#mick squeaks

[arthursfuckinghat]

After spending hundreds of hours playing as Arthur, adjusting to being John still takes me a while even on my second playthrough. I find myself asking questions then needing to remind myself that this is John now.

"Why did he say that?" It's not Arthur anymore. "Why wasn't he nicer about that?" It's not Arthur anymore. "He wouldn't say that" yes he would, it's just not Arthur anymore.

[mikeybutnotway]

THIS AIN'T A PARTY ❌ GET OFF THE DANCE FLOOR 🔊 YOU WANT THE GET DOWN ⁉️ HERE COMES THE GANG WAR‼️‼️

[eileen-crys]

JOHN'S ADORABLE SMILE AHHHHHHHHHHH 😭😭😭😭💜💖💕💜💖💕💜💖💕💜💖💕💜💖💕💜

Source

[macfrog]

ace sex on fire chapter six

this entire chapter is me making up for 1. the golfing line in chapter two, and 2. joel's entire experience of tlou2. naughty dog i'm waiting for ur response. 24 hours to reply

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel takes you on a day trip to go golfing. it turns out to be more fun than you expected

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) golf. idk what else to say. age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, more sugardaddy!joel, discussions of pregnancy + reader perhaps not wanting children, sort of possessive!joel?, praise kink, unprotected piv car sex, daddy kink, exhibitionist fantasy, creampie, more teasing + flirting, angst + pining, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 9.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Good girl. He there?” The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare. “Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel. “He watching?” “Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily. “Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

The cab squeaks to a halt right outside the office, dropping you at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the revolving door. There are already bodies filtering in and out of the building, despite how early it is.

You thank the driver – Mick, you’ve come to learn. He seems to run this route on weekday mornings; it’s always him who shows up at your apartment when you can’t be bothered to walk to work, or miss the damn bus. Mick tosses a thumbs up over his shoulder and you swing out into the brilliant sun.

It’s Thursday. You’ve been home sixty-five hours, by your count. Joel gave you a couple days after landing stateside to catch up on sleep, readjust. He’d gone back to work Tuesday morning, though, 8AM sharp. Martha had text to ask where you were, and had sent six laughing emojis back when you replied with, How the fuck is he back already?

You make the climb up the steps, back to work, back to normality. It drags like a weight at your heels, the thought of returning to that gray office after three days wandering around picture-perfect, painted-pink Paris. After three days of Joel.

That split-open feeling, the cavity between your ribs – it’s sewn itself up since you got back to your own apartment, your own space. Since you showered a couple times, washed your clothes, started smelling like yourself again instead of Joel. Its sutures are made from the sound of the subway squealing to a halt, the smell of Chinese takeout from the place across the street.

But there’s a tiny piece of you, small enough to stay hidden from even yourself sometimes, that you know misses it. Misses…him. It only hurts when you touch it – the sewn-up scar, messy in your frantic attempts to close it up – it aches when you remember his hands on your waist whenever you wanted them there, his lips below your ear whenever you needed him.

As you approach the glass doors, you hear a whistle from behind, and turn to watch Joel slip out of his Rolls and jog up the steps. There’s a sports bag hanging from his left hand.

“Am I a dog?” you ask when he reaches you.

“It was an endearin’ whistle.”

“Very endearing. Don’t do it again.”

He nods once. “Yes, ma’am. Feelin’ awake yet?”

“Almost.” You follow him into the building, clicking along the polished marble floor at his side. “You didn’t waste any time getting back into the swing of things, I hear.”

You both nod good morning to the receptionists, and Joel hits the button to call the elevator.

“I’m an important man, baby,” he says, shrugging. “My job ain’t just answerin’ the phone ‘n making coffee.”

You scoff, slapping his back as he leads you through the sliding doors, which closer over and shut you both into your first moment of privacy in almost seventy hours. Joel immediately turns to face you, words behind his eyes that he can’t seem to sort into a coherent sentence.

In what you hear as an attempt to summarize, he says: “Back to reality.”

You brush the shoulders of his blazer, tug on his tie to straighten it. It’s the most you can bring yourself to do that doesn’t involve throwing yourself at him. There’s a throbbing right below your chest, like a magnet tugging you towards the man stood in front of you. Touching the padded shoulder of his suit will have to do. For now.

You lift your eyebrows, staring at the knot of his tie. “Yep.”

It’s pretty reductive, Back to reality. But then, what else is there to say? What else that wasn’t said between your bodies in Paris? A line was crossed there – you both went somewhere you can’t come back from so easily. And moving forward the way you had been before, seems equally as impossible.

There are eyes on you here. There are people who care to know what might be going on – whether they like it or not doesn’t matter. No more strutting out onto the terrace, running your hands all over one another, connecting skin and tongue in ways you wouldn’t have dreamt up two weeks ago.

No. This stays secret. A secret between you, Joel, and the French skies.

Joel places a hand on the small of your back as the elevator doors whip open. He ushers you out, and then, once in view of Martha’s desk, sidesteps to an appropriate distance.

“Welcome back,” your colleague greets you as you approach her desk. “Missed you, kid.”

You smile coyly. “Thanks,” you mumble. Guilt isn’t the easiest of emotions to hide.

Joel taps your arm gently and then nods towards his office. “Catch-up,” he says, and Martha rounds her desk to follow after him.

You drop your jacket and purse over the back of your chair and slip in behind them, leaning back on one of Joel’s leather couches with your arms crossed.

“Alright,” Martha sighs, “few things needing done this morning. First…”

You take a deep breath and slump down until your ass sits comfortably on the couch cushion, your knees draped over the arm, cradled inside your elbows.

Joel notices, and smirks to himself. He dials into his voicemail, hits a button, and a familiar voice echoes from his desk.

“Hey, Joel,” Drew’s voice says, “hope you enjoyed Paris ‘n aren’t still too hungover. I know what Jean-Marc’s like…”

Martha moves to the next bullet point, tilting her pad and tapping the tip of her pen to some messy scrawling you can’t read. You nod, eyes flitting up to watch Joel.

“Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re still good for later. S’posed to be a good day for it. Let me know if you need any help with directions. Alright. Looking forward to seeing you two soon. Cool.”

The machine cuts. Joel sits back in his chair, rests his heels on the wood in front of him. Black, shiny, ridiculously expensive shoes crossed over on top of a black, shiny, ridiculously expensive desk.

“…now, Ken needs to receive this as soon as possible, alright? I said I’d have it done by end of day yesterday – I did not, so I need you to –”

“Who’s you two?” you ask Joel, peering over Martha’s notepad.

He looks up, tossing a rubber band ball in his hands. “You ‘n me, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha declares, “am I talking to myself–?”

You push her notepad out of your view, still staring at Joel. “What do you mean, you ‘n me?”

Martha drops her hands with a sigh. You repeat your question.

“Us,” Joel says, hint of irritation in his voice like you’re supposed to be in on something. “We’re goin’ golfing with him.”

“We’re going golfing?”

Martha, now exasperated, swings the pad under her bicep and crosses her arms over her chest, makes something of a growling noise. “You two are unbeliev…Are you listening to me?” she demands, clicking her fingers in front of you.

“No,” you reply simply, eyes locked on Joel’s.

His lips curve with a soft laugh. “You ain’t read your emails?” he asks.

Your head darts between him and Martha. Bewildered. “I was catching up on sleep, thank you very much,” you assert, nodding with finality at the blonde updo hovering over you.

You know she cares about you – at least enough to water your monstera deliciosa while you were gone – but Martha can be sharp; her outspokenness is something to admire and to fear, in one small five-foot-three frame.

She snorts, glancing over to Joel with a disbelieving shake of her head, but he doesn’t take her up on it. Just looks at her blankly and then turns back to you.

“We’re meeting Drew up at Aspen Heights. Few of his buddies are in town, he wanted to introduce ‘em to me.”

“And I’m coming – why?”

“Because he met you last week, musta liked you, ‘n he invited you.”

Your mouth opens to reply, some retort to bring into question the need for your presence at a fucking round of golf, when Joel and his words cut yours short in your throat.

“And I want you there with me.”

Martha raises her eyebrows when you look up at her. The thing is: this all seems very normal, from her perspective. You did such a good job at keeping Joel right in Paris, didn’t you? He made his flight there on time, he met with Jean-Marc without a hitch, and he was actually an hour early for his flight home.

That last part was because you’d woken up with the sun and couldn’t get back to sleep, so you woke him, too and…well. Kept each other busy until you physically couldn’t anymore. There wasn’t much point hanging around in the hotel suite when your cases were packed and your bodies were…fragile, so you left for the airport.

To her ignorant eyes – and bless her – this is all just networking. It’s you building work relationships, Joel at the helm overseeing everything and setting it all up for you. This is clear – that that’s all she thinks – when she says:

“He’s doin’ you a favor, sweetheart. You should go.”

“I don’t even have any golfing gear. I’m in suit trousers.” Your eyes trail down your black pinstripe pants, legs dangling from the arm of the couch.

“And you look fantastic,” Joel quips, though you know he’s half-serious, “but you do gotta find somethin’ more…” he waves a hand, “…golf.”

“Something more golf. That’s helpful.”

“Here,” he says, stretching into his back pocket. His hips lift from the seat of his chair, and your eyes land on the space just south of his belt buckle. He pulls his credit card from his wallet – the same one you could probably recite the numbers of by heart at this point – and holds it out. “Go grab somethin’ nice. My treat.”

My treat. Like he didn’t treat you all damn weekend.

You pull yourself up and take the card from his fingers.

“’n what about my list?” Martha asks.

Joel shrugs. “Ken can wait one more day. You got two hours,” he tells you, and then sits up straight, rubber band ball placed safely next to his Newton’s cradle. “I’ll have Rand take you.”

You follow Martha out of Joel’s office when his phone starts ringing and his head falls into his hands, letting you both know it’s not a call you want to be around to hear. As he lifts the handset, he lightly calls your name, and you exchange a sly smirk as you slip out the door.

Martha wanders off behind her own desk as you pull your purse over your shoulder. She loads her computer back up, chin lifting as she squints through her glasses at the screen.

“There’s a golf shop downtown,” she tells you, two index fingers tapping away on the keys. “Alan uses ‘em. Don’t think they’re too expensive, either. Wouldn’t know for sure, though, he spends so damn much anytime he’s in there.”

You watch her for a moment, nodding along. “Thanks, Martha.”

She holds up a finger as you walk past her desk toward the elevator. “Remember you still got my to-do list to tackle, so don’t be long!”

----------

Rand drops you on a quiet side street. He gives you his number, tells you to text him once you’re done, and the sleek black car rolls off.

On the corner sits Ace’s Pro Golf, a small, charming store, peeling wooden front painted fern green with golf-themed decals decorating the windows. You set off inside, passing under two transparent putters crossed over one another on the window above the door. An old brass bell rings out from overhead when you enter.

Its exterior is misleading. This store is huge. Overwhelmingly huge. Walls stacked with bags, clubs dangling from pegs. Baskets of balls and tees and other accessories dotted all over the creaky wooden floors, which are lined with racks upon racks of golfing clothes – shirts, trousers, dresses, skirts.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, edging towards the rails.

You slip between them, hand running along the multicolored choices, when your phone starts to ring, vibrating somewhere deep in your purse.

“Hey, Mom,” you mutter, slipping your cell between your cheek and your shoulder as you begin to search through the shirts in front of you.

“Hey, baby,” her voice sings to you. “Wasn’t expecting to catch you, thought you’d already be at work. Where you at?”

You sigh. “I’m shopping. Joel’s taking me golfing later.”

She almost chokes down the line. “Golfing?”

“Yeah. It’s this friend he went to school with, I met him at lunch last week. There’s a few of ‘em going, so he asked me along, too.”

“Nice guy. So, you’re shopping for an outfit?”

“Mhm.”

“Any…dress code?”

“Dress code?” You straighten up, switching the phone to your other ear. “Like, golfing gear? I dunno.”

She laughs. “Alright.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, baby.”

“Meant something, Mom. Tell me.”

“No, I just…” She sighs. “You’re sure this isn’t, like…It sounds an awful lot like a date. Like, you’re going on Joel’s arm.”

You’re silent. You suck in a deep breath, fixing an order of words in reply, when your mom cuts in again.

“I bet I’m way off. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, gross,” you refute, metal hangers squealing against the rail when you unfreeze. “No. Not a date. It’s, like, networking, or whatever.”

Mom snorts. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not – a date,” you repeat.

You’re relieved when she changes the subject. “Show me what you’re looking at.”

You huff, pulling the phone down and switching to FaceTime. In a second, your mom’s bright, swollen cheeks and ringlet curled hair are on the screen, and she flashes you a pearly smile.

“Was thinking maybe this…?” You angle the phone to show her a navy-blue polo shirt. “And then a white skirt?”

“Nah,” she cuts, and you flip your camera back to your face.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Too blue. You look better in neutrals. Try beige or brown. Boring colors, y’know? Blend into the walls.”

You hiss something she doesn’t need to hear under your breath and then follow it up with a slightly more polite, “Screw you.”

Her image on your screen shakes violently with how hard she laughs at herself. “I’m messing with you. You know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you choose. Wait a second, though – can you even golf?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched a golf club in my life.”

“Thought as much. Does Joel know you’re about to embarrass him like this?”

“He’s aware.”

“Please get him to take some videos. I gotta see this.”

“You know what,” you grumble, holding back your own laughter now, “I’m hanging up. You just solidified your place in the nursing home, you know that?”

She’s still laughing, words pushing through her cackles in desperate punches. “Wait, wait! I gotta tell you why I called you.”

“Alright, go. Thirty seconds.”

“Riley’s pregnant.”

Your face screws up. Lips curl upside down into a grimace. “Oof. Good…good for her…?”

Your mom throws her head back with a roar of laughter. “Be more enthusiastic about it. A little niece or nephew for you!”

“’s more like a…second cousin, or whatever. I bet Aunt Rose is over the moon.”

“She called me screaming this morning. I just thought you’d like to hear, being that you’re in a permanent state of baby fever.”

“Ha,” you state, blank expression never changing. It causes her to erupt into another fit of giggles. “That’s nice, I guess. For Riley. Tell her I said congrats.”

“I will. And I’ll leave out the part where you almost threw up. Alright, I’ll let you go. Good luck golfing. Come back with a hot millionaire boyfriend, maybe! Love you!”

“Yep. ‘kay. Love you. Love you, too – ‘kay – bye – bye, Mom.”

You hang up mid-laugh and her caramel cheeks disappear from the screen. You drop your phone back into your purse and slot the navy-blue polo under your arm, spinning to the rail behind you to find a skirt to go with it.

Riley, pregnant. That’s fucking insane. You two used to spend entire summers riding your bikes around your hometown, spending all of your allowance down at the mall. You swear you’re not old enough to have babies yet. Swear you’re not even old enough to be out of Mom’s house, living on your own in the city.

But then here you are, five years in, making a mental note to buy a baby gift for your cousin, on top of the pre-existing ones reminding you to message that girl who lived across the street when you were kids to say, Congrats on your engagement, and pick up a new home card for your two friends who are on their third mortgage.

Your mom finds it funny – always has. The instant repulsion you feel, the way you recoil whenever you’re asked about kids, about a partner, about a three-bed-two-bath in the suburbs with a big yard and good school nearby.

You don't think any of it's for you. And that’s fine, and every time you skate over the topic, your mom tells you it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s –

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your daydream, clutching a white skirt in your hands, “sorry. I’m sorry. No, I’m good, thanks. Sorry.”

The assistant smiles kindly and nods. Then he spins on his heel and waltzes off, disappearing behind a cardboard cutout of a golfer mid-swing.

It’s not lost on you, by the way – what your mom said. Sounds an awful lot like a date. You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t also crossed your mind. Joel, wanting you there with him. Giving you his card to buy somethin’ nice, which, after the last week, you translate roughly as: something I’ll like. Something he’ll see, and his second thought will be ripping it off your body.

His first thought will be what you’d look like taking it off for him.

And for that reason, you slip the short skirt under your arm beside the polo, and head across the store to find some more stuff to waste Joel’s money on.

----------

Rand pulls up by the curb a few yards down from Ace’s, where you’re sat on a bench enjoying an ice cream. He rolls the window down and lowers his black sunglasses.

“You bein’ paid for this?” he asks, grinning.

You nod, gleeful. “By the hour. Want an ice cream?”

He snorts when you hold Joel’s black card up between two fingers, tilting it in the sunlight. And then he puts the car in park, climbs out, and jaunts over to the ice cream cart by your bench.

He orders a three-scoop cone, and you nod in approval when he sits down alongside you, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“Respect it,” you say, cheersing your own half-finished cone against his.

----------

When you get back to work, Joel’s already changed into a crisp, clean golfing outfit. It weakens your knees a little when you saunter into his office.

A long-sleeved, dark polo shirt that shows off every curve and flex of his toned arms, paired with gray, just-tight-enough trousers. And pristine white shoes so sharp and clean you’d swear he’d had them polished just for the occasion.

You ignore the way your head lightens at the sight of him and throw yourself into the chair to his right, white back from Ace’s falling between your ankles.

“Alright, Tom, thanks for lettin’ me know,” he says, arms folded, sat back against his desk. He leans back, places the phone back in its cradle, and looks you up and down. “Have fun?”

You shrug, leaning forward to pick a piece of lint from his thigh. “Didn’t know what to get for the most part, so there’s probably stuff I don’t need in there.”

He squints down at his cell phone. “Like, uh…Duke’s Scoops?”

You stare back at him, mirroring his cheeky smirk. Your leg swings, arms cross over your chest, covering the way your breath falters. He’s seen the transactions.

“You gonna grudge me three dollars on an ice cream, Miller?”

“Six fifty,” he mutters, glancing down at his phone again to double check. His tongue runs across his top lip. You want to replace it with yours. “So…that’s at least two ice creams, pretty girl.”

“It’s a hot day. Rand deserved something to cool down. We sat on a bench in the shade ‘n had a nice chat. He taught me how to swing. Verbally,” you add, when Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“Taught you how to swing,” he echoes, and you nod.

“Did you know he used to compete? Junior league?”

He pouts his bottom lip. “Mighta come up in the, what, fifteen years since I met him?”

You beam in reply, standing up and hooking your fingers through the string handles of your shopping bag. “I’m gonna go get changed now.”

“Could just get changed in the car on the way, ‘s a thirty-minute drive.”

You lean in close, eyes flitting over to Martha’s desk to make sure she’s not watching. Your lips brush softly against his ear. “I don’t wanna take any time away from other stuff we could get up to,” you murmur, and Joel’s hand locks around yours, attempting to pull you back as you skip off.

“Be right back,” you call, letting the door fall shut on his suggestive smirk, his tight trousers, and the hard bulge beneath them.

You return five minutes later in your getup. Joel has much the same reaction as you did with him, though he’s not half as good at hiding it. He sits upright in his chair, fingers tight around the armrests.

“Uhuh,” he says, eyes diving to your legs and then resurfacing somewhere around your chest. “Let me just –” he leans over to his phone, “– call Drew, let ‘im know we ain’t comin’…”

“Shut up,” you scoff. “Looks good, though, right?”

Joel’s eyes are still trained on your bare thighs, one crossed over the other. “Looks…better than good.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Still mad about the ice cream?”

“No, ma’am. Not mad at all.”

He stands, slinging both his bag and yours over his shoulder, and walks around his desk to meet you. You give him one final warning.

“You know I’ve never played golf before, right?”

“I know,” he affirms.

“So…bringing me is kinda pointless. I am not gonna bring anything worthwhile.”

“You in that outfit,” Joel mutters – and as he passes by, he makes sure to brush his swollen crotch up against your ass – “makes it worthwhile already.”

----------

Aspen Heights is a hundred and fifty-acre course, vibrant green fairways rolling over hilly land laid out like crinkles in a sheet of green felt. Rand drives slowly up to the clubhouse, gravel crackling under the tires of the Rolls as you and Joel lean over to stare at the landscape – the unkempt, sprawling wild plants guarding the pristine course, the bunkers like giant splotches of white paint on the grass.

You turn back and look to Joel, brows knitting in an expression which could be translated as amazement, could be intrigue, or could simply be: What the fuck are we doing here?

He mirrors it, shaking his head. And it makes you laugh.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You could buy this place, easy. Don’t act like you don’t fit in.”

“If you think I fit in here,” he grunts, getting out of the now parked car, “you think very highly of me, angel.”

He doesn’t deny that he could afford to buy it.

The clubhouse is…much the same. Huge, grand, surrounded by a wide-open porch and fronted by a dome-shaped room, paneled by windows that reflect the scene before them.

You follow Joel’s lead, climbing the steps to the double doors by his side, staying close enough that he can guide you with a bump of his arm against yours, but far enough apart that it doesn’t look like you’re showing up together.

Inside, you follow two smartly-dressed attendants through to a room finished in dark oak, shining wooden floors under bare-bulb light figures, a solid marble bar in the center and six perfectly symmetrical high tables surrounding it.

You glance nervously around the room. Drew’s stood over by the windows with three other men – a tan guy with a white baseball cap on, fluorescent orange polo buttoned up to his neck, a shorter guy with tight black curls, fiddling with the cap of a bottle of water, and finally, a guy with dark hair combed within an inch of its life into perfect place, shoulders almost ripping through his blue polo. He looks like he’s been copy-pasted straight from a magazine called Golf Weekly, or something.

Joel takes one step across a patterned rug and Drew notices you both. He breaks off from the group.

“Hey, man.” He grins at Joel and leans over to shake his hand – well, it’s more of that slap-hand thing. They slap each other’s palms, fingers lock, one quick shake of the wrists together, and then a nod of the head. You know?

Then he leans over to you, kisses your cheek. “Sorry it’s just us guys,” he says, hand on your arm. He looks over to the three men by the window, now looking out over the course and pointing. “My girlfriend was supposed to be joining us, but she got called in to work. You two woulda gotten along, you ‘n Rach.”

You smile warmly. “That’s okay. Thanks for asking me.”

“You play much?” Drew asks, leading you both over to the windows.

You shake your head and Joel breathes a laugh.

“Total beginner,” you admit.

Drew bats a hand. “We’ll show you the ropes. This is, uh, this is Steve,” he points to Fluorescent Orange, “Caleb,” Water Bottle holds his hand out to shake yours, “and that’s Daniel.”

Up close, Daniel’s handsome. Sharp jawline, shadowed by the beginnings of stubble, a dimple in the center of his chin. He steps forward, holding a hand out, and you take it. His palm engulfs yours and squeezes – soft but sure. And then you pull away.

The men all nod to Joel, who probably nods back from behind you, and then catches you gently in his arm, cradling it around your back out of view of the others.

“We’ll be getting started soon,” Drew says, “they’re just fixing up a few buggies for us.”

Joel nods, lets go of you, and crosses his arms. You knot your hands awkwardly at your waist. He stays right by your side, though, which you’re grateful for. The last thing you need is another Jean-Marc, some cloaked assistant swooping you off away from the comfort of Joel.

“How’s business, Joel? Drew was tellin’ us about some deal you’re tryna nail.”

Daniel’s eyes are sharp, cerulean blue drilling deep into the warm brown of Joel’s, which calmly stare back. He looks a little younger than Joel, maybe on the cusp of forty, only a few light strands of grey through his deep brown fringe. There’s no wedding ring on his finger. You don’t know why you’re even looking at that.

Joel doesn’t reveal much in the way of answers. Typical of him – or typical of the Joel he is to the rest of the world. “Yeah, ‘s good. Just takin’ my time, we’re workin’ on it.”

Daniel nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and then rounds on you.

“You gotta be run off your feet, chasing after him all day, huh?”

You tilt your head toward Joel. “He keeps me busy, yeah.”

Daniel leans into you, laughter crooning from his lips. It wobbles you a little, forces you one step nearer Joel’s side. You smile back, as pleasant as you can muster the courage, and he eventually leans away.

Before he can ask another question, Drew’s calling you all over to the sliding patio doors. Daniel hops back a step, nods to you, and says, “After you.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Joel cuts, stepping into the space the blue-eyed man had left specifically for you, sweeping you off as he goes.

----------

There isn’t anything about golf that intrigues you. Not even remotely. You’ve never watched it, never wanted to play it – the most you’ve dabbled in it is minigolf, and even that became a fucking bore after two anniversary dates in a row there with Blake.

Still, you watch patiently and politely as the men take their shots one by one, starting with Drew, all the way through to Daniel, who gives his driver a quick shine with a gloved hand before stepping up. On your left, Joel scoffs quietly to himself.

Daniel swings back, and his biceps swell under the tight sleeves of his shirt. You watch as his arms follow through, sending the ball hurtling through the air and well past its three predecessors.

Joel nudges your elbow.

“Ow,” you mumble, running a hand over the skin.

He gives you a perplexed look. “I said, you can use my clubs. You in there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little too defensively. “Just…paying attention.”

“Hm.”

The men on your right groan as Daniel strides back over to join them, a satisfied grin across his face. Your eyes trace him as he leans on his driver, one white pant leg crossing over the other.

When you turn back to the tee box, Joel’s lifting his own club from his bag. His broad, muscled shoulders flex under the dark material of his shirt; his tall figure walks over to the tee, delicate fingers dancing along the handle of the club, and he clears his throat.

And suddenly, the memory of Daniel and his stupid biceps is dust in the wind.

Joel takes, like, half a practice swing. Doesn’t even have to aim, not really. Just pulls his arms back, sucks his waist in, and goes for it.

His ball lands a couple meters ahead of Daniel’s. And you wonder when the fuck golf became this sexy.

He turns back and runs his tongue over his top lip, breathing a little heavy. The sight drives you fucking insane for the second time today. And then he’s smiling at you, jerking his head in a gesture for you to join him.

You step forward, a little shy, a little hot, and wander mutely over to him.

“I got you,” he says, and reaches for your wrist.

You move to take the driver from his hand and Joel clicks his teeth, shaking his head.

“Said I got you,” he utters, and pulls your body into his, shelling around you. His beard scratches lightly against your ear.

“Joel,” you whisper, laughing nervously and tossing a quick glance back over to the men standing just feet away. Drew just said something apparently hilarious. Caleb gives him a solid whack on the shoulder and doubles over laughing. Steve’s watching a butterfly float by.

“They ain’t watchin’,” Joel says, curving his arms around yours and fixing your hands on the handle of the club. “s just you ‘n me.”

You wriggle under his grasp and feel the hum of laughter from his chest between your shoulders, the weight of his belt riding on your ass. Your cheeks heat when his chin rests on your collarbone.

“Alright,” he says, hands tightening around your own. “You’re gonna line it up, stand with your legs a little apart, little more…”

The toe of his shoe taps your heel and you widen your stance.

“Good girl,” he whispers. A pulse shakes through your body. “Now, on your backswing, you’re gonna want your left shoulder under your chin, ‘n your hands above your right shoulder. Yeah?”

“Got it,” you mumble, so unconvincing that it makes you laugh after you’ve said it.

He gives your waist a tiny squeeze and steps back, watching as you carefully lift the club and curve it around your shoulders. You hear him from behind.

“’attagirl. Keep your knees bent, you got it.”

You take one good swing, and hit the ball on your first try, but it’s…it’s bad, for sure. It’s pretty terrible. The ball lands on this side of the fairway, muddled in amongst the longer grass of the rough. But it’s your first ever shot – least not with colored balls and spinning windmills in the way – and so when you turn back to Joel with a huge beam across your lips, your expression is reflected in his.

“Good job!” he chuckles, stalking back over to you.

“Good job,” you echo with a laugh, handing him the club. You twist and hold your hand up to shield your eyes, staring down the course. “Look where it is, ‘n look where yours are.”

He glances back over to where your sad little ball sits. “We’ll get a few drinks down those guys,” he whispers, hand on your back. “See how good they are in a few holes’ time.”

----------

You’re back in the clubhouse after finishing the eighteenth hole on something of a high. Joel managed to worsen the accuracy of your competitors only so much – your end of the deal was to improve as the round went on, which you try to argue you technically did, given that you began to land your shots on the fairway around hole seven, but your argument is let down by Joel’s reminder that, on hole thirteen, he had to dig your ball out of the bunker for you.

“And I am eternally grateful to you for agreeing to never fucking talk about it again,” you say through gritted teeth, and he laughs.

“Last time, promise.”

Drew joins the pair of you at your table and slaps an arm down on Joel’s shoulder.

“Your round, asshole.”

Joel grumbles, gives your elbow a cursory tap, and slides off to the bar. Drew takes his seat, nudges your arm.

“I am impressed,” he tells you, slurring his words a little.

“Yeah?” you ask, and he nods. “I didn’t think I was so good.”

“Oh,” he shakes his head, “you weren’t. I meant I’m impressed you stuck it out.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss.

He snorts, head bobbing with the alcohol bubbling in his blood. “I’m kidding. You were great, for your first time. I’m really glad you came.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

Drew opens his mouth to say something else when a clatter from across the clubhouse interrupts him. You turn at the same time to see a waiter on his ass at the other side of the room. His metal tray rattles against the wooden floor, flutes smashed in a pool of champagne by his side.

“Oh, shoot,” Drew mumbles, setting his glass down on the table.

You push off your stool, sliding your drink alongside his, but he motions for you to stay.

“I got it,” he says, palm lightly tapping your wrist. “I got it.”

He shuffles off to the waiter, now being helped to his feet by Caleb. The last you see is Drew bending to grab the silver tray, before he’s swept out of your view by –

“Poor guy,” Daniel muses, fist locked tight around a lager. He pulls Joel’s stool out and slips onto the cushion, elbow brushing against yours.

You readjust awkwardly in your own chair and pull on the hem of your skirt.

“So,” Daniel clears his throat, the bottom of his glass scraping along the wooden tabletop, “how’d you find your first round of golf?”

You smile politely. “Uh, good. Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to be much, but it wasn’t too scary.”

He chuckles. “Yeah? Think you’ll be back?”

Your shoulders jerk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He nods and dives headfirst into some long ramble about golf – something about the time he brought his sister and her kids here and how much worse they were than you, so you should really be proud of yourself, and he’d love to see you around here again sometime – but you’re only half listening. You’re stealing glances over at the bar, hunting for a chiseled jawline and monochrome beard.

You spot him locked between Steve and some other guy in all black, waiting for the bartender to draw up his order of drinks. He’s nodding, saying words back to the pair, but keeping his eyes locked on you.

You give him half a smile, half a, There you are, what the hell’s taking you so long? Can you come the fuck back? and hope he reads the words across your face.

“…so, as long as you stick with what you know, it’s actually a really enjoyable game.”

Daniel stares at you blankly, waiting for a response.

“Sure, sure,” you answer, after too long a pause to convince him that you were listening. “Sorry,” you close your eyes and give your head a shake, “was just checking on that waiter.”

Daniel nods. Follows the trail of your eyeline across the room, and looks back to you. “So, uh,” he clears his throat nervously, “I know this place downtown – Italian, has this big open rooftop seating area. If you’re interested, I’d, uh…I’d love to take you, sometime.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, frozen. Like, actually convinced the air in your lungs has turned to ice, frozen. Your eyes probably look like they’re about to burst out of your head, your mouth stuck in a dumb O-shape as you search frantically for the words to form a reply.

He smiles awkwardly. Watches as you blink straight back at him.

“I…” you manage, after what feels like fucking hours. “…That’s – so nice, Daniel, I – really – I’m flattered. Um…”

He interrupts, and it’s like a cold flannel on an acid burn. “Oh, Jesus. I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.”

“No,” you shake your head, suddenly animated, “no, listen. It’s – you’re –”

Daniel’s still apologizing. “Are you – sorry, I don’t mean to assume – are you and – you and Joel…?”

His head jerks. One eyebrow cocked. His fingers press into the table, making counter-rotating circles across the gleaming surface.

You stare from his hands to his face, open-mouthed. “N-no,” you tell him, with a single shake of your head. And then you realize he’s being serious. “No, no, we’re not – no, absolutely not. We’re just – friends.”

“Right,” he says, brows knitting. “It’s just – the guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time I’ve been sat here, so I just figured…maybe…”

You follow Daniel’s gaze across to the bar again, where Joel’s still standing, this time with Drew at his side. He’s mouthing Yeah, in reply to whatever Steve’s gabbing about, but not fucking listening to a word of it.

“No,” you say again, looking Joel dead in the eye. “We’re just friends.”

You turn to look back at the slick-haired man by your side, and he nods.

“But, uh,” you look into your glass, the ice suddenly more interesting than Daniel’s hopeful expression, “you’re a really nice guy, and I appreciate you asking, but I’m…not…exactly looking for anything right now. I’m – yeah.”

“Right – no, absolutely,” he says again, flustered. His fingers wrap tight around his glass and he shifts as if to stand. “That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, y’know?”

He laughs nervously. You feel kinda guilty. He’s being so decent about it, and he means well, but you really just wish he would…fuck off.

He isn’t given the option.

Drew comes bounding over like a golden retriever and leans in to Daniel, another freshly poured pint swinging in his fist. “You’ve improved your game, Gilbert,” he sings in your suitor’s ear. “Must be years since the last time you scored an eagle!”

Daniel copies Drew’s guffawing, nodding along. He opens his mouth to say something, but Drew jumps ahead, offering to buy him a drink to celebrate.

“C’mon, my treat,” the blond tells him, and swaggers off towards the bar, a vice grip on the blue polo shirt.

The shadow of Joel slips around your back as soon as the two figures are out of view. He brushes against your shoulders and nudges his stool nearer to yours with his foot, before sitting back into it with a sigh.

You stare at him, smirking behind your hand, elbow resting on the arm of your chair. He catches your eye and watches you for a few seconds.

Sorry, he mouths eventually, and sneaks a hand onto your thigh.

You lean into him, feeling the weight of Daniel and his proposal and his fucking Italian restaurant fall like insignificant grains off sand off your shoulders. You trace a finger along the shape of Joel’s knuckles. “I feel bad,” you whisper.

“The hell for?” his voice asks, a deep rumble by your temple.

You shrug, looking up at him. “He’s a nice guy. He asked me on a date.”

“And did you want to go?”

Your face pulls into a wince, lips flinching. “Not really.”

“Then what’d I tell you about doin’ stuff you don’t want to?”

You don’t reply. Your mind sails back to that boat ride in Paris, when he basically told you off for feeling guilty about rejecting a fucking marriage proposal, never mind a downtown dinner. It doesn’t bear thinking about what fantastic rant he’s currently bottling up where Daniel’s feelings are concerned.

Joel’s a no-nonsense guy, you know this. Known it for as long as you’ve known him. He’s rational, he’s pragmatic. He says what he thinks, and you deal with however you feel about it. He doesn’t waste time making anyone feel better with lies or cushion-soft landings. His yes is yes and his no is no. And sure, maybe there’s something in there that you’d do well to adopt, too.

But there are inconsistencies to him that you can’t work out – yet. Something that makes him break his rules. He still hasn’t shared whatever the hell Jean-Marc said to him that made him sweep you off of that terrace minutes later. He won’t admit why he keeps dragging you along to these so-called ‘work’ events.

Part of you wants to break him open, chip away at him like the sculptures in the Louvre until his beating heart is in your hands, the rhythmic pulses sharing secrets like it’s speaking in Morse code.

And part of you – bigger, stronger, wiser – hopes you never get close.

When you come back to the room, sound of glasses clinking and men’s roaring laughter washing away any thoughts of jilted boyfriends or lonely golfers, Joel lowers his head to look you in the eye.

“You wanna go?”

You nod, scrunching your nose. “That okay?”

He leans in close, as close as he reckons he can get without drawing attention, and smiles softly. “You coulda asked to go home the minute we pulled up ‘n it woulda been okay. Let’s go.” And he takes your hand.

Drew’s slung over the shoulders of some argyle-patterned men who you’re sure have spent more time drinking than they have actually on the course. He’s lifting his glass, about to toast to life, or love, or fucking golf, when Joel sneaks by behind him, never letting go of your hand.

The Rolls Royce is sat in park at the bottom of the stone steps, hazard lights blinking. Joel holds the door open as you hop in under the twinkling ceiling.

“Well?” Rand asks, looking in the mirror. You respond with a toss of your head, squinting. “Did you keep your feet straight like I taught you?” he demands.

“Honestly, I was more focused on making sure I hit the ball, Rand.”

He snorts. “Office, Joel?”

“Office, Rand.”

As the partition closes, Joel’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head. You lean into it, tilting to look at him properly through eyes glazed with tiredness, alcohol, relief to be back in only his company.

And he’s staring back, eyes flitting from yours down to your mouth when you speak.

“Did you…did you send Drew over to get Daniel away from me?”

Joel’s eyes stay fixed on your lips. “You didn’t want me to do that?”

You ignore him. You want him to answer your question. “Did you?”

And then he looks up. Searches your eyes for a second, and then says, “Yeah.”

Your stare falls down into his lap. To his closed fist, resting on his thigh. His fingers are stroking the back of your head in lulling movements. You focus on the shine of his watch. And horror sets in.

“You wanted him to stay?” Joel asks, bringing you up for air for half a second.

You’re quiet when you reply. “…No. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

And that’s somehow scarier. That you didn’t want this decent, attractive-enough man around you. That the entire time he sat nipping your ear, your eyes, your hands, your heart was searching all over the room for Joel. Listening for the twang of his voice, looking for him out of your peripheral. Counting every second until he sauntered back to your side.

It’s rolling. The feeling. Like a snowball gaining speed down a mountain. Starts off a twinge, a plucking somewhere buried deep in your heart, and turns and turns and turns until it’s a weight behind your ribcage. Unable to burst free.

You take Joel’s wrist and move his hand to the curve of your thigh, then lock your fingers between his. He lets you. You lift your free hand to the cut of his jawline, training your fingers down his bristled beard, and he lets you do that, too. And when you pull his face down to meet yours, lips warm and wet and starving, he opens his mouth and slips his tongue past your teeth.

Your hands are knotting in his hair. You’re leaning back, trying to pull him down on top of you, but he’s stronger. His hands take a strong grip of your waist and hoist you over the center console and into his lap, your knees pressing into the soft leather either side of his hips.

“You gonna tell me what you’re up to, pretty girl?” he asks, tipping his head back. His shirt smells like his cologne. Fresh, sharp, clean. It sends your head spinning.

Your lips find his jawline and nip kisses and bites along the sharp ridge. He tastes like whiskey, tastes like the sun, tastes like he did four days ago. Sweet and smoky and laced with something intoxicating.

Joel sighs. His hands knead into your hips, and he pushes you down, grinding you into his body.

He’s hard. Already.

“Feels like you already know,” you mutter, still peppering his neck with kisses.

He laughs the cocky way he always does when you’re on this road, heading this way. His hands find your hair again and he pulls your head back, drawing a whine from your lips.

“You gonna take it like a good girl? Take daddy’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, rubbing your damp panties over the bulge in his pants.

Joel unzips his trousers and shifts the waistband loose. You move his hands and peel back the top of his boxers yourself, and he watches from under heavy lids as you take him in both hands.

“That’s – my girl,” he chokes, eyes following your pumping fists. His head tips back with a quiet groan.

You push yourself up, shuffle nearer to him until your cunt hovers over his cock, and pull your panties to the side. You’re fucking soaked, already wet enough that Joel’s thick head catches on the cusp of your entrance as you line him up, stealing a gasp from your lips.

You sink, slowly, letting him push through into your sex inch by inch, feeling yourself pull open around him. Your brows furrow, jaw falls wide at the white-hot feeling between your legs, and you look up to see your expression reflected in Joel’s.

His hands clutch at your hips. “So – fucking – tight,” he hums, eyes rolling.

You lock your knees and begin bouncing, resting your hands on top of Joel’s. You’re steadily picking up pace, each nudge of his tip against the edge of your pussy sending another spasm of stars across your quickly-blinding vision.

“Off,” Joel mumbles against your lips, fingers pinching the fabric of your shirt.

“Huh?” you ask back, looking down to where he’s already peeling it up your torso.

“Just the skirt,” he pants, desperate, “nothin’ else.”

You lift your arms and let him pull the polo from your body, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. Joel unhooks your bra and pulls the lace down, before he’s angling his hips up again, hitting you somewhere deep enough inside to steal the breath from your lungs.

And then his lips are on your naked chest, sinking into the valley between your breasts, kissing over to your nipple. His tongue flicks over and over until the bud is pointed, enough to take it between his lips and graze over it with his teeth.

Your thighs are burning. Your skirt sits bunched up on your hips, only just covering your ass as Joel’s hands press into the supple skin, lifting you effortlessly up and down. You melt into his touch, let him do the work for a few seconds as he sits back in his seat to watch your body on his.

“My good – girl,” he groans, voice thick with arousal. “You know how pretty you look right now?”

You hook your hand around his neck, draw him in a little nearer. Shake your head with a filthy smile on your lips. “Tell me.”

Joel laughs shakily. “Wanna – fuckin’ – show you off to everyone, babygirl.”

He’s kissing you slowly, his tongue pressed to yours, when you pull back and separate your lips. He’s planted a seed in your mind.

Joel’s hips stop moving immediately. “Y’okay?” he asks, light hand on the side of your head, keeping your eyes on him.

You nod, breathing heavy. “Mhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, “just…”

You look down to your skirt, your bare thighs spread over Joel’s lap. The thought flips over and over in your head, unsure if it’s brave enough to trot down to your lips and show itself to Joel.

“Baby?”

It’s Joel, though. Same guy who bent you over his desk, same guy who fucked you senseless feet away from his flight attendants. Same guy who, a few days ago, you were in this exact position with: writhing in next to nothing on his lap.

Fuck it. Right?

“…want him to watch,” you say, in a small voice.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change, save for the way his eyes narrow. “Want who to watch?”

You look at him a beat longer, and it sinks in. He gets it.

“Yeah, babygirl? That what you want?”

“Mhm,” you reply, shifting with him when he starts moving his hips again. The car moves forward, pushing you closer into him. “Want him to – watch you fuck me.”

“Dirty girl. You want him to watch you cum for daddy, pretty girl?”

“Ye-ah,” you moan, Joel’s hands now pushing your waist down, the stretch of his cock deep inside you almost burning with pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispers, watching as your face pulls and your brows knit together.

“Only cum for you, daddy,” you whimper.

“I know, darlin’, I know. Close your eyes.”

By this point, Joel’s assured tone, his strong hands on your hips, his fucking length buried inside you, are enough to convince you. You just do as you’re fucking told – as soon as you’re fucking told.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder and feeling him turn, his lips pressed close to your ear.

“Good girl. He there?”

The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare.

“Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel.

“He watching?”

“Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily.

“Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

You focus on the feeling of Joel, cock fucking deep into you, nuzzling against your walls and splitting you open; the sound of his voice in your ear, gently encouraging, sweetly reassuring; the smell of him, the taste of him, the heat from his skin, and…the sight of the steel-blue stare behind your eyes. The tight polo shirt. The round biceps. Watching you.

Watching you be fucked by someone else. Watching you come undone for someone else. For the same guy whose stare he couldn’t shake while he so much as talked to you. Watching your face as it twists in filthy pleasure; listening to you make sounds, whisper words, whisper daddy in the ear of your fucking boss; have him whisper words back that make your cunt tighten around him and push the image of Daniel two steps back with shock.

“Tell me again, angel.” Joel’s voice starts to swipe Daniel away.

Your eyes peel open, the backseat of the Rolls a blur as you roll your head back. “What, daddy?” you whimper.

His hand takes your jaw, holds you in line with his own. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You breathe a laugh. It pulls across your mouth two seconds later. “M-me.”

Joel mirrors your grin. His hips buck once. You cry out. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh,” you yelp, getting louder as he snaps up into you deeper, faster, harder.

You’re drawing around him, warm and wet, feeling him deep in your stomach as your movements become sloppy and staggered. Pleasure swirls like a whirlpool between your legs, tightening, tightening, tightening.

Joel’s face sharpens into your vision. His eyes are fixed on yours. You watch his lips shape the words good girl, before he pulls your foreheads together, noses flush against one another.

“’n who fucks it like this?” he asks into your mouth.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his question, and let a satisfied exhale carry your answer back out.

“Just y-you, daddy.”

And you both fall.

You rock back and forth as the feeling drowns you both; open-mouthed, silently screaming, eyes trained on one another as you ride out your high together.

You throw your head back, eyes losing focus just inches under the stars until they blur into little white halos. Your arms lift up to lean against the tiny dotted lights, steadying yourself.

Joel’s hands clamp around your waist, holding you down on his cock as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside you, mixing with your own and filling you up. Your name escapes his lips hand in hand with a deep, throaty moan.

You body aches. Your cunt throbs around him, still humming with pleasure as your body curls again, falling forward until your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down your spine, lips press featherlight kisses to your ear, shhing, whispering praise, bringing you slowly back into the car with him.

“Daddy…” you whisper into the soft cotton of his shirt, and you feel the weight of his cheek on your head.

His hands cup your cheeks and he lifts your face until you’re staring at one another. Your eyes are tired, you can hardly keep them open, but Joel holds you upright.

“We gotta stop this,” he whispers, and your foreheads fall together again as you laugh. “I’m gettin’ too old for it, baby.”

He’s still buried deep inside, slowly softening, but you don’t want him to go. Not yet. He reaches for your bra, helps you slip it back on, and you bend back to take your shirt in two fingers.

When you’re dressed, you sink back into him.

Joel laughs, brushing the wisps of your hair disturbed by pulling your shirt over your head. “That what you were thinkin’ about? While he was talkin’ to you?”

You smile lazily. Shake your head no. “Was thinking…about you taking me to the Italian he was talking about.”

Joel’s smile grows bigger. Biggest you think you’ve ever seen him smile before. It breaks into a laugh, a toothy chuckle, and then he kisses you.

You melt into him, tongue and teeth crashing against one another. Joel’s open palms surf along your thighs, molding around your skin. He squeezes the dimpled skin on your hips between his fingers.

“Tonight work for you?” he asks, and you giggle.

“No,” you tell him, “I got Martha’s to-do list to work through.”

He nods knowingly, eyes closing. “You want a hand with it?”

You smirk. “Can we fool around in your office between items?”

His head tips back against the headrest with an obvious expression. “What do you think?”

The car slows to a stop and Rand’s knuckles rap against the glass of the partition. You slip off of Joel’s lap, fix yourselves quickly, and then amble off back to the top floor, still a little weak in the knees.

“Home time, Martha,” Joel calls almost as soon as the elevator doors pull open.

“Excuse me?” she yells back.

He laughs. “I’m lettin’ you go early. It ain’t fair that we get to go have our fun ‘n you’re stuck here ‘til five. Let us know what needs done, ‘n then you can get goin’.”

“Ain’t that chivalrous?” Martha beams, blinking at you.

You saunter by her with a smile and toss your bag under your desk. You spin around, brace yourself against the arms of your chair, and throw yourself back against the comfortable leather.

“So,” she announces, almost fucking skipping over to you with her trusty notepad back in her clutches. “I whittled it down to just six things, so it shouldn’t keep you much longer than five o’clock…”

You lift your brows and nod along.

“…as long as you don’t find anything to distract yourselves with, that is.”

----------

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[tommydarlings]

Am I clear? | m.s

pairing: dark!mean!dom!mick x sub!reader

warnings: smut, dark, possessive behaviour, dacryphilia, hair pulling, spanking, chocking

w/c: 0.6k

summary: Mick hates it when he catches you talking to other men, and he gladly shows you how much he hates that. (based off of this request)

check this out: my masterlist <3 // my ko-fi to support me! <3 // my PayPal to support me! <3 // my Patreon to become a member! (get access to +60 works) <3 // Save a Life carrd made by me! <3

Your ass was slapping against mick's hips as he harshly thrusted his dick into your clenching pussy over and over again, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he pulled you towards his body by your hair, tugging roughly on them.

He forced a painful whine out of you by tugging on your hair, “You fucking knew what you’ve done wrong, liebes,” he spat at you from behind before he bit his knuckles and squeezed his eyes shut, “Gott, scheiße,” god, shit, the German mumbled in a deep tone before he removed his hand from his mouth again.

You gulped before you wanted to drop your head forward onto the soft bedsheets but mick didn't give you the allowance to do that,

“Oh no, no, no,” he chuckled behind you as he pulled your head backwards again, other hand squeezing your constantly moving ass, “you stay right here, close to me — you understand?” Your boyfriend raised his brows in an evil way as he looked down at you.

Suddenly, he gave your ass one harsh slap — making your entire body jolt forward — before he placed his visibly bigger palm onto your jaw, raising your head and making you look up at him.

You briefly squeezed your with tears-filled eyes shut, letting the tears run down your heated and red cheeks as his thumb glided along your bottom lip, “I-I was only talking t-to him for five m-minutes, m-”

“Five minutes to long,” mick said in a raspy tone, hand squeezing your jaw as he played with your bottom lip, forehead dropping onto the top of your head with a loud growl as his thrusts slowed down but therefore…got harsher.

He licked his lips, palm sliding down to your throat, chocking you while his other hand was placed on your hips, roughly marking your skin there as he squeezed your hips, “You shouldn’t even fucking look at him,” he whispered in a deep tone, “should only look at me, fucking talk to me and be by my side…f-fucking forever,” your boyfriend groaned.

His harsh thrusts didn’t stop, still making you clench around his big dick as he easily slipped in and out of your hole, right hand still chocking you while his left hand spanked you once again, making you jump and squeak.

“G-God mick! I was d-doing nothing w-w-”

“Everything you were doing wrong,” he spanked you again, other hand chocking you before he put his hand into your hair again, roughly tugging onto your hair and forcing your head backwards, “F-Fucking everything, gosh,” he groaned deeply into the back of your head,

“Next time a man even looks at you the wrong way,” mick growled before he leaned down and briefly bit your shoulder, groaning into it before he went on, “you send him my way and let me deal with him, am I clear?” Mick tilted his head to the side before he spanked you again, covering your ass cheek in pretty red handprints.

You only whined in a high pitched tone, tears fully blurring your vision as he continued decorating your ass with red handprints, chuckling as he did so, “Am. I. Clear?” He repeated in a dominating tone, other hand tugging on your hair again to get your attention.

You bit your lip before you groaned as he tugged onto your hair and spanked your ass, hips not slowing down, “Y-Yes,” you wildly nodded, “Y-Yes, mick,” you mumbled before you gasped as his hips got faster again, making your entire body jolt in a fast and rough pace forward.

“Good,” you heard mick chuckling behind you as he put his palm onto your jaw again, giving it a short squeeze as his other palm spanked your already red ass cheek again.

[vivwritesfics]

So mick or max

Heat/rut

Reader having been waiting for it and purposely flirting with others people to trigger it

(Driver doesn't Wang to mate cause he has seen how much in pain a human can be if mated to a wolf)

Now that has been thrownxoit the window

Reader being fucked seven ways to sunday, being mates cuaee they are literally begging for it 🫠👹👹

Throw ib some breeding kink and a worried driver afterwards and it is 👌🫶

I LOVE YOU

Hope you feel better 🫶🫶🫶

ILYYYYYY and I went with Max bc I don't write mick lol - also I haven't written abo in maybe three years so I'm a little rusty but damn I've missed it.

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, smut, oral (fem!receiving), p in v, biting, hickies, breeding kink

Max could have killed her. Not literally, he loved her too much to let his instincts take over like that. Well, his instincts would have told him to protect her.

The way she was giggling with Daniel and hanging off of his arm, Max let the growl rip from his throat. How dare she even think about touching another Alpha.

But it wasn't her fault. She couldn't understand the surge of emotions he was feeling when she was so utterly human. But she was his human.

She turned to Max, batted her pretty eyelashes at him and walked away from Daniel. Max released a breath, but he didnt have long to stay calm. Because then she was walking towards Charles.

He may have been a Beta, but he shouldn't have been scenting her like that. What the fuck was he doing, pressing his nose against her neck like that? If only Max had the guts to claim her, Charles wouldn't dare.

When she made a move towards Esteban, a Beta Max didn't particularly like, he growl and grabbed a hold of her, practically throwing her over his shoulder like a ragdoll.

"Max!" She squeaked, almost excitedly. If she was like him, she would have been able to feel his anger. But she was too human for that.

Max carried her to his drivers room, not caring about the others around him. The world knew about his mate, since he simply couldn't stay away from her.

Once in his drivers room, Max set her down. "What do you think you're doing?" He growled, sticking his nose into her neck and scenting her. She smelt like Daniel and Charles, and he hated it.

The laughing and giggles had stopped as he stared down at her with his steely blue eyes. No, she had become almost sheepish under the stare of the big bad wolf. "I, uh, I heard that jealousy can trigger a rut," she mumbled under her breath.

"Liefde," he said through a groan, nosing at the spot where the mark of his claim over her should be. "Why on earth would you want to do that?"

She pouted at him as he pulled away. "You always say you race better after a rut."

Max let out a laugh, one that reverberated through his chest. "Can you let me get through this race weekend first? And then maybe it will come about naturally."

She knew what he meant. Triggering his rut now would stop him from racing all together. There would be no way to remove him from the bed, remove him from her cunt. Trigger his rut now and he wouldn't stop until his seed filled her belly.

She'd been through one rut with Max before. It was more intense than anything She'd ever been through before. But she loved it. Max, though, he'd been panicking, worried he'd been hurting her through his muddied brain.

She let him get through the weekend. Wore his shirt, his hat, made sure she smelt like him before he raced.

Of course, he won. Maybe it was his desperation to get back to her.

The moment he crossed the finish line, she was in his arms, kissing him the moment he took off his helmet. A win always meant sex, plus his rut was definitely coming.

Max couldn't wait to be done with all the usual formalities. The interviews, the podiums, the meeting with the team. He was irritable, desperate to get to where she was waiting in his hotel room.

As soon as he was done with everything, he made this way back to the hotel. He was rushing, desperate to get back to her.

If all of his flirting with Max's pack mates didn't trigger his rut, seeing her sitting on his bed in the prettiest little negligee certainly did. Maybe it was the smell of her that had a growl leaving his lips and his eyes flashing as he stared down at her.

Immediately he was tenting his pants. She just looked so goddamn pretty, he couldn't get enough. Immediately he pressed his lips to her own. For two seconds, it was sweet.

But then Max had taken over completely, his tongue in her mouth, lips bruising against her own. He moved his lips to her neck and began kissing down the right side. He paid special attention to where her mating mark should have been. But Max wouldn't give her that mark, not until he had a clear mind.

He didn't notice that his hips were grinding against her own. But she was whining as he did, gripping his shoulders.

If Max had more control over his own body, he would have pulled back, would have told her to get out and to let him take care of it on his own. But, in that moment, all he wanted was his girl.

She whined out his name as her fingers reached down to try and pull off his jeans. But the way he was holding her, she was unable to get a good grip. "Need you," she cried through a whine, hands returning to her hair.

Through his muddied mind, Max managed to understand her. Maybe it was because he was feeling the exact same thing. He popped the button on his jeans expertly (his gaming had left him with incredibly skilled fingers) and pulled down the zipper.

But he didn't free himself, not yet. First, he needed to taste her.

His fingers pulled up the material of her negligee, bunching it around her hips. The noise pulled from his lips was inhuman as his lips met the skin of her thigh. God, he loved it, loved noises she made as his lips got closer and closer.

The feel of his tongue running through her folds shouldn't have come as a surprise. But she still released a gasp. "All mine," he said against, the vibrations of his words sending a shiver through his body.

As he sucked at her clit, his fingers moved to penetrate her, the squelching sounds obscene as they filled the room. Her hips rolled against him, riding his fingers Her fingers threaded through his hair, tugging and pulling. She cried out his name and he grunted.

Her movements were desperate and frantic as she chased her own release. Max had stopped moving his fingers, lips still working as he let her work herself on his fingers.

But Max didn't let her come undone. He pulled away from her, eyes flashing as he freed himself from his jeans. He pulled her close, holding her legs up to her chest. He pressed his nose against her neck and inhaled.

As his cock pushed through her folds, he pressed kisses against her neck. If he could have said anything other than 'mine' as he rutted against her, he would have told her he loved her.

He set a bruising pace as she felt his teeth against her neck. She couldn't say anything other than his name, leaving her lips like a prayer. He rolled his hips against her own again and again, the pace he set animalistic and bruising.

It didn't take long until she came undone beneath him, body shaking as her legs clamped around his middle. Incoherent babbles left her lips as Max kept going, gripping her so fucking tight.

"Gonna fill you up," he said between grunts. "Gonna breed you until you're full of my babies."

His teeth sank into the skin of her shoulder, not hard enough to break it, as he came. His hips stilled, but he didn't pull out, body half laying against her own.

When Max finally pulled out of her, he laid beside her and touched that spot on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, liefde," he whispered, fingers brushing the hickies and marks littering her skin.

The few minutes he had of clarity before he was ready to go again was spent cuddling. He was going to fill her over and over again for the next few days and, if she wasn't on birth control, there was no way she would have been coming out of this rut not pregnant.

[lenoraah]

𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮

pairing - mick schumacher x reader

summary - Mick and reader decide to attend a party only to be completely fascinated with each other in the corner of the room, sharing a recliner with the other person

a/n - SHES BACK, for a hot second i forgot how hot mick was 🤍🤍 best friends name is Kendall

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Mickie stop it,”

A smile appears on his face, Mick gently brushes a strand of hair behind Y/n ear before teasing her once again. He places small kisses on neck before leaning up and gently nibbling Y/n’s earlobe.

Y/n makes a face before swatting Mick’s hand away from her mid section. Mick chuckles for moment before holding both his arms around her waist tightly.

“Okay kids, gets a room.” Kendall rolls her eyes, a hand on her hip as she stands in front the couple with a red Solo cup in the other hand.

“You know Ken, you were the one who invited us.” Y/n squeaks as Mick’s finds it’s way onto her thigh and his lips onto her collarbone.

Kendall opens her mouth for a moment as she tries to think of something to say in her defense only to close her mouth and scowl at the couple in disgust. Y/n and Mick look at each other before shrugging.

“Ugh, you’re right. Now stop it lovebirds, I invited you guys to dance not look at each other like you want to make love.”

“Oh, that is so not true.” Y/n scoffs, hitting Mick’s hand away only to take it into hers.

“Sure, tell your boyfriend that.” Kendall makes a face before walking off.

Mick pauses and looks at Y/n. She smiles at him before laughing out loud. Mick kisses her cheek, laughing along with his girlfriend.

“I love you,”

“I love you too,”

“Now do you think we scared Kendall away?”

[bellewintersroe]

Charles Leclerc x SchumacherDaughter! Reader

Lila is the youngest of the 3 Schumacher siblings, at 22 shes catching the attention of the public eye. With the new found popularity through Drive to Survive, social media has dubbed her the next ‘it’ girl despite her constant desire for privacy. When her love interest becomes more or less the most sought after man in F1, how will she cope with being the internets fascination? Both Charles and Lila have dealt with immense amounts of loss and trauma, so their mutual understanding for one another fuels their so called ‘friendship’. Part 1 - Just a Disclaimer- this will include no chapters where Lila will be interacting with Michael Schumacher, I don’t know enough about his condition nor do I feel respectful or comfortable writing about that! Everything else is purely fictional and I hope you all do enjoy this fanfic I’m planning on putting together 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

The familiar scent of petrol and rubber filled my nostrils as I followed behind my brother, Mick through the Formula 1 grid. The smell sent a wave of nostalgia through me as I deeply inhaled, reliving some of my best childhood years with just that one smell. The sight of the red Ferrari uniforms gave me the sensation I’d time travelled back to when I was still toddling around, my earliest memories of F1 being of the team.

I almost felt like I was betraying Mercedes by being in Ferrari garages, but I’d purposefully asked my brother to take me around the Monegasque track where we used to spend so much time playing in the garages, and on the sidelines as children. “Oh, Mick, do you remember when we used to draw all over that floor with chalk.” I pointed out to the floor below as my elder brother laughed, strutting past the exact same patch of floor we used to graffiti. “We’d always get in so much trouble!” He responded as I smiled, following after him, too caught up with all the different sights and sounds to realise he’d ventured off a little further and faster for my legs to catch up. “Mick!” I exclaimed, as I did, my body crashed into somebody else’s as I gasped out loud. “Oh! Only me, love!” I was relieved to see it was George Russell, hands on both my shoulders as he guided me to the side, steadying me from my almost fall. “Oh, sorry.” I laughed as he patted me on the upper back. “Don’t be running across here when there’s actual cars moving.” “I’ll try my best.” I breathlessly spoke, face heating intensely, before catching up with Mick who was already chatting away to somebody I couldn’t quite see, hidden behind my taller sibling. “Mick, I almost fell over, I’m embarrassed.” As my brother stepped to the side he revealed a dark haired, Ferrari man. Charles Leclerc. I had to do a double take, he was incredibly beautiful.

“This is Lila.” Mick gestured, as though he’d just been talking about me. I was momentarily lost for both breath and words. My eyes widened, eyeing up both Charles and my brother nervously. “Hello, Lila.” He spoke first as I offered him an uncontrollable smile, seeing him move forwards to welcome me in a hug. “Hi!” I borderline squeaked, inhaling his expensive smelling cologne. He’d kissed one of my cheeks in a greeting as I went to pull back from pure nerves but he went in for the other cheek, of course, we were European.

“Sorry..” I giggled, my hands on his shoulders as he laughed back to me, shaking his head in amusement as I felt momentarily lost in his gaze. Wow. He truly lived up to his reputation. He was breathtakingly beautiful, so cute. “It’s nice to meet you, Charles.” I was quick to speak, both our eyes snapping away at the same time as I fiddled with my bracelets nervously. I never was good at meeting people, no matter how many of them I’d meet on a common occurrence. Being around the public eye wasn’t necessarily my thing, it scared me too much, the attention of it all- I tended to shy away.

“Nice to meet you too, are you English?” His brows furrowed, hands tightening around his water bottle, his question meaning I could hold my gaze on him once more. “English? No, I went to boarding school there for a while, that’s with the accent, but I am German.” Mick let out a roar of laughter at Charles comment. “English? With a Germany brother?!” He slapped Charles’ arm as I couldn’t help but giggle to myself. Poor Charles, he seemed a little nervous.

“I know… stupid question.” He sheepishly spoke as my brother began speaking again, “I was just showing her around the grid and garages- we spent a lot of time here as kids.” Whilst he did, I dared to glance up at Charles again, I was stunned to see him do the same as we both looked away with a smirk. Oh wow…

“Oh yeah, of course, I bet it is strange being back here?” Charles directed the conversation back to me as I felt my cheeks warm further under his attention.

“It is… oddly it’s not changed that much?” I frowned towards Mick who nodded along. “It’s nice though, I have such a soft spot for Ferrari. We used to play in this garage so much.” I gestured, shrugging my shoulders awkwardly.

“Uhhh, a soft spot?” Charles looked back to me, a little confused as he practically giggled. “You know, like a favourite?” Mick spoke. “Ohhh, yes! Good!” Charles grinned as I too, giggled to myself, digging my white converse into the floor below.

“I hope not, what happened to Mercedes?!” Mick then asked as I playfully rolled my eyes. “Mercedes will always be my number 1, sorry Charles.” I teased. “Nooo.” He played along as I chewed down on my bottom lip, pursing my lips, anything to stop grinning like an utter fool. I couldn’t help it, Charles Leclerc was making me fluster like I was a teenager again!

“Good luck today, anyway, and to Carlos, it’ll be nice racing at home, no?” As Mick struck up a conversation with Charles my attention wandered to around the room, everything bustling, preparing for the practice and qualifying races that would be taking place later today. I hope we hadn’t come at a bad time, there was still so many people to see, yet everybody seemed so busy.

“Ah, thank you, hopefully better than last year.” Ah, of course, Ferrari’s infamous strategy failures. They’d been making a lot this season, I couldn’t imagine how frustrating that was for both Charles and Sainz. “I’m sure it will be.” Mick slapped his shoulder again. “We better head to find Jean.” My brother turned to me as I nodded.

“Good luck.” I turned back to Charles whose lips tugged up into a wider smile. “Thank you, it was nice to meet you.” He nodded, accent thick as I held eye contact, purposefully. As nerve wracking as I found it, I couldn’t look away, this time as he looked back I felt my stomach involuntary fill with butterflies. For the rest of the day it kept knotting whenever I thought about Charles. I’d found myself purposefully looking out for him, on the grid, when he was racing, in the garages- I was intrigued by the Ferrari racer, as was the rest of the world…

[oneofthosebells]

SCREAMING.

Okay, initial thoughts: absolutely loved it.

Was it perfect? No. I've got a couple of niggles and nitpicks, and some things I wished they'd gone deeper on, but I was never expecting perfection so that doesn't bother me.

Did it give me all the feelings and address pretty much all the things I wanted addressed and give me several moments of full on squeaking at the TV? Yep. I'm happy.

Some more spoilery initial thoughts under the cut:

Felice as a chef?? YES. I've been trying and rejecting various future career headcanons for Felice for ages now and this one suits her perfectly.

(Could have done with more Felice in general, I do feel like she was done a bit dirty again, but I really loved the bits of her we did get.)

Absolutely LOVED the portrayal of Wilmon's relationship this season. They were just so teenager, it was glorious - swinging from big emotion to big emotion, from all-consuming love to hate and anger and shame. It's all so intense at that age and I do think the show does a great job of showing that.

Navigating that change from 'we want to be together' to 'okay, now we are together, how does that actually work in reality' was the main thing I wanted to see this season so I'm really happy we got that.

Simon's jacket on top of his checked trousers is the greatest thing I've ever seen btw. Still giggling about it.

Wanted more of an arc for Sara if I'm honest, but like Felice I really enjoyed some of the stuff we did get - the conversation where Sara was worried she'd end up like Micke was brilliant.

August...eh. I don't hate a redemption arc for August tbh as I personally believe no one is beyond forgiveness and redemption. I get why some people might hate it though.

Overall, this season felt much more low-key than the previous two? Which isn't a criticism - it took me a couple of episodes to get into it, but I started to really enjoy it once I did. Less of the soapy angst and plot twists of previous seasons and more focused on the characters.

Oh and as certain as I've ever been of Wilmon endgame. I'm absolutely sure Hillerska will close in the final episode, so it might be a bit of a bittersweet, trying long-distance kind of thing, but not a break up.

My personal theory/hope right now: Wille tells the Royal Court to fuck their prince school and he and Simon go with the girls to New York for the summer.

[silverstonesainz]

Ooh, what about Mick Schumacher and then having a slow morning during break on their holidays?

you raise your brow at your boyfriend, blonde hair in disarray and blue eyes half open as he makes his way over to you. mick dips his head, lips pressing against your cheek before mumbling a soft good morning.

"you're up..." you look down at the clock on your phone, "late?"

you look over your shouler to find mick pouring himself a cup of lukewarm coffee, a tired smile on his lips as he laughs softly. "no such thing as late on holiday babe."

"late for you i mean," you hum. you push yourself up from your seat, taking slow steps over to your boyfriend, leaning against his chest and allowing his arms to wrap around you. "what do you wanna do today?"

mick's eyes fall shut, brows knit together as a soft whine pushes past his lip, "too early to think."

"it's eleven." you giggle, pressing your lips against his chest.

mick's hands fall from your waist to your hips, palms tracing the curve of them until they rest on your bum. he leans down, lips finding yours in a slow kiss. you accept the gesture, following languidly along, enjoying the laziness of it all.

he pulls back briefly, smile less tired and blue eyes bright with an idea. "i know what we can do today?"

"what?"

in one swift movement, mick throws you over his shoulder. you squeak and he laugh, hands holding onto your thighs to steady you. you laugh loudly, calling his name and demanding to know what he's go planned.

but mick just slaps your bottom playfully in response, "just you wait baby. i can show you better than i can tell you."

[sourwolf-sterek32]

The Dirt (Your Version)

Summary: Meeting Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee was a coincidence. Being friends was a choice. But falling in love with them both was beyond your control.

Or

A rewrite of The Dirt with all the highs and lows of Mötley Crüe from your perspective.

Pairings: Nikki Sixx x Reader, Tommy Lee x Reader, Nikki Sixx x Tommy Lee x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Language,

Previous Chapter

Chapter 10- Scars are beautiful

Even months after the tragic car accident, it was difficult for you to recover from the fear and grief you felt. Vince was a total mess between his guilt and forced sobriety due to his jail release conditions. Your brother was trying, but he was struggling.

Arriving at the studio nearly three months later had you filled with mixed emotions. The scars had healed and faded in colour but were still prominent against your skin.

Tommy was the only one at the studio when you walked through the doors and instantly greeted you with a tight hug.

You melted into the drummer's arms and hugged him back just as tightly not wanting to let go.

Tommy was safe. You felt safe in his arms and after what happened, you needed that comfort, and he must have sensed it too because he held onto you for a few long minutes without saying a word.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around lately. Heather has-"

"Don't." You whispered, pulling away and looking up at him. "You don't need to apologise. I've been fine."

His hazel eyes softened, "are you okay though?"

You shrugged your shoulders hating how you could feel tears burning in the back of your eyes at that question.

You had been able to hide your emotions from Vince all these months, not wanting to cry in front of your brother and worry him. You had spent so long bottling up your feelings that a simple question from Tommy had those feelings spilling out involuntarily.

"Hey, talk to me." Tommy said gently noticing the tears rising in your eyes.

You shook your head and looked away, blinking back the tears.

"I can't go on stage anymore." You whispered, your voice catching in your throat.

"What are you talking about?"

"My face looks like a fucking roadmap. I can't... I can't be Mötley's backup singer looking like this."

"That's bullshit." Tommy insisted before he lifted his hand and cupped the side of your face gently turning your head towards him. "You're beautiful, Y/N. Those scars don't change that."

Your eyes locked with his warm hazel ones as he smiled softly at you before lowering his hand. You fought the urge to chase his touch, missing the contact instantly.

Suddenly, the studio door squeaked open, and you glanced over your shoulder to find Mick Mars walking inside but the older man paused when he saw you for the first time since the accident.

"Shit, kid." He sighed walking over and pulling you into a hug without hesitation.

The embrace caught you by surprise. Mick was never a hugger, but you didn't waste any time in hugging him back though. The studio door opened once again just as you and Mick pulled apart while Nikki strolled inside.

"Hey." Nikki greeted, not really looking at anyone closely as he dumped his notebook and stack of loose papers filled with lyrics on the table across the room.

"Hey, man." Tommy replied.

Nikki scanned over his papers quickly ensuring they were all there before he turned and faced the three of you. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat when he saw you for the first time since dropping you off from the hospital all those months ago.

"Hey, Sixx." You greeted giving him a small nervous smile.

Nikki was always good at masking his expression, even now as he took in the faded scars for the first time, he didn't allow his emotions to show.

"Hey, princess." He eventually said, slowly walking across the room.

He stopped in front of you, his sea green eyes a little red and glossy. He had a faraway look about him, like he wasn't entirely there, and your heart sunk realising that Nikki was high.

It wasn't unusual. Nikki was high a lot. The other guys were too. But this wasn't from marijuana or cocaine. This was different. There were faint needle marks on his inner arm that he was clearly trying to hide. Nikki was injecting something a lot more dangerous than coke and that terrified you.

The bassist didn't comment on the scars despite not hiding the fact he was looking at them. Instead, he turned his attention back to the music and you all followed him over to the couches by the coffee table while you waited for Vince.

Your brother was late, but nobody mentioned it when he arrived at the studio, but there were no tearful reunions from the guys either. A vague sense of sadness engulfed the room, as if an ex-wife had suddenly burst through the doors.

"What's up, dude?" Tommy greeted looking over at Vince as he walked into the studio.

Your brother smiled softly, "hey."

The room then fell into awkward silence. None of the guys knew what else to say or whether to address the elephant in the room and bring up the topic of the crash.

Tommy and Mick remained seated on the large couch, Nikki sitting on the single seater with his bass laying in his lap while you sat on the edge of the coffee table tapping your boot against the ground anxiously.

Tom Zutaut was pushing for the band to get back to work on this new album and go on tour, but you weren't sure if the guys were ready for that.

"I got, um, the lyrics." Nikki spoke up breaking the looming silence. "I think you may like 'em."

He pointed to the bundle of papers on the coffee table beside you, so you grabbed them and handed the sheets to your brother for him to read through.

"Home Sweet Home?" Vince read the title off the sheet looking over at Nikki.

"It's been too long, buddy." Nikki answered sincerely before picking up the silver tray lined with coke. "Here. Have a bump with me."

"Don't." You gave Nikki a warning look and he rolled his eyes.

"What can it hurt?"

"I just got out of fucking jail." Vince stated sternly causing Nikki to sigh while Tommy and Mick sat silently waiting for the outburst, but it never came. "You're an asshole."

Vince then walked over handing the lyrics back to you and before you could say anything he picked up the makeshift straw and sniffed the drugs clean off the tray.

"Wanna show him the melody?" Nikki asked looking over at Mick.

The older guy nodded and sat himself up straight with a small wince grabbing his guitar before Vince suddenly rushed across the room and proceeded to throw up in the trash can.

Oh, shit.

"What the fuck was that?" Your brother coughed before puking again.

"That was smack." Nikki answered casually.

Your head snapped in the bassist direction, your eyes ablaze with sudden anger. Mick was shaking his head at Nikki and Tommy just stared at him in shock not knowing what to say.

"You guys slip me smack, and I'm the fucking problem?" Your brother groaned wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before marching back over to the group of you and kicking the coffee table you were still sitting on angrily. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking. I'm a monster. I killed Razzle, yeah. Could have happened to any one of you!"

Vince turned on his heels and marched towards the exit.

"Vince, wait-" You stood up from the table.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" He yelled over his shoulder before slamming the door shut behind himself.

"Nice job, Nikki." Mick sighed, slipping his sunglasses back on.

"You're a fucking asshole, you know that?" You spat turning to glare at the bassist.

Nikki looked up at you with eyes emptied of human emotion. Whatever he was injecting was seriously fucking him up.

"That's old news princess." Nikki sneered, snatching the bottle of Jack from the table taking a swig, his eyes never leaving yours. "Vince will come back. Don't worry."

You shook your head while Nikki plucked at his bass strings and drank.

He was right though.

Vince did come back, and the band worked on the new album together. 10-12 hours a day was spent in that recording studio. Some nights you all slept on the couches instead of going back home and after many long months, you had an album you were proud of.

Then, you began the Theatre of Pain tour across the states.

"Is that one going to be a problem?" Nikki asked walking along the stage to where Tommy had just finished kissing Heather goodbye.

You glanced over your shoulder at them from where you were sitting on the edge of stage beside Mick. Nikki was sipping a soda takeaway cup which you were almost certain had some kind of spirit mixed into it.

"What? She's great." Tommy answered.

Nikki snorted, "you're lucky she's hot."

"I know. She's super-hot, right?"

You could hear the smile in Tommys voice before he plonked himself down on the stage lying flat on his back beside you.

"I think I'm in love guys." He admitted looking up at you as you rolled your eyes dangling your feet off the edge of the stage before Nikki sat down on the speaker nearby.

It was early, well, not really, it was afternoon, but after the late night at the local club, you were all still hungover and trying to wake up ready for tonight's show.

Vince sat on a chair in the front row by the stage and waved at Nikki and Tommy who both waved back before Sharise walked down the aisle with little Skylar in her arms.

"Oh, Skylar, is it time to go already?" Vince asked, leaning forward before scooping up his daughter into his arms.

"Say bye to Daddy." Sharise said watching them hug before Skylar caught sight of you by the stage and began to squeal and wriggle in her father's arms trying to get to you.

"Hi baby girl!" You beamed jumping off the edge of the stage which was a little higher than you anticipated but managed to land on two feet before you rushed over.

Skylar held her little arms up towards you and Vince smiled allowing you to pick up your young niece as you spun her around in your arms causing her to coo in joy before resting her against your hip.

Skylar was never phased with the scars over your face. She never knew you without the scars, so the little girl never cared about them which was a silent relief.

Nikki and Tommy were both watching you on the stage, but you were too focused on your niece to notice their eyes.

Skylar babbled sweet nonsense while fiddling with your necklace and you kissed your niece's forehead gently.

"We're going to be late. Come on." Sharise suddenly said walking over and you reluctantly handed the little blonde girl back to her mother, but Skylar didn't seem so happy about that and started to cry.

"I know, baby. You'll see Aunt Y/N soon. Bye Vince, bye Y/N." Sharise said over her shoulder.

"Bye, Sharise." Vince replied and you gave her a friendly smile watching her walk off with your wailing niece.

"Is this bring your fucking girlfriend to work day?" Nikki muttered from the stage.

"Wish I had a girlfriend." Mick mumbled.

"I know, Mick. I know." Nikki sighed, sipping his drink quietly.

"You're good with her." Tommy suddenly said, ignoring the other two guys and you turned around to find him looking in the direction Sharise and Skylar had disappeared. "Skylar. You're good with her."

"She's a good kid." You smiled.

"You ever want kids?" Tommy asked casually causing Nikki to nearly choke on his drink as he coughed.

"Can't picture me as a mother, Sixx?" You chuckled in amusement as he shook his head while hitting his chest trying to breathe after nearly choking.

"No, no, I just... you don't even have a boyfriend."

You raised your eyebrows, "are you keeping tabs on my love life?"

"Or lack of love life, yeah." Nikki corrected causing you to roll your eyes and flip him off.

"Keep it that way. Guys only want one thing and it's fucking disgusting." Vince called out from his chair.

You glanced over at your brother, "you literally hook up with a new girl every day. I don't think you can comment on that."

"I never said I didn't fall into that disgusting category." Vince responded causing the guys to all laugh.

The first show of the tour was a hit.

The crowd were so engaged and hyped. Tommy even did his own drum solo while spinning in the air. it was fucking epic.

It had taken great effort for you to step foot on the stage at the beginning of the night. The guys had helped and supported you which you would forever be grateful for. The unsightly scars on your face were a source of constant self-consciousness, but it also bore witness to your resilience and determination to move forward with your life and not let it hold you back.

The scars had been decorated with glitter that were shimmering under the lights from the stage. The glitter helped your self-consciousness and although you still hated them, they at least looked a little nicer.

The show was going great, however, your microphone decided to stop working when the final song began. Typical.

Tommy was up the front of the stage playing the intro to Home Sweet Home on the piano. It surprised you every time he played the piano despite seeing him do it in the studio numerus times. You kept forgetting that he was secretly a band nerd from high school and could play more than just the drums and play them well.

Suddenly, the fans in the crowd began holding up their lighters while Tommy played the piano and you stood there in awe staring at the lights illuminating the stadium.

Holy shit.

"You know I'm a dreamer But my hearts of gold I had to run away high So I wouldn't come home low"

You felt like you could cry seeing all the lights going round and round in tune with the beat while your brother sung his heart out. Mick and Nikki both stood either side of the stage staring out at the crowd in amazement while Vince continued to sing along to Tommy's tune on the piano.

It was perfect.

You had almost forgotten that your microphone had stopped working too caught up in the moment and in shock at the scene in front of you.

By the time you remembered that it had broken, it was too late to ask the crew backstage for a new one, so you jogged over to Nikki standing nearby catching the bassist by surprise at your sudden appearance.

You danced slowly to the beat beside him and pointed at the microphone before making a dead motion with your hand to your neck. Nikki nodded in understanding while plucking at his bass and moving with your body in sync to the music.

"I'm on my way I'm on my way..." Vince continued to sing.

"Home Sweet Home." You sang in tune to your brother through Nikki's microphone.

Tommy jumped up from the piano throwing his hands in the air at the crowd that cheered loudly before he jogged across the stage to his drum set and sat down behind them. Mick and Nikki played their strings passionately as Tommy started up the beat on the drums keeping a beautifully smooth rhythm while Vince sang.

"You know that I've seen Too many romantic dreams Up in the lights, falling off the silver screen My heart's like an open book For the whole world to read Sometimes nothing keeps me together at the seams."

"I'm on my way I'm on my way..."

"Come on! Sing it!" You shouted at the crowd through the microphone.

"Home sweet home."

Despite it being a new song, the crowd were quick to catch on and sung the words back at you guys enthusiastically.

Vince glanced over at you with a bright smile hearing the fans sing the words for the first time. He didn't seem surprised that you were next to Nikki. It wasn't uncommon for you to share microphones with him and Mick. Hell, Vince had dragged you to the front of stage many times to use his microphone with him too.

You smiled back at your brother, all your worry, self-consciousness and anxiety about performing in front of crowds after the accident faded away as your eyes locked with Vince's before he turned back to the audience.

"Tonight, tonight I'm on my way Just set me free..."

"Home sweet home." You sang the words with Vince.

Nikki was leaning into you while strumming his bass and seemed to be enjoying the closeness while you swayed to the music against him. The girls in the crowd closest to the stage in front of you were screaming loudly with each sway of your hips against Nikki's.

Your brother didn't seem to notice too focused on his own performance, which was a silent relief. So, you continued to sing your parts while you and Nikki practically leant into each other behind the microphone.

By the end of the show, you were all buzzing with excitement.

"Did you see all those lights?!" Tommy practically shouted jumping up and down as you walked off backstage.

"It was pretty cool." Mick admitted.

"Hell yeah, it was cool!" Vince agreed grinning from ear to ear still hyped up from that final song.

"Did you guys know they were going to do that with their lighters?" You asked, glancing over at the others who shook their heads. "I can't believe they just did it on their own."

"Do you think the crowd will do it at other shows?" Vince asked, glancing over at you.

"I fucking hope so. That was awesome!"

Vince grinned, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side for a hug and you chuckled softly sliding your arm around his back as the group of you walked down the corridor.

"This is me. I'm gonna get changed and see you guys back at the hotel." You said, pointing to your dressing room.

Vince kissed the side of your head before saying, "I'm proud of you. I know how hard it was to get back on stage."

You smiled but didn't dare speak. If you did, you'd probably cry, and Vince seemed to notice because he gave you a small smile before letting you go and following the others down the corridor to their own dressing rooms.

You went to close the door behind yourself before Nikki held his hand up stopping it from shutting. He had been uncharacteristically quiet after the show, and you weren't sure why. The others were all so happy after what just happened, but Nikki hadn't commented on it.

"Thanks for letting me use the microphone." You said over your shoulder, not knowing what else to say as you walked over to your dresser and began pulling off your rings before glancing at Nikki through the mirror who was standing awkwardly in the doorway. "You know, you're capable of being a nice guy when you want to be. Why do you give me such a hard time sometimes?"

Nikki hesitated, "I'm not sure."

"Up on stage... I was starting to think it's because you have feelings for me which is crazy because..." You trailed off looking down at your hands not sure why you even started to say that.

"I do have feelings for you."

Your head snapped back up meeting Nikki's smoky eyes through the mirror.

"You do?"

"Yes, I feel that you're a little annoying."

You sighed turning around to face him, "see why? Why, Sixx? Right when I'm about to change my opinion of you-"

Nikki closed the distance between the two of you and silenced you by cupping the side of your face and kissing you roughly. You took no time to collect yourself before kissing him back with double the amount of passion making him smile into the kiss.

"You have no idea how much I wanted to do that on stage." Nikki whispered against your lips.

"Guys!" Tommy's voice suddenly called out followed by a knock on the door.

Nikki ignored him and turned his attention back to you. His hands travelled to your back, sliding underneath your shirt as he gripped the small of your waist before lifting you up onto the desk like you weighed nothing.

"Guys. C'mon, open the door. I know what you're doing in there. I saw you all over each other on stage." Tommy continued to say his knocking turning louder. "Guys!"

Nikki let out a frustrated groan before marching over and opening the door to find the drummer standing there with his knuckles up mid knock. Tommy stared at the bassist for a moment taking in his lipstick-stained lips before glancing over at you sitting on the desk with your shirt riled up.

"Thought you said this was in the past?" Tommy eventually said, his hazel eyes glued to yours.

"You jealous, T-bone?" Nikki teased.

Tommy scoffed but it was all fake and you knew it.

"If you weren't dating Heather, I'd probably kiss you too." You piped up and if it wasn't for the liquid courage of alcohol you had drunk during the show there was no way you'd have the guts to say that.

Nikki's head snapped in your direction, and you had expected to see him angry or annoyed by your comment but there was something almost exciting that flashed across his face before he turned back to Tommy.

"You wanna join? It's not like we haven't shared a girl before."

Tommy's eyes widen before he glanced over at you hesitantly and you raised your eyebrows waiting for an answer.

"Fuck, I'm weak." Tommy mumbled to himself before he walked into the dressing room locking the door shut.

Nikki grinned, "atta boy."

You reached out, your fingers hooking into the straps of Tommy's leather suit before you pulled him close and captured his lips with yours.

Tommy's body was tense for a moment like he was beginning to have second thoughts. You were about to pull away but then he started to relax, and his hands reached up cupping your face tenderly before he started to kiss you back.

Nikki was now pressed up against your other side placing a trail of kisses down your neck causing you to moan softly against Tommy's mouth. You could feel Tommy's package starting to turn hard against you, Nikki's own poking into your side through his tight restricting leather pants.

"How-how far are we taking this." You gasped, breaking away from Tommy's lips.

"As far as you want, baby." Tommy answered, caressing your cheek as his eyes flicked up to the scar over your eye.

You ducked your head not wanting him to see it and Nikki must have sensed the shift in your posture because he stopped sucking on your neck and looked up in confusion.

"What's the matter?" He asked, his voice rougher than usual.

"You're beautiful, Y/N. That scar doesn't change anything." Tommy insisted knowing exactly what you were thinking.

"Hey. Princess, look at us. Look at us." Nikki ordered before hooking his thumb under your chin and raising your head until your eyes reluctantly met theirs. "That's it. Good girl."

Nikki smiled softly before cupping your cheek and tracing the scar along your jaw with his thumb gently.

"Tommy's right. You're beautiful. These scars are beautiful."

"But-" you began to say before Tommy cut you off.

"You are beautiful." He insisted, resting his hand on your thigh while Nikki continued to trace the scar with a small smile.

"Who cares what anyone else thinks. You're ours and you're fucking perfect." Nikki stated before his lips met yours and he kissed you passionately.

-

Next Chapter

MASTERLIST pinned to profile

If anyone wants to be tagged just let me know

[arthursfuckinghat]

"Your friend, Mr. Van Der Linde, has ensured that any relations between us and the army are worse than any point in the last five years. I'm sure he means well, but matters are more complex than he understands."

[mikeybutnotway]

This is a letter, my word is the Beretta, the sound of my vendetta against the ones that planned it!

[sionisjaune]

Neighbour AU + Mutual pining (mickcedes or brocedes please) 💙

[Trope mash up prompts] This might have to become a series, because I got 1k into this and realized I hadn't even gotten to the mutual pining! But here you go, mickcedes monaco neighbours AU:

After breaking up with his girlfriend of four years, Mick musters the courage to ask Seb for his realtor so he can get the hell out of his sister’s place. Gina is awesome—the best sister Mick could ask for—but it’s clear that she’s become somewhat peeved after six weeks of taking care of her older brother.

Seb’s realtor is a terrifying blonde woman named Britta, and when Mick meets her for coffee—black for Britta and a cappuccino for Mick—she pulls up a map of Europe on her phone, holds it out to Mick and says, “Where do you want to go?” 

Mick swallows. He has the force of his family’s bank account behind him, which really means he could go anywhere. He pictures himself in the UK, in Greece, in Norway, in a beautiful island cottage in Croatia and says, “I’ve always wanted to live in Monaco.” 

“Monaco,” says Britta, tilting her head in consideration. “We can do Monaco.” 

-

Three days later, Britta texts Mick a plane ticket to Nice, the receipt for a rental car, and a link to tour a residential high rise virtually. Mick opens the link and flips through images of a sun-drenched condo on the sixth floor. He’s not much of a designer, but he imagines a dining room table beside the french doors that open onto the balcony, a flatscreen on the wall of the living room, and family photos on the mantel. 

He could live with it, he thinks. I like it, he texts Britta. 

-

Britta holds open the door for Mick, awfully gentlemanly, and nods at the doorman like she’s already met him. The lobby is bright and modern, and a plaque made from sun-bleached driftwood reads BIENVENUE on the front desk. 

The elevator ride to the sixth floor is uneventful, Britta and Mick leaning against opposite walls. The floor numbers tick upwards on the LED panel above the door. Britta tucks her hands behind her back and assesses Mick coolly. 

“You know,” she says, conversationally. “If Sebastian ever treats you unfairly, you can tell me, and I’ll sort him out. He can be a selfish little man when he isn’t thinking straight.” 

“Thanks,” Mick squeaks, willing the elevator doors to open. It’s difficult to categorize anything Seb does as unfair when Mick still has stars in his eyes looking at him. It’s Sebastian Vettel, his dad’s protege. 

“I’m serious,” says Britta, fiercely. 

As if sensing Mick’s discomfort, the elevator jolts to a halt, and a ding signals their arrival at the sixth floor. Britta makes an after you kind of gesture, and Mick slips out of the elevator. 

-

When Mick and Britta are done touring the apartment, Mick accepts Britta’s offer to show him around the city. He’s been here before on family vacations, but not since… Well, that doesn’t bear thinking about. 

Britta locks the door to the apartment behind them, and Mick turns around to stride towards the elevator, and runs smack into another body carrying a box of something green.

“Desole,” says Mick, mustering disused French. He shoots an arm out to help the stranger balance his box of what looks like—asparagus and artichokes and various varieties of leafy greens.

“Pas grave,” says the stranger, clutching his box of produce to his chest. Mick pulls back, and the stranger transfers the box to one arm, using his freed hand to sweep the hair out of his eyes. 

The stranger is bright blonde with fine wrinkles at the corners of turquoise eyes like he’s older than his otherwise smooth features suggest. He’s dressed in linen from head to toe, a pair of designer sandals on his feet that Mick only recognizes from his mother’s beach wardrobe. 

Britta snorts behind him. The stranger looks past Mick and wrinkles his nose at her. 

The awkward encounter is over in a matter of seconds, and the stranger is brushing past Mick, presumably to get to his apartment, while Britta ushers Mick towards the elevator. Mick shakes his head clear while Britta pushes the button for the lobby. 

“Do you know him?” Mick asks. 

“Ha,” says Britta, a thin smile growing on her jaw. “Sebastian does. That’s Nico Rosberg, an angel investor in the sustainable energy sector. He lives in Monaco with his husband, a designer.” 

“Rosberg as in Keke Rosberg?” says Mick. 

“That’s the one,” says Britta.

-

A month later, Mick finds himself on a plane to Nice for the second time, his most important belongings crammed in a mountain of suitcases and stowed with the rest of the luggage. Seb offered to fly with him and help Mick set up, but Mick felt somewhat guilty for stealing Britta for so long and wanted to prove to no one in particular that he could make the move by himself. 

He retrieves his new keys from the front desk, and after an afternoon he has most of the important things assembled, which is to say a toaster, an espresso machine and a bedframe. He opens his laptop and half-heartedly scrolls through an online furniture store, but gives up on the third page of bespoke credenzas. He doesn’t even know where he would put a credenza. 

In the end, he wraps himself up in the one sheet he bothered to bring with him and passes out on top of the mattress. 

-

Mick wakes to a knock on his door. He experiences a fleeting thought that he’s still staying with his sister, and it’s her boyfriend knocking on the door to take her out for breakfast before he realizes he’s in his new apartment in Monaco and Gina is thousands of kilometres away. He flings the sheet off his torso, still wearing yesterday’s t-shirt and joggers, and slogs through the apartment to answer the door. 

When Mick tugs the door open, Nico Rosberg is standing on the other side, a basket of greens once again clutched in his hands. Another man, with a deeper complexion, stylish facial hair, and a face stacked with piercings, stands at his shoulder, looking somewhat bored. 

“Hi?” says Mick, uncertain. 

“Hello neighbour!” says Nico Rosberg, foisting the basket on Mick. “We wondered when you’d move in. I’m Nico, and this is my partner Lewis. We live two doors down.” Nico gestures vaguely at the other end of the hallway. “Lewis, say hello,” he sing-songs. 

“Hey, man,” says Lewis. 

“Uh,” says Mick, struggling under his new armful of kale and other vegetables. “Thanks? Can I…” he glances backwards into the apartment and notes the kitchen, which is empty of everything but the toaster and coffee machine. “Invite you in for coffee?”

Nico laughs ebulliently. “Of course not. We wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of your hospitality when you’ve just moved in. If you need anything from us, though, just knock.” He grins flatly at Mick, lips closed. Something about it reminds Mick of Britta. 

“Thanks,” says Mick. “I’ll just…” he breaks off. 

“Great,” says Nico, still smiling his flat smile. “Wonderful to meet you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around.” 

Nico spins on his heel, links his arm through Lewis’s and tugs him down the hall. Mick blinks, steadying himself, and nudges the door closed with his foot, hauling the basket of produce into the kitchen. He sets it on the counter and pulls back to scrutinize it. What the fuck is he going to do with 10 kilos of kale?

[bwoahtastic]

In omega shelter au, lil babes being born blind and deaf, like kitten and pups. So Max is still hormonal with his lil newborn babe Logan. And Mick his toddler is more adventurous, quiet but still curious. So he toddels right up to the door when Toto shows up and squeaks happily! Cause this alpha is nice and brings toys! And snacks.

Oh plss! Max having a ting little infant that os maybe a week or 2 old and a lil purry toddler who is so sweet and innocent!

Mick seeing Toto come in and he has seen Toto come before and itsnalways with toys so Mick squeaks happily and goes over to see what Toto has for them! Mick excitedly squeaking when Toto shows him the food he got for them! Mick carefully bringing it over to momma, who is snarling, and then Mick toddles back and is in AWE when they even get dessert!!!

[unluckyhoneybee]

Maybe something where mick takes you on a weekend getaway to the beach and you watch the sunset and he says he loves you 🥹maybe Angie could be there too haha

You were on the sand, Angie laying between your legs and you scratching her belly. Everything had been so perfect this weekend.

After two months of dating and having a free weekend, Mick had taken you in a surprise trip to some Mediterranean island. The weather had been perfect, sunny and warm but not too hot. The beaches seemed to be taken out of a dream and the cabin he had rented was more than perfect. It had been one of the first big things you had done as a couple and you couldn't believe it was ending.

Angie rolled around and looked behind you, your signal to know Mick was coming back. Then a soft blanket fell on your shoulders and he sat next to you

You looked at him with a smile and he kissed your forehead.

"How are my girls?"

"Exhausted. Right, Angie?" She laid her head on your thigh and looked up at you. You giggled and brushed some sand from her head. "Someone needs a bath before getting inside"

Mick scratched her ears. "You know... I really trust her."

You looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I knew you were the one when I saw her so happy around you"

You needed a few seconds to process what he had said.

Mick looked better than ever. His skin had turned pink because he had forgotten a couple of times to use the sun cream, but the sunset sun made it look golden now. His hair looked lighter and he had the most relaxed expression you had seen on him. He was glowing and looked sweeter than ever. You were so in love with him.

"YN?"

"Did you say you think I'm the one?"

He nodded a bit.

"The one as..."

"The one as the person I want to marry one day" He said. "Not now because it's still soon. But yeah. One day"

You were shaking.

"Mick, I..."

"I love you" He finally said. "So much, actually."

You giggled with tears already falling down your face. Then, you cupped his cheek and kissed him.

He hummed in your lips and brought you closer.

"I love you too, Mick. So much. You are just... Perfect"

He blushed and looked down with a shy smile. "This... It turned out really well"

You kissed his cheek and temple and hugged his neck, followed by a squeak of pure happiness as you squeezed him. It made him laugh and pull you.

Soon, you were both rolling in the sand and playing fighting with Angie happily jumping around you two.