#maybe i'll write a blurb next

[seiwas]

for writing game, iwaizumi + assistance <3

hope this sparks some inspo and thank you in advancee

hi there!! thanks for sending in a prompt 🫶

contains: friends to lovers (ish), halloween parties, reader is dressed as catwoman, expletives, iwaizumi is thiiiiis 🤏 close to murdering seijoh4 (jk)

iwaizumi + assistance

this is a set-up.

iwaizumi knows he shouldn't have fucking believed anything the boys "promised" him back when they assigned him this costume.

the suit is fucking tight, spandex digging into his groins and all other crevices that definitely should be aired out after after a few hours. he's had to constantly readjust his stance almost every few minutes, the black fabric compressing his thighs and torso, significantly constricting the range of motion his shoulders and arms are typically used to. if anything else, it could double up as a back brace from how rigidly straight it's kept his posture all night.

he'll give it to makki though; he did outdo himself sourcing this year's costumes―this batman set looks pretty damn legit.

except for one tiny problem.

there's no fucking pee hole. it's a zip-up, zip-down one-piece situation. and that normally wouldn't be a problem, except that oikawa "accidentally" knocked over a cocktail straight into his pants, the sickeningly sweet liquid now seeping straight into the fabric and past his boxers―cold and sticky as it touches his skin.

and so, the problem: his pants are wet, it makes him want to fucking pee, and coincidentally, the only vacant bathroom is across the hall, at your apartment.

this is why he believes this is a set up. that, and the fact that you're dressed in an outfit strikingly similar―just with cat ears.

he's been asked five times in this party if you're in matching couple outfits.

it catches him off guard, flusters him because of how badly he wants to say yes. but, you're just friends, and he doesn't even think you like him that way (despite mattsun and oikawa practically begging him to confess. makki tells him he thinks you're going to do it first).

so he politely smiles and says no, but you look good, your costume clinging to you in all the right places. thank fucking god he has a cape because he's pretty sure he spent the first 30 minutes in the party hiding his boner.

"hajime, it's fine, i swear," you stand beside him in front of the conveniently locked bathroom in oikawa's apartment. from the other side of the door, he's pretty sure he hears mattsun and his girlfriend mumbling. maybe fucking? who knows. "you can just use the bathroom in my apartment."

he glances at you before closing his eyes, contemplating, before finally agreeing to you.

"okay."

if he's being honest with himself, friends is definitely an incomplete label to what you are. as oikawa's neighbor, you are conveniently around all the time; and oikawa being oikawa, the ever-social butterfly, he's somehow managed to carve a space for you in the friend group.

(never mind the fact that oikawa's sniffed him out from the moment he first introduced you.)

you were a crush, then a friend, and now you're someone he picks up from work and drives back home three times a week, because he "has to train oikawa." you don't question it, even when you both know he stays over for dinner way past the gym's open hours.

"you know where it is," you open your apartment and urge him in.

"sorry again," he turns to face you.

"yeah, yeah, just pee!" you laugh, shoving him towards the bathroom door.

getting out of the suit is manageable, and he's able to wipe off a bit of the cocktail that's leaked to the suit and his boxers just to make sure it isn't gross and sticky when he gets home later. peeing is a big relief once he gets it over with, but it's when he has to suit up again that things become difficult.

stretching out the spandex one body part at a time is a workout in itself―the hardest task being when he has to pull it over his shoulders, adjusting it to fit properly over his arms and chest.

but then the zipper breaks.

and he truly thinks makki has fucked him over.

iwaizumi contemplates what to do next for a good, good while. he tries calling oikawa, only to no success every time; no way in hell is he calling mattsun in the middle of having sex. and calling makki isn't even an option; he'd never hear the end of it.

then you knock on the door, your voice soft and concerned as you ask, "hajime? you good in there?" you hit it spot on, too, "do you need help with your suit?"

iwaizumi presses his palms to his eyes. he's a rational man, straightforward and logical in thinking. there is literally no other option for him right now but to ask help from you. again.

fuck.

.

it's 30 minutes later when oikawa barges in your door, and the sight that greets him is iwaizumi in nothing but a hoodie (the hoodie you borrowed some time ago) and his boxers, with his hands on your waist as you hover your hairdryer over the crotch of his batman costume―cat headpiece off and all.

"you finally got together?!"

[reidsfilm]

cowboy!simon riley who catches you stealing apples from the apple tree he had grown in the backyard of his house. Pretty sundress swaying in the wind as he stands by the window watching you pluck from the tree, discreetly looking around and making sure no one sees you. but you’re caught, you just have no clue.

cowboy!simon riley who confronts you for stealing his apples a few days later, having you perched over his lap. ''You're a little thief aren't you?'' He lifted your sundress, your plump and round backside coming into view for Simon's dark eyes. You squirm on his lap and he growls as he doesn't warn you about the harsh smack that lands on your ass, making you jolt forward at the impact.

''M'sorry...'' Is all you can manage to say. Simon scoffs as he lands another firm smack to your ass, making you yelp. ''You're sorry, eh? Should've thought about that before you stole, love.''

And he continued abusing your ass until you're a red and crying mess, tears streaming down your face as your ass is as red as those apples you stole. Serves you right doesn’t it?

cowboy!simon riley who stuffs you’re tight cunt full of his thick and throbbing cock, using the slickness of your folds to coat his head before sinking into your awaiting heat. ''So tight… this cunt is swallowing my cock so good.'' he rasps into you're ear as he folds you’re knees, having them pressed up into you're chest as his balls slap against the underside of you're ass.

''Such a good cunt, hm? So obedient. If only the owner of it was as well.'' he clicked his tongue, his thrusts harsh and rough as the tip kissed your cervix. And all you can do is babble and whine as your brain is completely fucked out and mushy.

cowboy!simon riley who fills you to the brim as he comes with a guttural groan as he spills all of his seed inside you, milking you’re gummy walls white. and when he pulls out, he watches his cum seeping out of you're hole, and he can’t have that. You whimper and hiss as he puts two fingers into your hole, collecting his cum and making sure not a single drop goes to waste. 

cowboy!simon riley who simply leaves you there, breathless and flushed and hole filled with his essence. ''Next time I'll use a belt on that pretty little arse of yours.''

And maybe stealing those apples wasn’t such a bad thing after all with the promise of a next time from the hardened cowboy.

a/n: had a dream about this. so I just had to write a short blurb about it ughhh

[ashtonisvibing]

yeah, sorry gamers, i don't got the energy to do ego/septictober tonight

friend took me around to a bunch of thrift shops cuz he's hunting pokemon cards

we started doing that around 11am... i have just gotten home at 6pm

i am... so tired right now lol

sad part is we didn't even find pokemon cards. we even tried walmart and game stop, but i don't think we looked hard enough in walmart and game stop was closed cuz the worker took a break

[fallingforyouforeverr]

𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐭 | 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬

summary: lando begins to panic when you don't want to cuddle with him

author's note: it's really hot rn where I live so i just wanted to write a cute little blurb inspired by my own suffering. vote here for who i write my next fic about!

• f1 masterlist • youtubers masterlist •

Lando was confused. He didn't think he had done anything wrong, and you didn't seem to be upset with him until now, so he couldn't possibly understand why you were refusing to cuddle with him.

It started off as most of your evenings did. After dinner, he washed the dishes while you dried and put them away, then you both moved into the living room to watch some tv before bed. Only, when Lando tried to pull you closer, you pushed his arm off you, moving away and leaving your boyfriend staring at you like a kicked puppy.

You didn't seem to think anything of it, settling back down on the other side of the sofa and pressing play on your favourite show. However, Lando was still frozen, mind reeling from your rejection. He wondered if you were ignoring him because you were mad or if it was just a mistake and you genuinely couldn't feel his eyes on you.

At last, the uncertainty became to much to bear and he decided to speak up. "Um...baby?" He asked tentatively, watching your face closely to see your reaction.

"Yeah?" You answered, glancing away from the screen.

Huh. That's weird. You didn't seem mad at all, and you obviously weren't ignoring him, so what was this about? Maybe you weren't feeling well suddenly?

"You feeling okay, sweetheart?"

Turning your body to face him, your equally as confused expression only eased his worries slightly. "Yeah, I'm alright. Why?"

Deciding it was probably best to be direct, Lando spoke again. "You pushed me away!"

You couldn't help but giggle at the adorable pout on his face, suddenly feeling bad for not explaining your behaviour earlier. "Lan, my love, I'm so sorry! I promise I'm not mad at you or anything, it's just because of the weather."

"The weather?" His expression changed, a slight frown settling into his brow as he waited for you to continue speaking.

"It's too hot," you explained. "It's my first summer in Monaco, I wasn't expecting it to be this warm. I didn't want to cuddle because I knew I would overheat."

Lando mentally slapped himself for not thinking of that as a possibility. He had lived here for a few years so he was used to the unrelenting sunshine by now, but you had only moved in with him recently so of course you weren't. He couldn't help but laugh at how much he was stressing over something so small.

"You idiot, making me panic like that!" The brunette scolded you playfully. You stared up at him innocently, batting your eyelashes with a smile.

Lando suddenly grabbed hold of your waist, and you shrieked loudly. You wriggled helplessly in his grasp, as he tickled you sides, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"I'll stop if you say sorry."

"Never," you gasped, swatting at his hands. He merely shrugged, tickling you harder.

"You sure?"

"Okay, okay, I-I'm sorry!" You managed between breathless pants.

Lando grinned cheekily at you, allowing you a moment to catch your breath before he leaned in to kiss you softly. You threw your arms around his neck tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. When you finally had to pull away for air, he rested his forehead against yours.

"I thought you were too hot," he teased, causing you to groan again and smack his shoulder. Lando pressed another quick kiss to your lips before continuing, "and for the record, I am definitely buying you like 20 fans tomorrow."

[badgers-and-cats]

maybe a small blurb of how fred or george would react to reader immediately releasing as soon as they bottom out or try to push in their cock? would they tease us? mock or all restraint would snap and rail us? 👀

My Poor Baby.

i'll do fred for now, but will write another for geroge at some point!❤️

18+ MDNI. Smut under the cut.

AFAB reader

warnings: smut. Fem pet names "darling girl," "dirty girl." squirting. unprotected P in V (wrap it before you tap it!!!).

masterlist

Fred had been teasing you all day. From the moment you woke up, it felt as if he was doing anything in his power to tease you. And he was being so damn cocky about it.

"What is it, darling girl?" he'd ask as if he hadn't stopped touching you just as you were about to cum. That was the 6th time today. You were wet, dripping in fact, and desperate. So very desperate for some sort of release. Lay on his bed, naked, your juices soaking the sheets beneath you.

"Fred, please," you'd whine, knowing he would tease more by asking what specifically you wanted, so you saved him the bother of doing so, "need you... wanna feel you, please," you'd beg.

"how can i resist when you ask so nicely?" he smiles, kissing you softly. he considered teasing for slightly longer - see how long it would take for you to snap. If his cock wasn't so painfully hard - basically begging to be welcomed into your warm heat - he probably would.

He pushed into your heat; groaning at the way your heat welcomes him; warm and wet. He couldn't help but groan at the feeling.

You couldn't help it. You really tried. But the moment he bottomed out; now balls deep inside of you, you released your juices everywhere; covering the sheets completely, your sweet cum covering his crotch and balls, along with your ass. You had squirted due to the sheer amount of teasing. This was bound to happen, it was almost as if all of the orgasms he had deprived you of throughout the day had seemingly all come at once.

"Fuck me, darling," he laughed, not moving from his position, as you lay there, feeling already fucked out and he had only put his cock inside you. Unmoved. He was completely mesmerized by what had just happened - the act alone making him harder, if it was even possible to become harder.

"such a dirty, girl... look at you, looking completely fucked out already... and I've barely touched you... poor baby, my poor baby," he'd say, almost mockingly, as he moves a stray piece of hair out of your face, pouting.

"fred-" is all you manage to moan out, in attempt to ask him to move, your pussy still craving for the friction. he pouts again, mocking you, kissing your neck softly. he still wasn't moving; his cock still snug inside of you. His self-control at this current moment was admirable, you felt as if you were losing your mind.

he laces his fingers with your own, holding them above your head; before finally moving his hips. you whine in pleasure, back arching off the bed as he pounds into you at a brutal pace, your juices mixed with your cum making it much easier for him to do so.

"my precious girl, squirting all over my cock. so perfect for me, you're all mine," he'd grunt in your ear, kissing the skin underneath softly. "I'm so close, gonna cum inside you beautiful... gonna fill you up," he nuzzles his head into your neck, and with a few more strokes of his cock, he came undone alongside you; he paints your walls white as you soak his cock once again with a high pitched moan.

it takes you both a moment to come down from your high, both of you feeling breathless as he pulls out of you gently. you try to speak, "that was..."

"brilliant," he finishes, laying down next to you and pulling you into him. "but don't think were done just yet... i want to make you squirt again," he smirks down at you. tonight was going to be a good night.

[hockeyboistrash]

didn't think i'd be writing a blurb for a canadien's player yet here we are. the hold this man has on me 😮‍💨 gonna be honest idk where the ending was going Arber dares Juraj to ask you for your number. What he doesn't know is that he already has it, three months ago

Arber is a little shit, on and off the ice. Tonight was no different. "There ain't no way she will say yes to you if you ask her out." Arber insisted. They were a few beers down and now at the point of the evening where they were daring each other to do things. You were the subject of the latest dare.

Juraj doesn't even know how you came up in conversation. "Oh and she will say yes to you?" He scoffed. Arber wasn't your type and Juraj knew that.

"I'll bet you $20 right now that I can go over there and ask her for her number and she'll give it me." Arber said, confident in his ability to woo women. Juraj bit his lip slightly, hiding the smirk that threatened to cross his face. It was going to be the easiest $20 he's made in his life.

"You're on." Juraj said, holding his hand out for Arber to shake who happily shook it. He downed the rest of his beer, adjusting the hat on his head before heading over to your table. He was confident, Juraj could tell from the way he walked over. He almost felt bad that you were going to destroy that, almost.

It didn't take long before Arber came back to the table with his tail tucked between his legs, his cocky smile long gone. "I'd like to see you try." He scowled at the Slovak who was trying to hold back his laughter but failing miserably.

"Okay." He said, taking one last sip of his drink and winking at his teammate. "Watch how it's done." Arber shook his head, grinning to himself thinking he was about to watch Juraj fail too.

You quirked your eyebrow as the 6 foot 4 forward slid up next to you wearing a model worthy smile. "Was your friend over there getting rejected not enough? You want a turn now?" You teased. You weren't exactly sure what game they were paying but that wasn't going to stop you from joining in.

"I need a favor." Juraj started. You leaned closer, intrigued by the proposition. Your top was low cut, he could see the outline of your black lacy bra. Juraj wanted nothing more than to take you to the nearest bathroom but he knew he had to keep his hands to himself. At least for now. "My friend over there thinks I can't get your number and I want to prove him wrong. Maybe mess with him a little."

"And what do I get out of it?" You asked, placing a hand on his arm. You knew you were laying it on thick but judging by the way Juraj's teammate was squinting at the two of you it was working.

"I can think of a few ways to thank you later." He said, his accent thick. It was enough for you to clench your thighs together. You didn't want him later, you wanted him now.

"How about you thank me now by taking me home." You suggested, biting your lip seductively. "I'm wearing matching panties." You whispered in his ear, sliding a piece of paper into his pocket to keep up with appearances.

Juraj cleared his throat, trying to think of anything but you laid out on his bed wearing nothing but your black lacy set. He grabbed your hand yanking you up out of your chair. You quickly grabbed your bag and jacket, a shit eating grin plastered on your lips knowing you were in for it tonight.

He stopped by the table Arber was sat at wordlessly holding his hand out for the $20. Arber was in too much shock to argue with him giving him the twenty dollar bill.

"Oh by the way, this is Y/N." Juraj shouted behind him as he dragged you out of the bar.

"Y/N?" Arber asked himself, the name sounding familiar but couldn't quite place where he heard it until it clicked a few seconds later. "Your girlfriend?!"

[ariestrxsh]

could you write a blurb on horny reader touching herself in the car, while matt is sitting next to her, driving, and he talks her through it and like instructs her and shit?

(if this is a bad idea please ignore🙈)

Literally not a bad idea at all! I took your idea and spiced it up a bit. 😇 I hope you like what I came up with. 💖

Matt talks you through touching yourself on a long drive...

It had been a long drive. You were several hours in and still had a few more to go, your boyfriend's playlist looping for a third time on the speakers of the car.

You looked over at Matt, who looked incredibly good today. You weren't sure if it was his most recent haircut, maybe his grown out stubble, or maybe the way the veins on his hands really popped when he gripped the steering wheel.

It could have even been the small bumps in the road or the vibrations of the car, drawing your attention to the throbbing between your legs. Either way, you couldn't help the wet spot that was beginning to form on the front of your panties while you studied your boyfriend who looked concentrated - and a bit bored, granted you had been on the same stretch of road for fifty miles now.

He let out a big, long yawn, wrinkling his nose and rubbing his eyes. "You doing alright?" You asked him. "Yeah, just getting tired. You mind talking to me a little bit to keep me awake?" He wondered. "I actually have a better idea to keep you awake," you said, smirking and narrowing your eyes at him as a diabolical plan took form in your mind.

You were horny, and Matt needed something to keep him alert. Why not solve both your problems at once?

"Oh, and what could that be?" Matt flirtatiously asked. He could tell by the tone of your voice that you were about to suggest something naughty. Without saying anything, you unbuckled your seat belt and pulled down your shorts along with your panties. Matt's eyes widened as you took your purple laced thong and hung it from his rearview mirror.

You pulled your makeup mirror out of your purse, propped your leg up on the side of the door, and hooked your arm around your thigh with the mirror in hand to give Matt a look at your wet pussy. "Why don't you do the talking, and I'll do whatever you tell me to?" You asked, grinning over at Matt.

His gaze was locked on the mirror that was reflecting the perfect view of your cunt back at him, and his lips curled into a smile after he wet them. "Spread it open for me, baby," Matt requested, his blue eyes dancing back and forth between the road and what you were showcasing for him, focusing just a bit more on the latter.

You took your two fingers and slowly spread your lips to reveal your intricate folds to him. "Mmm. It's so pretty, baby. Why don't you start rubbing your clit in circles for me?" He cooed, his cock jolting awake at the sight. You took the tips of your fingers and placed them over your bundle of nerves, moving them in a circular motion. You sharply inhaled at the sensation.

"That's my girl. Do it just like that for me," he encouraged you. He loved watching you, and he adored how spontaneous you were when it came to these kinds of things. "Why don't you go a little faster?" He said in a low, sexy voice, getting turned on by the way your pussy drooled onto his seat. You did as he said, drawing tighter circles and biting down on your lip to keep a whimper from sneaking out.

He adjusted the volume dial, turning his playlist into nothing but quiet background noise."C'mon. I know you're not shy. Your panties are hanging from my rearview. Let me hear you," he leaned over, purring into your ear. Your head fell back, and you let out a moan at the way Matt spoke to you while you played with yourself based on his direction.

"Put them inside and fuck yourself with them," Matt smirked at you. You listened obediently, your eyes rolling back into your head as you did. He looked into the reflective surface at how you stretched perfectly around your fingers, coating them with your juices, slowly moving them in and out of your hole.

"Give me a taste, baby," Matt requested, and you pulled your fingers out just long enough for Matt to grab your hand and suck them clean while he looked into your eyes. "Mmm. Good girl. Now keep going," he told you, his glance flicking back over towards the road. You put your digits back in, and when he told you to add one, you did. "Faster," he whispered, admiring you.

He couldn't get enough of the sounds of your playing with yourself, your needy whimpers and the way you squelched around your three fingers as you vigorously pumped them deep into your cunt. "Pretend it's my cock," Matt purred, knowing that's exactly what he was imagining, desperate to watch you cum all over your fingers. You curled them, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, nearing orgasm while you imagined it was your boyfriend fucking you.

Matt was completely hypnotized by you and the intimate show you were putting on for him. You started to get close, and Matt could read it in the pleasure written on your face. "Come on. Be a good girl and finish all over those fingers for me," Matt cooed, giving you permission to cum.

Your legs started to tremble, your core started to shake, and your pussy throbbed around your fingers. Your urgent moans filled the car, drowning out the soft sound of Matt's playlist coming through the speakers. Matt intently watched, his cock twitching in his jeans as you squirted all over the mirror, splashing some on his seat and coating your hand with your juices.

He couldn't get enough of how hot it was that his girlfriend could squirt, and he loved it anytime you'd show it off.

"Holy shit, that was hot," Matt whispered, taking in the view one last time before shifting his eyes back to the road with a newfound alertness. "Well, I'm awake now."

[thekoalapastriesbakery]

SHOTS ARE SCARY!

trans ftm!formula one x male!reader

request: trans driver asking for help with their T-shot not because their scared but you do it better (they are scared) - 🐺

summary: your boyfriend is absolutely not scared of doing his own shot, he's just letting you feel included!!!!

warnings: swearing, mentions of needles and medical anxiety (sort of), mentions of the fia being annoying (franco), my first attempt at actual writing (blurbs? imagines? one-shots? i don't know what these are)

contains: charles leclerc, franco colapinto, kimi raikkonen, + oscar piastri

charles leclerc:

you were lounging on the bed while waiting for charles, your boyfriend, to finish the post-race debrief with ferrari. it didn't usually take long. even if it did, the hotels f1 drivers stayed at were ridiculously comfortable—it didn't make you eager to go back to your little apartment.

finally, you heard the beeping of the door signaling that it had been unlocked.

"hey baby!" you called out from the bed.

charles appeared around the corner with a grin. before you knew it, he'd jumped onto the bed and assumed his usual position curled up with you.

"hello." he giggled, swatting at your phone to get you to pay attention to him properly. "i forgot to do my shot this morning. wanna help me?"

you let out a half-assed indignant noise when charles swatted at your phone. almost like second nature, one of your arms wrapped around his shoulders and you kissed his forehead. "nah, i'm good tonight. you remember where it's packed?"

charles' grin faltered slightly.

it wasn't that he was scared to do his own shot. no, not at all! that would be silly.

... but, yeah, he was a lot less nervous when you did it for him.

"oh," he murmured, reluctantly sitting up by himself. charles glanced at you again with a pout. "please?"

that got your attention. it became pretty clear that your boyfriend hadn't really been asking if you wanted to help him, but if you were willing to help him. and that answer would always, always be 'yes'.

"my bad, baby, i thought you meant that protein milkshake-shot thing," you said. both of you knew it was a lie. neither of you cared. not when charles beamed at you like that. "i definitely need to help you with your t shot. for ... science?"

"for science," charles agreed.

"for science."

franco colapinto:

"amor?" your boyfriend stuck his head around the bathroom door. "do you wanna help me?"

it was his very first t shot as a formula one driver. sure, franco had been on t for a while, but he had to stop for a few months because the fia had to 'reassess whether it was appropriate' for him to take it after williams signed him. and in the few weeks he'd been off it, well ... he'd kind of built up how much the needle would hurt more than he usually got to between doses.

you looked at him in mild amusement. "are you scared, franquito?"

"... no."

"oh, alright. i'm good, then. i'll just be here reading if you need me," you answered teasingly.

it was pretty obvious—to you, at least—that franco was scared about giving himself the shot. he always was. every week he'd insist that he would do the next one by himself. but every 'next time' he'd end up asking (or begging, if you were feeling mean) you to help him.

franco groaned, emerging from the bathroom and slumping down next to you on the sofa. "porfa, mi amor, necesito tu ayuda. lo sabes."

"you know you can do it yourself, yes?" you asked softly, hearing him whine and hide his face in your shoulder. "okay, okay! i'll help you. big baby."

"i am not a baby!" franco protested halfheartedly.

"mm, yeah you are."

"yeah, i am."

kimi raikkonen:

"hey."

you looked up from the sink. kimi moved so quietly you never heard it when he woke up.

"morning, love," you murmured, kissing his cheek when he walked around the kitchen counter to stand beside you.

kimi hummed, a light pink tinting his cheeks. he was only ever like this you. and maybe seb, if he'd had enough drinks. but mostly you. "shot day."

"monday already?" you asked with an easy smile. "i picked up your refill last week. should be in the cupboard in the bathroom."

"it is," kimi confirmed, looking at you expectantly.

finishing the last dish from last night's dinner, you stacked in the drying rack and dried your hands before turning to face your boyfriend properly. "what's that look for?"

kimi frowned. to most people, anything other than unadulterated joy was pretty indistinguishable on his face. to you, however, it was easy to see the little differences in his expressions.

"why are you in the kitchen?" he asked, as if that was enough to let you know why he was frowning.

"i was doing the dishes ...?"

"but it's monday."

you paused. what could possibly be the correlation between mondays and kimi's distaste for you being in the kitchen?

and then it clicked.

"you want me to come do your shot for you?"

kimi nodded, clearly pleased with himself for getting you to understand without actually having to say it.

"you can just ask, y'know." you chuckled. "c'mon, iceman."

this time, the colour on kimi's cheeks wasn't just a tinge of pink.

oscar piastri:

"babe, have you seen my shot stuff?" oscar yelled.

the two of you had just finished moving to monaco, so everything was still a little ... messy. to be fair, with oscar, it was usually messy. now it was just more messy.

"in the cabinet under the sink!" you called back, staring at the wall of boxes you had accidentally created, which made it somewhat difficult to get to the bed. "i put that blue tape stuff on the box!"

oscar shouted back a sort of muffled noise of acknowledgement, rifling through the yet-to-be organized cabinet in search of the little bottles of testosterone and the syringes.

"aha!" he mumbled triumphantly. the supplies lined up next to the basin, oscar sat on the closed toilet lid. "okay, i'm ready!"

you gave back a half-distracted congratulations. it probably should've, but it didn't occur to you that that was oscar's way of trying to get you to help him. not that he was scared. no, he just ... wanted to spend time with you. while you were effectively stabbing him. yeah, that was it. totally not scared.

"babe?"

oscar poked his head into the bedroom to see you staring at the wall of boxes with your hands on your hips. he rolled his eyes lightheartedly and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his forehead on your back.

"um, hello?" he teased, poking your stomach playfully. "you are slacking on your boyfriend duties, mister."

you gasped over-dramatically, turning in oscar's grip to look at him with a scandalised expression. "lies! slander! dishonor on you! dishonor on your cow!"

oscar groaned with a laugh. he started subtly dragging you down the hallway towards the bathroom.

"dishonor on your cow!" oscar returned, watching the gears turn in your head and finally click into place when you saw how he'd lined up his hrt supplies for you to help him with. "see? i told you you were slacking."

you scoffed slightly and pushed him down onto the toilet seat gently. "well excuse me for trying to find a way for us to sleep tonight."

"you're excused," oscar said cheekily, pulling up the hem of his shorts so you had access to his leg.

"brat." you grabbed the sanitiser wipes and, as always, got distracted by oscar's thighs. "damn, baby."

oscar blushed. it only got deeper when you leaned down to press kisses to his inner thighs as you always did before wiping down the injection site to make sure it was clean.

"why are you still so surprised every time you see them," he grumbled. "you see them, like, all the time."

you shrugged, grinning at him as you got the syringe ready and wiped down the injection site. "what can i say? you're too hot to get used to. whenever i see any part of you you always look better than i remember."

"sap."

"yeah, whatever." you pinched his other thigh gently. "deep breath."

oscar inhaled.

©thekoalapastriesbakery :: please do not copy or rewrite my work on any platform !!

author's note: first time doing full writing, let me know if it's awkward or something!

comments + reblogs appreciated!

taglist: @raizelchrysanderoctavius @crispysoup318 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @spoonfulofmilo

[lostinlovingrevery]

“van writing logan blurbs tonight” and i SPRINTED to your inbox

time to get horny on main i fear. do you have any thoughts on orgasm denial with mean!logan and bratty!reader. 🪑 (the chair i’m SO sat in.)

also just wanted to say again that i’m glad you’re feeling better :)

THANK YOU, I'm glad to. I'm not hundred percent but def don't feel like i'm on my death bed anymore lmao. I have an awful cough that's probably gonna linger for a month, probs bc I got some weak ass lungs from a sickness I had as a baby lol

Do not fear, horny on main is MY BASELINE!

Nsfw below the cut!

I picked out 70s Logan for this bc I actually had an idea v similar to this and this is my chance to type something out (and maybe make smth more out of it later ;) ). Old man Logan is such a perfect mean logan too~~~~~

"Got something to say now?"

He looked down at your shaking form. Your face planted into the floor. Your arms tied behind your back, keeping you bound and unable to move about freely. You turned your head to look at him, your cheeks stained with your tears.

"Lo-Please-"

He laughs, "Please? Now you're being polite? Where was those manners earlier?"

He kneeled back down in front of you. His hand- already soaked with your juices slide down your back soothingly, came over to cup your pussy, before smacking it- making you yelp. You looked up at him with a pouty lip.

"I'm sorry-"

He tsked, shaking his head. "You're sorry? That right baby?"

You nodded. He tilted his head, "Tell me, are you gonna pull that whiny shit again? Acting like a brat like I don't got shit to worry about already?"

You looked up at him pleadingly with wet eyes. You didn't say anything though and he chuckled, delivering another harsh smack to your already abused cunt. Then his fingers slid through your folds, circling your clit, causing you to arch your back- desperate for him. Only he takes away the pleasure once more.

You been in a bad mood today, and been taking it out on Logan- Just wanted his attention, for him to make you feel better. Except he was busy, had jobs to do, people to talk to.

You didn't like that.

So you began taking out your grouchiness on him. Slamming doors, stomping your feet, giving him sarcastic answers, scowling at him every second.

When he had enough of your attitude, and asked what the hell your problem was you told him to kiss your ass.

That didn't fly.

The next thing you knew your clothes were torn off, tied up, and forced to take his fingers and never the relief. He brought you to the edge over and over, and never allowed you to jump.

"You say sorry but I don't think you mean it darling."

"Please! I just want- I just wanted you- To take care of me." You bite your lower lip, attempting to make yourself look as innocent as possible- and he grinned.

"Yeah?" He stood up, grabbing the small furniture chair and sliding it a foot away from you, sitting down. He reached into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a lighter and cigar, placing the cigar between his lips and lighting it. You watched him as tears welled up in your eyes again. "Nuff' of the crocodile tears." He mumbles past the cigar.

He takes a puff of it, before spreading his legs, his hand coming down to the zipper of his jeans, an obvious tent in them, symbol of his arousal. "What about me hm? Having to put up with your stomping and attitude all fucking day, yeah?"

You purse your lips together. Biting back the smile on your face, as if this wasn't exactly what you wanted.

"Tell you what bub, why don't you come over here and take care of me. and maybe I'll feel generous enough to return the favor."

[mikkomacko]

Reader x mob!boss Nico (also sorry if that's wrong, this is my first request for the series) but something angst smut maybe after Nico comes from the gym?

A/n: This has been in my inbox for literally months I am so sorry it took me so long to write this omg 🫶 but for those of you worried I ignored your blurb requests, they’re probably just in my drafts still lmao

I changed this up a bit but I hope you still love it!

Warnings: smut, jealous Nico, angry Nico

____________________________________________

Nico doesn’t have exes. He’s got old hook-ups and one night stands, girls that clearly come to the Rock looking for him. They’ve all heard about how hot the Devils boss is, as well as the Devils themselves.

It never bothered you.

Nico never had anything with them, at least nothing real, so you never thought you’d have to worry about jealousy between you and Nico. At least nothing beyond the light hearted pouting he does when you’re with Johnny or the way you attach yourself to his hip when girls are obviously flirting with him.

Until an old face made an appearance at the Rock.

You blame Jack for it, honestly. It was harmless, Tyson was harmless other than Nico recognizing the name as soon as you stumbled upon your old boyfriend at the bar. It was one of the first personal stories Nico ever heard about you. Your high school boyfriend, your first love, your first heartbreak. You dated him for a while, fell in love, decided to celebrate your year anniversary together by finally doing it. The universal act of love, the infamous first time from every rom-com.

Except there was nothing romantic or comedic about it at all. It was below average sex, the build up lasted longer than the act itself, and you felt so empty, so disappointed afterwards that you had burst into tears as soon as Tyson was off of you. He panicked, got dressed and basically ran out the door saying he'd check on you later. Later came the next day when he broke up with you, saying you were too much for him and should be with someone who could handle you.

Nico hated Tyson enough as is just for that story. And then he hated him even more when he strolled up to you at the bar and acted like old friends, chatting with you even as you tried to keep conversation quick. You know Nico would've scared Tyson off in a matter of seconds, but you wanted to be civil, so you let him hang with his arm around your shoulders, sipping his beer with a brooding look as Tyson babbled about his life to you.

And you were just about to excuse yourself when Jack ambled up to Nico and asked, "who's the douche?" Which just egged on your boyfriend, his temper already flaring and he shot Tyson a dirty look.

"Her ex."

"Ouch," Jack winced, then patted Nico on the shoulder and leaned into his ear. "She has a type, I'll tell you that."

It was just loud enough for you to hear, turning to Jack with a glare and to hopefully placate Nico but it was all for nothing. He was already angry, already boiling over with a jealousy you've never seen. Denying Jack's statement was only going to make it worse, even though the stupid boy was fucking with Nico. The only thing Nico and Tyson had in common was their dark eyes, and even then Nico's are far darker, hold more depth, are more beautiful.

"Sorry Tyler," Nico spits, not even attempting to be polite or genuine in his 'mishap" on the name. "We've gotta go."

Nico's dragging you away after that, hand on the back of your neck and even though he's jerky and rough as he guides you around the bar and down the hall, his hold isn't mean or hurting. Just demanding.

Swiftly, Nico shoves you through the door into the office, kicking it shut behind him and flicking the lock. You weren't going to say anything, knowing words right now would do nothing for Nico. He accepts and expresses love through physical acts. You two are working on the words thing, but when he's upset like this, it's best to stick what's fool proof.

His hands grab at your face, cupping your jaw and dragging you forward, smashing his lips to yours in a fierce, biting kiss. And you just let him, holding the sides of his neck in your careful hands, easily letting him lead you further into the office until your thighs hit the desk. They’ve barely touched the hardwood before he’s grabbing at your thighs, hefting you onto the desk with effortless strength.

You know Nico is strong, have seen him in the gym, have seen him moving boxes and furniture, have seen him fighting. And you’ve felt it firsthand. Yet every time it takes your breath away, reminds of you that you’re with a man now, not some silly boy like Tyson and all the other average Joes before Nico.

It sends a wave of heat down your spine and straight to your core, arousal pooling in your belly and suddenly it’s like you’re so fucking empty and useless, like you’re life’s mission is to get Nico as deep into your pussy as he could possibly get. How you ever lived without him between your thighs, you don’t know.

“Nico,” you whisper, pleadingly, whimpering when he bites your lip in retaliation. His eyes are dark and demanding when he looks at you, bordering on anger but you know him better.

He just wants your attention. He wants you.

“Don’t talk to me,” he scolds, then almost dismissively he grabs at the bottom of your shirt and starts to haul it up and over your head. “Not after you made me stand there with that fucking hodensniterin and play nice.”

Knowing better, knowing you’ll get him the way you want if you sit there and let him go about his way, you comply as he throws your shirt to the floor, already working his over his head.

You don’t even realize you’ve moved until Nico is staring down at you, an unimpressed look in his eyes. “Now you want me?” He goads, wrapping a hand around your wrist and stopping you from trailing your fingers any further over his abdomen. “You want to touch me?”

You’re nodding along before he’s even finished speaking, brain already going fuzzy from how needy you feel. It’s like all your brain can think about is him, all you can see is him, all you want is him. His name forms on your tongue again and you have to bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your mouth to stay shut.

Meanly, he laughs, yanking you up to your feet by the wrist. Like a rag doll you go with him, flung and maneuvered around so swiftly it catches you off guard when your elbows hit the desk, cushioned by something. Blinking a few times, you look down and realize Nico has thrown his shirt over the hardwood, bunched up as padding under you.

It’s such a sweet thing for him to do, not unexpected of him even when he’s like this, but it still makes your body flush with heat.

“Too fucking bad,” he continues, “I’m doing the touching. Not you.”

Like it’s instinct, you arch back into Nico when you feel the heat of his body get close to you. He chuckles lowly, barely skimming the palm of his hand over your ass but flinching away when you press back into him.

Tears of frustration sting at your eyes, desperation burning in your skin. If he’d just let you talk, let you tell him how badly you want him, how much you need him inside of you right now it’d be fine. But he’s in a mood and already told you not to talk to him.

His fingers hook into the band of your skirt and underwear, the pads of them rough and warm as they drag across your skin. In one pull he's yanking both over the globes of your ass and down your thighs, leaving them bunched up around your ankles.

The air is cold on your newly exposed skin, raises goosebumps on your skin and you shiver, squeezing your thighs together to preserve some heat in your burning core, and subtly relive some of the throbbing in your clit. Nico reacts before you can even let out a hum of satisfaction, wedging a hand between your thighs and smacking them back open.

"Spread them," he demands, shoving his foot between yours now for insurance. You groan, hiding your face in your arms and biting into the meat of your forearm to silence yourself. Apparently that's the wrong move too though because Nico bumps his knee into the back of yours. "Nuh-uh, hands now."

Begrudgingly, you slip your arms around to your back, pressing your wrists together. Chest and cheek flat on the desk, the new position pulls at the stretched muscles of your legs, the ache just enough to make you throb even more.

His left hand gathers yours in one, long fingers holding them together by the wrist, and he presses down into the small of your back. You whimper, more out of embarrassment and neediness than pain but Nico sills for a moment, his right hand stroking over your ass gently.

"You ok?" He checks, voice a quiet murmur and you take a mental check of your body. It's a little degrading being thrown and bent over his desk like this, ass up for him to do as he pleases, but it stings in the best way possible. You trust Nico, know that even when he's got you exposed and vulnerable like this he would never go too far, even though he could.

It's exhilerating.

"Tell me baby," Nico encourages, settling his hand on the seam of skin where your thigh meets the bottom of your ass.

"I'm ok," you say, closing your eyes and breathing in the cologne on his shirt, the rich scent of him. It's soothing and you quickly amend, "I'm perfect, Schao."

You can picture the pleased smile on his face, the dimple it carves into his cheek.

"Good girl," he purrs, dragging his thumb through your folds. The sudden touch sends a shock wave through you, hips canting and rising to your toes to give him better access to your swollen and desperate clit.

"S'this all you needed to be nice to me again?" Nico skips over where you want him the most, going back to thumbing at your hole teasingly. "To pay attention to me instead of that cock-sucker out there?"

You're not sure if your allowed to talk again, so you bite your tongue, sucking in quivering breathes of air through your nose to stay grounded. I was just being polite, you want to say, to defend yourself. I hate him and I love you Nico.

Torturously slow, Nico dips his thumb between your folds, sinking into just the knuckle and you hold your breathe, scared that any sudden movement will spook him into stopping.

He pumps his thumb in shallow movements, careful and calculated. It's not everything you want from him but it's something, a content breath puffing out of your nose.

"Thinks he knows you," Nico mutters, more to himself than you. He pulls back, his thumb suddenly disappearing and you whine, pussy clenching down on nothing. Thankfully, Nico doesn't care about the bratty noise enough to scold you. He silences you with two thick fingers, shoving them into you up so abruptly you flinch, digging your cheek further into his shirt.

"He doesn't," Nico says, louder this time like he's trying to remind you. It goes in one ear and out the other, your mind to preoccupied with the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of you. He pets at the sensitive sponge part of you, curling his fingers to hit it dead on and your knees shake.

"He doesn't know how to bend you over like this, how to take you apart like I do, does he?"

Your fingers clench into fists, stomach clenching and every push of Nico's finger stretching you pushes you closer and closer to your orgasm. His hand on your wrists tightens, holding you in place and then his fucking his fingers into you faster. Your orgasm crashes over you, white stars bursting behind closed eyes.

He's still talking to himself, muttering stuff under his breath and stroking you through your high. Your thighs quiver and shake, the insides of them damp with it and your knees fully give out, leaving you a heap on the desk. The pounding in your ears must have blocked out the sound of Nico's zipper and the drop of his jeans, because your caught of guard when his fingers have only left you for a second before the weeping head of his cock is prodding at your pussy.

In one swift motion he buries himself in you, stretching your walls as his hips sit tightly against your ass. You feel useless, boneless after your orgasm, only able to lay there and take it. It's so nice you could cry, sniffling as Nico pulls back and fucks into you, a raw moan ripping from his throat.

"Fuck so perfect for me," he compliments, setting a fast and brutal pace. Your thighs and hips smack into the desk so harshly they'll definitely be sore tomorrow if not bruised too. His other hand grabs at your side, holding you so tightly you can feel his fingers between your ribs, painfully keeping you still.

"Just for me, fucking made for me."

You gasp, arch further into his strong body as your walls flutter around him. "All for you Nico," you mumble submissively, hoping to god that that's what he wants from you, that he wants to hear you. He groans in approval, the sound wrecked and rough. "Just want you, only ever want you, Nico."

Somehow he picks up the pace, fucking into you even harder and in the back of your mind you wonder where the fuck he got such a sturdy desk. Pressing his chest to your back, Nico sweeps your hair to the side, his lips finding the side of your neck.

"He had you first," he says low, breath hot against your ear "but I get you forever, right?"

Desperately, you nod, another orgasm building in the base of your belly. "Forever," you confirm. "He had me first, you'll be the last to have me Nico."

Sweetly, Nico kisses your temple. "Tell me," he request, now kissing at your jaw. "I want to hear more baby."

The juxtaposition of his cock fucking you into next week and his mouth being so sweet and soft cuts through you, leaves you raw and exposed to him. You knees shake again, thighs quivering as your high gets closer and closer, stronger now that he's already left you used and sensitive.

"He was the first to have me," you choke out, Nico's mouth ghosting over your cheek as he waits with bated breath. "but you were the first to have me raw, boss."

Nico makes a wounded sound, like he'd been punched in the gut and his hips stutter for a moment before picking up the same pace. He captures your mouth in a biting kiss, licking into your mouth with such dominance and control it sends you over the edge.

He fucks you through it, rocking his hips a few more times before he too stills, buried to the hilt as he comes. You pulse around him, greedily accept everything he pumps into you with absolutely no resistance. Nico kisses at your slack mouth, mumbling soft praises as you come down from your second orgasm.

"So good, baby. You did so good for me," he dots kisses under your eye, dragging his fingers across the skin and you blink your eyes open, realize your eyelashes are clumpy with tears and he's drying your cheeks for you.

"Nico," you cry, legs and hips aching, the edge of the desk digging into your skin uncomfortably He shifts, taking his weight off of you and releasing your hands. They prickle with pins and needly, the blood rushing back to them as they fall to your sides, numbly.

"I got you sweet girl," he assures, kissing down your back. Your in a haze as he pulls his jeans and boxers back up, then helps ease your underwear and skirt back into place. You make a noise complaint, needing to at least clean up a little bit but you don't make a move to do anything.

"You're fine," Nico tells you, slipping a hand under your stomach to drag you up from the desk. "Can sit out there with me dripping from you, yeah? Want you to remember who takes such good care of you now."

Like mush, you let Nico turn and sit you on the desk again, swiping his black shirt from the surface. He looks so pretty standing over you, cheeks flush and glowing, eyes still dark with arousal. His hair falls a little flat over his forehead, a crooked and boyish smile on his face.

"Yeah," you agree, still dazed as he uses his shirt to wipe under your eyes and around your lips, cleaning the spit remaining from his mouth.

Nico leans down, kisses between your eyes in a move so soft and fluttering it tickles, makes you blush like a school girl. "You're never too much," he promises, recalling the reason why Tyson had broken up with you. "You are everything. So pretty when you come, when you cry for me like that. I live for it."

Your heart aches in your chest, his kind words drawing a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. It had been something that followed you, an insecurity always in the back of your mind. You accepted whatever love you could get because you thought that was it. You were too much, they couldn't offer you more and you couldn't ask for more.

Until Nico.

"I love you Schao."

He smiles all handsome and precious, smoothing your hair down with a gentle hand. "Love you more, my baby."

You fall forward into his stomach, cheek pressing into the damp skin on his ribs. You want to hug him but your arms are still regaining their feeling and your legs are tired right now, so you settle for lazily wrapping an arm around his thighs.

“What’s a hodensniterin?”

He snickers, hand on your head, protectively. “Ball fucker.”

[in-another-april]

Could we get a whole blurb of playing with Spencer's hair? Maybe with some sleepy Spencer since that's your specialty <3

summary/prompt + genre - Spencer loves having his hair played with; you love playing with his hair. What a match! | fluff

warnings - none

wc - 352

notes - sleepy spencer!!1!!!11!!! i was worried i was writing about him too much but oof ill never pass up the opportunity hehe. kinda short one today bc spencer isnt the only one thats tired rn

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After a long case, Spencer just needs to be with you. It's become a routine of sorts, and tonight is no different: cuddling on the couch first thing after he got home late.

He lays on top of you, head on your chest. His breath fans against your collarbone, right next to where his long hair is splayed out across your skin, falling over his face no matter how often you brush it away. You watch him intently, admiring his droopy eyes and relaxed, tired features.

Your hand brushes through his hair, twirling a strand around your finger gently. Occasionally, your hand moves up to rub soft circles into his scalp, the feeling making him practically melt.

"Sleepy?" You mumble, but you already know the answer. "You ready to go to bed?"

"Wanna spend time with you." He hums in disagreement, nestling further into you. He tilts his head up to meet your eyes. Yours soften at his response.

You missed each other while he was away, phone calls and texts just weren't enough. You'd spend the whole rest of the night (and all of eternity) with him if you could, but you know he needs his rest.

"There's always tomorrow, angel." Your voice is soft, fitting. You lean in to kiss his forehead, the love you have for him almost overwhelming. He doesn't look convince, so you're left with no choice. The hand in his hair scratches gently at his scalp, and he grumbles. Unfair.

Playing with his hair never fails to knock him out, the sensation so relaxing and comforting that it lulls him to sleep within minutes. If he didn't love it, love you, he'd say that you know him too well. He yawns, and he doesn't even have to look at you to know you're smiling smugly. Maybe he knows you too well, too.

"...Tomorrow?" He concedes, deciding that falling asleep doesn't sound so bad after all. Not when you're holding him like this, taking care of him so well. He smiles, your voice being the last thing he hears before he drifts into sleep.

"I'll be there."

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taglist - @lover-of-books-and-tea @maskysluvr @aurorsworld @wisteriaspencer @radioactiveinvisible @mandarinmoons @spencereidapologist @lyd14-d33tz @luvkatryna @khxna @flow33didontsmoke (send an ask or message to be added/removed!)

[writing-girlie]

No need to rush

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!reader

Blurb: Teasing Joel was never a smart idea but you just needed him so bad.

WC: 2.5k

Warnings: SMUT; forced orgasm, multiple orgasms, P in V

Notes: Not fully proofread. First time writing for Joel so be chill please :)

You'd been asking for it all day, not directly, but you knew that Joel would understand. You started with your outfit, no bra and one of his shirts that barely covered your ass.

Then it was your tone, soft and sweet as you approached him at the dining table.

“You busy?” you ask while crawling into his lap while he was obviously working on something. He pulls you a little closer so you're fully against him and pushes your head down to rest on his shoulder so he can continue his work. To your own credibility you stayed still as long as you could, for all about five minutes. You turned your face into his shirt, kissing him, slowly working your way along his shoulder.

“I'm bored Joel” you murmur against him, only for him to tell you to be patient. You huff but continue to kiss him. When you reach his neck you gently nip. He stopped for a moment and you knew that that was enough of a silent warning but you didn't stop. Your teeth grazed his neck again.

“Don't” Joel warns, voice low. You kiss his neck softer this time.

“Don't what?” You asked innocently before sucking gently on the skin. The chair scrapes back, and he grabs your waist manhandling you off his lap, making you stand beside him. Before you could even process it he pulled his chair back in. You blink slowly at his actions but he doesn't even look at you, just goes back to what he was doing.

“Jo-” His eyes flicked up, and that single look shut your mouth faster than any words could. When your lips part again he's done.

“Sit your ass down and don’t move” He looks over at the couch. You hesitate for a moment. “Now”

You move quickly; his eyes follow you until you're sat then he looks away. You sit quietly and wait. You glance at the clock. It’s been over thirty minutes. You swallow and gather the nerve to speak.

“Can I go now?” He doesn't answer straight away, he finishes scribbling something down before turning his attention to you.

“No”

“But I-”

“Did I ask what you want?” Your stomach flips. Another half hour passes until he lets you go. You stand up but before you leave, he speaks.

“You better start behaving quick smart” You nod before heading down the hallway and into your room.

You lay down on your bed, giving Joel a chance to put it behind him. Once a long, boring hour has passed, you get up and slip out of your room, heading back down the hall. He is still sitting at the table; you walk towards him and hop up onto the table, crossing your legs.

“Hey” you say softly, running your fingers through his hair. “Maybe you should take a break”

“I'm not done” His eyes only flicker up to you briefly.

“You can come back to it, just want you, please.” He doesn't react, and that drives you more insane than if he were to say no. Your mind is racing with frustration and desire. You slide off the table and walk to the fridge, grabbing one of his beers. You sit on the floor beside him, resting your cheek on his thigh, looking up at him, slowly sipping, your lips wrapping around the mouth of the bottle. You know he sees it, but still nothing.

“You’re really not gonna touch me?” You start to feel and sound a little defeated. His jaw ticks.

“No.”

“Why not?” you ask quietly, pouting.

“Because you don’t listen,” he says, still not looking at you. “You act up, then expect to get what you want just because you say please.”

“I'll be good” Once again he doesn't respond so you reach up, fingers trailing his waistband. His hand shoots down, grabbing your wrist.

“How many times do I have to say no?” You shrug.

“I miss you” He lets go and you have a moment of hope.

“Then think about that next time you decide to act like a brat.” He taps your cheek gently, twice, then stands up. “I'm heading to Tommy's for a bit. Be good.” He grabs his jacket and walks out, leaving you on the floor.

The next best option you come up with is to be sweet. You get up and do some of the small jobs thated to be done around the house. Then you make dinner, one of his favourites, wanting to put him in a good mood. He walks through the door as you're serving it up. He automatically knows what you're cooking.

“You trying to butter me up, darlin’?” He walks up behind you, kissing your cheek.

“Is it working?” He hums against your cheek, like he's thinking about the answer. Instead, he ignores the question.

“Smells good” He walks away, sitting at the table. You sit and eat together, mostly in silence.

“You're really not gonna forgive me?”

“Didn't say I wouldn't but a little cleaning and cooking doesn't give you a free pass.” He takes his dirty dish to the kitchen then walks back past you and into the lounge. Once you tidy the kitchen you also go to the lounge. You hover by the edge of the couch, then slowly climb into his lap. He wraps an arm around your back, hand on your hip.

“You know I ain't mad at you, right?” You nod. “Just holding you accountable. Now let me finish my show” You remain in his lap until his show finishes, then he stands up, lifting you, and carries you to the bedroom. He drops you on the bed like you weigh nothing.

“Strip” You slip his shirt off your body and slide your panties down your legs. He pulls his shirt off, letting it crumple on the floor.

“Hands and knees” He commands as he works on his jeans, popping the button and lowering the zip. He grabs his jeans and boxers between his fingers and shoves them both down. You watch him over your shoulder as he frees himself, already half erect. He steps out of his pants, and he grabs his cock, slowly stroking. You arch a little more, hoping that you can entice him. Your pussy is already messy; you can already feel the wetness on your thighs.

He takes a few steps to be behind you. His free hand moves to your ass, and he squeezes, parting your folds.

“All this for me?” he murmurs “Acted like a little pain all day just to end up drippin’ for me like this.” He slides his cock through the slick mess, nudging your clit. Your breath catches as he finally presses into you, slow and steady. He wants you to feel every inch, every second of it. You softly gasp at the stretch and you arch a little more. His hands are firm on your hips.

“That's it” He quietly groans. His hips connect with your ass as he bottoms out.

“You feel that?” One of his hands slides up your back. “This is what you were wanting?” You nod, letting out a soft whine to answer.

He begins to move, slow and deep, not thrusting, just rolling his hips, and you swear you can feel him deeper.

“Ain't no need to rush, ain't that right?” His hand curls at the nape of your neck, his thumb brushes against your skin.

You're surprised about how he's going about this, you thought with all your pushing that he'd put you over his lap and that would be all you'd get. He keeps this slow pace, every slow, deliberate roll of his hips coaxing soft moans from you. Your fingers curl into the quilt beneath you as you thank him. His hand runs back down along your spine and settles back on your hip.

“You think this is a reward? Hmm? Act out all day and still get this?”

“I'm sorry, told you I was sorry. Please” You look back at him.

“But it doesn't mean nothing, darlin’. You meant to do this, you wanted this.” His voice is low. “See how far you could push” He stills inside you and leans in, pressing his chest against your back. “Acting like that ain't an accident.” Arousal swirls in your stomach.

“Just wanted you” He laughs.

“You always have me” He kisses your shoulder before straightening up and pulling back, leaving only the tip. “You don't even have to try but you like to mess around, huh, sweet girl?” He thrusts back in, this time setting a slightly faster pace. The rhythm is still controlled, but there’s weight behind each movement now. Your body rocks back and forth.

“I didn't mean to-” You say but even to your own ears it sounds weak. His hand goes back to your neck, pushing you down. Your cheek is now pressed to the pillow. His pace speeds up more, no longer teasing. It's deeper and faster, each thrust stealing your breath.

“Thought you were so cute” he says, mocking your voice. “‘Joel, pay attention to me. Joel, I’m bored. Joel, touch me-’”

“Joel- please-” The hand that's on your neck moves and gathers your hair, pulling you up onto your knees. You glance back at him, and he kisses your cheek.

“No” It makes you frown slightly. “You don't get to cum” Your mouth drops open, then you start to protest, to which he tightens his grasp enough to make you fall silent. “This ain't a reward.” He whispers in your ear, his beard scratching your skin.

He keeps the rhythm fast and hard; you can feel the coil tightening and you know that he knows, especially with the way he groans as your pussy pulses around him. You choke out his name.

His fingers find your clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles that make your breath hitch. You let out a soft cry, having to try harder to hold back – but it’s like he’s daring you to fail.

“Don't do it” His voice is gruff. You grab his wrist, choking out his name, but when you try to pull your hips away, his palm cracks sharply against your thigh. He then slides that hand up your body, pressing across your chest to hold you still, his fingers toying with your nipples. Your body trembles from the effort you put in to obey his command.

“You're close, aren't you? Can feel this pussy begging for release.” You nod. “But you ain't got permission” You shake your head “and you wanna be good for me so you won't” You can feel your legs starting to tremble and a few tears roll down your cheeks.

“Joel- I can't” You warn him, trying to sound as serious as you can while out of breath and whimpering. He doesn't relent, just kisses your cheek saying something about not disobeying him. His hand wraps around your throat. “You got what you wanted, baby. So why are you cryin’ now?”

You call out his name, your orgasm crashing through you like an overwhelming wave, only then does he slow down. He keeps you up against his chest as you tremble.

“So disappointing. I give you what you want and you still can't follow one simple instruction.”

“No! I said- I warned you” You try to argue.

“Blaming your lack of control on me?” He shakes his head, pulling out gently. He guides you to lay on the bed again, you let out a little sigh of comfort before he guides you onto your back. You look up at him as he leans over you, a hand on your cheek.

“I'm gonna have to punish you now, darlin’” He shifts back a little, letting his hand run down your body.

You twitch when his fingers find your clit again, still oversensitive, still throbbing from the orgasm he just pulled out of you. A broken whimper escapes your lips, hips jerking reflexively away from the sensation. Joel chuckles softly.

"Too much?" he teases, but his hand doesn't stop. You try to twist away, to press your hips into the mattress for reprieve, but his hand follows like a shadow. He slides two fingers into you without warning, then instantly presses his thumb to your clit.

“Joel-” His name leaves your mouth in a breathless moan.

"Shhh," he soothes, his free hand finds yours.

The pressure builds up faster this time, you can barely catch your breath before Joel curls his fingers just right. You squeeze his hand as your second orgasm takes over. He lets you grip his hand and dig your nails in as you ride it out.

“That's it. I got you, darlin.’” He says, easing his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth. “You still with me?” You nod. “Good.” He wraps his hand around his cock, still hard and glistening with your arousal.

He shifts forward, guiding himself between your thighs. The head of his cock nudges your entrance. Joel leans down, one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding himself to you. His eyes stay on yours while he pushes in for the second time tonight.

“Feel that?” he whispers against your ear. “You take me so well” You wrap your arms around his neck, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. The rhythm he sets is perfect, paired with the weight of his body, the feel of his breath, and the sound of his groans, like he knows exactly what you need. His lips brushing your temple.

“Grippin’ me so damn good, baby.”

You whimper as he shifts slightly, finding the perfect spot, the next thrust hits deeper, making you shudder.

“Come on, give it to me. I can feel that you're close again.” And you do. Your body tenses, then breaks apart as your third orgasm crashes over you. You cry out against his skin, clinging to him like he’s the only thing that matters. Joel doesn't stop but he slows just enough to guide you through it. He murmurs praise against your cheek between kisses. When you flake out under him, still shaking, he smiles.

“Just a little while longer.” He picks up the pace again, it's not intense, but it's desperate.

“Gonna fill you up. You want that?” You nod and that's all it takes. He buries himself deep, letting out a guttural groan as he spills into you. He stays there, locked against you while you both catch your breath. After a moment he wraps an arm around you and moves to lie on his side, pulling you with him so you’re still close, legs tangled, your forehead brushing his. His other hand comes to rest at your hip. You feel the soft kiss he presses to your temple.

“Alright?” You nod, still catching your breath.

“Yeah.” You can still feel him softening, and it adds an intimacy to this moment that neither of you wants to end. Time stretches between you, just enjoying the comfort found in the silence.

[astrophileous]

A little fluffy piece of reader who normally takes her coffee black vs Spencer having a ton of sugar in his? The two of them getting their drinks mixed up and almost spitting it out at the pure amount/lack of sugar? 🤭

OMG I was actually planning to include a similar scene in one of my upcoming oneshots, but you know whattt!!! I'll write them again here anyway bcs it's such a cute concept 🥰

Warning(s): gn!reader but reader wears lipgloss, profanities, fixation over lips, bashful spencer bcs he's my babygirl <3

This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.

Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

"What the fuck?"

Spencer strode over just in time to see you spitting something out into the kitchenette sink. There was no concealing the disgust on your face as you eyed the cup in your grasp suspiciously.

"Hey." Spencer's voice tore through the air in a shaky ball of nerves. It sounded meek amidst the buzzing busyness of the BAU bullpen, yet still, you snapped your head up as soon as the single syllable left his mouth.

Your eyes instantly melted when they flickered towards his face.

"I think our drinks got switched," Spencer added, a little louder this time.

Your gaze played a tennis match between the identical cups in both your hand and Spencer's. The grimace you rewarded him in the next second was possibly the cutest thing Spencer had seen in the past few months.

"This is yours? That explains so much. Ever heard of diabetes, Dr. Reid?" you joked as the two of you returned each cup to its rightful owner. "What the hell is in that, anyway?"

"Um, coffee?"

"Right." You rolled your eyes. "I may know practically nothing compared to you, Doctor, but I know for a fact that was not coffee. Tell me, how many sugar canes had to be chopped down to satisfy your abominable preference of sweetness?"

"It's not that bad."

"Not that bad? Do you even know what real coffee tastes like?"

Before he could produce a reply, you suddenly thrust the cup of coffee in your hand right in front of Spencer's nose. The man staggered rearwards until his back met the wall with a thud.

"What are you doing?"

"Try it," you said sheepishly.

"What?"

"Try the goddamn coffee, Reid."

Spencer didn't actually need to try the goddamn coffee. After all, he knew your order like the back of his hand: iced americano with an extra shot of espresso, maybe one pump of syrup if you were feeling adventurous. He could already imagine how revolting the drink would taste.

But as you continued to peer at him behind your lashes, eyes twinkling with mischief and lips glossy from your favorite cherry lipgloss—the limited edition one that you had proudly boasted about in front of the entire team—Spencer could feel his IQ depleting in a rapid descension. He accepted the cup without a word and took a courageous sip.

"Well?" you questioned expectantly.

"Please don't force me to do anything like that, ever again."

Laughter exploded deep from within your chest when Spencer shoved the coffee back into your awaiting hand. He didn't have a lot of time to mull over the nauseating bitterness, however. Not when you proceeded to wrap your own lips around the lid—the same one he was just drinking from—and downed a generous sip.

Spencer averted his gaze away.

"Hey." JJ peeked into the pantry area, unaware of the rush of blood and inner turmoil that Spender was battling. The blonde waved the file in her hand before gesturing at the conference room. "We've got a case. Hotch wants everyone in five."

You skittered away after JJ's announcement, leaving Spencer dumbfounded and pathetically bothered by the image of your enticing lips. He followed after your footsteps, leading himself towards the conference room where the rest of his team was gathering. He drank a large sip from his own coffee to calm his racing heart, unaware of the reddish stain in the shape of your lips marking the area around the lid of his cup.

For the rest of that day, Spencer could taste traces of cherry on the tip of his tongue.

[russellsppttemplates]

Hey girl I was the anon that requested Herve being a mommas boy while reader recently gave birth and it was sooo sooo adorable. You killed ittt

Would you be okay with writing a story part 2 blurb to it where maybe Herve still is being stubborn and Charles explains it to him and then he comes and apologises to his mama🥹🥹🥹

Note: thank you 💗 I'm happy you liked it!

"Hervé, can I come in? I need to talk to you", Charles said as he walked inside your son's bedroom after he nodded, "Is this about what I did?", Hervé mumbled.

"Yes, it is. That can't happen anymore, just because something didn't go your way and mama wasn't there for you at that moment it doesn't mean that you get to behave like that", Charles stated, "if there is something troubling you, you can talk to me".

Hervé stayed silent for a bit before he spoke up, "mama is always with Amélie, and when she isn't with her she's tired and can't play with me or when she plays, she's really slow", he explained his feelings, "and I miss having mama for myself", he nudged his foot on the floor.

"Mon petit, that's what happens when we have a baby - it happened when you were born too", Charles said, sitting next to him on his bed, "when you wete born, mama was tired because she was the one feeding you and you woke up a few times during the night, and then her body was healing as well - from what she tells me, some days it still hurts even if it hasn't hurt for a few days, and it's not something she can control.

"And now she has Amélie, and Amélie is little, so she needs help with everything - changing diapers, feeding, burping, changing clothes, baths, everything! And we boys have to protect Amélie and mama and make sure they're happy and healthy, so sometimes we have to be patient and understanding", he finished.

"Okay", Hervé sighed, "she still loves me, right?", he mused, "Of course she does, we both do, buddy", Charles ruffled his wavy hair.

"I should go apologise to mama", Hervé said before getting up and heading to meet you in the living room, seeing his sister asleep in the cot you kept downstairs.

"Hey, Hervé", you smiled at seeing him in a better mood than before, "mama, I want to apologise to you, I'm sorry for saying those things and for screaming", he said, approaching you.

Straightening your back and hissing at the pressure from your sensitive boobs, you held your arms out for him to cuddle, "apology accepted, amour, come here", you pulled him closer, "Amélie needs a lot of my help - and she's always on my boobs, right?", you playfully rolled your eyes, getting him and Charles to giggle, "so there will be times where I can't do everything with you, but I'll try to be better, okay?", you promised me.

"You're already the best, mama, I'm sorry I did those things, I love you and Amélie and papa", he said into your neck, fist grasping the fabric of your shirt, "Thank you, amour, I know you do", you smiled, kissing his cheek and waving at Charles to join the cuddle.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[sweeterthanficstion]

— coast2coast (pt. one) || l.s.k

pairing: life guard!leon kennedy x surfer!fem!reader

tags: surfing au! set in malibu, 1998, i wrote this with re2 leon in mind but re4 leon works too, featuring claire (and chris in later parts!), UNEDITED!! so far only fluff (unheard of...) i'll add as i go!

oh actually, my shitty attempt at knowing anything about surfing despite learning everything through youtube, google and malibu rising by taylor jenkins reid (what started this whole thing). i am NAWT a pro --- so if any of you guys actually know a thing or two abt surfing hit me up!!! i'd love to learn more!

summary: Summer is a fickle thing, sticky-sweet and fleeting, gone before you're ready. You've learnt to love it while it lasts. For you, every summer has been the same—surf, sand, salt-water tides and the hot Malibu breeze. But this summer brings a new sort of challenge, a spotlight your not so sure you're ready for, as well as a boy with golden hair, eyes as blue as the waves, and a way of making your heart rattle between your ribs like it’s desperate to break free.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: AHH HI! i'm so excited to post this one!! it's currently summer here in australia and i've been down at the beach nearly every weekend, so it was only inevitable that my fixation on surfer!leon came back full force. i have this big story all set up in my head, but i was too excited to wait to finish writing it so i'm posting it in parts!! ++ oh also i had no idea corral beach was an actual place in malibu so my version is fictionalised. just. take everything in this fic with a grain of salt i have no idea what im doing lol

i also thought it'd be really fun idea since i'm so busy nowadays, that if you guys are interested at all, you can send in little ideas for blurbs for surfer!leon, and i'd love to write them! i'll figure out ways to fit them into the story, just as little extras, but obviously no promises on writing all of them!! i'll likely just pick the ones i think fit best into the plot. i just think that'd be AWESOME!! <3

playlist⭑masterlist⭑AO3 ⭑ series masterlist⭑next part (coming soon)

California is exactly how you’d left it. Exactly how you remember it. Nothing has changed between the sand beneath your toes and the palm trees lining the scorching hot tar roads, their shadows stretching long and thin like sleepy cats in the afternoon sun. The salt-kissed air wraps around you, sticky and warm, a gentle reminder that time moves slower here. Or maybe it doesn’t move at all. 

That’s the thing about California. A time capsule—sun, sand and sky.

June, July, August, Summer melts in your mouth like a sticky popsicle, one into the next, so quick you forget what it tastes like before it’s even passed.

No matter where you are in the world, what waves you're chasing, whether it be in Oceania, the Pacific, the Atlantic, summer melts, fickle and eager.

You’ve learnt to love it while it lasts.

“Another fish and chips!” One of the waitress staff calls from the front—Bunny’s Seafood Diner has been around for as long as you can remember, a weathered little gem perched off the coast of Corral Beach, Malibu. A quick and convenient right turn off the PCH, it’s a lighthouse for road-tripping families and sunburned surfers chasing their next ride.

You flip the fryer around your wrist with a practised flourish, “On it!” You call back, before you dip the metal back in the bubbling oil, the familiar sizzle of golden fries accompanying the bustle of the late afternoon rush. The kitchen smells of salt and grease and the faint tang of fresh-caught fish, a scent so familiar it clings to your skin like a second layer.

Claire breezes past with lazy grace, bumping her hip against yours. “Heading to the surf after?” she asks, her grin as wide as the beach outside, like her mouth was made for holding sweet oranges on hot summer days. She’s balancing a seafood basket in one hand and a plate of fries in the other, weaving through the bustle with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times before.

“How’s the forecast looking?” You ask back instead, tossing the crispy fries into a basket lined with deli paper. 

“High tide in twenty,” Claire winks over her shoulder at you, side-stepping a counter corner like it’s second nature. “It’s gonna be perfect.”

You can’t deny that does sound perfect. After a shift as long as the one you’ve worked today, a surf might be all you need to feel alive again. You look back up at the foggy old clock on the wall—ten minutes left, five if you can sweet-talk your manager. You end up counting the minutes in your head, that familiar itch to feel the sand under your feet and the sun on your skin insatiable. 

By the time the clock hits four, you’re halfway out the door, ready to trade the smell of fried seafood for the briny tang of the ocean instead. Claire is hot on your heels, boards tucked under both your arms as she chases you across the tar road that burns under your bare feet, down the splintering boardwalk, and onto the powdered-sugar sands of Corral Beach.

The sun has already dipped far past it’s zenith, and the world feels washed in gold. Golden rays stretch out across shimmering waters, painting streaks of honey over the horizon, the heat settling into a balmy hum that sticks to your skin in a way you can only love.

You follow the shaded path of sycamore trees until the beach opens up to surfer’s paradise—a long stretch of sand, waves that swell and crash, aching to be carved into by hungry surfers. The path curves past a weathered wooden bulletin board, been there as long as you can remember, and you think it might be older than Bunny’s, if that’s even possible. 

“Wait!” Claire stops in her tracks, and you are helpless but to comply. Your eyes stay glued longingly to the beach while Claire’s squint at the array of flyers pinned up—some faded, some fresh. There’s a yoga class, a missing dog poster, and the usual surf report stapled to the corner, its ink smudged from damp fingers. But her eyes zero in on something bright and bold and new. 

“Here we go.” She plucks a flyer off the board, turning it toward you like she’s struck gold. The words Corral Beach Annual Surf Comp are printed in big, blocky letters, accompanied by a grainy photo of a surfer carving into a wave.

“Oh, no,” you groan, already shaking your head.

“Oh, yes,” Claire says, a grin spreading across her face.

Claire’s been singing the same song since you were fifteen and cutting through waves better than most kids your age here on Corral Beach. That you should be out there winning trophies and medals and 10k cheques instead of cleaning out the back of the greasy old fryer’s in Bunny’s. 

“C’mon, you have to do it!” She bugs on, waving the flyer around like some magic wand. 

You laugh, ducking under her arm as she tries to push it into your face. “Claire, come on.”

“I’m serious!” she insists, jogging to catch up with you as you head toward the water. “You’re out here every day. You’ve got the moves, the skill—everything they’re looking for.”

It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. You’ve been surfing since before you could walk. You’d grown up right here on Corral Beach, knew these waves better than yourself. You’d watched your parents chase waves like it was their religion—Bali, Costa Rica, Australia, it was their entire life. Something they loved that was inevitable for you to love too. 

“I’m just not the competition type,” you shrug, gaze drifting out to the waves curling in the distance. It’s not that you don’t want to—well, okay, maybe it is. The idea of standing out there, under the scrutiny of judges, crowds, and strangers, feels about as foreign as the first time you stepped onto a board. Surfing, to you, is about as religious as it is to your parents. An outlet, an art form, the ocean calms your restless soul when you need it most. Putting a score to something like that just doesn’t feel right.

“You’re one of the best surfers out here.” Claire presses, she does it so effortlessly. Poking and prodding, always enough but never so much as to push you over the edge. “Half the people in those comps are just there for a shot at a new wetsuit.”

You meet Claire’s gaze, hesitate, the memory of your dad paddling out at dawn or your mom teaching you how to duck dive flickering in your mind. “It’s not about that. My parents taught me how to surf before they taught me how to say mom and dad. They’d enter comps now and then, but it was never about winning. It was about the waves, the adventure.”

“And you don’t think that’s in you too?” Claire asks, raising an eyebrow as she shields her eyes against the sun.

“Maybe it is,” you say finally. “But that’s their story, not mine.”

Claire’s gaze softens for all of a second before she snorts, shoving your shoulder with her own. “You’re so full of it. You’ve got more talent in your pinky than most people out there. Just think about it, okay? It could be fun.”

You do nothing of the sort.

The second your feet are in the water, you forget all about the comp, all about your job and any other worries on your mind. Salt water seems to have that sort of effect on you. Wasting no time, both you and Claire paddle past the surf, straddling your boards in the ocean, watching as the other surfers before you take off one by one with each new wave that rolls in.

It doesn't take long before the first wave in a gorgeous set comes in, Claire’s all but primed for it. She takes off, gets into position, and pops up on her board, carving into it like it’s breathing. You follow suit as the next one comes in, and just like that, you fall into the rhythm of the ocean.

Wave after wave, you don’t stop until the sun is cotton candy pink, purple, gold. Most of the other surfers have dispersed by now, and Claire’s traded shredding the bigger waves for wading through the calm waters with her back pressed against the flat of her board. 

You, on the other hand, feel like fate is decidedly on your side. You watch as another set rolls in, the first crashing just out of reach. It peels exactly as you’d hoped, slowly to the right, so when the next one rolls in right after, you paddle with it, catch the feeling of the tide underneath you, and like it's simply second nature, get to your feet.

This is where you feel most alive. There is not a second to spare for the other noise in your head, not about the past nor the future nor anything in between other than right here and now. Nothing but the instinctual insistence of how much longer can you stay on? How much longer can you keep your balance? Lean left, right, forward. Better, longer, more, more, more.

And when you’ve finally completed your balancing act, you dance up to the nose, hovering there on the tip of your board, arms out to steady yourself like sails catching wind, and then you close your eyes and let the crash of the wave topple you off.

It’s only once you’ve resurfaced, board nowhere to be seen, that you realise you didn’t feel the familiar tug of the leash around your ankle. By the time you drag yourself to shore, breath heavy and hair clinging to your face, you see it—the measly cord trailing behind you, frayed and snapped clean.

You huff a sigh, not surprised. It had been old crap for a while now. So had the board, but it carried enough summers in its scars to mean something. A history you weren’t quite ready to part with.

Claire’s already gathering her things by the time you meet her on the sand, shaking out her towel and tossing it into her worn tote bag.

“What happened to your board?” she asks, her tone casual, but her raised brow suggests she’s caught the fraying leash.

You lift your ankle and let the cord dangle, the sad state of it all the explanation she needs.

She winces, offering you a sympathetic smile. “Ouch. Guess it’s finally time for a new one?”

It’s only when you’re halfway up the beach that you spot it again. Your board? Your board!

It’s leaning lazily against the base of a lifeguard tower, looking as though it had simply wandered off and decided to wait for you all this while. Relief blooms in your chest, and you call to Claire that you’ll catch up.

It’s only when you’re closer that you notice him.

He’s standing by the lifeguard tower, a red rescue can slung casually over his shoulder. Blonde hair catches the light, tousled and damp like he’s been in the water himself. His broad shoulders are framed by the white-and-red uniform shirt that looks a little too crisp for someone who spends their day in the sun.

You can tell he’s new. There’s a hesitation in the way he stands, like he’s trying to look comfortable in a place he hasn’t quite claimed yet. But there’s something magnetic about him, the way he surveys the beach with quiet curiosity, like he’s soaking in every detail.

And you don’t mean to stare, but you’re caught in the moment, the way he looks like he belongs there despite it all, carved from the same sun and salt as the beach itself.

You’re still staring when his eyes meet yours.

They’re blue, impossibly so, the kind of blue that reminds you of the water when it’s so clear you can see straight to the bottom, the kind of blue you could fall into and forget how to breathe. His mouth quirks into a smile—easy, natural, like he’s been doing it all his life.

For a heartbeat, the world shifts, tilts ever so slightly, like the two of you are caught in some half-remembered dream. Something stirs in your chest, familiar yet unnameable, like déjà vu soaked in sunlight. You freeze, caught like a fish on a line, just before his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he lifts a hand in a casual wave.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice carries over the sound of the waves, warm and low, and you think there’s a hint of the coast in it—just not this one.

You blink, salt-sticky and sun-drunk, realizing belatedly that you’re still rooted to the spot. “Hey,” you manage, shifting your weight on your feet.

He doesn’t move, but his attention is all yours now, quiet and steady, as though nothing else on the beach exists, like you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Nice ride out there,” he says, nodding toward the water, his voice dipped in easy admiration. “That last wave—you made it look easy.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, unplanned but genuine, a flush to your cheeks at the notion of being watched and noticed. You hope he mistakes it for sunburn. “Easy? You sure you weren’t watching someone else?”

“Nope,” he says, the smile widening just a fraction. “Definitely you. The board gave it away.” He says, nodding towards the board that’s still propped against the lifeguard tower like a loyal dog.

“Ah,” you say, realising. “So it was you.”

He shrugs, sweet and boyish in his sincerity. “Figured it deserved better than drifting out to sea.”

You glance down at your battered shortboard, the paint long faded from years of sun and surf. The edges are chipped, and the wax is uneven, but it feels like a part of you. “Thanks,” you say, meaning it. “Guess I owe you one.”

And before you can really think it through, the words escape you all at once. “You surf?”

“Not like that,” he hums, tilting his head toward the waves. Not like you. “Still trying to figure out how to make it look as easy.”

“That’s how it starts,” you say, a grin pulling at your lips despite yourself. “You’ll get there.”

He shrugs, a bit sheepish. “We’ll see. I’m mostly here for this,” he hefts the rescue can with a crooked smile. “Started lifeguard training last week. Figured I’d better get to know the locals.”

“Locals, huh?” You arch a brow, a subtle quirk to your lips. “And I’m one of those?”

“Definitely,” he grins, his voice sure now, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“Like this is where you belong.”

The words hang in the air, sweet and sticky like the heat of the day. For a moment, you don’t know what to say.

“Well,” you manage, recovering with a nod toward the tower. “Welcome to Corral Beach. Try not to let it chew you up and spit you out.”

He laughs then, and it’s warm, golden—like sunlight filtering through the trees. “I’ll do my best.”

He steps back, making space for you to collect your board, though his gaze lingers, like he’s reluctant to go but knows he should. 

“See you around?” he asks, the question carrying a hopeful edge.

“Maybe,” you say, the word feeling light and easy as you turn toward the parking lot.

You don’t look back, but you feel his eyes linger, and it leaves a quiet sort of thrill in your chest, like the first rush of catching a wave.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[hugheshischier4313]

YOU MISS HIM DON’T YOU | Q. HUGHES

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x reader

Warnings: maybe emotional cheating?

Word count: 2k

Author’s note: Hi lovelies! I was rewatching desperate housewives and a certain scene encouraged me to write something similar. It was supposed to be a quick little Drabble/blurb but im at 10 pages now and still not done. So here’s a snippet :)

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Quinn had known about your boyfriend from the very beginning. He had seen you together, bringing boxes to the apartment beside his, and noticed you immediately. He wished he could say it had all been innocent, but the first thing he saw was how your legs looked in the tennis skirt you had been wearing. You bent down to pick up a fallen pillow as he exited his car in the parking garage. His eyes lingered on you, and he forced himself to turn away before you noticed. He swore he would offer to help you before he met eyes with Andrew as he stepped out of the parking garage elevator.

"I didn't mean to; it just happened. You were bent over, in a skirt, right outside my car; it was hard to look away when I didn't expect you to be there." Quinn had a slight pink tone to his features right now, and you were smiling, trying to suppress a laugh. You stood in the kitchen, pouring the margaritas into your cups.

"You mean the skirt I'm wearing right now? Is that why you mentioned it? Quinn, you could have kept that secret forever. I mean, you couldn't waterboard that information out of me." You were always more giggly when drinking, which was contagious to Quinn. "But since you didn't, I'm gonna use this against you for the foreseeable future."  The laugh left you when you got back to Quinn's couch. "I'll try not to make any sudden movements that may catch you off guard," you teased as you stood before him and handed him his drink.

"It's not funny; I've felt bad about this for months." he tried to be serious, but the smile never left his face. As you nodded with a smirk on your lip, you turned from him after he grabbed the glass, "Y/N, I'm serious." He wasn't; he could never stay upset with you, even in a joking manner. 

"I guess I'll just go back to my apartment then; I don't want to bring back any of your past shame." your body once again turned towards him as you leaned down over to hug him, "Bye, Hughes, I'll make sure to only wear this when you're out of town." He let out a sarcastic 'ha.' "You don't have to leave; I can control myself. I promise." he rolled his eyes and slowly got up to stop you.

"I don't know; I think the only logical answer is to wear your Drew sweats." You had pivoted and ran to his room before he could reply. You had bugged him countless times to try them on over the past months; you had just wanted to see if they were worth the hype because the black sweats had been sold out forever (and maybe, subconsciously, because of your past love for Justin Bieber). And every time he said no, you took this as your opportunity to try them and bug him simultaneously.

Being in Quinn's room was familiar to you. You had spent most days at one of the two apartments, and sometimes that meant laying in his bed watching TV after he had just returned from a string of away games or after a challenging game or practice. You had worn his clothes before, too; it was always in a platonic way, the first time you had locked yourself out after being out on a run when it started raining. You lost your key on the run, and the concierge was gone for the night. You had also spent the night; he let you sleep in his bed and took the couch. 

As you ran into the room, you closed the door behind you and walked into the closet, closing that door, too. You had found the sweats and slowly walked out of the closet. There was no sight of Quinn, and the bedroom door was still closed. You walked towards the door, sweats in your hand, as you called out to him, "Q? Are you -" But you were cut off as he tackled you onto the bed next to you.

The two of you lay on the bed laughing before turning to face each other. The laughter died down, and you were smiling and looking at each other. The two of you lay there for a while, not saying anything until you broke the silence, "Your eyes are a different colour every time I see you, but today I can see every shade in them." You don't know why you needed to share your observation with him, but it felt right. "You cut your hair." He reached out to tuck a strand behind your ear and play with the end of another. His voice had been so him, soft yet dominant. It was true; you had gotten a slight trim the day before and a few longer layers at the bottom of your hair, a small and simple detail that could have been missed. In fact, he was the only person to notice; none of your classmates or even Andrew, although over Facetime, had noticed. 

The room felt heavy as you looked from his hand in your hair to his eyes again, stopping to look at his lips for a second. And when you reached his gaze, it was unreadable. "I -" A phone began to ring as Quinn was about to speak. You could see a shift in his demeanour as you continued to look at him. He got up to find the cause of the sound. "It's your phone." He walked it over to you before heading out to the living room again. The phone illuminated ANDREW CALLING.

You looked towards the empty doorway as you brought the phone up to your ear. "Hey you," your playful voice sounded forced, and the smile on your lips was even more so. "Hey, I have a surprise for you. The notification said it was in the lobby." This shocked you, not only because it was a surprise but because Andrew was never one for small gestures. It was always something big like him ordering 4 dozen roses to your desk after your fourth date. But he had never just sent you or given you something randomly.

Andrew could be a sweet guy; you worked together before he asked you to have dinner with him. You knew you were moving and had no intention of starting anything serious before moving to Vancouver, but he had been so persistent, and it felt nice to have a distraction with all the craziness of moving. But living in different provinces has brought no comfort to either of you. It felt like pen pals most of the time. You would call him a few times a week and talk for an hour before he had to go. There had been a few times where you could have sworn you heard someone else there, but the times you mentioned it, it felt like the fight had been more trouble than the issue itself.

And maybe subconsciously, you felt like a hypocrite. Your relationship with Quinn was platonic, but the number of times you were confused as a couple in public could be seen another way. In fact, you hated to admit it, but it felt like you communicated more with Quinn when he was away than with your boyfriend. 

"There's something for me in the lobby of my apartment complex? Andrew, what did you do? It's 7pm?" As you started talking, Quinn walked into view, bringing your drinks and extending to you. "It's a surprise; you should go get it now; I'm assuming it's just on the concierge desk based on the picture." You stared up at Quinn as you listened to Andrew, "Okay, I'll be down in a minute, and I'll call you back once I have it." The phone call was quickly over. 

"What did you order?" Quinn asked with a smile, used to all the packages you've received. A few that had been too heavy for you to carry on your own that Quinn had taken himself. Even when they hadn't been too heavy, he would carry them for you if he was there. "I'm not sure, Andrew sent it to me." You could have sworn there was a look on his face that was gone as quickly as it appeared. "You want me to go with you in case you need help?" there was no hesitation in your quick reply of 'yes.'

As the two of you walked down the hall, you were overly aware of the distance between you. It was no different than it had been in the past, but there was a particular charge. The words shared and unshared in the bedroom hung heavy. "So I never got to even put the sweats on," you joked while waiting in front of the elevator. "You can borrow them when we get back up if you want," his answer made your breath hitch. He had never let you try them on, much less borrow them.

He looked at you, letting you walk into the elevator first. The ride down was quick and quiet, but how you looked at each other made everything race faster. Your heartbeat quickened as you saw his slight deviation towards your lips before making their way back up. "Quinn," your voice came out as a low plea; whether it was to continue or to stop was uncertain. He stepped closer to you as the two of you stood in silence for a brief moment before the doors opened. As you stepped out, your heart felt heavy.

As you made your way towards the front desk, you saw the back of a man at the desk, but when you heard the voice,  it made you freeze. Andrew, he was in your lobby waiting for you, Quinn failed to notice your pause and ran into you. However, before you could tip forward, Quinn had steadied you with a hand on your arm and waist. Andrew called out when he turned around. 

"Andrew! What are you doing here?" You didn't miss the look he gave the sight of the two of you or how his gaze only lingered on Quinn's hand on your waist as he walked closer. You unhooked yourself from Quinn to hug Andrew. The hug was stiff; he held himself higher, and his head hadn't moved from the position it had been in before. You figured he was still looking at Quinn. 

"I wanted to surprise you; we settled a case earlier than expected, so I took a few days off." You had pulled yourself to his side, a view of both him and Quinn. They kept looking towards each other, completely ignoring you. "Well, Andrew, this is my friend I always tell you about, Quinn. He introduced himself the day I moved in, remember? He lives next door to me." Andrew smiled down at you as you continued. "Quinn, you remember Andrew." Quinn looked from you to Andrew before extending his hand. "Good to see you again, man." Andrew hesitated before shaking his hand. 

There was a quick silence before Quinn grabbed his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen, excusing himself, "I have to make a phone call; I'll see you around," but before he could walk off, you gave him a side hug goodbye. You had done it a thousand times before, and feeling like you couldn't because Andrew was there didn't feel like a good sign, so you did it anyway. "I'll text you," you quietly said as you let go.

The next few days had been uneventful, showing Andrew around Vancouver. The hallway had felt unusually empty each time you passed, hoping to run into Quinn. A string of away games was starting that Monday, and when you came back from dropping off Andrew at the airport on Sunday night, you noticed the bag sitting in front of your apartment door. 

The black sweats were inside with a note, 'I'll pick them up when I'm back. Enjoy :). ~ Q" He never asked for them back

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