#but it's the first thing that crossed my mind when i saw the photo

[skkfujoshi]

Right here where you left me

It took longer than Chuuya wanted it to.

He wished it took him little time to excise Dazai from his space.But Dazai had his ways of getting into every nook and cranny.

There was his favorite pillow still shoved all the way under the other ones,a remnant from their last tiff before Chuuya went to France.

A bunch of half chewed pencils and  crude drawings of Mori strewn all over their once shared desk.

Dazai’s discarded,crumpled shirts on the floor,still stained.

And the cold….The cold still lingering on Dazai’s side of the bed.If Chuuya strained his eyes just a tad more,he swore an indent of his body showed.

For almost a month Chuuya hadn’t been in that room.He’d made Mori’s old room his instead,after he burned every sheet and piece of clothing to get his father’s smell out.

And now he was sitting cross legged in front of a roaring fireplace about to do the same to Dazai’s things.

First went the photos they had taken together.Chuuya tossed them in without a second glance.

After all,a second glance would be nothing more than an unnecessary temptation.

Dazai’s shirts followed,the familiar scent of canned crab and dirt making him toss it in just that much faster.

Chuuya saved the pillow for last and it had nail marks in it by the time it was thrown into the flames.

Chuuya watched the objects as the fire made them go black and turn into ash.Still not taking his eyes off them,he threw the box in as well.

He reached for the choker and briefly considered adding it in.He tugged at it,but sighed and laid down on the floor instead.

He stared into the flames,mind going blank as the fire flickered between red,yellow and orange.

| - - - - |

Chuuya’s eyes fluttered open,the pain from his injuries gone.Despite the lack of it,there was still a stiffness in his muscles as he looked up at the cold LED light.

The redhead squinted at it in confusion.That…That wasn’t the light that was in his bedroom…

“Well,well,well…Look who’s awake.”

He turned to the sound and came face to face with Dazai,who looked,quite frankly,drained of all life.

His partner cringed as they locked eyes.

“Wow you look shittier than usual,that’s almost impressive.”the brunette said

Chuuya snorted,a small laugh coming out of him.

“At least this is temporary,you have to walk around looking like that every day.”he retorted “You’re right.Being this handsome is really hard Chuuuya.Doubt you could handle it”. “Aha.”

For a moment they were both quiet and then they both burst into laughter. 

“Just…Just fuck off.”Chuuya muttered trough the chuckles. “As I said,it’s not easy to be this good looking.” “Whatever.”

Dazai’s expression became a tad more somber,as he leaned forward,elbows on his knees.

“You don’t seem to be…surprised to be alive.” “I told you ,I knew you were gonna be there.And you were.” “There must’ve been at least a moment where you were concerned though.”

Chuuya thought on it for a moment and shook his head.

“No,not really.” “Idiot.That’s what you are,an idiot.” “Well,I figured you were too much of a pussy to show up in font of my father and tell him you got his son killed.”

Dazai hummed with a small smile.

“Then maybe you’re not as much of a dumbass as I thought.” “Not to mention you want my death to be all your doing.” “That too.But,don’t you worry,chibiko.I’ll make it really dramatic and impactful.”

Chuuya snorted and patted Dazai’s shoulder.

“Aww…Thanks so much.Anyway,what did the doctor say?” “Well,according to daddy dearest,your leg tendons are completely wrecked and you have a concussion.” “How many pain meds did he put into me?”“An amount that I probably shouldn’t talk about in polite society.” “Got it.So…Uhm…How long was I out for?” “Two days.”

Chuuya blinked.Not great,but at least it was better than being out for a week or something.He took stock of Dazai’s exhausted state and said:”And you’ve been awake since I passed out?” “What gives you that stupid idea?” “The fact you didn’t look half dead when I last saw you.”

Dazai rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out.He smiled slightly and leaned back in his chair.

“Well,as you said,I want your death to be my doing.I had to make sure that you didn’t go into the afterlife unless I put you there myself.” “Fair enough I suppose…Are you…Ya know,okay?” “Yeah,yeah,yeah…I’m fine,two days is nothing.”

Chuuya furrowed his brows,pulling Dazai’s hand.The brunette blinked at him and Chuuya groaned in annoyance.

“Just lay down,Zai.” “Chuuya,this bed is tiny and you’re injured,I-“ “It’s fine.You need a rest and I’d rather avoid you crashing down onto the floor from exhaustion.”

Dazai crossed his arms and sighed as he stood up.

“I suppose you don’t need a lot of space with being so small.” “Get in here.”

Dazai pouted but for once he actually listened to what Chuuya said,taking off his shoes and crawling in beside him.

Chuuya closed his eyes,but then he felt a squeeze on his shoulder.

“Chuuya,stay awake for just one more second,please.” “Hmm?” “You’ll be…awake,when I wake up,right?”

He smiled and stroked Dazai’s hair for a moment.He patted his partner’s shoulder.

“I promise.Now rest.”he said,trying to sound exasperated 

Dazai sighed,but obliged,closing his eyes,breathing evening out shortly.

Chuuya sighed and wrapped his arms around Dazai,falling asleep too.

-||||-

Blearily,Chuuya saw the dying embers of the fire he fell asleep in front of.He blinked the sleepiness away and sat up.He looked around him,seeing a blanket covering him now and his shoes being put aside.

The gesture had Kōyo’s fingerprints all over it.

Chuuya sighed and rubbed his shoulders.

Why did he do that?Why did he call Dazai that?

He had Dazai right there…

Dazai grabbed his arm for fuck’s sake…

The chance was right there…

The chance was in the palm of his damn hand and he dropped,no,threw it onto the damn pavement.

Chuuya curled in on himself and stayed in front of the fireplace for the rest of the night.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

[roboyfriend]

diversity win! this gundam is bisexual! (photo source)

[chimielie]

“I really like this place,” Yachi says brightly, “the owner is really nice, and he doesn’t mind when I take ten minutes to decide what I want. Once I took twenty minutes and he actually just brought me food, like, decided for me, and at first I thought that was so nice! Then I got worried that maybe I should be upset that he didn’t let me choose, but then I remembered that I could just come here again so I wasn’t missing out on anything. The food was really good, anyway.”

You hover between the cool interior of the restaurant and the summer daylight as she speaks, unwilling to walk away even though she’s holding the door open and probably letting all the cold air out. With a short yelp, she realizes how long the two of you have been standing there and crosses inside. You stand behind her in the line behind the counter, shuffling forward as you read the posted menu.

“I think I’m gonna get the salmon,” you decide. “Hey, so how are things with that girl you’ve been seeing?”

“They’ve been good!” You’re about three people away from the counter, but the first one is line is like, a really huge guy with a booming voice who has been talking forever. Maybe he knows the cashier? “She’s really pretty, and she doesn’t mind or get impatient when I’m anxious. She also gets anxious!”

“That’s great?” You pat her on the shoulder. “I’m really happy for you, Yachi.”

“Me too,” she beams at you. “What about you? Have you met anyone?”

“No,” you snort. “I’m on the apps. So dating is basically a cesspool.” The giant guy who was ordering seems to be done now, but he’s still talking, being slowly dragged away by the elbow by a guy in a cardigan and glasses. You slide your phone out of your pocket and open your dating profile. “See?”

At that moment, your phone pings with a new notification.

Atsumu liked you!

He’s not… bad looking. If you saw him in real life, you’d probably hide behind a bench or something and stalk him with your eyes just so you could look at him as long as you wanted, actually.

He’s your age, a pro volleyball player, his hair dark where it’s been shaved short on the sides but dyed blond up top. He has a kind of sardonic, dead-eyed expression in all of his photos that you think is really funny.

My love language is… arguing in missionary.

You smother a laugh.

“He’s kind of cute!” Yachi peers at your phone. “Kind of scary…”

“Please, I could beat him up,” you laugh. “I don’t know, he’s fine, I guess.”

You swipe left. He’s hot, but definitely a fuckboy. You’ve reached the counter, anyway, and a pro athlete on the apps is like, so many red flags.

You look up at the cashier.

You look down at your phone and click undo. The profile reappears.

You look up at the cashier.

“Fine, you guess?” Scowls Atsumu, 23, (volley)baller. Or maybe not, considering his Onigiri Miya apron. “Welcome to Onigiri Miya, what can I get for ya. Geez.”

He talks in Kansai dialect, you note, which you’ve always thought is melodic. Pretty.

In real life, Atsumu is very pretty. His eyes have midtones of honey and amber that don’t show up on photo and give him a sparkling dimension that sort of detracts from his aura of evil. Even though he’s scowling at you, you want to ruffle his hair and bite his cheek.

“Um, I’ll have the salmon ball,” you say. “And, yeah. I guess.”

He scribbles so hard he breaks the tip of his pencil. With a grunt of disgust, he tosses both notepad and pencil over his shoulder.

“What, pro athlete not good enough for ya?” He points at Yachi, who squeaks. “And for ya?”

“What?” She says, looking terrified. You put a bracing hand on her shoulder.

“Your order,” he drawls.

“Oh! I don’t know.”

“Two salmon balls!” He yells to the back. “‘S on the house.”

“What?” Yachi gasps. “We couldn’t possibly—”

“You’re clearly not a professional athlete,” you say. “You’re a cashier.”

“This is charity work!” He snaps. “My teammate is right over there if ya need proof. I’m Miya Atsumu—this is my brother’s shop. I help him out on my off days.” He emphasizes his family name, underlining it on his apron with a finger.

That’s really sweet. You swoon a little inside, then shake yourself.

“You’re off every time this time this week?”

“Yeah, about,” he turns and bends over to grab his hastily discarded notepad. You do not make a secret of checking out his ass and quirk your lips into a smile when he turns back around, one he matches with reckless abandon. He has nice teeth, not perfectly straight, that imply that maybe he didn’t need braces growing up.

“Let me repay you for the meal,” you put a hand on the counter and lean across it, biting your lip, stomach singing with nerves. “Eight, next week?”

“Nah,” he shrugs you off, gestures for you to move along so he can get to the next customer in line. Your stomach drops, and so must your face. “Too far away. I’ll see ya this Friday for dinner.”

[ysobelfours]

Lando's First Win — LN4

in which your boyfriend won a grand prix for the first time in his career.

lando norris x fem!reader

warnings; 18+ content !! MINORS DNI !! half of the story is SMUT, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), clubbing, drunk lando, praise, hair pulling, oral both receiving, and etc. word count: 3978

note: not proofread, not edited, will maybe; also, this oneshot has no mentions of y/n!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

i was glued to the tv, watching the race like my life depended on it. man, i wish i could've been there in person, but nope, some last-minute work drama had me stuck at home. so there i was, heart pounding like crazy as i saw lando leading the pack, holding onto that sweet p1 spot with just 10 laps to go.

after a nail-biting ten laps, lando clinched his first-ever grand prix win in miami, crossing the checkered flag with style. bursting with excitement, i immediately sent him a message to offer my heartfelt congratulations. and of course, i had to capture the historic moment, snapping a quick pic of his finish on my tv screen and sharing it with the world on my instagram story.

amidst the interviews, podium celebrations, and photo ops with the mclaren team, lando's mind kept drifting back to one thing: my message. he couldn't shake the anticipation of reading my words of support, knowing that even though i couldn't be there in person, i was cheering him on from afar.

finally, as the chaotic whirlwind of post-race activities began to settle, lando seized the opportunity to check his phone. with a quick swipe, he navigated to his messages, looking for my name. his heart skipped a beat when he saw my name.

"hey baby! can't believe it, i did it!" lando greeted me as soon as i picked up his call. i could tell that he was smiling from the tone of his voice.

"oh my gosh, lan, i knew you could do it! you were incredible out there!" i excitedly responded to him.

"thanks, baby! it feels unreal. i'm just so pumped right now!"

"you should be! you deserve to celebrate this big win. any plans?"

lando pauses, thinking "hmm, not really, just thinking of winding down, you know?"

i frowned upon hearing his response, how could he not celebrate his first win properly?!

“absolutely not! you were on fire out there! you know what? you've got to celebrate this win properly." i rolled my eyes as the words came out of my mouth.

lando laughs, "yeah, baby? you think? got any suggestions?" he asks eagerly.

i started to think and an idea popped up in my gorgeous, genius mind! fortunately, i was done with the work assigned to me.

"hmm, how about a little victory party at the club? you deserve to let loose and enjoy the moment, along with the grid, ya know?!" i giggled, hoping that he would agree so i could push through with my plan.

lando considers it, "you might be right, sweetheart. but i'm not sure…" he sounded sarcastic on the other line, probably just to tease me. i sighed and rolled my eyes, again.

"come on, lan! you've worked so hard for this. make some memories! trust me, you won't regret it." i demanded, hoping that he would agree now.

lando was obviously smiling "alright, you've convinced me! let's do it!"

"that's the spirit! now go have some fun, and i'll catch up with you later, lan, okay?":

“sounds like a plan! love you, baby!”

"love you too! enjoy the celebration!"

as lando hangs up, little does he know that i've already booked a two hour long flight to miami along with a suite, determined to surprise him and celebrate his victory in person. with a mischievous grin, i start packing my bags, thrilled at the thought of seeing the look of surprise on his face when i show up unannounced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

inside club velocity, the atmosphere pulsed with energy as lando, surrounded by his fellow drivers, basked in the euphoria of his first grand prix victory. the music thumped, mingling with the cheers and laughter of the crowd as they toasted to his success.

lando, wearing a grin that could light up the night sky, raised his glass in a toast, his eyes sparkling with joy and gratitude. around him, his friends and teammates clapped him on the back, their voices blending into a chorus of congratulations.

as the night wore on, the celebration only grew more spirited, with lando at the center of it all, soaking in every moment of his well-deserved triumph. little did he know, an even greater surprise awaited him, one that would make this unforgettable night even more memorable.

as soon as i finished getting ready, i messaged carlos to ask him which club they’re at.

me: "hey carlos! hope you guys are having a blast celebrating lando's win! which club are you all at?"

carlos: "hey! yeah, it's wild here! we're at club velocity on south beach. you should come join us!"

me: "awesome, thanks! see you there!" with carlos's reply in hand, i quickly went inside my rented vehicle, my heart pounding with excitement at the thought of surprising lando and joining in the celebration of his first grand prix victory.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

i got to the club as quickly as possible. still making sure that i wore my signature carol h. good girl scent.

as i approached lando, i noticed his glazed eyes scanning the crowd, seemingly lost in a haze of alcohol. but then, something shifted. his brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before his expression softened, and he inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring slightly.

suddenly, his gaze sharpened, and a spark of recognition ignited in his eyes. "wait… i know that scent," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the music.

a smile spread across my face as i watched him, knowing exactly what he was sensing. then, in an instant, his face lit up with realization, and he turned towards me with newfound clarity.

"it's you, baby! it’s you!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with delight as he lunged forward to envelop me in a warm embrace.

relieved and touched by his recognition, i hugged him back, feeling the tension melt away as he held me close. it was a moment of pure connection amidst the chaos of the club, a reminder of the bond we shared.

as we pulled apart, lando's grin was infectious, his eyes bright with happiness. "i can't believe you're here, baby, you’re really here" he said, his voice filled with genuine surprise and gratitude.

i chuckled, shaking my head fondly. "wouldn't miss celebrating with you, lan. even if you're a little… tipsy."

lando laughed, a sheepish expression crossing his face. "yeah, maybe i went a bit overboard."

"seriously though, you're swaying more than the palm trees outside and your words are starting to sound like a foreign language. i think it's time we got you home, don't you?"

lando slowly nods sheepishly "yeah, you're probably right. i guess i got caught up in the moment." he giggled and pinched my cheek.

“i missed you so much, baby. i love you” he whispered in my ear, lightly biting it. i couldn't help my cheeks from turning hot after what he said.

i struggled to make up my words before i responded, “i missed you too, lan. i love you.” i gave him a peck on the cheek and ruffled his curly hair. he smiled at me, a smile warm enough to melt my heart.

“let’s get you some rest, lan. say goodbye to the grid.” i guided lando to stand up, his hand wrapped around my waist to help him navigate his way through the crowd.

“hey guys, i just wanted to say a huge thank you for being here tonight to celebrate with lando. it means the world to him, and to me."

"of course! lando's victory is something we all wanted to celebrate together!" carlos smiled and gave lando a pat on the back.

"absolutely, it's been an amazing night. but right now, my love needs some rest. take care, everyone!"

as we exchanged farewells and well-wishes, i couldn't help but feel grateful for the support of lando's friends. with smiles and nods all around, lando quickly waved goodbye and thanked his fellow drivers.

as we navigated out the club, lando's whispers filled the air, his words a mixture of adoration and drunken rambling. "you're so beautiful, baby" he murmured, his voice filled with affection. "and i've missed you so much."

i chuckled softly, feeling a wave of warmth wash over me. "i've missed you too, lan. but let's save the sweet talk for when you're a bit more sober, alright?"

lando nodded earnestly, his gaze locking with mine. "yeah, you're right, baby. but seriously, your smell… it's intoxicating. i can't get enough of it."

grinning, i squeezed his hand gently. "thanks, love. i'll take that as a compliment, even if it's coming from a slightly intoxicated mind."

with a sheepish grin, lando leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "i mean it, though, my love. you always smell like home to me."

as i opened the door to the shotgun seat, lando stumbled slightly as he climbed in, his movements slowed by the alcohol. with a patient smile, i guided him into the seat, making sure he was settled before reaching for his seatbelt.

as i leaned over to fasten his seatbelt, lando took advantage of the close proximity and planted a quick, sneaky kiss on my neck. the unexpected gesture sent a tingling sensation through me, but i brushed it off with a playful roll of my eyes.

"behave yourself, lan," i teased, my tone lighthearted as i finished securing his seatbelt.

with a mischievous grin, lando giggled and leaned back in his seat, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. i closed the door with a soft chuckle, taking a moment to compose myself before heading around to the driver's side.

as i settled into the driver's seat and started the engine, i couldn't help but smile at the lingering warmth of lando's kiss against my neck. but with a shake of my head, i focused on the road ahead, determined to get us back to our hotel safely.

as lando drifted off to sleep beside me, his face softened into a peaceful expression. i couldn't help but admire him at that moment. here was a guy who'd poured his heart and soul into his passion, and tonight, it had paid off big time.

i thought back on all the blood, sweat, and tears he'd poured into his career, the late nights at the track, the tough races, and the moments of doubt. but through it all, he'd never given up.

now, as he slept, i saw a sense of calm wash over him, like he'd finally achieved what he'd been working towards all this time. it was a pretty amazing feeling to witness.

at that moment, i realized how lucky i was to share this journey with him. and as i stole glances at him sleeping, i couldn't help but feel a wave of pride for everything he'd accomplished.

as i shook lando awake, his sleepy voice sent a blush creeping up my cheeks. "hey, love. did we make it to the hotel already?"

i managed a smile, trying to hide my embarrassment. "yeah, we're here, sleepyhead," i replied softly, guiding him out of the car.

lando leaned heavily on me, his arm draped over my shoulder. it was a struggle to help him towards the elevator, his weight making each step a challenge.

"you're amazing, baby" lando slurred, his words sincere but slightly garbled.

i chuckled, feeling both amused and touched by his compliment. "just doing my best, lan" i replied modestly, navigating us through the lobby.

lando's closeness sent a flutter through me, his arm around my neck, dangling through my breasts as we walked made me feel the way i felt earlier when he kissed me on the neck.

as we reached the suite, i gently guided lando towards the bed, urging him to lie down and get some rest. but to my surprise, he resisted, his eyes pleading as he reached out to me.

"i don't want to sleep yet, baby" he murmured, his voice laced with a hint of longing. "i've missed you so much."

my heart skipped a beat at his words, a rush of warmth flooding through me. despite his drunken state, there was an intensity in his gaze that left me breathless.

"i've missed you too, lan," i whispered, my voice barely above a hush as i met his gaze.

“c’mere, beautiful” lando patted the space next to him in the bed, asking me to sit down beside him.

there was a charged silence between us, the air thick with unspoken desires and yearning. in that moment, it felt as if time stood still, the world narrowing down to just the two of us in the dimly lit room.

and then, almost as if on instinct, lando's hand reached out to cup my cheek, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. the intensity of his gaze held me captive, drawing me closer until our lips were mere inches apart.

without a word, our lips met in a tender, lingering kiss, a silent expression of all the emotions that had been building between us. it was a kiss filled with longing and desire, a silent promise of what was to come.

"so beautiful, my love," lando mumbled in between our kisses, his voice thick with emotion. "you don't know how long i've waited for this."

his words sent a thrill through me, igniting a fire that had been smoldering between us for far too long. with each touch of his lips against mine, i felt myself melting into him, consumed by the heat of our passion.

our kisses deepened, each one more fervent than the last, as if we were trying to convey all the pent-up longing and desire that had been simmering between us for so long. "tastes like heaven, baby" lando murmured between kisses, his voice husky with desire.

"i've missed this so much, lan" i confessed, my breath hitching as his fingers traced patterns along my skin.

lando paused, his touch gentle yet charged with an electric intensity. "i've missed this just as much, baby," he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. "more than words can say."

his hands roamed over to my wet panties that sent shivers down my spine, igniting a hunger that burned hotter with each passing moment. "you're so beautiful, and wet for me, baby" he whispered, his voice filled with reverence as he started to play with my clit.

i arched into his touch, wordlessly urging him closer, craving the delicious friction of our bodies melding together. "don't stop," i pleaded, my voice barely above a whisper as the sensations threatened to overwhelm me.

two of his fingers slipped inside me, and i found myself clutching his hair. “don’t stop, lan. more, please,” i urged, my voice tinged with urgency and longing. and, as always, he delivered without hesitation.

“so wet for me, and only for me, baby,” he murmured against my skin, his tone raw with desire, igniting a primal spark within me.

lando's eyes darkened with hunger as he drew nearer, his breath a tantalizing caress against my ear. "you're mine," he whispered, possessiveness lacing his words, sparking a thrill of excitement in my chest. "all mine."

a shiver of anticipation ran down my spine at his words, a silent agreement to the intensity of our connection. "yes, lan," i responded softly, the words barely escaping my lips, "only yours."

with a shared understanding, he guided me onto his waiting mouth, each movement charged with unspoken longing.

“want to taste you so bad, baby,” he growled softly, his breath warm against my skin as his tongue danced with mine, exploring every curve and crevice with eager reverence.

“tastes damn good, pretty girl,” he rasped, his voice a husky murmur of appreciation as he savored the intimacy of the moment.

with every lick, i felt myself edging closer to the end, our bodies moving in sync, a symphony of pleasure and desire. he quickened the pace, driving me towards the edge until i was teetering on the brink, my senses ablaze with sensation.

"fuck, lan. i’m so fucking close," i moaned, the words tumbling from my lips in a breathless plea for release.

i hit my breaking point, just lost in the moment, riding that wave of pure pleasure, my voice echoing in the silence of the room.

as i caught my breath, i gazed at lando with a sense of wonder, gratitude swelling in my chest for the connection we shared.

“c’mere, pretty. take my pants off for me, will ya?” he said, his voice tinged with anticipation. and without hesitation, i obliged, eager to reciprocate the pleasure he had just given me.

as i removed his pants, his eyes locked onto me, filled with unmistakable desire. when he pulled out his length from his boxers, i was taken aback; it seemed even bigger than before.

lando noticed my gulp as i stared at him, clearly turned on by my reaction.

without warning, he guided himself into my mouth, gently gathering my hair into a makeshift ponytail as he directed my movements.

"i missed this fucking mouth," lando grunted, his hand instinctively moving my head forward and backward until his length reached my throat.

“ah, fuck, baby, your mouth feels incredible,” he moaned, his eyes closing in pleasure as he savored the sensations. releasing his grip on my head, he allowed me full control.

i licked the tip of his shaft teasingly, before gradually taking him deeper until i reached his base. “you're so fucking beautiful like this, love. such a good girl, taking me fully” he struggled to praise, his words punctuated by moans of pleasure.

each sound he made spurred me on, igniting a deeper desire within me. with passion driving me, i gave him my all, the rhythm of my mouth against his cock filling the room.

“so good with your mouth like this, love. fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he thrust his hips, his movements growing more urgent.

“baby, i’m about to cum,” he warned between moans. i yearned for him to finish so we could move on to the next stage; my anticipation palpable.

“i’m cumming, baby. fuck, i’m cumming. you’re so fucking good at this, my love,” he smiled appreciatively as i swallowed, clearly impressed and aroused by my eagerness.

turning me around, he instructed, “on your knees, my love.”

"lando," i breathed, my voice a mix of warning and longing, almost on the edge of a whine. my legs remained spread as i faced away from him, fighting the urge to squirm, my patience wearing thin.

lando's grin widened, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as his hands pushed my legs further apart, positioning himself at the entrance of my wetness.

"you look stunning from this angle, love," he hummed, his voice laced with teasing sweetness. "you need me badly, don’t you, love?" his length traced over my folds teasingly, sending shivers down my spine.

though i hesitated to admit it, i couldn't deny the truth as my hips involuntarily bucked upwards, a strangled moan escaping me when he pinched my clit.

"i need you," i whimpered almost shamefully, my head falling back in surrender. "so bad, lan."

"i need you inside me," i mumbled, making his smirk return.

"missed you so fucking much," he hisses, parting my legs further as my breath got faster.

"missed you too, lan" i assured him, a moan slipping past my lips as i felt his tip pressing against my folds, though he made no further movements. i pushed my hip back to feel his length.

his hand tangling in my hair and creating a makeshift ponytail ─ one he tugged on immediately, forcing my head up.

"use your words, m' love" lando's lips grazed my ear, his cock still lightly pressing against my entrance, causing me to cry out.

"i want you to fuck me," i whined, rushing my words out as my hips pressed backward.

"need you, lan, please," i whimpered, sounding desperate.

he entered me without warning, bottoming out as my walls wrapped around him, our gasps mingling as i gripped the bedsheets below.

"always taking me so well," lando grunted in my ear as his thrusts became rougher, deeper, ensuring i felt every inch of him.

every movement sent pleasure coursing through my body, my moans filling the room as i surrendered to the pleasure.

"you feel amazing, lan," i stumbled out, my eyes rolling back as my body melted under his touch.

lando, too, seemed lost in the sensation, his head thrown back as he moved with purpose, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the room.

"does it feel good?" his question was rhetorical, just a way to chase praise, but i could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences.

i nodded, the only response i could manage in his hold.

"damn, you're just perfect, baby," lando grunted, his kiss on my shoulder was gentle compared to what was happening between my legs.

it was almost too much, the tears and whimpers making it clear i was close to another climax. and just the thought had him reaching his own peak.

"cum on my cock, baby. cum for me," he urged in my ear, sending shivers down my spine as my second orgasm hit. i practically screamed, going limp in his arms.

feeling me tighten around him had him climaxing too, groaning as he leaned against me, both of us catching our breath.

his touches became softer as he pulled away, guiding me to lean against the counter. we fell into a comfortable silence, his hands gentle on my waist.

"wanna hop in the shower?" lando's voice broke the quiet, a grin spreading across his face, and i felt a wave of relief.

i grinned back and nodded, and he chuckled, lifting me effortlessly and carrying me off to the bathroom.

after a relaxing shower together, we dried off and crawled into bed, exhausted yet content. the weight of the day's activities and the intimacy we shared left us feeling pleasantly worn out.

"baby, that was something else," lando chuckled, his arm wrapping around me as he pulled me close. his laughter was infectious, echoing the contentment that filled the room.

"definitely," i agreed, snuggling against him. the warmth of his body against mine was comforting, a tangible reminder of the bond we shared.

in the morning, we woke to the gentle rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. the tranquility of the moment was almost tangible as we lay intertwined, basking in the quiet stillness of the early hours.

"morning, love," lando greeted me with a smile, his eyes filled with affection as he pressed a tender kiss to my lips. the warmth of his lips against mine was a sweet welcome to the new day.

"morning, sleepyhead," i teased, returning his kiss with a playful grin.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

hope u enjoyed reading my first fan-fic <3 feel free to give prompts and request !! enjoy !

[violetszone]

Hurtful Dependant

Charles x fem!reader

From this request

Summary: You have been in a relationship with Charles for a long time and you were engaged.You were always getting bad comments like other wags but receiving threats and scary letters was starting to scare you. You didn't mention these to Charles, and you didn't expect to come face to face with the person who sent you these threats at the Monaco race.

WARNINGS: knife, stalker, violance,blood etc. not edited.

A/N: I'm sorry for the logical error I was in physiology class when I wrote this.

You never imagined that your fiancé being a famous F1 driver would cause anything to happen to you.You have been in a relationship with Charles for a long time and recently got engaged, but for a while now, Charles' fans started to cross borders.Gathering in front of Charles' house and waiting for him was the most uncomfortable thing they'd ever done, or so you thought.

When you started dating Charles three years ago, you initially received both bad and good comments, like every other wag, but with Charles' help, you learned not to care about them.After you got engaged, everything suddenly started to get scary. First, you started receiving threats from unknown accounts on Instagram. But you didn't mention these to Charles so as not to escalate the situation and they stopped doing this.

Everything went well for a few months. When Charles left for the races after the winter break, you were left alone at home and scary letters started arriving at your house, along with a few photos of you leaving work or doing something else outside.This was getting really scary, but this time you didn't say anything because you didn't want to worry Charles while he was away.

When it was time for the Monaco race, Charles had finally returned home and you were relieved. You missed your fiancée very much and you felt like you could take your mind off these terrible things. You spent time with Charles before the Monaco race you both took time to relax and satisfy your longing.

You were going to watch the Monaco race with Charles. Charles got up early in the morning and went out. You were preparing breakfast for you. When you received a message on your phone, you smiled, thinking it was from Charles. You looked at your phone. It was from an unknown number and it said, "Watch your back." And there was a photo just taken of you. This made you nervous again, even though you tried not to show it to Charles when he came, you felt terrible.

You went to the paddock for the race, everything was fine, but you still had a bad feelingYou felt as if someone was following you, and you even turned and looked behind you from time to time. Monaco was an important race and you decided to tell Charles what happened after the race. You spent time together in the Ferrari hospitality and garage until the race.Even though the race was tense, Charles came in second. When he got out of the car, he first hugged the team and you, then said he was going to the cooling room.

There were a few minutes until they got to the podium, so you started to go to the front with everyone else, but someone whose face you couldn't see in the crowd grabbed you and said that Charles called you and that it was urgent. At that moment, without thinking, you went to where he said, a little outside the paddock, and you had no chance of reaching anyone because he didn't have his phone with you. As you were walking in the dark, you saw someone far away.

"Charles? What's the problem? What are you doing there?" I called out to the person in the distance First a laugh was heard, then a woman's voice sent a shiver down my spine. "How naive you are. I warned you so many times that if you had listened to me none of this would have had to happen." While you were stepping back in fear, she started walking towards you from the darkness.

"what do you want from me? Isn't what you've been doing for a few months enough?" When I heard the podium music from afar, I looked there and when I looked in front of me again, the girl was in front of me now. "No it's not enough. You are the only reason I can't reach him, you are the biggest obstacle, and as if that wasn't enough, you got engaged to him" her voice scratched my ear.

"you are crazy" While she was laughing again, I hit my back against the wall, I had no place left to escape She came closer and suddenly wrapped her hand around my throat and started squeezing, "You made me crazy.If you didn't exist Charles would be mine but don't worry I will solve this quickly" I couldn't breathe but I started struggling. The girl was stronger than me. When I kicked her leg, she retreated a little and punched me in the face. I fell to the ground.

When you could breathe again, you started coughing.You tried to get up from the ground but you fell so hard and it hurt, this time she kicked you and took a knife out of her pocket. "don't make my job difficult" She spoke melodiously. When I saw the knife, I started to crawl backwards "Please don't do it, are you crazy? If you kill me, you will go to jail. And if you hurt me Charles will never look at you anyway" My words made her even more angry.

She leaned down next to me, held my face with one hand, and slowly rubbed the knife in her hand against my face, leaving a small cut. I sighed in pain, but I couldn't move because if I struggled, she would pierce my face with knife.While the sounds of celebration were coming from the side of the podium again, we both looked in that direction.You took her distraction as an opportunity and got up from the ground and started running towards the paddock. When you fell to the ground, you hurt your arm and leg, so it was hurting and it was slowing you down. You could feel blood coming out of the cut on your face, you could hear the girl running after you.

As you were entering the paddock, you felt a sudden pain in your leg, screamed and fell to the ground. When you looked at your leg, you saw that she threw the knife at your leg and there was a huge cut, but because you screamed, a few guards around looked at where you fell to the ground. This time, you had no strength left to get up from the ground. While the guards were coming to you, you heard the girl running away.

You were semi-conscious  from pain and shock while the guards were helping you.What you don't know is that Charles was worried and scared when he didn't see you when he got to the podium. As soon as the podium was over, he asked everyone about you and looked around for you. While he was looking for you, he saw the guard carrying you towards the emergency room at the entrance of the paddock and ran there.

When you opened your eyes, Charles was next to you, holding your hand. You squinted your eyes because of the light. His voice was mixed with anger. "Who did this to you, Y/N? Why didn't you say anything to me my love?" You shook his hand tiredly "I didn't want to worry you, at first I thought it was a normal fan, you know.but later-" You didn't want to continue. Charles looked at you with worry while stroking your hair.

"I should have known, Y/N, what if something had happened to you, you should have told me baby" Charles got up from his seat and hugged you. "I am sorry" you said in a weak voice. "No, I'm sorry, I should have protected you." You shook your head no. You spent time there for a while, you were better as they looked at your wounds.

A few days later Charles released a statement and everyone was surprised but very angry at the person who did this.Even though it took a long time for you to heal, it was nothing serious. Still, Charles did not leave your side and immediately informed someone to find the person who did this to you. Even if something bad happened to you, having a caring fiancé next to you helped you recover quickly.And unlike the girl who did this to you, the bond between you got stronger.

[nathaslosthershit]

A Little White Chapel Wedding (LS18)

(Part 3 of the Blind Item Series) Summary: Lance and his now wife had their reasons for eloping, he just hopes his dad will understand.

Lance and his girlfriend, now wife, had always wanted to keep their relationship out of the spotlight. Given how much hate and controversy surrounded Lance due to his father’s ownership of the team, he had already taken a major step back from social media. He knew that dating another heir apparent would piss many fans off, even if it was solely for love that they were together. Both of their families knew and greatly approved of the relationship but once Lance had proposed it seemed their families wanted to take over fully. Wedding preparations had been started without any input from the groom and bride-to-be. Seeing all these decisions made without the two’s consent had put a ton of stress on them. This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives and they had absolutely no say in the matter. Guest lists full of investors and other business partners took away from the intimacy of the event. No detail was left unscrutinized and it was going to be far too extravagant, as this was going to be the first time they announced their relationship and the families joining together.

When Lance and his fiancee had gotten to Vegas, they had no plans of getting married that weekend. The thought only crossed Lance’s mind after the race.

“P5 Lance! Oh honey I couldn’t be more proud.” She said as she ran up and hugged him. She had been waiting what felt like forever to congratulate him, as he had been so surrounded the minute the race ended. 

Pulling away from the hug, Lance put his hands on her cheeks as he said “let's get married”

“We are, Lance.” She responded, perplexed. 

“Tonight. Let's elope and have an actual wedding about the two of us. No one else.”

“Honey, our families would kill us if we did that.” While the idea sounded wonderfully romantic and gave her butterflies just thinking about it, it just couldn’t work with the way things were.

“Who cares? We don’t have to tell them right away. We get married now, take an extra long honeymoon over break and then tell them once the season starts.”

“I don’t know Lance.”

“Please? It is unfair we don’t get to have the wedding we want. Who gives a shit about the guestlist with a million business partners we’ve never met. If they still need a wedding then we will do it their way but let's have our way first.” 

She took a minute to respond, thinking the idea over before she finally gave her answer. “Okay, Lance. Let's get married.”

Lance had never envisioned his wedding going the way it did, but he also never saw it the way his family planned it to be.

Although as happy as he was, he felt so guilty when he thought of how his family would feel knowing that he got married without them there to see it. As important as business was to Lawrence Stroll, he knew his dad valued and loved his family above all else. 

Over break, the newlyweds had gone on a bit of a delayed honeymoon, posed as just a really nice vacation.

They only got the honeymoon suit because they really wanted to go all out. No other reason…

They thought they had made it out unscathed, planning on telling their family in a week when they had gotten back from their vacation. Too bad they didn’t get to.

Lance’s wife saw the post first. He barely checked socials anymore. When the photos of them confirmed that the Blind Items post was about them, she felt a chill run through her body. Their families had to have known already, public image was important to both of them so they definitely had PR teams constantly checking what was going on. And she was correct.

“Honey, I just got a call from my Dad. He sounded pretty upset, and said we had to come home quickly and meet with him.” Lance said, confused and worried. His dad rarely sounded as serious as he did on the phone. 

Wordlesy, she passed her phone to Lance with the tweet pulled up. She could see the color drain from his face as he read through replies. Fuck this wasn’t good.

What was probably the most stressful plane ride of Lance’s life was also painstakingly long. He couldn’t swallow the guilt building in his throat at how upset his father must be.

The once welcoming and happy house was now cold and silent as the couple walked inside. His father didn’t greet them, just told the two of them to follow him into his office. Lance just held his wife’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly as they made their way up there. 

Lawrence still remained silent as he sat in his chair, looking at his married son and new daughter-in-law for the first time.

Lance was the one to break the silence.

“Dad, I know this is a lot but please-” He was cut off by the simple raise of his father’s hand to silence him.

“Why, Lance? We spend all this time planning the two of you a beautiful wedding just for you both to throw it away? For what?”

“Dad, you dont under-”

“No, Lance, I don’t. I mean how could you be so stupid?”

“Please if you just listen, Dad-”

“I have never been more disrespected by yo-”

 “Stop!” Lance’s wife spoke up. She finally had to butt in. “You tell Lance you don’t understand and when he tries to explain you cut him off! How are we supposed to have a conversation when you won’t let anyone else speak?”

Silence spread across the room as no one dared to respond. She could practically feel the smoke coming out of her ears.

“Dad. We eloped because we wanted something that was for us. The wedding you were planning wasn’t ours. We didn’t have a say in anything. From guest list to menu, you all controlled that. We wanted to get married on our own terms. While I will forever be sorry you weren’t with us, I am not sorry for getting married the way I did, to the girl I love.” Lance grabbed your hand once again to squeeze, to remind him why he did what he did. 

His father didn’t say anything for a few moments. The newlyweds waited patiently, praying Lawrence wouldn’t fly off the handle again. 

Finally he said, “Then I owe you both an apology. I understand that you both had expectations for your wedding and not having any say in the matter didn’t feel good. I wish you both said something. At the end of the day though, this is still a big deal for our families business-wise. You are my only son though, Lance, I wish I could have seen you get married.”

“We can still have the wedding, Mr.Stoll. Our plan was just to have something for ourselves, then have the main event be for everyone else.”

Lawrence smiled at that. Happy he would still get to see his son get married, even if it is the second time.

This time luckily, the couple got a bit more of a say in wedding preparations. With no comment from either family, the Vegas elopement was quickly forgotten once more pressing gossip reached the public. 

While it still wasn’t what Lance and his wife had envisioned, having their families there this time was all they could ask for. 

lance_stroll

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lance_stroll One for us and one for them

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[klemen-tine]

Glass Bones and Paper Skin Part 2

Platonic! Bruce x Model! GN! Reader

First Part

Part 3

Trigger Warnings: Hint at suicide, Body Issues, Eating problems (not a disorder), Child Neglect, stalking

This is more of the family side than it is of Bruce. Next part will be everyone.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Young Master Y/N, what a pleasant surprise.” Y/N smiled at Alfred, opening their arms and sagging in relief once they hugged the butler. The three hour car ride had been tense, with everyone asking questions and Y/N trying their hardest to be polite while not losing it. The fashion show still fresh in their mind, and the clothing Francesca had given them was gently folded and placed in the trunk of the car. 

“It is good to see you, Alfred. It’s been too long.” The old man huffed, “Indeed. A year of only phone calls and cards does make it seem like it was a century ago since I last saw your face… in person.” Y/N smiled, giving Alfred a playful look before remembering where they are and how they got here. 

The smile on their face became practiced, expression smoothening out as they turned to face the rest of the family who were all waiting patiently. Dick was smiling brightly, unraveling his scarf and walking forward, “Hey Alfie, you should have seen our Y/N walk. They really made the show.” 

“I find it insulting they made you walk last,” Damian chimed and crossed his arms. Y/N gave him a small smile, “Being a closer is as much of a compliment as being the opener.” The young boy scrunched his nose, “I preferred the show in Paris.” 

“Francesca Gabbana designed the piece, Alfred you’ll have to see it.” Tim was the one carrying the case that had the piece in it. The old man hummed, “I saw it on the television, but perhaps seeing it in person will be better.” Jason shrugged, walking in and gently nudging Y/N with his larger shoulders, “Although, did she have to make the Bat symbol just the front piece? It barely covered anything.” Y/N could see his jaw clench like the very thought of other people seeing Y/N’s stomach. 

Bruce was the last to walk in, shrugging off his coat and hanging it over his arm, “Fashion designers do not care about function, only beauty.” Y/N smiled tensely, “It is a form of art.” The older man smiled at Y/N, and the model couldn’t get rid of the image of the Bruce they saw backstage. 

“Of course it is. One of the most demanding forms of art as well.” Y/N couldn’t place the tone, but there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Alfred shuffled, “Well, dinner is almost ready. Young Master Y/N, if you want you can wash up in one of the guest bathrooms. Your room is currently being used as a trophy room.” Y/N chuckled, “Oh dear, you’re not hanging up my photos are you?” 

“I did tell you I would be.” Y/N shook their head, “Thanks Alfred, but I don’t have any clothes here.” An arm swung around their shoulder, and Y/N stiffened under the sudden touch. Jason was smiling at them, “C’mon Y/N, we have some clothes for you.” Y/N felt the sudden spike again in their spine, alerting them that something was amiss and only bad things would happen if they asked questions. From how everyone was looking at them, Y/N specifically, it was like they were waiting for Y/N to ask. Impatiently waiting for that landmine to explode in front of them. 

“How kind of you, I wasn’t expecting that.” Y/N jumped over it. 

“Of course! How could we not have clothes ready for when our younger sibling comes home. Even though it’s been almost three years, I hope everything still fits right.” Just to land on another landmine. Y/N kept the smile on, years of being talked down to by photographers have helped them create the perfect mask of politeness. 

“So, which bathroom in which guest room?” Tim stepped forward and gently guided Y/N out from under Jason’s arm and further into the manor. Y/N stayed half a step behind, taking in the gothic manor and the decorations littering the hallway. 

Out of all the siblings, Y/N is closest with Tim. Not really siblings, and not really even friends, but if his relationship could be described as a length rope attached to each person, Tim’s would be the second shortest. Right after Alfred. They are close in age, and Tim was the first one to comment on Y/N’s photo when Y/N had first started modeling. 

It was only once, and it may have been in passing, but Y/N had held that interaction close to their heart. The first and last comment from a sibling about their modeling. An acknowledgement of sorts, that made Y/N momentarily believe that they were noticeable, only for that to be squished that same day. 

“You’re photo in the Cosmetology magazine, it looks really good. Red suits you.” 

The way that color looked on Y/N was the same as how a red rose looked on a green stem; like it was always meant to be. Y/N has seen the comparisons between them and their mother. M/N L/N was a beautiful woman, with large eyes and pouty lips, the very definition of innocence. A puppy-dog look that fit so naturally on her face. 

A white rose. 

While Y/N had a more sultry tone, a more powerful presence, one that demanded attention. 

A red rose. Not so innocent, or pure, but who can be when you see your own mother dead in the bathtub. Drug allegations and the loss of her popularity caused her downfall, and she loved her popularity more than she loved her child. Y/N finds it hard to blame her, because after they have gotten a taste of what beauty can get them, they can see why their mother got addicted to the camera flashes. 

The assurance that yes, they are beautiful. They are beautiful and worthy of the cameras. 

But with every camera flash, is a terrible comment. A terrible blog, highlighting their faults and insecurities. Someone dissecting every motion they made, every microexpression, ever comment. 

“Here you are, Y/N.” Y/N’s attention snapped back and sure enough they were in front of the door. Tim waited patiently for Y/N to enter, “Thank you, Tim.” The young man shrugged, “Sure. Clothes can be found in the dresser and shoes in the closet.” Y/N nodded, waiting for the other to leave. Instead Tim turned around and faced Y/N, waiting for the other with a raised brow, “You’re not going to ask about the clothes?” 

Y/N gulped, “I feel like if I ask, I won’t like the answer. I’d rather live in ignorance for now.” They walked past Tim, opening and closing the door, but before they saw Tim grin and a smile played out on his lips, “Smart.” 

They locked the door, and when they turned around Y/N nearly collapsed. They pressed their back into the door as they stared at the room in mild terror. Their room from their condo, fully paid off condo, was present in front of Y/N. The same color palette, the same furniture, hell even the bookshelves are the same. Gulping, Y/N walked further in and when they opened the dresser, their jaw clenched and fingers shook. 

The exact same clothes. 

The bathroom was their saving grace, or so they thought. It didn’t look like their bathroom in the condo, save for the same colored towels. That was until they opened the shower and saw full bottles of the same brand soap, shampoo, conditioner, masks, everything. 

“Just like home. It is just like home, Y/N. Only in the Manor.” They mumbled to themselves, stripping in front of the shower stall and jumping in and not even waiting for the water to get hot. They wanted in and out as quickly as possible. Washing their hair, their body, and not even bothering to do the usual masks and scrubs. 

Jumping out, they quickly towel dried themselves and threw on the robe that was so familiar. 

“Routine… keep to the routine…” Body lotion, while the skin is still damp so it can absorb into the skin better, followed by an oil. For the face it was a double cleanse, first an oil based then water-based, followed by toner, retinol, serums, hyaluronic acid, moisturizer, and face oil. Teeth will be after the meal, but hair… 

“Moisturizer, blow dry, and then oil.” Y/N continued to mutter, trying desperately to not go crazy as the familiar brands flashed across their face and they had to use it like normal. They had too. Cause if they don’t, then Y/N knows that they will go crazy. 

They don’t bother to look in the dresser again, already on the verge of having a nervous breakdown, and instead they opted to flop onto the bed. Y/N buried their face in the pillow, and tried to not think about anything. They tried to force their mind blank, just how they did on the runway. 

“Y/N, are you ready?” Only it wasn’t working. Sitting up, Y/N stared at the door and contemplated answering. The carefully crafted facade was cracking and Y/N doesn’t know if they can keep the mask on any longer. From the multiple shows this week, to the shows earlier today, then this, the mask had outworn its use and now it is slowly begging to be taken off. 

“One minute please.” Only they can’t. Not here. Definitely not here. 

Peeling themselves off of the bed, Y/N stripped out of the robe and grabbed the first shirt they saw, underwear, and jeans. Their house slippers were right next to the dresser, and Y/N wanted to cry. All of it was getting too much and they're not sure how much longer they can be doing this. 

Opening the door, Dick and Jason were the ones waiting for them. Dick grinned, “How insulting of you to look so great in only jeans and a crew neck, making the rest of us look like toads.” Y/N chuckled, closing the door behind them, “I am a model, its my job to look good in every style of clothing.” 

Dick laughed, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s shoulder he pulled the other close. Close enough that Y/N could smell the detergent used on Dick’s clothes, and body heat radiating off of the other. They started walking, Jason keeping silent while Dick chatted to Y/N, catching the other up on the past year. 

“There are more to the family now, but they won’t be at dinner today. Cass is with Steph, Duke is studying, and Barbara has dinner with her own family to join.” Y/N nodded, ignoring the small sting that others can be welcomed in while they couldn’t be. Instead, they kept the conversation polite, “How nice! It must be worthwhile to have so many people here.” Dick grinned, and there was a type of sharpness to it that had Y/N squirming. 

“Yeah, but it was never really a full house because not everyone was here.” A jab at Y/N, who muscled through it, “Well, modeling is a travel-heavy job. There was no time to come back.” The brothers stayed quiet, leading Y/N to the dining room table where everything and everyone was sitting and waiting patiently. 

Bruce caught their eyes, and motioned for them to sit at the empty seat next to him, Tim on the other side. Y/N walked over, and took the seat graciously, trying to ignore the weight in their stomach that was making their throat close. Alfred emerged, and like the true butler he was, he began setting their plates in front of them. Perfectly made and being presented beautifully on the white ceramic plates with gold leaf designs. 

Their favorite meal, one that always had Y/N running down the stairs when Alfred would announce his plans to make it, sat perfectly in the center of the plate. Its been so long since Y/N had it, no one quite makes it like Alfred does, and plus its just not really in Y/N’s diet. 

But Alfred made it. Alfred put his time and effort into making it, and Y/N is not going to spit on that. Once everyone had their plate, the dinner table became loud with chatter. Just like hoow it used to be. Dick would carry the conversation for the entire table, Jason would make sarcastic remarks, Tim intelligent ones, Damian’s would be snide, and Bruce would look exhausted the entire time. However, he still partook in them, letting his kids have the family moment of conversing with their parental figure. Smiling and chuckling as he did so, Bruce tried to be that good father figure. 

And Y/N just sits there. They eat quietly and think about their next photo shoot, the next trends that they need to hop on, the workout routine they need to adhere by. Questions do not get thrown their way– 

“Now that fashion season is over, what are your plans Y/N?” E/C eyes blink owlishly, staring at Dick in wonder as all eyes focus on them. 

“Oh, uh, um, well its normally rest season for us, but I have plans to schedule a few photoshoots, commercials, and I know Maya has been talking about me becoming a brand ambassador.” Y/N wants to keep the momentum. Y/N wants to be kept busy to get and stay away from here. 

“You’re not going to rest?” Jason questioned, raising a brow and Y/N shrugged, “I plan to take a few weeks off, but modeling doesn’t really have a set time.” It isn’t a 9-5 job, or vigilante job. Y/N will have to make public appearances, showing up to Galas, grand openings, other fashion shows, fashion shoots, and a lot of traveling. 

Bruce hummed, “Sounds like you’re running yourself thin.” Y/N gulped, “It sounds like a lot, but most of it is traveling and getting ready. Besides, I like being busy.” In high school, Y/N would go from school the the modeling agency where they would schedule photo shoots and commercials. Then it would be meeting with dieticians, personal trainers, estheticians, and then more meeting for future goals. The next steps. 

Y/N was always busy, but so was their mother and she managed. She was a single mother and a high end fashion model. If she can do it, then there is no reason Y/N can’t. 

“But there are other stuff right? Like you need to get facials to make sure your skin looks nice, and working out,” Damian chimed in, and Y/N blinked in surprise at the youngest contributing to the conversation. They smiled, “That’s not really tiring, it’s just time consuming.” 

Alfred walked back into the dining room, a dessert platter in his hands, “Then it is good you will be resting here. Take a few days to enjoy being free.” A cheesecake was set down in front of Y/N, and Alfred pointedly stared at the half eaten meal. He gave Y/N a raised brow, and while the model would normally smile and reassure the man that they would eat later, their face was full of shock, “What do you mean a ‘few days?’” 

Bruce wiped the corner of his lips with a napkin, “A few days. Rest here for a few days, it’ll be good for you and for everyone else.” Y/N gulped, “Why is it good for everyone else if I stay?” 

“Of course it’s good for us. Family sticks together obviously, and with you running off, it really sent things haywire.” There it was again. The phrase ‘running off’ as if it was something Y/N actually did. They smiled, “You’re sounding like Tim. I did not run off, I moved out.” Bruce’s brow furrowed, “ ‘Moved out,’ huh. I didn’t realize moving out meant leaving without so much as a goodbye.” 

“The things you left behind, you scheduled people to grab them and throw them out. Alfred was the one to stop them from touching your room,” Dick stated. Those blue eyes keep Y/N locked in their seat. The smile on the oldest sibling’s face was anything but kind, “It’s like you wanted to erase yourself from this manor. You left behind almost nothing that would trace you to us.” 

“Not a number to call. We had to get it from Alfred,” Jason chimed, taking a bite of the chocolate mousse cake. 

“Or a letter explaining where you went.” Damian took a sip of the tea. 

“Or an address.” Tim gulped his cup of coffee, all of them watching Y/N. They way their sibling’s shoulders tensed and that fake smile became more and more downturned. Bruce spoke once more, “It seems like you don’t even want to be a Wayne. Taking your mother’s last name despite the controversies.” 

Y/N’s smile turned bitter, “I took her last name because Wayne is more influential and I wanted to start with as little influence as possible. Plus, legally my last name is still L/N.” Bruce met Y/N’s gaze, “And look how many speculations you got for drug use.” 

“...Since when did you read gossip?” 

“The moment my kid’s photo is attached to that piece of gossip.” Y/N is still aware of all the blogs accusing them of drug-use, the same blogs that accused M/N. People using her photos to compare their features and just cause more drama. 

Y/N took a bite of the cheesecake, and the tension at the table was thick. Usually it was between Dick and Bruce, or Jason and Bruce. Never between Y/N though. Although, Y/N never spoke at the table so maybe that is why they were arguing? Can this even be considered an argument? 

Alfred cleared his throat, “While talking is appreciated, arguments stay away from the dinner table.” So it was an argument. Y/N apologized to the man and took another bite of the cheesecake. Their mind filled with the workout they are going to have to do to burn this off. 

++++

Alfred watched the child he considered a grandchild drink their tea, brewed in the darkness of the kitchen and now sitting at the dinner table again. While a year may not seem long, for Alfred it was. Y/N, who had been there for half a decade, had been glued to Alfred’s side. The man always taking the teen to and from school, and then sometimes to their gigs. 

It was Alfred that took Y/N to their first audition to be a model, and it seems like it was only a few days before he received a call from a woman claiming to be M/N L/N’s manager, and while she may not be Y/N’s manager, her daughter will be. Alfred liked Maya. The young woman always let him know of Y/N’s gigs, she would pick the young teen up and drop him off, and she tried to be as helpful as she could. Maya was a woman born to manage models and their busy and demanding schedules. 

What Alfred didn’t like, was that Maya still had the old school model critiques. Alfred gaped at the woman when she handed him a list of diets for Y/N to ‘lose weight.’ A 15 year old Y/N, who was already slender, now being told they had to be skinny but toned. A child being told that ice cream was no longer an option, and their favorite burgers were banned. 

He furrowed at the training regime, wondering how agencies can expect a teenager to be toned like their already full adult models. Nonstop cardio, ab workouts, and toning exercises. Then strut practice, because if Y/N was M/N’s child, then they were made for the runway. Born to walk in front of cameras and audiences. 

“If Y/N wants to be a model, then sacrifices have to be made,” Was Maya’s response to Alfred's inquiries. She assured him that Y/N would still be eating, and she encouraged Y/N to eat, but now those meals were restricted to certain foods. 

Alfred watched as Y/N struggled at first, their own plate different from the others, and how the blisters on their toes and heels bled through their socks and bandaids. The old man watched as the training and strut practice became an everyday routine. Y/N walked on the wobbling plyboard, barely wide enough for one foot, and the amount of times they fell off of it. The books stacked on their head for good posture and balance, followed by walking on an incline in those uncomfortable shoes, then training the muscles to the point of exhaustion. 

He had watched the child-like baby fat on Y/N’s cheeks melt off and expose cheekbones that looked tight against the skin. Y/N still looked beautiful, not more or less, but Alfred could see the exhaustion in those young eyes and how Y/N juggles modeling and being a student. 

Y/N didn’t even go to their high school graduation, choosing instead to head to Paris for their first ever abroad photoshoot. That kickstarted the traveling and runway model career. Once Y/N got their highschool diploma, they were out the door and becoming busier and busier. 

“I see you still drink onion skin tea so late at night.” Y/N smiled up at Alfred, “Of course. I was shocked to see that you still keep the skins.” The older man sat across from Y/N, nursing his own cup of tea “Of course. In case you ever visited, I thought it would be great to have some in stock.” Y/N gave Alfred a ‘really?’ look, continuing to sip on the still hot tea.

“I saw the piece you wore today,” Alfred started the conversation. 

“It truly is a beautiful piece of work.” Y/N’s jaw clenched, “Did you know about-” Y/N waved a hand in the air, “- about Bruce calling to commission a piece?” The old man took a sip of the earl gray. Y/N shook their head, unable to be upset, “Alfred, a call about that would have been appreciated.” 

“An address would also be appreciated but seeing as you have withheld that information, I saw no harm in sharing Master Bruce’s commission.” Y/N deflated, rubbing their forehead with their fingers, “Alfie-” 

“You only use that name when you know you’re about to be in trouble, so you might as well just say it, Young Master Y/N.” Y/N’s cheeks blushed and their lips pouted, “Alfie, I told you that the reason I didn’t tell you my address is because I am always traveling. I’d feel awful if you showed up and I wasn’t there.” 

“There’s a wonderful contraption called a cellphone, Young Master Y/N. I would call before making that trek over.” Y/N groaned, setting his cup down and trying not to crumble in front of the grandfather figure. Answering to Alfred was always harder than answering to Bruce. 

“Alfie–” 

“Young Master Y/N, I understand your hesitancy is sharing in your life with others. Life was lonely here, and I understand wanting to forget that. However, having only a number to call you is terrifying. What if something happens and I cannot help you?” Y/N gazed sadly at Alfred, “Life wasn’t lonely, Alfie. I had you, right?” 

Alfred Pennyworth, Y/N’s saving grace and lifeline. The person who is proof that Y/N was not alone in the Wayne Manor. The butler always willing to lend an ear when Y/N vented their frustrations, and when tears escaped their E/C eyes. He is Y/N’s biggest supporter. Always buying a magazine that had Y/N in it, and he would listen to Y/N critique the pose and the facial expression. Then he would give Y/N a slice of cheesecake and compliment Y/N, in both the photo and in person. 

Always reassuring the other that a cheat day will not set him back, and rest is what the body needs the most. Reassuring Y/N that their mother would be proud, that Bruce notices them, and that Y/N’s siblings do in fact love them. 

“Besides, why would you even want to visit? My place wouldn’t be as grand as this–” 

“It would be to make sure your fridge is stocked and that you are eating. You have always been the worst when it comes to eating, and I worry that your fridge and pantry are empty.” Alfred doesn’t have to guess that Y/N’s fridge is empty, because he knows it is. 

He knows that Y/N’s fridge is empty besides some drinks, and that the pantry is only snacks. While Y/N may have the excuse of being gone for so long, traveling and whatnot, Alfred knows that Y/N does not spend a lot of money on food. Y/N spends more money on clothes, jewlery, facial and hair care products, than they do on groceries. 

Y/N doesn’t even look ashamed. Nervous, yeah, but not ashamed. They sip their tea without making eye contact. Time to change the subject. 

“Why is Bruce, and all the boys, all of a sudden interested in what I do?” Alfred didn’t Y/N out on the obvious change in conversation, but he let it slide. The old man sighed, “Why would a parent not be interested in what their child is doing?” 

“Alfred.” 

“Young Master Y/N, you have worked tirelessly to get to the position you are now. With no help from the family, you had spent your late mother’s money to audition, then to pay your managers, and now you are making it big within the industry. Is it wrong for a parent to congratulate their child?” Y/N bit their  lip, “So its because I’m finally someone now? Was I not worth attention because I chose not to be Robin?” 

“Young Master Y/N–” 

“I don’t care about that. Like I told Bruce, it wasn’t abuse or anything, he just simply didn’t have time for me and that’s fine. I’m not mad about that.” Alfred watched Y/N get worked up, and E/C begin to shift in nervousness, “What I am talking about is why did Bruce pay off my Condo, and why does he have access to my bank account?” 

Silence fell across the table. Y/N staring at Alfred expectantly, while the butler finished his tea. Once done, he grabbed his and Y/N’s tea cup and headed towards the kitchen. 

“Perhaps, that is a Master Bruce question.” Y/N made a sound of annoyance, throwing themselves back into the chair and scrunching their nose. Standing up from the table, Y/N said goodnight to Alfred, and proceeded up that stairs and into dark hallways. Y/N wasn’t ready to go back to the guest room, feeling their heart rate spike whenever they thought of the replicated room. 

Instead, they walked down familiar halls towards a room-now-turned-trophy room. They reached for the doorknob, but found themselves unable to open it. Y/N didn’t want to see all the photos Alfred had kept throughout the years. Rather, what caught Y/N’s attention was the lacking of doors in the hallway. There used to be two more doors on their left, but instead there was now one. The area where the second door was, was perfectly sealed and now blended into the wall. 

Y/N took a deep breath, and opened the door. They used to be guest rooms as well. The two rooms had queen-sized beds and armoires for the unexpected guests that popped up. Y/N’s room used to be a guest-room, but they ended up liking the privacy because no one else’s room was around their’s. In fact, it was the guest room across from Y/N’s room that they had turned into the practice room, seeing that no one came down this hallway. 

However, clearly people were not because of the renovation done. 

When the door opened, Y/N sought out the light switch. The room was pitch black, and the last thing Y/N wanted to do was trip over something. Feeling around the wall, Y/N rejoiced when they felt the familiar switch and flicked it on. Once the bright light filled the room, Y/N took a deep breath. They were expecting a game room, or an indoor swimming people because that seems like something a rich person would do. Turning two guest rooms into a pool despite it being on the second floor. 

Something not exactly normal, but expected. 

Y/N didn’t expect this. Gone was the wall that separated the two bedrooms, making it one long room, and all the furniture was absent. No more beds, armoires, and it looks like even the bathrooms were gutted and turned into part of the room. All the tables, rugs, sofas, everything that was once in those rooms, were now gone besides the chandeliers that hung on the ceiling. Filling the room with a bright light, that didn’t fit the manor aesthetic at all, and illuminating everything that was in the room. 

While the furniture was gone, the room was not empty. Mannequins lined the walls, on their own podiums and glass cases. While seeing them bare would have been scary, seeing them dressed in the clothes that Y/N had worn on the runways was more terrifying. Y/N, in the runway season alone, walked 86 shows. That is the runways season alone, not including the other smaller shows they have done since graduating high school almost a year ago. 

These weren’t all of the clothes they have worn, there was still a large amount and they were the most iconic pieces. Pieces that a designer would never want to give someone. 

Y/N walked further in, taking in the first mannequin on the right, and they noted that the mannequin looked eerily similar to Y/N. Only missing the facial features and hair, but it looked like the proportions were almost spot on. 

The plastic doll had on the outfit from a runway show earlier in the year, when Y/N walked for Versace. A simple long blazer with deep V cut, stopping mid-thighs where only an inch of skin was shown before thigh boots bedazzled in gold, diamonds, emeralds, and other precious jewels took over the rest of the legs. The earrings they wore were poked into the mannequin's own ears and the bracelets hung off the dainty wrists. In the glass case, next to the mannequin, was the photo taken of Y/N when they were walking. 

The next case was a piece they wore when walking for a newer fashion-designer, one that Y/N did for free just to get to their name out there, and the piece was a gorgeous suit, dyed a beautiful vermillion red that had the slighted shimmer of gold in it. Y/N’s runway photo was once again next to the mannequin. 

The entire room was full of these iconic runway looks, with Y/N’s photo right next to them, and they surrounded all sides of the room and some of them in the middle. Almost like an art gallery of sorts, and Y/N looked at every single one of them. Not in amazement or judgment, but more of horror. 

Y/N knows some of these fashion designers. They have known some of them since they were a child and watching their mom get fitted by these exact same designers. No matter how much she begged, they would never let her take one of their creations home. These clothes were meant to be either safe-guarded in a museum, in their own collection, or in some cases bought by a celebrity and worn to an award ceremony as advertisement. 

In other words, Y/N knows that some of these designers would rather gnaw off an arm then give away their precious creations. Yet, here some of those precious creations were, hanging on the mannequin shaped like the model. 

In the center of the room, like it was the main show, was the Batman-inspired piece. All that was missing was the photo, which wouldn’t be published for another few weeks. 

Taking a deep breath, they stared at the reflection in the gold-plated bat. They were trying to process all of this. It’s one thing to have photos, because Y/N is a model and photos are expected, but to have the actual clothes they wore. Clothes that Y/N knows the designers would kill for, dressed on mannequins that looked almost exactly like Y/N was another thing.

Y/N backed out of the room, turning the lights off and shutting the door silently. They stared at their own door, sweat beginning to break out on their forehead, and they went against their instincts and opened that door. 

A trophy room, Alfred had said. The walls are decorated in their photos, and the bed is still as immaculate as the day they left. Turning the lights on, Y/N couldn’t help but to smile as the time capsule in front of them. From their very first photoshoot, when Y/N was a gangly 15-year-old with still chubby cheeks, to the most recent photoshoot of a now 18 almost 19-year-old Y/N. Their confidence can be seen in their pose and gaze, something their younger self lacked. 

Y/N walked closer to the walls and looked at all the different photos. Some candid, some posed, some in the water, and there’s one where they are in Greece. Some had Y/N fully clothed with barely and inch of skin, and some were of Y/N with barely an inch of clothes. From makeup, to shoes, to perfume, to clothes, Y/N’s photo was pinned on the wall or framed. 

A photo caught their attention though. It wasn’t one from a website, or a magazine, but an actual photo. Y/N looked closer, and they recognized the set from when they were 16-years-old posing for an editorial magazine. 

However, the angle in which this photo was taken from, Y/N knows there were no cameras there. All the cameras were in front or on the side, not behind. Another photo caught their eyes, and it was the same thing. A photo from behind. 

Once they started looking for them, Y/N could begin to spot them all. Photos that they know no photographer took. There was one that had their blood chilling and fear rising in their chest. It was a photo, taken at night and through one of the windows in Y/N’s condo. Y/N had one wall in the living room that was basically all windows, letting in the morning sun and led out onto the gated terrace. It was high enough that they had no neighbors that could look through those windows. 

In the photo, Y/N was wearing their pajamas and their hair still looked wet. They were sitting on the counter of the island in their kitchen, eating raspberries and watching Youtube on their TV. It was such a close photo, close enough that the reflection can be seen in the glass. 

Y/N recognizes the blue and black, and when Y/N’s eyes drifted to another photo of them in their home, bile rose into their throats. The morning sun illuminated the warm neutral color palette in the living room, and Y/N was out on the terrace sitting at the patio table they had set up out there drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book. They had their shirt off, exposing ribs pulled tightly against skin and abs that remained toned even when Y/N wasn’t flexing. The shorts they had on exposing soft skin and pedicured feet, their slipped laid forgotten under the chair they were sitting in. 

They recognize that book. It was a book they read in the height of summer, meaning that this photo was taken half a year ago, when it was okay to sit outside in the warm summer mornings and let the skin begin to circulate. 

What chilled Y/N even more was that whoever took this photo was on their terrace with them. They were on Y/N’s terrace, and Y/N didn’t even know. The Wayne family has known Y/N’s address the entire time. They knew where Y/N was staying, they knew Y/N’s photoshoot schedules, and they knew Y/N better than Y/N thought they did. 

“I didn’t think you’d come in here.” Y/N’s head whipped around and there was Dick, or Nightwing, still in costume and smiling at them. 

“The hell is this?” Y/N held up the photo of them on the terrace, and Dick shrugged, “I’ll admit, those photos we took. But we didn’t take the other ones.” 

“What other ones?” “The ones of you at the photoshoots. I know you saw them, but we didn’t take those.” Y/N glared at Dick, and pushed themselves close to the wall as Dick walked in. Damian was right behind him. The oldest brother walked to the photo that originally caught Y/N’s attention, “You had a stalker, can you believe that? He took hundreds of photos of you, and all we did was make him stop.” 

Y/N’s lips pursed, “How do I know you’re not lying?” Dick unpinned the photo, and with Damian’s help, trapped Y/N against the wall next to the photo of them outside. He held up the photo, “Because, Y/N, as you can see we prefer more… candid photos then staged.” 

Y/N snapped, “There is nothing candid about that photo! That is an invasion of privacy! Trespassing! So is that one!” They pointed to one of them sitting on the counter. Damian grabbed their arm, and Y/N wanted nothing more than to shove the kid off. 

“And so is that one.” Dick pointed to one of Y/N wearing only a large shirt, a towel around their shoulders as they walked into their kitchen. 

“And that one.” 

“And that one.” 

“That one there.” 

“There’s that one too.” Y/N looked at all the photos, hidden next to the magazine photos, and they were all of them in their home. Horror morphed on Y/N’s face when there was one photo of Y/N in the bedroom, in the midst of taking their shirt off. 

Dick continued to smile, and Y/N could see Jason and Tim peeking in from the doorway. 

“You did a lot on your own, Y/N. You built a name for yourself, became a highly sought after model, it really is amazing.” Dick walked closer, “But you know what all of those photos have in common?” Y/N stared into blue eyes, terror swimming in those E/C eyes of theirs. 

“You aren’t even aware of your photo being taken.” The truth unsettled Y/N enough to try and squirm out of Damian’s grip and to get away from Dick. They didn’t need to be pointed out. Y/N is aware that in every photo taken without their permission, they were not once aware of it. Even when they looked like they would be only a few feet away, Y/N not once looked bothered. Y/N doesn’t even remember that feeling of being watched. 

Tim and Jason stepped in the room, making it seem crowded and even if Y/N got out of Damian’s grip, there was no way they were getting past all of them. 

Large hands gripped Y/N’s forearms, feeling like they would bruise the skin if Y/N struggled. 

“So tell your big brother Y/N, how do you expect us to trust you on your own when you can’t even notice someone on your terrace?” 

________________________________________________________

Part 3 is coming soon....

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Stuck On You

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Dark themes, slut shaming, obsessive behaviour, smut.

Word count: ~6k

Summary: When her email is hacked and racy photos she'd sent to her boyfriend find their way onto Myspace, she becomes the social pariah of Oxford University. She turns to the only person she believes is intelligent enough to be able to help; Michael Gavey. Could uncovering the truth of the situation make things worse than they already are?

Author's note: Written to celebrate one year of my blog existing. Sorry for the delay. Crumbageddon beat the shit out of me. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

“Using a painting of that former duchess as a conversation piece, he describes what he saw as her unfaithfulness, frivolity, and stubbornness, and implies that he prefers her as a painting rather than as a…as a living woman,” her voice shakes, stumbling over her words, watching as her essay papers slip from her hands, fluttering towards the rug of the study.

“Sh-shit…I’m sorry,” she stammers, leaning down to snatch them back up, feeling her skin heat up with embarrassment as she attempts to rustle them back into order.

“Everything alright?” Professor Ware asks, shifting in his seat and clasping his hands in his lap.

“Distracted by her own portrait, I should imagine,” snarks Farleigh, cutting her off before she has a chance to reply. 

He smirks up at her, before returning his focus to the screen of his Macbook, fingers tapping quickly across the keys as he sits on the floor with it in his lap, leaning back against the armchair she currently sits in, his legs crossed at the ankle.

Of course he’d left it until the last minute to do his essay. Lazy prick.

“Stop it,” she hisses, knocking his shoulder with her knee.

“Why? It’s up again already anyway,” he retorts with a casual shrug, not bothering to look at her this time.

Her blood runs ice cold, dread gnawing a pit in her stomach. That would be the fourth time this week.

“Where?!” She demands, leaning down to snatch Farleigh’s Macbook from him, ignoring his protestation of “hey!” as she clicks on the minimised Internet Explorer window to see her Myspace profile already open.

Just as he’d said, there she is. Her profile picture depicts her in a lacy two piece lingerie set, laying on her bed, her cleavage, stomach and thighs on full display. She’d thought the angle flattering when she’d first held the digital camera above herself and snapped the picture, but now it’s splashed all over the internet for everyone to see. It makes her feel sick.

“I have to go,” she says hurriedly, shoving Farleigh’s Macbook back into his lap and stuffing her essay papers into her bag.

She almost trips over Farleigh’s long legs in her rush to escape the tutorial room, the air suddenly feeling too thick and difficult to breathe, as her heart hammers in her chest. Her feet carry her down the hallway in quick strides, no particular direction in mind, just eager to get away.

It had all seemed like innocent fun at first. She had felt excited on the second day of Fresher’s Week when a group of girls from the floor of her accommodation had invited her to go shopping with them

They had wrinkled their noses as she had beelined for the Ann Summers in Westgate Shopping Centre, lured by the big, red sale banner in the window.

“Oh darling,” India had cooed, “don’t buy that rubbish. We’ll get the train into London and take you to Rigby and Peller in Mayfair, if it’s lingerie you’re after.”

She had balked inwardly at the thought of how expensive that would be, but had simply smiled politely, stating “this is fine”, more than happy with the matching black lace set she’d picked from the sale rail.

Back in her room, she’d tried it on, loving the way the material hugged her curves and felt against her skin. Excitedly, she’d dug out her digital camera, contorting herself into various poses that she felt best displayed her assets, until she was satisfied she had several that looked good.

She hadn’t seen her boyfriend, Jake, since she had left for Oxford and he had gone to Brighton. Their reading weeks didn’t align, which meant they’d have to wait until the term came to an end to see each other at Christmas.

Emailing him the photos had felt like a nice way for them to maintain some sort of intimacy, despite the distance, and he’d certainly appreciated it, as a couple of hours later she’d gotten a text from him which simply said “wow!”

The high from that had left her with a smile on her face for days, until she’d stepped out of a tutorial a few days later to see a missed call and a text from him.

“What the fuck are you playing at?!” It had read.

She’d called him back straight away, the urge to vomit growing acrid in her throat as he’d told her what he’d seen, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder, she’d scrambled with shaking hands to free her laptop from her bag, to confirm what Jake was saying.

There it was. Her Myspace profile picture had been changed to one of the lingerie photos she’d sent to him. This one was a full length photo she’d taken, aiming the camera at the mirror in her room.

The hot prickle of tears had burned beneath her eyelids, as she’d drawn in a shaky breath. “Wh-why would you do that?” She’d whispered tearfully into the phone.

“It wasn’t me!” Jake had snapped angrily. “Perhaps if you hadn't taken those bloody photos in the first place then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Are you seriously blaming me?!”

“It just looks bad. I think maybe we should cool things for a bit, I can’t with be someone that—”

Tears had rolled down her cheeks as she’d pulled the phone away from her ear, seeing the call had cut off. She’d run out of credit. In a way, she was grateful; she didn’t want to listen to Jake ending their relationship, to continue to blame her for something that wasn’t her fault.

She had taken the photo down, changed her profile picture back to what it was before, and changed the password for both Myspace and her email. However, the damage was done, the whispers of “slut” as she walked to lectures had already started.

Another two days later she had entered the IT lab to print out her essay, and saw a group huddled around a computer, laughing together. They had turned, immediately quietening down, their voices hushed whispers as they looked at her. 

She had pushed them apart, already knowing what it was they were all looking at, but wanting to confirm it. Just as she’d suspected, her Myspace profile was open. This time her photo had been changed to an over the shoulder shot. The side of her face and her buttocks visible as she’d arched her back.

Running back to her room, tears of humiliation blurring her vision, she’d taken the photo down again and changed all her passwords. But once again, it was too little, too late. A print out of the photo slipped beneath her door that same day, with the word “whore” scrawled across it.

Her friends were already starting to pull away, the invites to the pub had dried up into nothing. When another photo had been uploaded, Felix had pulled her to one side.

“Look, I think it’s incredibly daring of you to be doing what you’re doing, and I respect the fuck out of you for it, really I do,” he’d said, eyes filled with sympathy as he’d looked down at her. “But a few of us really aren’t comfortable with how you’re going about…getting attention, so I just think it’s for the best if we take some space until you’ve figured out whatever this is.”

She had been stunned by his words, her eyes going wide as her mouth had dropped open. “You think I’m doing this to myself?!”

“Well, what else are we supposed to think? We’re worried about you. There are better…healthier ways to make yourself stand out. Just come clean and all of this can stop.”

Turning away in disgust, anger and betrayal flaring white hot in her chest, she’d walked away. This was happening to her, she wasn’t complicit in it, and yet people continued to act like it was her fault. She had started to wonder if she really was to blame. Had she tempted fate by taking those photos in the first place?

Today was the fourth time a photo had been uploaded and having fled from the tutorial with Professor Ware and Farleigh, she finds herself in the Bodleian Library, having walked on instinct. 

It serves as a quiet refuge for her in moments when she feels overwhelmed, hiding among the shelves, admiring tomes that are older than she is. She’d come here on her first day, when the influx of new people, sights and sounds had become too much, and she had crouched between the stacks the first time one of her photos had been leaked. The smell of old books and the peace and quiet feels safe.

Walking silently between the study tables she spots him, alone, as he always is; Michael Gavey. He is hunched over a notebook, scribbling furious notes, stopping occasionally to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger.

She had thoroughly embarrassed herself the first time she’d met him, the only time she had ever spoken to him. It had been the night of the fresher’s welcome dinner. She’d heard his outburst in the dining hall, heard how he had answered the subsequent multiplication sum flawlessly and been bowled over by how effortlessly brilliant he was. It was intimidating.

Yet, later that evening fuelled by the courage of five tropical watermelon flavoured Bacardi Breezers, she’d stumbled over to him in the rec room, ignoring how he’d recoiled slightly at her advancing towards him.

She’d wrapped an arm around his neck, taking no notice of the way he’d stiffened beneath her touch.

“Wha’s nine hundred and ninety nine divided by thirteen?” She’d slurred into his ear.

He had bristled slightly, before answering quietly. “Seventy six point eight five.”

She had giggled, patting his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. “Don’t even know how to check that, but I’ll take your word for it, genius.” 

Kissing his cheek, she’d stumbled away, leaving him to wipe away the sticky residue her lips had left behind, while Felix and Farleigh had fallen about themselves, laughing, finding it far funnier than she’d intended for it to be. She had ended up making him a laughing stock without even meaning to.

The memory fills her with shame. She really did find him impressive. He was precisely the type of person she had wanted to rub shoulders with when she arrived at Oxford, yet she had made a fool of herself instead.

She smiled at him whenever she caught his eye on the rare occasions they crossed paths, but he’d either look away or stare at her expressionless.

Perhaps now was her opportunity to make amends. She has no friends now anyway, so it’s not as though she has anything to lose.

Walking over to his table, before she has a chance to talk herself out of it, she sits down heavily in the seat next to him, depositing her bag onto the tabletop.

Michael’s pen pauses its movements, and slowly his head turns to the side, narrowing his eyes at her in silent question.

She suddenly has the urge to run, realising this was a terrible idea. She feels enormous discomfort beneath the scrutiny of his gaze yet, determined to push through it, she offers him a bright smile.

“You’re Michael, aren’t you?” She says, attempting to sound more cheerful than she feels.

“Yes,” he replies simply, placing his pen down and straightening in his seat.

“Thought so. I’m–”

“I know who you are,” he cuts her off. “What do you want?”

“Oh,” she swallows, shifting awkwardly in her seat. She hadn’t anticipated him being quite so blunt. “Well, I wanted to apologise for how I behaved on the first night. I thought maybe we could be friends?”

He scoffs, the corners of his mouth turning up into the faintest of smirks. “As if I’d be friends with someone who’s reading literature. Why pay all that money in tuition fees for a glorified book club?”

For a moment she doesn’t know what to say. Shock, offense and hurt swirl in a hot mixture in her chest. She fights the embarrassing urge to burst into tears. Her voice is small and weak when she finally asks “How do you know what I’m studying?”

Michael nods towards the desk. “There’s a book of Robert Browning poetry sticking out of your bag.”

“Right, yeah…” She feels her skin heat up, turning to slowly tuck the book further down inside, still able to feel his eyes upon her. It’s disconcerting to be observed so closely.

“Where’s that group of losers you usually hang around with anyway?”

The question takes her by surprise, and she laughs softly, though there is no real humour to it. “I don’t think they want to hang around with me anymore.”

“So you’re a Norman no mates too then?”

His expression has softened, a slight playfulness brightens his blue eyes as she looks back at him, and she can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

He leans forward, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin up on his hand. “Hmmm. So they got bored of you then?”

“No…I–”

She sighs exasperatedly, running a hand through her hair, before digging through her bag to pull out her laptop. “It’s probably easier if I show you.”

Setting the laptop down on the table, she loads her Myspace page, the same picture she’d seen on Farleigh’s Macbook earlier still set as her profile photo. “Someone keeps changing my profile picture to this. I sent my boyfriend…ex-boyfriend…some photos and now someone has them and keeps doing this every time I change it back.”

Michael’s expression is impassive as he stares at the screen. “Have you changed your passwords?”

“Yes,” she sighs.

“So, you’ve been hacked.”

“Looks that way…I don’t suppose you know anything about computers? Maybe you could help me figure out who’s doing this?”

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, staring intently at her, “so there it is, pretending to befriend the college nerd because you need computer help. Do you not think it’s a bit of a tired stereotype to assume that because I’m reading maths I’d be able to help you with your IT issues?”

“No, it’s not like that!” She protests, her eyes welling up with tears. She turns away, defeated, deciding this is a lost cause and closes her laptop. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”

He sighs. “Well, there’s no need to cry about it. I can help you, just not right now. Are you free later this evening?”

She sniffles, her eyes going wide as she looks at him in surprise. “Really?”

He nods, closing his notebook and slipping his pen into his breast pocket. “I’ve got a tutorial in twenty minutes, but I can help trace the IP of whoever’s hacked you. I’m on the first floor of the Brasenose, second room left of the staircase. I’ll be back around five.”

Nodding, she immediately feels lighter, the possibility that this may finally come to an end instantly lifting her spirits. A chance to get her life back. “That’s perfect, I’ll see you then. Thank you so much.”

He rises, his gaze remaining fixed upon her. “See you later.” 

The way he addresses her, first and last name, sends a shiver down her spine as she watches him turn away and walk slowly out of the library. She wonders what she has gotten herself into, but with no friends and no other options there is little else to be done.

She is filled with restless energy for the rest of the day, unable to sit still or concentrate during the only other lecture she has that afternoon, until eventually she finds herself standing outside of Michael’s room at quarter past five, the hours leading up to that feeling as though they’ve lasted an eternity.

Where there is the faint sound of music or talking coming from the doors she’s passed already on her way here, she is struck by the eerie silence she is met with from his, and wonders for a moment if he’s even home.

Nervous excitement crackles like electricity through her body and her knock is louder than she intends for it to be. She hears shuffling from the other side, until the door swings slowly open. Michael stands poker straight on the threshold, staring down at her.

“Did you bring your laptop?” He asks.

Yet again she is taken aback by how forthright he is, but she nods, stepping in as he moves to the side to let her pass.

Looking around the room, she takes in the plainness of his bedspread, the shelves of mathematics and physics textbooks, the desk set up in the corner that has his laptop open on it. There is nothing that gives even the slightest indication as to who he is as a person.

The sound of him clearing his throat startles her attention back to him, and she turns with an apologetic smile to face him. “Sorry, always weird being in someone else’s room…”

“Right,” he replies, his gaze unwavering as he looks at her. “Laptop?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” embarrassment heats up her skin, as she rummages in her bag, taking it out and handing it to him.

He settles it next to his own on the desk, before taking a seat.

She stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking around, not quite knowing what to do with herself. “Um…where should I…?”

“Anywhere,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, not looking at her.

She settles on the edge of the bed, running her hands over the soft cotton of the duvet cover. It’s an odd sensation to sit so casually in the space that she knows he sleeps. It feels too familiar, too intimate.

Glancing to the side, she notices the shimmer of gold and purple in the bin. She smiles to herself, having learned something about him in spite of the lack of personal effects in his room. He has a sweet tooth, evidenced by the Crunchie bar wrappers in the bin.

“Password?” He asks, and her head snaps up towards him.

“Hmm?”

He turns in his chair, resting his arm on the back of it, glaring at her over his shoulder. “The password for your laptop, what is it?”

“Oh!” She exclaims. “Is it safe for me to tell you that?”

“It is if you want me to help you,” he sighs.

She squirms uncomfortably. He has the innate ability to make her feel small, foolish, but what’s most disconcerting is that she doesn’t dislike it, there is something about him that draws her to his condescension. 

“It’s Shakespeare,” she tells him sheepishly, “with a four in place of the first A.”

“What about the passwords for your email and Myspace accounts?”

“The same.”

“The same?!”

“I’ve changed the passwords each time a new photo has been posted, but it’s just easier to have the same one for everything.”

He groans, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “No wonder you’ve been hacked, typical fucking liberal arts student.”

She lowers her gaze, fingers plucking nervously at the bedspread. “Different passwords for every account, got it.”

“Well, that’s a start, yes,” he tells her, turning back to the screens. “Has anyone but you had access to your computer?”

“No, it stays in my bag when I’m not using it.”

She sits watching him tap away at the keyboards of both laptops alternately for a few moments before she speaks again. “I’m not stupid, you know,” she tells him, her voice sounding meeker than she means for it to. “English Language and Literature is no less of a respectable course than Mathematics. I wrote an essay on the Robert Browning poem, My Last Duchess, recently. It’s a fascinating piece, focusing on the Duke of Ferrara using a painting of his former wife as a conversation topic. The Duke speaks about his former wife's perceived inadequacies to a representative of the family of his bride-to-be, revealing his obsession with controlling others in the process. Browning uses this compelling psychological portrait of a despicable character to critique the objectification of women and abuses of power. It’s a compelling commentary on social status and elitism.”

“What would you know about either of those things?” He asks, continuing to type.

“More than I’d like to,” she says quietly, “I don’t fit in here, not really. I earned my place with a scholarship.”

He pauses, stiffening, glancing over his shoulder at her with a “hmm”.

“I’ve managed to get into the access logs for both your email and Myspace accounts,” he tells her. “There are two sets of IPs that have accessed both accounts in the last week, but both are eduroam IP addresses.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that whoever is uploading those photos is doing so from the university.”

The revelation hits her like a punch to the gut, she feels paralysed, unable to speak as his words sink in. A part of her had wanted to believe it was Jake. To think there is someone at the university who is doing this to her makes her feel nauseated. Her mind races with the possibilities of who it could be. Felix? India? Farleigh? What reason could any of them possibly have to want to do that to her?

“What should I do?” She asks worriedly, staring at Michael with her brows pinched together. “Do you think reporting it would help?”

He swivels his chair fully around to face her and shakes his head. “Not if you intend to keep your scholarship. Rocking the boat over leaked nudes won’t look good to the university board, they’ll take issue with the fact that you even took those photos in the first place.”

“So I just have to let this keep happening?” She feels her throat tighten, wetness rims her eyes.

“Change your passwords,” he says matter of factly. “A different one for every account.”

She nods, expelling a shaky breath, before standing. “I should probably get going. Thank you…for everything.”

Before she goes to bed that night, she changes her passwords - a different one for every account she owns, and deletes the newest uploaded photo, returning her profile picture to its original state.

As far as she is concerned, that should be the end of it. However, her breath hitches, icy cold fingers of fear gripping her heart when she logs on the following morning. Not only has her profile picture been changed to another photo from the set she’d taken for Jake, but the “about me” section now reads “vapid cunt”.

On autopilot, she dresses, taking her laptop and walking the six minutes from Christ Church Halls to Brasenose College.

As soon as Michael’s door opens, she flings her arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest. He stiffens, not returning the gesture, until she finally pulls away.

He straighens, adjusting his glasses. His hair is rumpled from sleep, clad in a t-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms.

“God, I’m so sorry, I woke you up,” she says tearfully, “I should go. I didn’t think, I just–”

“It’s fine,” he says flatly, ushering her in.

She sits down on the bed. It’s unmade, still warm from where he’s been sleeping in it. The feeling sends a shiver down her spine, despite her emotional distress.

Gingerly he sits next to her, keeping a respectable distance as she removes her laptop from her bag and opens it. “It’s happened again. I did everything you said to do, but it’s happened again, and it’s worse this time. Look–”

Handing him the laptop she shuffles closer to him, her thigh pressed against his. She can feel the warmth of him through her leggings. It causes butterflies to flutter in her belly, it’s been so long since she’s been this close to anyone.

Michael doesn’t stiffen at her touch this time, whether it’s because he doesn’t mind it or is too distracted by what he sees on the screen, she’s unsure, but it’s progress.

“Hmm. And you’re sure you changed your passwords?”

“Yes, all of them. I don’t know what else to do. If I report it, I risk my scholarship, but if this carries on I’ll lose it anyway, because how can I concentrate when this keeps happening?”

He says nothing, closing her laptop and passing it back to her.

“I’ve worked my arse off to get here, to earn my place, this can’t be what ends it,” she says miserably, tucking her computer back into her bag.

“I’d suggest focusing on your studies and less on your peers,” Michael says matter of factly. “You haven’t made the best choice of friends since arriving here.”

“They’re not my friends,” she whispers, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “At least not anymore. Do you think it’s one of them doing this?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” he replies bitterly, “stay away from them. I’ve got a lecture this morning, but maybe when I’ve got some downtime, I can do a deeper dive, perhaps see if I can track the logins to a device type.”

“You’d do that for me?” She whispers, looking at him with eyes full of appreciation.

“That’s what mates are for, right?”

“Thank you…just…thank you,” she tells him with sincerity, holding his gaze.

She reaches for his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, desperate to kiss his cheek as a gesture of her gratitude, but remembers the first time she’d done it and cringes inwardly. Though Michael’s hand doesn’t clutch back, he doesn’t move it away and, after a few moments, she realises they’re simply sitting holding hands, looking into each other's eyes.

He is beautiful in his own way. His stare, though intimidating, is piercingly blue, and his lips are soft and plump. She swallows, lashes fluttering in embarrassment when she realises she’s staring at his mouth.

Chancing her luck, she leans in, planting a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips. “I’ll be back at lunchtime, okay?” She whispers, before standing and moving towards the door.

He simply nods, fingers raising to brush over the spot where she’d kissed him. The sight puts a spring in her step for the rest of the morning, almost enough to forget about her being hacked. Almost.

She stops at a vending machine in the rec room on her way back to Brasenose at midday, deciding to buy Michael a Crunchie, an additional thank you for him going out of his way to help her.

As awful as having her privacy violated has been, she is grateful that it has brought her and Michael closer together. She had started the term wanting nothing more than to be his friend, and had royally fucked it up.

Now it seems they have mended their rift, and the prospect of being more than just friends is on the cards. Admittedly, he isn’t her usual type, but there is something about him that excites her. She hopes that once this is all over, this can be a fresh start for her at Oxford; her and Michael, just the caliber of intelligence she had wanted to associate with when she’d first applied.

She knocks at his door, hesitating when he doesn’t open it.

“Michael?” She calls out, brow furrowing in concern when he doesn’t answer.

They’d agreed upon lunchtime to meet, where was he? She tries the door handle and it’s unlocked, gingerly she pushes it open, peering slowly inside. He’s not there, but if he’d left it unlocked then he’d surely be back soon and wouldn’t mind her waiting inside for him.

She steps into the room, finding it much the same as before, only this time the bed is made. Walking over to the window by the desk, she stops to admire the view of the church, startling slightly when her bag knocks the computer chair, disturbing the mouse and taking Michael’s laptop out of sleep.

As she is about to turn back to the window, she notices her Myspace profile is open in edit mode in his browser. She frowns, a feeling of unease washing over her, as she steps towards the desk, her hand trembling as she reaches for the mouse.

She minimises Internet Explorer, gasping when she sees a folder open on his desktop, filled with the photos she had sent to Jake, all of them, even the ones that hadn’t yet been set as her profile picture.

Her heart pounds as she selects all of them, deleting them before clicking on the recycling bin to empty it.

“You didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to not create back ups, did you?”

Turning, she sees that Michael has returned, so quietly she hadn’t noticed. His fingers clutch at the USB stick that’s clipped to his cargo shorts, lips turned up into an expression of smugness.

Tears prickle her eyes, as her heart lurches, the only word that escapes her is “why?” as she looks at him with arched brows, her face pinched into an expression of emotional hurt.

“Why?” He repeats, cocking his head, advancing towards her as she shrinks back into the corner. “Because someone needed to take you down a peg or two.”

“You’ve ruined my life!” She cries, tears slipping down her cheeks, looking at him in disbelief.

This has to be a dream, it is too surreal. Any moment now, she’ll wake up and all of this will have been a terrible dream.

Only it’s not, it’s real, real as the heat of his breath that fans across her face as he looms over her, having backed her fully into the corner between the desk and the window. 

“What life? Pretending to play a part with people that don’t really like you? Using your pretentious choice in reading material to make yourself seem intelligent?”

“You don’t know anything about me!” She says defiantly.

“Oh, I know all about you. Hiding your scholarship from those vapid cunts, so they won’t sniff out your working class background and drop you. The variations of John Browning as your password - adding a different number to each variation doesn’t make it a different password, stupid girl.”

“I was nice to you…” She offers feebly, almost pleading with him.

He smirks, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, gripping harshly, forcing her to look at him. “You felt sorry for me. But it’s not me that needs pity, is it? It’s you. Poor little scholarship slut. You love that My Last Duchess poem so much because you see yourself in it, don’t you? Think you’re being objectified, treated unfairly. Well, let me tell you something, you are like that poem, but in the sense that you’re better in pictures than you are in real life.”

“Stop it,” she whispers, trying to pull away from him.

“Truth hurt, does it?” He asks, his grip on her face remaining tight. “That’s a pity. I enjoyed those pictures, really enjoyed them. It’s a shame the real life version is so whiny and pathetic.”

“I’ll report you,” she says quietly.

“Oh, I don’t think you will, somehow. You love the attention,” he tells her, dropping his hand from her chin to her shoulder, turning her and backing her up towards the bed. “I’ve seen how you look at me. If I wanted to fuck you right now, you’d let me.”

“I–I wouldn’t!” She stammers, feeling her face grow warm.

With a gentle shove from him, she topples back against the mattress, and he is quick to move over her, caging her in. “Liar,” he whispers in her ear.

She shudders at the sensation, despising the way her body betrays her, as heat pools between her legs. She shouldn’t be turned on by this, yet she can’t deny the way he sets her pulse racing.

“I haven’t ruined your life, but I could and you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” He hisses.

The weight of him on top of her, his warm breath fanning against her neck, it’s dizzying. She wants to tell him to get off of her, to push him away, yet she cannot find it in herself to do so. There is a part of her that’s curious to see how far he’ll push this.

When she doesn’t say anything, he carries on, nimble fingers moving to the waistband of her leggings, tugging them down. “I’m going to treat you like the desperate, little slut that you are, and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

She whines, lifting her hips as he rids her of the bottom half of her clothing.

“That’s what I thought,” he smirks.

His gaze falls between her legs, tentative fingers reaching out to brush through the wetness that has gathered there. She sees a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and wonders if he has ever done this before.

She knows his moment of hesitation would be enough for her to push him away, grab her clothes and report him, yet she feels compelled to stay. If this is his first time, then she wants it to be her. She enjoys the dynamic of the power he has over her, while simultaneously being able to take something from him.

Wanting to bolster his confidence, urge him to continue, she sits up, eager hands unfastening his belt and unzipping his shorts. It flips a switch inside him, and he’s surging forward once more, pinning her beneath him as he pushes his boxers down just enough to free his cock.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasps against the shell of her ear.

“I want this,” she mewls desperately, feeling the head of him resting at her entrance.

“You’re going to keep letting me do this to you, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll wear that tarty underwear from your photos for me, won’t you?”

“...yes.”

He presses forward and is met with resistance, not having fully prepared her. He draws back and pushes against her again, repeating the motion until he’s fully sheathed inside of her. It’s exquisite torture, a pleasurable hurt to be split apart by him, to feel so full.

Breathing heavily through his nose, he stills and she can feel his inexperience in the way that he tenses, but isn’t prepared to give up when they’ve already come this far. She rolls her hips against his, a breathy sigh escaping her as she feels her sweet spot rub up against the head of him.

He screws his eyes shut, jaw going slack, before beginning to move his own hips, pulling back to slam forward once more, quickly finding a rhythm that suits him. This isn’t careful, considered lovemaking, they rut against each other like animals, both of them allowing instinct to guide them as they seek out the movements that feel most pleasurable.

She clings tightly to him, meeting him thrust for thrust, their breaths coming in hot, shallow pants.

“Fucking knew this was all you needed,” he mutters, “someone to teach you a lesson, see you for what you really are.”

“Please,” she whimpers, her hands sliding down to his backside to push him in deeper, causing him to groan.

“F–fuck,” he stutters, picking up his pace when he feels her start to tighten around him. “Tell me you’re mine, you don’t need anyone else, just me.”

“‘M yours,” she gasps, pushing her hips against his, zeroing in on the precipice she is about to fall from.

A particularly harsh thrust is the final shove she needs, and white hot waves of euphoria wrack her body, as she cries out in ecstasy. Suddenly, Michael is withdrawing, leaving her to clench around nothing as he paints her inner thigh with sticky warmth.

He collapses beside her, and she stares into the lightly fogged lenses of his glasses, their noses bumping together.

“Are you still going to ruin my life?” She asks, hazy with pleasure.

For the first time, their lips meet, a messy clash of tongue and teeth, that’s sloppy and wet, their breaths still heavy and movements uncontrolled. 

“You’re going to let me,” he whispers when they finally break for air, “because you’re mine.” Resistance is futile, she will let him. She wants this, needs this. After all, Michael Gavey is the type of person she came to Oxford to associate with in the first place, and she’s gotten exactly what she asked for.

[ryndicate]

Double Down ⨳ Yoshida, Denji

“Didn’t know you were into that stuff.”

warnings: fem body/pronouns, nudes posted without permission, drug use, exhibition, creampie, videos taken with permission, stepcest, infidelity, masturbation, handjob, some spit mentions, premature ejac, implied fuckery, implied theft, if there's more i am just too wacked out to see it so lemme know!

event: @bastardblvd 's slimeball alley collab !! my first submission of who knows how many to come, im gonna try to not go crazy with it, promise

notes: didn't realize until it was done that I could've made it much more slimy but its okay. We'll get 'em next time babes 😩 this idea is expanding on a little blurb I put in cassie's inbox once, i included it in the fic itself with some itty bitty changes

By expanding, you are consenting to viewing adult/dark content, and all warnings listed above. 18+ Minors DNI

Blog Rules/DNI

Your fist slams on the bathroom door. “I swear to god, Denji! Where the fuck did you get those! Delete them now!”

“I already told you, Power found them online!” Your stepbrother yells back through the door, keeping his weight against the handle so that you can’t force your way in.

“You’re full of shit you fucking perv! You took them off my phone or something.”

“Wanna fucking bet? The real perv is that prettyboy bastard you call baby,” Denji sneers back, yelping as you get a good shove in on the creaking wood.

Your efforts to break the bathroom door pause. “The hell’re you talking about?”

“I told you he was trouble the day you two met. What—you think I was lying?”

You growl under your breath at the barenecked taunt in Denji’s voice. Yeah he told you, one time before he got high out of his mind. The only reason you even met Yoshida Hirofumi was because he hooked your stepbrother up a couple times, and you begged to tag along once. That situation ended with your brother counting stars on his buddy’s ceiling while you saw them on the backs of your eyelids with the guy’s lips wrapped around your clit. 

One thing led to another, and that “prettyboy bastard” became your boyfriend. He’s a bit of an ass, but Yoshida’s also sweet and funny, doesn’t roll his eyes at your music choices, doesn’t bat an eye when you want to go out with your friends, and is full of sexy, smirky sass that makes him so fun to be around. Sure, you sent him some photos, but he wouldn’t have put them out anywhere.

Your anger deflates, but your indignance does not. You step away from the bathroom door. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

Denji throws the door open with a toothy grin, repeating himself. “You wanna bet?”

“You know what, yeah!” you snap at him, crossing your arms as he leans in the doorway, still looking smug. 

“Your boyfriend put your pics up on OnlyFans, and he’s using the money to pay for his xanny. If I’m right, you two gotta upload a video. Together,” Denji states, his eyebrows furrowed in twisted delight that makes you sneer at him.

“You’re disgusting!”

“Yeah? Tell me what you get if you win.”

Caught up in his childish bullshit, you push at his shoulder. “You gotta start an OnlyFans if you’re wrong, which you are. And you gotta wear lingerie.”

His smirk full drops at that, and he glares at you, cheeks darkerning. “Now who’s a perv.”

“This whole shit was your idea!”

“Lingerie?”

“How is wearing lingerie worse than telling your stepsister to fuck and post a video about it?!”

“Shut up!”

“And since we’re on the topic, I swear to god if you don’t stop taking my shit out of the laundry I’m gonna tell that redheaded lady at the DMV that she’s at the very top of your fap list.”

His blush deepens and he palms your face backwards in a light push. “The fuck she is. Shut up.”

“Yeah well, me and the thin fucking walls in this apartment would have to disagree.”

“Go find your boyfriend.”

“‘M gonna.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck him,” you hiss in barely supressed rage, gripping your boyfriend’s phone so tight you’re disappointed when it doesn’t crack. 

You’d waited for his high to hit him and let him drift off before going through his phone—what’s the point of asking him outright if it’s not true, right? No reason to stir the pot. But your stomach had dropped with unease when the account site was in his search history; you tried to brush it off as maybe he gets off to a set of camgirls, but the moment you saw the login info presaved—as in frequent entry—you began to forget the bet altogether.

Now your jaw is clenched, seething as you scroll through every racy picture you ever sent him. Each have thousands of views, hundreds of comments and jeez—so many subscribers. The heat of betrayal simmers through you. Your jaw drops at the total that’s set to drop into his account at the end of the week and resist the urge to slap Yoshida awake, but instead you set about trying to change the banking and login info, only to get halted by an infowall. Frustrated, you slip off the bed and call your stepbrother, edging into Yoshida’s bathroom so you don’t wake him up.

“You were right, and you fucking knew it, didn’t you? You set me up.” you hiss into the device as soon as he picks up with a mumbled ‘sup. You can hear voices and music in the background, paired with light explosions. You assume he’s out with his friends, probably gaming like usual. 

“You didn’t have to agree. Wait—” there’s the sound of the phone moving around and suddenly the music is gone. “Does that mean you’re gonna do it?”

“That’s besides the point, Denji!”

“Oh fuck, you are!”

“Chill your boner,” you snap, “‘m not gonna do it unless you help me!”

“Help you? What, like you want me to hold the camera or something?”

“Denji, I swear to god—”

“I’m kidding, jeez.”

“I can’t change the account info. They’re my pictures, and they’re already out there! He shouldn’t get to make money off of me.”

“Wait, so you want to keep the account?” He asks curiously. You hear a door slamming and wonder if he’s still moving, or if his friends are.

“Dude, we’ll have rent and anything else covered for the whole month with a single week’s drop from this thing. I don’t see a reason not to. I can quit Mcdonald’s!”

“Shit, for real? Lemme talk to Denki, ‘m pretty sure he knows a guy.”

“Thank you,” you coo into the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, just make sure you pay up.” You can hear his pervy smile, and you grumble a sulky fine at him.

“Ok. But he’s gotta do it soon. It pays out in a couple of days.”

“I’ll give him some cash to see if he can do it tonight. Don’t see why he’d say no—" Denji sounds a lot further away from the phone now, "—Oi! Don't bro! Give it back."

A familiar voice purrs into the receiver and you roll your eyes. "Heyyy, princess. You with that Yoshida guy still or are we allowed to hang now?"

"Byeee, Kiri. Tell Kat hi f'me." You hang up with a smile and leave the bathroom, glaring at your supposed boyfriend still sleeping. You never heard him say he was working and you always kinda wondered where he was getting his cash, but you always just thought he was dealing or something. Not the kind of think you ask about. You obviously should’ve asked.

You crawl into his lap and begin sucking on his exposed throat, admiring the sharp lines, the bob of his adam’s apple as thick lashes flutter open. 

“Mmm,” Yoshida moans. “Damn, was I out long?”

“Nah,” you hum, slipping your fingers up his shirt, smoothing over his waistline. “Got bored without you, that’s all.”

“Yeah, baby?” He grins up at you, dark eyes fuzzed out and sultry, and his hands come up to settle on your hips, easing you into a slow grind. “Wanna do something?”

“Mm. Maybe,” you tease softly, pushing his shirt up his chest and leaning down to wrap your lips around his nipples. He groans at the warm, slick suction, arching into your touch. 

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes out, his cock swelling beneath you. 

“Maybe I wanna do something…different.”

Yoshida grins up at you, half-lidded. “Yeah? Like what?”

Your nails make pink lines down his chest as you lean in to whisper in his ear. “What if you fucked me, and we let some people watch?”

His fingers dig into the fat of your waist, his dick thumping beneath you. “Anyone I know?”

Yoshida’s pupils have overtaken his coal irises, and you give him an inviting smile. “No one specific. I was thinking more like…a video or something. I wanna be able to see it later.”

“Holy fuck, baby. That’s sexy,” Yoshida grins up at you. “Didn’t know you were into that stuff.”

“Me either,” you breath softly, rocking yourself over his covered erection.

You’re left to yelp as he displaces you from your seat on his lap and pulls you out of the bed by your wrist with a wide smirk. “Come on.”

“Wait, where are we going?”

“Don’t worry baby, I just wanna pick something up at the Malmart first.”

“Fine, I guess,” you pout at him and his smirk only grows.

“‘S okay, baby. I’ll give you something too.”

“This is not what I meant when I said video, Hirofumi!” you gasp out. Your fingers are splayed out on the hood of his car as you try to stay upright. “Someone could actually see us!”

"If you don't wanna be seen, you gotta cum. Cause I'm not stopping til you cum."

"Fuck, fuck please, just hurry up!" You plead, half your words caught between whines and whimpers as he pounds into you from behind, your skirt flipped over your back.

"You think I'm not fucking you like I mean it?" There's so much smile in his voice that you want to call him on his bullshit for once, but the solid smacking of his hips into yours, the head of his dick pressing as deep as it can go with every thrust quickly makes you forget what you're snapping at him for.

"Just‐just, fucking make cum– ‘fumi!" You're desperately telling yourself you don't want to be seen. It's the middle of the night, so even here, parked under the one of the many lightposts that don’t work in grimetown's 24-hour walmart parking lot, the risk of anyone seeing is slim.

But not zero. Especially with the light from his phone camera shining down on your exposed lower half. You’re like a slutty beacon for whoever might be looking this way.

"I'm working on it baby, you gotta relax." His fingers slide around your waist, brushing past your clit and forcing a frustrated whimper past your lips at the neglect, to drag them through the slick dripping obscenely from your pussy lips. It's dripping to the rusted black hood, making it glisten. He aims the camera down at them before moving it back to the way your pussy clings to his cock. "You're so fucking wet for this, you'd think the whole thing was your idea. Well, most of it was."

You don't answer him, trying to work yourself back on him, chasing that fluttering heat twisting itself tighter and tigher with each passing second.

"Good girl, look at you. Fuck, look how bad you want—"

"Oi! Get the fuck out of here before I—"

Your whole body locks up at the tired but authoritative voice that rings across the lot.

Your boyfriend calls back. "C'mon man, have a heart. Let me finish her off and I'll give you a look." Except his last syllable staggers off with a groan, broken with a laugh as his grip on your hips tightens to a bruising pressure. The vice grip of your cunt has him looking down to sees your juices gush around the girth of his cock, dripping down your thighs to dirty the hood of his car even more. The sight pushes pushes him over and he calls out again, his voice tight but smug.

"Nevermind, we're done here."

He gets one last shot of his cum dripping out of you before closing out the livefeed.

“It’s like four in the morning,” Denji grumbles, rubbing one of his eyes as he cracks his bedroom open further at the sight of you. “Thought you were Power or somethin’, jeez.”

Denji blinks the blur from his eyes, zeroing in on your screen, and you just about hear his pupils expanding. He pulls a shaky inhale and you roll your eyes.

“Done. Bet over, and here’s your damn proof,” you grumble right back, slamming your phone against his chest and shoving your way into his bedroom to flop down into his bed. It had taken over an hour to convince Yoshida back to his place and get him to fool around enough for him to pass out and you to sneak back home.

"Also Kiri wants you to call him back. He's mad you hung up on him."

A small grin curls your lips but you don't respond, wiggling deeper into his mattress until you're comfortable.

He throws himself down in the bed next to you. “Turn on my speakers.” 

“Or you could just wear headphones, you freak.”

“Nah. Turn ‘em on.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you stretch out to reach up to his desk, turning on the bluetooth speakers that he usually uses to be a nuisance when he’s smoking. “If your dad was home, I’d kill you for this.”

“You’re not even breaking up with him, are you?” Denji chortles, ignoring your bickering. His eyes are glued to the screen as he shoves a hand into his loosened shorts. “What the fuck, you guys were outside?”

You shrug. The video’s only been up for a couple hours and it already has triple the views and donations of all the photos Yoshida has put up so far. “Looks like he’s gonna be making me lots of money, so why not? It’s the least he could do to pay me back.”

Your stepbrother doesn’t answer you, his breathing getting heavier. You close your eyes and sigh as the sounds wet sounds and your own whiny moaning starts bouncing off the walls of his room, wondering to yourself if you really sound like that or if part of you was exaggerating because of the camera. The mattress creaks every now and then as his hips jump, his arm brushing your side as he grinds into his own fist. 

You roll to face him, taking in the sound of his stuttered breaths, the muted slick sound of his fist pumping in his shorts. “So what about this gets you so riled up?”

Denji groans, stomach rippling where his shirt is pulled up around his midsection. “I’nno, it’s hot, isn’t it?”

You keep prodding, “What is? Yoshida? Or me?”

He gives a small whine that has your pulse picking up in sick interest, so you continue. “Was Power really the one to find it? Or…you were subbed to the account, weren’t you Denji?”

“Mm- maybe?”

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, listening to your own voice begging to cum, shifting your weight onto your arm so you can look at him. A strange curiosity has taken over your body. He looks wrecked but his eyes are still on the screen. “Denji, look at me.”

Your body tingles as his eyes tear towards you, but he’s still got a hand around himself, hidden from your eyes. “Can I touch it?”

“You wanna what?” he moans, just barely, teeth digging into his lip.

“Can I jerk you off?”

You’re a little surprised when he actually hesitates. You’ve tolerated it all this time; as much as he pervs out on you, and your stuff, yet somehow he’s got a little crumb of morality left in there somewhere. And right now…you wanna kill it.

“My panties, my pictures…is this really any different?” you ask softly, sweetly, as you run with this electric current, placing your hand over his covered groin. You grin as his hand immediately goes slack at your touch and slips out of his shorts, and you get to feel for the first time how hard he is, rubbing over the smooth fabric, feeling out the shape of him.

“I mean…I guess not.” He sucks in a breath as you grip him over his shorts and give a couple experimental strokes. “B-but what about—?”

Denji’s head drops back to the pillows with a groan, phone in a death grip as you tug his waistband down, his dick slapping free. It’s pretty and slender, flushed deep red.

“What about what?”

“What about prettyboy, huh?” He finally gets it out as you spit in your hand and take him up again, stroking him steadily from base to tip, squeezing at the top with a gentle twist of your wrist. Yoshida always seemed to like it, seems like he does too. 

“That’s what you’re worried about? Not the whole stepsister thing?” You shrug. You’re still stung about Yoshida’s betrayal, so this feels like a little bit of retribution. A little bit. You still need to find more ways to make him pay first, but this is a good start. “Yeah, he’s my boyfriend, but ‘s not like you and me are dating, Denji. It’s a handjob. What’re you gonna do, marry me?”

Denji splutters and his dick throbs in your hand. “Don- Don’t say stupid shit!”

You coo at him and his lips part, panting hard as you work him faster. 

“What– haa, what if it wasn’t just a handjob? What then?” Denji gives a low moan as you settle over his lower thighs so you can gently cup his balls. They seem to tighten under your touch, before he relaxes and he tries to look at you. 

“What, like my mouth or something?” you ask playfully, leaning over and showing him your tongue, letting a strand of spit drip down to his dick.

A litany of curses tumblr from his mouth as Denji squeezes his eyes shut, fingers twisting into the pillow beneath his head as his cock jerks and shoots a load of hot sticky white into your palm, getting smeared down his throbbing shaft as you slowly work him through his high until only a couple dribbles get pressed out by a final pass of your thumb over his slit.

“Wasn’t expecting you to finish already.” You wipe your hand off on his comforter and try to ignore the throbbing in your panties. You feel like you can still imagine the slick from earlier tonight seeping out of you, but it’s as if it’s no longer enough.

“Holy fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as he calms his breathing enough to raise himself up on his forearms. He watches you as you take your phone and flop down next to him. “I didn’t even get to see the rest of the video.”

“It’s online now, freak. You can watch it whenever.”

“Yeah...” 

You’re too busy trying to go through the account settings to notice the way he’s eyeing up your thighs; he hasn’t even put his dick away yet. 

“Hey,” he mutters softly, ignoring your glare when he puts a hand on your thighs and pulls them open. “If you can touch me, does that mean I get to touch you?”

Your pulse jumps and you try to keep your true thoughts hidden as you hide back behind your phone. “I guess that’s fair. If you wanted to.”

You can hear the click of Denji’s throat as he swallows, and you can’t stop the low whimper as his calloused fingers brush your inner thigh, right at the edge of your panties. 

They’re warm as they brush over the seat of your panties, timid but curious as they explore the surface, stroking over the tempting warmth and wet seeping through the thin fabric. A bolt of pleasure bursts and has your gut clenching as he swirls over your clothed clit

“H-hey, wait,” you say suddenly, nerves getting the better of you as you try to make sense of Denji taking control of your body. “It got switch but this isn’t my banking info. Is it yours?” You flip the screen towards him, and his brown eyes squint in the pale blue light.

“Uh, nah, that’s not mine.”

You mewl as he pulls your panties to the side and traces a finger through your folds, delicate, hungry. “Who did you say– mm, h-hacked the account for me?”

“I told you. M’friend Denki, his buddy did it. That purple-haired guy who works at the smoke shop.”

“The one wi—” you suck in a breath as he sinks his index finger into you. “With the tattoos?”

“Yeah him,” Denji mumbles, hardly paying attention to your words. He’s grinding against the bed as he pushes his middle in alongside it, imagining the tight squeeze around his dick instead.

Your groan is part pleasure, part dismay as you realize just who he’s talking about. “Oh fuck me.”

Denji bullies his way between your thighs in an instant.

“N-no, Den– that’s not what I meant!”

[sunny44]

Reunions on the track

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Ex best friend!reader

Warnings: fights

Summary: Charles and Y/n have known each other since they were five years old, but with the start of his motorsport career they lost touch.

Years later, when Charles was driving for Ferrari in Formula 1 and Y/n had a degree in photography, their paths crossed again when she was hired as the team's new photographer.

I was accustomed to the Formula 1 circus.

The roar of engines, the team's hustle and bustle, cameras always pointed in his direction. But on this sunny morning, I was surprised with something or someone to be more specific. I entered the Scuderia Ferrari pitlane and that’s when I saw her, with her back turned to him, skillfully handling a camera. Y/n. Her name echoed in his mind like an echo from the past.

I assumed from the camera in her hand that she had filled the vacancy at Ferrari.

"Are you kidding me?" Charles muttered, addressing Mattia Binotto, the head of the Ferrari team. "Is Y/n here?"

Mattia smiled, as if he knew this could cause turbulence.

“Surprise, Charles. She’s our new photographer. Y/n has an incredible eye for capturing the most intense moments of the races.”

I made an effort to control the flood of emotions rising in me. Me and Y/n had been inseparable friends since childhood, but we drifted apart over time, especially when my career in motorsport took off.

We hadn't spoken in years, and now she is here, on the same team as me.

Our friendship was perfect, we had known each other forever, and I remember our mothers saying that we would definitely get married if we just got older. Over time, I realized that I had feelings for her, and I was willing to wait until we were old enough and then confess my feelings to her. But then everything changed.

I started rapidly advancing through categories, and then I just stopped talking to her.

I stood there for a few minutes just looking at her until Y/n finally turned around, and their gazes met. It wasn't a warm and joyful reunion. On the contrary, there was a moment of tense silence before Y/n broke it.

"Charles Leclerc, the Ferrari golden boy." she said, with a sarcastic smile. "Who would have thought you'd become so famous, huh?"

Charles felt his face grow warm.

“Don’t start Y/n.”

"Don't start? You just disappear from my life when you started winning races, and I'm the one who can't say anything?"

I don't know why, but I didn't think she would be this hostile.

"I was busy, Y/n. You know how life is in F1."

"Busy or not, you could have found a way to stay in touch. But, of course, you had more important things to do than to care about me." She looked at me, hurt. "But who am I to blame you, right? After all, with fame and beautiful models hanging on your neck all the time, I wouldn't mean anything to you anyway."

Those words hit Charles like a punch in the stomach. He knew he had made mistakes, but he never imagined that Y/n was so hurt.

"I'm sorry, Y/n. I should have been a better friend." She let out an exasperated sigh.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I'm here to do my job," she said sternly. "You just need to pretend that I mean nothing to you; I don't think it will be that difficult."

I simply nodded, realizing that the situation was far from resolved. While the engines roared in the background, indicating that I had to get into the car next.

And, of course, I spent the entire practice session thinking about how to have her back in my life.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername instagram stories

“First day of work done”

Y/n.jpg nstagram post

Liked by @lando.jpg, @Scuderiaferrari, @charlesleclerc and @maxverstappen

Y/n.jpg My dream came true and I’m in Monaco photographing the formula 1 Grand Prix

This is the best weekend of my life and here’s a few photos 🏎️

F1 welcome to the f1 family

Maxverstappen nice photos

Liked by y/n.jpg

Landonorris hello there

Carlossainz welcome to the team

Y/n.jpg thank you

[studioghibelli]

masterpiece - a joel miller x reader

summary: joel moseys on in to your art store, despite seeming distant and cold towards you. an annoyed artist and an aggressive man, now that seems like quite the match.

warnings: artist!reader, grumpy!joel (no shit lol), post-outbreak, jackson era, age gap (early 20s reader/ 56 year old peepaw joel), sort of enemies to lovers but the “they’re annoying to me” kind, no use of y/n, female reader, short but sweet smut (semi-public, f receiving oral, unprotected sex)

notes: this is for @iamasaddie’s moodboard writing challenge! thank you for the wonderful inspiration <3 also i know the photo is not joel, but i only write for him at the moment so everybody let’s just PRETEND OKAY!!!! enjoy my lovelies Xx

Memories from before the world collapsed were hazy for you.

Bucket hats sewn for toddlers, bright colored toy dinosaurs made from plastic, a red wagon your grandparents used to pull you around in through the neighborhood sidewalks- vaguely, their pictures sat within the confines of your mind. Vaguely you could remember the sound of your aunties laughing whilst cooking, the way your father would roar at the television during football season.

You could remember them, and yet they felt more like ideas than memories. As if they were something you read about in a book, not an experience you had once lived through.

When you were thirteen and your family had found their way to Jackson, you fell in love with all the art encyclopedias Maria had given you. On missions, your father would bring you every single book he could find that talked about art. All different types. From Giotto to Fragonard, Vélasquez to Monet, Van Gogh to Millais- all of them had enraptured you, they had taken you over, body and soul, and in a world that was chipping away around you, you found solace in their creations.

After you turned eighteen, you had enough courage to try your hand at portrait art. The first one you made of Tommy was unnerving. You made him look more like a neanderthal than a man, with mismatched ears and crossed eyes, thick and uneven facial hair and wild curls. Still, Tommy had it framed and hung above the mantle of his fire place.

It was a reminder of growth. Of where you once were.

Now you did portraits around town, traded them for some dried out herbs or freshly pressed paper. People liked having art around. It reminded them of what once was. They flocked to you happily, wanting to feel the same contentment they once fell, before the world had sunk to its knees and submitted.

You were a reminder to the townspeople that life didn’t have to be so gray, nor dreary. Everyone seemed to love you and your quirky, distant, eclectic personality. A true artist. A Van Gogh, as Maria had described you once. You saw the world in whatever color you so pleased, you saw things others didn’t, you picked up on pockets of beauty that many looked over. People admired you for that, they wanted to talk to you, wanted to pick at your brain.

Everyone except him.

The moment you watched Joel Miller trot in through those gates, you knew you had to have him. To paint him, that is. His thighs stretched taut across the saddle, his broad shoulders budging at the seams of his flannel, chocolate eyes distant and full of worry, anger, hunger- he was.... incredible. Your dream man. For painting purposes only, of course.

Well, that's what you continuously tried to remind yourself. You would reprimand your own mind, stating what you felt was the obvious: You were attracted to him the way an artist was attracted to the rising sun or the waves of the ocean. You wanted to paint him, study his features, color in his skin. There was no physical, emotional, or romantic attraction there.

No. No way. Not you. Not for a man as old as your own father, if not older. Not for a man who had only ever given you grunts and one worded answers in response to your questions. Not for a man who couldn't give you the time of day.

It was a normal Wednesday when it finally happened. Sitting in the little studio in the town's strip that Maria and Tommy had created for you, doodling away and sketching. You were working on a watercolor of the tree line in the distance, now focusing on the rise of the mountains behind them. Snowy, navy, serene. You weren't that good with scenic paintings, but Maria wanted a big canvas of your work to hang in the Tipsy Bison, for everyone to see.

And, as you so often did, you decided to indulge her.

The record player was scratching in the corner, some melodic crooning of Sinatra filling the room.

A deep huff escaped you. Things were not going your way today. "Not right. No, no." You muttered, looking at the wonky, twisted tree trunk you had just messed up on. "Not right at all." Amidst your personal berating, you hadn't heard the bell of the front door swing open and chime its familiar song.

"How hard is it to draw a fucking tree?" You grumbled, hissing in annoyance as you wiped away the dripping paint. Somehow, it only looked worse. You wiped your stained hands across your pants, groaning out in defeat.

"Am I interruptin' somethin'?"

The voice startled you. As your nerves dissipated, you recognized who that voice belonged too. Deep and baritone, the kind of voice that sunk through your chest like honey dripping from a spoon, swirling in to a cup of steaming tea.

He was honey, wasn't he? If honey was old and bitter, you thought to yourself.

You turned, finally meeting the face of Joel Miller.

"Hello." You stood up from your stool, wringing your messy hands out on your apron once again. "Why... are you in here?" You spoke slowly, as if you couldn't believe he were actually in front of you. Was it him? Or an apparition? Your eyes could be deceiving you. Perhaps you were Van Gogh after all.... slowly descending in to madness. You shook the thought away.

"You give that warm a' welcome to all your guests?" Joel narrowed his eyes at you, looking around the slightly messy studio. Hanged paintings for sale on the walls, splatters of paint dripping down wooden easels, tubes of oil and acrylics strewn around. Not many people visited you in here, lest to pick up their orders.

"I..." You trailed off in search of what to say next, narrowing your eyes at him in return. "No."

Joel hummed out between his teeth in response, fingers gently trailing down the sides of a few handmade journals you had for sale. "What do you want for one of these?" He asked, picking up the leather bound pages.

"I usually do a trade. Some vegetables, um... pretty much anything, really."

"You drive a hard bargain." His words dripped with sarcasm.

"Did you come in here to annoy me, or do you actually want something?" You snapped, sitting back down in your chair with a huff. The current painting you were working on was doing your head in, and your artistic talent was definitely being challenged.

You felt shit at your craft today, to be honest.

"I don't really got none of that." He responded sheepishly. "I could do somethin' for you? Got a leaking sink? Broken cabinet?" He sat down on a stool adjacent from you, flipping through the blank pages. "I wanna get this, for my daughter. She's, uh... she's a bit like you. Real in to art and stuff."

You rolled his offer through your head, thinking on it.

Portraits! There was your answer.

"I know what you could do for me."

Joel looked up at you and shrugged. "Sure, what is it?"

"Let me paint you. I-I need to work on my portraits, need to.... find my style." You explained softly. You watched his face spread over with confusion.

"That's just extra work for you, you ain't gettin' anything in return for painting me."

"Yes, I am! I'm honing in my skills."

Joel looked around at the art all around him. Paintings of the dogs he had seen wagging their tales through town, a portrait of Maria in the corner, a field of blooming flowers- he didn't think your skills needed any honing. You were remarkable, but Joel didn't really know that much about art, anyways.

"Fine."

"Free tonight? After dinner?"

Grudgingly, Joel agreed.

• • •

His ass was hurting. The cold, metal stool beneath his thighs was uncomfortable, digging in to his skin. He wondered how you could do this all day, how you could sit and stare and paint and move without complaining.

Because, god damn, was this seat uncomfortable.

When he had walked in for his portrait, you were changing the track on the old record player. The Goo Goo Dolls. He had rolled his eyes, unable to count all the times he had heard Iris on the radio.

Still, it brought a sense of nostalgia he had thought died out a long ago. It made him feel…. normal. And normalcy was the most beautiful thing in the world now.

“How d’you sit on this all day?” He snapped half way through your session. Your body was hidden behind the canvas, and every so often he saw splatters and drops of paints exploding. He was curious what you were doing back there.

“Just do.”

Joel snorted. “That ain’t a real answer.”

He heard your annoyed sigh. “It is. Once I get in the zone, I just go for it.”

That answer satisfied him enough.

“Why do you like art so much anyways?”

You peeked out from behind the canvas, eyebrows furrowing. “Because it makes me feel alive. Do you know that feeling? Inhibition? Freedom?” Your words dripped with sarcasm, hissing out with impatience. Why did he care, anyways?

Joel rolled his eyes, holding on to the edge of his seat as he winced. His back was strained, and he knew he was getting too old for this.

“I do, actually.”

“I’m sure.”

“You’re really damn annoyin’, you know that?”

You grumbled beneath your breath, tweaking a few strays of eyebrow hair on his portrait. “Been told.”

“Sure you have.”

A long bout of silence eased over the room, and for a long while, the only sound was the scratching of the vinyl and the thick breeze outside.

“What’s your deal, anyways?” You finally asked, working on the thick vein of his neck.

You stared at him for a long while, tracing over his face. He was undoubtedly handsome. The curve of his Aquiline nose reminded you of the Roman sculptures you had seen in your books, the softness of his perfectly curved lips, the shape of his moustache. He really was a true masterpiece.

The length of his neck bled into two sturdy collarbones and thick shoulders, biceps strong and deep beneath the sleeves of his dark green flannel. The color of his skin, tanned and slightly golden and perfect, had been your favorite to paint thus far, the depths of his cheeks and cheekbones perfect beneath the swinging light of the studio.

Joel stared at you, your question racketing through his brain like a pinball machine. “What do you mean?”

“Why’re you so angry? Why don’t you like me?” You finally asked, disappearing behind the easel once again.

“Never said I didn’t like you.”

You laughed softly, the tip of your brush swiping down the side of his jaw. “It’s implied.”

“By you, maybe.”

“By me? You’re the one who avoids me. I don’t have the plague, y’know.”

Joel snorted. “Worse than that.” Hu grumbled beneath his breath.

“Heard that.”

He took in a deep breath, and although you couldn’t see his face at the moment, you knew without a doubt his brows were furrowed, jaw clenched. The typical mask Joel Miller wore with such pride.

“Look.” Joel began speaking, but he wasn’t sure where he was going. “You….. I….. look.”

“I’m looking!” You exclaimed in annoyance. “Just spit it out already, man.”

In one swift move he had gotten up from his stool and had grabbed your wrist. His grasp wasn’t hard, it wasn’t mean. In fact it was gentle, sturdy with an unfamiliar sort of warmth. His brown eyes bore down in to yours earnestly, and you saw them flickering with something you couldn’t quite pin point, an emotion you had never seen him show you.

A thick lump was forming in your throat, and you felt your stomach churning with butterflies, aflame by the feeling of his calloused palm on your skin. He was warm, rough, masculine.

He was perfect. A masterpiece.

You sucked in a sharp breath of air as Joel crouched down, now level with your eye sight.

“Look.” He began once again with his new favorite word. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous. Okay?”

“What?!” That’s what he was trying to say?

“Yes. It’s embarrassing, I know.” He was seething through gritted teeth, jaw clenching with annoyance. His cheeks had grown a soft pink, no doubt out of embarrassment for the admittance of his secret.

“I-”

Joel wasted no time cutting you off. “I ain’t the poet type, alright? Lord knows I’m not. And when I see you…. fuck. This is so fucking stupid. When I see you, I feel shit. Okay?”

A laugh of amusement escaped you. “You feel shit?” You asked incredulously, and his grip on your wrist loosened.

Joel took a step back, sitting down on the floor. “It’s stupid. A fuckin’ crush, in the middle of the world ending.”

“It hasn’t ended yet.” You purred, setting down your brush as you sat in front of him. “So, maybe take the time to kiss me? Just in case it doesn’t end, tomorrow or something.”

Joel stared at you, a long moment blanketing your bodies. He was weighing his options in his mind, calculating what could happen if he did, if he didn’t. Damn the risks.

He had spent so long wondering what you tasted like, what you felt like. He said a silent prayer to whatever god may still be alive, and leaned in towards you.

His lips were softer than you thought, and his facial hair tickled and bristled against your cheeks. Joel was a good kisser, a passionate kisser. Your mouths melded together like two pieces of iron being hammered into a ring, thick and sweet and harmonious in their shared movements.

Joel couldn’t help his wandering hands. The rough tips of his fingers made you shiver, calloused thumbs drawing circles in the dips of your hips as he pulled you closer. You were straddling him now, arms thrown around his neck as you kissed him fervently, as though his spit was the last thing you would ever taste.

“You could’ve done this months ago, y’know.” You mumbled against his skin.

“Probably could’ve.”

Your fingers moved down to the buttons of his shirt, Joel’s mouth attaching to your neck.

“Probably would’ve saved you a lot of annoyance, you know.” You grinned down against him, a soft gasp escaping you as your hands instinctively moved to his hair, fingers tangling into his curls. You grinded your hips down, feeling that bulge pressing into the crotch of your leggings. “If you woulda told me, I could’ve helped with all that pent up aggression.”

Joel rolled his eyes at the playfulness of your words, pulling you closer to him. “You’re trouble.” He muttered, lips attaching back to yours. A smile broke out across your face as you pushed his flannel off his shoulders. Joel pulled away, throwing off his shirt, before tugging yours off in turn. Your chests, bare and warm, pressed in to the other, and in one swift flick of his wrist your bra came off with ease.

He pushed you back on to the ground, grinding himself against you. You tugged your pants off, left with a pair of panties that were now soaked through. Your clit, swollen and throbbing beneath the cotton material, was ignited with each movement of his hips, his covered bulge tracing circles into your sensitive nub.

Joel moved downwards, until he was face to face with your covered pussy. He leaned forward, dragging his nose across your clit as he pressed his tongue flat into your folds, tasting your arousal that had settled into your underwear.

“Off.” He commanded, undoing his own belt. You flicked your panties away, and he was face to face with your cunt once more. “Pretty little thing.” He mumbled, leaning forward to taste you. When his lips wrapped around your clit, your back arched off the cold tiles of the floor, pleasure coursing through you in electric droves.

“Taste pretty, too.” Joel smirked against your pussy, his tongue pressing in to your hole, dragging out that sweet wetness that dripped from you like syrup.

He tasted you, breathed you in, swallowed you. You were the only thing that filled his senses at the moment, the only thing that he had his mind on. In that moment your pussy was the only thing he worshipped, the only thing he wanted to spend any time tending to.

Your hips were grinding against his face now, his tongue swirling and lapping at your swelling clit. You couldn’t even talk, couldn’t even think. He was all you could pay any attention to. Damn your art, damn your painting- right now his mouth was the only thing you could wrap your head around.

Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your orgasms on brewing in the pit of your belly. Joel’s rough palms carved up and down your sides, his well worked hands scratching your skin in a delicious sort of way. He was moaning against your folds, nose brushing up and down your pussy as he lapped at the pink of your cunt.

“Joel, Joel-” You were drunk on him, on his movements, clit tingling against the tip of his tongue. He chuckled against you, knowing just what he was doing to you.

Joel knew how to make a woman feel good, and you were no exception.

“Gonna cum.” You breathed out excitedly, hips bucking one last time as your orgasm washed over you. Your moans and cries echoed across the wall, and you tugged him by his curls farther between your thighs. Joel licked you through the height of your orgasm, until you had no choice but to push him away.

You lay on the floor, breaths hard and shaky, blinking as you came back down to earth. Joel crawled over you, his thumb gently trailing down your cheek. He kissed you, and you tasted yourself on his tongue, which was now pushing past your lips and exploring the softness of your mouth. You moaned, legs opening to grant his throbbing cock access.

With your small hand, you guided the tip of his leaking cock to the folds of your pussy, pressing it gently against your sensitive cunt.

“Fuck me.” You begged against his mouth.

Joel happily obliged you.

To say you had never been fucked quite like that was the understatement of the year.

Joel’s cock was thick and perfect, curved ever so slightly to the left. He hit every spot deep within you that made you shiver and moan, he knew just how to roll your hips to drag you towards your second orgasm.

And god, did he know how to last.

By the time your third orgasm had rushed over you, his fingers had tangled themselves in your hair and your teeth had sunk into the thickness of his pretty neck, his cock still hard and stern inside of you. He was panting like a dog, grinding and humping in to you as his twitching cock filled you to the brim.

Your thighs were shaking, wrapped around his waist as his fingers tweaked your nipples. He was breathing hard and heavy in to your hair, eyes shut tight as he took you all in.

“Feels so good.” You whimpered, eyes pricking with tears of pleasure.

“Fuckin’ love your cunt.” He grumbled, teeth nipping at your ear. “Gonna paint these fuckin’ walls. Gonna fill you up, make you mine.” It wasn’t just dirty talk, it was a promise. His hips stuttered into you, your aching clit pressing into his pelvis with every deep thrust he gave you.

“Cum inside me then. Make me yours.” You whispered, nails digging into his shoulders, dragging down his back. You had etched your sketches into the skin of his back, drawing lines of ravenous pleasure that only he would be able to see, when all was said and done.

Joel groaned at the sound of your sweet voice, and with a final grunt, you felt ropes of his cum filling you up, dripping and sliding out of you as he lazily thrust, riding out his own high.

By the time he had fallen beside you, your hand had grabbed his, and you both knew you were done for.

Months of built up pressure, stolen glances, curt conversations- you both knew what was there, beneath the surface. Two people who didn’t quite know how to approach the other, and yet still, two people who knew what was lurking beneath the surface.

God, you were so happy Joel had walked into your shop.

He had helped you get dressed, and you both walked outside to the street, sharing a cigarette you had bartered for a couple weeks ago. You took in a deep drag, gently holding it to his lips. As you exhaled, he inhaled the tobacco, and both of your eyes settled on to the bare street, the winter moon beating her sweet, silver light on to the pavement.

“If you keep doing that, I don’t think I’ll ever finish your panting.” You finally spoke, filling the comfortable silence with the sweet cadence of your words.

“I like it how it is.” He whispered.

You turned, looking at the canvas that was drying ever so slowly beneath the store light. It was a bit whacky, a bit unfinished, as though a part of its story had yet to be told. But Joel’s eyes though…. well, his eyes were what struck you the hardest out of it all, and for a moment you allowed yourself to take in the beauty and skill of your craftsmanship.

Those umber orbs, painted with that familiar distance his eyes so often held, swirling with mystery, regret, wonder, and a little bit of admiration that you hadn’t quite picked up on while painting. They were full of emotion that Joel so often showed, in his own quiet way.

You turned to him, taking another puff from the cigarette. A smile stretched across your face, and his arm gently hooked itself around you.

“Yeah, me too.” You admitted quietly.

After that night, the townspeople wondered why Joel was a little bit more approachable. They wondered what made him a little bit more softer, kinder, a bit more poetic.

And each time you would sneak away into his house underneath the cover of darkness, the reminder of that fateful night hung just above his sofa, Joel’s unfinished portrait staring at you with that familiar beauty of his.

[stargazestories]

OWN MY MIND (M)

Paring: modelJeonghanx model reader

Category: one shot

Warnings: SMUT minors DONOT INTERACT!

Hardcore smut? Oral (f receiving) degradation, insults? Degradation kink, heel kink,Sadomasochism(light),sadism(light), squirting, hair pulling

A/n: If I’m honest I’m not sure if the warnings labels 100% fall into those categories, but I rather be safe. Please enjoy still 🙏🏻

Jeonghan knocked on the door to the luxurious apartment, waiting after the 3rd knock, his hands fidgeting but quickly stopped when he saw the door open to reveal y/n who wore a confused look for a brief moment.

“Yoon” was all she said.

“We need to talk”

She had thought about it for a moment but gave in and let him walk inside.

“So, What do I owe the displeasure of having you here?” She asked as she guided him to her large living room and motioned him to sit across from her. Something about her tone, the fact that she could care less that THE Yoon Jeonghan, was there to talk to her, made him question his status.

“I wanted to come and…apologize” he was barely able to say that last part.

“Apologize?” She repeated with a hint of amusement, one that Jeonghan noticed.

“Yes…I apologize for my behavior at the photo shoot, I had not intention of offending you” his apology sounded sincere but she shook her head.

“You aren’t sorry” was so cold in her response, it began to send chills down his spine.

“I-i am” his confidence faltering.

“If you are really sorry, come here and beg for my forgiveness” her lips curled to a devilish smirk.

Jeonghan was taken back by her request. In the time he had in this industry, he never once apologized to anyone. The fact she was asking this of him with such assertiveness, he wasn’t sure what to do. A portion of him wanted to tell her off, but the other half was telling him to follow whatever she says.

“Then leave”

“N-no” he got up and walked to her, head down. The distance was short but it felt like an eternity. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a dark desire. He just stood in front of her, not completely sure how to beg.

“Kneel to me”

“what?” He snapped his head at her

“I didn’t stutter”

He gulped and kneeled down to her, in front of her feet that were adorned by black stiletto heels. For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to look at her again, every time he looked at her, it felt like a trance.

“I’m waiting” she taunted him, she reveled at the sight of Jeonghan, the golden boy of the modeling industry, here at her feet. He had made a piss poor impression on y/n, with being late to their first photoshoot, then trying to use his charm to get away with it, but she quickly proved to be a challenge for him.

Y/n was known for her fierce attitude and commanding presence, one that was not to be crossed with. Unfortunately for Jeonghan, his tardiness had already put him in her bad graces. Things only got worse as Jeonghan attempted to charm the beautiful woman into forgiving him but she was having none of it, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

Things progressed for the worse for Jeonghan, as during the photo shoot, y/n took charge. She practically barked orders at him and criticized his poses, Jeonghan, used to being the center of attention, practically resented her for putting him in his place. He had offered to take her to dinner as an apology, but y/n rejected it as well. It’s the very reason he’s right here, in front of her, on his knees, he was begging for forgiveness.

“I’m….sorry” he said softly, the confidence from before completely gone. She leaned in and grabbed his collar tight, pulling him in rough, his eyes widened as she brought him in, inches away from her face. “What are you sorry for?”, she teased. Her face was so close he could feel her breath on his lips and her warm vanilla perfume filled his nose, something about it was intoxicating to him.

His eyes finally met hers as his breathing became more shallow, “I-I’m sorry for being late”. Noticing the tension that was building up, y/n decided to take things further.

Y/n pulled his collar back in once more and pushed the man down onto her polished carpet, standing over him as he watched her every move,“and why are you sorry?hm?”

The flustered look on his face, along with the lingering tension was making this more fun for her. As for Jeonghan, he felt his body heat rise, his chest rising and falling quickly as he answered again “because I-I didn’t mean to upset you” she laughed, this was the first time he heard her laugh or have any emotion besides disdain toward him. She put her heel on his chest as she pushed him down while keeping her grin, “do you think I should accept your apology?”, the pressure she applied caused him to let out a groan. Her eyes wandered down his body and noticed not only his breathing but something growing down south.

“Don’t make me ask twice” she pressed down again, harder this time, seeing it had an effect on his body. “Yes! please!” He yelled as he closed his eyes as he let out a breathy moan.

“Please what? Use your words” she asked as she removed the pressure off his chest and slowly brought her heel down south of his body. She had noticed the growing tent between his legs and couldn’t help herself to lightly graze his hard on with her heel. Jeonghan was dazed, his body was reacting on its own but he didn’t even attempt to fight it. The way she commanded him, demanded him to answer her, the pain she was inflicting on him, made his head spin. “Please forgive me!” He whined with his soft voice.

She had stopped rubbing at his crotch which made him whimper for more, “so pathetic” she lifted her skirt, and exposed her lace black panties in front of him making Jeonghan gawk at her, she was so god damn beautiful and the vision of ecstasy. She rolled her thong down and off of her legs, exposing her glistening pussy to him.

“You don’t deserve my apology, right?”

“I don’t” he didn’t hesitate to answer. Y/n shoved her lace thong in his mouth as she continued to humiliate him by laughing at him, “learning fast” she praised him, if you can call it that , “I’ll forgive you….if you can make me cum” Jeonghan nodded fast, wanting to be forgiven so bad by her.

She walked back to her spot on the sofa chair, giving Jeonghan the pleasure of seeing the sight of her ass before sitting on the armchair and using her finger to gesture to him to come over. Jeonghan wasted no time but was stopped half way “ah!….come to me on your hands and knees” she demanded. Jeonghan nodded and slowly made his way to y/n, stopping right in front of her feet.

Y/n lifted his face and removed her panties from his mouth, softly grazing his lips with her thumb and getting a good look at his hazy eyes. Jeonghan licked his lips earning another smile from her as she leaned back, getting comfortable, she extended one leg out to him while hoisting the other on the edge of the sofa to expose her seeping core at him. Jeonghan lightly held her extended leg, first kissing the side of the black patent heel, trailing his kisses upwards slowly, letting every single kiss linger, one after the other, earring soft hums from y/n who was taking in the sight of him, the neediness, and the desire he displayed just for her.

His trail of kisses made their way up to her inner thigh till he made his way to her core, where he took a moment to admire how it was soaked, wanting nothing more than just a taste. Using the flat side of his tongue, he gave her cunt a long lick flicking her clit with his tongue, making y/n let out a breathy moan. Jeonghan kissed her clit again before giving it his full attention, licking it and suckin on it, making y/n mule in pleasure. Y/n took her hand and ran it through his hair, which by now was sticking to his face due to his sweat from the heat of it all, gripping it to push him further in forcefully.

Jeonghan was practically suffocating in her soaking pussy, drinking her up desperately, the vibrations of his moans against her made her bite her lip as the waves of pleasure flooded her body. “Fuck!-“ she gripped his hair harder making him cry of pleasure as he continued to ravage her. “Eat me out like the pathetic man you are, ah fuck” this turned Jeonghan on, the way she degraded him, demanding and commanding him to make her climax.

Smothering his face all over her cunt, Jeonghan sucked on her pussy, making no attempt to catch his breath until she came. With every lick and suck y/n arched her back and pushed Jeonghan's face deeper in, feeling her climax close. Jeonghan stuck his tongue right in her and swirled it around her walls, face fully covered in her sweet juices, feeling her legs quiver at the action. Y/n let out a final groan of pleasure, her hips pushed forward to him as she squirted all over his face as her climax washed over her body, riding the ecstasy.

Jeonghan pulled back, face and hair covered in her, completely strung out in pleasure of having her cum all over him.

Y/n caught her breath as she pushed herself forward to meet his face again, slowly eyeing him, his breathing was labored and the way his half lid eyes were fully entranced by her, he looked perfect this way. She licked his lips, getting a taste “you're forgiven”.

[tainted-liquor]

'Perfect Wifey―୨୧⋆ ˚

₊˚⊹♡ ╰➝ 'Don't start with me.' - Miles G. Morales

°˖➴ E42!Miles Morales x BlackFem!Reader ✧˖ °Ingredients: Salt and Sugar! (hurt/comfort) ˗ˏˋTWs: Swearing, petty behavior idk ⟡W/C: 820! A/N: Another request I got! Enjoys luvs 💗

"C'mon! Sabes que no lo quise decir de esa manera! I just need you to chill out f'me, princesa!" your boyfriend huffed as he crossed his arms against his chest. You were currently arguing about his inconsistency when it came to dates, promising one thing and doing the other. Just earlier today you stood outside for 4 hours, all dolled up and pretty for your boyfriend who never showed up. "Chill out? What the fuck you mean relax?! I was outside, for FOUR HOURS! IN HEELS! WAITING ON YOU!" you shouted, picking up your cream-colored bear off your bedside and hurling it at Miles's chest. "I can't fucking believe you! You could've shot me a text, a call, fuck you could've sent a PIGEON!" You yelled as small beads of tears clouded your vision. You sighed deeply, wiping your eyes and closing your eyes to refrain from making any dumb decisions.

"I will see you tomorrow. I need you to leave right now, I can't look at you" you explain in a calm and controlled voice. "Mami, lo siento-" he began, quickly shutting up as you weakly raised your hand (a silent communication of shut the fuck up). He quietly looked down at the floor, placing your stuffed bear safely on your nightstand before quietly exiting your room through the door. You sighed, slipping into your bathroom to do stress-stimulated skincare, angrily swiping at your face with your soapy hands. Every fiber in your body seemed to burn with a mix of rage and sadness, feeling those crybaby tears begin to invade your vision once more.

You slipped into your favorite pair of pajamas, feeling a sudden movement on your neck and freaking out at the unfamiliar sensation. You instantly sigh, pressing a hand to your chest and giggling when you realize it was just your necklace. Well, the necklace Miles had bought for you a while back for your birthday. You unclipped the necklace, watching as the solid gold 'M' spun on the chain before gently placing it on your bathroom sink. You sighed to yourself, contemplating when everything went downhill as you got comfortable in your pink bedsheets and drifted off to sleep.

You woke up the following morning with your mind in a daze. Your bonnet was half off, your phone was nowhere in sight, and you could feel how puffy your eyes were from crying the previous night. You sighed before quickly getting yourself together, throwing on your uniform, and preparing to start another long and tiring week of school. There was only one key detail missing from your dull grey and blue uniform, which slipped your mind as you began to make your way to school at the fucking crack of dawn. That pretty pretty pendant that you always wore around your neck.

The first few minutes in the building were normal, you scrolling mindlessly through your phone as you leaned against your locker. That was all fine and dandy until you felt that familiar presence that always let you know comfort was right next to you. You sighed, lifting your head completely from your phone to see Miles. "Princesa, escúchame por favor. I need to tell you something important," he began as he held your chin gently in between his hands, making sure you maintained eye contact. He was about to explain something 'important', before he cut himself off, staring directly at the empty space on your collarbone.

"¿Dónde es? Chiquita, dime ahora mismo. ¿Dónde está tu collar?" He asked with a suddenly firm glare. He gently raised your phone, ensuring that the semi-clear pink case you always wore still contained the Polaroid of the two of you. He didn't notice immediately, but he sighed in relief when he saw that all-too-familiar photo of the two of you last year. "Sorry, I forgot it on my bathroom sink..." you sighed as you mindlessly felt for the solid piece of gold, immediately feeling terrible when you realized it wasn't there. "Don't start with me. I don't care how petty you feel, the world gon' know you mines," he spat with narrow eyes.

You could tell he was a little irritated, but he still pulled you into a tight hug and rested his chin on the top of your head. "Look mama, I'm sorry. I promise I'll never do that again, aight? I need to talk to you about something though, leave your window open f'me" he explained as he held you impossibly closer to his body. "Yeah, okay I- WINDOW?" you frantically queried with a bewildered expression. "Fuck you mean my window? Why my window?" Miles didn't give you an answer, only laughing at your question and giving you a pat on your back. "Don't worry about it. I'll be over later, alright?" he assured as he gave you a peck on the forehead, tugging your hand as you followed him to your morning advisory.

taglist in the works I swear😭

[theushijimaoverlord]

"this whole thing is a mess"

♡ tooru oikawa x reader - 1.3k ♡ warnings - none other than oikawa himself (and some ugly baby shenanigans) ♡ notes - hi! i'm purple and this is my first post, enjoy! (prompt credit from @creativepromptsforwriting)

It was a mess.

A big, tremendous, nearly-unfixable mess.

The day started off normal enough, you in your comfy gray sweat, loose shirt (that may or may not belong to Oikawa), a book you’ve been overdue to read in your hands. As your eyes scanned the pages, your attention was drawn away as you began to the thump thump thump of someone running up the stairs. And unless someone had broken into your house, you already knew who was currently making their way towards your bedroom.

As if on cue, a familiar ruffle of brunette hair came into view as said person came barreling through your door. For an athlete, it always bemuses you how Oikawa always got so winded running up your stairs.

You patiently wait for him to catch his breath. Finally, after he had decided that enough air had entered his lungs, he looked up and if you knew any better from the look in his eyes, you could already tell he was about to tell the most ridiculous thing ever. Because your boyfriend wouldn’t be doing the world justice if he were one for the dramatics.

“You would not believe what I just found out.”

Staring at him for a few seconds, you roll your eyes, close your books and turn your whole body to face him. This was gonna take a while. “Okay I’ll bite. Tell me what you found out.”

If you squint hard enough, you could almost see the joy gleaming in his eye from the fact that he caused you to turn your whole attention to him. But it quickly disappeared as he crossed the room and plopped down face first onto your bed, arms wide, and began whining.

You should convince him to take up theater.

“Come on Tooru, tell me what you came all the way up here for or I’m going back to my book,” Turning his face, Oikawa looked at you and gave his signature pout. If you called him out for it, he would vigilantly deny it.

“Did you remember when you went over to my mom's house a week ago?” 

“When we visited for new years? Yeah I remember, remind me later to ask her for her mochi recipe.”

“Yeah, yeah. So you remember when the two of you decided to torture me by looking at my baby photos?” Honestly, he was the one torturing you with the way he was loudly complaining with each flip of the photo album.

If it wasn’t already obvious by the media attention, countless photo-shoot bookings, and (to his dismay) amount of fanfic being written about him, Oikawa Tooru was a very handsome man. Some might even argue (you) that the word pretty comes to mind when talking about the Argentina National Volleyball Team’s setter.

But a little secret that he had and would rather take to the grave is that he was a very, very ugly baby. At least by his standards. You have a running theory that he only thinks that way because Iwaizumi liked to taunt him about it, especially when they were younger.

“Yes Tooru, although I’ve told you pointless times that you were a very normal looking baby, I do recall looking at photos with your mom.” Reaching a hand out from under the warm blanket, you grab his hand that is closest to you and intertwine your fingers. You swear his pout lessens a little before he continued telling you about his current dilemma.

“Well I was scrolling online and you will not believe what I saw” Sitting up without disconnecting your hands, he sits on the bed, brown eyes now directly across from you. 

“Well she. Posted. The. Photos.”

A beat of silence passed as he just stared at you, straight faced and serious. 

And then you break eye contact by letting out a short laugh, which apparently broke a dam inside you because your free hand came up to cover your mouth as you tried to suppress the fit of giggles you couldn’t hold back anymore. 

Oikawa just continues to stare at you, but now he had a dumbfounded expression on his face, as if he hadn’t just told you the worst possible thing to ever happen to him. Realizing you weren’t gonna stop, Oikawa lets out a long drawn whine, closing the gap in between the two of you and throwing his arms around your body, pressing his face into your neck.

The position caused you to uncover your mouth and now the only sound filling the room was your unfiltered laughs. As much as Oikawa loved listening to the noise, he hugged you tighter hoping you would eventually stop being entertained by his misfortune.

“Why do you hate me, babe. What have I done to deserve this mistreatment?”

As your laughter finally dies down, you reach your arms around and hug him back, rubbing one palm up and down his back as the other hand carded his brown moppy hair through your fingers. Your bedroom was now engulfed by a (rare) moment of peaceful silence as you felt him breathing into your neck.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’d have a knack for always being the most dramatic person in a room” A pause before his response.

“...no” An obvious lie, but you let it slide.

“Alright, what are people saying about your photos though? Can’t be that bad”

Sitting up straight again, his arms were still wrapped around your body so he had to crane his neck to look down at you and you find yourself doing a similar motion to look up at him. If anyone else saw the two of you like this, they might find the positioning comedic.

“It’s terrible. Absolutely horrible. This whole thing is a mess. The entire world is making fun of me as we speak.” 

Rolling your eyes, you reach for your phone on the nightstand and begin searching for his mother’s post which wasn’t hard considering you closely followed her actively due to her weekly recipe post. And just as you presumed, Oikawa’s mom’s most recent post was a picture of some photos from the album the two of you looked at a few days ago.

You could tell they were pictures of Oikawa during his infant years, but only because you were able to see it in person but…. When you closely examined the post, you were astonished that anyone could even tell what the photo was off. Even though mama Oikawa had skills in the kitchen and taking pictures of the foods she makes, the woman wasn’t as skilled when photographing other things.

“Babe, literally no one can tell what this is a picture of. If I didn’t know any better, it just looks like she took a picture of a photograph of a loaf of bread and posted it.” A gasp falls from his lips, causing you to look back up at him.

“Are you saying I look like a loaf of bread? How dare you!” You are practically rendered speechless.

“No! I’m saying that unless people have seen the real thing, there is no way anyone would guess that it’s a photo of you as a baby. And I’m looking at the comment section right now, no one is saying anything about you, most people are asking what it even is.”

“What? I swear people were saying stuff” Snatching your phone, he also begins to scroll before he comes across a comment that read:

that’s the stupidest looking baby I’ve ever seen

Turning the phone to show you, he pointed at the words on the screen, giving you a wide eyed I-told-you-so look. 

“See??” Looking at him, you gave Oikawa a blank stare.

“Tooru, Hajime is that one who commented that” Flipping the screen back around, his eyes quickly scan for the person who typed out the atrocious words and staring right back at him is Iwa-chan’s username, and profile pic of the gym he worked at.

“Oh”

Pondering his existence, Oikawa almost misses the snort you let out if it wasn’t for the explosion of laughter you let out.

Again

♡ hello! thank you for finishing my first work, i hope you enjoyed it. i would love any type of constructive criticism, either in regard of my writing, theme, or anything else

♡ i took a lot of my inspiration from @adoringhaikyuu, especially when creating my theme so i wanted to give them credit, and i completely recommend their work so go check them out

♡ thank you (again) and warmest regards, ms. purple

[tanpopomugishu]

EDIT: I'm not feeling Aziraphale's tattoo & backstory anymore, so I'm removing it from the story. But I still love this art, so I'll leave it here 😁

C : Angel, I've been wondering. What's the story behind your tattoo? You always look so prim and proper, never would have guessed you have those massive tattoos hidden behind all those layers. Not that they don't suit you, mind you!!

A : Oh, I know, these tattoos are very cliché, right? Not much thoughts went into these, except that they look cool. I had these made when I was very young and stupid, not even 20 years old if I remembered right.

My parents and brother have hated me since they learned that I am gay, so staying at home for a long time was not a choice. I was constantly angry, hung out with the wrong crowd, and frequently got into big fights. The next thing I know, a youth gang has taken me in. As a form of initiation, they paid to have these tattoos done.

C : You were in a WOT!!

A : In a gang Crowley, do catch up with the story, my dear... They said I was one of the best fighters they had ever met, so I got special treatment.

They even gave me a moniker! A very embarrassing one too, now that I think about it..

C : What moniker ?

A : Uhhhh... promise you won't laugh?

C : Fingers crossed

A : It was "The Fallen Angel of Whickber Street."  Back then, I was lithe and feminine-looking, and combined with the angel wings tattoo, they said I looked like a crazed angel while fighting.

C : WAIT, THAT WAS YOU??? I saw the article that was written about you in the local paper!! The photo there kicked ass!! Even now, you are still pretty by the way..

A : Oh, you silver-tongued, wiley tempter!!

I think I still have the original photo used in that article, they sent it to me as a keepsake.

C : Oooooh!! Show me!!!

......

I promised @midnights-dragon that I would draw Crowley's tattoo with more details, and somehow ended up expanding this first responders AU even further!!

It's hilarious to imagine young Aziraphale as a gang member, fighting the opposition while looking like Miles Maitland. I'll definitely try to draw that scene 😂😂😂.

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and footballers (Part 32)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (30)

Masterlist (other parts here)

YFN’s back hit the wall as she expelled several gasping breaths, the wave of relief flooding over her indicative of just how scared she was. Still, it was a surprise.

Lucy’s big green eyes behind her clear framed lenses were filled with worry. She crossed the room in a matter of steps, pulling the shower door open to see her little Australian backed into the corner of the shower with wide eyes, holding her toothbrush up like it would protect her somehow. It would have been comical if it weren’t for the fear.

“Little one..”

“L…Luce? What are you-”

She was cut off by Lucy enveloping her, her arms wrapping around her and pulling her head to rest on her favourite place, the little area where Lucy’s collarbone met her neck. Vanilla and bitter orange. Lucy was there and everything was okay. Lucy felt her grabbing at her clothes tightly, not wanting to let the footballer go and her heart broke feeling her body shaking.

“I didn’t mean to scare you… I didn’t think you’d be awake still,” she said softly into her hair.

“I thought it was…someone else.”

Now Lucy was even more worried. She pulled back just enough to look at her. “Who?”

“S..some photographer from the game in Crawley. He was taking photos and then he followed me here..”

Lucy saw red. She pulled away and began turning when YFN caught her. She looked back at her pleading eyes.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Just when Lucy thought her heart couldn’t break any more. She touched her cheek with her fingertips softly. “I need to make sure you’re safe. I’ll be a few minutes… stay here please, little one.”

Lucy was quick to check around the apartment, and outside. She’d noticed an idling car outside when she’d arrived in her uber, though it was now gone. She came back inside and locked the door as she found YFN exactly where she’d left her.

She leant up against the frame of the shower and looked at the woman who’d been the only thing on her mind for the past week. “It’s just us.”

She breathed another sigh of relief, still comfortable with her back in the corner and Lucy could sense the thoughts of her dad running through her mind. She tried to distract her.

“Is that my toothbrush?” She asked.

YFN looked down at the little blue toothbrush in her hand, not realising she was still gripping it tightly.

“Yes.. but I wasn’t using it..” She explained. “I just missed you.”

Lucy shook her head as if it would rid her of the amount of feelings she had for the women in front of her. God, the amount of love she had for her. It was a tingly, vulnerable, excitable feeling. One that always left her feeling simultaneously scared of its power and so happy she knew she’d do anything for her. This was that poetry love.

Lucy took a step forward and gently extracted the toothbrush from her hand and placed it back where it belonged. She returned and stood so close to her girlfriend that their bodies were touching in multiple places, and YFN had to look up to hold eye contact with her.

“We need to talk.” YFN whispered a little nervously, though Lucy didn’t know whether it was from the impending talk or their proximity.

“Yes, we do. But first.. let me make you a hot chocolate and get you calmed down, okay?”

She phrased it like a question when it wasn’t. Without waiting for a reply, she bent down and picked up her little Australian who almost gladly wrapped her legs around Lucy’s waist like a koala. She held her tightly as she walked them out to the living area and headed for the couch. YFN’s grip around Lucy tightened.

“I want to go where you go.”

She paused and stroked her back, diverting them to the kitchen where she placed her on the kitchen island. YFN couldn’t keep her eyes off of her, still unable to believe she was there with her. Wasn’t she just in Spain at a game five hours ago? Lucy looked tired from her day, her game, her flight. Her hair was in its typical messy bun after the game though she was now in track pants, slides with socks and a simple salmon colour shirt that she hadn’t seen before. As she turned around and opened the fridge, she couldn’t help but look at just how good her ass look in those pants.

Lucy groaned as she realised that – of course – there was no milk. She closed it and turned around to YFN who was staring at her as if waiting for her to realise, her lips pressed together holding a smile at bay but her dimples giving her away. She held up her phone.

“We can order some?”

Lucy sauntered back over, keeping that heavy eye contact until she was back in between her legs dangling from the edge. She put an arm back down on the counter, her hand finding a place on YFN’s outer thigh as she took her phone. YFN watched as Lucy was distracted ordering their drinks, looking at Lucy’s finer details. They were the things she missed. Her freckles, her Spanish tan, her dark brown hair she loved to dye, her goddamn jawline. She hesitated a second before she reached out and smoothed a few outlying strands of hair with her fingertips. Lucy leant into her touch, still typing on the phone and it were almost as if no time had passed. The natural chemistry between them was undeniable.

“We need to talk.” She said when Lucy was finished, removing her hand unwillingly.

Lucy placed her phone on the bench and turned back to her, finding those eyes again. “Yes, we do. Where’s your overnight bag? I didn’t see it in our bedroom.”

The fact that she said our bedroom didn’t go unnoticed by YFN, nor was it supposed to. She bit her lip.

“It's… in the other room.” She said quietly. Lucy didn’t even try to hide the look of hurt she felt, though she knew better than to question it given what they’d been through the last several days.

Lucy grabbed her knees, pulling her to the edge of the counter and encouraging her legs back around her waist as she picked her up and carried her to the couch where she almost unceremoniously dropped her.

“Stay.” She said, pointing at her. YFN did as she was told, folding her legs and leaning back into the corner of the couch. She watched as Lucy left to the spare room and then returned shortly later carrying her bag and toiletries with purpose to Lucy’s room. YFN smiled at that and bit by bit, her heart felt like it was mending, though she was fully aware that they still hadn’t spoken about the series of unfortunate events.

Lucy came back and kicked off her slides, taking up the opposite corner of the couch just far enough away that they couldn’t touch, even with her outstretched legs.

There was a long pause as they stared at each other with longing and nervousness. YFN decided to break the ice first.

“Hi, Luce.” YFN said softly, pulling a pillow to her chest so she’d feel the need to touch Lucy less.

Lucy smiled at that. “Hi, little one.” Her voice was tired and husky and still managing to make YFN’s heart jump.

“I miss you.”

Lucy let out a long sigh and it sounded almost like relief. “I miss you too.”

“I know I have no right-”

“You have every right.” Lucy cut off. “Every right. We are still together.”

They were still together. That was a good start. “We need to talk..”

Lucy sighed. “Yeah, we do. Can I start please?”

“Okay Luce.”

“Okay… let’s get the main thing out of the way. Ona and I are not together, and we never have been. Never been together, never slept together. She tried to kiss me once before I knew you, but I stopped her. She was drunk and I… wouldn’t have let her do it anyways. She eight years younger than me, little one. She’s going to be my successor as right back at Barca. I helped her move from United, I gave her a place to stay for a few weeks, and she’s been a really good friend to have in the city because I don’t speak much Spanish. I have Keira but… that’s not the same anymore, and it’s good to have other friends. Now, I know Ona likes me, and what I’m about to say is really selfish, okay?” She took a breath and shook her head like she was ashamed of herself. “It was a mutual split between Keira and I, you know that. I told you about us, but still, suddenly being single and alone in a foreign country was hard. We were together for years. And so I let myself enjoy Ona’s attention. It’s horrible, I know, but I did. I teased and flirted but I would never let it go further than that. And all of that stopped when I met you. Most of the photos you were sent are old and the new ones are just us being friends. I promise it’s nothing more than that and will never be.”

There was silence for a few seconds as YFN took this in. It was the best outcome for her, and she felt her heart healing itself a little more. As it did, she felt disappointed in herself. “Thanks for being so honest with me, Luce. I… I’m really sorry with how I handled all of this. I’m… really ashamed of myself.” She got a little teary and had to stop.

“No. Don’t. Please… I saw the photos, and I know what it looks like. I should have had this conversation with you before but everything between us happened so quick and we didn’t have time.. I was going to tell you when you got to Spain.” She paused. “And I don’t fully understand why you needed space, but I do at the same time. I need you to know that you can trust me, okay? Please.. I know it’s a risk for you, but I will never hurt you. I’d never do that. You’re too important to me… and besides, that’s not me. You know me. You’ve met my family, my friends. You know who I am.”

“Yeah..” She admitted, lips trembling. “I do.”

Lucy was right. She had introduced her to her family and friends. She’d let her in so close, how could she have ever believed otherwise?

Lucy continued. “I’m more than happy to limit my interactions with Ona-”

“No.” YFN replied tenaciously, wiping an ashamed tear away. “No, I don’t want you to do that, Luce. I’ll never make you do something like that to a friend.”

“Okay… regardless I’ll have a talk to her. But please.. don’t believe anything you’re sent.” She made sure their eyes had met. “There’s only you, now. You’re what I want.”

She wanted her. God, it felt like a Jane Austen or Shakespeare romance. YFN stretched a leg out and their feet touched like that night under the blankets hiding it from Jordan. Lucy wanted her. She wanted Lucy. Lucy was here.

“Do you still want me?”

YFN looked up from where they were touching, her eyes finding Lucy’s insecure ones. She responded without even needing to think about it. “I’ll always want you, Luce. I thought when you didn’t call that maybe things had changed for you.. but things haven’t changed for me. Not one bit.”

Relief flooded those green eyes. “About that.. I have an explanation for all of this. You see, my phone-”

A knock came at the door and YFN jumped more than she usually did, given the events of the night.

“It’s just the delivery..” Lucy assured and went to collect it. She came back inside and handed YFN her hot chocolate and a brown paper bag before retaking her position on the couch. She nodded to the bag as YFN was opening it.

“Banana bread and coconut bread. I’m assuming you haven’t had a chance to eat tonight like me. Choose one, and I’ll have the other.”

How did she get so lucky? She looked up at her girlfriend with an excited and thankful smile that made Lucy’s pupils dilate a little. “We share?”

“Okay, little one. But no more talking until we’ve finished.”

She broke half of each off and gave them to Lucy on the napkin that was in the bag. They were warm and hit the spot perfectly with the hot chocolate. She knew she’d be ready for bed soon after that.

Lucy finished first, of course. That woman was always hungry. She waited patiently for YFN, sipping on her hot chocolate and her eyes wandering over her like she was making up for lost time.

“Your phone?”

“Was stolen. By Kristie.”

YFN froze. She didn’t expect that. Kristie was in Spain?

“She’s been watching me train and went to my game. She stole my phone and then told security she’d give it back if she could meet me after the game, so I met her because I had no idea it was her until she was right in front of me. She said some nasty things-”

“What things?” YFN cut off. She couldn't help herself.

“That she sent you the photos. That you were using me for a job and a car and a home. That you don’t know me. Then… she gave me an ultimatum. If I wanted my phone back, I’d need to go on a date with her.”

A feeling of disgust, anger and jealousy built within her. She cleared the emotions from her throat.

“And what did you do?”

Lucy looked unapologetic. “I told her to keep my fucking phone. I booked a flight. Cancelled my phone. Told security to ban her and her friends. My new phone will arrive in Spain tomorrow or the next day.”

Her heart melted. Lucy just jumped on an international flight… to see her. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me..” She admitted, knowing that Lucy now held those top two spots, the second being the keychain.

Lucy softened. “You’re more than worth it, my love.”

The lightbulb clicked. “That’s why you didn’t call..”

Lucy nodded. “That’s why I didn’t call. But this needed to be resolved, and I needed to see you, so I asked Alexia if I could leave early so I could pack and feed Narla before my flight.”

“What about training tomorrow?”

“Alexia is letting me start late. I’ll be on the first flight out..”

She looked at the time on the wall. 11:42pm. Lucy was leaving soon.

“Six more days..” Lucy reminded her, noticing where she was looking.

She nodded. Six more days and she’d be in Barcelona with her. Hopefully the next six days would be a lot less dramatic than the previous week.

“Your hand..” She said, looking at the bandage as Lucy took another sip.

“Ah.” She scratched the back of her head a little embarrassed. “I…snapped my iPad in half… when I saw photos of you and Leah.”

That’s right. “Leah is sorting it out, the company posted that because they didn’t know my name.”

“Could have written ‘friend’ instead.” She muttered jealously.

“Is that a little jealousy I hear?” YFN challenged.

Lucy sat up a little straighter. “Yes.” She admitted, forcing herself to accept that insecurity of hers.

YFN put her hot chocolate down and threw her pillow aside, moving along the couch until she was straddling Lucy’s hips. She took Lucy’s cup also and moved it away. She loved that she had the ability to take away Lucy’s capacity to speak. She just stared at her with slightly parted lips, pupils dilating further. She took Lucy’s bandaged hand and held it up to her cheek to appreciate the feel before she turned and kissed the palm. Lucy similarly reached a hand up, her thumb stroking ever so gently over the fading scar cutting YFN’s eyebrow. The complete opposite of the Lucy who had just unapologetically smashed her way through a football game, earning herself a yellow. Their little spell was broken by Lucy’s need to protect her.

“This will be the final piece of evidence needed for the restraining orders. I’ll have them finalised in the next day or so. Promise.”

Lucy’s hands found her hips as YFN’s hands cupped each side of the footballer’s neck.

“Thank you, Luce.”

“Now tell me about the photographer please.”

YFN explained about Mark at the charity event, his comments about Joe, and his photographer at the game. Lucy was angry.

“Who the fuck-”

“I don’t know, Luce.”

“Why the fuck-”

“It’s okay,” she whispered, trying to encourage her to calm a little. “Probably just a little competition. Also, he’s a bit of a misogynist so… there’s that.”

“Don’t be alone around him. I don’t want you alone at stadiums and definitely not in car parks. Make sure someone is always with you. I’ll find out who he is.”

“Okay, my love. Can you do me a favour please?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t push Ona away.” This caught Lucy off guard. “She’s your friend. I refuse to let any of your friendships be affected by me.”

Lucy slowly nodded. “I stopped giving her lifts to training...”

“Start again, please.”

Lucy knew she was right. “Okay,” she agreed. “And if she goes too far, I’ll talk to her.”

“Communication IS key.” She said cheekily.

“Speaking of... is there anything else we need to talk about?”

She thought a little before her cheeks turned a little red. “I..uh..may have asked Joe tonight for a company car.”

“You don’t like Miles?”

She remembered. “Well, I thought…”

Lucy understood, but it didn’t mean she was okay with it. “Cancel it, please. And I need you to accept that what’s mine is yours, okay? I will never regret giving you that keychain. The apartments and the car are yours to use anytime... you know that.”

She did know that. “Okay...” She said. She didn’t like backtracking but knew Joe wouldn’t mind.

“Anything else?”

“Dory’s going to go on a date with Leah.”

“Oh?!”

“I had a good chat to Leah at the event... she actually gave me some great advice about you, Luce... also she really loves Jordan. I spoke to her and she’s willing to let her talk so perhaps it’s less of a date and more of a ceasefire...”

“Leah’s my Captain but if she hurts her…”

“Oh – I sort of already threatened her, so that part is covered.”

Lucy was taken aback and grinned. There was nothing threatening about YFN besides her intelligence and sense of humour. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

She bit her lip. “It’s always a nice reminder.”

Lucy’s hand found the back of her head and pulled it towards her so she could gently kiss her way down that scar with kisses so tender, YFN could barely feel them. As she reached the bottom, her lips stayed on her skin and brushed down over her eyelid, her cheek, to find her lips. They kissed then, unable to help themselves any longer. Their hands held each other tightly as their lips moved together, tongues meeting each other with soft caresses. It wasn’t a sexual need, it was more of a slow and longing kiss, remembering what each other felt and tasted like. Lucy tasted like hot chocolate and coconut, her mouth moving exactly in the way YFN remembered.

YFN broke away first to regain her breath while Lucy’s lips trailed down her chin, her jaw, the side of her neck, down to the little oval between her collarbones and back up the other side.

“I missed you so much.” She admitted against her skin.

“I missed you more, Luce.” She almost moaned. “But right now, I need you to get some sleep.”

Lucy agreed, albeit a little grudgingly. They made their way to Lucy’s bathroom where they each took their respective toothbrushes and brushed their teeth. Lucy finally let herself chuckle when she grabbed her blue toothbrush, looking at YFN who scrunched up her nose and blushed. Did she really think she could defend herself with that?

“I need to shower, little one. I didn’t get a chance between the game and now..”

“Ah, I thought I could smell you.”

Lucy groaned and YFN chuckled, kissing her shoulder. “I’m kidding. Your perfume is all I can smell… I have a request before we sleep, though?”

Lucy looked down at her, eyes darkening and assuming. “Anything.”

“I saw you bully your way through that game, Luce. Your knee looks sore. Can I massage it before bed, please?”

Ah, she was wrong. Probably for the best, they were both incredibly tired but it didn’t stop their ability of both knowing what Lucy thought she was going to ask. “I’d like that..”

“Okay.” She kissed her shoulder again, with more lingering lips. “I’ll bring your clothes in.”

YFN left and found Lucy’s overnight bag dumped in the corner of the bedroom. She must have done that as she was scrambling to find YFN when she’d arrived. She got out her clothes for the night, her shirt, underwear, and shorts. Walking back into the bathroom, she was greeted with the sight of a gloriously naked Lucy Bronze under running water in the shower. She couldn’t help but freeze, and stare. Her body was just a collection of well-earned, bronze muscles from her calves to those thighs that stretched her shorts, her tight abs and V-line, those biceps she loved to hang onto, triceps, traps and lats that you could always see even with a shirt on. Lucy looked up from the soap she was lathering across her and grinned. YFN knew she couldn’t see clearly without her glasses, but she could still see her staring.

She bit her lip and blushed before finding some moisturiser in the bathroom cupboard, knowing that she needed to distract herself to stop her staring. She tried to not look at her after that and it was just a whole bunch of awkward.

“I…uh.. your clothes are right here. I’ll be in there.” She pointed out the door and heard Lucy’s chuckles as she left the room.

Not too long later the shower shut off and Lucy joined her in the bedroom, bringing a cloud of steam with her. To be honest, YFN didn’t know how Lucy wasn’t always followed with a cloud of steam, being as goddamned attractive as she was.

Lucy settled onto her regular side of the bed and leant up against the headboard. With the amount of tension, it would just take one of them to break and start ripping the other’s clothes off, however they both managed to restrain themselves. Tonight wasn’t about sex. Tonight was about love. Their relationship.

YFN worked Lucy’s sore leg just the way she liked and needed it. It was aggravated from the game and needed some release. Lucy groaned and her head leant back against the headboard, eyes closing. Even she didn’t realise how much she needed it. Only when YFN could feel Lucy’s leg start to ease up and become a little happier, did she finally stop.

The two were beyond tired and both climbed under the covers together, naturally taking up their positions wrapped around one another. Lucy gave her a long, lingering kiss on her forehead where her scar was as their body’s relaxed into each other.

“Luce?” YFN asked with a tired yawn.

“Little one?”

“I’m sorry about the airport…”

“It’s okay, love. I said it too soon. I won’t say it again until you’re ready, if you’d like?”

“No,” she said a little too quickly. “No, I really like it when you say it. I… it makes me feel loved.”

Lucy gave a happy hum into her ear. “Good. Because I love you, YFN. So much, you have no idea.” Then half-asleep she said, “Besides, I only said it because-”

She cut herself off, realising that her mouth had spoken before her asleep brain could stop her.

“Because what?”

Lucy sighed. Would she even remember the conversation? They were already basically asleep. She could hear it in her voice. “Because you said it first. In your sleep. You told me you loved me and I…I wanted to say it first.”

YFN was awake enough for that. She’d said it first? Really? Then why wasn’t she able to say it out loud?

She put her lips to Lucy’s throat, kissing that tender spot. “Thank you for telling me, Luce. I’ll get there soon… I’m not sure how long it’ll take but-”

“It’ll take as long as it takes, my love. I know how you feel about me. You tell me a lot when you sleep, anyways.”

YFN blushed and Lucy must have felt it because she chuckled.

“I already miss you.”

“Six days, little one. Come to me in six days.”