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saffusthings · 19 days ago

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second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part forty: fallout

word count: 3.2k

warnings: this chapter contains themes of depression, loss, and violence. reader discretion is advised.

thirty-nine | forty | forty-one

Max kicked the front door open with the heel of his boot, muttering under his breath as he hauled in a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a half-finished espresso clutched in his other hand.

“Seriously, I’m gonna start mailing Logan his own damn knives if I find one more embedded in the goddamn stair rail,” he grumbled, stepping into the marble-floored foyer of the Circle’s mansion. “They’re throwing knives, not decorative art, psycho—”

The front door slammed hard behind him. He didn’t mean to do it — just had his hands full. Sauntering in with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a half-eaten protein bar in his hand, and the faint tang of gunpowder still in his hair from the range.

He flipped the light switch, the chandelier flickering on. Max stopped mid-step.

As the room illuminated, Lando’s figure apparated in one of the wingback chairs in the corner of the massive entryway, his frame half-swallowed by shadow. He’d been waiting there for hours, unmoving.

Max followed his gaze to where it was fixed on the floor. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that he was somehow entirely unaware that Max had entered the space at all. The leader appeared statuesque – still, silent. The only sound in the whole house was the low hum of the heating system and the way the lightbulbs buzzed faintly overhead

“…You scared the shit out of me,” he muttered, quieter now.

Lando looked up.

Max flinched, just slightly.

There was something wrong in the way his eyes didn’t focus. They weren’t bloodshot or wild — they were just quiet. Dead, in that way that meant something had been gnawing at him, slowly and constantly, until the bone showed.

“…Lando?”

The man before him didn’t answer – just blinked once. Max took a careful step forward. “You okay?”

Still, Lando didn’t move, didn’t blink.

“Okay. Cool,” Max said under his breath, reaching for the fridge again. “I’m just gonna—”

The glass shattered before he even saw Lando throw it.

It exploded against the wall behind him. Max ducked instinctively, pieces of it bouncing off the tile.

“What the fuck? Mate–”

“Where were you,” Lando hissed.

Max blinked. He wasn’t afraid, but even he wasn’t immune to the caution that had his heart speeding up in his chest. “The docks. Uh, cleanup from the Vos case.”

“I called.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“You didn’t answer.”

Max dropped his bag. “What’s going on?”

Lando stood.

“You told her.”

Max froze.

“You know I don’t use that name with her,” Lando said, voice still even. “You knew that.”

Max took a step back. “Wait—”

“You knew,” Lando repeated, louder now. “And you said it anyway.”

Max’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

Lando crossed the room in two strides. “I asked you one thing,” he seethed. “One fucking thing.”

“Lando—”

“She looked at me like I was a stranger.”

Max’s back hit the wall. “I didn’t mean to—”

“She looked at me like she was afraid I’d kill her.” Lando’s hands curled into fists. “Like I was someone she didn’t recognize. Like you killed whatever chance I had left!”

“I didn’t know she answered—”

And that was when Lando shoved him. Hard.

Max stumbled, didn’t fall. No words came from his mouth – he didn’t even lift his arms. It pissed Lando off.

Why won’t he defend himself?

So Lando shoved him again, harder this time. “Do you even get what you did?”

Max’s head jerked back from the force, but he stayed silent.

“You gave me away. You gave her every reason to– to hate me.”

Lando’s eyes searched for a reaction, desperate for something, anything. But Max’s face remained painfully neutral – his expression one of sympathy if anything.

That pushed him over the edge.

Lando threw a punch.

It hit squarely across Max’s jaw, knocking his head sideways — but Max didn’t retaliate. He didn’t even flinch.

So Lando hit him again. Harder.

This time Max staggered, but still didn’t raise a hand. Lando delivered another blow to the ribs now, sharp and fast and angry. Max grunted from the impact, doubling over slightly but still never moving away.

“Fight back!” Lando yelled. “For once in your life, fucking fight me back!”

Of course, Max didn’t.

Who the hell did he think he was?

“Hit me back!” Lando snapped. He punctuated his words with yet another shove.

Max didn’t.

Lando swung — an open-handed crack across Max’s jaw. The sound rang out in the room, echoing against the high ceilings. Max barely turned his head.

“Fucking do something!” Lando yelled, shoving him again. “You ruined it. You ruined everything.”

Max stood there and let Lando push, swing, throw his fists again and again until his chest was heaving, fury spitting from every part of him except his face — his face stayed blank, controlled, like he couldn’t afford to crack.

“She looked at me like she didn’ recognize me. Like I was somethin’ she regretted.”

Lando’s fists kept coming, now low, angry hits that never quite landed right, like he didn’t actually want to hurt his friend. Like he didn’t know what he wanted, but just that something had to break.

“I had her,” he said through clenched teeth. “I was safe there. I was fucking— normal.”

“She was going to find out one way or another,” Max finally spoke. There was no agitation in his voice, only a sad sort of acceptance. But still there was no regret.

Each hit landed in quick, precise succession, each motion borne of years of practice.

He didn’t realize when his eyes had gotten misty. “Shut the fuck up,” he spat. Then, quieter, he confessed, “I didn’t want you to be the reason she did.”

The next hit landed higher, somewhere near the collarbone. Max flinched but still didn’t raise a hand of his own.

Lando hated it.

“You don’t get it,” Lando hissed, barely breathing now. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose the only good thing left and realize you’re the one who ruined it.”

Sweat dripped from his brow, running along his brow bone and into his eyes. His chest breathed with every breath. “Why won’t you fucking fight me?” Lando snapped.

Max finally stepped forward, not to swing — but to wrap his arms around him.

Lando froze.

“What the fuck are you doin’—”

Max didn’t let go. The older boy only pulled Lando in tighter, arms solid around his back, anchoring him like the only thing keeping his brother from falling apart. “I’m sorry,” Max murmured into the embrace, just loud enough to be heard. “I’m sorry she found out like that. I’m sorry it hurts. I’m sorry you feel like this.”

It wasn’t some soft hug or some gentle embrace. He’d wrapped his arms tight around his best friend like he was anchoring a bomb about to go off.

Lando struggled—panicked, almost. His hands shoved Max back, his fists pressed against his chest, but Max didn’t let go. Lando thrashed then, resisting it — hands gripping the back of Max’s shirt like he couldn’t decide whether to shove him away or hold on for dear life.

Then, all at once, he sagged. His fists uncurled, his breath broke, and he just sank into Max’s chest.

The first sound punched out of him like he’d been holding it in for years. It wasn’t a sob, nothing nearly as clean. It was just broken air – a gasp that never made it to words.

His fists curled into Max’s shirt like a child’s, like a man clawing for something to hold onto before he drowned.

Max didn’t say anything else. He didn’t loosen his grip either. He just held Lando there, steady and quiet, while the boy who’d built an empire on blood and bones finally cracked apart in someone’s arms.

And all Lando could do was cry into Max’s shoulder, fists clenched in the back of his shirt, like if he held on hard enough, maybe this wouldn’t be real. Lando let himself grieve.

Not for the job.

Not for the reputation.

But for her — for the look in her eyes when she realized who he really was, and for the version of himself that could never exist again.

His friend offered him no empty platitudes, made no shallow efforts to fix it. Max didn’t say she’ll come back, or she loves you, or you’ll be okay.

Because any of that would’ve been a lie.

Lando stood there in the middle of his own house, in the arms of the only person left who knew what it meant to be both loved and feared — and for the first time in a very long time, he let someone hold the weight with him.

Even if only for a minute.

Lando didn’t remember how they got to the couch.

One second he was breaking apart in Max’s arms like glass on tile, and the next he was crumpled into the corner of the leather cushions, legs pulled up, face buried in his hands, his chest still shaking with the tail-end of sobs that had no words left in them.

Max sat beside him – not close enough to crowd him, just there like a weight keeping Lando tethered to the floor.

Lando didn’t cry often.

He knew how to punch a wall, knew how to stare into nothing for hours, how to work until his hands blistered just to keep the demons quiet. But crying? That was something other people did. Something weaker men did.

Max didn’t let go when Lando collapsed into him, hands clutched in the back of his shirt like a man going under. He didn’t let go even when the sobs turned ragged — the kind of sound Max had only ever heard once before, in that dark office after Daniel died.

He remembered that night too well — Lando drunk off his ass, hands shaking, gun cold and pressed against the side of his own head, whispering, “I tried. I really fucking tried. But it doesn’t work. None of it fucking works.”

Max had disarmed him without a word, yanked him off the chair, and stayed with him until dawn.

Just like that night, he sat with him. They had never been the type for overt friendship or long speeches or grand gestures. Max could only look at Lando, this unmovable force he’s seen rise through the ranks of Monte Carlo’s darkest empires. He watched over his friend like a guardian angel dressed in a black sweatshirt and washed jeans.

With both hands holding the side of Lando’s face, Max looked directly into his eyes, fixing him with a glare. He didn’t say I love you – they didn’t do that.

He’d said, “Do that again and I’ll kill you first.”

It meant the same thing.

The pendulum clock on the wall ticked softly, each tick beating monotonously through the empty of the grand living room. Minutes or hours ticked by, but Lando remained slouched on the floor, his back pressed against the wall and his head in his hands like it might all disappear if he didn’t look up. His breathing had steadied, but only barely. The hiccuping edge was still there, wrecked and uneven.

The sobs didn’t stop quickly.

They came in waves — deep, ugly, bone-shaking things that tore through Lando like his chest might cave in from the weight of them.

Max didn’t say a word through it.

He just held him, hands braced between Lando’s shoulder blades like he was keeping him stitched together by force. His shirt soaked through from tears and heat. But he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

Not even when Lando finally sank to his knees, dragging Max down with him.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours — the mansion quiet around them.

Max knelt a few feet away, eventually getting up to rummage under the bar cabinet for something that wasn’t a bottle. He came back with a hand towel before disappearing into the kitchen.

When he returned, the cloth was warm.

He crouched down in front of Lando, still quiet, and gently pulled his hands away from his face. Lando didn’t fight him, though he did flinch at first — some ancient instinct to push away help –to handle it alone, to bury it deep and move on.

He didn’t say anything — just gently wiped Lando’s face, brushing the warm washcloth over his temple, jaw, the trail of tears that had dried on his cheek. The warmth of the hot water emanated from the fabric like a patch of summer sun, warming Lando’s skin with its lingering tendrils.

It was awkward and clumsy, but careful. Max had never been good at this kind of thing. He wasn’t the shoulder-to-cry-on guy. He didn’t have the gentle touch, didn’t know the right things to say, didn’t know how to make grief feel lighter.

But hell would freeze over before he left Lando like this.

So he did what he could.

“Sit still,” he muttered. “Don’t be a baby about it.”

Lando didn’t fight, didn’t speak. Just stared blankly ahead while Max knelt down in front of him and started wiping the salt tracks off his face. Gently, without making it weird.

There was something devastating about it — this man who’d snapped ribs without blinking now trembling like a kicked dog on his own leather sofa.

Max didn’t push, didn’t ask for the full story. Not when he already knew the shape of it.

She found out. She looked at him like he was a stranger. And it broke him.

“Hurts,” Lando rasped eventually, voice thin and distant.

Max didn’t stop wiping. “I know.”

“She looked at me like I was something to run from.”

“You are,” Max said quietly, wringing out the cloth. “We both are. But we never were to her. That’s the difference.”

Lando’s mouth twisted like he might start crying again, but he didn’t. Not yet.

“Would’a told her. I was gonna tell her. I just… didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” Max said, standing. He grabbed the throw blanket from the side arm of the couch and tossed it over him. “I did.”

Lando didn’t argue.

Max ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t need to. We’ll figure it the fuck out anyway.”

He helped Lando out of the leather jacket he still wore, peeled off his overpriced watch, tossed it aside. Instead, he got him a bottle of water and pushed it into his hands when Lando wouldn’t look at him.

“You’re gonna need that,” Max muttered.

Lando took it, and sipped silently. Max sat down beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

Max wrung out the cloth and pressed it to Lando’s jaw, wiping away the salt trails and blood where Lando had split his own lip on Max’s shoulder. He moved slowly, methodically — not like a soldier tending to a wound, but like a brother. A best friend. The only person who’d ever seen all of him and stayed anyway.

Lando didn’t look at him. Instead, he just stared past Max’s shoulder, those grey-green eyes far too hollow.

“She looked at me like I was a stranger,” he eventually murmured.

Max didn’t answer. He just kept wiping, moving to Lando’s temple, the corner of his mouth, the hollow of his throat.

“I thought if I could just keep it quiet, like, just long enough or somethin’— I could… fuck, I dunno. Be someone else? Be Liam, I s’pose.”

He laughed once. It was empty.

Max set the cloth down.

“You loved her,” he noted aloud, not like a question.

Lando’s voice cracked when he spoke again.

“She loved me too,” he whispered, a sinner in a confessional. “She trusted me.”

“She trusted Liam,” Max corrected, his tone far too gentle and patient for the dagger those words sent straight through wherever his heart used to be.

“Same fucking thing.”

“No,” Max insisted, more firmly now. “S’not. You made up a name and let her build a whole world around it. That world broke the second she found out you weren’t real.”

Lando flinched, like Max had finally struck him, the impact tangible.

Max sighed and sat beside him, arms resting on his knees. “But you were real,” he added. “That’s the messed-up part. You were real with her. Every minute you gave her? That was you, not some… persona. Don’t rewrite that part.”

“I can’t get her out of my head.”

Max nodded. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

Silence.

Lando didn’t respond. His breathing was shallow again, too fast. Max didn’t miss it. He turned, sudden and sharp. “Lando.”

No response.

Max grabbed his wrist with a sense of urgency. “Lando. Look at me.”

Those eyes — glassy, gone — finally met his.

“Don’t do that thing. Don’t disappear.”

Lando didn’t argue, but the way his jaw clenched said enough.

Max didn’t let go. He lowered his voice, steady and cold now. “I swear to God, if you pull the same shit you did after Daniel—”

Lando’s face twisted. “That was different.”

“Bullshit.” Max’s grip tightened. “You locked yourself in that office with a gun and a bottle. You think I’ve forgotten that?”

Lando looked away. Shame flashed across his face like a scar re-opening.

“You try that again,” Max warned, “and I swear I’ll fucking kill you myself. That Daniel shit? That gun-in-your-mouth bullshit? I swear to God, Lando, I’ll kill you myself. You hear me?”

Lando blinked at him, then gave a weak, almost-scoff of a nod.

Max leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together.

“I mean it,” Max insisted. “I’ll strangle you, bury your body, give a shitty eulogy and then cry about it for a week. Don’t test me.”

That got Lando’s attention.

He looked up, bloodshot eyes sharp with surprise. When he looked at Max, at the furrow of his brows and the intensity of his glare, all he could see was care.

Care that he didn’t deserve.

His voice was barely there. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

Max didn’t blink. “Do I look like I care?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “I already lost Daniel. I’m sure as hell not losing you.”

A beat.

Then Lando nodded, just once.

Max nodded, got up, reached over and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, tossing it into Lando’s lap with a grunt.

“Now go to bed, dumbass. You look like shit.”

Lando gave a breath of a laugh — hollow, but real. Max stayed on the floor for a while longer, just in case, but didn’t say another word.

Once Lando’s eyelids fluttered shut, his body slumping into the mold of the sofa as it succumbed to the exhaustion of everything he’d been through, Max stood and pulled the blanket over him like he used to after night jobs when they were teenagers — before the titles, before the guns, before the blood.

Then he sat in the armchair across the room and stayed, just like always. Because sometimes loving someone — really loving someone — means holding their broken pieces until they can do it themselves again.

Even if it means bleeding a little in the process.

a/n: sorry for the extra long wait and a bit of a shorter chapter than we've been used to lately. hopefully you all still accept this as a thank you for all your patience while i was out.

not proofread, just wanted to get something out lol hope you enjoyed <3

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mbsneur · 9 months ago

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Heated Night

Leah Williamson x Reader

Hey, my loves! I'm so sorry I haven't posted all week. I've been really sick and I'm still not 100% but I really hope you like the fic! I'm open to feedback and your opinion. I'd also love to hear your ideas about which players I should write about (and the topics) my requests are always open. Thanks so much! 🩵

Warnings: Smut18+ minors DNI, Virgin Lesbian sex

My Masterlist

The night is hot and hazy. Arsenal won the WSL Cup with a goal from Stina in the 116th minute. You went to a nearby club to celebrate. You and your win are the talk of the town. You're the chick from Arsenal. Everyone looks out for you more than themselves. That's how it is when you're 19 and moving from a small country to a big one.

There are a few of you out there who can't hold it in and are already visibly drunk, including Leah.

Leah was the first person to take you in a few months ago, she showed you the city, the best cafes, the best restaurants, she has become something of a confidante to you, she was very self-absorbed that night, she drank a lot, and every time you wanted a little more, Katie took the glass from your hand and gave you something with less alcohol in it.

Kyra has pulled you away from Katie and towards the bar, "I'm sure you need more alcohol," she says, grinning and ordering two Daiquiris without hesitating.

You had a few more cocktails, she literally wanted to get you drunk, when you had more alcohol in your system, Kyra pulled you onto the dance floor and occasionally uttered chopped up words.

She stumbled over her own feet a few times, which made you laugh. Every now and then, Alessia came to you to bring you more and more alcohol. You got warm, your blood got thicker in your veins, your body got heavier and more excited. You haven't been this drunk for a long time.

Kyra was right there with you the whole time, and you saw Leah swaying in Laia's arms. She lifted her head from Laia's shoulder and met your gaze. Before you could react, Alessia nudged you and gave you another drink.

The time flew by until Kim pulled you into the group by your arm and Beth held Leah "You're both drunk, go to bed and sleep it off, mh" Kim said caringly and Leah's eyes rolled in annoyance "Leah, you're going to take Y/N to her room safe and sound, can you do that? Can you take care of her?" Beth frowned and looked at Leah, Leah's eyes widened, "Yes, I'll take her to her room safe and sound," Leah said with a smile, "Come on, sweetheart," she added, taking you by the hand.

"Take care of her," Beth calls after you, she pulled you out of the party crowd and was visibly unsteady on her feet, your hotel had no lift as you reached the stairs, Leah looked over at you, "can you manage on your own," she says, mumbling and stuttering, your vision spins and you shrug your shoulders. "Get on my back," she says with a grin, and you start to laugh out loud.

"Ey, why are you laughing, I'm strong," she says, frowning, "you're drunk," you stammer, and Leah starts to laugh at you.

You grip the railing and Leah leans forward. "Come jump and hold on tight." You move over to her and put your hands on her shoulders. You jump up slightly and her hands wrap tightly around your thighs. Leah starts to wiggle on her legs and you hold on to the railing with a jerk. You laugh and say, "Are you sure you can do this?"

Leah leans up and puts one foot on the step. "I'm drunk, but I can carry 60kg up the stairs."

You laugh at her words.

The walk up took half an eternity and when you got to the top, Leah let you down gently, "What room are you in?" she asks, looking straight into your eyes, "3048," you say shakily, your eyes flickering, "I'm taking you, I told Kim and Beth you'd be fine in your room," she says, holding your arm lightly, you nod and head for your room.

You hold your card against the sensor, and Leah helps you into the room. She wraps her arms around your waist and kicks the door shut with her foot. She takes you to your bed and sits you down. You look at her with puppy dog eyes and she say "I'll help you undress." She laughs and says, "Okay i start with your shoes." She bends down and helps you remove your shoes.

Leah bends up again and asks, "Do you want to sleep without a shirt?" You nod, and she grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls it up. You lift your arms up, and she comes closer to you. She removes the shirt from your head and almost falls on top of you. She starts laughing and looks deep into your eyes. Her gaze is bold, fixed on your full breasts in a red lacy bra. Her eyes darken, and her lower lip slips between her teeth. Your jaw drops, and Leah looks back into your eyes.

"You'd better not look at me like that," she says hoarsely, your eyes rolling from the alcohol at the back of your head, and you reply hazily, "What happens if I do?

Leah's teeth clench tightly before she presses her lips firmly against yours. Your kiss is firm and lasts for a few seconds until Leah pulls away first and rests her forehead against yours. You grab her neck and pull her lips back onto yours.

Your kiss is more intense this time and your tongue presses against her lips, as if asking for entrance. Leah, let your tongues play with each other. You let out a little moan until Leah lets go of you. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel like a woman for a one night stand," she says, mumbling and looking at you confused.

"I've never had sex with a woman before," you say, blushing. Leah smirks slightly at you. "Do you want me to be the first woman to fuck you?" she says, her voice harsh. Her index finger plays with your bra strap.

"Please leah, fuck me," you demand, and Leah moves away from you. "You'll be good for me. You understand. You'll undress and wait for me. I'll be right back." She turns her back to you, takes your and her room card, and stumbles out of your room.

You did as you were told and stripped naked. Your vision is blurred and your head is spinning.

After a few minutes the door to your room opens and Leah returns with her strap-on in her hand, "Listen carefully, I am going to tell you some of my rules since you are a virgin," she says with a slight smile, sitting down next to you on the bed.

You nod and lean against the headboard. Leah now hovers over you and slowly begins to kiss your shoulder blade. "Tell me if you want me to be gentle with you or if you want me to be rough," she says between kisses. Your breathing is heavy and you try to find the right words. "I want you to be rough. Don't hold back," you say, moaning slightly and feeling Leah's teeth on your bone.

"You'll tell me if it's too much for you and if you want me to stop, I don't want to push you into anything, OK?" she says looking up at you briefly you nod eagerly and Leah's brow furrows "That's another rule, when I ask you something I expect an answer, use your words," she says now taking your breast in her hand, your back arching slightly from the bed "Oh, is someone sensitive? she asks with a grin

She takes your other nipple between her teeth and nibbles lightly on it. You spread your legs without hesitation and Leah's head now wanders over your belly. Your fingers claw into the sheets and your muscles twitch with every kiss.

She grabs your thighs and spreads them wide open, giving her better access to you. She looks at you one last time and asks, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Now, please, just fuck me," you say, your voice desperate. Leah smirks at that, her tongue shooting out right against your core.

You haven't had sex for a long time, Leah explores every inch of your pussy and eats you out. Your hips bounce against her mouth and your legs start to wriggle. Leah's muscles push your legs apart again and she hits every spot that is celebrating inside you.

She's teasing you with her tongue, making your head roll back and turning your whimper into a moan. You're experiencing sensations you've never felt before, and you're a moaning mess.

Leah knows exactly how to drive you to the edge. With every suck, snap, and lick, her movements bring you closer and, You're already dangerously close. You try to find words, but they fail you. Instead, you moan and press your hips closer to her face. And try to tell her somehow that you are coming, Leah will look at you and hum to you, take it as confirmation and let your body respond to your orgasm.

You moan her name as she takes you through your long orgasm, your legs trying to close but held in place by Leah. You're consumed by her, and you don't know when the new orgasm started and the old one stopped. Your moans turn into whimpers, Leah. Let's go from you. You cry out from the sudden separation. She looks at you. Her lips are swollen and wet. Her eyes are darkened and her breathing is heavy.

She slowly comes up to you and you feel her breath on your lips. "Can I kiss you?" she asks in a low voice. You answer with a simple yes and,Leah's lips immediately land on yours

You let out a low growl at the taste on Leah's lips. After a few minutes, she looks at you again. "Are you riding me? Do you think you can do that for me?" she demands, her grin smug and confident.

I don't know if I can do this," you say, blushing, and Leah smiles at you, "You will, you will be a good girl, I will help you," she says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You nod and wait for the next move. Leah gets up to put on the strap. You watch her every move. Her body is sweaty and her nipples are visible through her sports bra. Her veins are popping out. Her stomach muscles twitch with every movement. Her ponytail is all messed up, and individual hairs stick to her temples.Your eyes light up when you look at her. That was always the case, there was something about Leah that fascinated you.

When she's finished, you slide to the side to make more room for Leah. She sits down right next to you, leans against the headboard and hits her thighs as a sign for you to sit on her lap. You do as you're told and swing one leg over her muscular belly. She moans slightly as she feels your still-wet pussy on her stomach. She puts her hands on your hips and looks at you. "Are you ready?" she says, her voice firm. She lifts you slightly, her eyes sharp. "Your words, darling," she says, her tone assertive. Your eyelids twitch. "Yes, Leah, I'm ready," you reply, your voice steady. She smiles, her gaze warm. "Good girl," she whispers.

She guides you to sit on the tip of her strap and you moan in pleasure. Your hands find their way to her belly to support yourself. Leah's gaze is fixed on your pussy until she lets you close her strap completely. You whimper against her, and she starts to move your hips forwards and backwards. Her mouth is open, but you just sit up and want to ride her yourself. You don't need Leah's help. You want to prove something to her.

she keep her hands on your hips as you place yours on hers, moving a little faster than Leah has instructed. You rock back and forth quickly, which makes Leah let out a little whimper. Her hands loosen and reach for your arse, and your hands move up to her breasts, gently squeezing them. You lean forward ever so gently.

Leah's moans get louder and so do yours, your hips moving in time, your stomach muscles beginning to tense and your legs trembling "You look so hot right now," Leah says moaning, grabbing your neck to make you look at her. "Oh my, Leah, it feels so good," you say, your cheeks flushed and a little whimper escaping your lips. Your eyes roll back in your head, and Leah's grip on your neck tightens. You dig your nails into her sports bra, and Leah slowly starts to move her hips.

You feel Leah's legs cramping underneath you, your pussy tightening around her strap and you let out the loudest moan of the night "I'm so close" you manage to say "come on my cock make a mess" Leah says moaning as she pulls you closer to her by the neck. After a few seconds, you come loudly on her cock. You feel your juices running down your thighs. Your legs shake and wobble uncontrollably. You can't hold yourself properly anymore. Leah's hand leaves your neck and goes to your hips again. She holds you tight and sits up, pressing her upper body against yours so you can hold on to her neck.

"I need a little more. Don't stop moving," she demands, moaning. Your noises become oversensitive. Your legs are still shaking, and Leah's lips are on your shoulder to hold back her moans. She pushes you against her again and again. After a few pushes, Leah comes too. She comes silently, her teeth biting into your shoulder. Her legs are weak, and she lets herself fall on her back.

Her strap is still inside you and she is out of breath. You move off her slowly and deliberately, taking care not to overstimulate yourself. You sit down next to her, and when she wants to take off her strap, you grab her hand.

"Leah, wait, I want to clean you up," you say through clenched teeth, and Leah laughs devilishly at you, "You want to do that, yes, then I hope you will make an effort," she says again bossily. There is no time to waste and you immediately kneel down between her legs as Leah's hands grab hold of your hair and guide you closer to her strap.

You take her cock a bit into your mouth and Leah pushes your head further down. Your hands rest on her thighs. Your mouth starts to get faster. With every thrust, the strap hits Leah's clitoris. You look up at her. You have never seen her as vulnerable as she is at this moment. Her mouth opens and out of it comes a lot of little whimpers.

Leah pushes your head down deeper and faster. You gag and spit flows out of your mouth and lands on Leah's stomach. Tears come to your eyes and Leah starts to moan properly this time. "You're doing so well. You're gonna make me cum," she says. You take it as an incentive and let the strap slide deeper into your throat with a deep moan. Leah cums.

„Are you sure this is the first time you've had sex with a woman?" she says laughing and looks at you, "Are you calling me a liar?" you say snappishly, "Bathtub?" Leah asks and you agree.

#woso fanfics #woso #woso community #woso appreciation #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso soccer #woso smut #woso x reader #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #lionesses #england women #fanfic

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a-super-cutie · 2 months ago

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Persistence. Obsession. Persistently obsessed.

(Part 8 of 8) NSFW chapter, MDNI, 18+ series

cecil stedman x female!superhero!reader

wc: 2,645

series synopsis: You and Cecil have started seeing each other but your jobs (mostly his) keep interrupting date after date. He clearly thinks this won't work for you, but how many times do you have to tell him how utterly head over heels you are for him?? Well, if telling won't work, maybe showing him will.

Masterlist ~~~ Last Part ~~~ Next Part?

The flight back to Cecil’s apartment was faster this time. You descended the stairs and entered his floor, quickly finding his door again. It was locked and the knob required a regular key. You pulled out the card and tapped it around the door. Nothing happened. You tapped the card on the knob and heard something unlock on the other side. Why did you think this man's home wouldn't have the highest security? You turned the knob and entered.

The apartment lit up. It was small and looked dated like it hadn’t been renovated in over a decades. It had a living room with a couch and a tv on an old wooden furniture set and to the right was a sliding glass door to a metal-railed patio, just big enough to hold a lawn chair and a weathered white cooler.

The kitchen was clean and bare except for a coffee maker and a dirty mug in the sink. You couldn’t help it and decided to give in to your snoopy self. You opened the fridge: takeout; the cabinets: empty except a bowl, a plate, and a cup; drawers: a fork and some tongs; and what looked like a pantry: actually a washing machine and dryer.

Why would he set you up in a nicer place than his own apartment? This place was worse than your old one.

You headed to the bedroom and sat on his bed. It was nice. He splurged on this at least. The sheets were light grey and the covers a light blue and white, slightly quilted. His pillows were thin and matched the bedding. Under the bed was nothing. His closet had all his suits and pants hung up and a drop down storage system holding all his shirts. There was a foldout ironing setup on the other side with his nice shiny shoes lined up on the bottom. There was a fan in the corner facing the window but it had collected a bit of dust. You didn’t open his drawers (you weren’t full psycho), but you did pick up the framed picture.

It was of a dog with a little hanker-chief scarf as a collar. Sweet.

You placed it back down and headed to the bathroom across the hall. It was clean and bare like the kitchen. The shower curtain had… bullet holes?? On the other side was a tub with an all-in-one shampoo bottle with streaks of dried suds around it. You tisked at that and headed back to his room.

You unpacked the cozy sweaters and blanket and set the bag at the foot of the bed for later. “Oh yeah!” You dug out the bath bomb and placed it near the tub. “Just in case,” you winked at it.

You floated through the hall into the living room when a bright light caught your attention. Cecil teleported in by the front door. He locked it and turned to you. He gave you a faint smile. “It’s not much.”

You flew into his arms and hugged him tight. “I’m living the dream!” You pulled away and kissed him. “I can’t believe I’m here!”

He chuckled and headed for his room, undoing his red tie as he walked. “Neither can I,” he threw over his shoulder.

You gave him space and went to the couch. It wasn’t anything fancy but as you settled in, you could imagine cozying up to Cecil here. Antsy and nervous, you giggled to yourself and flew back to the hallway entrance to wait.

“You hungry or tired?” He called out.

Your stomach grumbled. “Mmm, I could be persuaded to midnight munch with you.”

“It’s two.” He came back out in grey sweats and one of the cozy sweaters you brought.

You squealed and rushed him again, hugging him tight. “You are so fuckable right now.” You looked at his flushed face with puppy-dog eyes. “Just saying.”

He looked away quickly and cleared his throat. "Fuckable," he mumbled. “Well good.” He walked away smiling and picked up the oldest piece of machinery you’d ever seen.

“A LAND-LINE? Do people still use these things?” You ogled the thing as Cecil dialed. “I think the last time I held one I talked for hours and hurt my neck and shoulder for a week.”

He ignored you. “The usual, and some garlic wings, and curly fries. Uh, d’you have any salad options? How much extra to pick one up?”

You hovered around him as he spoke on the phone. “Ranch dressing,” you whispered. “Lots.”

He pushed you away and you giggled, swatting at his hand playfully. He gave out a different address than his own. “Just put it in the locker. Use the left one too if it doesn’t all fit.” He hung up.

“I didn’t hear ranch.”

He rolled his eyes and opened the fridge. On the door was a big bottle of ranch. “Imported.”

“Ha! No way! From where?”

“Canada. From a restaurant I like.”

"Pssh, Canada. Does that even count as 'imported'?"

He closed the door and leaned on the counter with his hands in his pockets. “What do you think? What did you gleam from all the snooping you did?”

Your hands flew to cover your mouth. “You bugged your own place?”

He snorted. “No.”

“Then -“

“I guessed and you just confirmed it.” Well, he didn’t seem mad. He slid closer. “We should work on your interrogation skills.”

You touched down and leaned into his chest. “If it means more time with you, gladly.” You sighed and snuggled into him. “You’re heavenly.” You heard his heartbeat quicken at your words and smiled at yourself. Gods, were you in love? Is this what love felt like? You hoped so.

He pushed you back, just enough to tilt your chin up. You hands gripped his sweatshirt. His scent was strong, slight sweat and some strong alcoholic drink lingered heavily even through the clean sweatshirt he wore. It had clearly been a long day for him.

“I’m going to fuck you tonight." His eyes were half lidded and glinted with a reflection of you, doe-eyed and embarrassingly eager. He looked down at you like he was savoring you, embedding this memory of you clinging to him into his mind, saved to be replayed or used, meant to be stitched together with darker fantasies.

You stood entranced by this man. Your hands trembled with fistfuls of his sweatshirt as your thighs pressed together at his promise. Your teeth pulled at your bottom lip and as his hands slid down to your waist you whimpered his name. He was winding you up and he wasn’t even trying.

He leaned his head closer, his hair draping forward like silver curtains shielding you from the outside world, caging you in.

“Cecil,” you begged pathetically.

A sly grin pulled at his lips. “Go cool off,” he ordered. He slipped out from under you, leaving you hot and bothered, and stood next to his door. A green light on the locking mechanism turned on. “Food’s here.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment at how desperate you clearly were. Forget obsession, what do you call it when you turn into a pathetic puddle of need from a single glance and a few choice words.

Cecil opened the door and picked up the bags set on his mat. He closed it and gave you a smirk.

Food. Clear your head you’re just going to have dinner with him right now. You cleared your throat and regulated your breathing. “Yum. How'd it end up on your mat?”

The food was eaten in silence. Every bite Cecil had taken was done with a self-satisfied smugness at your obvious avoidance of him. Every time you looked at him all you could think about was his words from before. No, not just words. Facts. Promises. A prophecy he would personally fulfill. Your hands trembled with hope.

He had no dining table and there was more food than could fit on either of your laps. You’d eaten on the floor by the couch, next to each other side-by-side. When you had eventually dropped something - your napkin - his hand had darted out between your legs to pick it up for you. You bit your lip as his hand stayed for a second too long to be a coincidence. He’d pulled the napkin away and let his fingers glide over your trembling thigh, a trail of electricity where his skin made contact with yours.

“Dropped this.” He held it out to you.

You took it and swallowed. “Thanks.”

You now helped him clean up. The empty containers were thrown out and you capped his ranch and placed it back in his fridge.

He came up behind you and slid his hands around to your stomach. One traveled upward to cup your left breast while the other slid down. Your breath caught as his fingers pulled at the hem of your skirt. He crouched over you and began kissing at your neck as his fingers ignited a fire in your core. You’d tried so hard to put the embers out during dinner but there was no putting them out now, not with his fingers inching ever higher.

He bit down on your shoulder and you moaned. Your hands flew to his head to tangle in his hair.

His fingers slid over your soaked underwear and spread apart, each finger hooking onto either side of the fabric's edge. He pulled the piece of cloth aside and dipped his fingers between your folds. You melted instantly. You became weightless and Cecil immediately pulled you into him.

You couldn't believe he was finally giving you the relief you so desperately craved. There was no time for embarrassed apologies for already being dripping wet for him, not while he worked you with no hesitations.

Two of his fingers slipped deep inside as his thumb stayed out to rub you delicately. You whimpered and moaned as he did what he wanted to you. His other hand eventually slipped under your shirt and bra to squeeze your burning flesh.

“Is this what you wanted?” he murmured in your ear. “Is this what you fantasize about? What have you been thinking that made you so ready for me?”

You whimpered. Even if you could respond, the sound of obscene wet squelching was louder than you could possibly muster in your current state. Your mind focused on the feel of his fingers inside you, so good and they were so long.

“Words. Use your words.”

Your eyes rolled back as his thumb pressed into you harder and circled faster. “Cecil!”

“Better,” he breathed. “But not an answer.”

His hand pulled at your nipple as he continued pleasuring you. You opened your thighs wider, letting yourself be used to the fullest extent by him, letting him play with you at his will and whim, knowing there was nothing this man could do that wouldn't have your toes curling and mouth watering with excruciating want. Not once did he ask if you were enjoying his services, your unimpeded sounds of pure bliss being all he needed to know his movements were perfect.

You were moments from climaxing on his hand, your legs trembling as they remained spread for him. You pressed into him, your head rolling back onto his shoulder as he continued.

His lids were half closed, his smile casual and cocky, he wasn’t thrusting his hardness into you, he was in complete control. You were the mess now. You were the one moaning his name and coming undone from a few minutes of his effortless ministrations.

“I asked you a question.”

“You,” you sobbed. “Everything you did on our third date.” His fingers rewarded you with deeper thrusts.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now stay still.”

That wasn’t a problem, you could barely move on your own. His fingers slipped out of you and you protested with sad whines. His hands squeezed your hips reassuringly before leaving your body entirely. He pushed you forward slightly before pulling you back into him.

His hands found your hips again and he lined you up where he wanted you. While one hand pulled your skirt up to your waist the other pulled the thin fabric between your legs further away. You heard strands snap but your mind was quickly distracted when something hard and long pushed its way into your core from behind.

“Oh yes!” You missed the feel of him deep inside you. Since that night you’ve thought about it regularly, almost nightly.

His hands held your waist and kept you on him as you squirmed in anticipation of the hard thrusts he'd done before. His girth filled you how you remembered, but that was all he gave you for now. “Patience.” When you settled he positioned himself how he was before; one hand holding onto your breast while the other began rubbing at you again. Your core squeezed at him with every wave of pleasure and soon his quiet breaths turned to grunts as he throbbed. “I think of you every night,” he admitted.

Your head swarmed with images of him thinking of you late at night, in his bed after a hard day at work, his hand gripping his erection while he moaned your name wishing you were there. That was certainly something you'd have to see one day.

Your head turned to bite his neck, pulling a moan from him. His hips bucked and you hummed with pleasure. He shook his head and took measured breaths, but when you wiggled he pulled you into him quickly, trying to restrict your movements for his sake.

With no other options, you let gravity pull you down, feeling him bottom out and he yelped. His eyes closed and his teeth bit his lip as he tried to stay in control. He wanted more, you could see it in the way he trembled, the way his hands shook. He couldn’t keep still for much longer. He tried to stay leaning on the counter, tried to keep giving off nonchalance and indifference as you came undone but he was already hunching forward, his shoulders already tensing. So so close to breaking.

You rolled your hips slowly.

His breathes came out in pants. He was finally beaten. He shoved your torso forward, bending you nearly ninety degrees, and gripped your hips with a bruising intensity. Your hands reach out to catch yourself but you were pulled back into him before they could touch his fridge. You were speared like helpless prey.

You called out for him and begged him to take you however he pleased.

“Oh, I fucking will.” Cecil began pushing and pulling you off and onto his cock with increasing speed, your walls wrapping and molding around him with delicious ease.

You remained weightless and helpless to his actions. You could barely keep your head up as he rammed you into him over and over. Despite him clearly taking you for his own pleasure, yours was mounting, building and growing, and before you could manage to yell his name once more your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami leaving you in ruins.

Cecil growled your name as his pounding rhythm faltered. He kept you pressed into him as he groaned and curled over your back. Your hands pressed onto the closed fridge to keep your head from hitting the door. Ropes of sticky fluid coated your pulsing walls making you moan his name over and over until you were filled to the brim. After a few raspy breaths from your boyfriend behind you, you were finally released.

You turned around immediately and let your eyes take him in. His hair was a disheveled mess and stuck to his sweaty forehead, his reddened cock throbbed and dripped onto the tile between you, and his sweatpants were halfway down his thighs along with black underwear you hadn’t yet seen on him. He straightened and threw his head back with a satisfied sigh, leaning back onto the counter, his hands gripping the edge to keep upright.

You pressed into him and kissed his neck a million times. His arms wrapped around you and held you tighter than he ever had before.

“Did - was that ok?”

You smiled into his neck and nodded. “That was the hottest, sexiest sex that could ever possibly be achieved.” His neck muffled your words but he still pressed his head into yours as you continued kissing him.

“I could not agree more.” Without setting you down he took you to his bed and climbed over you. He gave you a shy smile that made you swoon. "Am I lame if I say it’s bedtime now?”

“No,” you laughed.

Neither of you bothered to undo the covers, instead he just threw your blanket over the both of you and waited for you to change into your sweatshirt before cuddling into you. He closed his eyes and smiled, knowing you were still gazing at him in wonder. You pushed a stray strand behind his ear and kissed his scarred cheek.

“You know I gave you the keycard permanently, right?” He opened his eye a sliver and snuggled closer.

You jaw had fallen open. “Like… like I can come here every night? Like EVERY night?!”

You felt him smile into your neck. “Mhmm.”

You grinned and curled into him. “You’re going to get so annoyed with me!” You poked him until he grumbled.

“Sleep.”

You nodded and kissed him one last time. “I’ll behave.”

“I’ll make you behave. Every night if I have to.”

You giggled and nodded. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into him. He fell asleep with a smile and you knew how genuine it was. Cecil Stedman wanted you in his bed every night. He wanted you in his home. In his life. And you would gladly comply with anything this man asked of you.

Masterlist ~~~ Last Part ~~~ Next Part?

a/n: Hope you enjoyed part eight! Sorry this wasn't posted sooner, I was moving and all my stuff has been packed for days DX This is the final part but there miiiiight be more in the future since I have some ideas :) the next stuff I post will be one shots and maybe a separate series soon after I finish it

#cecil steadman x you #cecil stedman #cecil stedman x reader #cecil stedman x female reader #cecil stedman x female!reader #cecil stedman x female!superhero #cecil stedman x superhero #cecil stedman invincible #cecil stedman x hero reader #cecil stedman fanfic

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glassexperts · 1 year ago

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The Benefits of Aluminum Door and Window Frame

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coldscorpionspell · 1 month ago

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heylittleriotact · 3 months ago

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It-was-WIP-Wednesday-but-now-it's-Thursday

Thank you for the tags, @pseudospaceship @razildor and @emmg - I've been dawdling around some writer's block and the inability to make up my mind about whose POV certain parts of this chapter of i heard people are dying to get in here should be in.

Basically, Rook and Emmrich have ditched the Wintersend dinner in favour of a live music venue and all that comes with it.

Enjoy.

(Tagging anyone who wants to and hasn't yet because most of you have WIP-ed your Wednesdays already)

Like all decent mid-sized music venues in a city of Nevarra’s size, the Night-Owl was located in a basement at the bottom of a narrow stairwell that served as the only means of egress from the place, effectively making the dark windowless room a fire-trap.

Was he uncomfortable with that knowledge? Yes: the idea of being trapped underground, shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of other likewise trapped people - slowly suffocating, overheating, crushing - in the event of an emergency was a literal nightmare for him.

Was he going to do what he’d done since his late teens when he started attending such places and simply drink until any anxiety and fear was a drowned out voice floundering helplessly against a churning sea of inebriation? Certainly.

It was nearly Wintersend after all: no better time to cut loose and indulge, right?

Rook seemed to be of a similar mind, because as soon as the door girl plucked the cash from Emmrich’s fingers for cover and branded them with a stamp on the inside of their wrists, she beelined for the bar, half-dragging him through the packed space that smelled of flat beer, pot, body odour, and the nebulous but unmistakable aroma that was unique to fog machines.

The bar wasn’t well-lit, but from what he could see from the glow of the three televisions behind the bar and the dim pot-lights set into the black ceiling tiles, he and Rook were exceptionally overdressed in their cocktail attire: punks, skids, skins, creeps, and weirdos milled about. Some leaned against the bar, slugging back tall cans of PBR and talking loudly over the music being played over the sound system. Some lurked in front of the stage waiting for the band to start.

“I’m very sorry, ma’am - I’m afraid you don’t meet the dress code for the evening and you’ll have to leave: this is a high-class place.”

Emmrich‘s hand had settled on Rook’s waist while they waited for the bartender to acknowledge them, and he reflexively held on a little tighter at the sound of the stern but apologetic voice.

Rook turned in his arm and she grinned broadly at the sight of the handsome and broadly built man next to her who shook his long wavy black hair, grinning smarmily. He held a pint glass filled with something hazy, and wore a purple and green plaid button down over a t-shirt that had ‘MOGWAI’ printed across the chest.

“Yeah, I’ll leave - if you can manage to get me back up the stairs, asshole” Rook scoffed.

“Done it before,” her friend shrugged. “And you were dead weight too - that was the Fireball and tequila night.” He wagged a finger at her, and despite not knowing this person, Emmrich thought his voice sounded familiar. There was a charismatic and playful quality about him that was instantly endearing.

“On the topic of the dead—” his head shifted and he looked at Emmrich. “You’re ‘The Guy’ aren’t you? Emmrich, right?” His eyebrows raised and lowered twice, and he held out his hand. “Leon de Fiorino - best known around town as Leon The Loon on B-96.9’s late night show: Mom always said I had a face for radio, so I like to think I’m making her proud.” His grin widened.

Ah of course - this was the infamous Leon: Rook had shared many a tale of misadventure with featuring her old roommate. He hosted a late night radio show every Sunday spotlighting local alternative artists - of course he’d be here.

Rook had pulled out of his grasp and was standing on the brass bar rail, making her a few inches taller so she could lean in for the pretty bartender with a pixie cut to hear her.

“What do you want?” She hollered over her shoulder at him.

“I’ll have what you’re having, darling!”

“Three jaegers and two PBRs, please!”

Oh it was going to be that sort of night, then - Emmrich could already feel his head throbbing in advance of the hangover that was in his near future.

He returned his attention to Leon. “A pleasure to meet you, Leon - I’ve heard so much about you!”

“And you still want to date her?!” Leon tossed his head back and laughed loudly. “Just fucking with you, man - but if you’re ever looking for an embarrassing story about Rook, I lived with her for two years: I could write a book!”

“So could I but about you! Do you want this shot or not? Keep talking and I’ll do ‘em both!” Rook reached into her jacket for her wallet and Emmrich put his hand over hers.

“I’ll buy, darling,” he said, quietly enough so that only she could hear him.

“Don’t be silly,” she retorted, eyes reflecting the dim bar lighting prettily. “You can get the next round.”

If he had it his way, Rook wouldn’t pay for a single thing out of her pocket ever again, but he understood that letting her do things - small kindnesses like a round of drinks - meant something to her.

“Of course, dear.”

Smiling, she counted out the cash for the drinks and handed it to the bartender, pocketing some of the change and dumping the rest in the tip jar before sliding down from the rail, her heels clicking against the hard concrete.

“We just found out our funeral home has been bought out by a pair of raging sociopaths and will be run by a dumbass whose spine has the structural integrity of overcooked spaghetti!” She told Leon, picking up a shot and handing it to him, then handing one to Emmrich before she picked up her own. “So: fucking cheers!”

She cozied back against Emmrich and lifted her shot glass.

“Fucking yikes, bud!” Leon concurred, and all three touched their glasses together before tipping them back.

Oh it was bad. It was foul. It was concentrated evil.

It tasted like cough syrup and regret - how it left his throat feeling sticky was a marvel: a trait of a concoction that could only be dreamed up by a sadistic madman.

The cloying, herbal taste of the jaeger dragged Emmrich instantly back to the hazy, sloppy nights of a younger man, and a wave of nausea punched him square in the gut: a fist with a message tattooed on brutal knuckles that said ‘you are too old for this, old man.’

The cheap beer that he chased it with did little to take the edge off: foaming and bubbling all the way down to his stomach where it mingled with the jaeger and made the acute nausea even worse.

Perhaps he’d vomit right here at the bar, ruining Rook’s costly new shoes - and any chances he had of making their relationship last beyond the night.

He swallowed the mouthful of ominous saliva that had flooded his mouth and forced his constitution to heel: he could do this - ‘rally’ as the youth called it these days.

#v writes #emmrook #emmrich x rook #rook x emmrich #emmrich romance #emmrich smut #emmrich volkarin #emmrich #dragon age emmrich #emmrich the necromancer #i heard people are dying to get in here #funeral home au #modern au #dragon age #datv #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age fan fic #wip wednesday #wip whenever

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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The Detour 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Thor

Summary: You find yourself stranded in a small village.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The burly blond leads you through the airy lobby, our valise in one hand as he drags your rolling bag with the other. He doesn’t pause at the counter, instead tossing out and order as he passes, “Darcy, we have a booking for the Berkano suite.”

A woman looks up over the desk and smiles, her lips painted bright pink as she wears a pair of thick black glasses. “Got it!”

She scribbles in an open book with a pen. Is this village so outdated they haven’t even a proper booking system? They haven’t even asked for a deposit. You’re certainly not a criminal but it’s standard business procedure.

“My card,” you step up and slide it across to her.

“Ma’am,” the blond stops by the wide staircase and faces you.

“In a moment,” you wave him off, “I’m not in the habit of existing on charity.”

“Oh, thanks, uh…” the woman, Darcy, looks at your card like she’s never seen one before. You suppose she doesn’t often see that exact type. She lays it on the page of the book and copies the number and your name beside the suite number. “Here ya are.”

She hands the card back and you arch your brows before twisting on your tall heel. You strut over to the wait brute and gesture him onward.

“There we are, sir.”

“Ma’am,” he drawls again.

“Ma’am,” you scowl.

He scoffs as he turns and lifts the rolling suitcase as he starts up the stairs, “apologies, I didn’t get a name.”

You roll your eyes as you set up after him. You keep a hold of the thick railing as you take careful steps in your stilettos. He easily outpaces you and turns back to watch your deliberate ascent, almost mockingly at the top of the step.

“Thor, if you’re curious,” he offers his name as you come up beside him, “so you would be…”

You huff and recite your name. Hopefully, you won’t have use for his. You check your watch pointedly and he chuckles.

“Ah, city folk, always in a rush even when you have nowhere to go.”

“Oh, I do have place to be,” you insist, “tomorrow, the mechanic will patch my axle and I will drive to the city and trade it in for a proper rental.”

“Mmm, sounds like a good plan,” he remarks and points you to the left, “go on. Number 2117.”

You take his directive, if only to be away from him. You will shut yourself up in the suite and shed the weariness of the day. Why did you think this trip would be anything but stressful? This is why you stick to first class and all-inclusive resorts.

“This one here,” he says as you come up to a door.

There’s a hand-carved wooden plaque next to the door with the number inscribed; 2117. On the door itself, is an odd emblem wrought in iron; it resembles a B but is pointed where it should be curvy. He stops and lets your suitcase stand on its own as he reaches to his belt, pulling for a key attached to a retractable cord.

“I’ll have Darcy bring you the keys,” he offers as he sidles closer. You step back and watch him unlock the door. “Anything else, my lady?”

“My lady?” You glare at him, “wonderful service.”

“I wasn’t being–”

“Sir, I can handle it from here,” you grasp the handle of the round valise and the suitcase. As you try to rip them away, he doesn’t let go. He’s strong and you’re effort barely affects him. “Please, you’ve done enough.”

He snorts, “you are rather charming.”

You shake your head and yank on your bags again. He lets them go so you stagger. You steady yourself and snarl under a curled lip.

“As are you,” you snipe back, “good evening, sir.”

“Thor,” he intones.

“Whatever,” you snap and drag your suitcase through the door.

Before you can kick it shut, he pulls it closed behind you. You shake your head at him and drop your valise on the side table beneath the oak-framed mirror. A single night will be more than enough for you.

Off the entry of the suite is the door to the bathroom. You flip on the light as you peer inside; it’s large with a round tub in the corner, jets embedded in the sides; a pair of porcelain sinks and a long mirror behind them; a shower booth set into the wall with a transparent glass door; and the toilet beside the cabinet of towels and complementary lotions and soaps.

You shut the light off and proceed further into the room. The suit is divided by a centered wall; a long sofa sits against one side, a television mounted on the wall across from it and two arm chairs placed at an angle on either end of the sofa. A low table in the center of the sitting area and side table just beneath the TV, a vase of flowers atop it, along with the phone, and a kettle and pair of porcelain mugs.

On the other side of that, is the small kitchenette, a small fridge, a single cupboard, an ice bucket on the short counter, and a toaster oven on the shelf above. The other shelves hold a set of sparkling crystal glasses and a matching decanter, along with a large clear jug.

You pass through to the bedroom area. On the opposite wall, a pair of sliding glass doors open onto a balcony. There’s a table outside with two chairs. The bed is a king and is made up in luxurious bedding in a shade of charcoal. The suite melds together shades of white, iron, and some blue hues.

There is a wardrobe against the dividing wall and night tables on either side of the bed. A chaise stands along the end of the bed and a velvet pouf in the corner. There’s a vanity against another wall with little bulbs around the mirror and a tall-legged seat before it. It is acceptable for the night.

A knock comes at the door and you sigh, expecting the same blond nuisance. Of course, he can’t just leave you be. It isn’t as if your disinterest isn’t radiating off of you. You go to the door and swing it open sharply.

It isn’t him. Thank the lord. It’s the girl from the front desk. Donna? You already forget.

“Here are your keys, miss,” she hands over a keyring with brass skeletons and a matching tag, “oh, and Thor said you were a fan of wine.”

She offers a full-bodied bottle of Chardonnay. This man must believe all the stereotypes. You are hardly a Chardonnay enthusiast, you prefer red to white.

“How thoughtful,” you drone.

“Dinner is in an hour. Just down in the dining room. Tonight is roasted hare.”

“Dinner?” You echo.

“Oh, yes ma’am, all guests are welcome to join.”

“Do you have room service?” You wonder.

“Not exactly, ma’am, but we offer three meals a day downstairs. Just turn left as you’re coming down the stairs and it’s right through the door between the lion statues.”

“Mmm, is there anywhere close by I might get a bite. Privately?”

“Um, there’s a cafe in town but it closes early. And Hank’s eatery is a bout a twenty minutes drive, out by the old lumber mill–”

“Dinner in an hour,” you check your watch, “mmm, I’ll think about it.”

You take the wine and spin, elbowing the door shut. It isn’t your first choice but it will do the job.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #the detour #drabble #au #series #backwoods au #avengers #mcu #marvel

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keonnissupersuperdupercool · 6 days ago

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Hai here’s another UNFINISHED. fic.. I’m posting my UNFINISHED fics on tumblr bc there’s like no actual Phighting fanfics on tumblr :( anyway dis one is hypertana and hyper is with shuri bc he’s sick.. this is sorta a crack fic?? Idk but hello alfredo 🤤 also shuri doesn’t like hyper shuri is protective over katana :) ooc

(1381 word count)

…………………………………………………………………………….

Hyperlaser slowly opened his eyes to a blurry vision before him. He felt the soft silk sheets from beneath him try to pull him back into his slumber, but the sound of shuffling perked his interest. He yawned, sitting up before rubbing his eyes and grabbing his glasses from on top of the drawer next to him.

“Oh Hyperlaser, you are finally awake.” A low voice went through one ear and right out the other.

As Hyperlaser’s sight regained itself he looked around the room to see a familiar tall red figure walking towards him.

“Mmm… Tana’?..” He asked groggily, yawning a second time while stretching, loving the way the figure's voice just melted his insides.

He looked around more to only now notice that he was in fact in Katana’s bedroom, in Katana’s bed, and in a totally different outfit than he was in before. He was in a blue and black kimono that was too big for him in the sense that it wasn’t even covering his shoulders and the sleeves covered his hands.

“I hope you do not mind staying here with just Shuriken for a bit as he is sick. Slingshot and Vinestaff are going out to the cafe and I am going out to train.” Katana sheathed his blade into its holster, it being the only thing he ever needed in combat.

“Yeah, yeah.. sure. Just don’t be gone to longggG- yawn You know how much he hates me…” He looked over to Katana, who was right next to him waiting for something.

Hyperlaser reached up to bring Katana down for a quick -but still loving- kiss, his morning breath still very evident. Katana smiled, immediately returning the kiss, kissing him again and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Mmm… love you..” Hyperlaser mumbles, weakly smiling at the ronin.

“I love you too Hyperlaser. I must go now, Vinestaff said to not get anything on that kimono you're wearing.” Katana reluctantly let go, feeling a little bad to just leave his boyfriend right after he woke up, basically just leaving him in one of most vulnerable moments.

“Heh.. she knows I won't get anything on it… anywayss.. bye Tana’…” He waves at Katana as he puts on his mask and walks to the door of the bedroom.

“Goodbye Hyperlaser.” Katana waves back, opening and closing the door leaving the mercenary alone with his thoughts.

Hyperlaser sat there, staring down at the blanket currently covering his bottom half.

“Welp, might as well get up and like… cook or something.. would be good for Shuriken and I’ll leave some for the others when they get back, it’ll be a nice surprise.” Hyperlaser spoke to himself in a whisper, suddenly feeling the overwhelming need for coffee in his system.

He got up, only to yawn and stretch once more before wobbling down the stairs while holding onto the rail for dear life.

Once he had gotten down the steps his ears were blasted with the sounds of clanking silverware coming from the living room. He looked over slowly to see Shuriken playing a game on the console him and his sister owned.

“Ah.. Shuriken, do you mind turning the tv down?” Hyperlaser asked calmly as he started to walk over to the kitchen. Usually he wouldn’t mind the tv being so loud but where in inpherno did he find a game where they phight with silverware?

Shuriken groaned as he looked over, clearly annoyed. He didn’t say anything before he harshly took the remote, holding it with a very tight grip to the point where the tips of his fingers were white. Then he turned the volume down just to the point where you could still hear the clashing but just not as deafening as it was before.

“There. Happy?” Shuriken said with a piercing gaze and venom laced in his voice.

“Very, thank you.” Hyperlaser heard Shuriken slam the remote back on the couch, damn.. what was up with him today? ’Might just be the sickness’. Hyper thought.

Hyper decided to just ignore it for now, focusing on getting to work with preparation for the food. He opened the fridge to take a look at what ingredients were present while thinking of what he could make. Vinestaff mentioned him liking alfredo right? All the ingredients were here and Hyperlaser loves to make alfredo, he even has his own little recipe from over the years perfecting it to his liking.

He also turned on the coffee machine so that he could have his morning coffee and to get some energy while cooking- wait was it even morning?

“Shuriken, do you know what time it is?” The mercenary asked politely only to get a grumble and a short cough as a response.

“That’s okay I will look at the time after I’m done.” Hyperlaser sighs, deciding to just ignore him until he was done with the food.

And so he's off, pulling out all the needed ingredients and putting his expertise to the test.

(i rlly like alfredo don’t judge)

Hyperlaser was finally done with the meal, the air smelling of fresh, delicious alfredo ready to be consumed. Shuriken looked surprisingly very interested as he was already sitting at the island connected to the kitchen, sitting up and peeking his head as high as he could to get a good look.

The mercenary pulled the pan out of the oven and placed it on the small mat on the counter. He then went to grab two plates for Shuriken, placing them both near the pan so he could fill them. After he was done he placed one plate with a fork in front of Shuriken and another right beside it as he knew he would be hooked, instantly wanting more.

Shuriken was drooling. He was entranced by just the smell alone, wanting to taste it more than anything else in the entire inpherno. As soon as Hyperlaser placed the plate in front of him he picked up the fork, stuck it in, twirled it, and SHOVED it in his mouth.

His eyesight went foggy, his mind only focused on the creamy, cheesy taste in his mouth.

“Woah woah there champ- slow down you’re gonna-“

“Oh fuck me in the ass this is so good.”

…

“W-..what..?” Hyperlaser stared at Shuriken, shocked on why he would even say that.

“Mmmm…” Shuriken just kept shoving food into his mouth, ignoring the blue inphernal entirely.

Hyper watched as Shuriken just kept scarfing down his alfredo looking like he wasn’t even chewing. His hand was trembling on the mug of coffee he was holding as he carefully put it down on the counter, deciding to wash dishes instead.

He had to practically pry his head away from the awfully loud smacking noises as he walked over to all of the utilities he used when cooking to put them in the sink.

By the time he was done Shuriken had already finished both plates of pasta, relishing the last noodle like he would never see it again.

After he swallowed it he finally realized that Hyper was staring at him while holding back a laugh.

“Was it good?” Hyperlaser asked tauntingly, crossing his arms.

“N-no.. it was.. so bad I’m about to throw up!” Shuri quickly got up and ran to the bathroom with a hand on his mouth and stomach, pretending like he was about to throw up.

“Sure.. make sure to take your pills while you’re at it too!” Hyperlaser giggled.

He sighed looking over to the window in the living room, this is sure gonna be one long afternoon…

Katana huffed as he practiced his battle stance, preparing for anything and everything to come his way.

Other than how immensely sweaty he was, it was actually quite calm. The sound of the river flowing, the trees in the wind, and something shuffling through the bushes behind him… something is in the bushes behind him?

He immediately turned around scanning the area thoroughly, but he found nothing so he decided to take a closer look.

There was still a ruffling noise but as he got closer he could hear small squeaks coming from inside. His eyes widened as he realized a small animal could be trapped inside, he reached inside the bush

…………………………………………………………………………….

I think katana was supposed to find a hyperbaby bean…

#hyperlaser phighting #katana phighting #shuriken phighting #phighting!#vine staff phighting #slingshot phighting #hypertana #fanfic

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