#do not let this man take his phone out he will start a photo collection for admiration on his personal time

[coff33andb00ks]

Rule Breaker - Pt 2

max verstappen x single mom!reader

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warnings: cursing, reader y/nsplains, jos is an asshole, fluff, barely proofread, logan tries to flirt, y/n's bestie is a tumblr girlie at heart, kiddo steals the show Summary: Max has it all...right? Besides, he's too busy collecting trophies and completing side quests for anything else. Until... You moved across a whole ass ocean to start over, uprooting you and your son's lives to become social media admin for cars that drive in circles. word count: 6833 auth.note: thank you all so much for the love for part 1!!! ily all and i'm having so much fun writing this

The paddock was relatively quiet so early in the morning. Unable to sleep, y/n had left the hotel and made her way to the track. She was taking the opportunity to explore the settings on the camera and getting her bearings since she didn't have any work duties to complete until later in the day. She had expected Kevin to want to come with her, but he'd opted to sleep in with Ellie, who would bring him to the track later. So she wandered, exchanging the occasional greeting with others. Stopping to take a photo of a bird perched on the fence in front of pit lane, she backed up, crashing into someone.

"Whoop, s'cuse me, sorry," she said, turning to apologize properly. She recognized the two men by their faces but her mind blanked on their names.

"It's alright, ma'am. Didn't mess up your shot, did we?" His American accent was a happy surprise.

"I don't think so." Smiling, y/n lowered the camera. "My fault, and I'll blame it on being new."

"Marketing?" The other man guessed.

Australian. And suddenly she remembered their names. "Social media. I'm y/n."

"So great to meet you." Logan tipped his head slightly. "Carolina?"

"God, you can take the hick outta Carolina, but you can't take the Carolina outta the hick." He grinned and she laughed. "North Carolina, yeah."

Oscar stared at Logan. "How did you guess that? She just sounds plain American?"

"No, dude, it's the lilt. It's like when George got pissed we couldn't pick up on the different English accents."

"Can he pick up on the different American south accents?" y/n asked.

Logan rolled his eyes. "He knows Brooklyn, Midwest, valley girl, and just south."

"In his defense it's hard to pick out each individual one," Oscar pointed out.

Y/n shrugged. "You've got a point. I sound different from people that grew up just an hour from me."

"Yeah! And I know mine's been butchered from so much time in Europe." Logan nodded.

"You still sound more like home than anyone else I've met."

"I was gonna say the same thing – you sound like home." He smiled, a soft, genuine smile that had her smiling in return.

"And what do I sound like?" Oscar asked with a grin.

"A magical place far, far away," y/n told him. She covertly checked the time and wondered if hospitality had finished setting up so she could get some coffee.

"Hear that? I sound like Star Wars."

"She's using southern charm on you, dude," Logan snorted.

"Well it's working, I'm charmed."

A giggle bubbled up her throat and she let it free, raising her camera and giving them a hopeful look. "Okay?"

"Hang on—" Logan fussed with his hair, and y/n laughed when Oscar reached to help him, then they both had to fuss with Oscar's hair. "Think we're presentable enough?"

She nodded, moving so the sunlight was beside them. She got several photos and thanked them. "I'll send them to y'alls social media teams?"

"You can just send it to me." Logan began patting his pockets for his phone.

"Unbelievable," Oscar muttered under his breath, and y/n barely heard it, giving Logan her number and adding him to her contacts once he'd sent her a text.

"I should get going – Sorry for bumping into you."

"Don't apologize, I'm glad you did."

As she walked away she gave her head a little shake, smiling to herself when she overheard Oscar's grumbling that Logan had flirted with fuckin' Red Bull's social media admin. Something told her to glance back and she did, amused to see Logan watching her. Don't show interest, don't show interest, don't—

He gave a little wave. And she smiled, waving back.

Fuck.

Ducking around the corner, she wandered until she found hospitality, grogginess taking over as she made her way to the back to fix herself coffee. She recognized a couple engineers and mechanics that she'd met in Milton Keyes and greeted them, settling into a corner to drink and look over the pictures she'd gotten.

She was on her second coffee, had uploaded the pictures to her laptop, and was editing the first batch for a short video when the chair across from her was pulled out, taking her shoe with it.

"Sorry," Max said when she yelped, chuckling as he bent to pick up her shoe. "Didn't know you were attached."

"Bad habit I'm afraid." Taking the shoe, she shifted to put it back on. "Picked it up when I was pregnant now I do it without thinking."

"For the swelling?" he asked, sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee.

"Yeah." After tying the shoelace she shifted, tucking one foot beneath her. "Good morning, by the way."

"Morning. Already working?"

"I'm gonna do a short photo tour of the track. I got some nice shots."

"You walked the track?"

"I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep, so… It's beautiful first thing in the morning."

Max nodded, picking up his coffee again. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Max, you should know that hotel beds suck. Especially with a three year old sleeping sideways and a snoring friend in the other bed. Is this where you tell me you slept great?"

"Haha, no. My sleep was shit but it wasn't because of the bed. I didn't get enough." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I was up late sim racing."

"Okay, explain sim racing to me," she requested, slipping one earbud in so she could check that the music she'd selected went well with the photos. Tweaking it as he began to talk, she realized she was barely paying attention to her work, exporting and posting the video to all the platforms then closing her laptop to focus on him. He talked with his hands. It was something she'd picked up on already, that if he was focused on the topic he used his hands. Maxplaining the fans called it. Finishing her coffee, she listened intently, propping her chin on one hand.

 He smiled, almost shyly, as he finished. "It's something I truly enjoy. I'm not very sociable. I like going out once in a while, but I prefer to stay in, yeah? And I can spend hours in the sim without thinking twice."

"I spent the last few days watching a lot of interviews. Not just of you and Checo, but everyone on the grid," y/n said softly. "Leclerc talks about piano and his family, Norris talks about gaming and DJing, and Hamilton has his six hundred side projects."

"Yes?" He didn't look or sound impatient for her to get to the point, and she appreciated that.

"The thing is, they all have passions outside of racing. This – formula one, fastest cars, all that – is a goal, a dream, but they all have something else they love, that they can pursue now." She paused, meeting his eyes. "The only thing I've seen you passionate about is racing."

He blinked once, nodding his head. "Because it is my passion."

Y/n regarded him carefully for a moment. "You're very lucky, Max."

That must have surprised him, because his brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"

"Not everyone is able to be successful following their passion. Being able to do what you love for both a job and hobbies is almost unheard of, yet you're doing it. You break records and win races and yeah you've had a few setbacks but you're still in love with this. And on your off time you're training to be better and studying tracks and you go home and race on your computer." She shook her head in amazement. "You're incredibly lucky, that your passion is not only something you're good at but something you can be immersed in nonstop, and that you haven't lost your love for it."

"I guess I am lucky," he said carefully. "But luck had nothing to do with me getting into formula one."

"I know." She held up her hands, not wanting him to think she thought he was in the position he was purely by chance. "I can't imagine how much work you've done over the years, or how many sacrifices you've had to make. It's just… In my experience, passion doesn't always equal financial stability is what I'm trying to say."

"What's that saying? Do something you love and you never work a day in your life?"

Y/n snorted. "That's bullshit. I love sleeping and yet I still have to work."

That made him laugh and she rolled her eyes, even though she enjoyed the sound. "Surely you love more than sleep."

"I love a lot of things. Maybe that's been my problem all my life. I find things and fall in love with them and when I think hey this might be it something new and shiny comes along and I fall in love with that."

"There's nothing wrong with being passionate about many things," Max said gently.

"That's what I keep telling myself. And yet—"

"Are you saying you don't love your job?"

She froze, a wave of panic rippling through her. "Uhmm… Since it's technically my first day I can't answer that."

"Okay. Do you love your social media?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table.

The table which was, suddenly, smaller than she remembered.

"I like engaging others. I like creating conversations and seeing my work appreciated," she finally said.

"You sound like a PR person. Do you love it?" He enunciated each word slowly.

She couldn't say yes. The answer wasn't no, either, because she didn't hate it. "I personally hate it. But you've learned how to make it work for you, yeah? How to word things to spark a conversation among followers? What type of content people appreciate?"

"I like to think so."

"Stop being so unsure of yourself. You study it, right? At your last job when you posted a video and no one liked it what did you do? "

She exhaled harshly. "I compare it to ones that did well and pick it apart to see why it didn't work."

"Why?"

"Why?" she echoed.

"Why did you pick it apart?"

"Because I wanted it to do well," she said slowly.

"And these conversations you want to create, do you join in or sit and watch them happen behind the safety of your screen?" He reached over, gently turning her laptop so he could see the screen.

"I engage. I reply and ask questions to make the viewers want to keep the conversation going."

"Why?"

"Because—" She clicked the mouse, bringing up the comments below the video she'd posted to Instagram. "These comments? Come from people that love this brand – or sport. Some of them are trolls who just want to start up an argument to make their boring lives more interesting for a few minutes, but for the most part it's people who care. People who want to see this team do well. People who had the dream of doing it themselves but life got in the way. People who watched it with their parents and still watch to stay connected to someone they love. It's little kids who want to be like you. It's people who spend their hard earned money on a t-shirt or a hat or a ticket to see someone they admire live out their dream." She took a quick breath, scrolling through the comments. "If I don't like or respond to them, they feel like their opinions don't matter. And maybe they don't in the grand scheme of formula one. But they want to be seen and heard. When I click and they see that Red Bull Racing liked their comment or replied with an emoji or whatever, they have a few seconds of elation, and their support of this team is cemented just a bit more."

Max blinked at her, and she continued even though she heard him draw a breath to speak.

"I know very well how horrible social media can be. However, I've seen how it fosters growth for a company. You're not stupid, I'm sure you've seen how TikTok challenges or Instagram livestreams have brought in more support. Not to mention money. If a post of you wearing your Red Bull shirt gets a million likes, I can probably pull the data and show you that a hundred thousand people went to view the shirt on the official shop and probably twenty-five thousand ordered one. A silly picture of you arriving for race day or a new helmet design pulls people in and gets them excited. And, yes, it makes money. Which in turn pays the salaries of everyone on the team."

"Y/n."

She sucked in a breath. "I'm—"

"Passionate," he whispered before she could say sorry.

"I know what it's like to enjoy something and never feel included," she murmured. "So, yeah… I guess I love what I do, because I like that I can include people in something they love."

His hand covered hers briefly. "For a moment there, I even loved social media."

She watched his fingers squeeze hers before they slid away, wondering why his touch lingered. "Yeah?"

"It's easy to forget that there are real people saying nice things. Sometimes all you can see is the negativity."

"Negativity only breeds more negativity—"

"And when you look at it, it's all you'll see," he murmured.

"Well… So far everything I've posted today has been met with positivity."

"That's good."

"Okay, a few comments about wanting to see Lando on the podium. Thank you for letting me rant about why I do what I do," she said, glancing at his hand without meaning to.

"You let me do the same," he reminded her. Lifting his chin, he waited until she looked at him again. "Are you too busy to see what I was talking about?"

"I don't have anything scheduled until after lunch."

"Perfect." He lightly drummed on the table and stood. "Do you want to see my rig?"

"You do know I won't have a clue what anything but the computer and monitor are, right?" Smiling, she stood and began packing away her stuff.

Closing her laptop, he handed it over, catching her earbud when it fell off the edge of the table. "Maybe you'll like it so much you'll want one of your own."

*-*

He was rambling, he knew he was, telling her about the setup and his plan for the 24 hour race over the weekend and how he had everything scheduled so he could do two of the things he loved most. But he could tell she was paying attention, actually listening, as if she really cared. Rubbing his palms against his thighs, he finished and looked up at her.

"So this is your actual job and the f1 thing is just a hobby?" she teased.

Laughing, he got to his feet and got himself a can of Red Bull. "It's just racing, y/n."

"And racing is life."

"Absolutely." He watched her muffle a yawn behind her hand.

"Am I allowed to mention it in my posts? Because it sounds so badass. Sim race stint then qualifying, chug a Red Bull, sim race stint then race."

"You can mention it, not like it's a secret." He watched her hide another yawn and cleared his throat. "Looks like you need a Red Bull."

She shook her head. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Nodding, he checked the time. Just over an hour before he had to meet with his trainer. "Of course."

"I hate Red Bull," she whispered.

He choked on a laugh. "You what?"

"I've tried so many times! I can just about stomach one of the flavored editions, but the original? Tastes like battery acid to me." She looked embarrassed and covered her face with her hands. "Please don't tell anyone."

"You hate the drink. So you accepted a job with a team owned by the drink company." He wanted to laugh. It was so absurd to him.

"Yes," she groaned.

"That would be like me taking a job at Instagram."

"I know it's so bad. What makes it worse is I love Monster—"

"Of course you do," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Please say you won't tell anyone. If corporate hears, I'll probably get fired. It's in my contract that I can only drink that while in pubic during race weekends which means I've got to either stick to water or learn to fake it."

"Your secret's safe with me," Max promised, breathing in the aroma of her perfume as she moved past him to get her bag.

"Thank you. I think Ellie would kill me if I told her I have to find a new job."

He didn't want her to go so soon. Ridiculous because he knew he'd see her in just a few hours. By the end of the weekend he'd be sick of seeing her. Sipping his drink, he finally sighed and cleared his throat. "You can take a power nap."

She whipped her head around, sending a wave of her perfume his way. "What?"

"A power nap." Before he could stop himself he was setting down his drink and taking her bag off her shoulder. "Thirty minutes, and you'll feel great."

"Max—"

"You need to be alert and focused, and I don't have a Monster for you to drink. Please, I insist." He motioned to his bed in the far corner, gently nudging her shoulder when she hesitated.

"You're sure?" she asked softly, and when he assured her he was she bent to take off her shoes, looking almost elated as she walked over to the bed. "Wait, I need to set an alarm."

"I'll wake you."

She lifted an eyebrow and he pulled out his phone to set a thirty minute timer. Satisfied, she sat on the edge of the bed, thanking him several times as she laid down and curled up on her side. "Thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes," he murmured, sitting on the couch to answer emails. It was fifteen minutes before she stopped shifting and kicking, and when he heard her breathing even out he knew she was asleep. Resetting the timer, he stood and carefully pulled the blanket over her, then returned to the couch and tried his best to ignore that she was sleeping in his room.

Her phone started buzzing on the table. She didn't stir so he ignored it, focusing on his email. That was impossible though so he cleared out his unread texts, one foot bouncing each time he heard her breathe. A mistake. It had been a mistake. He jumped up when her phone began to buzz again and, glancing from it to her, he realized she would undoubtedly sleep through it. He picked it up and was about to silence it when he saw the name on the screen. Ellie. That was her friend that was helping with Kevin… Something could be wrong, so he answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, we just— Who's this?"

"Max. This is Ellie?"

"…Yes…" The woman sounded wary. "Why are you – Oh! Max! Right of course. Um, is y/n okay?"

Max looked over at her, smiling faintly when she shifted. "She's fine. Taking a nap, actually."

Ellie snorted. "Of course she is."

"Is everything okay with Kevin?"

As though aware of the question, Kevin began chattering in the background. "Yeah, he's perfect. I was calling to let her know we just got here but I ain't got a clue where to go."

"Are you at the main entrance?" he asked, slipping out of the room so he wouldn't wake y/n. Ellie told him where they were and he nodded as he pulled out his own phone to text one of the team assistants. "You're going to walk down to the turnstiles, scan your passes and come through. Someone will be there to meet you and bring you to the motorhome."

"Ok perfect. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. We'll be downstairs to meet you." Ending the call, he checked that the assistant was going to meet them then reentered his room. He closed the door and silenced his timer. "Y/n?"

She hummed in her sleep, and he smiled while he crossed over to the bed.

"Y/n," he called gently. She groaned, shifting to face away from him and it suddenly occurred to him that when he went to bed that night he would smell her on the pillow and the sheets. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea, but it was too late now.

Would he be an asshole if he had his sheets changed before the end of the day?

Leaning down, he gently touched her shoulder. She inhaled sharply and he saw her eyes snap open. "You have company on its way," he said softly, tugging the covers back in case she tried to get comfortable again. His eyes swept down, locking on the skin bared by her shirt, which had ridden up in her sleep. "Come on, you had a nice nap, time to wake up."

"This bed is so much more comfortable than the one at the hotel," she mumbled, slowly sitting up and turning to face him. Smoothing down her shirt, she stretched and sighed, blinking as she focused on him. "Oh! Ellie and Kevin!"

He laughed as she leapt to her feet, his hands immediately moving to steady her. "It's fine, they haven't even made it to the paddock yet. I've sent someone to meet them."

"Oh," she murmured. "Thank you."

His hands were on her hips, and he forced his breathing to remain calm as she rested her hands on his forearms. The space, which had felt roomy and open, now felt tiny with how close she was to him. He was painfully aware of the scant space between them and each place their bodies touched, but more so of her. That heady floral scent of her perfume and the softness of her palms against his skin. The gentle lushness of her hips. He could hear every breath as his gaze traveled up from her hands to her face, lingering on her slightly parted lips before settling on her eyes. "You good?"

"Yep."

"Right. Sorry," he mumbled, releasing her hips and taking a step back. "I'll get your shoes."

What was wrong with him? It hadn't been so long that he got turned on like a teenager just from touching a woman… As he bent to retrieve her shoes he counted back, dragging a hand over his face in humiliation. What must she think of him? He'd brought her to his room, showed off his fancy toys, then let her sleep in his bed. She probably thought he wanted to fuck her—

You do.

—which couldn't be further from the truth. He was just being nice. Because she was nice. That was all.

Wasn't it?

And why, he wondered as he handed her shoes to her and told her about answering Ellie's call, did he care what she thought? Not caring was his specialty.  

"How do you feel?" he asked, finishing his drink in one gulp.

"Refreshed. Thank you so much, Max." She tied her shoes and ran her fingers through her hair. Her lips moved but he didn't hear a word she said, watching her gather her hair and twist and twirl it, securing it with a band from her wrist.

Witchcraft.

"That okay with you?" she asked, slipping her phone into her pocket.

"Of course," he answered automatically.

She clapped her hands together. "Great! I'll put up a post asking for fan questions."

Max blinked, pinching his brows together. "Fan questions."

"Well we can't do an impromptu Q and A without questions." She had her other phone out now, fingers flying across the screen. "We'll do it this afternoon? Just let me know the best time."

Fuck's sake. What had he agreed to? More importantly, how had she gotten him to say yes? Everyone knew he had a low tolerance for marketing. He could take it back and say no, he couldn't do it today. He could tell her to get Checo to do it, that he would do it another time. He'd gotten out of marketing and social media stupidity without a problem plenty of times before. But he was already opening his calendar, going over his schedule, already telling her the open slot he had at 5, and was already putting Q and A with Y/n in that space.

"Perfect," she enthused, shouldering her bag and heading for the door, her fingers still tapping swiftly on the screen. "They should be here about now, right?"

Nodding, he followed her out the room and down, smiling when Kevin came through the front door with a woman he assumed was Ellie. The boy dropped her hand and sprinted over to y/n, who dropped down to hug him tightly. Max looked on, chest squeezing, searching for something that had been lacking, as mother and son talked and hugged, their words overlapping. They both understood each other perfectly, though, and he smiled at Kevin's excited retelling of what he'd had for breakfast. Introducing himself to Ellie, he reached to shake her hand.

"Mister Max!" The boy squealed.

"Kevin!" He was down in a split second, Ellie forgotten and chest constricting tighter as Kevin hugged him like a long lost friend.

"I saw two cats and a horse!" Kevin tugged at his shirt, grinning as he showed off his Red Bull merch.

"You did? What kind of cats?" he asked, taking the boy's cap and beginning to roll the brim for him while the boy described the cats and then the horse. Returning the cap, he enthused over animals, telling him about his own two cats and pulling out his phone to show him a few pictures.

"I miss Cotton," Kevin said with a small pout.

"Is that your cat?" Max saw his trainer approaching and gave him a quick nod.

"Yeah. We can't bring him to Eng-a-lund so Aunt Ellie's sister has him." Kevin's pout melted into a faint smile. "But she sends lots of pictures!"

"That's good. And maybe you'll be able to get him soon."

"Mama says it's s'pensive." The boy sighed as though he had to earn the money to bring his beloved cat to England.

"I know," Max sympathized. "Go with your mum, yeah? I've got to go train."

Kevin's face puckered in confusion. "Train? Like Shang?"

Y/n cleared her throat. "We watched Mulan on the flight last night."

"What did Shang do?" Max vaguely remembered the movie, but it had been years since he'd seen it.

"He made a man out of 'em."

"Okay, doodle bug, we have to let Max get his workout in," y/n said, flashing Max a smile. "If you ask another question he'll start singing the song."

Max stared at her then turned his attention back to Kevin. "What song?"

Because he had to. Because hearing her groan as her son began singing a song about being a man was priceless. And the dramatic way she hung her head when Ellie joined in made him laugh. Kevin giggled, cutting off his singing and looking at Max hopefully. "Will you watch it with me?"

"I—"

"Mister Max is too busy to watch a movie," y/n cut in.

"We'll watch it this weekend," Max promised, hating the sadness in the boy's eyes. Relieved when it disappeared in a flash, he gave him a high five and stood.

"Yay!"

He exchanged a look with y/n, who sighed and nodded, reaching for Kevin's hand. "I'll see you later," he said.

"5 o'clock," she reminded him as he headed out.

*-*

"So…"

Y/n groaned at Ellie's knowing tone. Watching as Kevin was snatched up by Lando so he wasn't crashed into by Charles in the impromptu game of football, she folded her arms over her chest. "So?"

"He had coffee with you."

God, here we go.

"Showed you his private room and his expensive computer setup… Let you take a nap in his bed—"

"He's just being nice," y/n insisted.

"And he's gonna take time out of his ridiculously busy weekend to watch a movie with Kevin." Ellie hummed, taking a sip of her tea.

Ignoring her, y/n looked on as Lando, Oscar, and Logan pretended to fight back the others while Kevin kicked the ball towards the goal. They were all shouting, dramatic and over the top, and above it all she heard the sweetest sound of her son's laughter. When the ball rolled into the net there was a roar that rivaled a championship game, and she joined in the cheering and applauding.

"You could do worse," Ellie murmured.

"Would you stop?" Y/n rolled her eyes, giving Logan a thumbs up when he gestured to the football and Kevin, understanding they wanted to have another quick game.

"He's cute."

"They all are," y/n muttered without thinking, lifting her camera for a few photos for her personal collection. Recognizing Checo when he suddenly appeared in the viewfinder, she snapped more photos, lowering the camera to watch.

"You know—"

"I can't wait for you to start your job so I can come and try to partner you up with a coworker," she huffed, snorting when Ellie gasped.

"You wouldn't."

"In a heartbeat."

"Besides, there's only one person in that group that's technically your coworker," Ellie said.

"I'm not here for that."

"I know." Ellie leaned against her briefly. "Wouldn't be me if I didn't encourage a delusion, though."

"Yeah…" Y/n laughed softly. "It's my first day, of course everyone's already in love with me."

"Exactly."

It was what she loved about Ellie. No matter what, she could make her laugh. Grinning, she watched Kevin bump into Oscar, who immediately collapsed with an exaggerated howl of pain, holding the leg that Kevin hadn't touched. "And they're all so good with kids."

"Total dad material, every one of them," Ellie agreed. "Not a stepdad, a dad who stepped up."

She choked on a laugh, playfully swatting her friend's arm. Because she knew Logan had overheard them. "Stop—"

"And probably more than willing to crack your back—"

"Oh my god." Clapping a hand over her face, she sensed someone approaching. "I have to work with these people."

"Only until they fuck a baby into you."

"Hey, y/n, your kid's so cool," Logan said.

Her face burned but she slowly pulled her hand away, giving him a weak smile. "Thanks."

He propped his hands on his waist, breathing heavy as he watched Kevin dart between Lando, Oscar, Checo, and Alex. "He always this energetic?"

"Fify-fifty. He's either like this or so quiet I worry he's up to something."

Logan chuckled. "Is he a troublemaker?"

"Nah, if he's quiet it's because he's focused on his cars or studying a bug."

"Christ! Get it away from me!"

Y/n's heart lurched at the sudden shriek from Lando, and she barely saw him sprinting away from her son, who was holding something in his hands.

"It's a frog, mate!" Oscar shouted behind him.

"Don't care!"

Kevin slowly walked over to y/n. "Mama, look!" he said, eyes shining with excitement. His cheeks were a little flushed from the hard play and he was giggling. "Mister Lando scared of a l'il frog."

"He's just not a country boy like you, honey," she soothed. "But maybe we should put the frog somewhere he'll be safe?"

"C'mon, Kev, I'll help you," Logan offered.

"Hmm," Ellie hummed once Logan had scooped Kevin up, cupping one hand over the boy's to keep the frog from jumping away.

"Shut it."

"I didn't say a word."

"Please, that hmm contained at least two paragraphs, ten innuendoes, and a pointed reference," y/n said, trailing behind Logan. Looking on as he set Kevin down near the tree line, she got a few pictures of them releasing the frog. She cringed when her son wiped his dirty hands on his shorts but Logan didn't seem to mind, lifting him up and carrying him back to her.

"He's free!" Kevin squealed. "Thanks, Mister Logan."

"Anytime, Kev." He tousled his curly hair after setting him down, flashing a shy smile at y/n.

She returned the smile, eyes following Kevin as he ran back to the game. "He's gonna pass out as soon as we get back to the hotel."

"He could probably run circles around all of us all night," Logan chuckled.

"True…"

"So like…" He cleared his throat. "Are you married?"

God, she loved Floridians. "No," she answered, turning to look at him. "Are you?"

"God no." He made a face at the thought. "So you're single?"

She nodded, already formulating how she would turn him down if he asked her out. She was too busy. Not interested in anything romantic at the moment. It never hurt to be honest, right? She couldn't lie and say she just had a messy breakup or—

"Would you be interested in – I'm not trying to hook up or anything," he said quickly when she opened her mouth. "Just, like, as a friend? I know how it is to feel like a fish out of water here. I'm kind of used to it but I can remember feeling like I was alone and surrounded by people who didn't understand my Americanisms."

"Oh." Aw. Damn it, she couldn't say no to that. "I… Yeah, sure, I'd like that."

He smiled. "Awesome. Maybe we can do something tomorrow after practice?" he suggested.

"Sure, sounds great. Text me?" she requested. Her phone alarm started going off and she pulled it out to silence it. "I gotta go. I'll see you later."

She waved to Ellie and mimed that she had to get some work done, waiting for her friend to wave back before making her way to the garage. While walking she got a message from one of the mechanics that the cars were photo ready and quickened her pace, envisioning the photos she would get of the mechanics and engineers. As she worked she asked questions, truly interested in what everyone did, a small idea forming that she'd run by Mr. Horner later. She knew that she would enjoy mini profiles on the team, with just the most basic of information like their names and where they were from. Maybe how long they'd been on the team, what had brought them to formula one…

"Thanks so much guys," she said as she finished up, declining the offer of a cold Red Bull. Her alarm went off again – twenty minutes to get ready to meet Max in the lounge back at the motorhome – and she switched off the camera, waving bye and turning to leave the garage.

She slammed into a human wall, grunting in surprise as she stumbled back. Twice in one day, really? The bump had caused the camera to slam against her ribs and she rubbed the spot gently. "I'm sorry! Wasn't looking where I was going."

She expected a chuckle, a reassurance that it was a hazard of the job. Maybe even an apology in return. Instead, the older man sneered at her, looking her up and down in such a way she felt like a child caught misbehaving. "You need to learn your place."

She gulped, fear prickling through her embarrassment. And even though she knew she hadn't done anything wrong, she found her mouth opening to apologize. "S-sorry."

"Horner know better than to hire amateurs," he muttered, scoffing. "He obviously didn't hire you for your looks."

She bristled at that. "I beg your pardon?"

"As you should." He brushed past her.

She felt weak. Clammy and cold. Shuddering slightly, she swallowed hard and left the garage, heading straight for the motorhome, where she was able to catch her breath. Who the hell had that been? He'd been wearing a Red Bull pass, so he had to be on the team. He was obviously important. She couldn't imagine him being considered her boss, not when everyone else had been so nice and—

"Ah, y/n, are you ready to do the Q and A?" Max asked.

Y/n felt her lungs burn and sucked in a breath, staring at the cup of coffee she'd made herself. "Y-yeah, I'll meet you up on the deck?"

Please go up, please go up, please go—

"What's wrong?"

Goddammit.

"Y/n?" He looked and sounded concerned, and she ducked her head as he walked over. "Hey…"

"I'm fine," she lied.

"You're a terrible liar," he said, leaning against the counter. "What happened?"

"Nothing, I'm just overreacting." Rubbing her hand over her face, she shook her head and reached for the coffee. "Just a run-in with an asshole."

"But I haven't seen you in three hours." Max's lips barely twitched at the corner.

"Not you, a different asshole." She felt her cheeks burn and groaned. "I'm not saying you're an asshole!"

"You don't have to, I already know I can be an asshole at times." Folding his arms over his chest, he met her eyes. "Who was it?"

"That's the thing, I don't even know. I was coming out of the garage – You know, I went down to get pics of the mechanics? Anyway, I was about to text you about the Q and A and wasn't looking where I was going and bumped into him."

"Who?"

"I don't know. Older, kinda tall? Sour faced." She raised a hand to the man's approximate height. "I apologized and he told me I need to learn my place, then said I was an amateur and Horner obviously didn't hire me for my looks – I didn't ask his name because I was in shock. All I know is he had a Red Bull pass."

Max's brow furrowed, and she felt him tense. Then, to her surprise, he described the man perfectly.

"Yeah, that's him." She bit her lip. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately," he muttered. "It's my dad."

"Oh." Y/n looked down at her coffee. "Sorry."

"Me too." He sighed, pushing away from the counter. "Don't listen to him, yeah? You have more right to be here than he does, and you're not an amateur. As much as I hate social media, even I can tell that you're excellent at your job."

"Thank you," she whispered. "I just… I've spent my entire adult life working to improve myself and discover my own worth as a human being, and I can give other women empowering pep talks, but I still freeze when a man that thinks he's better than me talks down to me."

"Fuck him," Max said simply. "He's not your boss, he can't control anything you do in your life."

"Either you're really trying to make me feel better or you really don't like your dad," she murmured. When he didn't reply, she slowly lifted her gaze. Seeing the muscle in his jaw twitch, she felt a pang of sympathy. If the man had been that rude to her, a stranger, she couldn't begin to imagine what he'd been like to his own son.

"If he speaks to you like that again, you let me know."

"I don't want to cause a fuss—"

"Not wanting to cause a fuss is why he thinks he can get away with it," Max pointed out. "I'll speak to Christian—"

"Max, no, it's literally my first week!"

"Which is why you have to set boundaries now. He'll either treat you with the respect you deserve or he'll be banned from the paddock."

Y/n blinked in shock. "You'd have him banned?"

"In a heartbeat." The look on his face told her he was serious, from the determined set of his jaw to the way he kept his eyes level with hers. "So either you mention it to Christian in the team meeting or I will."

"God," she groaned, knowing that this had to be just one tiny item among a long list of infractions for Max to want him banned. "Okay. I'll tell him before the team meeting tomorrow."

"Good. Come, let's do the Q and A. You ready?" he asked, taking her empty cup and throwing it away.

"Yeah." Grateful for the distraction, she walked to the stairs with him. "I did a clip of you looking confused and posted it on TikTok and Instagram that went viral because I captioned it When You Ask Max Verstappen About Anything But Racing. Oh and I found out Tumblr fans love making gifs of you laughing. Twitter likes making memes out of your face. Whereas Facebook is mostly a bunch of boomers commenting about how I'm ruining the integrity of the sport."

"I really do hate social media," he snorted.

"And that is why I'm doing social media," she teased. Halfway up the stairs, she slowed, turning to look at him. "Thank you, Max."

"For hating social media? You're welcome."

taglist

@spookystitchery | @halleest | @lyannesworld | @llando4norris

[elaci]

Art brings Patrick along to celebrate your entry winning! He also shows off your side-project of collecting intimates, Patrick wants in.

cw; threesomesss! m-recieving oral, spitroasting, consensual voyeurism, more talk of tennis and a man who is not named mary...

Art Donaldson x Patrick Zweig x fem!reader | The Rule of Thirds masterlist | talk to me!

“You aren’t even playing tennis in it.”

Patrick Zweig, who really does hate formal attire, tilts his head at the print framed in front of him. The glass of sparkling in his hand doesn’t do much to unlock his creative interpretation. To him, it’s a photo of his best friend smiling like a dork with a racket in hand.

Art jabs him in the ribs. “It’s the afterglow,” he parrots, a weird knowing smile pulling at his lips. “You’re just jealous that I won.”

Patrick snorts and leans into Art. “You didn’t. She did.”

The two of them glance around the venue, a makeshift gallery to display the submissions for the face of sport competition . People crowd the place, pointing at prints and talking between themselves about angles and lighting and composition and everything under the sun that isn’t sport. All of the pictures are the same, though: a close up of a sports player as they train. Their face sweaty and angry as they hit a ball or cross a finish line or do a fucking pirouette. 

The boys step out of the way to let an older married couple in front of them look at the winning photo. The husband looks puzzled, glancing from the first-day-of-school-esque photo of Art to a photo of a swimmer diving into the water. 

“This is the winner?” the husband asks his wife. 

The wife, who is sneaking a few pictures on her phone, laughs and says, “Jeff, honey, you just don’t understand art.”

Patrick snorts at that and looks at his Art, one he also doesn’t fully understand. Art rolls his eyes and steps away, motioning for Patrick to follow. The two fall in step with each other, voices low as they walk through the gallery. 

“So,” Patrick dips his head down a little as he speaks, a dutiful whisper. “Are you two dating or what? Have you fucked her yet?”

Art stops abruptly, his shoes squeak against the linoleum flooring, karma for wearing sneakers to an event where champagne is served and people say things like ‘what a peculiar angle’. He looks at Patrick with something in his eyes, and the brunette has to take a moment to try and decode his best friend's silent story.

“Ohh,” he grins after a moment. “She fucked you.”

Art clicks his teeth, he wants to object but he ultimately can’t. “She takes photos.”

“What?”

“Polaroids.”

“Of you fucking?”

“Yes, Patrick, not so loud.”

Patrick’s grin is glued to his face. It’s less amused and moreso smug now, maybe a little excited. There's a moment shared between the two before Patrick chimes in again, a tinge of worry lacing his tone. "And you know she's not going to send them anywhere?"

Art shakes his head. "She lets me keep them."

"Holy shit," Patrick laughs, "I have to see these."

Art scoffs and pulls Patrick along. They continue walking through the exhibition halls, occasionally stopping to look at different prints on display but quickly growing bored of the monotony of each shot. Patrick starts to realise, after the sixth shot of a tennis player hitting a ball, that you were right in catching something different. The pair turn a corner and find themselves in a secluded hall of past entries that no one cares to gawk over a second time; Patrick takes his chance and grabs Art by the arm. 

"Come on," his voice is low, and he glances through the empty hallway to make sure he hadn't missed someone standing within earshot. “Let me see.”

There’s a pause, and then Art shakes his head. “No way, my eyes only.”

Patrick grins, “what’s so bad about them? She gets you to dress up in a maid's dress and serve her on your knees?”

Patrick entertains the thought for a moment, and then sees the danger in doing so and shakes his head. “I’m joking, Art. If you don’t want me to see, don’t show me.”

Another pause, Patrick knows Art like he knows himself, even more so maybe. Art wants to share, he wants to gloat about the endeavours he’s been having behind a closed door: he's a man for attention just like Patrick is, it’s what makes them such a good team, everyone’s eyes are always on them. They hold eye contact for what feels like a moment too long, and Art finally lets his lips flip into a grin.

“And how would Tashi feel about me showing you these?”

Patrick shrugs. “You know Tashi, she’s not the jealous type,” he puts on a high pitched voice, despite Tashi having the complete opposite, and points a finger in the air to quote her. “I dont care what you do or who you fuck, Patrick, as long as you play a good fucking game of tennis afterwards.”

Monogamy, not a given in the world of competition, unsurprisingly. Art stands still, hands by his side as he squints his eyes at Patrick. He’s always been able to call bullshit on him, and Art must trust his intuition on this one because he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He pulls two polaroids out of the back slot and pockets one of them, not comfortable with sharing such an intimate photo of yourself with express permission. The other one, the one you had taken your first time together, gets slipped into Patricks awaiting palm.

And he has no telling face as he looks at it, studies it. In the photo, Art Donaldson, his best friend since twelve, is laying on his back, expression lost in a mixture of bliss and overwhelming desire. Sweat sticks to his skin, sticks his hair to his forehead. His face is blushed red and his eyes are blown wide open, pupils expanded as if he were looking at God herself; perhaps he was. His mouth is parted lightly, lips glistening with what could be spit or... and Patrick is hard.

“Introduce me,” Patrick deadpans. “I’ll never ask you for anything ever again. I’ll give you so much money. I’ll quit tennis.”

Art grins. “You are a fucking liar.”

“Yeah, one with taste and a semi.”

Art hits Patrick in the arm, but ultimately folds. “Fine, but only because she wants to meet you.”

“I could suck your dick right now.” Patrick takes another hit to the arm, this one harder than the last. He moves to rub the spot where pain still lingers, but stops in his movements when a thought crosses his mind. “So you’ve told her about me, huh?”

Art rolls his eyes and plucks the polaroid from Patricks hand. He looks at the picture for a moment.

“Oh he won't shut up about you," a voice sounds from behind the pair. Both boys jump at the sudden presence and spin to face you, smiling laudingly at the pair- a gold medal with a camera engraved into the front hangs from your neck. Your gaze flits between them, and Patrick is suddenly struck by all the times he’d seen you around before. Though he's not often on campus, only when his schedule opens and visits are worth making, he's turned his head as you've walked past before, he knows it.

Art clears his throat and turns to face you properly, placing the hand with the polaroid behind his back. "This is Patrick," he gestures at Patrick while maintaining eye contact with you. You nod, and then look towards the brunette. Your name falls on attentive ears, Patrick rolls it on his tongue for good measure and decides he likes the taste of it. He introduces himself in turn with an extended hand to shake and his signature smile.

"It's good to meet you," you hum as you shake his hand, though your head nods to Art's hidden hand. "I do autograph my originals, if you want."

Art's face falls slightly, caught in the act. Patrick smiles and nods, to which Art mutters an embarrassed apology. Your eyes soften, and the corners of your mouth tug upwards in response. You hold your hand out, and Art sheepishly places the polaroid in your hand. You turn the polaroid around and examine it for a few moments before plucking a permanent marker from your pocket and writing something on the back of it. You waft it through the air a few times to allow for the ink to dry, and then grin at Art as you hand the polaroid instead to Patrick.

Patrick takes it with a dumbfounded half-smile, his eyes darting from you to Art and then back to you and down to the writing you've left behind--- THE ART OF MAKING LOVE, it reads, and Patrick snorts at the pun. Your smile widens slightly.

“Very nice.” Patrick comments softly, holding the polaroid between his fingertips and glancing down to it pointedly. 

"I know," you reply simply. "Thank you for coming, by the way, both of you. I would have skipped it myself if I didn't win."

Art chuckles. "It was our pleasure, this place is nice."

You laugh in response and Patrick thinks he's heard heaven's bells. "Some lady asked if I'd read the part about the entry having to be sports-related."

Patrick pushes in before Art can speak. "Ah, don't listen to them," he takes a step forward and glances down to the polaroid still between his fingers, you don’t know if he’s talking about the photo he’s holding, or the winning entry. "I think you really captured the... afterglow." 

If Art could roll his eyes completely into the back of his head he would, he can't hold his laughter in at Patricks attempt to sound like he knows the first thing about photography, and your laughter sings out too, picking up on the parroting of your own words to Art. The sound echoes across the empty hallway, bouncing off the walls and filling the space like music.

"Patrick doesn't know what he's talking about," Art runs a hand through his own hair, eyes settling on you in a dorky grin you've grown to adore. 

"I'm better in front of the camera than behind it," Patrick offers. 

Silence meets his words as you look between the boys, committing both of their features to memory. You imagine, only for a moment, getting them both in front of your lens. The imagined sight is enough to press an offer to your lips. Patrick and Art stand in silence, staring at you as you watch them.

"I already got my medal" you toy with the award around your neck. You tilt your head to the side, "wanna get out of here?"

"Yes," said in eager unison by the best friends, fire and ice.

You smirk, turn on your heels and lead the way down the hall. Patrick and Art fall in step behind you, Patrick still holding your polaroid between his fingers-- Art plucks it from him in a quick movement and pockets it. Patrick, in childish turn, shoves Art against the corridor wall. He hits a framed photo of an elderly woman with a feeding tube in her nose, titled 'the woes of age', and it crashes to the floor with a loud clatter. The frame's glass shatters across the floor, and you whip your head around to find Patrick and Art both staring wide-eyed back at you.

"What was that?" A voice from the main gallery calls out, thudding footsteps follow.

And you stifle a laugh, looking down at the broken frame of a probably now-dead elderly woman's portrait, then up to your two accomplices. Art and Patrick look between each other, a silent agreement between them. All of a sudden, they're sprinting past you, and both grabbing a hand of yours to pull you down the corridor.

Your shrieks of laughter fill the space between you. You run faster than you've ever ran before, your heart pounding in your chest and blood rushing through your veins; it's exhilarating, it's terrifying, you're alive. 

SIX YEARS LATER

A burly old man with tattoos from head to toe stands behind the counter at MARY'S PAWN SHOP— YOUR TRADE, YOUR TREASURES. Patrick Zweig walks in with two tennis bags slumped over his shoulders, looks at the balding man with ‘leisure’ tattooed under his eye and smiles, “I’ll take it you aren’t Mary.”

"No," says the man of few words.

Patrick raises his eyebrows and exhales, his social battery already malfunctioning. He walks to the counter and sets each tennis bag down atop it with a padded thud. "There's uh, there's rackets, wristbands, a pair of shoes- I think, a few balls. All in good condition, nothing cheap, nothing dirty..."

The man nods, still silent, and begins looking through the tennis bags. He pulls a racket out to check it for wear and tear, and then another, glossing his eyes over and finding no damage. He checks the shoes for dirt and scratches, the balls for wear, and once he's happy with the quality of the first bag's contents, he moves onto the second. He unzips the side pocket with a short tug to reveal something other than tennis equipment— a polaroid.

It only takes a glance at the photo from the stocky man before he's slamming it face down on the counter. "Fucking Christ, kid. Check your shit before you pawn it off."

Patrick looks puzzled, "what?" he slides the polaroid towards himself and flips it up to look at it— his lips twitch. "Oh." 

"Yeah 'oh'," the man scoffs in reply.

Patrick stares down at a photo he hasn't seen in years, and while red tinges his face as he stands in Mary's Pawn Shop, it's nothing compared to his flushed red look of desperation in the polaroid. There he sits, with Art Donaldson sitting behind him pressing wet kisses to his neck, hands splayed over Patrick’s bare chest. His legs are spread, the photo is taken from between them— at the bottom of the frame his cock sits rock hard and at rapt attention, your manicured fingers wrapped around his length: he can even see the glisten of precum beading at his tip.

"Jesus," Patrick exhales shakily, quickly pocketing the polaroid and only barely managing eye contact with the clerk. "That's, uh..."

"I don't care," he snaps a finger to the store's entrance. "Out."

"Wait," Patrick scrambles to show him that the rest of the bag is indeed only full of tennis gear. "Seriously, please, I need the money," his tone softens, but is still pleading. "Look, I'm a tennis player, Patrick Zweig, if you plaster my name on the sale I'm sure you'll get more sales. Can you just—"

"I just got a faceful of your cock, Patrick Zweig," the old man barks. "Get the fuck out."

Patrick lets out an exasperated sigh and zips up his tennis bags, slinging one strap across his shoulder and taking the other by the handle. He turns and walks gingerly out of the store, a 'please come again soon!' sign hangs awkwardly from the door he walks through, and rattles when he slams it shut behind him.

The trek to his car is an embarrassing one, the old tattooed man's eyes still burning into him as he unlocks the trunk and throws his tennis bags in. The moment he's situated in the driver's seat, he's turning out of the street and praying silently to god that he gets hit by lightning or something to that extent. He's been doing that a lot lately. 

Once he's reached his apartment, Patrick's mind is reeling, and every thought has to do with you. He leaves his stuff behind in the car, mind too occupied to care about bringing them in. 

His front door creaks when he pushes it open and slams it shut behind him, he's walking straight to his laptop, which sits at the counter because he hasn't had the time nor funds to buy a table, and opens up the screen. Your name is tapped into the search browser in seconds, his index finger clicks the enter button and Patrick Zweig holds his breath as the search results load. There's a funny feeling in his chest, a deep sense of anticipation that makes him feel almost giddy.

The page loads a display of your photography but no display of you. Patrick scrolls further down, scanning through articles about your photographs and a few links to reviews of your work.  Nothing. His fingertips drum against the keyboard as he tries another search— your personal website. 

There you are. A photo of you behind a camera headlines the page, and below are examples of your work. They're mostly photos of people, some of them are tame and shot against the sun in fields canvased with colour, others are sultry black-and-white boudoir style photos, though each subject has the same look on their face that you've been chasing since the day he met you. Patrick takes the polaroid from his pocket and sits it against the screen, as if on display with the rest of your shots, and  he can't help but smile. It's very you.

BOOK A SHOOT! — GET IN CONTACT is written in bold towards the bottom of the page next to an email and a phone number. 

Patrick Zweig knows he isn't the best person to grace this earth. He knows he has a habit of placing himself in the arms of people that would be better off without bearing his weight. He knows his voice can be a jarring one— so he skips past your number and starts typing an email instead. Because he’s trying to be thoughtful, you can delete an email, but also because he’s a few minutes away from stroking his cock to that polaroid of yours until his wrist hurts and he’s cumming dry and you’d certainly hear the building desperation in his voice.

Your email goes in first, and then a subject line— he flips the polaroid over and smiles at the smudged writing on the back, and then gets to typing:

‘Zweig, your plus one.’

SIX YEARS EARLIER

“So what am I here?” Patrick takes a drag of his cigarette, leans back against the tree he sits under and blows his smoke into the air. “A third wheel?”

You laugh, so does Art, who is sitting across from him on the grass, beside you with an arm around your shoulder. He has a cigarette in hand that he offers you every now and then, but you’re busy feeding new instant film into your polaroid. Though your head is down as you work, you reply with a sweetness to your tone nonetheless.

“No,” you laugh. “More like a plus one.”

Patrick raises his eyebrows and looks from you to Art, something in his eyes that only his best friend could read. Art shrugs, a playful smile pulling at his lips as he mouths 'told you.' Before Patrick can ask what exactly what you mean by that, he sees you lift the polaroid in front of your face and snap a picture, the flash sending Patricks eyes wide in the otherwise dim night.  When you lower the camera from your nose he finds you grinning at him like you've just won the lottery, and he laughs low in his throat.

The polaroid prints from the camera, and you waft it in the air a little to let it develop before looking down at it. "You looked good," you hum, and give Patrick the opportunity to lean forward and take a look for himself. He does so immediately, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward and angles his head. He sees himself, cigarette in hand and smoke blowing softly from his lips as he sits.

He takes another toke of his cigarette and then taps it out into the ashtray beside him. He nods at you, catches your gaze, "do you play tennis?"

You laugh, a genuine laugh that rings in Patricks ears. Art laughs too, and nudges you with his arm. "She's a natural."

Patrick can tell Art is lying, because he can always tell. A grin pulls at his lips as you shake your head and cover your face with your hands for dramatic effect and dissolve into your laughter once more. Art nudges you again, and you push his arm away gently, but there's no malice in your movements, "I'm about half as useful with a racket as I would be if I was blind. I'll leave the big leagues to you two... you're playing professionally right?"

Patrick nods, and spends a fair few minutes going into depth about the world of pro tennis. You listen tentatively, nodding along to his words and asking questions when you aren't sure of something. Art chimes in too, at some point, and the conversation shifts from pro tennis to all types of stories from the boys' years of playing together.  It all feels so familiar, and yet so foreign. Patrick can't remember the last time he's talked about tennis with someone that isn't aching to get pointers from him, or lecture him on how to improve. You just listen, and you throw in your own stories of childhood sports leagues and extracurriculars here and there, and Patricks not quite sure how but by the time the conversation wraps up, the three of you are sitting an awful lot closer than you were when you'd first found the secluded spot on campus.

"How long are you visiting for?" You tilt your head as you look at Patrick- your legs are draped over Art's lap, though you have a hand on his knee.

"A few more days," Patrick nods, looking from you to Art who has a sly grin plastered on his face, "what?"

Art shrugs nonchalantly, leaning slightly forward as he rubs a hand over your legs. “Patrick is staying in my dorm,” he looks to you, something knowing in his eyes. “I forgot to tell him I wouldn’t be there tonight.”

Patrick looks between you and Art. 

“Oh but your doors locked,” you sound genuinely concerned as you turn to Patrick and ask, “do you have a spare key?”

Arts door isn’t locked— he always forgets to lock it. Even at boarding school Patrick would chide his inability to remember to lock their room up when they left, they’d always fall victim to someone coming in to steal a racket or swap out their pillows for the less comfortable ones that would circulate the dorm. 

“I don’t have a spare key,” Patrick lets your hand crawl a little further over his thigh. A glance to Art offers him an equally hungry look, a heat, a taste for more than that night in the hotel with…

Should he tell you about Tashi? He knows she’s unbothered by his endeavours as long as his performance doesn’t slip for it, but some draw a line at sharing. He looks between you and Art, takes in the burning from the both of you and almost laughs, something tells him sharing isn't off the cards for you.

“You said earlier that you’re better in front of the camera than behind it,” your voice is soft, sultry, it sends a twang of something needy through Patricks spine. “You wanna take some pictures, Zweig?” 

It’s all a rush, from his acceptance to the trip to your dorm room, a haze of hushed laughter and lingering touches he can’t tell who from. He wants to put on a face for you, woo you like he does every other girl he’s slept with. But with Art it’s easy, they're best friends… soulmates. They’ve kissed before, they've seen the most intimate parts of each other— in a way, Art's presence settles his nerves with you. 

The second your dorm room door clicks shut, Art’s lips are against Patrick's and he’s guiding him to the edge of your bed in a mess of sloppy implacable kisses, his slender hands run through Patrick's curls, tug at the base of his scalp in a newfound dominance Patrick was unsure Art had in him. This is the second time they've made out, if you don't count the time when they were thirteen and practised on each other for their first girlfriends… which neither of them will admit ever happened.

The back of Patrick's legs hit the edge of your bed and at the same time, Art's tongue slips dutifully into his mouth and slides over the expanse of his teeth. He tastes like cigarettes and chapstick, which Patrick assumes is yours because it tastes like cherries and everything else narcotic, in this sense he kisses you also. There's a heat licking at the pit of his stomach and it spreads like wildfire through his chest and down his arms. Tugging at the hem of Arts shirt, he gets his point across and is able to lift it and run his fingertips over his abdomen as Art removes it completely. Patrick follows suit shortly after, grabbing his own shirt by the collar and lifting it over his head: it's tossed to the side despite its price. His jeans soon follow.

For a moment, it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Art's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Patrick takes Art's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Art's throat.

They part, and are given only half a moment to mourn the loss of each other's touch before their kiss-swollen lips upturn into grins, and a gentle laughter is shared between them. Art's smile is wide, and he turns his head from Patrick to you, sitting at your desk writing on the back of the polaroid you had taken outside.

"Busy over there?" Art teases, smiling as you turn to look at them.

"Just letting you have your moment," you hum complaisantly, then lift your camera up to take a quick photo of the pair, hot and flushed and still panting slightly, "just let me know when you two feel like being productive with yourselves…"

Your tone trails off, and then you're standing quickly, grabbing your camera as you saunter over to the boys, who part from each other to glue their eyes onto you. You survey the scene, their tousled hair and matching vibrant pink cheeks. Patrick’s boxers are a light blue, Art’s are black, and you like the contrast of colour but decide they should exit the scene completely. 

You run a nail down Art’s chest, watching as his shoulders roll back as you flick over one of his nipples and continue down to the waistband of his boxers. You pull the elastic towards you, and then let it snap back against his skin. He hisses at the contact, plasters a dramatic frown across his lips as you smile in turn and nod to the bed, though not before tugging down at his boxers just enough to expose the trail of light brown hair leading to his hardened cock— a suggestion if nothing else: take them off. 

Art obliges, sparing only a glance to Patrick before tugging his boxers down and kicking them to the side. You steal a good look at his cock, licking your lips at the sight of his growing hard-on. He catches your gaze and gives you a sly smile before climbing onto your bed and sitting back. 

You’re quick to guide Patrick into position as well, taking him by the wrist and giving him a pointed look when he uses his free hand to caress the curve of your ass. He’s a lot more assertive than Art, lets his hands roam when Arts would stay clasped behind his back. You like it, you like the contrast, and you like the thought of having Art take control of his ministries for once. 

You pull Patrick to stand in front of where Art sits and then, with a cheeky lopsided smile, you push him backwards and watch as he falls to sit just in front of where Art is settled. You take a step back and watch as Art moves forward, hand on Patrick’s shoulder, and sets his gaze on you. 

“Direct away,” he rests his chin on Patrick’s shoulder, and the pair watch as you ready your camera. 

“You’re good like this, actually,” you hum, looking between the boys. Rather than snap a photo, though, you reach back out and lift Patrick’s chin up to offer him your gaze. Your fingers trace the expanse of his jaw, up to his cheek before returning to his cocky smile. You slip two fingers into his mouth, his lips closing around them without guidance nor hesitation. His tongue lays flat against your digits as he sucks, hollowing out his cheeks, eyes boring into yours. 

When you pull your fingers from his mouth his arrogant smile returns ten-fold. You’re pressing your lips against his in only a second, rolling your tongue into his mouth in an attempt to shut him up despite not a word falling from his lips. He brings a hand up to cup the side of your face, an attempt at dominance despite quite literally being the one stretching his back to keep his lips against yours.

His hand travels to the nape of your neck, tugging you forward until you practically fall into him, your legs giving way as you drop to your knees against the cold hardwood floors. You find purchase by splaying your fingers over his thick thighs, his lips still locked with yours in a frenzy of tongues and teeth and shared oxygen. It's an unspoken battle for the upper hand, something you never had to wager with Art, who's happy to melt under your touch until the sun rises. You take your turn by slipping one hand past the waistband of his baby blue boxers and palming his rock hard erection; a harsh intake of breath from Patrick allows you to pull your lips from his and gaze up at him with the most innocent expression you could muster.

"Can I suck your dick now or are you going to keep me waiting? I'm kinda starving."

A breathless chuckle escapes your lips as Patrick stares at you with heated eyes and opens his mouth to reply but no sound comes out. The words die on the tip of his tongue and he closes it quickly before swallowing audibly and looking between you and Art, who has pulled himself up just enough to get a look at you from over his best friends shoulder. When Patrick's eyes lock onto yours again, his grin widens even further and he leans back against Art's chest, looking down at you through lidded eyes and nodding eagerly. 

You waste no time on lingering touches and feather-light strokes. Your free hand is tugging Patrick's boxers down, with his help as he lifts his hips to allow you to do so, and with your other one you're squeezing his shaft, moving your hand up and down in deliberate strokes that send his mind into overdrive. Once he's biting his own lip, you wrap your around his glistening tip and swirl your tongue around the head of his cock before sucking him deeply into your mouth. 

A gasp from Patrick, quickly muffled by the turn of his head and Art stretching his neck to meet his best friend in a ravenous kiss. You flatten your tongue against Patrick's length, take a moment to hum contently and listen to his hitching breath at the vibrations you offer him, and then start bobbing your head rhythmically. You cup his balls with one hand, offer him gentle squeezes in tandem with the movement of your tongue, and rub grounding circles into his thigh with your other hand. Your cheeks hollowed out, you suck Patrick Zweig's pulsing cock until he deems himself desperate enough to start bucking his hips upward into your mouth. You know he'd hold your head in place and throat-fuck you until you'd lose your voice if he had you alone, but Art's doing well in distracting him with his tongue, his lips and his hands. 

It's when Patrick breaks the kiss to look down at you, eyes glossed with a yearning lust, that you know he's close. Breathing laboured, fingers digging into the edge of your mattress, hips snapping upwards for any chance at fucking deeper into your throat. His desperation only doubles when Art starts nibbling at his ear, then kissing down the stretch of his neck, hands feeling up his chest.

You know he’s close, walking on the fence of a ruined orgasm and a zenith climax that would taste better than it feels, though you place your hunger aside to do what you do best— take the shot. You pull your lips from Patrick’s cock with a pop, and replace your mouth with your right hand, wrapping your fingers around his length and stroking him just enough to keep him on that edge. 

You reach over his trembling thighs, grab your camera and line up the shot. Art’s mess of blonde hair is a contrast to Patrick’s darkened look as he works bruises into his neck, fingers splayed over his chest. Patricks face, the look of looming bliss melted over his features, and the tension in his corded muscles as he opens his mouth to beg for sweet release. You make sure his pulsing cock is in frame, too, held in reverence by your own hand. The flash momentarily brightens the room, illuminates the scene at hand but only for a second before the Polaroid prints your photo and you pluck it with the hand that had held Patrick's cock on the edge of orgasm.

He whines as you smile up at him, nearly moving to stroke himself to completion but stopping in favour of starting an argument.

"What the fuck?" He has to swallow twice to keep his drool from spilling out of his mouth. "That's unfair, fucking-"

You press a kiss to Patrick's knee and then stand, stepping back once and placing your finger against your lips in a gesture of silence.

He watches, his brows furrowed as you turn on your heel and wander back to your desk. You don't bother to look over your shoulder as you pick up a permanent marker and start writing on the back of your developing Polaroid. 

'ZWEIG, OUR PLUS O—'

A pair of arms around your torso pull you backwards, and you smudge the last few letters with your thumb as the man behind you pulls it from your grasp and smacks it face-down against your desk. You can feel his erection pressing against your clothed ass, his sweaty chest against your back and his hot breath against your ear as he speaks, low and sinful.

"I don't know if you've noticed," Patrick Zweig bites. "But I don't get off on being used like a toy. I'm not Art."

You turn your head in the direction of his voice, let his breath fan your cheek; you smell cigarettes and remnants of Art's chewing gum. "I know you're not," you coo, pressing your ass back against his painfully hard length. "Art made me cum twice before I ever got on my knees for him. You're selfish."

"Damn right I am," Patrick breathes, tightening his grip around your torso and near-dragging you back to the bed. "Always have been, too."

You're walked to the bed where Art waits, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you get manhandled into position. He'd offer you a hand, a way out, if you weren't smiling so wide, giggling beneath your breath as Patrick pushes between your shoulder blades and bends you over the edge of your own mattress. You catch yourself with your hands on Art's knees, face dangerously close to his now rock-hard cock as Patrick uses both hands to pull your bottoms and panties off in one go.  His eyes linger on your exposed cunt as he slips two fingers through your folds, grinning- "fucking soaked, huh?"

"Fuck yes," you breathe. You think he's going to stretch you out on his fingers and you're about to object, tell him you don't need it, when you hear a condom packaging rip open and the tip of his cock presses against your entrance. You can only gasp in response.

"Tell me yes, say you want it," Patrick breathes.

"Fuck me, Zweig."

You make eye contact with Art as Patrick slowly presses into you, using your own wetness as lube. Art watches you with sinful eyes, something deep inside of him like watching you fall apart under his best friend's touch, but you refuse to reduce him to a cuck. You let Art lift your chin just enough to press a tender kiss against your lips as Patrick starts to thrust into you, slowly increasing his pace as he feels you adjust more and more to his size. You love the taste of Art's kisses, the gentle way his lips take yours, but you're hungry for more of him, so you pull away and try not to focus on those sad eyes of his.

As Patrick snaps his hips into yours and bottoms out inside of you, you lean down and take Art as deep into your mouth as you can manage. As soon as Art finds your rhythm, his eyes flutter closed and a sigh leaves his lips. His hand finds its way to the back of your head, and he holds you there, rocking his hips into your mouth as Patrick tries to match his rhythm. You move in tandem with the ministrations of your boys, with each thrust of Patrick's hips, you're choking further on Art's cock. And with each snap of Art's hips, you're pushed backwards onto Patrick's length, and each time he manages to fill you just that little bit deeper. 

"That's it," Patrick's voice is breathy. "Good fucking girl, taking us so well, like you were fucking made for it, huh?"

With each movement, every moan from either boys' lips, you're pushed closer towards the edge of a new level of pleasure, and you can feel warmth beginning to gather in the pit of your stomach. Your fingers dig into the sheets, holding onto them tight and keeping you anchored as you push against Patrick's cock harder, faster... fucking yourself on him in the spirit of competition. You're full to the brim, lips wrapped around Art's cock as you work him close to the edge, eyes looking up at him through your lashes to find a face so fucking pretty you forget to even think of taking a picture. Not that you could even if you wanted to, with his cock embedded in your throat and your arms the only things keeping you up.

The pressure in your stomach, the searing stretch of Patrick's cock makes you wonder if you're a masochist at heart, because you never want that dull pain to end. His moans fall from his lips and permeate the air, a symphony of wants and needs, and you think you could get lost in it forever.

"Oh Jesus Christ," Patrick groans, voice cracking as he nears climax. Art's hips start to shake, his thrust into your mouth becoming erratic and harsh and so much better than it should be when you can feel sweat dripping into your hairline, the sting of  tears forming in your eyes as Patrick pounds into you. It takes everything in you not to come undone as his hips jerk forward. It feels too good, too good to last, and you're seconds away when you feel Patrick fucking Zweig reach an arm around your waist to rub fast circles against your clit, less selfish than he proclaims to be.

The three of you cum in perfect unison, your bodies wracked with tremors of a shared climax unlike any you've had before. Patrick presses as deep into you as he can, near-kissing your cervix in instinctual desperation to fill you up despite his condom. Art shoots right into your mouth, pulling back a little so his load lands on your tongue as well, offering you a taste of his lust, one you take happily. Though you're unable to keep it all in your mouth as he pulls out and allows you space to take a breath as you come down from your high. His seed glistens on your lips as Patrick pulls out of you and lets you turn onto your back and lay on your bed, panting heavily as the haze of ecstasy starts to fade. 

Art soon joins you, laying down beside you in a dizzy haze of exertion. When you turn your head to look at him, he's already smiling at you, and reaches a hand out to swipe his thumb against your lips, gathering his own cum and pushing it back into your mouth. You bite his thumb with a playful grin and Art laughs in response, the moment between you sweet until the flash of your own instant camera dazes the both of you into silence.

You sit up on your elbows, looking towards Patrick Zweig, who stands with your camera in one hand and a freshly developed photo in the other. He flicks it a few times, unaware of how to speed up the development process, then looks at it as if he's analysing each aspect of his shot. After another beat, he turns the print around to let the both of you see, and grins proudly at his work. The photo is a sweet one, your teeth bared around Art's thumb, the calm after such a storm of pleasure.

"Turns out, I'm great at both sides of this thing," Patrick holds your camera up in show and smiles cheekily, to which you roll your eyes. Though you can't help the laughter that rumbles from your lungs when Patrick flops down onto the mattress, making both you and Art move over to make room for him. Art follows suit, laughter spilling from his throat in harmony, and it spreads quickly to Patrick.

Once the air is silent, Art turns his head to greet the both of you. With a smile, something simple falls from his lips— "dinner?"

You hum in response, nodding your head as your mouth starts to water, though Patrick clears his throat. "Yeah," he sits upright and looks between you before grabbing at one of your thighs and pulling you closer to him, his head dips to the juncture of your neck and shoulder and he speaks simply against your skin. "I'm not done with either of you yet."

taglist;

@lotties-ashwagandha @daughterhouse @kiiwizz @doll-0f-flesh @jackierose902109 @lonnie2390147 @hedonisticwomen @ysuftmikey @viena-vie @whitewashedghanianlol @kolsmikaelson @nikirikii @dumbass-sappho-stan @seriousaliysa @majathepapaya @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @lovezclub @s-u-t @sceletaflores @24kmar - cont. in comments!

[15minlatewithbatbucks]

It's forty minutes into the latest state of the company press conference and Bruce has had to mute his mic entirely to avoid being turned into a meme AGAIN for sighing too much at his own event. For all that he's spent almost 20 years coaching his own children on not making scenes, he's really not much better. It's hot and he doesn't want to be here. His ribs hurt. He's tired. He's hungry. He's every excuse Dick or Jason have trotted out over the years.

(Tim understands company manners and can almost always be trusted to stick it out as long as he's allowed to vent his frustrations afterwards. He's recently taken to smashing ugly thrifted dishes. Stephanie and Damian have been collecting any ceramic not entirely pulverized and turning them into pavers for Alfred's garden.)

(Bruce gave up after Tim. He really only needs one kid to tag along to social events. If the kid start to outnumber him they start getting IDEAS.)

His distraction is why it takes two very rude repetitions of his name for him to take notice at the young reporter pushing his way to the front. Lucius stands, cutting off the project manager currently presenting and speaks into the mic.

"Please keep hold all questions until the end of the presentation, thank you."

"Mr. Wayne," the reporter tries again and Bruce waves away Lucius's further protests.

"Can I help you?" He asks, smiling with the full force of Brucie Wayne's charm behind it. It's been awhile since his last scandal, but if the press is inventing drama then it's less work for him.

The man holds up a photograph almost accusingly. He reeks of gotcha journalism.

Bruce squints towards him, unable to fully make out the contents of the photo. Dick may have been right when he gently suggested Bruce add glasses to his Brucie Wayne persona but that was a hill Bruce was still willing to die on. It was bad enough he had to have a prescription COWL.

"What do you have to say about the presence of your adopted son, Timothy Drake at the illegal mob in Robinson Park last Saturday?"

"Drake-Wayne," Bruce corrected because Tim hyphenated, damn it. He was the first of his children to let Bruce tag the Wayne name on and it mattered, damn it. "Wait do you mean-"

"How about reports of him kissing a man while there?"

"A blond man?" Bruce asked, finally giving up and crossing to take the photo for himself. "Oh. No, that's his boyfriend."

There was a beat of silence before Bruce realized his mistake. Just as the reporters began to squall, he dropped the blurry photo and began to speed walk off, phone suddenly in hand.

Through the podium's microphone, the gathered reporters heard one thing as Bruce evacuated the immediate vicinity.

"Tim? Don't be mad."

---

Despite Bruce's best efforts, he becomes a meme.

---

Immediately following the bombshell that Timothy Drake-Wayne had a boyfriend, social media blows up, clamoring for more information. They're ravenous for it, desperate. Tim doesn't have a personal social media presence but they stalk his professional accounts religiously. Bruce does have personal social media, but he maintains radio silence.

In the end, a Gotham based "influencer" stumbles across Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne getting donuts at Kosher Donuts and Co. Dick is personable, as always, and stops to speak with the young woman briefly.

"Yeah, Tim wasn't mad," he laughs when asked. "Just disappointed. But man, he knows how to milk it."

"Bruce is in the doghouse, huh?" she asks, full of false sympathy.

"A little bit," Dick says as Damian mumbles, "Titus would never share."

"But," Dick continued. "Tim's spun it so Bruce is on the hook for like, half a million in donations for local LGBT charities. Tim says it would hurt less if he sponsored a new shelter too, so that's something to look forward to."

"That's a lot of money! Where's it all going?"

"Oh you know," Dick says and gestures vaguely. "A lot of different programs."

"Yeah? Anything you personally want to see done with the funding?"

"Drag story time," Damian answers before Dick can. He looks intense. "But not for children. For dogs. In the shelter."

---

A day later, Tim breaks the silence. He goes live on Bruce's Instagram.

"So the problem was that Bruce thought the reporter was saying I was being unfaithful," Tim explains. "He totally forgot I wasn't out to everyone yet. Bruce was just worried because he's already told me if I break up with my boyfriend, he's not uninviting him from any future family events."

"Luckily, I was in fact just kissing my boyfriend at PRIDE. Just because people got shifty with the permits at the last second because of protestors doesn't make it an illegal mob. If you wanna hear about Wayne's and illegal mobs, talk to Dickie about his younger years. Nothing I do can compare."

[wttcsms]

turn on the flash and hit record ; simon “ghost” riley.

pairing simon “ghost” riley x f!reader word count 1.5k synopsis simon misses you on one of his missions. good thing he has a collection of movies the two of you filmed to keep him company. content contains male masturbation, possessive!ghost, obsessed!ghost, filmed sex, vaginal fingering, brief gunplay (towards the end), he whimpers in this fic btw, slight size kink/size difference

Everything about you seems to have been made specifically for him, from the way your eyes seem to always catch his to how easily he can manhandle you, flipping you into different positions as he very well pleases.

You indulge with his every whim, eager to follow his commands and so when he asks you love, can I record you just this once? you agree with little to no hesitation. After all, it’s Simon, your Simon — you know he’s possessive almost to a fault, and the man rarely shows his face unless he truly trusts the person he’s baring himself to. There’s no chance someone else will be able to get their hands on the footage.

His missions last too long, and the weeks he spends separated from you are nothing short of pure agony. Before you, he didn’t feel the constant need for release, but after you? He craves it. You only realize you’re starving after having a taste of what you’ve been deprived of for so long.

Which is how he finds himself here, tucked safely away in the darkness of a room in a safehouse that’s seen better days, the front of his military-issued pants and briefs pulled down just enough to free his cock.

The tip is flushed red, already leaking with pre, and he spits into the palm of his hand before wrapping it around his length, practically hissing at the contact. Propped up on the nightstand and located in his direct line of sight is his private phone containing only your number and an album full of photos and videos of you in different positions and various states of undress.

Recording you just once turns into a second time which leads to him recording the two of you going at it for a third time until eventually, he’s built up quite the collection. The video playing on his phone is one of his favorites; it’s one of the first he’s ever filmed, proven by the shyness still evident on your face and body as you blush when the camera lands on you.

You’re lying on the bed he shares with you, completely bare and entirely vulnerable. Scattered across your skin are various lovebites, all varying in depth depending on whether he wanted to give you just a playful nip or true mark to remember him by when he’s gone.

You look so pretty right now, love. Let’s hope the camera can catch that beauty, huh?

He can hear the familiar sound of his chuckle coming from the video; you’re the only person left in this world to ever see him with such a playful demeanor, but his laugh might be the last thing on your mind. He’s certainly not thinking too hard when the camera angles downward to showcase your dripping cunt.

Simon takes a sharp inhale as he watches the way your folds are practically glistening with your slick arousal.

Wonder if your pussy’s so wet, I’ll be able to hear it in the video. What do you think, darling?

He tightens his grip on his cock as he watches himself enter three fingers, your tiny hole struggling to adjust to the abrupt intrusion. The shlick sound that accompanies every thrust is picked up by his phone camera, and Simon groans as the room he’s currently in gets enveloped in the sounds of him playing with your wet pussy.

“Fuck,” he hisses out, watching the precum bead from the tip of his cock, some of it slowly dribbling down, running along the veins on his dick. The extra lubrication makes his movements smoother, and soon, there’s a subtle clicking sound as he tries to stroke his dick in tandem with the thrusts he’s doing on the screen.

“Simon!” Your sweet voice moans out his name in the recording. He’s watched this video so many times already; he knows that right about now, you’re going to start lifting your pretty hips in an attempt to get his fingers to penetrate you even deeper. He remembers the night he filmed this video; he’s going to curl his fingers right up against that special spot of yours that’ll have you cumming all over his hand.

He struggles to keep his lidded eyes from closing all the way, desperate to watch your tiny hole fluttering around his fingers, squeezing him so tight. In turn, the grip on his dick only tightens as he watches you writhe on top of the sheets, slender fingers curling against the bedsheets as you scream out his name. The camera catches the way you cream all over his fingers, effectively coating his skin in it all the way down to his knuckles. It’s practically dripping all the way to his wrist.

The sight has him practically drooling, his strokes now even rougher. He imagines his rough, calloused hands are your smaller, soft ones. The girth of his dick makes you unable to wrap your whole entire hand, the tips of your fingers unable to touch due to his massive width. He tosses his head back, bucking into his hand as the audio from your little film still plays in the background.

Such a good girl for me. Always so needy, aren’t you?

He doesn’t need to see the video to know you’re nodding in reply. He watches through hazy vision as the him in the video takes his thumb and traces your bottom lip. Without him even needing to ask, you part those pretty lips of yours and take his thumb in your mouth, sucking.

Fuck, what he would do to have you here by his side right now.

He’ll have to make do with these videos, though. It’s not like these little films aren’t enough to bring him to release. The idea of his sweet love being his own personal pornstar does something to him, and he shuts his eyes, still working his cock as other memories of passionate nights beforehand flood his mind.

There was that one night where the two of you played one of the videos of him fucking you to the point where tears were brimming in your eyes due to overstimulation. He made a vow that for every time you came in that video, he would make you cum even harder. (He had done well in keeping that promise.) He thinks of the way your flesh feels underneath his fingers, and he relishes in the memory of how it feels to squeeze your thighs as he spreads you apart so he can savor the taste of you on his tongue. He could eat your little pussy out for hours, and after this mission, he makes a promise to do so.

He’s nearing the end of the video; he knows so because his favorite line is about to come up and at the perfect time, too.

Simon, I-I want your cum. Please come for me, please?

He doesn’t need to look at his screen to know you’re pouting up at him, knowing just the right thing to have him groaning. His breaths are coming in short pants, and your sweet, dulcet tone makes him want to come right then and there.

Please, Simon.  

Your little pleas for him to reach the height of pleasure is music to his ears. He’s practically whimpering now, forcing himself to stroke himself even more rapidly despite the fact that the stimulation on his already sensitive cock is blending pain into his pleasure.

“Gonna do it for you, love.” He weakly moans out in this empty room. He can feel himself about to fall off the edge, his release so close that it’s just about palpable. With a low groan of your name mixed with a string of curses, he finds himself ejaculating all over his hand. The amount of cum is so much that it’s not enough for it to just coat the entire length of his cock and fingers — no, there are strings of white splattered on his abdomen, effectively staining his uniform.

He’s panting, the video now over, but before he can shut off the phone, a text notification appears.

My Love [One Video Attachment]

He clicks on it, curious as to what you could possibly be sending him.

It’s a new video, one you must have just now filmed. You’ve got one of his guns, the magazine lying on the nightstand. He knows it’s unloaded and basically a toy at that point, but he doesn’t understand what’s going on until he watches you strip yourself, leaving your beautiful figure on display. He can see you dripping for him already, and he watches with bated breaths as you take the barrel of his handgun and tease your soaking entrance with it.

I need you so badly, Simon. When will you come back home?

His cock is already hardening again, and he palms himself, fumbling with his phone to call you.

Everything about you is perfect to him.

[cosmicstarlatte]

You ARE The Father! (Obey Me!)

━━━━━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━

After getting back to the human world you realized you were pregnant. You decided to keep it a secret during your relationship. After having the baby/babies for a few weeks, you finally decide to tell your demon baby daddy.

»Characters: Demon bros // -> [Part 2: Dateables] Now available!

»Tags: Female reader/MC, Unplanned pregnancy, Humor/fluff, Bulleted Style Fic

»Note: Sorry it's kind of long. Also I imagine the babies all heavily resemble their dads. 🥺♡ I might make a part two with Diavolo and Barbatos but they will be short stories. Well, maybe. Lol

Lucifer:

"That's not funny."

Didn't believe you because how could you keep that sort of secret for months from him

You sent him a photo of you holding a very unamused baby boy with black hair and red eyes

The Avatar of Pride has fainted. I repeat, he has fainted

Didn't pack or say anything to his brothers once he woke up, he just bolted out the house to find a magic seal to travel to the human realm

Quickly let Diavolo know why he canceled their meeting whilst on the way to you

He arrived disheveled, man was sweating lol

Anyway he immediately reached for his child and cradled him

His baby's horns and wings popped out!

Barely wanted to talk to you at first, you wounded his pride...Did you think him unfit? Did you think he wouldn't accept?

He would've been there for you no matter what, it pained him that you went through everything alone

Promised to be there from now on

He hugged you and the baby "...I love you two. ♡ Come live with me. You two won't ever be in need."

Dia and Barb visited shortly to see Luci's baby!

His baby slapped everyone in the face at some point

Mammon:

"Ha! That's a good one! I always loved ya sense of humor!"

Really thought it was a joke

You decided to surprise him in person instead

You got permission from Dia to visit

You had only told Lucifer ahead of time about the surprise visit but not why

When you knocked on the door holding the white-haired baby girl Lucifer had to do a double take

"Is this..."

He smiled and excitedly held her for a minute before returning her

"Excuse me" Lucifer said as he closed the door

"MAMMOOOOOOOOON!!!"

yeah the baby started crying

You could hear the loud commotion inside

The door swung open and Mammon stared in shock along with the rest of the family behind him

"YA WERENT JOKING!? GUYS...GUYS!! I'M A DAD!!"

He cuddled his baby girl and gave her so many kisses

You guessed it, the baby sprouted horns and wings after being held by him

Was upset at himself for thinking you were joking

He demanded you move in right away

"Nothin' will break this family. I got ya both! Daddy will take care of y'all! "♡

His baby girl managed to grab his wallet and wouldn't let go

Levi:

"As if..."

Was skeptical...him? A dad? He always thought Mammon or Asmo would be first

He didn't know anything about being a dad but he was getting more excited the more he thought about it

You wouldn't lie to him about that right? RIGHT?

But why didn't you tell him sooner!? He could've been there for support like you always supported him!!

He texted you saying he would be visiting soon

He made a quick phone call to Dia for help getting to the human world

"Yeah let's not tell Lucifer yet heheheh"

He hurriedly grabbed a few figures and collectibles to go pawn off...kids are expensive!

After selling some things he bought some baby stuff and a gift for you...the mother of his child!!

When he finally made it to the human world he cried when he held his own purple-haired baby boy

The baby cried too lmao

The baby shifted into demon form & Levi wailed even more at his beautiful copy+paste baby

Both stopped crying when you played some anime on the tv

"I-I have a ring for you...w-will you marry me? I'll be the best husband and dad I can be!" ♡

He was planning on asking anyway; this just sped things up

He wasn't sure but he thinks his kid was giving him the stink eye when he was taking too much time with you...jealousy!?

Satan:

"You're telling me this now?"

Yeah he was angry

He had a hard time believing it but he knew you wouldn't lie about something like that

After the call, he grew excited and couldn't wait to visit

Told Lucifer what was going on ASAP and he let him go to you

He tried to read as much as he could from parenting books while on the way to you

He brought some gifts and offered to let you nap while he bonded with his daughter

Yeah she shifted into demon form after being held by him

He cooed at her, brushing her blonde hair lightly, remembering his own birth

"Daddy might've been an accident, but you're definitely not. Just a beautiful surprise. ♡"

He would do anything you asked of him, he just wanted to take care of his own little family

"Hey listen to me...I won't ever let you two down. I swear it.♡"

His daughter angrily yanked the new kitty plushie from his hands and smacked him before giggling

Asmo:

"Ahaha...riiight. That's not the first time someone's tried that on me! And triplets!? "

He loved you but that was a weird joke to pull so many months later

Seriously, triplets? You had to be joking!

You were a little hurt but you kind of understood his reaction

Either way you wanted Asmo to meet them and decided to do a surprise visit

You contacted Dia for help and Barb escorted you safely to the Devildom (it was hard moving around with 3 babies!)

You nervously waited with your babies at Dia's castle while they summoned Asmo first before the other brothers

"Lord Diavolo, I'm he-" you heard Asmo gasp

He froze and took in what was in front of him

"You weren't joking!?"

He sobbed and cried out apologies to you, as he tried to figure out how he could pick them all up (sorry only two at a time!)

You handed him the two girls and watched as they shifted into demon form in his arms

Mini Asmos!

He excitedly talked about all the different outfits you could all wear and match as a family

You took one of the baby girls and handed him the boy and watched as he too shifted

"You're my family! My big beautiful family! Papa will make you all proud! I'll work SO hard!♡"

The other brothers happily joined the gathering a few minutes later

Every time someone picked up one of the babies, they were happy and friendly!

Beel:

"Huh? What? What do you mean? ... I'M COMING."

Mixed emotions: Anger for not telling him. Excited that you had his child. Sad that he wasn't there to support you on the journey. Happy overall for his new family.

He wasted no time after you told him, he called on Lucifer to let him go to the human world. His brothers caught wind and wanted to go too.

Teared up when he saw you standing and holding his baby boy, he gave a big soft family hug

Was surprised and excited when his baby shifted into demon form when he held him

It was a mini him!

He was absolutely in love with his new family

"I will give you both everything. No matter what. I will take care of you two, always.♡"

Wouldn't stop doting on you two

Growled when Belphie wanted a turn to hold his baby...he might've been a little too protective

But everyone did get a turn eventually

His baby bit/nibbled everyone at some point

Belphie:

"Twins!? Mine!? When!? You should've said something!"

Was upset you kept it from him. Scared because what if he fails you and them? But was happy to have his own little family

As soon as he hung up, he quickly called Lucifer for help and had Beel accompany to the human world

Freaked out because what do babies need? What did you need? He hurriedly bought ready made baby gift baskets hoping it would help somewhat

Each step towards your place was nerve wracking and exhilarating

Having Beel there soothed him a little so he was thankful

Belphie thought you looked so beautiful standing there holding his twins in little cow print onesies

He nervously held both and teared up when they shifted and they looked so much like him

The baby boy started crying and he freaked out

"Yeah he cries a lot. The girl however is very quiet and sleeps easily."

Belphie hummed a lullaby and soothed his son who rested happily on him.

"This is better than any dream.I will do my best to make you and them proud.That's a promise.♡"

Beel patted his back letting him know he had him and the others

His babies seemed to like cuddling a lot. They really liked holding fingers tightly.

⬦You might also like: MC Feeling Insecure︱Waffle House︱Coconut

*Super long* Authors Note/Ramblings: Moved those notes to my AO3 journal lol

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Mine

Pairing ⇒ Tony Stark x PA!Fem!Reader

Word count ⇒ 2.4K

Summary ⇒ You've been Tony's PA for many years, and you have both developed feelings for one another over time. When Tony sees you in a beautiful red dress he can't take his eyes off you, and feelings are confessed later that same night. When you spend your first time together it is filled with raw passion, but you wouldn't change it for the world as you're with him.

Rating ⇒ Explicit (E)

Warnings/Tags ⇒ Use of nickname (Precious), mutual pining.

Smut ⇒ Dirty talk, manhandling, choking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spanking, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, implied aftercare.

A/n ⇒ @ccbsrmsf1 I am deeply thankful you sent me this photo because the creative and other juices started flowing instantly. I hope you will enjoy this, and thank you for proofreading and inspiring me with this. I love you 3000 🩵

Events Masterlist ⇒ @anyfandomkinkbingo ⇒ Sex under the influence

Banners: Yours truly ⇒ Divider: @firefly-graphics ⇒ GIF: Source

Main Masterlist ⇒ Tony Stark Masterlist

Working as Tony's personal assistant never gets boring, especially when he's taking you to special events as his date, just like tonight. The two of you will attend an award ceremony where he is nominated to win one for his work on nano-tech research, and you couldn't be happier for him.

Right now, you're about to walk the red carpet, but for reasons beyond your knowledge, Tony is nowhere to be found, and your anxiety is starting to rise a little. The ceremony is almost ready to start, and just when you're about to pull your phone out of your pocket, you feel a familiar, firm hand on the small of your back.

''How do you look impossibly more beautiful every time I see you, Precious?'' the smooth voice of your boss, Tony Stark, graces your ears, and you feel every last nerve streaming out of your body, and a broad smile adorns your face.

''It's all thanks to you, Mr. Stark," you tell him, referencing the fact that he bought you the red dress he gifted you a few days ago to wear tonight. When you got the last-minute invite, you were scrambling to find an outfit when Tony overheard your frustrations as you were venting to your colleague, Stephany. A few days later, a perfectly tailored, dark red dress was sitting on your desk in a large, black box.

And here you are, wearing the dress that matches his outfit perfectly, making you two the standout pairing on the red carpet tonight. He's wearing a simple outfit consisting of a black suit with a red shirt, a pair of red glasses, and slicked-back hair, making him look a particular type of handsome you don't get to see very often.

You're used to seeing him in old T-shirts, faded jeans, and messy hair when he's working in his lab or his Iron Man suit when he's out on missions. But to see him clean up beautifully like this has you slightly clenching your thighs every single time, as it's an absolute sight for sore eyes.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you can call me Tony?'' he says teasingly, and you feel the blush on your cheeks grow, warmth spreading over them as you're looking for the right words to say. When you're about to answer him, you get interrupted by one of the people managing the red carpet, ushering the two of you in front of the photographers.

He holds out his arm for you, and you hook yours through, your hand resting on his lower arm as you pose for the photos together. All the photographers can't get enough of the two of you, and Tony can't get enough of their attention either, making the carpet feel like it's going on for a long while it is only a few minutes. When you're done, however, you let out a small sigh of relief; the worst of the night is over.

''Let's head inside, Precious; I have an award to collect!" Tony said jokingly as he grabbed your hand, leading you through the mass of people to your table, where dinner would be served during the ceremony, and a glass of champagne was waiting for you. You're seated on Tony's left, and some other important people from Stark Industries are there too, though you don't pay attention to them as all you can focus on is Tony.

As the night progresses, you and Tony have a few glasses of champagne, and you notice you're starting to giggle a little, which is a clear sign for you to stop drinking. You don't know, however, that Tony is reveling in these sweet sounds tumbling from your lips, his heart beating faster every time he hears it.

When it is time to present the award Tony is nominated for, your attention shifts to the guy presenting it, and even though he looks familiar, you're not entirely sure where you recognize him from. There's not much time to think about it because the winner is soon announced, sending the entire room into applause.

''And the award winner is Tony Stark for his life-changing research on nano-technology!" the man announces. You applaud him as you get up, and the first thing Tony does is turn to you, pulling you into a tight hug that you happily reciprocate as you melt into each other's touches. Neither of you wants to let go, but when he does, you give him a kiss on his cheek, which makes his breath hitch slightly. Now it's his time to blush, but he doesn't get to think about it for too long as he's already pulled away by others at the table and heading towards the stage shortly after.

''First of all, I want to thank everyone for being here tonight because this award wouldn't have been the same without all your support. But now, I want to thank the person who means the most to me, and without whom I wouldn't have been up here, my amazing PA, Y/N Y/L/N!" Tony starts his speech while looking at you, and you blow him a kiss as a thank you. Your shyness is significantly lessened by the two glasses of champagne you've had.

''She has been by my side throughout every step of the process, and without her, I would still be in the early stages, or I would have moved on to something else entirely. Because of this, I want to dedicate this award to you, Precious. I love you, and I can't wait to see what the future holds for us,'' he says with a wink, and you can feel the warmth coursing through your veins, a broad smile appearing on your features.

When he's back at the table, he leans into you before whispering something in your ear that has goosebumps erupting over your neck and arms and clenching your thighs simultaneously.

''We should get out of here, Precious, because I have something important to talk to you about,'' he says, and before you know it, you're on your way back to Stark Tower. You're looking out the window as your foot is nervously going up and down, as you're letting all the possible scenarios of what he could want to talk about with you pass through your mind. What he is about to tell you is something you have dreamt of but never expected to happen.

Something feels different when you step into his apartment - where you've been countless times. It feels like the atmosphere has shifted since the last time you were here, not even five hours ago.

''Let's get comfortable first, Precious. Do you want something to drink?'' he offers as he takes off his glasses on the kitchen island for now. He hands you another glass of champagne, which you drink to calm your nerves before Tony tells you what's happening, all while he sips on his.

''It's best to say what I think because I am head over heels in love with you, Precious. I have been for a long time and can't hide it anymore. I want nothing more than for you to be mine, to be able to touch you, kiss you, love you the way I desire,'' he says, leaving you with your mouth slightly slack as his hand reaches up to your cheek, cupping it gently.

His deep, dark brown eyes look into yours as he patiently waits for your answer, trying to find the answer on the tip of your tongue. How you love him too, how you want to be his, how you want him to make sweet, gentle love to you for hours on end, but that's not what you say.

''I'm yours, Tony, now please fuck me already,'' you tell him, and he does, right on the couch where you're sitting, without a single ounce of hesitation. Your dress has found its way on the floor, followed shortly by his suit as you're both completely naked on the couch, your leg over his shoulder as he's buried between your thighs and eating you out with the passion of a starved man.

''Holy fuck!" you exclaim as his tongue makes contact with your clit, the tip making teasing circles around it as your hips buck up, pushing your pussy impossibly closer against his face. His facial hair is rubbing deliciously against your thighs, the burn intensifying your arousal immensely.

''Fuck, 'm cumming, Tony, please let me cum!" you say, your hands finding their way into his hair and pulling hard, leaving no trace of the previously perfect slicked-back hair as it's a mess that you can't help but pull on as you're rutting against his face. His lips seal around your clit as two fingers plunge into your dripping pussy to bring you to your orgasm. The bruising pace he sets ensures your first one has you seeing stars, and with a scream of his name, you cum, your entire body shaking uncontrollably.

Before your orgasm has even ended, he manhandles you on your hands and knees with his strong hands, and from the corner of your eyes, you can see his muscles bulging as he does so, the veins on his arms clearly visible as your face is pushed into the cushions before he lines up his long, thick cock with your entrance which is presented beautifully for him.

''Look at you, Precious, such an obedient little slut for me! Bet this pussy feels so good around my cock,'' he grunts through gritted teeth as his tip breeches your hole, your pussy welcoming him immediately as he slides in with a single thrust.

''Fuck! Such a tight pussy for me, Precious, feels so good around my cock,'' he praises you, and all you can do is moan, his hand between your shoulder blades keeping you firmly in your place. The pace Tony sets has your mind reeling, and you're slipping further into the fuzziness you love so much as he takes control of your body and your every movement, fucking you into the couch.

The sound of his hips slapping against your ass fills the room, combined with your shared moans, groans, grunts, and praises. You feel like you're floating, and when his hand comes into contact with your ass as he lands a spank, you are tipped over the edge of your second orgasm as your pussy clenches around him.

The way your ass burns in the place where he just spanked you is a delicious, welcome burn that has you moaning loudly, prolonging your orgasm even more, and the pleasure seems to be neverending.

''Oh, fuck, gripping me like a damn vice, Precious, feels so good when you cum for me, but I need one more from this perfect pussy of yours, need one more from you, okay?" he tells you as he keeps pounding into your sensitive pussy, the overstimulation slowly creeping closer after the first two orgasms in such a small amount of time.

''P-please,'' you beg softly, and the hand that was between your shoulder blades slides forward to your throat, pulling you up until his chest collides with your back, and he's still fucking you deeply from this angle, his cock hitting your sweet spot each time, earning himself soft moans and whines from you.

''Want you to cum with me again, Precious, one more, and then I'll fuck this pussy full of my cum. That's what you want, isn't it? For me to fuck my cum into you until you're dripping with it? You can have it all, Precious; need one more from you,'' he groans as he slightly lifts his hand, tipping your head back onto his shoulder. Your eyes are shut tightly as your hands move to his arms, gripping them tightly as you dig your nails into them, scratching him to ground yourself.

''So fucking close, Precious, 'm almost there! Cum for me, and I'll pump you full; I got so fucking much cum for you. My balls are so fucking full for you," he tells you, and with three more sloppy thrusts, he cums with you; your last orgasm is not as intense as you're on the edge of overstimulation. He lets go of your face as he slides out and sits down, pulling you onto his lap as you're both coming down from your highs.

Both of you are panting as you settle into his arms, his warmth enveloping you as you let your hand rummage through his hair, messing it up even more with a soft giggle.

''You know, it is the first time that I heard this cute little giggle of yours when I realized I have feelings for you,'' he tells you as he presses soft kisses onto your face, and you close your eyes as you let the happiness take over right now. You don't want to be anywhere other than his arms, and he's not planning on letting you go anytime soon, either.

''It was the first time I walked into your office; it's from that moment I had a massive crush on you,'' you tell him as your hand glides to his facial hair, your nails gently scratching it as you lean in for a gentle kiss. His tongue slides into your mouth as you're sharing your first real kiss, one that isn't a drunk, sloppy one or a quick one on New Year's Eve, but a deep, passionate, love-filled kiss that has you both gasping for air after.

''I've been thinking-'' Tony starts as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, ''-that I want you to be mine. If you say yes and are okay with it, I want to keep it a secret for now, as I want it to be you and me in this relationship. As soon as everyone else finds out, it's always a huge mess, and I want you to myself for as long as possible,'' he says, and you nod in response.

''I want that too, Tony; I want you to be mine,'' you whisper before capturing his lips again, and that's when he lays you carefully on your back on the couch.

''In that case, I want to make love to my girlfriend now,'' he says with a smirk, and you can't help but blush at these words. Tony's girlfriend sounds like perfection, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

''And I want to make love to my boyfriend,'' you tell him with an equally large smile before pulling him in for a kiss and letting the pleasure take over again. You're exactly where you want to be and never want to leave his arms again.

[dokk-fukuro]

On Call. Pt.1

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya Minors DNI

TW: clit play, lingerie, sexting, dirty talk, afab reader

۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞

Dazai uses phone sex as one of the ways to tease you but keep you from getting what you want. Oh, this bastard has a good tongue. With absolute calmness, he can maintain a frank conversation with you for a long time period.

“I decided to find out how the day is going with the conqueror of my heart,” Osamu coos, left alone in the agency. “Just remembering how you arch your back under me last night. And your moans... Just angelic singing to my ears, and you know me, I'm picky in my choice of music.”

He knows that you are a little embarrassed by his words, but even the thoughts in your head will not allow to stop. Instead, the young man will continue to tease you.

“I can't stop thinking about how beautiful you are when you're in seventh heaven. I’d be very happy to sit you on the table now, pull off your clothes and kiss your skin,” his voice becomes a little quieter, lowers by half an octave and takes on that very seductive husky that drives you crazy. “Get down on my knees in front of you and put my face to your pussy. I bet you already imagine it. Come on, bella, let me hear how wet you are.”

And you really obediently pull off your panties, spread your legs and run your fingers along your wet cunt, collecting moisture on it, hearing a satisfied humming from the other side. Dazai is glad to hear that you are so ready for him.

“I want you to wrap your legs around me while I sink my tongue inside.” You bite your lip, drawing circles around your clit, sometimes pressing on it. “Come on, love, let me hear your voice. Like our last night when I was so deep inside you.”

And you really can't hold back a moan. The bundle of nerves only becomes more sensitive, and every touch to it makes your body shiver a little. You put inside your fingers under his languid exhalation and start to move it. You squirm and shake, when all of a sudden...

“Oh, Belladonna, I have to go now, time waits for no one,” and Osamu leaves you alone with your arousal.

۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞

When it comes to slutty phone calls, it's not Nakahara that starts it, it's your antics. One day, deciding to tease him, you send him a photo in the fitting room. You are wearing only a set of underwear and an innocent signature “Do you think it suits me?”. What a naughty girl are you. Chuuya takes some time to come up with the most compelling reason why he should leave the meeting room.

“What the hell are you doing?” The red-haired esper hisses through gritted teeth. No, your body does not embarrass him, he is used to your unsurpassed beauty, but the last thing he wants is for someone else to see it. You just innocently coo that you wanted to know his opinion, because “he should pull this underwear off you.”

Whatever you say, Chuuya has problems with self-control. He doesn't need too much to get turned on.

“You wanted to know my opinion, right?” Nakahara smirks unkindly, and you can feel it on your skin. Chills and a herd of goosebumps literally run through your neck. “My opinion is this: my naughty girl wants me to fuck her so that she can barely stands. Choose, doll: we’ll fuck on the table, on the couch, on the bed or on the floor? For such a trick, you will have to try very hard so that I let you cum.”

When he is on edge, you can say exactly and for sure only one thing: Chuuya doesn’t throw words into the wind. And the understanding that he may well take you from the doorway as soon as he comes home makes you bring your legs together. You are already turned on by how aggressive the redhead is in his expressions. And from his heavy breathing, only two things can be stated: he is now alone with himself, and he is trying to calm down his boner in order to recoup on you upon his return.

"So what, doll? I can't hear your answer,” Chuuya almost growls, squeezing his hard cock through the fabric of his tight pants. “Or do you want me to push you against the wall while I thrust into you from behind? The sooner you answer, the better for you.”

Looks like you're really in big trouble.

[eilidh-eternal]

Your Nasty Man™️ Johnny is fueling my freaky side, and I don't know how to handle it.

I must have more....(pretty please)

What would that smug, disgusting bastard of a man do if he found reader also had a nasty side?

Say she found out about his little video collection? She hacks into it, and to just one up his arrogant ass, posts it to OnlyFans and is now getting paid for it! (Realistically, don't ever do this. I'm just being hypothetically horny here)

OR.....

Car Salesman Johnny. She borrows Ghost's classic vehicular muscle baby, finds an abandoned parking lot, and straps herself into the front seat. Uses the vibrator Johnny bought her to overly pleasure herself, capturing the whole ordeal on her phone. But it's not Johnny's name she's moaning. It's Ghost's. And, of course, she sends it to both just to really stick that knife into that Nasty Man™️'s side.

I'm going down the Nasty Man™️ MacTavish drain here. Must cure it with SingleDad!Johnny before I become a complete fiend for that repulsively sexy, damaged man...

Hehehehe that Nasty Man™️… he’s going to have a heart attack because he’s just overheard you asking Simon if he’d be willing to lend you his car again, but not for another driving lesson.

As it turns out, Simon is pretty good with a camera. Has an eye for photography, at least where his car is concerned (He actually has a sizable following on insta and is pretty well known in the car scene) but what you weren’t expecting is how well he directs you as a model.

Knows exactly how to pose you, has learned the angles you look the best from in a matter of about 5 minutes. And the best part? He’s not creepy about it. He’s actually sort of unfazed by your skimpy clothing and the suggestive poses he’s snapping you in. Lets you wear the leather jacket he wears at meets with his name embroidered across the back of it between shots while you both look over the raw photos. And maybe, just maybe, when you have your back turned to him, adjusting an errant strand of hair or preening in the reflection of the tinted windows, he’s snapped a few shots of you in his jacket with his phone.

And oops! His thumb slipped. Accidentally sent them to Johnny.

And Gaz.

And Price.

When you get to the dealership on Monday there’s a shipment of office supplies that needs to be unboxed and put away. More paper, extra ink cartridges, pens and paper clips in bulk, and, because it’s the start of the new year, calendars for the office.

But wait… these… don’t look like the calendars ordered from the supply store? That looks an awful lot like Simons car on the front…

You chalk it up to coincidence, think maybe your manager wanted something a little less bland and more on theme to help liven the place up. It’s probably just some classic car calendar or something.

You don’t realize what it is until a few hours later when you walk by Johnny’s cubicle and something snags your attention. You backpedal, round his desk to look at the calendar pinned to the fabric-lined divider, and freeze, stomach leaping in your chest because that’s you.

That’s you on the hood of Simons car, laid out in your skimpy dress.

What the fuck?

“I think August is my favorite,” a heavily accented voice breathes from behind you. You whirl on him, back pressed to the divider, and stare up in shock at Johnny, grinning down at you impishly.

“Didnae ken they did custom calendars at the supply store. Think we’ll be doin’ these from now on.” He takes a step forward, cages you between him and the divider when he braces a hand on the metal frame. His breathing is heavy, eyes glazed, and the fabric of his button down pulled taught over the bunching muscles in his arms. “Next year though… I think next year should be ye, in that slutty dress, sittin’ pretty on my ride.”

[morosis-haze]

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Julian Loki x fem!reader

𝐀/𝐍: Thanks @0rah-s for the suggestion to have Julian for these headcanons. If you heard how horrible it is to date a French man then let us all collectively ignore that

❒ The treatment starts slowly into the relationship basic things like opening doors for you or pulling out your chair

❒ Further down the relationship he starts spoiling you

❒ He’ll start buying small gifts

❒ When he takes you out to dinner and pulls out a small box handing it to you he only states how he thinks it would look pretty on you

❒ You can’t help but notice the brand logo and you know it wasn’t anything cheap. Julian doesn’t allow you to return the gift let it be because it’s “too much” or you didn’t get him anything

❒ He has a smile on his and all when he gifts you something

❒ Let you glance at something for too long it’s being delivered to your house

❒ Julian will text you “Did you get your package?” You’re just confused about to reply back with “huh?” Not even a full second later you hear your doorbell ring

❒ Going out shopping he’s holding your bags and giving you his card

❒ Loves when you try on outfits. He’s a good honest hype man

❒ There’s a photo album on his phone just full of videos of you doing a spin and photos from you showing off an outfit

❒ He’ll actually give an opinion on which outfit is better or suggestions if you should get a different color

❒ He just wants his girl back to look good and feel good in the clothes

❒ Both his hand are full of bags as you exit the store he doesn’t let you even think about grabbing a bag

❒ If you’re a food girlie he got you too

❒ Pays attention to what you’re more into he’ll get your savory or sweet dishes whatever you’re in the mood for

❒ Later down the line he just sends money to you especially when he’s away for a game

❒ Sends it along with a message “Don’t forget to treat yourself”

❒ Get your nails done or hair matter of fact both send a picture and he stays giving compliments until he could see it in person just to react again as if he didn’t know how you looked already

❒ Julian absolutely adores you he hates when you have a bad day

❒ Not wanting to see you upset he’s up to do anything to make you happy

❒ You wanna go out? So be it. You wanna just cuddle and watch your favorite films? He’s got you. You want a massage? He’s already on it, he wouldn’t want his girlfriend to have such tension in her shoulders

❒ A situation has gone wrong and you can’t handle it he’ll try to calmly figure it out for you

❒ Julian loves to treat his girlfriend like a princess

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @kisamekiss / @pinkfqiry / @simpsunit / @goldenglow149 to join the taglist fill out this form<3

[superblysubpar]

We'll Call It Love masterlist | It Had To Be You masterlist

the song: Suddenly I See by KT Tunstall // It Had To Be You playlist

warnings: this story is a part of the series We’ll Call It Love, and much of it would be spoiled if you read this first. It’s linked above, and I hope you love it! | series warnings pertain | mentions of drugs | "illusions" to smut

3k words

Steve always thought he’d meet the love of his life, his soul mate, at a bar. 

Which sounds kind of lame now maybe? It’s just that the movies make it feel like this magical moment - you know, the couple sees each other, the music swells, the lights change - it’s undeniable. 

But that’s not happening for Steve Harrington it seems, definitely not tonight. 

Maybe not ever. 

So here he is, just breaking up with another girl in another random Chicago bar. 

His thumb pulls at the damp paper label, his brows furrowed over hazel eyes girls tend to like to look into deeply from time to time - or so he’s been told. 

“It’s just not working.”

The words taste more bitter than the beer on his tongue because for Steve, that’s quite the opposite of how he feels a relationship should be described. Your relationship shouldn’t feel like a job. It should be easy. It should feel right. It should just work for lack of a better term. 

When there’s no response from the other side of the table he finally glances up from the shredded label to find her typing on her phone, reaching for her wine glass and nodding. 

“Brenda?”

The blonde finally lifts her eyes from the device, smiling under vacant eyes. 

“Sorry, did you say something?”

Steve sighs deeply. He rubs at his temple as he nods. 

“Yeah, yeah I did. I don’t…I don’t think we should…do this anymore?”

Silence. 

She’s typing on her phone again. 

“Brenda?” He blinks at her incredulously before leaning across the table, closer, as he lowers his voice, “Brenda, I’m breaking up with you.”

She snaps her gum, slides her phone into her purse and starts to slide out of the booth. 

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Listen, I didn’t even know we were dating? We haven’t even slept together and I didn’t think we were, like, an inclusive thing, you know?”

“You mean exclusive?” 

She’s already walking out the door. As Steve watches her go with a disbelieving stare, he sees one of the TVs suspended over the bar has the Cubs game on now. 

Well at least tonight isn’t a total bust. 

“Hey man, ‘nother beer?” The bartender who brought him his first one asks from where he’s collecting empty dishes at a nearby table. 

“Um,” Steve runs a hand through his hair, squinting at the tabletop before he sighs. “Sure, thanks.”

The bartender leaves and Steve rests his chin on his fist, watching the game but not really seeing it. 

He’s not really sure what he’s doing anymore. Is it all just normal? To be this hopeless, to be this unhappy with life, to be this lonely. There has to be someone out there for him right? 

His phone buzzes loudly on the table, stealing him from his spiral only for the dread he was barely allowing himself to dip into, swallow him whole and drown him. 

The contact ‘Dad’ displays with no photo for what feels like forever until it finally stops and the screen goes dark. 

Steve is still staring down at it when a large basket of breadsticks slides under his nose and a cold beer right behind it. 

He glances up and the bartender is taking his empty bottle, smiling in a sort of laid back way that makes Steve envious of his clearly relaxed state and demeanor. 

“On the house. You look pretty down about that blonde.”

“Oh,” Steve sits up, clearing his throat. He feels the warmth under his cheeks as he shakes his head, “No, um, she’s…yeah, I’m not missing her. Just lost in thought I guess. Thank you…” Steve trails off, looking for a name tag.

“Argyle, man,” the bartender slaps his hand out and grabs Steve’s. 

Steve points to the ceiling, smiling. “Like the name of the bar?”

“One and the same my dude. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

Steve keeps his eyes on the game until he can’t resist the scent of butter and cheese and he grabs one of the breadsticks. He practically moans when he takes the first bite, and his eyes flutter open when he hears a laugh float across the quiet room. 

He swallows around the way too hot to have taken that big of a bite of bread as he sees you. You’re the only girl at the bar, head thrown back in a laugh he swears sounds like a favorite song as Argyle pours more red wine in your glass. There’s pizza in your hand and you’re gesturing to the baseball game. 

He might already be in love with you. 

And that’s before he watches you devour more than one piece of the pizza you’re eating alone and watching the baseball game like you actually care about it. 

Steve clicks his phone unlocked, ignoring the text from his father, and types one to Robin instead. 

Steve: Do you believe in soul mates?

It takes less than a minute for her to respond. 

Robin: Steve, I’m sorry, but I cannot do this. Brenda is NOT your soul mate Steve: we just broke up Robin: oh thank god Robin: I mean, I am so sorry, what can I do? Ice cream? Steve: no, listen… Steve: there’s this girl here Robin: no Steve: I haven’t even told you the best part Robin: let me guess, you think you love her already? Steve: if you’re gonna be a brat about it, I will not tell you that she’s watching the Cubs game right now Robin: wow? Steve: Robs, she’s ACTUALLY watching it Robin: Yeah, and? Do you even know her name yet, Dingus? Have you spoken to her? Dude, I love you, but you can’t keep doing this Steve: what’s a good pick up line?

Steve takes a swig of his beer and chokes around it when Robin responds.

Robin: I might not be a pro player, but when it comes to you, I won't stop until I’ve reached all the bases Steve: absolutely not Robin: I think I glove you Robin: my dugout, or yours? Robin: I’m an umpire. Can I have your number so I can make the call? Steve: I hate you Robin: why don’t you just go with “Hi.” idiot Robin: also, why are there SO many baseball pick up lines on google? And what do they mean? Wtf is a pinch hitter?

Steve rolls his eyes at his screen, locking it closed as he slides out of the booth. He approaches the bar slowly, deciding that Robin is right, he should take it slow, he always does this. 

And maybe he’ll go with the umpire line. 

But when he’s right behind your shoulder, so close he can smell your perfume that makes him want to fall inside the bottle, he sees your pizza. 

And it has fucking olives on it. 

“Shit.”

He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but he clearly did, and when you turn to face him, he sort of forgets how to breathe. 

You’re clearly taking him in just like he is you, and when he sees your mouth drop open a little as your eyes meet each other, he feels like someone is playing a prank on him. 

Because the bar lights dim and the lyrics of As Time Goes By plays loudly. 

And Steve knows, logically, that this is all because it’s the time of night where bars dim their lights and that the song is from the other TV playing Casablanca. He knows this. 

And yet…

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Steve kisses your temple as he leans around you and grabs a breadstick on the bar despite your protest. He groans around the bread as you turn to smile at him. 

“I swear, Argyle puts drugs in these.” 

He sighs, pushing more into his mouth as he blinks at you, nodding his agreement. Steve’s eyes roam over the little black dress you have on, stopping appreciatively on the lace neckline that dips nicely and not so innocently. His fist comes up over his mouth, clearing his throat around the bite he shoves into his cheek so he can talk. 

“You look nice.”

“What, this old thing?” You spin on the stool, shrugging your shoulders with a smile. 

“Did you have something going on at work today?” He asks, brows furrowing and at first you think he’s joking, but then he cocks his head, ripping at more of the breadstick.

“Um, no, I-”

“Hey,” Steve waves for Argyle’s attention before he turns to you, apologetic, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, do you care if we get the pizza to go? I’m beat from today, and I just need to get into something that isn’t this tie and eat that pizza and pass out.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” You smile, sure it’s not quite meeting your eyes, but Steve doesn’t notice because he’s already relaying the message to Argyle who looks at you curiously, then Steve, then you again before nodding. 

“Sure, man, I’ll box it up right now, it just got out of the oven.”

He walks away and Steve looks at you curiously, “That was weird, right?”

Except it wasn’t, because Argyle and you must see all the couples literally making out over their pizza, or snuggled up on the same side of booths and pressing their noses into cheeks and whispering sweet nothings into ears. Argyle and you must know that today is Valentine’s Day and Steve…doesn’t?

You quickly hop off the stool, grab your thick winter coat and shrug it on, pretending not to notice, “No? It’s busy, maybe he’s just overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Steve trails off, looking around until he lands back on you buttoning your coat, then down at your feet when he smiles. “Hey, you’re wearing the heels I bought you.”

A hum leaves your pursed lips as you roll your eyes. “Well, they’re really nice and they’re not doing anyone any good hanging out in my closet collecting dust on their red soles.”

Steve leans in and kisses you, quickly and subtly before he whispers, “It’s okay to admit you like the fancy things I buy you…speaking of…” He grabs his wallet from his back pocket.

He hands you his debit card, before he nods outside, “I’m gonna go run and pull the car up so you don’t have to walk in those all the way to where I finally found parking.”

“Steve, I can-” He’s already waving it off and kissing your cheek, disappearing out the door he barely just walked through. 

You slump against the bar and pull out your phone, looking around at the packed place with a sour feeling in your stomach. 

Normally, you hate this day. It’s overpriced consumerism at its finest. It's a sickening zoo of PDA everywhere you look, and places like here that normally are your peaceful, quiet spots, are packed. 

But you’d be lying if you didn’t say you were sort of looking forward to the day this year. Because, in all honesty, you’ve never really had someone you’ve wanted to celebrate with or someone who cared to do so until now.

Until Steve. 

Which is what leads you to pull out your phone, open a text to Robin, decide absolutely not because she’d just text him and then he’d feel awful and instead you call Eddie who answers on the first ring.

“What.”

You go to bite at your lower lip at the sound of his curt greeting and think better of it, what with the lipstick you put on for tonight and all. 

“Are you busy?”

Eddie sighs, dramatically, and you hear the distinct sound of a can crushing. “Yeah, I’m fucking the love of my life after we just had a candle lit dinner for two.”

As you look at the window, waiting to see Steve’s car, your eyes roll. Argyle hands you the pizza box with a smile and your voice lowers.

“Steve’s a…has he…does he like Valentine’s Day?”

Eddie snorts as he slurps a sip of a fresh beer into the receiver, “What kind of question is that. Of course Steve likes Valentine’s Day. It’s his shit. One year he took a girl out to like this whole big, fancy dinner and ice skating. Presents, flowers, the whole thing. He even gets Robin flowers and a card every year. He’s always been like that. Got everyone in middle school like the really nice candy and cards. Superheroes and name brand shit.”

“Oh.”

There’s silence on the other end for what feels like forever and you hear his sharp inhale as the car pulls up. 

“I gotta go,” you start to hang up but then think better of it and hiss into the phone, “Don’t say anything to him or Robin or Nancy or I will kill you.”

“But-” You click off the phone before he can say another word and head out the door where Steve is already jogging around the front of his car and opening your door for you. 

The glaring reality of your situation hits you as Steve closes the door.

Steve didn’t forget Valentine’s Day, he just doesn’t want to celebrate it with you. 

You try to shake off the mood, to smile and nod as he talks the whole way to his apartment about the new job, because you are really proud of him and you love hearing how excited he is for this new work he’s doing. And really, isn’t being alone with him, eating pizza, in comfy clothes, a perfect night with him because anything you do with him is perfect? 

It’s just hard to shake the fact that it’s a known fact he’s gone above and beyond for everyone else on this holiday, but not for you. 

Steve grows quiet as you walk inside the apartment building, thumb swiping over your knuckles back and forth gently until you untangle your fingers so he can unlock his door. 

The heels are kicked off and your coat hung as Steve slides the pizza onto the island, turning towards his bar. “I got that wine you really liked, do you want a glass of that with it, or…” he trails off waiting for you to respond.

You nod and head towards his room, but his arm snakes around your waist, tugging you to a stop so you can see his eyes when he ducks his head to catch your gaze. Steve speaks softly, worried, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you smile and he frowns and you kiss the corner of his lips, “Sorry, I just had a long day too, I guess. Lady things. Heels hurting, whatever-”

“The heels hurt?” He looks genuinely concerned, and goes to reach for his phone, “I’ll get you a different size, they shouldn’t hurt-”

“No, no, no, I meant like…” you kiss him again, feeling something in your chest ache. 

Steve is wonderful, wanting to buy you new shoes because your feet hurt and here you are sulking because what? He didn’t get you overpriced bad chocolates? 

He kisses you back, hand cupping your jaw until you’re sighing and pulling away. 

“The shoes don’t hurt my feet. I don’t know why I said that. They’re perfect and the wine sounds great. I’m gonna change quick, okay?”

He nods, but he’s still frowning as you turn into his bedroom. You literally shake out your arms as you enter his closet, like you’re trying to rid your body of the bratty feeling as you roll your head from side to side, the tense feeling in your neck making you feel nauseous and guilty. 

You pad over to the tall dresser, pulling at the top drawer that’s slowly becoming yours as your phone rings, loudly, in the other room. 

“Steve, can you grab that? It’s in my coat pocket. It’s probably just Eddie, I hung up on him earlier…” you trail off as you remember what else is in the coat pocket and you race back out to the kitchen, sweats and one of Steve’s shirts in your hands. 

Your tights covered feet skid to a stop in his kitchen at the sight of what Steve holds in his hand. 

His tie is gone, white dress shirt partially unbuttoned to reveal the white tank top underneath with a small glimpse of his chest hair peeking out the top of it. His hair is sticking every which way, like he ran both hands through it several times in less than the minute you’ve been a part. 

And in his fingers dangles a gold chain, his gold chain, with a little ‘S’ hanging from it.

“Steve, I-”

He looks up at you and his cheeks are flushed pink and his eyes look a little glassy and he clears his throat as he holds it up higher. The ‘S’ spins with the movement, catching the light and sparkling as his voice breaks a little when he asks, “What’s this?”

Your eyes close as you groan and drop the items. The heels of your palms into your eyes as you shake your head. The words tumble out of you, unable to be contained any longer.  

“It’s stupid. I’m sorry. I just…I thought…I figured you’re a guy who, like, would eat this holiday shit up, and I don’t know, your chain just…I don’t know. I stole it and I brought it to a jeweler and got the ‘S’ for it and I know it’s technically a gift for me, but I just thought you’d like it if I wore it but it’s fine, I can return it or we can just…I don’t know, I-”

“Hey,” he interrupts softly, now standing just in front of you. He tugs on your wrist, pulling your hand from your face before his fingers tuck under your jaw so you have to look at him. “You got me this for Valentine’s Day?” 

The words of the holiday must make your face aching to be nonchalant twitch or shift or something because Steve leans down and presses his forehead against yours. 

“I didn’t forget. I just assumed you were very much not the kind of girl who would eat this holiday shit up,” he laughs at the parrot of your words as your lips twitch. “I thought you’d hate the fancy dinners and the flowers and chocolate, and just want today to be…normal?”

Your shoulders shrug as you step closer, letting your hands tug at his shirt collar. “I do…normally.”

Steve’s nose traces up yours and back down as he hums, lips ghosting over yours as he speaks, “Yeah? What changed?”

“Are you fishing for a compliment Harrington?” You whisper, heart stuttering in your chest as his lips catch your bottom one and linger, his breath exhaling against your skin warm as he laughs. 

“I wouldn’t complain if I got one,” his lips skim up your jaw, kissing just below your ear before he asks, “Can I put it on you?”

Something inside of your stomach flutters as you nod and spin for him. Steve’s nose follows your ear, down your neck as his hands reach around with the necklace. The cold metal hits your skin, your toes curl and legs press together as his fingertips skate across your collarbones with the ends of the chain, until they’re clasping it closed. 

You spin slowly, bodies refusing to stop touching each other as Steve swallows loudly and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. His eyes remain on the necklace as you tilt your head back to look up at him. 

Steve’s hand reaches up, fingertips gently brushing down the chain until they’re on the ‘S’ where he pauses, his adams apple bobbing as the apartment grows warmer from the heat of his stare. 

He leans forward, and before you can even naturally follow, he tugs, lightly, on the ‘S’, making your brain buzz and something spark up your spine as the distance between you closes. 

Steve makes a sort of choked noise from the back of his throat, pupils blown wide when he finally looks into your eyes. 

Your lips hover over his mouth, whispering around their smirk, “Pizza’s getting cold.”

Steve groans as you slip out of his arms, spinning towards the food only to be caught around the waist by his arms. He practically drags you to his bedroom, growling, “Fuck the pizza,” around your laughter. 

You’re not sure what you were hoping for, really, with the gift, for your first Valentine’s day together. 

But watching Steve Harrington’s eyes practically roll back in his head with you grinding on top of him, his hands pressed to the mattress with fingers entangled in yours, as the chain and little gold ‘S’ hits his chin is pretty fucking great. 

Oh, and him coming with no warning when you kiss the pair of freckles on his neck and whisper, “Happy Valentine’s Day baby” was pretty cool too.  

[hansensgirl]

☾ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ☾

summary. | no matter what—he’s been there for you. at your pretty, at your ugly, and always at your vulnerable.

warnings. | dark themes, drugging (chloroform-ish but something stronger), obsession, stalking, kidnapping (the act), steve has a saviour complex, stockholm syndrome*, manipulation, breaking and entering, taking advantage, angst, fear of sexual assault, mental health issues, mentions of an accident (up to your interpretation), crying, self-isolation, introversion, insecurity, hurt/comfort, reader daydreams, pet names (doll, baby, sweetie), and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

pairing. | soft dark!stalker!Steve Rogers x fem!reader.

word count. | 3.4k

author’s note. | just a little bit of burnt sugar bc why not! un-beta’d, all mistakes are mine. the reader is quite literally Me… *steve’s care for the reader causes her to not have bad feelings towards him. it’s why she doesn’t fight him that much. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!

my taglist. @hansensfics. <- please follow!

When you wake up, you’re not covered in sweat like you were when you fell asleep. The fan was oscillating, and the room was far too sticky for you to keep it directed at your bed. 

It’s hard to collect your thoughts when you’re already starting your mindless routine. Brush your teeth. Get your things ready. Shower. Eat. Waste your time. Grab your readied things. Stare at the fan?

The setting is different. Switched from turning left and right to pointing where you always lay. 

You can’t dwell on it for too long, so you trust you’ll forget it and rush out the door before you’re late for work.

The shop doesn’t open until nine o’clock, but by your standards, you’re late. It’s just twenty minutes and some change past eight, and you pin your name tag just before the first order shows up on the primary device.

Your job is nice—better than what it used to be. Customers’ decisions are set in stone, and you don’t have to persuade them to buy anything else or sign up for an email subscription. You do what the app and instructions tell you. Nothing more, nothing less.

Receipts are stapled outside the brown paper bags, placement forever the same. The patterns are always a variation. Old ones from the holiday season or the minimalist logo that doesn’t go well with the tan material. You hand them to the delivery drivers, who go on with their days, driving to and from wherever the app demands them.

Lunch is forty-five minutes that go faster than anything else. You eat quicker than your supervisor yet linger longer than the youthful man. He’s much too sluggish for his young age. But hey, it’s a new time and another spoiled brat who’ll always be above you.

You scroll mindlessly through social media, liking and bookmarking videos and photos you’d like to admire in the future. Dogs that put smiles on your face and resources that you’ll start swearing by.

The notification comes without a sound. Your phone company loves to send promotion codes with conditions and contingencies. Your mother loves to spam you until you tell her how you’re feeling or when her package will arrive. You’ve long had your phone on silent, yet the lack of alerts has you feeling lonely.

The phone number is different—unknown, of course. It’s not one or two digits off your own to claim it’s a scammer. It’s not a wildly suspicious email address from a swindler. But it has your area code and the same prefix as you.

It’s a picture. Your neighbour’s flowers that you admired from your bedroom window. You’re not sure the elderly woman has a cellphone, let alone your number. You still text back, though, wanting to make her day—make her smile.

Beautiful flowers. 

She replies sooner than expected.

Do you like them?

Of course. Who wouldn’t?

You’re left on delivered for the rest of your shift. 

The hours go by in a blur. Every day is distinct, yet it all turns into the same colour. You bid goodbye to your boss and try to leave, but he’s pulling you back with a hard hand on your elbow. He’s red all over. The ears, the eyes, the lips, the hair, the skin. You yank your arm away as quickly as possible, banging it on the green-coloured wood.

An annoying feeling strikes up the hurt limb. “I need you to take off for the next few days,” he tells you, and you’re confused. The request of staying late and spending more time in the dreaded place was on the tip of his tongue—you swear it. “Why?” 

His mother has never asked something like this of you, but her eyes are gentler than his, and she’s lived quite the life.“My girlfriend’s sister needs a job, so she wants to test the waters here, y’know? You’ll still get paid, don’t worry. Just stay at home. Don’t come here.”

If you know any better, you’d think you’re getting kicked out. Ousted, as these rich people love their fancy words and lowly intentions. And since you know better, you’re sure you’ll find a horrid sight that neither you nor his girlfriend will enjoy seeing if you come tomorrow.

The walk home is quick. You keep your head bent down and curse yourself for forgetting your earbuds. Men in suits and women with briefcases move slower than you, but you just can’t wait to deadbolt your door. You’ve got priorities bigger than their egos. 

Like a sore thumb, the vibrant flowers stick out at your doorstep. Your home is nice, nicer than the price led on. Well, not quite. Up for two million, then one million, then nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand, then a shocking six-hundred thousand. 

You look around. It’s a developing community with barely any neighbours. The lady lives down the road, and you stare at her house for a good amount of seconds. Her once pretty plants are now green—ripped of colour, and the flowers are in this basket. 

It could harbour more romantic, expensive things. Champagne for a celebration or a tennis bracelet that costs a limb. But nature is pricey. All the time, all the energy, all the things necessary—they amount to an expense that your house wishes it could have. 

In the basket is a widely contrasting piece of paper.

Sweetheart,

If I had known you like these flowers, I would’ve gotten them for you sooner. But I should've figured that out myself. Pretty girl loving pretty things… You’re so perfect, baby. You can admire them on your day off. They’ll wither, but you can enjoy it while it lasts. Until I’m with you.

Love, 

Steve.

The handwriting is neat yet a bit messy. Traditional print that you’d switch to when cursive takes too much time. You’re not sure what to think of the note. It doesn’t invoke nausea, but it plants a seed of worry in the pit of your stomach. Maybe you have a new neighbour, and most definitely not a secret admirer.

True to the letter, the flowers wither on your third day off. Each day you email your supervisor, asking if it’s time to return. He only responds a few hours later, his tone curt and unfriendly even through a screen. He’s different from his mother and deceiving of the business’ motto. 

It’s upsetting to throw them out, but the once-velvety petals are brown and crumpled. The leaves are as dismal as your room. You haven’t changed formats from your previous home, scared that your peace will ultimately be disturbed. 

But some days you find your belongings… different. 

The business card you like to keep is facing down when it should be up. The perfume bottle has been turned, no longer showcasing the limited-time-only label. Maybe you have quick hands, or perhaps your fan is just stronger than it should be. 

You search for your socks underneath your bed when your phone lights up. You’re quick to look at it, reading the notification with excitement. 

You took good care of the flowers. 

You knew they were going to die. 

It’s the unsaved number again. You’ve come to realise that the old woman is very much technology inept and lives with a caretaker. She’s more sociable than you, though. She goes on walks and talks to the birds and shoos away the bees. 

Can I ask you a question?

You close the app quickly as soon as you hit send, worried you’ve already made a mistake. Is there a limit for those? You’d like to think so. You’d also like to believe this is the last one, but it never is. 

Of course, doll.

Who are you?

Whoever it is doesn’t reply for a few hours. You’re a nervous wreck from four in the afternoon to nine at night. 

Steve. 

There once was a fire here. In this very neighbourhood, down a few houses, there was a fire. You remember seeing it on the news, yet you still passive-aggressively watch the video that a bystander took. 

Half-built houses aflame, you’re a poet when you call it a young couple’s relationship once they get engaged. The wood falls into the hot pit. You’re fantastical when you pretend a phoenix can rise from those ashes. 

Neighbouring homes are engulfed with orange. Smoke billowing, swirling in the sky, and you wonder how it would look if the wind blew.

You remember that day. It was humid and sticky—you could barely breathe in the confines of your own room. 

The reason why you continuously watch this horrid, horrid video isn’t entirely unknown. You think that you need to remind yourself that bad things can happen. You’re too stuck in those sweet mental stories and forget that life isn’t as lovely as you’d like it to be. 

But honestly, you won’t let yourself live for a good thing. Or maybe it’s because you want to see a fault you aren’t responsible for. 

Months have passed, but you can’t entirely use your paint brushes the same way. Your shaky hands won’t let you trace properly, and your colours end up a mess before they find a home on your canvas.

Fires are pretty, but that one wasn’t. No. The sky didn’t turn into an amber colour, and it was too explicit for you to be ignorant. You used to create pretty things like how flames used to be charming. But ever since that day, you’re unable to make a nice thing. 

When you wake up, your throat is dry. Your mouth feels like cotton, soaking up any amount of moisture there is. You haven’t had this feeling for a while. The five minutes you always plan to use for stretching and recalling your dreams are kissed goodbye when you remember you drank all the water in your bottle.

You roll over and slowly get up, disoriented and colder than you were under the blankets. Feet balance on the floor, and you swing them when the inner child in you takes over. A wet, frosty thing touches the side of your left foot, and you jump. 

Looking down, you see your water bottle filled up. Nearly untouched, save for the cleared spot that disrupts the thin layer of condensation. You rack your brain wondering if you’re smart enough to do something thoughtful for future you. 

You slept too well last night, unable to get out of bed even when you swear you heard something drop. Cowardice belonging to you comes back and bites you in the ass—teeth sharp and wound fresh. 

You take a second to soothe yourself before scanning the room, finding little things different. 

Your phone, set on the floor to charge, is at a different outlet and sitting on a higher level. Your purse is on your dresser, and your book is no longer sitting face first, split in half to mark the page. There’s been an intruder who cares more for you than you do. 

Another day off, but now you sit in confusion and worry rather than a mix of boredom and self-loathing. When you near your phone, the screen lights up with a notification. The timing is ‘now,’ and the contact is ‘Steve.’ You didn’t do that—the intruder did. 

Good morning, doll! How’d you sleep? You were out like a light, weren’t you? 

I’m so glad you got some rest. You work really hard. You deserve it. 

Drink some water for me, please. You’re doing so well already with your hydration.

You’ve never met a Steve in your life, nor have you ever heard of one. You wish you could say it’s a wrong number, but when the picture he sent loads in, there’s no way you can live a lie.

A man—pale skin that shines through the darkness. He wears a cap without a logo, and the colour matches the night sky. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you’re unbeknownst to it all. There’s been an intruder in your home, and he kissed you and took a picture, yet your stomach doesn’t drop.

The shock is numbing—you think you’re sick but not in a nauseating way. A way in which you’re not exactly right, and you’re the outcast—a way where you’re not bothered by this creepy thing because it’s not the worst thing that’s happened.

When you brush your teeth, the gravity of the situation hits you, pulling you down onto the ground. The mintiness of your toothpaste burns and your lips are covered in pastel froth. You do whatever nervous tick you have and try to convince yourself that you’re safe—you’ve been spared. 

You’ve blocked the number and put a knife under your pillow. The water has been dumped, and you can’t stomach anything other than a simple, bland breakfast. Now, you can’t wait to go to work and maybe even spend more time outside your house. 

If you’re not working, you’re away from your residence. You take walks with slow steps and visit places on the least busy days. You go far away from your address and only return when your body tells you to. And you’ve kept your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode, worried about facing the loud music that is this ‘Steve.’

However, he hasn’t relented. Your house is sparkly clean when you come home from the museum one day. It smells of your favoured candle, and the windows are free of fingerprints. Hell, your laundry was done for you. Your favourite detergent and softener were used. 

After a trip to the grocery store and a detour to the bank, you opened your fridge and cabinets to find the food you had picked up and put back down. Things that were too expensive or simply piqued your interest until you danced with the possibility of disliking them. 

He works contrary to the phantom of the opera—when the victim isn’t looking. You contemplated filing a police report, but it’d be useless. You’d sound stupid anyway, you know it.

Can you arrest the guy who looks out for me? Who takes care of me? Who is there for me more than anyone else? His name is Steve, and he buys food for me and gives me money, and he treats me like his lover. 

You once believed you were a lost cause, and you still do. You go from trying to force Steve out of your life—to letting him come and go whenever he likes—to convincing him it’s not worth it. 

Sighing, you pick at your croissant. It’s good, a little too good. You’re starved, but you want to savour this delicious treat. Today is a beautiful day. The wind blows gently, and the sun is kinder than it was about a week ago. 

You walk around the pond where the bright blue sky is reflected. There are no swans nor lilypads, just water. One or two elderly people sit on the distanced benches, and a little kid throws a frisbee for the family dog. A golden retriever who is happy, jumping about and barking affectionately. 

A tree gated by flimsy metal is your designated spot. You stand next to it and hope that by next year, it’ll be large enough to shade a family of four or more. The water ripples when the breeze comes, gently shifting before returning back to its still state.

You think deeply about Steve. He often leaves drawings behind. Sometimes, they’re of you. Other times, they’re self-portraits. From what you’ve gathered (before you crumple up the papers and throw them out), he’s as handsome as he is kind. 

But that doesn’t excuse how he’s let himself into your life and won’t leave. 

The last bit of your croissant is shovelled into your mouth, and you crinkle the bag it came in. Though, you should’ve folded it nicely instead. You let out a sigh that’s riddled with frustration.

Looking on, you watch as the dog catches the orange frisbee in its mouth before handing it back to the little kid. 

You should get home now.

The place is too quiet. It’s eerie. 

There are boxes in the kitchen—ones you didn’t pack. Labels for where they belong and the warning of fragile objects are written on the brown cardboard. You recognize the handwriting. 

Things have disappeared. Your house is more of a hotel now. 

“You went far today, doll. Did you enjoy your croissant? Y’know, I’m not that good at baking, but I’m sure I can master that one,” a low voice says, and you jump. Behind you is the intruder who’s taken such good care of you. Too good. “Butter, right?”

“Y– Yeah. What are you doing, Steve?” you question, your tone full of confusion and a tad bit of anger. “Packing. Don’t worry, I took pictures of everything so we can set it up the same. I did make a pile of stuff you might not want to bring with us, though…” Steve explains, adjusting his cap and pointing his foot at an arrangement of some of your items.

“Go where? Steve, I live here. You don’t. If anyone is leaving, it’s you,” you tell him, stepping back to keep space. “Go home, doll. We’re going home! And if I’m leaving, it’s going to be with you. Don’t be difficult, sweetie. Just come tell me what you what to keep, and I’ll put it in a box,” he sighs, bending down to pick up a tube of sunscreen you accidentally purchased two of.

“Let’s get rid of the one you used the most,” Steve says, not even letting you decide. “What about this o— Doll, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Did anyone hurt you? I swear to fucking god, if anyone hurt you, I’ll hurt them back.”

His jaw clenches and unclenches as he works himself up at the thought. Why does he care? Who is he for you? 

“Steve, please. I don’t know you—you don’t know me. Just leave. I won’t call the cops or tell anyone. …They wouldn’t believe me, anyway… Let’s just forget about this and live our own lives without each other,” you propose, gesturing towards the door you walked through only a few minutes ago. 

Did he come while you were gone? Or was he here all along?

“I can’t leave you, doll. Especially not by yourself. You need me, baby–”

“—I don’t need you–”

“Yes, you do.”

Steve’s voice booms, his eyes as sad as a kicked puppy’s. Sighing, he looks down and curses under his breath. “I don’t like getting strict with you, doll. But you need to listen to me, okay? I’m here for you—I always have been. When no one else was. Just let me do what I need to do.”

You’re dumbfounded. A man twice your size and far more stubborn won’t leave. There’s nothing you can do.

He shuffles around a little more, and you squeeze your eyes shut. Maybe it’s a dream. Maybe this isn’t real. Maybe you’re pretending to be the badass hero once more, and you’ve got your music blaring louder than necessary. 

Steve looks up at you and watches intensely. You so desperately want to be alone as usual. In your mind, you think he shouldn’t be here—that he doesn’t belong within your four walls that soaked up your sobs for it all to just stop for once. 

You pretend he’s set fire to your life—destroying it, and this time there are no underpaid workers to build it back up, so you’re left as a heap of ashes. Unsaveable, only admirable by those who watch the videos recorded by bystanders.

Yeah, right.

No matter what—he’s been there for you. At your pretty, at your ugly, and always at your vulnerable. You are your own antagonist—the dark reflection in the mirror that you never seem to notice. Steve is here to save you because he knows you need his help.

So he’s not really upset he has to knock you out. In his hand and against your face is a chemical-soaked cloth that smells horrid (Steve is terribly sorry for that). 

He’s not really sad that he has to take you away from your house and put you in a home—his home. The boxes are heavy and littered everywhere (you don’t have to do any work. Steve will take care of it all).

Steve doesn’t really mind that he has to take further measures and put a tracker on you. You forced his hand—he has to keep you safe. 

He does it all because he cares. Because he’s tired of lurking in the shadows.

[paladin-heart5]

Save Her (Part Two)

Leon Kennedy x Reader

Summary: Y/n has been rescued and is now in the hospital.

CW: hospital equipment, breakdown, Leon is tired but he wants to comfort her more.

Monitor beeps were the only source of sound in the hospital room. The lights are dimmed, and the air is cold. The sterile smell is a very familiar one for Leon. He stares at Y/n as she lays in the bed, sleeping somewhat peacefully. Besides the occasional flinch and breath hitch. Leon frowns, gently holding her hand and rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. His eye bags are only growing darker, even now that he has her back. He can't seem to sleep, he just needs to keep watch. The nurse steps in and gives the man a sympathetic smile. As she walks over to the bed, she begins taking notes of her vitals.

“Mr. Redfield is in the hall. He wishes to speak with you, Mr. Kennedy. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on your wife.” She says quietly, earning a nod from Leon. Sure she's not his wife yet, but now more than ever he wants her to be. With one last glance at Y/n, he lets out a breath and stands. Chris awaits him in the hall, his arms crossed as he leans on the wall. Seeing Leon step out of the room, he walks over with a look of concern.

“How's she doing?” He asks softly, noticing his friend's tired state. Leon runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair, looking up at Chris.

“She's stable, just hasn't woken up yet. They're coming up with a recovery plan.” The blue eyed man explains, holding himself. Chris frowns and gently sets a hand on his shoulder. 

“She's gonna get through this, you both are. With how stubborn you guys are, there's nothing that can push you apart.” The brunette states, giving Leon a smile, also with a firm look in his eyes. Leon chuckles and nods, he then yawns, his body swaying a bit. Chris keeps a grip on him just in case.

“You need to sleep, Leon.” He states, though is met with a defiant groan. 

“I'll be fine, has Rebecca found any new information?” Leon asks as he glances around. The hall is partially empty, but the sounds of beeping and nurses can be heard further down. Chris nods and takes out his phone. 

“Actually yeah, with the information collected from the main computer, she was able to find some files of their projects.” He shows Leon his phone, revealing photos of bioweapon parts and blueprints.

“These are all work in progress- well- they were at least. They're used for either personal gain of the company underground, or to auction off on the black market. Rebecca and Hunnigan were pretty spot on with their guesses.” He continues to explain, Leon takes a good look at the photos. He nods a bit, squinting his eyes as he notices a note on one of the blueprints. 

Her blood could be useful for the new tyrant. 

His fists clenched as he read it, how much blood did they take? What kind of fucked up experiments were they putting her through? Leon looks at Chris with a fire in his eyes. “Were they all killed in the explosion?” He asks. Chris puts his phone back in his pocket as he clears his throat. He takes a moment to compile a good answer, knowing Leon is on edge.

“We took out a good amount of them, but it seems a couple of the leaders managed to escape. We did catch one of them, he's in containment but isn't talking.” The shaky breath that escapes Leon is clearly him trying not to snap. If he got more involved, he would only cause more problems. Right now, the priority is Y/n. Chris and Rebecca will handle the rest just fine. 

“Once she starts to show more improvement in her recovery, we’ll get you both in a safehouse.” Chris begins to explain the new safety procedure they put in place for the couple. Of course with Leon being one of the best agents, he'll be able to protect his fiancee. However, Ingrid still wants him to check in with Chris constantly in case anything happens. 

“We do still have to think about the fact that they may be after her because of her relationship with you. That could mean you're both a target, so we'll have a radio to check in every day, and I won't be too far out.” The bulky man finishes, Leon nodding in understanding. It's hard to ignore the fact that he almost fell asleep during that explanation. Then the sound of screaming can be heard from the room behind them, Y/n’s room. 

Leon tenses up instantly and rushes into the room with Chris following. Y/n is struggling in the bed, her panicked eyes scanning quickly around the room. All she sees is white walls, an IV in her arm, and a hospital gown on her. The nurse is doing her best to hold her down while calling for help. Leon goes over the side of the bed.

“Y/n- baby hey- it's okay!” He says loud enough for her to hear over the panicking. He gently grabs her face to get her to look at him while Chris tries to keep her from hitting the nurse. Y/n cries as she looks at Leon, her body trembling as her breath is fast. Seeing his bright blues causes her to pause for a moment, none of the scientists had eyes like those, most of them were brown. Leon gives her a smile, rubbing her cheekbones with his thumb.

“You're safe now, you're in a hospital. This isn't a dream, we're right here with you.” He assures softly, wiping away her tears. Her e/c eyes are glossy and wide, but as she begins to calm down, they droop. 

“Not a- trick?” Her voice is brittle, more high pitched than usual too. It makes Leon and Chris’s heart hurt. 

“No, honey. No tricks. I'm never leaving your side again, okay? I promise.” His tone is filled with determination as he holds her close. Y/n’s whimpers are muffled by his shirt, clinging to him for dear life.

“I wanna go home.” She begs, but deep down she knows it's not that easy. Leon sighs a bit as he rubs her head.

“I know, baby, but we can't yet. I want you to be free of pain.” He speaks softly into her ear. Meanwhile, Chris is back in the hall with the nurse, speaking with the doctor. He and a couple other nurses came when they heard the shouting.

“While three weeks may seem short, it definitely left long lasting effects, both mentally and physically. She's weak, to put it simply. She's lost a few pounds, and she's dehydrated, there's bruising from incorrect needle injections. More bruising and scratching from being assaulted. The list goes on, she's going to need at least a week here. We have a mental health specialist scheduled to meet with her in the morning. We hope to get her some nutrition, and with the pain meds we're going to provide, she'll probably be in and out of sleep or even loopy.” The doctor explains thoroughly, Chris listening intently. He nods his head in understanding, crossing his arms. 

“Will her fiance be able to stay with her?” His voice is rough, but he keeps a very calm expression. He's worried for his close friends. When Leon introduced Y/n to the group, she was a literal ray of sunshine. Her smile can be so enlightening. She's funny and kind, a good balance to the wild life that they live. He'd never seen Leon so happy. Seeing her in such a state, it's heartbreaking, it was almost hard to recognize her. And knowing Leon, he has- and will continue to- out her before himself. He's selfless like that, but he's torn himself apart trying to get her back. They both need rest.

“We can allow that, especially seeing that he can keep her relaxed. The last thing we want is to scare her more.” The doctor answers with a sympathetic smile. Chris smiles in appreciation before going over some paperwork with them. 

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

a/n: thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this part! I'll try to have the next part out soon, life has just been kicking ass😅

[bunnyreaper]

YES I DO HONEY BUN!

Let's get your most crack fic takes on how Gaz reacts to seeing spicy photos of his fellow operatives (141, Los Vaqueros and beyond, up to you!)

Like setup can be whatever you want but I'm imagining a "Hey an ex is trying to blackmail me by saying they are going to send these photos to the team so may as well pre-empt it, behold!"

you said crack fic, so I gave crack fic! admittedly not doing a good job with the prompt, but, hey ho!

your little hobby might have gotten out of hand. it started off as a silly little joke with johnny--he suggested you keep a polaroid of him on you, to really solidify your bond and friendship. 

you'd agreed, but hadn't expected him to produce the polaroid himself, and certainly not one that was just a picture of his bright smile, gorgeous torso, and admittedly delicious happy trail. it had taken you by surprise, but you felt the urge to keep your promise, and swore to yourself that one day you'd get him back with something equally as obnoxious.

from there, it had spiraled out of hand. 

simon had gotten wind of johnny's little picture, and one day approached you. you expected him to rip the two of you to pieces, but he hadn't. 

instead he slid across a polaroid of another shirtless figure, one that could be him, but with his face and tattooed arm out of frame and the alluringly lowered lighting, it's hard to tell for certain. he peered at you from behind a plain black mask as he whispered--no one will ever believe you.

price's picture had made its way into your paperwork 'accidentally'--a flattering picture of his thick, hairy stomach and broad chest, leading down to a pair of tight boxer shorts and muscular, imposing thighs. you're convinced he did it just to show them how the boys how it's done, a point of pride over his figure that is all man and not boy. all the while he maintained innocence and embarrassment at the mistake, yet he never made a move to get the photo back from your collection. 

all three photos sit in front of kyle, having spilled out from where they were hidden in the back of your phone case. he fights between confirming what he's seeing and refusing to look at all. 

different parts of him battle against each other. the first thing he felt was confusion, which quickly morphed into recognition, and then embarrassment. while the men's bodies were nothing he hadn't seen before, the polaroids all had an alluring, erotic edge to them, which brought blood rushing to his cheeks. 

it felt wrong to look, and yet he had so many questions--for them, for you.

"didn't know you were that much of a perv, love." he looks at you with a cheeky grin.

"i'm not! it's a joke, they're not for my... personal enjoyment." you scoop them back up and stuff them in your phone case, hiding them from any other prying eyes. 

"they're not?" his eyebrow arches, him clearly not believing you. "so, you just have lewds of all of our team for the laughs?" 

"something like that." you nod, desperately wishing for a change of topic, after all, it is just some overblown joke. 

a few expressions flicker across kyle's face, before he settles on a slightly wounded puppy look. "why didn't you ask me for one then?" 

"we're just friends." you explain, trying to remain straight-faced despite the emotion bubbling up inside you. 

there's a very fucking good reason you never broached the subject with kyle, and went out of your way to even hide it from him. because you knew that one look at a lewd picture of kyle would be the death of normalcy in your friendship. 

"and you're not friends with the rest of the 141?" his face shifts from wounded puppy to confused puppy, head tilted and everything.

"i am, but it's not like i want to be more than friends with them--" you rush to explain, but let out just a touch too much, revealing your long-standing crush on the man sitting across from youm "i mean..." 

"didn't know you felt the same way, love." he smiles, genuinely elated rather than smug. it's clear not just from his words, but from his tone and the look in his eyes that he feels just the same way you do--enamoured." 

you can't help but beam back, equal parts nervous and excited. "not how i planned on telling you, but yeah. with them it's just silly, with you it'd be... different." you feel your cheeks flush at the confession.

kyle leans into your space a little, and as you think he's about to take your hand, he instead takes your phone. 

he throws you a wink before he takes out the polaroids, and slips them into his pocket. "looks like I'll have to take a few pictures of my own then, replace your little collection." 

[semisgroupie]

dirty old man

kishibe x fem. reader

wc: 3.2k

warnings: mafia au!, age gap (reader is in her 20s and kishibe is in his 50s), knife play, clothes cutting, reader is spoiled by kishibe, death threats (not to reader but to a minor character), balcony sex, degradation, unprotected sex, facial, creampie, oral sex (m!receiving), recording (consensual), kishibe is obsessed with you, mentions of past recording, dumbification, dacryphilia, spanking, he calls reader mean names but he means it lovingly <3

synopsis: a slutty old man deserves an equally slutty young girlfriend

a/n: this is for @pcwer for the gift exchange in snow’s server!!! i was stuck between kishibe and aki but i wanted to gift you your slutty old man

Kishibe

The name alone strikes fear into many hearts and makes people flinch. His looks alone was intimidating but when it’s paired with his reputation, then he immediately became the most feared man alive. A career criminal at the head of the most dangerous mafia circuit, his callousness and stoicism combined with his immense strength and skill easily helped him rise to the top and helped him stay there.

The amount of skeletons in his closet could fill a mansion and despite being in his 50s, that would never change.

His bloodlust has satiated a bit over the years but that didn’t mean his life became boring. It was actually livelier now, than when he was in his 20s. That could be attributed to you, the pretty eye candy he loved to show off.

It was quite the cliche for him to say that you made him feel younger but you did. He was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with you when he first met you but now there were times he wondered if you could keep up with him. Oftentimes when he was in his meetings, while everyone was discussing any hits they had to put out, all he could think about was how you looked on top of him, bouncing on his cock until he decided to fuck you senseless.

It was also safe to say that he was quite obsessed with you. It was obvious to anyone around and it was even more obvious when his men saw the scratch marks that littered his back along with his scars, and if they were ever lucky enough to sneak a peek at his phone, they would see his lockscreen was your face, messy with his cum. He had a multitude of photos and videos of you, it was his not-so-little collection that he loved to scan through while he was alone.

But he wasn’t far from you often, if he wasn’t spoiling you endless with vacations and shopping sprees then he was with you in his office in one of the most expensive buildings in the city. Sometimes he would do both in one day, which was exactly what he was doing today.

He let you drag him from store to store, ignoring some of the glances that were spared at him for being with you. He couldn’t blame them, a man with a girl half his age, but he didn’t care. They could look and stare all they wanted, even call him names like a ‘dirty old man’, he would just wear the title with pride.

You two were in a lingerie shop and it took everything in him to not drag you to the nearest fitting room and fuck you until your legs shook. It wasn’t like he hasn’t done it before. But, today was your day and he didn’t want to disrupt anything simply because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

Everything was going by smoothly, no disruptions, that was until his phone started going off.

He quickly excused himself and walked over to the entrance of the shop to take the call. You collected some more fabrics and glanced over at him from time to time, barely picking up on what was being said but by the way he gripped his phone, you knew it wasn’t good news. You stood by near one of the shelves of matching bra and panty sets until he made his way over to you, clearly annoyed by what took place.

“Sorry sweetheart, we need to cut this trip short, go on the line and I’ll pay for what you got.” He offered you a small smile, the scar that decorated the left side of his face slightly moving as the corners of his lips rose and fell.

You shook your head and walked over to a worker, curtly apologizing as you asked them to put everything back. You hooked your arms around one of his and looked up at your much older boyfriend, “let’s just go. They have better sets online anyway.” You pulled him close to press a kiss to his cheek and let him lead the way back to his car. He put all your shopping bags in the trunk then held the passenger's side door open for you as you slid in. He then got in the driver’s seat and started driving.

He moved one hand over to your thigh and gently squeezed it, “I’m sorry the day had to be cut short. I didn’t want to end things so early.” You placed his hand over his and gently squeezed it, “there’s no need to apologize. I’m just glad I get to spend the day with you.” You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek before resting back against your seat. He grazed your soft thigh with his thumb as he drove, something he always did when you sat in the passenger’s seat when he drove. He loved to keep his hands on you. You were silk, you were satin, you were every soft material he could think of and he needed to keep touching you.

The drive was relatively short and before you knew it you two were in the parking lot of the large building. He helped you out of the car then held your hand as you two made your way to the elevator. The elevator ride was short and you noticed how tense Kishibe grew. You gently squeezed his hand for comfort as the elevator stopped on the designated floor and he turned to give you a small smile. “Thank you.” His voice was low as you two walked out of the elevator and saw his men sorting drugs and counting cash. It was a sight you’ve grown used to since you started dating Kishibe. It was the lifestyle he lived and a lifestyle you lived as well.

He led you over to one of the areas where you could sit but still keep an eye on him while he handled business then turned to face you, taking your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Okay doll, I just need you to sit here and look pretty while I handle business. You can do that for me right?” You nodded and tilted your head down a bit to press a kiss to his thumb. “Of course I can, now hurry back.”

He tilted your head back up and kissed you softly before leaving you to deal with whoever was incompetent. You went on your phone to look at some things you might want to add to your shopping cart and you could faintly hear your boyfriend. After 15 minutes he came back, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his knuckles were slightly bloody which meant that he had to get a little physical to get his point across, his eyebrows were knitted together, and his hand went into his pocket to grab his silver flask. After he took a swig he reached over for your hand and pulled you back to the elevator.

“Bastard was lucky I didn’t cut his fingers off and serve it to him on a fucking platter. Hell, he was lucky I was in a good mood or else he would’ve been sent to his parents in a box. Little shit crashed a truck with a million dollars worth of product.” He continued muttering all the things he would’ve done to make the guy pay for losing so much money and product. As the elevator reached the top floor you never thought there could be so many methods of violence that could work as repayment.

“We just need to go to my office so I can figure out how to make up for the loss and then we can go home, okay pretty girl?” He squeezed your hand as you nodded. “But first I need to clean your hands.” He chuckled and looked down at his hands, “haven’t used these to send a message in a while, thought I might’ve been a little rusty but I broke the guy’s nose on the first hit.”

He led you into his office and went to sit down behind his computer while you went to the attached bathroom to grab the first aid kit. You retrieved it then sat atop his desk in front of him, placing his hands on your lap while you took out everything you needed to clean them off. He watched you with a fond smile and caressed your thighs with whatever hand you weren’t cleaning. “Hm. I think I could find a better use of my time instead of trying to clean up this fuck up. Once you’re done cleaning my hands I want you on your knees, you always look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

You cleaned his hands a little quicker, making him chuckle. “Easy there, you’ll still get my cock. You need to do a good job cleaning my hands, then you can be my eager cockslut.” You slowed down your movements until his hands were completely cleaned off then settled between his legs. “Go on, take it out.” You sat up on your knees and undid his pants, pulling his half hard cock out.

“Go on, put that pretty mouth to good use. Maybe if you do good, I’ll fuck you on the balcony. Let everyone see how much of a whore you are.” Heat rose to your cheeks and a rush of arousal pooled at the pit of your stomach at his words. You gripped his cock in one hand while you leaned in and peppered open mouthed kisses along the length until it fully hardened. “Go on, you were eager before, get to it.”

He rested back against his chair watching as you took his hardened cock in your mouth. He let out low groans as you bobbed your head up and down, rolling your tongue along the underside of his length. He grabbed his phone and turned the camera on, pressing the red button on the bottom of the screen to start recording you. “Eyes up here, I want to record how messy you get when I fuck your face.”

He grabbed a handful of your hair and held you in place as he started thrusting up into your mouth. Your gags echoed through his office making him laugh. “You’ve taken my cock so much and yet you’re still gagging, how pathetic.” You whined around his cock at his words but they made even more arousal pool in the pit of your stomach. “My pathetic little cocksleeve, can’t even take my cock down her throat but still wants it in her messy cunt. I don’t think you even deserve it.”

He loved to tease you like this, it’ll always make you work just a little harder. But you both knew he couldn’t deny you, he wouldn’t be able to deny himself either. “Come on, cry for me. Let me see how messy you can get.” He started moving your head to meet his thrusts, your face quickly grew messy with tears and saliva running down your chin. “Fuck, look at you.” He brought the camera closer to your face, moving it in all directions so it could take in all your angles. The sight of you like this was enough to tip him over the edge, he pulled you off his cock and let go of your hair to start stroking his cock while he kept filming.

“Stick your tongue out.” Was all he could get out before ropes of cum started decorating your face. Only a little got on your tongue but it just made everything even hotter. He hissed and brought his cock to your face to smear the cum around then brought the camera closer to your face, “smile for the camera, come on, show how happy you are my little cum slut.” And you did exactly that, smiled brightly for him with cum all over your face. He stopped the recording and reached over to grab some tissues to clean you off. He cupped your chin and turned your head up to him as he wiped all the cum off. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips then pulled back, “now get up, I’m not done with you.”

He helped you to your feet and let you head out to the balcony first while he went through his drawer to pull out the pocket knife you gifted him for his birthday. “Now I can put this to good use.” He walked over to you and gently pushed you closer to the railing, “hold on and bend over.” You did as he said, biting your lip in anticipation of his next move. The next thing you heard was a click which made you grow even more curious.

“Babe? What was that?” You turned slightly to look back at him and saw the sunlight reflect off the blade. “I’m making use of my birthday gift, now stay still. I don’t want to cut you.” He flipped your skirt up and traced the blade along the seam of your panties, tracing your cunt through the now see through fabric. A breath hitched in your throat but your cunt throbbed as he continued dragging the blade along your slit. You didn't have any worry about him cutting you, you’ve seen how skilled he is with a blade of any size.

“Please, please fuck me. I need your cock so badly.” Your tone came out more desperate than you wanted it to be but maybe it would convince him to give you what you needed. “Fine, since you’re so impatient.” He hooked his finger under the fabric to pull it away from your cunt and in one swift move he cut it open. Now, your pussy was on full display for him, he could see how you were practically dripping for him. “Fuck, even messier than I thought you would be. You really are a fiend for my cock.”

He chuckled and gripped his cock with his free hand while he placed the blade on a nearby chair. He then gripped your hip and slammed his cock into you, not even giving you a second to adjust before he started pounding into you at a brutal pace. His eyes widened a bit at how loud you were crying out for him, “wow, seems like you really want to get caught. Maybe I should just fuck you in front of my men since you want an audience.” He spanked you roughly and kept pounding into you.

“J-just want you! O-only want you!” He laughed and spanked you again before roughly gripping the flesh in his calloused hand. “I’ll believe you once you can form a coherent sentence. My dumb cock slut, the second my cock goes inside this tight cunt all your brain cells just leak out of you. But you don’t really need to think, do you? I just need to do all the thinking don't I?”

Your cunt gripped his cock tighter and tighter as the venom dripped from his tongue, turning you on more and more as each word reached your ears. You had a white knuckle grip on the railing while your legs trembled and shook like a newborn deer’s. Your mouth fell open, moans of his name was the only thing you could form coherently as he just continued to pound into you. Deep down you loved it when his men would fuck up, he would always fuck you rougher and you loved every single second of it.

“Just a little cum dump for me to use and make a mess of. I know that’s all you think about, when am I going to give you my cum next. Where my load will go when I do finally give it to you. That’s all that swirls around in that empty head, just my cock and my cum. Just cum for me and I’ll cover this perfect ass with my load.” Your eyes widened slightly, you didn’t want him to waste another load on you when it could just be inside you. You needed his cum inside you, you had to have it.

You shook your head and he raised an eyebrow. He let go of your hip and gripped another handful of your hair to pull your head back, “what is it? Why are you shaking your head?” He knew the answer, he knew what you wanted but he needed to hear it from you. He didn’t stop thrusting, why would he? He wasn’t going to make it easy for you to come up with a coherent answer. “Come on doll, I need an answer in a full sentence, I’m sure there’s one working brain cell left in there.”

Your mind was spinning due to the immense pleasure. You honestly couldn’t think about anything but what he was doing to you but you had to come up with something. You took a few breaths and tilted your head back a bit to try to meet his eyes. “Please cum inside me. Please, I want it inside.” You sounded so sweet, so desperate for him. You did what you wanted him to do so the least he could do was reward you. “Alright, go on and cum for me and I’ll fill you up, make this cunt even messier than what it is.” He let go of your hair and brought his hand to your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves in tight circles. All it took was a few flicks of his hand and you were crumbling in his hands, crying out his name as you milked his cock for the cum that was about to fill you up.

“There we go, keep cumming for me.” He continued rubbing your clit while he thrusted a few more times. He slammed his hips against yours and filled you with his cum, he hunched over you a bit and pressed a few kisses along your clothed spine. You both panted while riding out your orgasms and he lifted himself up first. He waited for you to compose yourself then slowly pulled out of you. He tucked himself back in his pants and flipped your skirt back down since your panties were torn then moved next to you.

He pulled you in his arms and pressed a few kisses along your forehead until you lifted your head so he could properly kiss you. The stubble on his face poked your skin but you loved the feeling. He slowly pulled away and caressed your cheek. “Are you okay?” You wrapped your arms around his middle and smiled up at him, “I’m perfect.”

He chuckled and kissed you again. “Good, now let’s go home. I’ll have someone else handle this business, I still have some more frustration to release and my balls aren’t empty yet.” Your cheeks burned as you playfully smacked his chest. “You’re so dirty!” You teased and he chuckled as he held you close to him while walking back inside his office.

“They don’t call me a dirty old man for nothing. Now let’s go home.”

[oldfashionedbutlervibes]

Oilver Swift Headcanons Because Im Horridly Forgetful<3

Relationship;

—Okay, too start off he is the most supportive dork you will ever meet

—loves you more than anything-

—He actually has like four brain cells are three of them are specifically for remembering your anniversary

—He takes you to the damn cinema so excitedly like he doesn’t work there-

— gets you a discount on drinks whenever you go

— he also flirts..well, attempts too-

—HE. FUCKING. GIGGLES. AND. TUCKS. IMAGINARY. HAIR. BEHIND. HIS. EAR WHENEVER YOU FLIRT BACK

— god hes chaotic as fuck too-

—if y’all even consider marriage Gingi has to be best man-

Overall a 900/10 relationship<3 :DD

Friendship;

—y’all are getting up to absolute NONSENSE together-

—hes so fun, he just bounces around commits arson and gets high all in one day with you trailing behind him either encouraging his chimp-like behavior or desperately trying to calm him down-

—PLEASE PRAISE HIM FOR DOING BASIC TASKS- he has a very bruise-able ego!!

—So you know how dogman told us how exactly phones kiss? Like, gentle face mashing? He practiced with you-. 10000% yes he did-

—start a book club with him he’ll be your biggest fan and you two can read Dostoyevsky together or sum-

—HE TEXTS IN ALL CAPS WITH ABSOLUTELY NO PUNCTUATION OR GRAMMAR

9/10 friendship in general! (One point docked if you don’t match fez’s with him, then he’ll ghost you and cry in Randy’s dumpster for half an hour)

General;

—…here me out, man’s got pec’s to feed a village. (I’m a good person I promise.)

—Hes a veeeeeery physical touch oriented guy, literally has his arm around someone 24/7

—addicted to Mountain Dew, it’s chronic at this point

—hes a very talented painter, probably only paints the lewdest things imaginable but still, it’s something!

— he makes his bed a very specific way and actually beams whenever someone compliments it

—he has a collection of classic literature and poetry that he will rant about upon asking

—Jerry’s adhd son- Oliver has Jerry on speed dial incase he tries doing something strenuous and or stupid- (yes I realize how odd that speed dial part sounds upon reading it over)

— Owns over eight flannels for different ocassions-

—…….hes very experienced in the lewd activities some of you’d like to partake him don’t ask me how I know-

Overall, If you can’t tell I loveeee this silly little moron- (apologies once again for this taking so long once again, I appreciate all of your support so very much- please, send me a request if you’d like more-) (it also wouldn’t let me add the photo at the top AAA tumblr how darent you-)

(Update: OH. MY. GOD??? THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT I LOVE EVERYONE OF YOU-)

[shockinglysubmissive]

The Video

Shigaraki needed some porn, and Dabi was willing to provide it, at a cost of course.

Warning: pseudo-incest (video of sibling), masturbation, degradation, unprotected sex, humiliation

Solo Shigaraki and Dabi x Karuna (OC)

Word Count: 1.3k

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @dabislittlebeaniebaby @daniidil @dabislittlemouse

Being a villain means having to go deep into the shadows. That means, no internet for months at a time.

"Come on Dabi. You brag about all the sexy videos the mystery girl sends you. Share. I need something good to beat my cock to." Shigaraki practically whines, gloved hands reaching for Dabi's phone.

"Fine. But I'm warning you. You will regret this in the end." The devious smirk on Dabi's face doesn't deter the scrawny man. Scrolling through an album of photos and videos, he finally selects his favorite. It was the longest one in the collection. "I'll show it on one condition. You aren't allowed to cum until..." His finger drag across the screen, zooming through the video. "25 minutes 46 seconds."

"Whatever. Just give me it!" Shigaraki wets his lips with his tongue, hungrily waiting for the video.

"I'm not showing you until you swear. And trust me, I'll know of you lied to me." Dabi says firmly, holding the phone away from his boss.

"Fine fine. I promise. Now give me." He snatches the phone and runs off to his room. Moving so quickly, he didn't notice Dabi appearing amused, which would have given him his first clue to be concerned.

The preview of the video shows a stomach bulging out due to Dabi's cock buried deep inside them. Unable to wait any longer, he presses play, the video loading and suddenly spread legs fill the screen.

Black lace panties cling to a torturously wet pussy. "Go on. Told ya, bitch. You're not getting my cock today unless I get to film ya. Make it entertaining. You owe me for being a fucking brat." Dabi's voice growls from behind the camera. Eerily familiar manicured hands creep into the frame and slide the sticky panties off.

Shigaraki fights to take his belt and pants off with one hand, the other tightly gripping the phone, not wanting to miss a second of the twitching pussy showing on the screen. Growing frustrated with how long it is taking, he raises a gloved hand to his mouth, biting a finger to remove his hand from inside. With his lower clothing now nothing more than dust, he grips the base of his cock.

Turning his attention fully to the video, a grin spreads across his face as a dildo, too large for her tight hole, appears. Broken sobs, not even close to forming words fill his ears as inch by inch, the toy is sucked into her needy cunt. Only half of the toy was filling her, but babbles of "too much" and "gonna cum" are repeated over and over again.

"That thing is no bigger than me. Come on. You can take more." Shifting into frame slightly, a fully clothed Dabi leans over, gripping the suction cupped end of the toy, twisting and pumping it slowly. Heavenly whines, and desperate pleas to cum fall on Dabi's deaf ears. Ending his slow torture, he gives the toy one sharp thrust before burying it deep inside her. "Don't you dare fucking cum. I'll fucking cover your entire body with scorching hot cum if you even think about it. Now entertain me."

Shigaraki's eyes focus on the way her body tries to push the toy out, Dabi backing away to leave the frame again. Timing the jerk of his wrist with the shaky thrusts of the toy, he already feels himself nearing his release. Not wanting this to end, his fingers wrap tightly around his base. Feeling safe to release himself, he moves his hand down to roll his heavy balls.

His fingers massage his balls while the video plays, broken sobs ringing in his ears as she loses track of how long she's been fucking herself without release. Her legs started shaking minutes ago, and sweat glistened on her body before Dabi gave in.

"You want to cum bitch? Yeah, bet you do. But your only allowed to cum on my cock. So drop the toy." The sound of his belt being tossed aside is the only sound as her shaking hands toss the toy next to her on the bed, showing her puffy lips and clenching pussy. 

The camera moves, showing her full body, minus the fucked out face Shigaraki was desperate to see. Heavy breast bounce with each panting breath as Dabi settles himself between her legs. To his slight disbelief, Dabi hadn't been lying when he said the toy was about the same size as him. The biggest difference between the two were the lines of metal balls on each side of his shaft where his piercings were. 

The manicured hands trail gently over her chest, swirling mesmerizingly around the pert nipples. Shigaraki's mouth waters as he imaged how soft the skin would feel between his teeth, how pretty her pale skin would look with his teeth marks scattered around it. 

On the lower part of the video, the head of Dabi's cock disappears, a groan leaving his lips at what Shigaraki could only imagine was the softest walls pulling him deeper. A scarred hand grips one of her plush thighs as he bullies himself deeper, until every inch is nestled deep inside her. Judging by the way she squirms, the tip was pushing painfully against her cervix. 

"This must be where the thumbnail of the video came from…" Shigaraki thinks out loud, seeing the familiar stomach bulging once again. 

"I can feel you spasming. Don't fucking cum. You only cum when my seed is in your womb." Dabi growls, the hand previously on her thigh now gently smacking her clit. He gives no time for a response before fucking her the way her messy hole deserves. 

Covering the part of the video where Dabi was visible, Shigaraki fisted his cock in time with the wet slaps of skin, imagining he was the one causing the girl to fall apart and beg. He wanted to be the one who she was begging to fill with cum, not the burnt villain currently in that spot. He was getting dangerously close to the edge again, checking the time. 25 minutes 2 seconds. Just a bit longer and he will be able to cum. 

Dabi's thrusts became sloppy and rushed, the perfect cunt below him too irresistible to not breed. Smoke rises from his fingers, which had found their way back to her thighs. Shigaraki ignores the deep grunts as Dabi cums, choosing to focus on the soft whimpers as the girl realizes she's going to be allowed to cum now. 

The smoking fingers press against her clit, slowly teasing it just enough to push her over the edge. 25 minutes 43 seconds. Shigaraki pumps his cock faster hearing her riding out her high, coating his hand with his own cum. The camera pans up to the fucked out face of Karuna. Her black and blue hair fanned out on the pillow behind her head. 

A disgusted wail leaves his lips as he throws the phone to the foot of his bed. From behind the door, a deep laugh can be heard. Dabi walks in an grabs his phone from the bottom of the bed. 

"Thanks for that boss. Been needing a good laugh for a while. Now, I'm gonna go show this to your sister while I make her beg for my cock again." Waving the phone, Shigaraki finally notices the small red light indicating he had been filming himself the entire time. 

"Have any videos of her sucking dick? With all the shit she talks, bet you've fucked her face a few times. She look good covered in your cum?" Shigaraki asks. 

"You're a real pervert, boss. I'll send you the pictures later." Dabi winks before leaving the room to make Karuna deal with the throbbing erection he's been sporting since Shigaraki took his phone.