

Continuing on the Airport 1975 theme, what if there's some significant damage to the cockpit, injuring even killing the flight crew? Well, modern airliners are built to be quite resilient. There were 2 different incidents involving a broken cockpit windshield and a partially sucked out pilot in the past, and they both managed to land safely with no serious injuries. The more recent Sichuan Airlines one was even flying over the high mountains of the Tibetan plateau, with multiple automated system, including autopilot, damaged by the rapid decompression and were inoperable. To completely incapacitate the whole flight crew, there has to be much more severe damages to the flight deck, but at the same time, not severe enough to make the whole plane uncontrollable and fall straight out of the sky.

Which brings me to your next question.

A passenger airliner has many components to decelerate the plane for a smooth and safe landing, namely the flaps to slow down the plane during descent and provide extra lift to keep it afloat at low speed, then once it hits the ground, spoilers to disrupt airflow, reverse thrust to turn the thrust backwards and good old brakes to stop the momentum by friction. So if keeping the plane in the sky is preferable to landing it as soon as possible, it could be due to issues with the aforementioned systems.

It can be a landing gear problem, maybe one or more gears fail to lock, or the whole thing completely fail to deploy. That would not be ideal, but modern airliners are designed to withstand a gear-up belly landing. The pilots might want to circle over the airfield to attempt troubleshooting and burn off fuel to reduce the weight of the aircraft first, but it can be done, and it has been done, quite a few times.

youtube

(Please be aware, laying firefighting foam on the runway in anticipation for a gear up/gear malfunction landing is no longer recommended. Studies show it doesn't really help with slowing down the plane, and it can take away valuable resources if the aircraft does catch on fire.)

In case of the nose gear wheel being locked in a horizontal position, rendering gear retraction impossible, like JetBlue 292 I mentioned before, it would be a significantly larger threat, but it's likely to be fine regardless. (That didn't stop the LAFD from mobilizing over 100 firefighters all over the city to LAX on standby anyway.)

If any of the other systems used to reduce an aircraft's speed on approach is inoperable (flaps, spoilers, thrust reverser, brakes), you may need a longer runway to stop the plane in time, but airliner pilots are still well trained for any of those situations. Just last week, there was a Virgin Atlantic A350 at LAX landing without thrust reversers due to a hydraulic problem. Yes, a lot of ARFF trucks were deployed. Yes, the brakes got a bit smoking hot, but it was landed alright.

youtube

So if you think you may have issues slowing down a plane on landing, just declare a mayday, look for the longest runway nearby with optimal weather, no rain or ice making the runway slippery, minimum crosswind blowing the plane sideways, and preferably strong head wind to help blow the plane backwards, enhancing braking performance.

You may ask, what if multiple deceleration systems or even all of them fail? It's highly unlikely, because there are 3 independent hydraulic systems in an airliner, and basic flight control can be achieved with just one.

There have only been 2 total hydraulic failure landing attempts I can think of so far, United 232 and the 2003 DHL attempted shootdown in Baghdad (JAL123 doesn't count, it lost its whole tail). The United one unfortunately crashed at the last moment, even with the help of a flight instructor onboard, but still, half of the passengers survived a statistically unsurvivable accident. The DHL A300 landing was much more successful. After a surface-to-air missile hit the left wing of the aircraft, it caught fire and all 3 hydraulic systems were lost, rendering the plane uncontrollable by usual means. The flight crew ended up steering the aircraft by differential engine thrusts, just like in the United 232 accident, and managed to land back at Baghdad International Airport after overshooting the runway and stopped at an area just outside of the airfield, filled with landmines. (Military personnel guided the flight crew to safety.)

The point is, well trained commercial airliner pilots have many tricks up their sleeves to stop their plane even in the most dire situation. On the other hand, modern airliners have so many automated systems in place that even a total amateur can land them with sufficient guidance from flight instructors on the ground. Tom Scott landed a 737 in a simulator with the help of a certified airline flight instructor for instant.

But if the show decides to combine the two in true disaster movie fashion, I can see how difficult it would be to land the plane safely. Hypothetically, the plane is not expected to be able to stop before the end of the runway, and the people in the pilot seats don't have any better idea, what can be done?

We can perhaps learn from aircraft carriers. Their runways are short, because well, they're ships, in the middle of the ocean, so to prevent fighter jets from overshooting and ending up in the drink, there is a mechanical system called arresting gear to physically catch the aircraft. Military aircrafts usually have a hook in the back to catch arresting cables when landing. It's not quite possible for a commercial airliner making an emergency landing, but there's also the barricade method, seen in Airport '79, with a sort of strong but elastic net erected at the end of the runway.

A lot of US civilian airports in real life actually have a kind of arrestor system installed to prevent catastrophic runway excursion, it's called the engineered materials arrestor system (EMAS). It's basically a kind of soft and energetically absorbent material laid down at the end of the runway. If an aircraft overshoots the runway and hit the EMAS, its landing gear wheels would sink into the material, and halting the aircraft pretty quickly. The landing gear might break off, the passengers might have a pretty tough ride, but it's better than slamming into something solid.

If we completely throw reality out of the way, I say we can't control the weather, the length and the incline of the runway, but we can control the wind. This will probably get me excommunicated from the avgeek community, but I say we put a giant 4 engine airliner at the end of the runway and just jet blast that baby, create the head wind it needs.

Oh, and you know we now have someone working on a big production, hit TV show? I say get a bunch of industrial strength giant fans for special effects and blow the plane backwards.

#I'm sorry anon it got so long #It stops being coherent around the mid way point #Please ask again if you have more questions #911 speculation #ask answered #aviation realism #911 abc

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runwayrunway · 7 months

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MISS CONENGINALITY - BRITTEN-NORMAN BN-2 ISLANDER

Remember when the UK made the best airplanes in the world? Me neither, I wouldn't be born for several decades. Anyway, Britten-Norman Islander.

image: Air Seychelles

The last holdout of the UK making really fantastic planes, the Islander is a popular regional airliner and utility plane used for things like skydiving and air ambulance service as well as the typical passenger and cargo flights. At first glance she's a pretty regular high-wing twin-prop that seats 10, but look closer and you may begin to notice things.

Upfront, I love the Islander. (Obviously, or I wouldn't be making this post about it.) My love for this plane isn't solely organically developed, because it does also hold a special nostalgic place in my heart for being the first propeller plane I ever flew on, with Cape Air in 2015 from San Juan to Vieques. (As Vieques Air Link also operates these, they're a common sight down there! The name of the model is, as it were, very apt.)

image: Cape Air This is the exact plane that I flew on!

Now, from this image you can already see that the Islander has some lovely features, from those absolute bollards coming out of the engines to the wildly pointy nose (not the first plane I've discussed that's giving DUKW), but despite looking goofier the closer you look at it this thing is an incredibly beloved and reliable plane.

image: Bonham's Behold, a Britten-Norman BN-2 Islander.

Also of note is the Islander's extremely low wing aspect ratio, and I've always thought the tailplane looked a little too small for the tailfin from the side despite looking giant from below. The general ratios on this plane, in every single possible place, look just ever-so-slightly off, and I love it.

image: Mark Harkin I mean. She's just blocks.

Still, this is an incredibly well-designed plane. It's cheap, rugged, utilitarian, reliable, versatile, and remarkably stable in flight, which is why over 1,000 have been built to date. (Personally, I didn't find the cabin to be the roomiest even for an aircraft of its size, but I remember it being a comfortable enough flight.) The Islander is still in production today despite first flying in the mid-1960s, which is something few models can claim. You can use an Islander for basically anything, with their big doors and STOL capability, and it's even used for the world's shortest flight and an entry on my bucket list, the two-minute hop between Westray and Papa Westray operated by Loganair.

image: National Museum of Flight Scotland Despite being shown outside in this photograph, she currently lives in the civil aviation hangar, a top pick on my list of places I would like to secretly live in for the rest of my life.

image: own work, taken inside the civil aviation hangar at the National Museum of Flight, Scotland

In late October I visited the National Museum of Flight, Scotland. It was an incredible experience and I will be discussing it across several future posts due to the sheer variety of preserved airframes they had, including everything from a Puss Moth to a jump jet. (The general museum will probably get a dedicated post as well in the future - suffice to say I had a fantastic time.) Among their preserved aircraft is a BN-2 Islander registered G-BELF, painted a vivid highlighter-yellow which pictures really can't do justice in homage to Scottish air ambulances which serve isolated island communities in the North Sea.

I was absolutely delighted to see her in person. Seven years after I last stepped foot in an Islander, it felt like something of a reunion to just stand next to a mothballed airframe and admire how...really strange-looking these planes actually are.

own work, obvi

I mean, for one thing, they're a lot shorter than you might think they should be. Pictured for scale is a 165cm/5'5" tall human with a PSA Lockheed TriStar for a face. I couldn't get that good of an angle on it, but my head is only a few inches short of the wing, and you can see that I'm well taller than the cabin windows. An entire Islander is shorter than a single Concorde tire.

Plus, that wing chord is so long I could use her as a shelter in the rain.

So, yeah. That's the story of how I met my favorite commuter airliner. I hope to fly on one again someday, but for the moment I'll have to be content with looking at pictures of these weird-looking planes that can fool you for a moment into thinking they're regular.

Also they tried to put propeller shrouds on one once.

#miss conenginality #runway runway travelogues

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gayf1hoe · 2 months

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Part 5

“Y/N, Y/N”, I open my eyes and whine with displeasure at being woken up by someone pounding on my door shouting my name. I manage to accumulate enough energy to get out of the bed and take a quick look in the mirror, my eyes still slightly red and puffy from spending half of the night crying into my pillow. I place my hand on the cold metal handle and pull the door open to reveal Zhou and Yuki standing at my door.

“You look rough” Zhou comment's, clearly displaying he hasn't had lessons In what to say when someone doesn't look well or happy.

I simply mutter my response “thanks I feel rough”.

After a brief moment of chatter they eventually tell me that they are here to drag me to the airport. We have 2 weeks until Baku and I agreed to go on a trip with them to China. And standing here looking at them with a pounding headache and chronic fatigue setting in I feel an impending sense of regret casting itself over me.

Reluctantly I pack my suitcase with their eager eyes fixated on my every move as they continue to ask me questions about what happened after I prematurely left the beach, but they know how stubborn I am and don't push on too much. Eventually I manage to finish packing my bag and walk out of the room and wait for Zhou and Yuki to follow behind me, closing the door behind them.

As we walk down the corridor and edge towards the stairs the voices from downstairs travel up and I can faintly hear the thick Monegasque accent of Charles and the indistinguishable Dutch accent of Max.

I lug my suitcase down the stairs with the help of Yuki who eventually sees that I am struggling and helps me carry it down the stairs where I see Charles and Max engrossed into a deep conversation in one of the corners of the reception area. I quickly return my key and then head outside to put my bag in the taxi and before I get into the taxi I hear someone saying my name behind me.

I turn to see Max walking down the marble steps.

“Can I talk to you quickly?” he asks.

I sigh and look into the car where Yuki and Zhou have fixated their gaze on me and Max, so I shut the door and walk over to a pillar and ask him what he wants.

“I just wanted to know where we are at?”

“I don't know Max, but I need break to clear my mind and forget about all of this for just a moment so I will see you Baku” as I finish my sentence I walk back over to the taxi and pull the handle to open the door and reveal Yuki and Zhou who have an inquisitive look etched on to their faces and immediately ask me what happened, I quite abrasively shrug off their comments and put my headphones in to avoid further interrogation.

The miles seem to fly by and we quickly arrive at the airport and because I got up late we have to frantically run through the terminal to the gate where our flight is already boarding, and we make it just in time, out of breath and sweating. We walk down the cabin aisle, people's eyes averting towards us making me feel self conscious but they are probably looking at us because we are the reason the plane has been held back, eventually I reach my seat and fasten my seat belt.

The best thing about sitting in first class is you get a little section to yourself but that still doesn't seem to stop Zhou coming and sitting next to me mid flight. By now Yuki has fallen asleep so Zhou decides to come and talk to me.

There is a spare seat next to me across the aisle so he preoccupies it whilst he's talking to me. Initially the conversation is light and jovial and then he brings up the topic everyone seems to cycle back to when talking to me, Max. But as he already knows the premise of mine and Max’s not so platonic relationship I suppose it's only fair he questions me.

“So why are you giving Max the cold shoulder?” he asks.

“Alessandro worked it out and I don't want to jeopardise mine or his career so I thinks it's best if we distance ourselves and let things settle before we go any further”

“But surely if you love him nothing else matters”

“I wish it was that simple Zhou but I love racing as well and if I create a media catastrophe no team will want me, not even Sauber, so I have to be on my best behaviour”.

After a while of talking Zhou heads back to his seat and I try to get some rest however all I can think about is Max. I can hear his voice echoing in my mind. I'm hoping that a week away from him will provide me with a chance to sort of erase him from my mind and clear my head of all thoughts about him.

I've never had a serious adult boyfriend, I had one when I was a teen but that was when I was infantile and the true meaning of love was just an alien thought in my adolescent mind. I had never experienced love, but with Max I think I am. It's such a strange feeling that is both warm and comforting but intimidating and scary. I have always cowered away from commitment and love because I never thought and still don't think I'm capable of it.

Racing is the only thing I have truly loved in my life but it's a different type of love, without racing I can't imagine where I would be.

But as the constant questions pace through my mind I do eventually manage to drift off to sleep for a while before the wheels touch down in Shanghai.

Disembarking the plane goes much smoother than boarding it and after we collect our luggage from the crowded baggage carousel we emerge into the rain and wind of Shanghai and even for March the rain is quite strong and heavy but Zhou informs me that this is normal for China.

Everything is written in Mandarin so me and Yuki are heavily reliant on Zhou to navigate us around this country and he eventually flags down a taxi and says something to him in Mandarin that I don't understand at all. But despite not speaking the same language the gentleman's demeanour is claiming and reassuring, he is a middle aged man with a bright smile I would expect to see on an outgoing teenager.

During our journey he points out lots of things and tries his best to explain them in English but Zhou helps translate and he tells us about all of the Iconic landscapes and best places to eat. It's also nice to see Zhou happy at being home, and I feel a sense of jealousy as I haven't been home or seen my family since before the season started as I had to move to Switzerland to be close to the factory and office which meant I had to leave my friends and family behind. But I suppose I'm lucky that Ollie is in F2 and a Ferrari reserve and I get to see him quite a lot at the races. When I first met him I always thought he would make it to F1 before me, and as he is apart of the Ferrari Academy I was almost sure he would, but instead it was me who only had 1 year in F2 and a few drives as a development driver for a team at the bottom of the grid, however I see the irony that I have joined a team that is (was) at the bottom of the grid.

I do reminisce about my days as a development driver for Williams. I always had great fun, I got to drive cars and not have to worry about coming first and scoring points all I had to do was provide feedback and that was it. When I first joined the Wiliams development program everyone thought I would debut for Wiliams, they had already started creating contracts for me but if truth be told I could never see myself in a Williams or a Mercedes, I don't have a so called “dream team” that I want to be in, making it to Formula 1 is my dream so I already have everything I want.

Zhou had booked an apartment for us to stay in rather than a hotel which is more convenient and private, as I initially step out of the car the smell of the local flowers that are starting to blossom as we approach springtime fills my nose.

The apartment is located on the outskirts of Shanghai away from the tumultuous scene of the bustling inner city and I'm grateful to be somewhere much quieter and peaceful for a change.

We quickly deposit our bags in the apartment and set off in search of something to preoccupy ourselves for the much needed week's break. Even though there has only been 3 races so far I'm pretty exhausted and doubt I can do another 18 races. I can't even begin to fathom how I'm going to find the energy to continue with the season, deal with Max and the media and look happy whilst doing all of it.

Zhou takes us to a place he used to visit as a child. It's an amusement park that has a whole host of games and rides. At first I'm apprehensive thinking about all the loud noises, screaming children and blaring music but as we arrive I feel my inner child coming out when I see the bright blinding colourful lights, stuffed animals and magnificent rides and roller-coasters.

We start with the very first thing we see when we walk in which is the ring toss which Yuki fails at miserably. Zhou and I manage to get all of them and together we win a massive stuffed panda, and we have no idea how we are going to walk around with it.

The evening completely makes me forget about Max, that is until I see a passer by drinking a Red Bull and my mind instantly thinks of Max. It's like he has an inescapable hold on me that I can't seem to escape no matter how far away we are from each other and it makes me feel pathetic and stupid.

Yuki and Zhou try their best to make me happy but nothing seems to really work, when I'm in this depressive mood the only person who's ever made made me happy is Ollie but he's in Baku already and I don't want to disturb him even though he said “you can always call me, I will always answer no matter what”.

The past 6 days have been great, I have managed to regain some happiness and confidence and I have regained enough energy to continue on until the next break.

As I'm sitting on the plane I'm looking forward to Baku not only because I love the track but also because it will be my first ever F1 sprint. My phone is full of messages, emails and calls from loads of people but I have ignored all forms of social media and commutation, I just needed time away from racing and the media to fully relax.

But as the wheels screech against the runway in Azerbaijan the world of racing comes racing back towards me and the pressures of it are once again back on my shoulders. Me, Yuki and Zhou step out of the airport and there are lots of paparazzi flashing their camera lights in our faces and asking question after question, but they are all speaking over each other it's all so incoherent. Eventually we push past them all and get into the cars and all I can say is:

“I really haven't missed this”

The other two simply let out a little chuckle.

I feel my phone vibrate again and see that it's from Alessandro telling me that I have to check in at the hotel and then head to the garage for a meeting before sprint qualifying tomorrow.

As I look up from my phone I see Zhou turn to me as he has also seen the message and we both laugh at each other's displeasure.

We arrive at the hotel which doesn't look much like a hotel more like a big house but as we walk through the doors it shocks me at how beautiful it is. I collect my room key from reception and walk up to my room to drop off my suitcase and slightly unpack and then head downstairs to reconvene with Zhou to head to the track.

We both sit in the car and he then starts up a conversation I was hoping to avoid.

“So do you think you will see Max?”.

“Hopefully not” I reply.

“Why not?” He asks.

“Because I have no idea what I'm going to say or do?”

“You will be fine you will think of something”

Arriving we head to our garage and as its media day the paddock is flooded by people. The meeting flies by and then I head to the studio to talk about the team's hopes for this weekend and as I walk in I see a space next to Max, but pretend I haven't seen anything and walk over to Lance to sit next to him. And wait for the interview to get underway.

When it starts a lot of the questions are aimed at poor Max asking about Red Bulls falling from the top of the constructors and I can tell he's getting increasingly annoyed with the questions so when the questions come to me I can tell he's relieved.

“So Y/N you went away for 6 days with no media interaction or anything, why was that?” is her first question.

“Well I needed time to relax and compose myself and just evaluate the first 3 races, I was quite tired and overwhelmed from the first few races of the season so I just needed that time to take a step back for my own wellbeing”

“So going into this weekend what are Saubers plans for the sprint and the grand prix?”

“Well of course maximise our performance and points and ensure we achieve a good result”.

The questions seem to be never ending by eventually she does finish allowing us all to escape. I walk back to my garage and collect my belongings and head back to the hotel where I spend the whole evening doing absolutely nothing apart from binge watching TV and falling back into a bottomless pit of self wallow and depression after seeing Max again.

Waking up on the day of sprint qualifying I don't feel the eager emotions I expected before my first ever sprint race. I quickly get dressed and decide to walk the 15 minutes to the track and arrive a little late which ends in me receiving a lecture from my engineer but I don't really pay attention.

FP1 And FP2 fly by and before I know it it's sprint qualifying and I'm determined to get pole.

SQ1 and SQ2 go perfect. I'm in P1 and as SQ3 begins It's starts to rain so I have to box for the inters.

My first lap on the inters goes horrifically and I set a time of 2 minutes and 12 seconds which is appalling so I push more than ever and pray I stay on the track.

I'm the last one to cross the line and nervously await the result:.

“Y/N Pole Position the top 5 is yourself, Norris, Sainz, Verstappen and Zhou.”

I am incredibly excited and can't believe that in my first F1 sprint race I am on Pole Position.

And as I'm sitting at the start line waiting in anticipation for the Red lights to go out I still can't believe I'm on Pole.

As the 5 lights go out the instant kick of adrenaline hits me and I see Lando begin to fall behind in my rear view mirror and see a bright red Ferrari appear.

I manage to maintain my position throughout and can't believe I have won a sprint race and by the sound of it neither can my engineer.

“Y/N P1 great result. P2 Hamilton. P3 Verstappen. P4 Zhou. P5 Alonso.”

As we arrive in Parc Ferme I jump out of my car and hug Lewis and without thinking I hug Max and there is an element of awkwardness but I run over to my team to escape it.

After the podium ceremony there is much time for jubilation as we have to get ready for qualifying for the Grand Prix Tomorrow, but I'm exhausted so I don't have too much hope for qualifying.

To my genuine surprise I get P4 behind Lewis who is on Pole and Max, Checo and Carlos.

The team all go for dinner at a nearby restaurant and we all have a great time but are conscious of the time and getting enough sleep for the race tomorrow so at around 10 PM we head back to the hotel.

The night before a race I like to keep a routine however it is disrupted by a knock on the door. I go over the door and open it and when I do I am greeted by Ollie who is smiling ecstatically and he lunges himself to embrace me in a hug before I can even say hello.

I quickly learn he is staying at this hotel as well but because I have been in such a rush the past 3 days with media day, the sprint race and both qualifying sessions I haven't had a chance to even ask him where he is staying.

This of course means that I go to bed much later than expected as I spend ages catching up with Ollie and ask how his racing has been going but all he's interested in is the fastest new report about me and Max.

But I myself haven't got the first clue about what's going on between me and Max so it's a little difficult to provide him with an accurate and true update.

When I tell him about how everything I see reminds me off him, and hoe I can't stop thinking about him constantly he just laughs and says “You're in love” which isn't very helpful because I could have told him that for the offset, I just need him to give me advice or confidence to do something about it.

At around midnight Ollie heads back to his room and I try to get some rest for the race tomorrow.

The paddock on race day has a feeling and atmosphere that's indescribable. It's a mix of encouragement, excitement and eagerness from the fans but it's also nervousness, anticipation and enthusiasm from the drivers and these feelings seem to entwine to create a questionable atmosphere that plagues every race.

I take a quick glance at my car as it Is in its position in the number four spot and being this far back from the start line is painful but I only have myself to blame.

As the lights go out I get quite a good start and I manage to squeeze past the Ferrari of Carlos and set my eyes on Checo who puts up a much greater fight than Carlos did. I take 12 laps to get past him and then set my eyes on the biggest problem in my life: Max.

I push my car to its limits, I use all of my ERS and it's barely enough to keep him within DRS rage however at one of the corners he runs wide and loses a little bit of time which means I can get past him.

And after another 5 laps my team calls me in and the worst thing that could happen, happens.

It takes them 13.5 seconds to complete the Pit stop. When I first joined the team I made Alessandro promise me that there would be no terrible pit stops but it appears to have happened and thanks to that I got onto the grid in 9th.

For the rest of the race I'm fighting for positions and the image of a podium finish is now out of mind.

I manage to cross the line in sixth which isn't bad but it isn't good either.

“Y/N P6 good job, Zhou P5”

“No, that was a shit performance. What took so long with the pit stop? Why did it take so long to change 4 tires when other teams managed to do it in about 2 seconds. It's a joke”

“Y/N let's talk about this in the meeting, Not on radio”

“No let's talk now, tell me how we did such a shit job”

“Y/N calm down, go to cool down mode and bring the car to parc ferme after the cool down lap”

As I pull into Parc ferme I don't go over to the team. Instead I head to my room and throw off my helmet and balaclava and get out of my race suit.

I sit down on the chair in the corner of my room and try to take a moment to debrief, when there is a knock on my door.

I reluctantly get up and open the door to reveal an out of breath and sweating Max. I quickly invite him on and offer him water because I know if Alessandro sees him he will hit the roof. I then take a seat and ask him what he's doing here.

“I came to tell you that you should be proud of yourself, I know coming sixth is awful but you did your best in the circumstances so try to not to beat yourself up about it” he says kneeling down in front of me.

“Thanks I guess I did get pretty angry at my engineer”

“I know they were replying your drivers radio in the cool down room”

“Great,” I reply.

Me and Max just gaze into each other's eyes and get lost and then all of a sudden we are both leaning in causing our lips to connect and turn into a passionate moment of making out before I tell Max he has to go to the podium.

“Only if you come,” he says.

Even though I don't want to, I remember back to the times where even though he didn't win Max watched me on the podium so I feel obliged to say yes so we both stand up and sneak out the back of my garage to avoid being seen.

#f1 x male reader #max verstappen #Max verstappen x male reader #Red Bull Racing #Sauber #Breakups #Relationships #Zhou Guanyu #Daniel Ricciardo #Kelly Piquet #Kimi Antonelli #Ollie Bearman #PREMA Racing #F2 #Jealousy #Revenge #Racing #LGBT #Male Reader

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