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dcxdpdabbles · 3 months ago

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#holiday request Sorry, it's me again! I't just that I really, really love your writing and I forgot to mention "Alley boyfriends" and "Alfred's Boy". If you could update either of those I would be very grateful <3 <3 <3

The first sign that something is wrong is finding Damian with a bow and arrow in the tallest room at Wayne Manor. Or, more specifically, seeing the boy aiming the arrow out the window in the direction of Dick and Danny cuddling in a backyard hammock.

Thankfully, he had been fast enough to snatch the arrow from the air before it went anywhere near the cuddling duo. Damian insisted he wasn't aiming for either of them- just the strings holding the hammock up.

The reason? Dick had gone over the agreed-upon cuddle time, and Damian wanted to make him stop. Bruce knew it was just because he was jealous.

Bruce had seen his youngest making doe eyes at Danny earlier that morning while the boy was doing his daily chores. He's been more energetic since Wes left and was willing to share his half-human status with the Wayne household after a talk with Alfred.

All of his children took the news well. They had many teammates who weren't human, but Bruce could tell Danny was still afraid to tell them the truth. Despite the many times Danny provided support in the Batcave and knew of said teammates, he still feared that he would be the exception to their acceptance.

It seemed his parents had left more prominent scars than Danny had been willing to show.

After a brief but vague- Alfred made it a point that his contact did not want Danny stating what he was until it was safe to do so- the Waynes got the gist that Danny needed cuddles.

Almost all his youngest had quickly offered their services, but Alfred and Bruce stopped it. The two men created a cuddling schedule, like a meal plan, to help Danny regain a healthier state, along with the few older ones, excluding Jason.

His second eldest had been highly offended to not be on the schedule, but Alfred calmed him with a whisper. "Think about how hilarious this will be to watch?" Jason had returned to his romance novel, cackling like a loon.

He was easy to manipulate.

Alfred forbade Bruce from telling Jason about Danny's slight crush. The reason was that Clockwork had already spoken to Alfred about it being a passing fancy, and it was safer for Danny's kind to not be rejected until later. Bruce burned with many questions, but he would never dare investigate Alfred or his affairs.

He respected him too much.

Now, if only his kids would behave.

"Damian Wayne, we do not shoot arrows at our siblings." Bruce scolds, wagging a finger at the boy's pouting face.

"But you let Drake throw a spoon at Girl Row!" Damian whines, crossing his arms. In moments like this, Bruce is violently reminded that for all his advanced vocabulary and intelligence, his son is still a fourteen-year-old teenager who could act childish.

"I did not let Tim do anything. He's ground for throwing things at Harper." Bruce sighs, rubbing his right temple. A pounding headache was starting to build up there. "Just because she came to watch Danny's cooking lesson with Tim and Cullen and chose to give Danny a quick snack with her hug does not mean Tim had a right to throw utensils."

"It wasn't even aimed at her head," Tim mutters from the hallway. His punishment for his behavior was that he was to stay within the six feet radius of Bruce. It was the only surefire way to ensure Tim wasn't up to something, like working on case work or plotting to overthrow a small government.

Bruce would break out the kid's leash if he tried to run again.

It was hilarious when Tim was thirteen, and the kid leash still had the same threat level at seventeen as it did then.

"That's another week," Bruce tells him.

"What!? I didn't even do anything!"

"Two weeks."

"Come on!"

"Three weeks." Bruce drawls, which causes Damian to smile until his father looks him in the eye. "I don't know why you seem too amused. You're grown for two weeks as well, young man."

Damian throws his arms up, wisely keeping his mouth shut as he steps with Tim. Now Bruce had two kids he couldn't let out of his sight, and they did something crazy. He marches them out of the room towards his office, where he plans on getting some work done and putting them both to do some extra class studying.

They pass by Jason, who looks like the cat that got the cream at their obvious grounding. He waves a couple of tickets in the air. "It seems like you brats are grounded. Too bad, I was about to invite you to show at the planetarium."

"Why would I waste my time there?" Damian scoffs as Tim glares. Bruce feels his headache growing stronger as Jason smugly proclaims.

"Danny is a huge star nerd. He was excited to finally see the show now that he was feeling better. He wanted us all to go together, but you'll have to miss it since you're still getting grounded at your age." Jason mocks, walking away while shaking his head. Bruce has only a few seconds to wonder why his second is like this, and then Tim and Damian explode with pleas to let them join the rest of the children.

He stays firm in their punishment, but he honestly doesn't feel safe by the way the two, right in front of him, start putting their difference aside and communicate with mere glances a plan of escape. Bruce wishes their corporation wouldn't come at the expense of his sanity.

He glances out the window, watching Dick and Danny talk, and it hits him suddenly that Dick is making that face he usually reserves for staring at baby ducks and baby elephants. His eldest was forming a deeper bond with the boy, which could mean several things, but the center of it all was what made him such a good leader.

Dick was breaching the walls Danny had built so strongly around him.

By tonight, Bruce would not be surprised if Dick started calling Danny his little brother. Coupled with the effort Jason put in to get Danny out of the house and around more people, the boy was healing in a way he so desperately needed.

He was so proud of them. Bruce is so glad the kids allowed him into their lives in moments like these. They saved him more times than he counted, and he does not, meanwhile, being Batman.

The kids saved Bruce Wayne, and he hopes they will save Danny Fenton similarly if the younger boy allows it. Not just because he's Alfred's boy but because he is a Wayne in a different shade.

Danny's face lights up with a smile, looking far more alive than ever before, and Bruce's eyes soften. Then they harden when he spots Steph creeping closer to the hammock from behind some bushes, a garden hose in her hand.

"No! No, no!" He shouts, running down the hallway with Tim and Damian behind. "Don't even think about it, young lady!"

#dcxdpdabbles #Alfred's boy #Part 8 #Bruce's pov #Jason is having the time of his life #The cuddle buddy schedule is causing wars #Danny opening up to them #The clam before the storm #Tim and Damian are losing their minds #Jason is unaware he's part of the plot #Bruce's blood preasure is through the roof

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bunny-jpeg · 6 months ago

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hiii ! how are u? I would like to order a pastry braid and english muffin with a side of tonic water, w max verstappen

thank uu x

bakery menu!!

want to suggest your own order? then hit up the menu! there are tons of things to choose from. i am working through the suggestions after a slight break so i will be posting them more often. updates usually go up fridays to sundays at 6pm est! i hope you enjoy this little fic! this is set in the team principal au (which usually happens with a max age gap fic) but it's not connected to the rest of the tp au that i have going, just it's own little thing! <3

pastry braid: "your job is to make me cum. now get to work." + english muffin: "aw, is someone crying?" + tonic water: age gap served by max verstappen (formula one)

tags: smut/pwp, tp!max, driver!reader, age gap (20s/40s), crying (kink), rough sex, power dynamics, doggy style, max has high expectations for his driver, degrading language, possessive behavior

insatiable. that was what max would describe himself in relation to you. what he was when you were near. he was hungry for trophies, wins and most of all your sweet cunt. max had expected to leave the track years ago, but how could he? he had a re purpose, to make you a champion.

but even wills made of iron couldn't deny your appeal. how you looked in your fire proofs, the look you got when you lost of received a plenty, and the opposite look you gave when you tasted sweet victory. if max was the lion, then you were the wolf.

regardless, max still held power over you and you when he held your cheeks in one hand to face him, a domineering look in his eyes. he held you like he owned you, and with all those zeroes on your contract. he did in a way.

his arms wrapped around you and held you to his chest. in a moment of private after the grand prix, he held you the way a lover would. he couldn't help but take a quick grab of your breasts. you wined in response and max simply smiled.

"not the best," he said in your ear, "i counter five errors in your driving, on top of letting the williams' driver over take you for ten laps. i'm sorry, my price, you know what that means."

you nodded, "yes, sir. i understand." then shifted a little in his touch which only made him hold onto you tighter. you swallowed, even though you won the trophy, tonight wouldn't be about celebrating. it would be about punishment.

max's hotel room was next to yours, and you barely closed the door before he was trying to get your t-shirt off. large hands groped your breasts over your bras and he groaned into your neck.

"fuck, baby." he said, tension in his voice, "you could've been celebrating with the team, but instead you have to deal with the punishments." he pulled your bra over your head and grabbed your chest.

max liked your breasts, he loved how easy the skin bruised when he gave them too much attention. you ended up on the bed with max stripping you of your calvin klein jeans. he saw your exposed thighs, and the tattoo on your hip. lucky number thirty-three. max's old number.

he did have a claim over you, the kind of claim that not even a scandal could break. oh the media circus that would ensue if people found out about you two. if they found out you were fucking max, then max guessed he'd just have to marry you. not a big deal, he had a ring picked out and everything.

"you know what we have to do tonight. your job is to make me cum. now get to work." and soon your panties were pulled off and left on the edge of the bed. he started to strip himself down.

while your face in the pillows and your couldn't see your team principal, you could feel him. the soft of imposing power that left you feeling needy.

"i expect the best from you. you know that. i don't deal with those who aren't willing to push themselves to the best they can be. i know, you can easily be the best. but, i guess there is still a lot i have to teach you." max wasn't like this with any other driver, even if you retired tomorrow, you'd still be his favourite.

he admired your beauty with strokes of his cock. usually there would be a spanking, teasing or maybe a little bondage, but max was still running off the high of racing and he wanted you now. he sank his cock into you like it was his god given right. he was near double your age, but he still fucked you until you were an overstimulated mess.

you whined from the intrusion, you felt sharp pain. max wasn't small by any means. he was rather bulky, the kind of cock that bullied your insides. you felt a shiver of pain as you moaned into the sheets.

"aw, is someone crying?" his words were patronizing as he moved against you quickly. his stamina was still high, he fucked with the force of a bull that often left you feeling bruised inside and out. he had that ability over you. you leave you completely and utterly at his his mercy.

you swallowed, "not crying, sir." and arched your back, but max had you pressed against the bed. his pace only picked up as he rutted up against you.

the thing about max was that he was dominate. and you loved the power he had over you. he easily took you apart and let him make you feel like jelly as he fucked into you.

"you look better on my cock than in a car." he remarked, "better on your knees than the podium." he added as pleasure clouded his head. his thoughts were about how good you felt. how you clenched around him when he hit your g-spot.

you whined and sniffled a little from the ache. you weren't crying. rather whining from the intense feeling. the ache and the pleasure left your nerves feeling tense. you gasped when he hit a particular spot.

max loved when you whined, especially when there were sweet little tears in your ears. his little wolf all teary-eyed because he made you feel too good.

he pace continued and you felt on cloud nine, you sniffles continued and you were left needy for more. it was always more, you always needed more of him. something that max was more than happy to deliver on. how could he deny his driver. even when he thought you did poorly, he still had a soft spot for you.

"mmm, see you're good like this. i could just eat you alive. take you piece by piece. all mind." he chuckled with warmth in his gut, "next time you'll listen to me over the radio and in the garage." he arched your back further and made you feel the zap of pleasure up your spine and in your core.

having your team principal's support meant the world to you, even when you were panting and near crying under him. the pleasure climbed through your body and you felt the surge of want through you.

"please, sir." you arched your back further and your pulse picked up. face buried in the soft pillows while you let your boss fuck you with a heated drive.

he grasped the back of your head and pulled your head further into the pillows and his pace quickened, "you're forgiven. let this not be a lesson you forget." and continued to move against you, fucking you right into the mattress with heavy thrusts of his hips.

he yanked your hair a little and it amde you moan. only he could get away with something like that. yank, bite, slip, no other man could get away with that. but you gave max everything.

the movements continued and you felt amazing. the type of amazing that allowed you to feel to close to orgasm. you tensed up and felt the sweet release as you came. you needed max, you needed him in a way you could never need another.

your boss, your lover, your everything.

his movements left you needy and it wasn't long before you moaned loudly once more around his cock. the pleasure continued to wash through you like heavy waves. and it only made your lover fuck you quicker. max moved against you, near bounced you up and down on his cock. his noises were tense before he slammed every inch into you and finished.

"oh fuck." he groaned.

you gasped and weakly held onto the covers. you couldn't think of anything else besides max. max, max, max, he was the only thought in your head as he slowed to a stop. and then laid on top of you. he rutted his still hard cock into you which made you groan.

"i think there are a few more lessons i could teach you tonight before i really wear you out." those words were said like a promise <3

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thebluester2020 · 7 months ago

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[TWST] Kinktober Day 13: "Masturbation"

Summary: With you being the only girl on campus, Leona already had an idea that there would be competition! Luckily for him however, catching you alone at night proved to be his lucky break.

Warning(s): Solo Masturbation (Leona fingers the reader), Teasing, Slight Bullying (I got a thing for Leona being mean man), Fingering, Leona being possessive (in kinda a jealous way tbh).

Side Note(s): Okay so a few things mostly in regards to how I'm going to treat anything I write for TWST from now on. One, I'm going to write as if Night Raven College was an actual college. For the sake of me being confused as to what's what regarding the school system, I gotta do what I gotta do in order to help myself 💀.

Two— y'all I gotta update my yuu oc's sheet. I'm seeing so many fancy ones on here that it's giving me major inspo.

It was hard for him to admit it to himself at first but...Leona Kingscholar had a crush.

Sure, it was easy to say that it was only a matter of time before he gained one on you, especially when you were the only girl on campus but he thought he had more strength of will than that! So many others had a crush on you, too many fools lamenting about how they either wanted to date you or sleep with you. It was becoming annoying at this rate, and at first? Leona couldn't wait to hear the news that Headmaster Crowley had finally found your home and sent you back, just so he could stop hearing students in SavannaClaw constantly groaning about you.

Then it began to divulge into something else.

One class period, strangely enough, you were without your cat. In every class he had shared with you prior, you were always preoccupied with the cat and seemed to feed off his mischief and antics. Like a little duckling trying to mimic every single living thing in order to find its place.

Bothersome.

But he ignored it well enough until he witnessed you being...focused for once. And there, he gained a strange warmth in his chest as he found himself staring, admiring your gracefulness as you sat in your chair and the way you showed a surprising amount of intelligence, one that was usually hidden away by how much you were coddling the only other member of that Ramshackle Dorm. Sure, he didn't have much room to admire nor talk about someone being focused with how little he cared for his classes personally but...there was something regal about you in particular being focused.

But, as quick as he felt that warmth blooming, he snuffed it out.

No way was he entering a pointless rat race for one girl when thousands of other students were competing in the same competition.

Until tonight.

When he found you sitting all on your lonesome inside the Botanical Gardens, reading a book no less.

"Herbivore?" He smirked at how fast you responded to the name he had given you.

You quickly closed the book and stood. "L-Leona?" You gulped. "What are you doing out so late?"

"I could ask the same of you," He rose his brow, his gaze going from the book in your hand to the clothes you were wearing. You looked as if you had just rolled out of bed and decided to walk out of your room. "It's dangerous to be out so late, a lot of predators hunt at night and you're easy prey."

You rolled your eyes, deciding to sit back down on the bench and scoot over enough to allow the prince some room to sit if he wished.

Shockingly, he took the silent offer. "Enough of the animal references," You huffed. "It's safe on this campus, much better than my world where I actually need to be afraid." Leona flicked his ear at your wording, he was tempted to press further on your meaning but...he decided to leave the matter for another time. After all, his original reason for being out here was simple. He felt like going out for a nighttime stroll, feel the cool breeze on his skin and all that and maybe taking a small nap here as well.

With you being here although...his plans started to shift a little.

"A romance book?" You slammed your novel shut when Leona pointed out the genre of your book, a blush quickly appearing on your cheeks as you immediately shot a glare to the prince. "Fairytales don't exist herbivore." He chuckled quietly at the growing red on your face.

"For your information, it's not a fairytale. It's a play!" You huffed. "Romeo and Juliet, a tale of forbidden lovers, do you have anything like that in this world?" The beastman shrugged his shoulders, although he was well-versed in different literatures. Romance and forbidden love stories were never his preferred genre to read, to him? It always felt like something to give to young princesses who were hoping that some tall knight would sweep them off of their feet.

He tsked at the very thought of it. "There are plenty of forbidden love stories in this world. Your little book is probably just as predictable as the next one."

"Oh really?"

He nodded his head. "Let me guess...someone dies in the book? Maybe both of them?"

Leona laughed at your silence, causing you to gently shove at his arm at his confidence. Personally, you wouldn't lie to yourself when you said that the idea of a love story appealed to you, especially more so now that you were in a world where magic and princes existed! Hell, you were talking to one right now! However, as you looked at him through the corner of your vision...he wasn't anything like Romeo. He was arrogant, blunt, and a little bit rude. You hadn't forgotten that his ambitious plan lead to you nearly being ran over during the Spelldrive games!

But despite all that? Those very same attributes...they attracted you all the same.

Suddenly, Leona caught a scent in the air, one that made him breathe deeply before exhaling slowly. "What's going on in that head of yours herbivore?" He questioned with a tilt of his head.

"I'm thinking about when you're going to leave and let me continue reading," You lied through your teeth, causing the prince to smirk as he slowly moved closer to you, still giving you ample room to move away in case you were uncomfortable. Yet...as that scent grew sweeter and more potent, it seemed that you were anything but uncomfortable with his presence. "Really?" He pressed. "Something tells me you're thinking about something else herbivore...perhaps this prince can grant it for you."

You twitched a little when Leona suddenly placed a hand on your thigh. The scent of an earthy soap on his body reached your nostrils and, steadily, you began to feel your mind slipping a little.

Until you remembered, you had to hold strong. "...I'm thinking about how much I want you to get away from me." You continued to try and lie, your futile attempts making the prince's smirk grow even more as he continued to laugh.

"Cute," He scoffed. "You know...if you're honest, I'll reward you really nicely." His hand began to move a little, not traveling either upward or downward but only drawing a circle in your skin with his thumb. Your breathing became heavier, the scent of your growing arousal making the prince feel as if he were sipping on the most delectable wine in all the lands. Still, he wanted to hear a word of consent from you before he proceeded.

"Reward?" You panted, gulping before you gained the courage to look Leona in the eyes where his green orbs seemed to almost glow in the darkness. "What...what reward are you talking about?"

"What fun is there in telling you when I can show you?" His thumb stilled as you considered your response. There was little point in denying it to yourself, you could feel that you were absolutely soaked, your sex twitching in anticipation of Leona's touch whilst you could almost feel yourself drowning in the prince's gaze. You wanted to tell yourself that you had no business having sex with a prince, risking the possibility of developing more of an attachment to this world than you already were. But...it was way too hard to think that way when you so badly wanted to feel his warmth. "Show me." You finally whispered.

Finally, Leona's lips found your own before his hand eagerly moved up to your clothed pussy. He laughed against your lips, parting briefly from you as he licked his lips clean of your sweet-tasting lipstick. "Already this wet for me herbivore? All that talk earlier must've been a heap of lies." He then pressed another kiss to your lips before peppering a trail of kisses down your cheek and to the side of your neck. Oh, he was so tempted to mark you right here and right now in this garden but...Leona willed himself to play the long game rather than try to obtain all of his winnings in one single night. He'd get you addicted to his touch first, getting you to beg and plead for him to take you but, as cruel as it would be, he'd deny you. After all, it was more fun to have you come to him rather than him come to you.

"Ah..." You moaned sweetly, the beastman's ears perking to the sound.

"I-It's because you're so d-damn arrogant..." You said breathlessly before you whined at the feeling of cold air hitting your sex when Leona pulled your underwear to the side. The prince ignored your words, too focused on how you squeaked and shuddered each time he kissed you and especially how you grabbed at his shoulders like a lifeline when he began to touch your twitching sex.

"All this just from talking to me, herbivore?" He then trailed his lips back up to your cheek before whispering in your ear. "How shameless..." He continued to lightly scold you before he dipped a finger inside your pussy, your grip upon his shoulders getting tighter from the action.

"And here you were reading a romance novel...did your precious characters do something like this in that little book of yours?"

You shook your head with a whiney 'no' in response. "Oh?" Leona briefly flashed his teeth as he smiled. "You must've been really eager for something like this to happen then," He continued to whisper in your ear as his finger began to lightly thrust in and out of your pussy, the sound of your moans increasing only making the prince's cock strain harder in his pants. But, for the moment, he'd ignore his own desires in other to please you.

"You have a crush on anyone?" Leona lightly nipped your ear.

He felt his ego grow when you shook your head no, he had a completely blank slate to work off of. To make sure that you got addicted to him and no one else. "My lucky day then...I get a cute lil' herbivore to play around with then. It'd be pretty awkward to fuck you with my fingers before you'd leave and smile in your crush's face next." Then, he curled his finger a little, a whine leaving your lips when he suddenly hit your g-spot. At the sound, Leona began to press into that spot with more accuracy, causing you to wrap your arms around his neck as you pulled him closer to your body.

"L-Leona!" You gasped.

"Tch, you sound like a lioness in heat. All from a little fingering?" He teased. A knot began to form in the pit of your stomach as you continued to clench around Leona's finger at his words, the combination of his typically rude and sarcastic tone mixed with the pleasure he was delivering you making your head spin. Then, Leona added a second finger and his thumb into the mix. The addition of the rubbing against your clit and the increased thickness from the second finger making you whine Leona's name.

He had to hold himself back from cumming in his pants like some teenager at the sound. "F-Fuck—! L-Leona...!" You gasped. "Your fingers...f-feel so good..."

"Yeah?" He placed a surprisingly gentle kiss on your lips. "You're so much more honest when you have a couple of fingers tending to this needy hole of yours, don't you?" He chuckled.

You dumbly nodded your head, your further honesty to his question only making his ego grow as the pace of his thrusts increased. He had to cover your mouth with his hand to help muffle your moans, the feeling of your drool against his palm making the prince hiss at the dirtiness of it all. In this moment, he felt more akin to a thief rather than a prince. Stealing away the purity of the seemingly innocent princess, who was "promised" to her knight. Leona moaned at the thought, and what's more? With the way you called out his name and clung to him like you were begging him to give you pleasure, trying to continue to plead your case for him to give you what you so desperately want, Leona couldn't deny how quickly his desires for you grew.

"So loud herbivore..." He said with an unusually sweet tone as his ears started to move to the sound of your cunt beginning to squelch. Your slick started to stick to Leona's palm and drip down onto the bench, filling the air with the smell of sex as Leona picked up the pace of his fingers even more. "Gonna cum soon? Your drippin'."

You answered with a loud moan as your eyes started to roll to the back of your head while your hips started to thrust onto his fingers in time with his movements. Your cunt tightened around his fingers, making the prince have to put more work into fucking you until...you whined loudly behind his palm, your pussy clenching and unclenching around his fingers rapidly before you finally relaxed as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

When you made a noise of discomfort though, he finally removed his fingers.

"Dirty," He mumbled, spreading his fingers as he lewdly played with your slick before finally sticking the digits into his mouth.

You blushed at the sight, weakly turning your head to the side before Leona snickered and made you face him once more. "Next time...let's do this in my dorm room, hm?"

#smut #twst fanfic #twst fandom #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst leona x reader #twst leona #twst writing #leona x reader #leona smut #leona twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #twst smut #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twistedwonderland

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wosospacegirl · 23 days ago

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Stuck with you - part 5

Summary: Y/n’s used to Alexia’s overprotectiveness and the pressure of her career—but Kika? The shy, socially awkward teammate who’s starting to make her feel things she didn’t expect.

Warnings: one (1) medically unsupervised injury, lesbians lying under pressure, Alexia Putellas yelling, the emotional aftermath of hurting someone you like (accidentally), and Y/m being physically broken and emotionally constipated.

Word count: 5.1k

a/n: This one is more on the angst side.

Masterlist here

Y/n woke up to the soft sound of a knock on her bedroom door. She groaned, pulling the covers over her head, but the knock came again, more insistent this time. She already knew who was behind it.

"Y/n? Are you awake?" Alexia's voice drifted through the door.

"Yeah, come in," Y/n muttered, trying to hide the heaviness in her voice. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes.

The door creaked open, and Alexia entered, her face a mixture of concern and curiosity.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, her eyes scanning the room, though they kept drifting back to Y/n's bed, like she was looking for any sign that something was wrong.

Alexia had come back late yesterday from the night out with the team. Y/n was already sleeping by then, so she didn’t have a chance to personally inspect Y/n’s ankle.

Y/n flashed her a tired smile, trying to hide the discomfort in her ankle.

“I'm fine,” she said, her tone more forceful than she intended.

Alexia raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp. They stood there, looking at each other in the quiet room, the tension thick in the air.

After a few beats, Alexia finally spoke.

“So…ankle update?” she asked, her voice careful but direct.

Y/n shrugged, trying to keep her composure. “I put ice on it yesterday, took some anti-inflammatory. Completely fine now,” she said quickly, hoping the answer would end the conversation.

Alexia didn’t buy it.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her tone a little softer but still laced with concern. “It looked pretty rough yesterday on the pitch.”

Y/n was quick to brush it off. “Yeah, totally fine,” she repeated, her tone dismissive. “I'm gonna take a shower and meet you and Olga for breakfast, okay?”

Alexia hesitated, clearly not convinced. She opened her mouth to say something, but then paused, eyes flicking to Y/n's ankle, which was barely hidden under the blanket.

“Yeah, I’ll see you there,” Alexia said, almost too quickly, but then she lingered, her gaze flickering toward the door, unwilling to leave just yet.

Y/n arched an eyebrow, catching the tension. “Something else?”

Alexia hesitated before finally speaking, voice softer now.

“Just want you to know that your parents called.” She watched Y/n closely as the words landed, knowing this wasn’t going to be an easy topic.

Y/n rolled her eyes, a small but noticeable flicker of frustration crossing her features.

“Ale, please,” she said, exhaling heavily. "Block them. You don’t need to act as an intermediary for them. There’s no role for an intermediary when there’s no connection between two people. There’s nothing more between me and them.”

Alexia didn’t respond immediately, her eyes gentle but understanding.

“If that’s what you want, cariño,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper as she left the room, leaving Y/n alone with her thoughts.

Y/n stepped out of the shower, the warm steam still clinging to her skin. She carefully flexed her ankle, testing it out as the heat from the water had eased some of the pain.

“Well, at least the hot water helped,” she said to herself.

She eyed her reflection in the mirror, already dreading the moment she’d have to step out and put on pants to cover the injury.

Even on a hot day, there was no way she could risk exposing it–not with how bad it hurt when she moved. Plus, it looked bad, it was all swollen and in a deep shade of purple, people would know it wasn’t a small injury.

With a deep sigh, she grabbed her clothes and took a few tentative steps toward the door. The instant her weight shifted onto her injured ankle, pain shot up her leg.

She winced, the discomfort so sharp that she almost dropped to the floor. “Fuck,” she whispered under her breath.

She glanced toward the door, hearing Alexia and Olga talking and laughing downstairs. The sounds made her hesitate before she quickly grabbed her pants, deciding to deal with the pain now so no one could know.

She limped out of her room, wincing with each step, until she finally made it to Olga and Alexia’s room.

Y/n lingered outside their bedroom door, her fingers twitching at her sides. She shouldn’t be doing this.

With a quick glance down the hallway–no footsteps, no voices–she slipped inside and closed the door behind her as quietly as possible. The familiar scent of Olga’s perfume hit her first, making her hesitate.

“This is so stupid,” she muttered in a low voice. “This is so fucking stupid.”

She wasn’t proud of what she was about to do, but she knew there was no other choice. For the six years she’d lived with Alexia and Olga, she had never stepped into their room without permission– and never, ever gone through their things.

But her ankle throbbed like hell, and she knew she wouldn’t make it through training without help. No one could know. Especially not Alexia.

Y/n moved straight to the closet, heart hammering, and started scanning the shelves.

“Please don’t let me find anything embarrassing,” she muttered to herself as she rifled through Alexia's things. Her mind couldn’t help but wander to worst-case scenarios, wondering if Alexia or Olga had hidden anything... personal around here.

She wasn’t even sure the pills were still there–she only remembered Alexia being prescribed them months ago, after that minor ankle twist. But maybe...

After a few minutes of searching, her heart skipped a beat when she spotted the bottle tucked behind a few old jerseys on the top shelf of the closet.

She grabbed it quickly, unscrewing the cap to make sure there were still a couple of pills left.

With a sigh, she popped two of the tablets into her mouth without bothering to grab any water. She grimaced as the bitter taste hit her tongue, but she didn’t care. The pain in her ankle was getting worse, and she needed something to numb it–fast and efficiently.

As she leaned back against the wall, waiting for the pain to subside. The guilt settled heavily in her stomach. She could already hear Alexia’s voice if she ever found out.

Alexia would be so mad if she knew Y/n had snuck in here. She wouldn’t mind that Y/n was in their bedroom, but she would be fuming if she knew Y/n was going through her stuff.

But it was just for now–just until she could make it through the day without feeling like she was walking on broken glass. She needed maybe a couple of days before her ankle could heal on its own.

When she thought her plan worked, the door creaked open, and Olga stepped in. Y/n froze, panic flashing across her face.

Fuck.

She was downstairs just a few moments ago!

"Y/n, cariño, do you need anything?" Olga asked, her voice warm and concerned, not an ounce of suspicion in her tone.

Y/n quickly tried to think of an excuse. Her mind raced, but she wasn’t exactly good at lying on the spot. Her mind raced–medicine was off‑limits to admit, but she needed an excuse for being here.

What should she say? Fuck, fuck.

“Oh hi!” That’s what came out. Instantly, she regretted it.

Olga stared at her with a funny look on her face.

“...Hi, nena,”

Silence.

“Do you want something?” Olga asked again, breaking the silence.

“No... I mean, not really,” Y/n said quickly. She gestured vaguely around the room, like she was presenting an exhibit. “I just haven’t been here in forever, you know? I used to come here all the time when I was younger and–”

“Cariño,” Olga interrupted gently, tilting her head. “You’re a terrible liar. Just tell me what you want.”

She shifted awkwardly, trying to cover up her anxiety with a fake smile. She couldn't tell the truth, not really. She needed another excuse, a good one–one that would explain why she was in front of Alexia’s side of the wardrobe.

“I…uh…need tampons,” she blurted, lifting a hand to gesture vaguely at the wardrobe. “Completely ran out this morning.”

Olga’s brow arched–Y/n’s face heat‑flushed–but the wardrobe behind her gave the perfect “toiletries” context, and Olga nodded as if it made total sense.

“Qué, nena?” she asked, clearly trying to make sense of what she’d just heard. “Tampons?”

Y/n’s cheeks were flaming, and she quickly added, “I... so desperately need tampons! That’s what I’m doing here, in your room, searching for them.”

‘I can't believe I'm doing this. Tampons? Really? That's the best I can come up with?’

Olga looked taken aback for a moment.

“Oh, we ran out last week,” she said easily, and then her eyes brightened as she thought of a solution. “But I’ll ask Alexia to stop at a store on your way to training. No problem.”

Y/n’s eyes widened in horror. "Oh, forget it!" she said quickly, trying to backtrack. “I can–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Olga turned toward the door, cupping her hands around her mouth.

“Alexia! Nena needs tampons! Stop at some store and get them for her!” she called out, her voice loud and cheerful.

Y/n’s face turned an even darker shade of red, and she pressed her hands over her face, groaning. “Olga, please,” she whispered, utterly mortified.

Olga beamed at her, completely unfazed.

“No worries, cariño. It’s taken care of!” She then gave Y/n a bright smile, completely oblivious to her embarrassment.

“Thanks, Olguita,” Y/n muttered as she tried to escape the conversation.

As Y/n started to limp toward the door, she winced slightly, trying to hide the discomfort from her injured ankle. She was just about to leave the room when Olga’s voice stopped her.

“Hey, is your ankle still bad?” Olga asked, her voice suddenly more serious, her gaze trained on Y/n’s limp. “Alexia told me you said it was better.”

Y/n froze, but then quickly forced a laugh.

“What? No, no, it’s fine,” she said, but her tone came out too defensive, too quick. “I just… hit my pinky toe on your bedside table, that’s all.”

Olga gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Oh, I do that all the time,” she said with a shrug.

Y/n gave a half-hearted smile, still feeling guilty. She was just about to leave when Alexia’s voice rang out from downstairs.

“Y/n! Get down here! We need to leave in 10 minutes," Alexia called up, her tone a mix of urgency and exasperation.

Y/n winced, already feeling the weight of the day pressing down on her.

“Coming!” she called back, hurriedly heading toward the stairs, trying to mask her limp.

Alexia grabbed a protein shake and handed it to Y/n, rather aggressively as she slipped Y/n’s training bag into her hand.

“Here, take this,” she said, her tone rushed. “Vai, vai, vai, we’re gonna be late.”

Y/n took the shake reluctantly, shooting Alexia a glare.

“Okay, okay, calm down!” Y/n said as she made her way out to the car. The morning was already starting to feel like a series of small, annoying events that Y/n just wanted to survive.

As they settled into the car, Alexia glanced over at Y/n.

“What kind of tampons do you want?” She asked.

Y/n groaned, but not loud enough for Alexia to hear.

‘This is the price I pay for hiding this fucking injury.’ she thought bitterly.

Alexia snapped her fingers in front of Y/n’s face. “Tell me, what do you want? Or else we’re gonna be late!”

Y/n rolled her eyes, frustrated. “Whatever,” she said, throwing her head back against the seat. “Just... anything. The same ones you buy for Olga and yourself.”

"Okay, grumpy," Alexia said. "You and Olga are always so snappy when you’re on your period, per Déu![Oh my god]"

Y/n’s lips curled into a small smile.

“Hormones, what can we do, right?” Y/n lied.

She parked the car outside a small store, then turned to Y/n.

“Alright, I’m going to run in and grab them.”

As Alexia stepped out of the car, Y/n let out a quiet sigh. Her mind was already working–maybe she could use the ‘period’ excuse to get out of the heavier parts of training today. She had to let her ankle heal, after all, right?

Y/n’s lips tightened as the idea formed. A sinking feeling in her chest. She didn’t want to lie, but it felt like the only way to get some downtime without facing the full intensity of training.

She hated it, but her ankle was killing her, and she didn’t think she could keep up with the usual routine today. She had barely made it to the car without wincing.

It’s just one training session, she rationalised. I’ll use the period excuse. It’s a one-time thing, right?

But guilt gnawed at her. She didn’t want to skip training–she loved the game–but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could push her body.

As much as Y/n hated to admit it, sometimes the little white lies worked in her favour. And today? It was the only thing that would make today a little easier.

Y/n followed Alexia as they made their way toward the training ground, trying to hide the fact that her ankle was starting to ache again.

Every thud of her boots on the gravel reminded her of what she was trying to ignore. They arrived at the field, and the first thing Y/n saw made her stop in her tracks.

The team was in the middle of some intense drills: jumping exercises, headers, all the things that required precision, speed, and well, a good ankle. The kind of things Y/n knew she couldn't manage today without risking further injury.

She turned to Alexia, her voice carefully casual.

“Ale, I’m gonna head to the gym,” she said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "Cramps... just not feeling great, you know?" She smiled weakly, hoping Alexia wouldn't ask too many questions.

Alexia glanced at her, a look of concern crossing her face, but she only nodded. “Okay, I’ll let Romeu know,” she said, understanding in her voice. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

Y/n forced a smile. “Thanks,” she said, not meeting her eyes as she quickly started to walk away. She tried her hardest not to limp.

She kept her head down, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

As she headed towards the gym, trying to stick to the more hidden paths to avoid anyone seeing her struggle, she turned into a hallway and almost bumped into Kika.

“Whoa!” Y/n gasped, her body colliding with Kika's.

Kika stumbled back slightly, and Y/n nearly lost her balance before catching herself. “Oh, sorry,” Y/n said, stepping back, her voice flustered. “Hi!”

Kika blinked up at her, her usual soft expression turning into something concerned as she noticed Y/n's almost imperceptible wince.

“Hi,” Kika’s gaze dipped to Y/n’s ankle. Her eyes softened, but she didn’t drop the question.

“How’s your ankle?”

Y/n felt a pang of frustration twist in her stomach. She had hoped no one would ask about it, but here Kika was, always so perceptive.

She forced a smile, a little too wide and a little too tight. “Oh, better. It’s fine,” she said, trying to sound more convincing than she felt.

Kika didn’t buy it for a second. She frowned, crossing her arms.

Kika must seem really concerned, because Y/n didn’t see Kika do it often–her body language was always soft, often anxious, yeah, but not…mad.

“I don’t think it’s fine”, she said, her voice soft but firm. “Y/n, you should go see the medic.”

Her gaze was steady, but there was a certain edge to it that made Y/n feel exposed. Vulnerable.

Y/n felt her chest tighten, frustration creeping in. She wanted to just brush it off, but Kika’s eyes were piercing, and the concern in her voice made her feel... guilty.

“Kika, it’s fine,” she said a little too harshly. “It’s just a small thing. I’ve had worse.”

Kika took a small step forward, a gentle but insistent look in her eyes. “You can’t just ignore it, Y/n. If you don’t take care of it now, it’s only going to get worse–I saw how bad it looked yesterday, I doubt it got any better overnight.”

Y/n’s temper flared for a moment, the weight of everything–her parents, her frustration with hiding the injury, her need to appear strong in front of the team–suddenly overwhelming her.

Without thinking, she snapped, “I said drop it, Kika!”

The sharpness in her voice made Kika flinch, her shoulders tensing like she’d been physically struck.

Her brows drew together, and for a second she looked like she might step back–but she didn’t.

“You shouldn’t have to hide things like that from the team,” she said softly now, voice still steady, but her throat bobbed like she was swallowing back something. “We just… don’t want to see you hurt–I don’t want to see you hurt.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out, so she closed it again, feeling stupid. Her fingers clenched at her sides, and she took a step back.

“I’m going to the gym,” she said, her voice quieter now, trying to end the conversation.

She didn’t wait for Kika to say anything more before storming off down the hallway. She hated the look on Kika’s face–the kind that made her feel like a bad person, not just a bad teammate.

Her limp became more noticeable with each step. She didn’t even care anymore. Kika already knew it anyway, she could only wish she would keep her mouth shut.

As she neared the gym, she felt the tension of it all crashing down on her. Kika seemed worried, really worried. Y/n didn’t want Kika to carry that. Y/n knew how bad it was when a teammate got hurt, but Kika needed to trust her.

Y/n just needed a few more days, and she was a hundred percent sure she would be in good form again.

She had shut Kika down again. She felt like she was pushing everyone away, but she couldn’t let them see how much she was struggling.

It was easier to lie. Easier to pretend everything was fine.

But as she entered the gym, she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe–just maybe–she should listen to Kika.

Later, as Y/n finished her arm workout and realised it was getting close to lunchtime, she decided to head back to the locker room.

The pain in her ankle had dulled thanks to the medicine, but she was still worried about how it looked.

She pushed open the door to the locker room, expecting to find a quiet space to change.

Instead, she was met with Vicky, Jana, and Salma, who all stopped talking and turned to look at her, their eyes wide, as if Y/n was sentenced to death

“Hey, girls,” Y/n said, trying to smile, but it quickly faltered as the tension in the room was palpable.

Vicky raised an eyebrow, concerned about her voice. “What did you do, amiga? [friend]?”

Y/n’s stomach dropped.

“What? I didn’t do anything,” she said, completely confused.

What were they talking about? She’s been in the gym alone all morning.

Salma jumped in, her tone serious but empathetic.

“Alexia was fuming on the pitch a minute ago. She didn’t tell us why, but Jana overheard her saying she wanted to talk to you.”

Before Y/n could respond, the door to the locker room slammed open.

Alexia stormed in, her face angry. The room went silent instantly. Everyone stepped back, sensing the tension.

Y/n was so completely dead.

“Out,” Alexia commanded sharply, her eyes locking onto Y/n, not even glancing at the other girls.

The others quickly filed out, clearly not wanting to be caught in whatever was about to happen.

Alexia didn’t even wait for them to leave the room before she snapped at Y/n, her voice cold and furious. “Sit,” she said, pointing to the bench in the corner.

Y/n’s heart raced.

This wasn’t good. She slowly made her way to the bench, her head spinning with thoughts of what she could’ve possibly done to upset Alexia like this.

“Lift your pants,” Alexia ordered, not even looking up as she crouched down in front of Y/n, clearly determined to get to the bottom of this.

Y/n let out an annoyed sigh. "Seriously?" she asked, but reluctantly obeyed, lifting her pants to reveal her swollen ankle.

Alexia’s eyes flared when she saw it.

Her fingers prodded at the injury, making aY/n wince as the pain shot up her leg.

“You think this is nothing?” Alexia asked, her voice tight. “You’ve been hiding this all day? And you didn’t even bother to tell me?”

Y/n opened her mouth to say something, but Alexia cut her off, her eyes narrowing. “You can’t even walk, Y/n. And yet you didn’t say a word? Why the hell would you hide this from me? From the medics?”

Y/n couldn’t find the words. She felt small under Alexia’s intense gaze, her chest tight with guilt. The pain in her ankle was nothing compared to the weight of Alexia’s frustration.”

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” Y/n finally said, trying to explain herself, her voice soft, almost apologetic.

Alexia stood up abruptly, her frustration reaching its peak. "A big deal?" She scoffed.

“Y/n, you’re not invincible! You’re a part of this team, and we need you in one piece. You should’ve said something right away.”

Y/n’s stomach twisted as Alexia’s words hit her hard. She didn’t know what to say. She hated that she had disappointed Alexia, hated that she had to be so careless.

Alexia took a deep breath, her anger still simmering. “I’m taking you to the medic. Now.” Her voice left no room for argument.

Y/n stood slowly, feeling the weight of the moment. She didn’t argue. She let Alexia lead her out of the locker room, her heart still heavy from the way things had gone down.

Alexia’s footsteps echoed sharply in the hallway as she led the way toward the car park.

Y/n trailed behind, her ankle throbbing with every step.

Her chest hurt worse. She hated the way Alexia hadn’t even looked at her since leaving the locker room, and hated that this whole thing had gotten so far out of control.

And then, just as they turned the corner, she saw Kika.

Kika had been rushing down the hallway from the opposite direction, head ducked slightly, probably heading toward the gym.

She almost didn’t notice them until she stopped in her tracks, eyes going wide as they collided shoulders.

Y/n flinched back, more from the sight of her than the bump.

“Oh, hi again,” Kika said softly, nervously. “I… I was just–are you guys okay? “ Her gaze flicked toward Alexia, then to Y/n.

“Oh.”

Y/n stared at her, something boiling up in her chest before she could stop it. All the shame and the guilt–it rushed straight toward the only person she felt like she could still blame.

“What the hell, Kika?” Y/n snapped. Her voice came out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t stop.

Kika blinked, taken aback. “I, I’m sorry but I needed to, you are hurting!”

“It wasn’t your place!” Y/n’s voice cracked. “You told them, didn’t you? You went to Alexia, or the medic, or whoever. You told them I was hurt!”

Kika paled, stammering. “I-I didn’t mean to, Y/n, you were limping, and I thought–”

“I thought I could trust you!” Y/n cut in, harsh. “And now I’m definitely out for the game next week. Maybe longer. Do you even get that?”

“I’m sorry,” Kika said, voice barely above a whisper. Her hands fidgeted nervously at her sides. “But you were hurting. I just–”

“You should’ve stayed out of it.”

Y/n regretted the words the second they left her mouth. She could see it hit Kika like a slap. The girl’s shoulders shrank in on themselves, her eyes glossy with shock and hurt.

“I was worried about you,” Kika said quietly, like it physically hurt her to say it. “That’s all.”

Y/n’s jaw clenched. Her body screamed to say something–anything–but Alexia’s voice came before she could.

“I don’t need anyone to worry about me–”

“Enough,” Alexia snapped from behind her. “Y/n. Now.”

Y/n swallowed hard, chest still heaving, but she turned and followed Alexia, leaving Kika behind in the hallway.

She didn’t look back.

She didn’t want to see Kika’s face.

Because if she did, she might realise how badly she’d just messed up again.

The drive to the hospital was silent. Alexia’s grip on the wheel was tight, her jaw clenched.

But Alexia didn’t give her the chance. The silence in the car was suffocating, and the longer it stretched, the more it felt like Y/n had done something unforgivable…maybe for Alexia, it was unforgivable.

Y/n opened her mouth once, then closed it. She wanted to apologise, but she wasn’t sure how. She wanted to explain why she’d kept quiet, but the words never came.

“Alexia…” she started, her voice small, tentative. “I didn’t mean–”

“Fica’t quieta, [quiet.]” Alexia cut her off, her tone sharp and cold. The one word hit Y/n like a slap to the face.

Y/n sat back in her seat, staring out of the window as the road blurred by.

The minutes felt like hours, and the pain in her ankle had become almost unbearable again, but she didn’t dare say anything. The last thing she wanted was to get Alexia even more upset.

When they finally arrived at the hospital, the doctor examined Y/n’s ankle and confirmed what she already feared–she had strained a muscle badly, and the recovery time would be at least two weeks. Two whole weeks.

The doctor advised rest, a brace, and strict limitations on activity. No training. No running.

No nothing.

“Two weeks?” Y/n repeated. Her heart sank.

Alexia had barely reacted, just nodding in response to the doctor’s instructions, her lips pressed into a thin line.

She didn’t speak a word to Y/n as they left the hospital, and Y/n felt that icy barrier between them growing even thicker.

The drive back to their house was equally quiet.

Y/n was already wearing the brace the doctor had given her, her ankle now completely immobilised.

As they pulled into the driveway. Alexia slammed the brakes, the screech of the tires making Y/n jump.

Alexia turned to her with a fury that she had been holding in the entire trip.

“What is wrong with you?” Alexia asked, her voice raw. “What if it was your ligament, Y/n?”

“Have you thought about that? You could’ve torn it, and we wouldn’t have even known because you kept this from everyone!” Alexia continued, more angry than ever before. “And you put Kika in a horrible position–asking her to lie for you? Quina merda ha estat això, nena? [What the hell was that, nena?]”

Y/n winced, the anger in Alexia’s voice cutting through her like a knife. She wanted to explain, to say something that could fix this, but nothing felt right. Nothing could fix it.

Alexia’s face was flushed with fury.

Y/n stayed quiet, her gaze dropping to her booted foot. She couldn’t meet Alexia’s eyes. She felt so stupid. So selfish. The last thing she wanted was to cause more problems, but that’s exactly what she had done.

“You have no idea what you’re doing! You could’ve seriously hurt yourself, It could’ve been a fucking tear, Y/n.”

“We could’ve been looking at a season-ending injury, and you would’ve just kept going until it was too late.”

Alexia slammed her fist against the steering wheel, the sound making Y/n flinch. “You think you can just power through everything? That we’re just going to let you keep playing injured because you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it?”

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but her voice still shook with emotion. “What if you had made it worse? What if it were something that would keep you out for months?”

Y/n bit her lip, holding back tears. She knew she deserved every word of it.

“I don’t know what the hell you were thinking,” Alexia continued, her voice dropping to a low, furious whisper. “But this can’t happen again. You have to start taking care of yourself, or you’re going to lose way more than just a few weeks.”

Y/n stayed silent, feeling completely defeated. Alexia was right. She hadn’t thought it through. She had put herself and the team at risk for nothing.

“Two weeks,” Alexia muttered. “Two weeks out, and it’s your own fault.”

Y/n couldn’t find the words to respond. She didn’t know how to fix this. She didn’t know how to make things right between them, but all she could do now was try to be better.

Try not to make the same mistake again.

As Alexia got out of the car, Y/n stayed behind, staring at her braced foot.

As Y/n sat in the car, the words from earlier replayed in her mind, but it was Kika’s face that stuck with her the most.

She hadn’t meant to snap at her like that, hadn’t intended to hurt her, but seeing the shock and hurt in Kika’s eyes when she yelled–It felt like a punch to her gut.

Kika had looked so small in that moment, her shoulders slumped, her hands twitching nervously at her sides. Y/n had seen the pain in her eyes.

It made Y/n feel even worse because she knew deep down that Kika was only worried about her. How had she become the person who made someone so kind feel like that?

Y/n absolutely didn’t like when people showed affection for her; she had a really hard time accepting it. But it wasn’t an excuse to be a complete asshole to Kika.

a/n: hi! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! It's more angsty because why not? hehe

Please let me know if you liked it <3

Tag list in the comments

#woso fanfic #woso x reader #woso #kika nazareth x yn #kika nazareth #kika nazareth fanfic #kika nazareth x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

Stark Contrast 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, lies, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online friend isn't who he claims to be.

Characters: Tony Stark

Sister series to Captain's Orders

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It's been a long day. Every day seems longer than the last. All that overtime is adding up. It's needling right at the base of your neck.

Unclench your jaw. You keep forgetting. The pressure makes your head hurt. You rub your eye socket and yawn as you drag your feet down the dark pavement.

You approach your building and look at the heel of your hand, mascara smeared on your skin, no doubt across your face too. Oh well, you're home. Not necessarily the perfect haven but a place to be alone.

You bob in the elevator to the music in your headphones. You step off and keep your head down in a lazy shuffle down the hallway. You unlock your door and spin inside, letting the song play out as you hang your jacket and purse. You kick of your sneakers and drift into the kitchen, mindlessly searching for something quick to eat.

You detach your headphones from your phone and take them off. You let the music drone as you mull over the effort to cook a box of processed mac and cheese. You pause the music and scroll through your feed. Nothing interesting. You let a live feed play. You never pay much attention to the new but it's good white noise.

You pull down your notification bar. Oh shoot. You forgot to answer the last message.

You'd been chatting with Eddie during your lunch but had to get back to the grind. Those bougie middle-aged women won't find those overpriced candles themselves. Then they'll complain that the Martha Stewart limited edition is sold out. Oh, to have such simple problems.

You blink as the video plays in a little box floating over the chat.

'Sorry. Got caught up at work. Just seeing this now. Hope you have a good night.' You send the message and pull the video into fullscreen.

He doesn't always answer at night. Or sometimes for days. He's pretty busy. An engineer or something. You met on some discord when Elden Ring dropped.

You narrow your eyes at the stream. You swear every time you see a screen, Tony Stark is on it. There he is now, giving a presser to a fawning crowd of reporters.

He claps his hand to his chest pocket and gives a subtle look down as he slides out his phone. He drops it back in and shrugs at his adoring audience, "I'm a busy guy, what can I say?"

They laugh, unbothered by his distraction. You turn back to your search for an easy meal. Oh, you still have that frozen pizza. This late, it'll make your chest burn in the morning but you don't care.

You preheat the oven and go to your phone, agitated by the murmur of the reporters and their softball questions. You don't have a problem with the man or his mighty band of Avengers, hey, they do their best. It's this whole celebrity shell around them. The sort that has half the population is a dysfunctional parasocial relationship.

You switch to a reality show that pits home bakers against each other. It's a bad choice. It stokes your already twisting hunger and sparks your sweet tooth. You never shy away from a treat. Good thing you don't have any.

The stove beeps as the subtle smell of smoke rises. You figure it's not that bad if the alarm isn't going. You put the pizza in and swipe up your phone. You pace around and check your news feed. There's a new Amiibo out. Nope, you will not get suckered into another money grab. You're save. Not for anything special, just rent. Another price hike. The next one might put you out.

You pizza finishes and your phone buzzes. You cut it into uneven slices and take a few on a paper towel. You flop onto the couch and read Eddie's response.

'I get it. Probably out on a date with a hot guy. Or lady. No judgment.'

You shake your head. He's such and idiot sometimes. 'Nah. You're awake?'

'You know I don't sleep.'

You wouldn't guess it by his erratic responses. If anything, you'd only assume he doesn't keep a routine. His bouts of activity are unpredictable.

'Let's not talk about work.' He replies before you can. The next message is a mood. 'I'm over it.'

'Sure. What do we talk about? You gonna help me co-op Starscourge Radahn? You never log on anymore.'

Your phone quakes as an audio call comes in. You nearly drop it as you opt to save the slice of pizza in your other hand first. You finally hit answer with your greasy thumb.

"Fair warning, I'm eating. I'm flipping starving," you say.

"You sound ravenous," Eddie says. "So, what's for... a very late dinner?"

"Pizza. Spinach and mozzarella."

"Order in?"

"Frozen," you mutter.

"Gross," he remarks. He's a bit of a snob. "You coulda hit me up. I'd send you some money for real food. I'm sure you've got a few shwarma places around that hellhole."

"Har har. If I'm so poor, why do you talk to me?"

"Good question. Can I think about it?" He snickers as you roll your eyes. "Look, sweetheart, I'm sorry about the video game--"

"You know, you sound like my dad."

"I do?" He nearly yelps.

"Sweetheart this. Video games. You talk like you were born in the 60s."

"I heard the 60s were pretty hip," he laughs.

"Hip? Oh you're definitely a catfish," you tease.

"How do I know you're not some desperate housewife using me for kicks?" He accuses.

"I sent you pics," you say.

"I've sent mine too," he retorts. "Alright, only solution here is to admit we're both catfish. You want me to order you good food and I want... uh, well, you're a good distraction."

"A good distraction? That's it?" You huff. "Thanks, Ed."

"I'm playing. You know I like you. I was just on my way to meet this tall blonde and I called you instead."

"Sure you were," you hiss. "You know, I had too long a day for you to be so annoying."

He cackles. You smile, just a bit. He really can be a butt. You don't know why you talk to him.

"How's the pizza? You want me to order you some real stuff yet?"

"Eddie," you sigh. It's a nice offer but you're not stupid. You don't give people on the internet your address. "That's too much."

"It's really not," he insists.

"To me it is." You drop the pizza and paper towel on the lone TV table by your ratty sofa. "You know, I get it, you're trying to be nice, but... you just kinda make me feel..."

"What? I make you feel... some sort of way, so that's good, right?"

"Ugh, don't. I get it, alright? I'm poor. Trash," you cross your arms and sit back. "Go and meet the tall blonde and have your fancy five star dinner."

He's quiet, "I was only messing with you."

"Well, maybe you should stop," you say as you sit forward and talk directly into your phone. "You obviously don't have the time for me. And a lot more important friends so--"

"Hey, come on, it's a joke--"

You hit end and toss your phone to the other end of the couch. You already know you overreacted. Shoot. Ugh.

It's just that stupid woman today, yelling at you over a bunny ornament, like the fact that is was put on the wrong shelf is your fault. You organise the shelves constantly but people don't care. They don't read either.

Your phone jitters again. You ignore and get up. You pack away the leftover pizza and put it in the fridge. That's your dinner for tomorrow, if not the next day.

God, why does he have to rub his money in your face? His super fun life. He went to Tokyo last week on a work trip.

You're a bitch. Insecure at that. It's probably best you cut free now. You wouldn't want to project all that on him. Besides, it's starting to feel like he only talks to you to make himself feel better. He shouldn't need that much help.

❤️

It's your own fault. You know it. Your worst and best trait is your crippling self-awareness. You know what you are, how you are, but it doesn't make it better.

You feel bad. You always do. Even if you're right, you feel rotten. You just don't like being like that. And what did Eddie do but joke around?

Did he have to keep offering to pay for you? Or mention that tall blonde?

Sigh. Just focus. You go back to putting the throw pillows back into the display basket. You watched a pair of kids toss them around for the last hour.

Life isn't easy and you should stop expecting it to be. That's your problem. You can't settle for what you have.

Julie, your manager comes by as you set the last of the pillows on those nearly overflowing the basket. You smile. She scowls.

"Your name tag's upside down," she points to your chest.

You look down. Oh jeez. You flip it around.

"Dress code infraction. Next time, I'll write you up." She warns.

"Sorry," you frown.

"There's customers. Smile."

As if one cue, the automatic doors open. You busy yourself with the next display, as if the napkin rings are that interesting. Julie snaps her fingers at Casey. He sniffs and tries to act like he didn't smoke up before he punched in.

"You're the greeter. Mind doing some greeting," she hisses.

"Oh, yeah," he stands and struts away from the lawn chair display, "hey, dude, like, hi. Welcome to The Home Hub. Anything I can help you-- woah, no way."

He starts laughing. You peek over your shoulder as Julie sighs. Casey coughs and clears his throat, "bro, am I high or is this dude Iron Man?"

You turn and narrow your eyes at the man. Goatee, sunglasses, a nice suit. He bears a striking resemblance to the man behind the podium at he presser the night before. You tilt your head. That's impossible.

"Casey, go to the warehouse and start downstocking," Julie sneers as she stomps forward. "I'm so sorry, sir. We-- Oh, oh. Oh my god, it is him."

She swoons and fans herself. Your eyes go wide as you give a goof smile. She's ridiculous.

"Hey, sweetheart," he purrs at her. "I'm looking for uh, a..." he takes off his sunglasses and glances around, "a bath mat."

"Bath mat? Uh. Oh, er..."

"You," he points in your direction. You turn to look for someone else behind you. "Show me."

You face him and Julie gives you a crazed sneer. You step away from the napkin rings. "Sure, uh, sir, they're in the back."

"Amazing," he winks as he approaches. There's something about his cadence. You never noticed on the screen, but it's familiar?

"Tony Stark, but I'm sure you already know," he says as he comes up next to you.

You continue down the centre aisle and nod, "yep, uh, kinda."

"Kinda?" He wonders.

"I mean, you're Iron Man or something, right?"

"Or something," he chortles. "You know what, on the second hand," he stops and checks out a silver statue of a naked Grecian goddess, "I think I came for this." He traces along her tits. "Don't make em like they used to, huh?"

He looks at you. No, he looks at your chest. You sputter.

"Bath mats are this way," you turn.

"Ah, come on, don't be like that FinchiePie."

You stop short. Your lashes flick and you gulp. How does he know your user name. You turn to look at him.

He adjusts his tie as he comes closer.

"You know, my middle name is Edward. Anthony Edward Stark."

You stare at him. No, it can't be. That's ridiculous.

"Eddie?" You rasp.

He puts his hands out and smirks, "it's a cute nickname, isn't it?"

"No."

"You left things a little tense. I don't like untied ends so..."

"It's a joke. A prank," you shake your head. "Is this what you do for fun?"

"I'm a funny guy, sweetheart, but I'm not joking right now," he comes closer. "Look, if I tell you the truth, that there was no tall blonde, that I was lying, will you give me a chance?"

You search his face. You're lost. Your disbelief muddles reality.

"This isn't real."

"You ever tried shwarma? It's so damn good."

"No, Eddie-- No, Tony?" Your eyes flit back and forth. "I... I gotta..." you spin and scurry away.

He calls your name. You can't stop. You run down the bath aisle and into the employee restroom. You twist the lock and stare at your baffled reflection.

"What the fuck?" You ask the person in the mirror.

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #tony stark x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #stark contrast #avengers #iron man #mcu #marvel

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imthebadguyyy · 11 months ago

Text

whose afraid of little old me?

pairing : f1 drivers x reader

fandom : f1

series : the tortured poets department

synopsis : your journey as a female driver alongside the rest of the grid.

warnings : angst

a/n : first time writing a platonic drivers x reader! let me know what you think! :)

you don't get to tell me about sad..

The press room was buzzing with anticipation as the Formula 1 drivers filed in for the pre-race conference. As the only female driver on the grid, you were well aware of the extra attention you garnered, but you had grown used to it. Today, you were seated between Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc, both of whom you had become close friends with during your time at Mercedes.

The questions started out as they always did: race strategies, car updates, and general banter about the upcoming Grand Prix. You handled them with the confidence and poise that had become your trademark. Then, a reporter from the back of the room stood up, his tone less than friendly

"Y/N," he began, "there's been a lot of talk about the difficulties you've faced as the only female driver on the grid. Some say you're out of your depth and that your results reflect that. How do you respond to the criticism that you don't belong here and that it's just too hard for you?"

You felt a surge of frustration. This wasn’t the first time you’d faced such pointed and unfair questions, but today, it stung more than usual. Before you could respond, you felt Lewis shift beside you, a silent show of support. Taking a deep breath, you looked the reporter in the eye.

"You don’t get to tell me about sad," you said, your voice steady and firm. "You don’t get to tell me about the difficulties I’ve faced or what I can handle. I’ve earned my place here just like every other driver on this grid, through talent, hard work, and perseverance. Criticism and doubt are part of the journey, but I’m here to stay."

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. For a moment, the reporter looked taken aback, but before he could say anything, Charles spoke up.

"Y/N has proven time and again that she belongs here," Charles said, his tone protective. "She’s one of the most dedicated and talented drivers I know, and it’s about time she gets the respect she deserves."

Lewis nodded, leaning forward to address the room. "We’re a team, and we support each other. Y/N has brought incredible strength and determination to Mercedes, and I have no doubt she’ll continue to achieve great things. If anyone here thinks otherwise, they clearly haven’t been paying attention."

The support from your fellow drivers warmed your heart, and you saw nods of agreement from others around the room. Even drivers from rival teams like Max Verstappen and Lando Norris were giving you supportive looks.

The reporter, clearly outnumbered and outmatched, mumbled a quick thank you and sat down. The rest of the press conference went smoothly, with more respectful and genuine questions.

As you left the stage, Lewis put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You handled that perfectly, Y/N. Don't let anyone make you doubt yourself."

Charles grinned, giving you a thumbs-up. "We’ve got your back, always."

Walking out of the press room with your head held high, you felt a renewed sense of determination. You knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but with the support of your teammates and fellow drivers, you were ready to face any challenge that came your way.

nothing makes me feel more alive...

The roar of the crowd at Silverstone was deafening as you took the final corner, the checkered flag waving wildly in the air. This was it. You were about to win your first Grand Prix, and not just any race—it was Silverstone, the home of British motorsport.

"Y/N, you’ve done it! You’ve won the British Grand Prix!" your race engineer shouted over the radio, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of celebration.

Tears of joy streamed down your face as you crossed the finish line. "Oh my God! We did it! We did it! Thank you, thank you so much!" you screamed, unable to contain your excitement.

As you brought the car to a stop in Parc Fermé, the realization of your achievement hit you full force. You had won. You had really done it. Climbing out of the car, you were immediately surrounded by your jubilant team, all eager to celebrate this historic moment with you. You jumped into their arms, laughter and cheers filling the air.

Lewis, who had finished third, approached with a wide grin. "Incredible job, Y/N! Welcome to the winners' circle," he said, pulling you into a tight hug.

Max, who had taken second place, clapped you on the back. "Amazing race! You deserve this," he said with genuine admiration.

The podium ceremony felt surreal. As you stood on the top step, the anthem playing, you looked out over the sea of fans cheering your name. You felt a wave of pride and accomplishment wash over you. When the national anthem ended, you picked up the bottle of champagne, the weight of it solid and reassuring in your hands.

Lewis and Max joined you, and the three of you shared a look before simultaneously popping the corks and spraying each other with champagne. The cold, fizzy liquid drenched you, but you couldn’t stop laughing, your joy infectious.

Grabbing the microphone for the post-race interview, you took a moment to compose yourself before speaking. "This is the best moment of my life. Nothing makes me feel more alive than being out there on the track, pushing myself to the limit, and achieving something I’ve dreamed about since I was a little girl. Thank you to my team, to the fans, and to everyone who believed in me. This is just the beginning."

The crowd erupted in applause, their cheers echoing in your ears as you continued to celebrate with your team and fellow drivers. This victory was not just a personal triumph, but a statement to everyone watching: you belonged here, and you were just getting started.

As you left the podium, still grinning from ear to ear, you were greeted by more hugs and congratulations from your team. Toto Wolff, your team principal, pulled you into a warm embrace. "I knew you had it in you," he said, his voice full of pride. "This is only the beginning."

Walking away from the podium, champagne-soaked and elated, you felt an overwhelming sense of fulfillment. You had proven to yourself and the world that you could do it. And as you looked out at the sea of faces cheering for you, you knew that nothing could ever take this moment away from you.

so i leap from the gallows and i levitate down your street..

The aftermath of the Spanish Grand Prix was a cacophony of disbelief, exhilaration, and redemption. For weeks, you had been the subject of harsh criticism from pundits and commentators, their scathing remarks suggesting you were a failure, a shame to the sport. They doubted your abilities, questioning your place on the grid. The words stung, but they also fueled a fire within you that blazed brighter than ever.

"So, I leap from the gallows," you whispered to yourself as you took the final corner, the finish line in sight. The car beneath you was an extension of your will, each turn, each acceleration a defiant answer to the doubters. You crossed the line first, your heart pounding as you realized what you had just achieved.

"Y/N, you did it! You won the Spanish Grand Prix!" your race engineer's voice crackled over the radio, bursting with pride and excitement.

"I did it," you repeated, the weight of your victory sinking in. "We did it!"

The cool-down lap was a blur of tears and joy. You had proven them wrong. The people who had criticized you, who had doubted your skill and determination, were silenced by the roar of your engine and the unwavering support of your team.

As you pulled into Parc Fermé, the roar of the crowd was deafening. Stepping out of the car, you were immediately enveloped in the arms of your team, their cheers and tears mingling with your own. You felt a sense of triumph that was almost surreal, a weight lifting off your shoulders.

Carlos Sainz, who had finished second, approached with a proud smile. "Incredible drive, Y/N. You showed them all," he said, pulling you into a congratulatory hug.

Oscar Piastri, who had finished third, hugged you tight"That was one hell of a race. Well done," he said, his voice affectionate.

The podium ceremony was a whirlwind of emotions. Standing on the top step, the anthem playing in the background, you felt a sense of vindication. The crowd’s cheers were a testament to your hard work and resilience.

When the time came to spray the champagne, you did so with a vengeance, soaking Carlos and Oscar as they laughed and joined in the celebration. The cold spray was a refreshing reminder of the moment you had seized, the victory you had earned.

During the post-race interview, you held the microphone firmly, looking out at the sea of fans and reporters. "For those who doubted me," you began, your voice steady and strong, "this is my answer. So I leap from the gallows, and I levitate down your street. I've faced the criticisms, the doubts, and I’ve come out on top. This win is for my team, for my supporters, and for everyone who believes that dreams are worth fighting for."

The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers a resounding affirmation of your triumph. As you left the stage, still soaked in champagne and adrenaline, you felt lighter than air. You had not only proven your critics wrong, but you had also proven something to yourself: that you were capable of greatness.

Back in the garage, Toto greeted you with a proud smile. "You were phenomenal out there. This is just the beginning," he said, his voice filled with conviction.

Walking through the paddock, the looks of respect and admiration from fellow drivers and team members were a stark contrast to the doubts and criticisms you had faced. You had leapt from the metaphorical gallows and soared, showing everyone that you were here to stay.

As you drove out of the circuit later that evening, the streets of Barcelona seemed to glow with a new light. The city's energy matched your own, vibrant and unstoppable. You had faced the gallows and emerged victorious, levitating down the streets of triumph and possibility. And you knew, deep in your heart, that this was just the beginning of an incredible journey

whose afraid of little old me? you should be...

The glitz and glamour of the post-race party in Monaco was in full swing, with drivers, team principals, and VIP guests mingling in celebration of another thrilling Grand Prix. You were enjoying the night, surrounded by the camaraderie of your fellow drivers and the electric atmosphere of the event.

As you made your way through the crowd, chatting with Carlos and Lando, a random guy who clearly wasn’t part of the usual racing crowd approached. He had a smug look on his face, his steps unsteady from one too many drinks.

"Hey, isn’t this the famous female driver?" he said loudly, drawing the attention of those around him. "Nice of you to join us, sweetheart. Shouldn’t you be somewhere polishing your car or something? Or maybe you’re just here because you look good in a dress."

His words were met with a few awkward chuckles from those who didn’t know how to react. You felt a surge of anger but kept your composure. Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer, your eyes locking onto his.

"You know," you began, your voice calm but laced with steel, "it’s funny you mention polishing cars. Considering you probably have never even seen the inside of one that’s been on a racetrack, I’d say your expertise on the subject is pretty limited. As for my looks, let’s just say I'd rather be known for my talent than for crashing parties and making snarky remarks to people I don’t know."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. The guy’s smirk faltered, replaced by a look of surprise and irritation. Before he could respond, you continued.

"I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Every race, every victory, is a testament to my skill and dedication. You can try to demean me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that I’ve earned my place here. And by the way, the only reason you’re even noticed right now is because you’re making a scene. Maybe next time, you should think before you speak."

A ripple of laughter and applause broke out among the onlookers. The guy’s face reddened with embarrassment and anger, but he had no retort. He muttered something under his breath and turned away.

Lando, who had been watching the exchange with an amused grin, stepped forward. "You should be afraid of her," he said to the group, his tone light but sincere. "She’s not just fast on the track, she’s got the sharpest tongue in the paddock."

You smiled at Lando, appreciating his support. "Thanks, Lando. Sometimes people need a reminder."

Carlos nodded, clapping you on the back. "You handled that perfectly. That guy didn’t know what hit him."

With a sweet, innocent expression, you tilted your head slightly and asked, "Who's afraid of little old me?"

Carlos turned to the retreating guy, his tone serious and unwavering. "You should be."

The random guy's pace quickened as he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you, Carlos, and Lando laughing and feeling victorious. The atmosphere lightened, and you found yourself surrounded by friends and allies who respected and supported you. The sting of the random guy’s words faded quickly, replaced by the warmth of genuine camaraderie. You knew that the road ahead would have its challenges, but moments like this reminded you that you were more than capable of facing them head-on.

Later, as you stood on a balcony overlooking the glittering Monaco skyline, Lando joined you, offering a glass of champagne. "To standing up for yourself," he toasted.

You clinked glasses, feeling a renewed sense of determination. "To proving them wrong," you replied, taking a sip and savoring the sweet taste of victory and vindication.

is it a wonder i broke, let's hear one more joke...

The opulent ballroom of the Monaco casino was alight with the energy of a sponsorship party, a glittering event where drivers mingled with sponsors, team principals, and celebrities. You were making your way through the crowd, putting on a brave face despite the whispers and stares. It was supposed to be a night of celebration, but for you, it was quickly turning into a test of endurance.

One of the sponsors, a man named Richard, seemed to have taken a special interest in making snide remarks at your expense. His laughter echoed through the room as he made yet another joke about you. "Oh, look, it’s the token female driver! How many races did you have to finish to get this seat? Or is it more about how you look in the team’s gear?" he jeered, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

The people around him chuckled awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. You forced a smile, trying to brush it off, but inside, you felt your confidence crumbling. You excused yourself, mumbling something about needing to use the restroom, and quickly made your way to the nearest bathroom.

Once inside, you locked the door behind you and let the tears fall. The pressure, the constant scrutiny, the never-ending need to prove yourself—it all came crashing down. You sank to the floor, sobbing quietly, feeling utterly alone in that moment.

Unbeknownst to you, Lewis Hamilton had been watching from a distance. He had seen the way Richard had been treating you all night and noticed the moment you fled. Concerned, he made his way to the bathroom, hesitating only for a moment before gently knocking on the door.

"Y/N? It’s Lewis. Are you okay?" he called softly.

Hearing his voice, you tried to pull yourself together, wiping at your tears. "I’m fine, Lewis. Just… give me a moment."

But Lewis wasn’t about to leave you alone. He opened the door slowly, stepping inside and closing it behind him. When he saw you sitting on the floor, tears streaming down your face, his heart broke. He crouched down beside you, his expression one of deep empathy.

"Hey," he said gently, his voice soft and soothing. "I’m here. Talk to me."

You looked up at him, your vision blurred by tears. "It’s just… it’s too much sometimes, you know? The jokes, the comments… I’m trying so hard, but it feels like it’s never enough."

Lewis reached out, taking your hand in his. "You are more than enough, Y/N. You are an incredible driver and an even more incredible person. Don’t let anyone, especially not some ignorant sponsor, make you feel otherwise."

His words brought fresh tears to your eyes, but this time they were tears of gratitude. "Thank you, Lewis," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He sat down beside you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. "I know it’s hard. I’ve been there, too. But you have to remember why you’re here. You’ve earned your place on the grid. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. And you’ve got so many people who believe in you, including me."

You buried your face in his shoulder, taking comfort in his presence. "I just don’t know how much more of this I can take," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Lewis pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "You are stronger than you think. And you don’t have to face this alone. We’re a team, remember? We’ve got your back."

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, easing the pain and fear. You took a deep breath, feeling a bit more grounded. "Thanks, Lewis. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

He smiled, brushing a tear from your cheek. "You’ll never have to find out. Now, how about we go back out there and show them what you’re made of?"

With his support, you felt a renewed sense of determination. You nodded, allowing him to help you to your feet. As you both left the bathroom, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you weren’t facing them alone. You had friends, allies, and a team who believed in you, and that made all the difference.

i was tame, i was gentle, till the circus life made me mean..

The press conference room was packed, the atmosphere buzzing with anticipation. You sat between two fellow drivers, trying to maintain your composure as the questions came one after another. Lately, the questions directed at you had become more personal and offensive, straying far from your performance on the track.

As the reporters took turns, a journalist from the back raised his hand and was given the microphone. He stood up, a smug look on his face. "Y/N, there's been a lot of curiosity among fans about what kind of underwear you wear under your race suit. Care to enlighten us?"

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Your heart pounded in your chest as you felt a mix of anger and disbelief. This was the final straw.

You leaned forward, your eyes blazing. "Are you serious? I'm here to talk about my performance on the track, not my underwear. The fact that you think it's appropriate to ask me such a disrespectful and invasive question speaks volumes about your professionalism—or lack thereof."

The reporter's face turned red as he tried to stammer a response, but you cut him off, your voice steady and strong. "I have worked incredibly hard to earn my place here, just like every other driver on this grid. I will not tolerate being reduced to such trivial and sexist remarks. If you can't treat me with the same respect you show my male colleagues, then you have no place in this room."

You stood up abruptly, the microphone falling silent as you walked out of the press conference, your head held high. The room was stunned into silence, the other reporters unsure how to react.

Lewis, who was sitting beside you, took the microphone next. "That was completely unacceptable," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Y/N is a talented driver who deserves respect. It's disgraceful that she has to deal with questions like that."

Carlos, seated on your other side, nodded in agreement. "We are here to discuss our careers and our performance, not to entertain inappropriate and sexist questions. Y/N handled that with grace, and she has our full support."

The room remained silent, the gravity of the situation sinking The other drivers on the stage exchanged looks of solidarity, making it clear that they stood with you.

Backstage, you leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. The door opened, and Lewis and Carlos walked in, their expressions filled with concern and support.

"Hey," Lewis said softly, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You did the right thing. That was completely out of line."

Carlos nodded, giving you a small, encouraging smile. "You handled it perfectly. We're all behind you."

You smiled weakly, grateful for their support. "Thanks, guys. I just couldn't take it anymore."

Lewis shook his head, his eyes filled with determination. "No one should have to deal with that. We're going to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Feeling a surge of gratitude and strength from their words, you nodded. "Together, we can make a difference."

As you returned to the paddock, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. You knew that you had allies who respected and supported you, and you were determined to continue proving yourself on and off the track. The road ahead would still have its challenges, but you were ready to face them head-on, with your head held high and your team by your side.

then say they didn't do it to hurt me, but what if they did?...

The news hit you like a freight train. Mercedes had decided to drop you from the team for the next season. The decision came shortly after Lewis announced his departure to Ferrari, leaving you feeling isolated and abandoned. You had poured your heart and soul into your racing career, and now it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you.

The paddock was a whirlwind of activity as the season drew to a close, but you felt like a ghost moving through it. Every smile, every cheer, felt like a reminder of what you were losing. You tried to put on a brave face, but inside, you were struggling.

One evening, after a particularly tough day, you found yourself wandering aimlessly through the paddock. Your thoughts were a chaotic mix of anger, sadness, and confusion. You ended up in a quiet corner, away from the prying eyes and constant noise, trying to hold yourself together.

Charles noticed you standing there, your shoulders slumped and your expression distant. He approached you cautiously, his concern evident. "Y/N, are you okay?"

You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears. "They dropped me, Charles. Mercedes just dropped me. And with Lewis leaving too... I feel so alone."

Charles stepped closer, his expression sympathetic. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I know this must be incredibly hard for you."

You let out a shaky breath, trying to keep your composure. "Why did they do this, Charles? After everything, why now?"

Charles gently placed a hand on your shoulder. "They didn't do it to hurt you. Sometimes teams make decisions that are hard to understand, but it's not always about us personally."

His words were meant to comfort, but they only made the pain sharper. "But what if they did?" you whispered, your voice breaking. "What if they did it to hurt me?"

The dam broke, and the tears you had been holding back spilled over. Charles pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you cried. His embrace was warm and comforting, offering a safe space to release the torrent of emotions you had been keeping inside.

"It's okay, let it out," Charles murmured softly, his voice soothing. "You're not alone, Y/N. We're all here for you."

You clung to him, the weight of your grief and fear pouring out. "I gave everything to this team," you sobbed. "I don't know what to do now."

Charles held you tighter, his heart aching for you. "I know it's hard, but this isn't the end. You're an incredible driver, and there are other teams out there that would be lucky to have you. Don't let this define you."

His words, filled with sincerity and belief, began to cut through the fog of despair. You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. "Thank you, Charles. I just... I just needed to hear that."

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with a gentle smile. "You're stronger than you know, Y/N. And whatever happens next, you're going to come out of this even stronger."

As the night grew darker, you found a glimmer of hope in Charles's words and his unwavering support. You knew the road ahead would be challenging, but you also knew you weren't alone. With friends like Charles by your side, and the rest of the grid, you could face whatever came next. And as you stood there, taking comfort in his presence, you began to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could rise from this setback and prove everyone wrong.

I want to snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me...

The atmosphere in the Mercedes factory was tense as Toto Wolff stepped up to the podium, his expression somber. You stood among your colleagues, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for the announcement. Deep down, you knew what was coming, but hearing it confirmed in front of the entire team was another blow altogether.

"Toto, are we ready to go live?" a technician whispered, adjusting the cameras to capture the moment.

Toto nodded, his gaze scanning the room. "Yes, let's begin."

The room fell silent as the live broadcast began. Toto cleared his throat, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. "Good afternoon, everyone. I come to you today with news that is difficult for all of us to hear."

You felt a lump form in your throat as you braced yourself for what was to come. Toto continued, his words echoing through the factory.

"After much consideration and evaluation, we have made the decision to part ways with one of our drivers," he announced, his tone measured. "It is never an easy decision to make, and it is one that we do not take lightly."

The room seemed to hold its breath as Toto paused, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You glanced around, noting the somber expressions on the faces of your colleagues. They were your teammates, your friends, and the thought of leaving them behind felt like a knife to the heart.

"And so, it is with a heavy heart that I must announce that Y/N will be leaving the team at the end of the season," Toto said, his voice faltering slightly. "We want to thank her for her dedication, her hard work, and her contributions to the team. She will always be a part of the Mercedes family, and we wish her all the best in her future endeavors."

The room erupted into a mix of stunned silence and whispered conversations. You stood there, trying to process the news, trying to swallow down the bitter taste of disappointment and betrayal. It was all you could do to keep from exploding in anger, from snarling and lashing out at the injustice of it all.

As Toto stepped down from the podium, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning, you met the sympathetic gaze of your teammate, Lewis. His eyes were filled with understanding and compassion, a silent acknowledgment of the pain you were feeling.

But as much as you wanted to scream, to demand answers, you knew that now was not the time. You had to swallow down your anger, to keep your composure in front of your colleagues. You had to be the bigger person, to leave with dignity and grace.

So you stood there, your jaw clenched, your fists tight at your sides, as the reality of the situation sank in. You would leave Mercedes behind, but you would carry the memories, the victories, and the lessons with you. And as you walked out of the factory for the last time, you vowed to channel your anger and disappointment into fuel for the next chapter of your racing career.

you wouldnt last an hour in the asylum where they raised me..

The news spread like wildfire through the paddock: you had been signed by Red Bull Racing for the upcoming season. As you made your way through the bustling crowd, you could feel the weight of judgmental eyes boring into you. People whispered behind your back, calling you a traitor, questioning your loyalty to your former team.

But you held your head high, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. You had made your decision, and you weren't about to let the opinions of others sway you. After all, this was Formula 1—a cutthroat world where alliances shifted like the wind, and loyalty was a luxury few could afford.

As you approached the garage, you heard the murmurs grow louder. "Can you believe she signed with Red Bull? What a traitor."

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face the source of the comments. It was one of your former colleagues, his expression filled with disdain. "You're a traitor, Y/N. How could you do this to us?"

You met his gaze head-on, your eyes flashing with defiance. "It's a cutthroat game," you replied coolly. "You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me."

The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the ruthless world you had grown up in. You had fought tooth and nail to get to where you were, and you weren't about to apologize for seizing an opportunity to further your career.

Turning on your heel, you continued toward the Red Bull garage, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over you. You may have ruffled some feathers, but you had made the right choice for yourself. And as you entered the garage, surrounded by your new teammates and friends who had stood by your side through it all, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

that I'm fearsome, and I'm wretched, and I'm wrong..

You sat in your motorhome, scrolling through Instagram after the chaotic Monza Grand Prix. The race had been eventful, to say the least, with a tense moment between you and Hulkenberg that had sparked controversy among fans and pundits alike.

As you scrolled through your feed, you couldn't escape the barrage of comments and messages directed at you. People were blaming you for the incident, calling you fearsome, wretched, and wrong. It felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on your shoulders, suffocating you with guilt and frustration.

But you refused to let the negativity consume you. Taking a deep breath, you opened the camera app on your phone and snapped a quick selfie. In the photo, you wore a determined expression, your eyes flashing with defiance.

You typed out a caption to accompany the photo, your fingers moving with purpose. "I'm fearsome, wretched, and I'm wrong," you wrote, the words a defiant declaration of self-acceptance and resilience.

With a sense of satisfaction, you hit the share button, knowing that your message would reach far and wide. It was a reminder to yourself—and to the world—that you were not defined by one moment, one mistake. You were a force to be reckoned with, flaws and all, and you weren't afraid to own it.

a/n : first ever platonic driver story! should I look into a romantic angle with anyone? any suggestions etc would be highly appreciated! happy reading and much love! as always, likes, reblogs, comments etc are always appreciated ❤️

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charles : - @chanshintien @eternalharry @janeholt @magicalcowboyarbiter @oneafterdark @leclerc13 @moon-enthusiast @crlsummer @superlegend216 @electrobutterfly @formula1mount @f1lover20 @livsters @inkfable @ssararuffoni

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covetyou · 10 months ago

Text

stars and stripes

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: nipple play, novelty underwear, balls, anxiety, democracy, the pledge of allegiance, friendly brotherly contest, alcohol, prelude to oral sex (m! receiving) word count: 5k summary: Roles are reversed this Fourth of July when you surprise Joel with a little festive treat of your own.

A/N: happy 4th of July to folks in the US and happy general election day to my fellow UK pals! If you haven't exercised your right to vote yet, and you're registered, you have until 10pm BST tonight to get to your polling station - as long as you're in line by 10pm, you'll be able to vote. do dress up Joel proud, and go do a democracy.

I make absolutely no apologies for anything in this fic. not a single thing. especially not that thing. tis the season. happy ballidays, pals!

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

As it turned out, Joel knew a guy who knew a guy who could fix your AC, and within two days your house was a safe haven from the burgeoning Texas summer.

Easy as that, apparently. Your desperate attempts to call around HVAC companies the week your AC busted seemed stupid now that it was all a matter of simply knowing a guy.

Not that it was all easy. Letting someone else into your house after everything that had gone on suddenly felt scary, and it took Joel promising you he'd dip from his own job for the afternoon to keep an eye on things for you to feel okay with any of it.

But, even that left an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You'd told him to let himself in, though this time you'd given him a key, and that felt like something. For as many times as he'd broken in, and for as long as you'd left your house open and vulnerable - and, by extension, yourself - handing over your spare keys to Joel for the day felt more vulnerable than you'd ever felt with him wandering your house at unknown hours of the day and night.

It felt like something all over again when you handed them over to him the next week too - there was a jammed drawer he wanted to fix, and he said he could get in to see to it before work one day.

Even when you opened the door to him on the nights he didn't have Sarah - his daughter, you'd learned - it felt like something. Especially knowing that that spare key now sat attached to his own, jingling in his pocket each time he walked into your home, invited.

And the more somethings it felt like, the less you felt like figuring it out.

It continued the same way for weeks. Him moving back and forth the short distance between his home and yours, while you stayed safely cocooned in your own, cool, four walls.

Then, barely one month into this officially unofficial something that you were, it was finally time for you to make that short journey down the street to Joel's.

Being honest, the thought of it had terrified you, and you'd almost backed out multiple times.

Not because it was Joel, or Joel's house - at least, that's what you told yourself - but because a "the whole neighborhood is invited, bring snacks or beer" type of Fourth of July party wasn't the kind of way you'd envisioned your first time in Joel's home. You figured maybe it'd be dinner, or a movie, or a quick fuck against the stairs with Joel's balls trussed up in something. Normal things.

Not loud peopley things.

Still, you readjust your top once more, take the briefest of glances in the mirror, and head out the door anyway, nerves be damned. You can totally handle a Fourth of July BBQ at Joel's house.

You think you can all the way up to Joel's driveway, when the nerves come back with a vengeance and you stand there, feeling sick, listening to the sounds of people and music coming from the backyard.

You try to tell yourself it all makes sense. It's a new place, a place that should mean so much because it's his, but try as you might you can't fight back the panic rising as you think of the very many faces that are going to be in this new place too. Familiar faces, faces you'd seen most days as you went about your life down this street you called home, people you'd shared small talk with and said good morning to almost every day as you left for work.

Then there's this stupid outfit you're wearing. The you from weeks ago chose it the very same day you said yes to Joel's invitation, and the you of today didn't have the energy or inclination to think of anything else. Wear whatever, Joel had said, it's just a casual thing. So, you'd gone for casual.

Braless is casual, right?

Not that that was a specific choice, more a necessity. You'd chucked the third bra on the floor in a huff, cursing your shitty outfit choice and lack of bra to fit it, and instead decided to stick on some nipple pasties and be done with it.

All that's done now, and now here you are, still standing like an idiot in the driveway, closer to Joel's home than you have ever been, psyching yourself up to go inside.

With a deep breath of the dry Texas heat, you head for the open back gate, the soft sound of your shoes on the paving stones so loud in your ears as everything wooshes and fizzes in your head.

It's somehow both better and worse than your expectations.

You're immediately greeted by a sea of recognizable faces, the bottle of wine you forgot you were even holding whisked out of your hand and taken inside before you can even get your first round of hello's in. You don't have much of a chance to be nervous, or self conscious, or any of the things you'd worried about being in the days leading up to being here, because there's just so much of everything around you. Noises, smells, people.

Everything, except for Joel. You've not caught a single look at him since you got here - minutes ago - and you wonder if he's even here and not relaxing back at your place on the couch.

Then you see him. At least, you think it's him. His back is to you, locked into conversation so fierce he hasn't noticed the commotion about your entrance.

You think it's him, but you're also certain you don't know of anyone else who would dress head to toe in red, white, and blue candy stripes. The sight of it makes you forget your own outfit worries as a grin forms on your face, and that familiar rumbling of something in the pit of your stomach comes back all over again.

"Not eyein' the very slightly younger model, are you?" comes a gruff voice that has you twisting rapidly on the spot, the smile barely given chance to fall from your face when you spot the actual, real life Joel standing right there next to you, cold beer in hand.

In your own defence, real life Joel isn't dressed much better than the other Joel stood over the other side of the yard. He's probably dressed worse, actually. He's head to toe in stars, all the way from the novelty headband on his head to the flashing star lights clipped to his shoes. It's gaudy, and camp, and so perfectly Joel that the smile that dipped from your face for all of half a second is back, and you're grinning up at him, that feeling in your belly violently boiling away now that he's right there.

"Oh, him?" you say with a wave of your hand. "Nah. He's like a dollar store version of you."

"Really? I'll be sure to tell Tommy he's Dollar Store Joel from now on. He'll love that. Hey, Tommy!" he calls over the yard, before slipping his free hand behind your back. "C'mon. Let me introduce y'all."

He guides you over, hand never leaving the small of your back, touching you out here in front of all these people as if you are actually officially the kind of something that everyone should know about. And maybe you are.

But then, you're looking into familiar friendly eyes, so similar to the ones you've been staring into and dreaming of since Christmas, and watching this familiar strangers face light up so brightly you briefly wonder if his joy is misplaced until he's wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

"Shit, he weren't lying," says Tommy as he rocks on his feet with you in his arms before releasing and looking down at you. "You are real."

Before Joel can land a firm whack to Tommy's shoulder, Tommy's pulling you in for another hug, telling you how nice it is to finally meet you, because he's heard all about you, dropping in a few choice words about his asshole brother here and there as he chatters to you, and Joel, and even himself.

At some point, whether it's during the fourth hug or the eighteenth, you're not sure, Joel slips off to grab you a drink, leaving you with his bizarrely dressed brother.

"Ain't never seen him smile so much without Sarah around," he says, the moment Joel's out of earshot, giving you a nudge and another fond smile. "Y'know, I think he might like you."

"Mm, I think I might like him too."

Small talk with Tommy is easy - the man's a talker, if you ever met one. He's a charmer too, and if you met him in a bar you might think he'd be coming on to you with the way he so attentively talks to you, only directing his attention elsewhere for the briefest of moments.

"What's with the outfits?" you eventually ask, with a flick to his striped top hat. "Joel never said it was a dress up party."

"Oh it ain't, this is just a family tradition. Dad always used to dress up in dumb shit for the holidays, make us laugh, and it just sorta stuck. 'Course, added in some friendly competition over the years too, and then this," he says with a dramatic sweep down his body, "was born."

"Competition?"

"Mhm. Joel'll tell you, won't you brother?" Tommy says with a wink over your head before ducking sideways to raid the snack table.

"What am I s'posed to tell you?" he says, handing you your drink, letting his fingers linger near yours and stroke a trail of burning heat gently up your arm before falling back to his pocket.

"The competition."

"S'easy. Stars or stripes," Joel points to himself, decked out in stars and then to his brother where he stands loudly chatting to yet more guests in his candy stripes. "You gotta pick. Most votes, wins."

"I've got to pick?"

"'s the rules, darlin'."

"So you want me to pick between you, or some costumed guy I don't know - a practical stranger?" you say, with a glint in your eye, watching Joel's face drop in faux offence.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't underestimate me, Joel. I think you know exactly what I'm capable of."

Your eyes meet in a silent stalemate, the glint in your eye never leaving as Joel bites at his cheek to hold back a laugh. Tommy was right - you do like Joel, some days too much, and moments like right now, you think maybe it's reciprocated, and you like him just the right amount.

Poking him in the chest, finger pressed to the middle of one of the sea of stars decorating his body, you let yourself break first. "Stars, Joel. I pick stars."

With a roll of his eyes, and a kiss pressed lightning quick to the side of your head, Joel's hand winds back around your back.

"Thank fuck for that. Let's get you a votin' card so you can make that official."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

As the evening draws on, you think you've talked to just about everyone in your street several times over, and then some. It also turns out that Joel and Tommy take their little competition very seriously, and always have, if your neighbors are to be believed.

By the time the votes have been counted and Joel in his star spangled outfit is declared the winner, Tommy has sunk to his knees, his hat toppled off in his despair as he hangs his head in shame.

You're still listening to them bicker as you sneak off to use the bathroom, their voices only disappearing when you've slid the patio door shut and taken your first official step into Joel's house.

"The headband swung it."

"The headband is Sarah's, and your massive skull is breakin' it..."

Even through the mess of the party, you can see that this place is distinctly Joel, with hints of a 10 year old girl dotted around the place. From the pictures on the wall to the cushions on the sofa - mostly a rich navy, but one soft pink nestled in with the blue - through to small ornamental carvings on a side table and the drawings stuck on the refrigerator.

You're looking at one - not a masterpiece by any means, but very decent attempt at a bluebonnet - when the pressure inside the house changes again with the slide of the door.

It's Joel, arms laden with bottles, and the headband flopping forward pathetically on his head. "You snuck off quick," he says, dumping the bottles onto the counter. "Get lost findin' the bathroom?"

"Distracted. Never had chance to sneak around your house looking at your shit before," you quip with a smile, trying to get comfortable with the very uncomfortable thing that brought you two together in the first place.

"Then shoes off. Lemme take you upstairs, give you a little tour, and you can use the bathroom up there. Probably in a better state than the one down here now anyway."

He holds your hand in his all the way up the stairs. That something rears its head again, igniting your palm where it meets his, your brain not registering a single word he says as he points to various doors before dragging you through one, into his bedroom.

His lips are on yours immediately - or yours are on his. You can't quite work out who started it, you just know that you're a tangle as your hands roam each other, biting and licking kisses into each others mouths. His hand finds your ass, and you're moaning as he presses you forward, into him, and the soft lump in his pants. You want to grind yourself against him, but the angle isn't right, and a nagging forgotten thing is worming through your brain when Joel pushes your bodies together once more.

Oh. Right. You remember now.

"Joel - mmph - Joel," you say with urgency through his kisses. He pulls back, searching your face with panic and a pinched brow. "I really gotta pee."

With a kiss to your forehead he lets you go, pushing you toward his ensuite. When you exit a few minutes later, he's exactly where you left him, stood with his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish as he possibly ever could.

"I'm glad you came," he says, looking at you and setting that something off roaring through your body again.

"Me too. I... I've had a nice time."

"Just wanted you to know I didn't invite you here just for, y'know," he says, with a gesture to his bed. "Didn't bring you in here for it either. Just, sorta missed you. Not used to not bein' alone with you. It's weird sharin' you."

You don't want to remind him you've barely left each others sides all night. You don't want to draw too much attention to the something, just in case you scare it away.

"Damn. Got nothing for me? Nothing at all?" you joke instead.

"Got nothin'. Nothin' planned anyway," he says with a look around the room, his eyes focussing briefly on a drawer before flicking back to you.

Really, you should be leaving space between you and Joel. Space for the something to flourish, space that is just enough to not magnetize your body to his, smashing yourselves together and turning the nothing into something. What you should do doesn't have the power to stop your feet from slowly pulling you toward him again though. And it doesn't stop you from putting both your hands on his chest when you finally reach him.

"No? Got no magic tricks up your sleeve? I was hoping for a wand or a rabbit or somethin', you do look like you ran away from the circus."

"I'll have you know this shirt is the finest polyester you can find at Party City."

"Mm, sounds sweaty."

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"So you're sweaty and gross, and you have nothing to wow me with? I'm starting to wonder why you invited me." Which is a lie. You know why, and so does he, and you're glad for it, even if it still frightens you to think about it too much. You suspect he knows an awful lot more about you than you've told him. He's perceptive like that.

"Maybe I'm retractin' your invite."

"You wouldn't."

"No?"

"What if I've got a little something for you instead, am I still invited now?"

Joel's eyes light up and soften all at once, turning so bright and sparkling you think he might cry. It's not exactly that you've never done anything for him in the ways he has for you. When he mentioned his favorite snack, you got some in the house for nights you spend watching a movie before devolving into fucking on the floor. You bought new lingerie, which only ever stayed on if it was too difficult to get out of, and once or twice he'd caught you wearing the heart shaped butt plug before leaping on you and pounding you into whatever surface was nearest, thumb pressing down on the base and making you see stars.

Still, for all you had done, you never swapped positions in the little game you'd been playing with each other for over seven months. Each time, he was the one who came to you with some silly thing or trick or toy to tease you with, and each time you loved it. You hoped he would love this too.

"You do?"

"Mhm," you say as you put some distance between the two of you again. Space to breath, space to move, space to let the something calm back down into the pit of your stomach and curl in on itself like a cat settling down to sleep.

Your let your fingers glide up your body, gently pulling your skirt for a moment before they coast up your belly and reach your shirt, flirting with the hem before curling around it and tugging, letting your tits jiggle behind the fabric.

With a final soft tug, you peel the fabric up your body, the swell of your breasts spilling out the bottom of your top.

"Holy shit, baby," he says, a whisper of a moan on his lips. His eyes have been glued to you, wide and curious, ever since you suggested you may have something for him. And now, they're darting from your chest to your face then back down, taking in the sight of your covered nipples.

You had made some choices earlier today, in your nervous state. Going braless was only one of them. The pasties too, were another. And then, there was the shape. You has flowers, hearts, circles, straight tape and, finally, stars. It was a no brainer when you'd rifled through the packet for two that matched that white stars were the perfect choice for today. It'd only really occured to you when Joel had worn his own stars, that you were perhaps better matched today than you thought, that maybe you could have your own little game with him for once.

"Told you I was all in on the stars."

"Damn right you are," he says as he approaches, his hands finding their place on your waist, itching to move upward. "They don't hurt?"

"They're just pasties, Joel. They're soft. Feel."

And fuck, does he feel. His hands cup you, gently squeezing the softest part of your breast before letting his thumbs dance across where the pucker of your nipple should be. The sensation is muted, infuriatingly muffled by the feel of the pasties covering you.

"S'good?"

"Imagine I stroked your dick over your pants. It's good but it's not the same."

"Damn," he curses, thumbs still gently rubbing over your nipples, watching them slowly come to life and prickling beneath the coverings. "They come off easy?"

"Like a bandaid."

"Shit."

And you just know what he's thinking, because you're thinking it too. There's no real way you can take them off right now and let Joel have his way with your nipples like you're both desperate for, even if time and the swathe of people downstairs wasn't an issue. You have nothing else to cover up with and the soft breeze combined with the cold drinks and the age of some of the guests here means it's probably not a good idea to go without them.

That doesn't stop Joel from kissing you again though, more restrained than he has any right to be with your tits in his hands. You know from his frustrated groan when you bite at his bottom lip that he's two seconds away from telling everyone the parties over, only to come back up here and continue with a party for just two.

To your surprises, he pulls your top back down. Not before kissing one breast, then the other, then back to the first. You know he wants to sink his face into them, but he doesn't let himself, and he rises from his crouch with a groan and pulls you out of the room.

"Don't show Tommy," Joel whispers to you as you make your way back down the stairs. "He'll say the contest was rigged."

"Damn, I was so hoping to show your brother my nipples."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Joel's eyes keep flicking to your chest for the rest of the night. More than once he drags you away inside, either upstairs or into the garage, just to ask you to show him one more time. If you weren't covered, your nipples would have been rubbed and pinched raw by his eager fingers by now, just as your lips were swollen by his eager mouth.

By the time it's all over, you're positively exhausted, propping yourself up on the arm of a chair and talking to Tommy as Joel waves off the last of the guests and closes the back gate.

You had barely left his side all night, and if anyone had anything to say about it, you hadn't heard it. Neither had Joel. And Tommy, a clever man when he wanted to be, hadn't made a single joke about it either. All in all, it was as much of a successful day than you could hope for, initial nerves aside.

Tommy, continuing to be a clever man, doesn't put up much of a fight when you offer to be the one to stay behind and help clear up. Of course, he's already gone around and collected most of the trash, and put the leftover food inside, but he relents at your insistence he head home - you do only live down the street after all.

Neither you or Joel get much further with the cleaning. Once trash bags are dumped in the garage and you've both washed up, his hands are back under your top, damp fingers cupping your breasts and pulling you back into him.

"Stay?" he asks, as if there was any other ending to this night, as if Tommy hadn't left precisely for this reason.

You barely agree by the time his mouth is latched onto your neck, drawing unrestrained moans out of you right there in the kitchen now that you're finally alone.

His hands, of course, find their way back up to your top, stroking over the edge of the pasties once more.

"You really like 'em, huh?" you ask as his thumb brushes the edge of one, starting to curl and pull the point of one of the stars.

"Like that we match. Feel like you picked 'em for me," he mumbles into your neck, releasing one breast and tucking his hand into the waistband of your skirt. "Like that I've had somethin' to think about, somethin' to play with, even with all these people here."

Fuck, if you haven't liked that too. Letting him play had been one of the highlights of your night so far. Being manhandled into the garage, giggling and pushing Joel as he clasped his hands together in a plea to please see your tits. The souvenir love bite you'd let him suck into your left breast after dragging you back upstairs for a second time. You'd spent half the night flipping between Joels hands and mouth on your tits, to being dragged back out to socialize. Your pussy had given up trying to regulate itself after the third session of Joel's teasing, and you'd spent the rest of the evening wet and waiting.

This is a fact he finds out now, as he slides his hand down over your mound to cup you over your panties. You both let out the same curse as he presses and wiggles his fingers back and forth over you, rubbing your clit over your underwear. You had hoped to peel the pasties off before you fucked him, giving him full access to your nipples for the first time tonight, but you don't think you're going to make it that far, not now his hand is pulling your panties aside, feeling for the slick wetness between your lips and dragging it up, up, up to swirl around your clit.

Not a second later you're scaling the stairs for what you know will be the final time that day, this time you dragging Joel as you both kick of your shoes and stumble up the steps. You already ache from all the standing, and if you have it your way, your legs are going to be shaking and trembling too much for the rest of the night to possibly be of use to you.

With his door pushed open, left wide now the house is empty, you pull yourself back into him, only for him to slip his still wet finger between your lips, letting you taste yourself before he captures your mouth, licking your taste from your own tongue.

Then, your hands find his chest, that ridiculous shirt, and pull at it, tugging the fabric taught to his body, eager to get it off and tumble into his sheets with him.

You were right about how sweaty he'd be under the shirt when you finally get your fingers on the buttons, working your way down until you can pull it off. He's shining underneath it, the dark hair of his body slicked down as you drag your hands up over his chest, to his shoulders and then down to his belt.

He suddenly stops you, pulling your hands away, pressing kiss after kiss to your mouth as he fumbles with the buckle. In a huff, after a few failed, distracted, attempts, he pushes you away and pulls off his belt before unzipping his pants.

Joel has barely tugged them down his legs when you're staring wide eyed, howling with laughter, staring directly at his cock. Only, this time, it stares back.

At least, the bald eagle on the front of his boxers does.

"What are those?"

"Nothin'," Joel says, covering himself and trying to tug his boxers over his erection with one hand still trying to pull off his pants. Grabbing his hands, you stop him, pleading as you tug them away from his crotch.

"Show me."

"Look, s'nothin. Just another stupid thing Tommy got me and I thought it'd be funny but..."

"Sure looks like you got somethin' there for me. All this time you were sayin nothin'. Don't tell me you're getting shy on me now. C'mon. Please."

You pout, trying desperately to get him to give in when you have an idea and you're tugging your top off over your head and throwing it to the side, brandishing your star covered nipples to him once more.

"Pretty please," you say with a small shimmy, and Joel's hand immediately falls away, coming up instead to cover his eyes with a sigh.

It's a sight to behold. Really, it is. The eagle is staring back at you once again, still bolstered by Joel's solid length and the heft of his balls behind it. What you hadn't noticed before is it's sitting on a canvas of United States flag, stars and stripes covering his thighs, his hips, his ass.

"Oh wow. Joel those are -" you cough out a laugh "- those are amazing."

He's rolling his eyes. You can hear it in his voice and see it in his posture. "Yeah, real funny, I know."

"No, I like them. Very festive. And y'know what," you say, cupping his cock right over the eagle print of his boxers as you clear your throat. "I pledge allegiance -"

"No, don't you d-"

"- to these balls -"

"Stop."

"- and the cock they sit under -"

"Oh my god," he says, fighting through a laugh, your fingers squeezing and massaging as you pledge yourself, whole heartedly, to the appendage in your hand.

" - one - uh, cock and balls? Is there even a collective word for cock and balls? - under Joel -"

"It's just gettin' worse."

"- definitely indivisible, no divisible balls here - "

"You're killin' me."

"- say it with me now - with liberty and justice for balls."

You try to keep a straight face as you finish. Really you do. But as Joel's whole body shakes and ripples, his balls jiggling in your hand as laughter wracks through him, you can't help but fall into him, letting yourself be propped up by him as you crumple in on yourself in delight.

"You callin' my balls Liberty and Justice now?" Joel finally says through a laugh.

You slide a finger up the leg of his boxers, pulling gently on them as you stare down at the flag adorning his ass and balls.

"Yep. You're Star Spangled Joel with your side kicks, Liberty and Justice."

You give his balls a little squeeze again as you name them.

"Now that you pledged your allegiance, you gonna keep yappin' or you gonna prove it?"

But it's too late, because you're already sinking to your knees, right there in his bedroom, a place you both know you're going to wake up in the morning, wrapped in each other as the sunlight peeks through the curtains.

"Just try to stop me."

next part

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

@youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123

@valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather

@stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @joelsdagger

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #coveted fics #big bawl jawl #never forget the balls #fic: dress up joel

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nsharks · 2 months ago

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bleeding blue | part thirty-five preview (updated hehe<3)

Jagged rock burns into your palms. Slapping a hand up, you feel for the grassy ledge, barely visible in the darkness. You heft the backpack over it before managing to pull yourself up, landing on your stomach with a grunt through your teeth. The sneakers you scavenged from the closet are tight around your toes—better than Salome's thin shoes, but still far from pleasing as you stand and press on towards the road.

Moonlight guides you north.

Not long until sunrise, judging by the sky.

Small white clouds puff around your mouth as the chilled air brushes the damp spot on your too-big jeans, the cuffs rolled and the waist cinched to keep them from slipping. You couldn't leave in the middle of the night, so you held a mug of water as a makeshift alarm. The moment sleep tried to steal you, the splash on your thigh ended it abruptly.

You'd woken Blue up to tell her. At first, grey eyes scolded you in the dark. She looked away, ready to argue, before quietly reciting instead: the house they kept her in, the layout, any hiding places she may have seen.

"What about her?" you had asked. "Anything important to her. She probably saw antibiotics as a gift from God or something."

"Yeah. She would've," Blue muttered. "She liked to knit. And, um, talked about birds. Her husband owned the whole place, but he died. I don't know if any of that helps."

"It does. It's better than nothing." You gave her hand a squeeze. "Make sure he eats again. And check his back. You might need to drain it. You know how now, right? Nereida could—"

"I've got it." She slipped her hand away. "Just—don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Of course not."

Sneaking out had been easy—only because Nereida was on watch. You slipped out the back and wove through the tall grass, barely stirring the stalks. Price would've caught you for sure. But you made it across the creek with nothing more than the slow unrolling of your jeans to slow you down, the cuffs dragging in the water and soaking through. You rolled them back up, but a kilometer up the road, they've slouched back down, heavy and clinging to your legs.

Time feels like an enemy, one you've already let get the better of you for over a day now. Begrudgingly, you sink onto the hood of a rusted car and take the knife from your waist, slashing roughly at the ends of the fabric. A serrated one would be easier to work with. The end result is jagged hems. Less of a nuisance now, at least.

Ghost's persistent fever isn't the only threat. It's the sepsis. The blood poisoning. The shutting down of his organs. The things you haven't explained to Blue. At best, he could have a week. At worst, if they set in quickly, another day. The thought scrubs your hands over your bleary eyes, recentering your vision, and you push away from the car. You toss the cut scraps in the grass just when a disturbance skims the back of your neck.

You whirl around, dropping the knife in favor of the pistol.

"Just me."

"Jesus. Kyle. I was ready to shoot."

"Honorable of you to give me a quick one."

You huff, bend for the knife, and slip it back at your waist.

He closes the gap, rifle and backpack slung over his shoulders.

"Why wouldn't you tell anyone?" His brows lower. "I went to feed him, and Blue said you’d gone back. Hell of a surprise."

You give him your back. "I've already wasted time. I knew what you'd say."

"And what exactly did you think I'd say?" A hand on your shoulders pries you back around.

Your eyes drift up to his, narrow, then veer to the side. "That it's a long shot."

"Yeah, it is." His hand drops. He brushes past you, adjusting the rifle on his back. "Come on, then. You're not the only one who gives a shit about him."

There isn't anything to be said as you trudge beside him, no argument able to form. You know his company is invaluable. Gratitude is still hard to conjure. The road fills the gaps of silence, dawn breathing life into the buzz of cicadas. Long drags of air fill your lungs: sweet flowers only, until, something else. A waft of charred meat.

"You should eat."

Kyle extends a piece of squirrel. Despite the twinge in your stomach, you brush him off. "While they were starving you, we were getting stuffed. Fatten the mares, get a strong foal."

His jaw ticks. "Ah."

"Damn good food, too."

"Lucky you."

"Lucky us."

Conversation shrinks to a brief exchange of what Blue said. He doesn't look convinced it'll help much. The stench doesn’t sour the air until the first sign for Fleurbaix rises at your right—like a breath in your face. Humidity clings to it, thick and unmoving, until there’s nothing else to breathe. In the sunlight, familiar stone walls and red-shingled rooftops repulse you, almost more than the sight of aimless Greys—some weaving between clotheslines, most trapped within the fenced pasture. The cows, however, have already fled through a broken gap, eager to escape uphill.

"They should've lost interest by now. The blood isn't fresh," you mutter.

"Humidity. Less evaporation, more smell." He nods the tip of his rifle. "Over there. That one has a wraparound porch like Blue said."

The view vanishes behind overgrown trees as you crest a hill, descending toward the commune. Kyle motions you forward, weaving through structures, keeping clear of the Greys. As long as they can’t scent you, they will stay distracted. Clinging to a stone wall as you follow, a bony hand bursts forth from a window—Kyle knifes its skull before it can grab you.

Other than that, there aren't any close calls.

You reach the house that fits Blue's description.

The door is wide open.

Kyle sweeps in with the poised rifle.

You are greeted by an already ransacked interior. Tipped chairs, half-yanked cabinets, tossed couch cushions. A sick understanding settles at your fingertips, curling them around the gun.

"They were here. The women. They knew she would've hidden them."

Rage sparks in your veins. You blink hard to keep it from frothing to the surface. More signs that this is just a dead end; a waste of precious time.

Kyle lowers the guns and presses forward into the hall. "That doesn't mean they found what they were looking for. Check the rooms."

Maman's house is as expected, even in disarray. Quiet and balmy. Polished wood, gold-embellished hinges, a closet stuffed with white gowns. A knitting bag catches your eye. You sift through it, tossing out balls of red yarn. Nothing.

More nothing under the bed.

A family photo thrashes to the floor beneath a swipe of your fist. You find Kyle in the other room, where a smaller bed is tucked against the wall—the sight makes it hard to breathe for a moment. The blood stain on the sheets. Somehow you know whose it is. Your stomach rips at itself. You force yourself to look away before you lose it.

"The floorboards. They didn't look under them. Help me."

#sorry it changed but I am finally getting a good rhythm #mayyyybeee I can finish this weekend but omg this chapter is BRUTAL

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kiss-me-muchoo · 10 months ago

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𝐈𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐈 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞? || 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐚cius 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐆𝐞𝐭a

part one: here || part two; i’ve been the archer

summary_ after returning from Egypt, you are set to marry your half brother Geta. When you fall in love with General Marcus Acaius, your brother tries everything to prevent you from slipping away from him.

warnings_CRINGE, age gap!, semi incest (do not romanticize irl) reader x Geta, drama, angst, VERY quick love confessions, implied SMUT +18

update nov 2024: my phone changed Acacius for Acaius, I’ll change it on these days bye

NOTES_ who’s afraid of little old me?, I just wished there were gallows in Ancient Rome, listen to my awful playlist for Marcus and the classic I have for Pedro bb.

♪ ♫ Pedro playlist + Marcus’s playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

If there was something you’d never miss… were the carmine sunsets. Those lasted more than usual. That kept the beginning of the night warm and made you the silent promise of another good day by the following morning.

It had been easy for your father to send you away as soon as your mother quit their marriage. Your brother was a big inconvenience and a hidden mistake that shattered your little wealthy family. Under the cautious look of the Roman Senate, your parents were still bonded in a strong marriage. But the truth was that your father never truly loved the woman who gave birth to you. Which led to your mother leaving for Egypt, a Roman Province. Soon after her departure, you were sent to Alexandria too.

Each day was a boost to your status. Learning a vast variety of languages and dialects, learning different types of dances, being able to handle weapons, and gaining control over the Egyptian cities, to help your powerful father; The Emperor.

You barely missed Rome. Your mother was a cold Empress that loosened all the knots your father could have tightened around you. Growing up used to the Egyptian parties, drinking the finest beer and bread. Taking occasional lovers since virginity was not a necessity for marriage in Egyptian society. One of those lovers specifically, was a tall warrior with sun-kissed bronze skin that transformed you into a woman in every aspect you couldn’t discover by yourself. It was a shame when he died after a bad injury during war.

In the present, being in your first years as a young woman, things were likely to change, and you were very aware of it. That didn’t stop you from having the time of your life in the vivid city of Alexandria. With very few friends, a dead lover, and a dream.

Every night you savored those carmine sunsets to pray to Venus. Perhaps your dream of finding a true love hadn’t happened yet due to praying to her instead to Hathor; the god of love in Egyptian territory. Nevertheless, you intended to marry a man who was ridiculously, recklessly, and borderline obsessed with you. You wanted to live the broken dream of your mother.

Until desires were abruptly paused one night. When you received a letter from your father.

“A letter from the Emperor. It is the wish of your father to have you back in Rome” Your walls crumbled into pieces. The face of shock was splashed all across your face as you listened to your mother.

“What motivated his decision?”

“I can assure you, I don’t know, my child,” your mother says vaguely, tending his favorite flowers inside the palace.

“Do not lie to me, mother” she sighs and suddenly, she starts crying. You don’t know what to do, but the sight unsettles you.

“He wants you to marry Geta…” your eyes get impossibly wide open, and you gasp in shock.

“My brother?” your mother nods. You pace back and forth, wondering why and how could your father come to that conclusion.

Although you were used to attending weddings in Egypt that came from a mother marrying her son, to a brother marrying his sister, it was… awkward. This was the boy that destroyed your family, the boy that would take half of your rights as heir was meant to be your husband and father of your children.

The mere thought scares you.

“Will you accompany me?” It’s the first thing you come up with.

“I must stay here since Egypt won’t have you now” You frown at her words. But your throat tightens, defying to produce tears that quickly threaten to spill everywhere.

“Be strong, remember everything I’ve taught you. No men will defy the tenacity of the emperor’s daughter.” you nod, your eyes prickling with fear that explodes in your chest.

“And in between, find the love I couldn’t keep, no matter what, y/n…”

“I’m seeing you again, Right, mother?” she nods, giving you a cold hug.

“I’ll always be here…”

For the first time, the carmine sunset does not bring you peace. Your mind is edging towards collapse as you approach Rome. As the light of the light leaves, you question everything. So many questions and nothing of time.

…

There were no shattered crystals after dinner as you expected. Your brother Geta welcomed you in Rome with excitement and it confused you even more. He gave you a short and personal tour of his newest garden and prepared the finest banquet made by all of the servants.

Geta is a sole copy of your father. Same mannerisms and style. Only behind his attentive look, you were aware of the sadistic man who talked to you with respect.

“Where is Father?” you ask him, sipping at your wine.

“An important meeting surged. He’ll join us tomorrow, we are preparing vast festivities”

“Festivities for what?” he smiles, you don’t like how compassionate and polite he’s being.

“Our marriage, soror” The heavy makeup on his face does everything to hide the truth of the narcissistic man he is.

You could swear he hated you because your mother was the sovereign empress and you the rightful heir. Your father just happened to have two wives and two kids at the same time.

And despite everything, you didn’t hate your brother. You despised her mother for drawing your own apart from your father. For convincing him to send you away from your solemn fair future. For transforming your brother into some incompetent who seemed to have a hunger for chaos and madness.

“I must thank you, for welcoming me… despite our background differences” It takes him aback. Geta expected a disheveled girl, a rebellious female who followed the ways of the savages; the Egyptians. But he encountered a bright and marvelous sister who tried to act with peace after being so far from home for so long.

“I wished we could’ve grown together, like a united family” you admit coldly, avoiding the whole marriage issue.

“We will be a family, y/n. I’ll make sure of that” he says hiding his lips in his cup of wine and it sends shivers running down your spine.

Geta sees how you stand up and politely push forward the chair you were seated in; excellent manners.

“As a tradition of mine, I’ll see the sunset and pray before going to rest. Please excuse me….” your brother nods, still processing your words as you leave the imposing place where you were born. You desperately need fresh air.

Near there’s a meadow with empty spaces. It’s just a piece of land that soon would probably serve to build another coliseum.

One thing is noticeable. Sunsets in Rome aren’t carmine… they are mauve. And for some reason, you can’t feel peace.

But you hold tight to your dream. Your happiness is what you’ve prioritized ever since a teenager.

That’s why you hadn’t failed a day to pray to Venus.

Venus, hear me, please. You whose care, throughout all the centuries, the unions of men and their lovers have been placed, what, I pray, have I come to merit? Release me from this uncertainty, gift me a lover, who will warm my heart for eternity. Venus, save me from the hells of my ancestries.

Someone touches your naked shoulder, it makes you gasp in horror.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” someone says. When you turn around, you are facing a man who’s incredibly taller and broader than you. He’s significantly older than you, but he’s graceful. The second he takes to appreciate the sunset as well is your chance to study his profile. Gorgeous classical profile.

“Excuse me, but… Who are you?” you ask, moving aside, leaving his hand that rested on your shoulder in the air. He noticed it.

“General Acacius… I wondered why a woman was here all alone” you know him. He’s the most successful general your father ever had. He was a concise warrior, even considered a killer.

Somehow, you couldn’t help but find some sweetness in his deep voice. By knowing him for just a second, you felt comfortable by his side.

“I take pleasure in appreciating the sunset…” your soft features intrigued him. You looked slightly different than most of the women he sees in Rome.

“I haven’t appreciated the sky since I was a kid”

“What a shame, General. You would find some peace hidden between the clouds” Your accent was slightly colder than everyone’s. You didn’t have the golden hair that usually meant power. He was infatuated and tremendously interested in the woman he was facing.

“I must know where you come from…” he says, paying attention to your eyes. You smile, touching the little pearls that fall from your pale blue dress.

“I was born here… but circumstances made Alexandria my home. I arrived last night…” his eyes show surprise. He analyzed your bracelets, made of pure gold. You had a leaf crown with tiny sapphires that shimmered around your head. It wasn’t hard to tell who you were.

“majestas… you shouldn’t be here” he mutters and you don’t even flinch.

“I can assure you, General Acacius… I rarely find myself in the position of damsel in distress” he chuckles and you are relieved to see he doesn’t carry a ring around his finger. It was happening so fast, you wanted to know everything about him.

“You may call me Marcus. Except when we are in the presence of your father or brother” you remember you are supposed to marry your brother. But it wasn’t official just yet. And you were quickly falling for this older and gorgeous General.

After a sweet battle or glances, he has to put down his sword. You notice the details and the signs of years of use it has.

“Is this the weapon you master the most?” he nods, noticing the dry blood around the edges.

“Indeed… I learned to wield it before I even went to school” You smile, nervous but eager to throw your next comment. He was speaking very softly towards you. But it was obvious that he was a reserved and serious man.

“I use the spear and axe” Your revelation leaves Marcus surprised. There were very few female gladiators, most of them being treated worse than common slaves. No female in the Roman hierarchy wielded weapons.

“You truly are one of a kind, majestas” As the emperor’s daughter, you weren’t supposed to ever wield a weapon. Contrary to that rule, you were required to learn about politics. In Egypt, you were free.

“Oh, don’t call me that… my name is Y/n”

“Precious name…”

His smile mixed with yours burst in an obvious mutual flirtation. After talking for about two hours, the moon is the only witness in the dark meadows, where Marcus and you kiss until your lips are swollen and he has hydrated him after days of dryness. He promises to keep close to you as his fingers slip under the fabric of your tunic. You swear to welcome his touch no matter what as your hand palmed his girthy length under his heavy armor.

That night both of you seal your fate. That night Marcus Acacius ignites a vivid fire inside your heart.

…

Often, you wondered if candles could run out due to the excessive use of them each night. At least thirty candles are illuminating the place. You patiently wait in the room Marcus had in the Emperor’s palace, seated on the edge of the bed. When the General comes out, he spots you at his resting place. Immediately, you frown at him.

“You said it was a minor injury” There’s a lot of dry blood on his shoulder. He had taken a bath… but the injury was there, uncomfortably lying over his skin.

“It is a minor injury.” He assures, sitting beside you on the bed.

It’s been only a couple of days since you met him… and you are already too keen on him.

“There are no gladiators where I come from. Only warriors… Generals only command their soldiers. We never used weapons as a spectacle”

“I’m starting to believe Egypt is a better place than Rome” you shrug.

“I miss my home. I miss the freedom. I can’t marry Geta…” you admit out loud for the first time. Marcus huffs, he doesn’t have a problem with letting you know he is jealous.

“Right… the wedding.”

“I have to marry him after all. Only that way I could share the title of Empress with him” Marcus sighs tired.

“Am I descending into madness for these strong feelings I have for you?” you turn to look at him. Your hand moves to the end on top of his.

“I look into your eyes… and I feel safe, Marcus” you admit, straddling him. Your fingers trace his beard as you lean to kiss him deeply. He reciprocates and holds your hips steadily.

It’s a wild moment to openly share carnal passion, but neither of you cares. You push him against the feathery pillows and continue kissing. His hair gets tangled around your fingers and his forearms and hands have disappeared under your dress. You start throbbing and he gets hard. But the moment is suddenly interrupted by some footsteps near the room. In a blink of an eye, you get away from Marcus and he stands up from the bed too.

“Use the trail at the end of the hallway. I’ll see you tomorrow, satis” he says, kissing your forehead before you quietly leave his resting place.

Some guards were wandering around the place as usual. You skillfully pass by them, using the trail Marcus told you. But it’s dark and very quiet, not even illuminated by torches. Your sandals barely make a sound against the floors.

So it’s a huge surprise when a hand covers your mouth and the next thing you feel is getting slammed against the wall. It didn’t hurt you but it was violent.

You gasp for air and encounter your half-brother. He has his golden crown and velvet robes, his face almost clean of tints that weren’t his natural skin.

“What were you doing with Acacius?” You frown.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” his ginger hair is the only thing that shines in the dark trail.

“Quit the lie, soror. Has he made you impure?”

Oh dear brother, if you knew my purity has been gone for many years. But the truth was that Marcus hadn’t claimed you his yet.

“No. And it should not be a matter of importance to you” he chuckles.

Geta isn’t an idiot. He had seen the way Acacius looked at you during dinners. He noticed you came back to rest later than usual. And it was making him boil in anger. His disgust towards you before your arrival was strong. But after you turned to be a delight for his taste, Geta was burning for you.

“Oh, but it is a matter of importance to me. You are my future wife” he says, threatening to seal his lips with yours. The arm that was holding you still sneaked around your waist, applying a little too much pressure.

“Do you think I like the thought of other men touching or even smiling at you?”

Oh… so he was jealous.

His lips gently brush your neck as you set your eyes on the moon, waiting for the moment to be over. His touch is vicious, possessive, and harsh. The trail his lips have followed from your collarbones to your throat ends in your chin, mere inches away from your lips.

“If we can even consider this love… you have an odd way of showing it” he lets you go, the cocky smile on his face never leaving.

“Love or not… you are going to be mine”

“I’m also the heiress of the Emperor. We’ll see about that, Geta.” You spit bitterly, literally running away from him.

You have converted into an enemy for him. And you had to be ready to walk cautiously. Because you had changed your mind. Perhaps you would lose the crown… but weren’t going to marry him.

…

You missed dates so badly, but then the following morning, when a plate of them was included in the morning, you couldn’t resist. You are eating alone. Until the doors open and your father appears followed by two guards.

“Father…” you stand up, making a reverence to him. He smiles, extending his arms to hug you.

“I have wonderful news. We’ve arranged an encounter for you to demonstrate your abilities in combat” You are extremely confused.

“What?” Your father sighs, breaking the hug.

“I’m aware you performed in celebrations back in Alexandria. This is just the perfect opportunity to show the senate and council you are a prepared lady to receive the title of Empress one day…”

“Father… as much as I appreciate the intention. I’ve performed as a way to train for battle; gods forbid us from having to go to war, but… here, your soldiers and slaves fight for the mere feeling of feeding the greediness of hierarchy. I can’t do that…”

You weren’t a target for the empire to show off. You were more than just a woman with the ability to carry a weapon. You valued your freedom. And ever since arriving in Rome, day by day, you feel that you keep slipping away from it.

“The decision is taken. Heavens know why but the official announcement of your engagement with Geta remains being delayed. Hence, I won’t turn the Senate and council against me when there's no need. I may only wish you good luck, dear” You remember Marcus. He could have voted against the encounter. He was the General.

Suddenly you are bursting in anger, making the coldest reverence to your father as he leaves.

Your angry steps lead your way to Marcus. You found him taking a rest on a nearby balcony. When he spots you, his smile vanishes.

“You couldn’t impede that brainless idea of me participating in a combat?” Marcus has to sigh, placing his hands on his hips. He was expecting your anger to be honest.

“I couldn’t say no. If it did, they would suspect. I already have your brother behind my back all the time” You can fight him because he’s right. But it doesn’t dissipate your anger.

“You are going to be fine. I may be able to arrange the rules. I can choose the gladiator that will fight you, but your father and brother have the last word. What weapon do you want to use?”

“The spear…” he nods.

“Female gladiators tend to wield the bow and sword. You can easily disarm her…” you are not scared, you are just frustrated.

“Teach me the methods warriors use here…” you mutter. Marcus nods, taking your hand and giving an apologetic look.

“You will win, my dear.” His fingers place some strands of your hair behind your ear, it melts your anger and transforms it into peace. You want to scream how much you desire him. But you must retain your feelings given the hatred days you were living.

“Let me thank you for the training in advance, General,” you say, getting on your knees.

“Good girl…” Marcus whispered as soon as your tongue started working on him.

…

The usual crowd in the Colosseum couldn’t be compared with the amount of screams and cheers from the people watching the emperor’s daughter fighting one of the greatest female gladiators in Rome; Calista.

The sandy floors were covered in an elegant tapestry that marked the square where the show was occurring.

You are sweating, there's blood running down your chin and you can’t breathe correctly. Calista was ordered not kill you, but for some reason, she seemed to be personally trying to knock you out.

She had a helmet and armor in gold and red. But it was hard to deny everyone was invested in the attire you wore. A golden mask of Neith, the god of war that covered your face and a gold vest and bare shoulders. Everyone thought you were insane for that.

You remember all the things Marcus told you. Soon after your father started the encounter, you learned gladiators were blinded by the necessity of seeing blood on their rival instead of following a technique of combat.

Calista’s sword is sharp enough to give you a long cut by the movement of a soft swatch. You yelp in pain and she kicks your ribs, making you fall to your knees.

Marcus stands worried from his seat, but he soon returns to his place after making eye contact with Geta, who sends daggers with his eyes. Marcus understood your brother was insane when he disapproved of the gladiator he had chosen. Geta picked the most sanguinary and violent warrior to fight you.

Marcus couldn’t do anything. But he was impressed by your skills. He sighed with joy everytime you slipped from Calista’s touch. Even your father was displaying a face of proud.

But it’s not the same for you. You enter in panic, knowing you are at full mercy, almost dropping your spare. Your father is about to stop the encounter. The crowd is impossibly louder. You want to throw up. The sweat mixed with nausea, the cold air of the night, and the dryness in your throat are too much to handle. But you refuse to lose. With the sharp edge of the spare, you cut Calista’s calf. She’s startled, ready to strike back when your leg pushes her on her back. The heavy sword she carries makes a loud noise. Her skull crushes against the floor. It gives you enough time to stand, place your foot in her throat and point the spare against her forehead, ending the encounter.

The cheers are disgustingly excessive. But you’re done. You did what your father asked. You take off the mask and look at your brother in anger. Geta offers you a fake smile. He was surprised to see you were able to slip away, from his evil plans, from defying your father.

You offer your hand to Calista, but she refuses. She looks like she wants to kill you. But she only reverences your family and leaves.

Everything is forgotten when you set your eyes on Marcus. You want to smile and run to his side. He sees you with adoration. He sees the reincarnation of Psyche in you. A woman who Marcus swears it’s even more graceful than Venus and Persephone themselves.

Marcus Acacius makes a decision; He must marry you.

…

After a banquet, your bones and muscles ache with each movement you make, but you run towards Marcus. You need to see him after such a long day. He waits for you in the secure spot of the farthest tower. His light robes and leaf crown are securely dressing him when you spot him. The gold in his attire matches your bronze bracelets and indigo dress.

He’s the man you desire. He’s the man that had offered you a real demonstration of affection. He wasn’t trying to manhandle you like everyone before did. It’s more than enough to make you think your prayers to Venus have worked. You collide in his chest, giggling.

“I love you”

Both of you say at the same time. It leaves you shocked. Marcus smiles and you have to kiss him to believe it’s real.

“I promise you… we’ll be together” you nod dying out of happiness. He kisses you back and you feel you want to cry out of happiness.

What feels like a second was an hour of kissing.

And Geta was able to witness some of that time. Drowning in a monstrous wave of jealousy, he ran towards the Emperor to accuse you of adultery. But it was too late, your father was out of the city for the rest of the day. Geta is beyond enraged with the news. So he sends part of his father’s cabinet to a brothel, hoping his evil plan would work.

Later, when he finds you going towards the garden, he fastens his pace to harshly grab your forearms and stop you.

“That General is no good for you.” He spits with disgust as you squirm away from his touch.

“Neither are you” you fireback, stepping backwards.

“Go find him. You should know he just uses you to have our father’s approval. So I insist you, go find him and see what kind of man he is after you leave his bed” You raise your hand ready to slap him, but you don’t. You simply turn away and keep walking.

Geta’s words echo through your mind. You question him, valuing the honesty of his words. Marcus was a man after all. There wasn’t a perfect man nor a perfect woman, but you liked to believe there was still good in the hearts of the people.

Perhaps Marcus would be disappointed by your mistrust. But the uncertainty of his loyalty was something you couldn’t risk.

That night, you go out in a linen cloak, hunting the man you love. The guards won’t know you went out prowling around the city.

It’s late, but not for the city. Although is not crowded, there are a lot of people in the market. You let yourself wander across the place. There’s handmade stuff that women and kids sell. It makes you think about power and how not all of the people had it. If you ever became Empress, you wanted to see a prosperous and bright city. You want to ensure them with security and peace. You want to get rid of eccentric stuff, including gladiators.

The sound of music along with laughter draws your attention to a specific place. At first glance, you think it’s a tavern. But as your feet made it to the entrance, you gasped in shock. There are more men compared to women. The females are scattered around the place. Some feed grapes to men. Others dance and use their bodies to charm. All of them have their chests bare, showing their breasts and silver bracelets. It shocks you to see some of the females naked, kissing between groups of four or more and almost fucking them at the sight of everyone. The wine smells cheap, the whole place smells like sweat and sex combined.

You see from afar a large table of men. Your eyes look at the head of the table and it causes a great mix of confusion and intrigue. Because it’s your Marcus who’s seated with those men. He talks and looks seriously intimidating with his sword resting on the table. Your heart starts racing as a woman gets closer. She raises her hand to touch him. Marcus turns to look at the woman. She has short blonde hair, pale skin, and purple fabric that barely covers her body. Your eyes water at the sight. Your lover, who promised find the way to be with you hours ago is there, surrounded by naked women and you can hear him cursing. When the blonde woman is about to sit in his lap, you leave the place running away. There’s not even time to tear yet, you are completely covered in shock and disgust.

Soon you are back. You gasp for air, opening the doors of the place you call home. Two guards let you enter and you throw your cloak to the floor. When you look at the end of the long hallway, you spot Geta talking with his counselor. At the sigh of you, he indicates the man to leave. You want to leave him behind so bad, you avoid his eyes but it’s his voice that stops you.

“I told you so…” he says with an evil smile.

“Be quiet…” his laugh is loud and it angers you more.

“He doesn’t care about you. Acaius only cares for power. He could never love you-“

“SILENCE!”

You push him towards the granite bench behind and he is taken aback.

Even more when you lean to smash your lips with his.

It’s disgusting. There’s no care, only two individuals fighting for control in the lips of each other. Even the beetroot juice you applied hours ago has transferred to your chin and Geta’s. His hand is resting with pressure on your nape, and you slightly pull his hair, making him groan before kissing you even harder.

Just when you are about to sit in his lap, you stop. You look at him in horror. There’s no way you just kissed him. That you almost succumbed to his touch. But you remember Marcus with that woman. What were you doing?

Geta sees you quietly crying before standing up from the bench and watching you bolt.

You run to the meadows. The place where everything began. And at that moment, you realized you had completely failed.

Fighting in that encounter with Calista for what? Unnecessary approval of men who would surely die before you birthed your first child.

You pleased your father to live in peace for what? To carry the weight of a narcissistic brother and a traitor lover.

Your prayers were in vain. The love you wanted to find was over before it even started. Because it wasn’t real. You should’ve stayed back in Egypt. Maybe you should have married Geta on the first day. At least whatever he did to hurt you would have a payback. But with Marcus, it resulted in an excruciating pain that you had never felt before. Which makes you feel so ignorant and brainless. All that ego your mother had helped you build collapsed at that moment. You just wished for a remedy. Which for sure didn’t exist. But there must be a way, to make everyone feel at least a drop of what you have.

—————————————————————

part two or what? (Literally didn’t add the part I wrote for the sneak peak lol)

taglist: @drewharrisonwriter @my-dearest-agent @yellowheartz @spookyxsam @natasharomanoffsmotorcycle @uncassettodiricordi @kluvspedritooo @littleblackcatinwonderland

#pedro pascal x reader #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #gladiator 2 #joseph quinn x reader #emperor geta #emperor geta x reader

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yoomiwrites · 6 months ago

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We won³

Summary: The war is won, yet you lost too much. And well – how much can you still win?

Note: And here we go, part 3! Since I have all of it already finished, might as well make it a daily update. And THANKS a lot for every like, comment and message! I see you and I am THANKFUL. If you have more ideas, for stories or anything, hit em into my little box on my profile. I also have a Silco Story rotting on my phone since season 1, but idk if anyone would be up for that.

The rebuilding continued, and life finally found a rhythm that felt normal—or at least as close to normal as things could get. Ekko worked tirelessly with the Firelights, but the urgency of survival had faded into the background. With it, so had the moments he used to share with you.

At first, he didn’t notice the shift. You still checked in occasionally, bringing him food or teasing him about overworking. But those visits became less frequent, your easy laughter and steady presence replaced by quick smiles and polite excuses.

One evening, he sat alone in the Firelight base, absently tinkering with a small device. His thoughts drifted to you—how you used to be there, sitting across from him, filling the quiet with your chatter or just the comfort of your presence. The realization hit him suddenly: you weren’t around as much anymore.

And it scared him.

Ekko spent the next day looking for you, his mind racing with possibilities. Had something happened to you? Were you hurt? Or worse, were you pulling away because he’d taken you for granted?

When he couldn’t find you, he turned to Vi.

“Have you seen Y/N?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Vi raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the wall. “Yeah, they’re out.”

“Out where?”

“On a date.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. A date? He blinked, stunned. “A date?” he echoed, his voice betraying his surprise.

Vi smirked at his reaction, though her tone softened. “What, you didn’t know? They’ve been trying to move on for a while now. Guess it’s working.”

Ekko stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. He’d known—on some level—that you’d cared about him. He wasn’t blind to the way you’d looked at him, the way you were always there when he needed you. But he’d never let himself think too hard about it, too focused on the mission, too afraid of what it might mean.

Now, the thought of you moving on left him feeling... hollow.

Vi clapped a hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Don’t screw this up, Ekko,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. “If you don’t want to lose them, you better figure out what you actually feel.”

He nodded absently, her words ringing in his ears. For the first time, Ekko realized what he might lose if he let you drift away completely—and he wasn’t sure he could handle that.

#arcane #ekko x reader #ekko #ekko arcane #arcane x reader

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cambankromyy · 2 months ago

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THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.13): his room - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

an; my biggest apologies for not updating for so long!! schools been really busy recently but i have a vision for the story so no more long waits for new chatpers (i hope)!! also this chapter is again irl heavy

part 12 - part 13 - part 14

you sit there for a second, staring at nothing, before you finally reach for your phone. your fingers hover over the screen before you even know what you’re doing.

the response is immediate.

your breath catches in your throat.

there’s something about that answer that makes your pulse stutter, but you push past it.

you hesitate before the next text, fingers tapping idly against your thigh.

three dots immediately appear, but disappear after a second. you exhale, waiting for the three dots to pop up again. your heartbeat is in your throat and you feel light headed as you wait.

thirty seconds.

thats how long it took for him to respond, and thats all it took for you to almost have a heart attack.

you don’t give it any further thought.

you slip out of the room quietly, your pulse hammering in your ears. jj is already breathing evenly, half-asleep, and he doesn’t stir as you pull the door open.

your path to rafe’s room is eerily quiet. your heartbeat is the only thing you can hear as you reach his door.

you hesitate outside the door for half a second before pushing it open. the room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. shadows stretch long against the walls, warping with the faint movement of the curtains in the breeze. rafe is sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head ducked low like he’s thinking too hard about something.

his head lifts when you step inside. he doesn’t say anything. neither do you.

the door clicks shut behind you, and the quiet shifts. it feels heavier now, thick with something unspoken, something too solid to ignore. the kind of silence that isn’t quite anger, but isn’t far from it either.

you cross the room and sit down on the bed—not too close, but not far either. the space between you feels intentional. rafe exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. he looks tired, like he hasn’t slept in days. the way he won’t look at you only makes the weight in your chest press harder.

"i just..." you start, then stop. your fingers knot together in your lap. "i wanted to talk about earlier."

rafe scoffs under his breath, shaking his head. "of course you did."

you blink at him, caught off guard by the edge in his voice. "what's that supposed to mean?"

he doesn't answer. his jaw clenches, shoulders tensing like he's holding something back.

"rafe," you say his name softer this time, reaching out without thinking, fingers brushing his wrist. he turns at that, eyes flicking to yours for the first time since you walked in. there's something behind them—something sharp, something unraveling.

then suddenly, his hand finds your jaw, fingers curling against your skin, and he kisses you.

it's too quick, too desperate. his lips press against yours like he's trying to make you forget why you're even here in the first place.

but you don’t kiss back.

your hands press flat against his chest, pushing him away as your breath stumbles, heartbeat ricocheting inside your ribs.

“wait—” the word comes out sharp, uneven. your head shakes on instinct, fingers pressing hard against your temples like you can physically stop yourself from spiraling.

"fuck, rafe. you cant just—"

rafe pulls back, eyes searching yours with something raw, something desperate. his brows furrow like he can’t understand why you stopped him, like he can’t understand why it isn’t that easy.

"can't what?"

the weight in your chest threatens to crush you whole.

his voice breaks the silence first, low and uneven. "this about jj?"

your throat tightens. your fingers dig into your arms.

he doesn’t get it.

you shake your head, lips pressing together to keep them from trembling. “you don’t get to do that,” you whisper, voice barely holding together. “you don’t get to just—”

"get to what?"

the words catch. the lump in your throat grows thick, nearly choking.

your jaw clenches. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“act like you don’t know.”

he lets out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “you wanna talk about earlier,” he cuts in, voice clipped. “right?”

you hesitate, but nod. “yeah.”

his lips press together, his hands clasped so tight his knuckles go white. “of course you do.”

you blink, thrown. “we talked for the first time in a month and you don’t wanna talk about it?”

you cross your arms over your chest, pressing your fingers into your skin like you can hold yourself steady. "you wanna talk about it? yeah? how about we start from that night?"

your stomach flips. “what night?”

rafe exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. he shakes his head, jaw clenched.

"you know what fucking night," he snaps. "tannyhill. when we got high and posted all that shit."

you inhale sharply.

he shakes his head. "i woke up thinking it was something. thinking we—" he stops himself, running a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.

"but then you started hanging out with the pogues." his voice turns bitter, edged with something almost venomous. "started running around with him."

your brows furrow. "him?"

his jaw flexes. "jj."

your breath catches.

rafe scoffs. "what, you’re gonna act surprised? like you weren’t all over him?"

your stomach twists, anger flashing through your veins. "are you serious right now?"

"i don’t know, roni. am i?" his voice is sharp, biting. "because it sure as hell looked like you were fucking around with him."

you shake your head, disbelief crawling up

"i woke up that morning, and it was like—fuck, roni, it messed me up. you looked at me like nothing changed. like it was just another night, like—" he stops, running a hand over his face. "and then you were with them. with him. and i didn’t know what to do with that."

your throat feels tight. the pressure behind your eyes builds, your chest getting heavier by the second.

“I mean, was it fun? Did he make you forget—”

you barely hear him anymore. his words are background noise to the storm in your head, to the way your own thoughts are eating you alive.

because he doesn’t know. he doesn’t know what happened. he doesn’t know that for a moment, you let it happen, let yourself fall into something you didn’t even want, just because it was easy.

he’ s still going, voice sharp, edged with frustration. “you could’ve been with anyone, but you picked him? really?” he laughs, but there’s nothing funny about it.

your throat burns. you can feel the tear rolling your cheek.

rafe scoffs for the billionth time, about to keep going—then he the way your breath catches. the way your shoulders curl inward. the way your fingers tremble as you try, and fail, to wipe the tear away before he can notice.

he stops, eyebrows furrowing. “what the fuck? are you fucking crying?”

your hands are clenched in your lap, your teeth digging into your lip, your whole body tense like you’re trying to keep yourself together.

rafe’s irritation falters. his jaw tightens, and he leans in slightly, like he’s trying to get a better look at you. “dude.”

you shake your head quickly, trying to pull yourself together, but it’s useless. a tear slips down your cheek, and you swipe at it aggressively, frustrated with yourself.

“what is going on?” his voice is more calm now, but still filled with rage and confusion.“why are you crying?”

you shake your head quickly, like you can push away whatever’s clawing up your throat.

but you do. you’re crying because this is rafe, your best friend, and he feels like a stranger. because you love him, and because you don’t know if you’re even allowed to anymore. because jj’s hands were on you hours ago, and you didn’t want it, not really, but you let it happen anyway.

he’s watching you now, expression shifting, annoyance flickering into something else. something more careful.

you exhale sharply, voice breaking apart before you can even finish. “i didn’t want to.”

his brows pull together. “didn’t wanna what?”

your fingers dig into your arms. you can’t say it. you can’t.

rafe leans in, voice lower, rough but steady. “use your fucking words.”

but you can’t.

your breath stumbles, and then—everything spills over.

your shoulders shake harder, silent at first, but then the sob hits, breaking past your lips in a way you can’t stop. your hands press against your face, like maybe if you hide, this won’t be happening.

rafe hesitates. for half a second, he just looks at you, stunned, like he doesn’t know what to do with this.

then he sighs, muttering a quiet, “fuck,” under his breath—before reaching for you.

he pulls you in, arms wrapping tight around your frame, and this time, you don’t push him away.

your face presses into his shoulder, fingers curling into his shirt, gripping tight like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. rafe’s warm. steady. too solid, too real.

he doesn’t say anything. he was ready for you to fight back, to push him away, to bite out something sharp like you always do when you’re upset. but you don’t. and for some reason, that unsettles him more than anything.

his pulse is still fast from the argument, his breathing uneven, but you’re shaking against him, and suddenly, none of it matters.

the room stays quiet, save for the sound of your breathing, rough and unsteady against his neck. after a moment, he exhales slowly, like he’s trying to even you out with him.

somewhere in the haze, his grip loosens. his thumb moves, slow and absentminded, over your back. maybe it’s instinct. maybe it’s something else.

the weight of the past few weeks lingers, thick in the air between you. nothing is solved. nothing is fixed. but somehow, the anger feels like a distant thing now, like something neither of you have the energy to hold on to.

your body stays tense for a while. you don’t notice when it starts to ease.

and rafe doesn’t notice when he stops thinking about why he’s still holding you.

before you know it, the exhaustion catches up. the weight in your chest dulls, your thoughts blur, and your grip on his shirt goes slack.

rafe feels the shift but doesn’t move.

your breathing evens out first. then his.

before either of you can stop it, sleep settles in, pulling you under.

and for the first time in weeks, neither of you fight it.

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @6r4cie @adalia-lovelace @bee-43 @drewrry @masongetinmybed @defnotayonna @lcversvoid @my-name-is-baby @lolasangelz @polli05927 @laniirackssss @rafecameronswifeyy @starsval @hypnotizedstarkey @wintercrows @d-daxx @dontknow3m @jjasmiineee @Chillgal135

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the-cosmic-cauldron · 3 months ago

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Your sun sign can reveal why you start to dislike a job and eventually want to leave. It can highlight what’s missing in your work environment and why it no longer fulfills you. Let’s dive into it.

Fire Suns (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius)

Fire suns dislike jobs that become boring and predictable. Nothing frustrates them more than routine and monotony—it drives them bonkers. They also struggle with rigid work environments, especially those with excessive rules, administrative tasks, or restrictions that limit their creativity and freedom. Fire suns thrive when they can do things their own way, so jobs that require them to conform too much feel suffocating.

They also dislike jobs where they have little power or autonomy. Constantly answering to higher-ups in a strict hierarchy frustrates them. Fire suns don’t enjoy detail-oriented or highly organized work; they prefer flexibility and spontaneity. They also crave social interaction at work. If they don’t have a strong team or coworkers they enjoy talking to, they lose interest.

Lastly, they need excitement and variety in their daily tasks. A job that feels too monotonous, uneventful, or lacking in stimulating experiences won’t hold their attention for long. Fire suns need a job where each day brings something new and engaging—something worth talking about at the end of the day.

Earth Suns (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn)

Earth suns are quick to leave a job if their salary isn’t increasing or if they aren’t being promoted. Financial stability and growth are major motivators for them. They also prefer professional work environments. A lack of professionalism—whether due to disorganization, unmotivated coworkers, or a workplace that feels too casual—can push them to leave.

Earth suns dislike being surrounded by people who don’t take work seriously. They need coworkers who are reliable and competent. They also prefer jobs with clear structures, step-by-step procedures, and well-defined rules. Creativity-heavy roles can feel overwhelming or unnecessary to them.

Additionally, earth suns dislike chaotic, action-packed jobs with constant stimulation or unpredictability. They prefer calm, structured, and steady work environments. If a job doesn’t offer opportunities for growth, whether financially or positionally, they won’t stick around.

They also value benefits. A job with poor benefits or an unstable income—such as contract work, fluctuating pay, or seasonal jobs—won’t appeal to them. Earth suns want consistent pay and a solid work-life balance that allows them to maintain the lifestyle they desire.

Air Suns (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius)

Air suns will leave a job quickly if it requires too much physical labor. Repetitive, monotonous work also drives them away. They crave novelty and dislike seeing the same faces and performing the same tasks every day. A job that lacks variety or intellectual stimulation will bore them.

They need mental challenges, opportunities for problem-solving, and engaging conversations. If a job feels too easy or stagnant, an air sun will quickly lose interest. They also value workplace mobility—if they don’t see a path for promotion or advancement, they’ll move on.

Air suns prefer innovative workplaces that stay updated with modern trends and technology. Old-school, outdated work environments frustrate them. They also want to have fun at work. If they can’t laugh, socialize, or make friends, they won’t feel motivated to stay.

Lastly, air suns need to see a future in their work. If they can’t envision themselves growing within a company, they’ll leave. A job that feels like a dead end, with no future prospects or potential for change, won’t hold their interest for long.

Water Suns (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces)

Water suns are most likely to leave a job if it feels emotionally unfulfilling. If they constantly feel drained, stressed, or uninspired, they won’t stay. They need to feel comfortable and at home in their work environment. If they feel like an outsider, are ostracized, bullied, or disrespected, they’ll want to leave.

They also crave appreciation. Water suns tend to give a lot to their job—whether through their effort, empathy, or dedication—so a lack of positive feedback or recognition will make them feel undervalued. They need to feel that their contributions matter.

Interpersonal relationships play a huge role in their job satisfaction. If they experience tension with coworkers, bosses, or even customers, it can push them to leave. Conflict and negativity in the workplace deeply affect their emotional well-being.

Work-life balance is another major factor. Water suns need time to recharge, spend time with family, and nurture personal relationships. If their job takes up too much of their time and leaves them emotionally depleted, they won’t hesitate to leave.

Lastly, they need creative freedom. Too many rigid rules or a lack of personal expression can make them feel stifled. Water suns thrive in roles that allow them to infuse their personal touch and creativity into their work. If they feel like just another cog in the machine, they won’t stick around for long.

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goldfades · 11 months ago

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★ YOU AND ME, WE'D BE A BIG CONVERSATION─── PB⁵ (part 1/3)

❪ requested -> "paige x famous!reader (singer, actress, up to u) inspired by endgame by ts where p reveals that r is her celeb crush in an interview and a few days later theres a vid of r responding to it saying shes been obsessed w paige lately / its such a big deal bc r has been involved in a lot of romantic drama lately so everyone is kinda iffy abt her rn, causing her to put up a tough guard. but p sees thru the facade when they start talking and allows her to be herself, making r fall even harder 🥹 " ❫ for my disco nonnie!

─ warnings | gossip, a lot of drama and random ass names (sorry i get confused when i don't name them), mention of panic attacks, hurt to comfort, pretty sure nothing else?

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist!

"Y/N L/N, ONE OF the biggest names right now in the music industry has found herself at the center of yet another romantic scandal involving her ex and now, reportedly a new lover."

The 22-year-old pop sensation, who recently topped the charts with her latest single, was spotted last night leaving an upscale Los Angeles restaurant with actress and heartthrob, Camilla Harrison. The two were seen getting into the same car, sparking rumors of a budding romance.

This sighting comes just weeks after Y/N's highly publicized breakup with fellow musician Lauren Marie, with whom she had a tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship for over two years. The split was reportedly mutual, with both parties citing busy schedules and the pressures of their careers as contributing factors. However, sources close to the couple suggest that Marie was unhappy about Y/N's close friendship with Harrison, which began on the set of her recent music video where Marie made a cameo appearance.

"Y/N and Cam have undeniable chemistry," says an insider. "They've been spending a lot of time together, and it's more than just a professional connection. They're trying to keep things low-key, but it's clear there's something more than friendship between them."

Despite the drama, Y/N continues to thrive professionally. Her upcoming album set to release in the next couple month, is already generating significant buzz. Critics are calling it her most mature work yet, with deeply personal lyrics that reflect her recent experiences.

Meanwhile, Harrison, 26, known for her roles in blockbuster films and her good looks, has remained tight-lipped about the rumors. Her publicist declined to comment, stating that Marie is concentrating on her upcoming film projects.

──

"Okay, next question," the reporter smiled as she scrolled through her phone as Paige gave a tight-lipped smile toward the camera. "Oh! Found a good one, okay. Who is your celebrity crush right now."

"That's easy!" Paige laughed as she glanced toward the reporter. "Y/N L/N, she's beautiful and insanely talented,"

The room filled with laughter as the reporter raised an eyebrow, clearly delighted by the response. "Y/N L/N, huh? That's a popular choice these days, a lot of people are big fans. Have you met her?"

Paige shook her head, her cheeks slightly flushing. "Nah, I wish. But I'm a huge fan of her music. Every song is a masterpiece and I'm not usually into pop,"

"Interesting," the reporter leaned forward, intrigued. "You know, there are rumors about Y/N's love life all the time. How do you feel about all the speculation surrounding her personal life?"

Paige shrugged, maintaining her relaxed demeanor despite the stupid question. "I think it's tough being in the spotlight like that. People forget that celebrities are human too. Everyone deserves a bit of privacy, I'm more interested in her work and what she brings to the music industry rather than whoever she's dating."

The reporter nodded, appreciating Paige's perspective. "Absolutely. It's refreshing to hear someone focus on the artistry rather than the gossip!"

──

"Okay, quick. Who's your celeb crush right now, other than Cam," Bowen Yang, grinned at you, raising an eyebrow as the audience laughed, eagerly awaiting your response.

You laugh (and decide to ignore the comment about Cam), feeling a slight blush creep up your cheeks. "Oh, come on, Bowen, you can't put me on the spot like that!"

Bowen leaned in, his grin widening. "Come on, Y/N, the people want to know!" He pointed to the crowd as they cheered, causing you to put your face in yours hands.

You then take a deep breath, pretending to think hard. "Fine, if I have to choose... I'd say Paige Bueckers. She's incredible on the court, and I've seen some interviews with her ─ she seems like such a cool person."

The audience erupts with loud cheers, causing both you and Bowen to laugh. Bowen's eyes widen, clearly delighted by your answer as he clapped. "Ooh, scandalous! Paige Bueckers, I love that! Have you met her?"

You shake your head, smiling. "No, not yet. But I did see a clip of her saying some really nice things about me recently. It was super sweet."

Bowen's face lights up with excitement. "She was practically gushing over you, this is perfect, we need to make this happen. Maybe you could collab, I don't know how but uh, if anyone could make it happen, it's you."

"Thank you, I think?" You laugh, nodding. "Totally, we'll see what happens."

Bowen turns to the camera, his enthusiasm infectious. "You heard it here first, folks! Y/N and Paige Bueckers, the crossover we never knew we needed but now desperately want!"

The audience erupts in applause and cheers, and you can't help but smile at the idea. Bowen turns back to you, his tone shifting slightly more serious. "Alright, before we wrap up, I have to ask ─ how do you deal with all the attention and rumors about your personal life? It seems like you're constantly in the spotlight."

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, caught off guard by the serious question. "It's um, definitely challenging at times, but I try to focus on the positive aspects. I love making music and my fans. As for the rumors, I just remind myself that I can't control what people say or think. I stay true to myself and the people who really know me, and that's what matters most."

Bowen nods appreciatively. "Wise words, Y/N. And that's why we love you so. Thank you so much for being here tonight."

"Thank you for having me," you reply, genuinely touched by the support.

"And that's Y/N L/N!"

The crowd erupts in cheers as you genuinely smile, happy for the support, waving toward the audience.

──

"Hey everyone, welcome back to the podcast I'm Lila, and today we've got a lot to talk about. Y/N L/N is at the center of yet another romantic scandal, and there's even a new twist involving basketball star Paige Bueckers. Let's dive in!" Lila said, her enthusiasm palpable.

"Yaya, so excited," Maya chimed in, adjusting her headphones. "So, Y/N was spotted last night leaving an upscale LA restaurant with actress Cam Harrison. They got into the same car, which has everyone buzzing about a possible new romance."

"Yeah, and this is just weeks after her very public breakup with Lauren, I think that's her name? It's been a whirlwind, to say the least. But honestly, I think Y/N is handling it all pretty well. She's focused on her music, and she's just living her life. What's your take, My?" Lila asked, leaning in slightly.

Maya sighed, her skepticism evident. "I don't know, Lila. I get that she's young and living her life or whatever, but it feels like there's always some new drama with her. First Lauren, now Cam Harrison? It's starting to look like a pattern."

"But that's thing, with being in your early twenties. Figuring out what you want, who you want to be with? I mean, she's also incredibly talented and driven. Her new album is generating a ton of buzz and it hasn't even been released yet," Lila countered, her voice full of admiration.

"Sure, but it seems like she's always entangled in some romantic drama. Maybe it's just the nature of fame or whatever, but it can also come off as messy. And now, with Paige Bueckers gushing about her in that interview, it adds another layer. I just hope she’s not stringing people along," Maya replied, her tone annoyed.

Lila nodded, annoyed at Maya's words but maintaining her supportive stance. "I get where you're coming from, but did you see Paige's reaction? She was genuinely excited about Y/N. It was sweet. Plus, Y/N responded so positively on the SNL interview. I think it shows she's got a good heart and she's just navigating her way through a complicated life!"

Maya hesitated for a moment as she glanced at the camera, then continued. "I mean, look at Taylor Swift. She's known for her string of high-profile relationships and breakups, and it hasn't always been received positively. It feels like Y/N is heading down a similar path- What?"

"Come on, Maya!" Lila glared at her, clearly displeased. "Comparing Y/N to Taylor Swift isn't fair. Taylor's faced a lot of unfair criticism for just living her life and expressing herself through her music. Y/N is her own person, with her own journey. She's navigating her twenties in the spotlight, and that's not easy."

Maya just shrugged as she glanced toward the camera, before adjusting her mic. "Well that got awkward, moving on..."

──── COMMENTS

sela 🐾 | is she wrong though... love her music but why'd paige gotta get involved too? ♡ 108

↳ l/nslover | cause they like each other???

↳ 🦕 | has bro ever heard of a pr relationship 😭

↳ ari! | THEYRE NOT EVEN TOGETHER YET BROOO😭😭😭

sarah™️ | LILA GET THE HELL OUTTA THERE BROOOO 😭😭 i never liked maya tbh this is just a weird ass take ♡ 1.7k

kayla 🎀 | listen as a y/n girly i also understand maya's point of view cause.... shes kinda for the streets ♡ 879

↳ ™️ | dont call yourself a """"" y/n girly """""" if ur gonna say she's for the streets??? the fuck??

⭐️ | i was understanding maya's pov up until she started saying all that taylor swift bullshit, they're two separate artists LET US LIVEEEEEEE ♡ 2k

josie may | hardest watch of the day 🥲 maya u let us down with that dumb ass take

──

"I just kinda... wanna disappear for awhile," you confessed, your voice quiet as you pressed the phone to your ear. "Don't know why this keeps happening, you're the only that can... help me through it. Sorry if I woke you up-"

It happened again ─ over the last couple of months (ever since you'd broken up with Lauren) you'd gotten pretty severe panic attacks. You were told by everyone on your team to just stay off social media and what had you done... exactly the opposite of that.

"No, no, I was awake anyway, promise," Paige's voice echoed through the phone. You heard shuffling through the phone as you sniffled, sighing. "And I don't mind, like at all. I meant what I said, I'm always here for you,"

Your heart swelled as you managed a smile, as tears began to build in your eyes. You and Paige had only been talking a month and she already understood you more than anyone had in what felt like forever. Her steady presence was like an anchor in the storm of your life.

The constant media scrutiny and the aftermath of your breakup with Lauren had left you feeling alone, but Paige’s calming influence was slowly becoming your safe haven.

"I just... I don't know how to deal with all of it. The rumors, the pressure, it's all so overwhelming," you admitted, wiping away the tears that had started to fall. "Half of it, it isn't even true."

"Hey, it's okay, I know, I believe you," Paige's voice was soothing, almost like a warm embrace over the phone. Even the smallest affirmation from Paige made you feel all okay again, even if it was just for the moment.

"You're not alone in this. We can figure it out together, step by step."

That part made your lips twitch up in a smile, feeling yourself relax again. You took a deep breath, feeling a bit of the tension ease from your shoulders. "I just feel like I can't breathe sometimes. Like the walls are closing in, y'know?"

"I get it," Paige replied softly. She'd know about it all too well, she'd been through it herself plenty of times. "Sometimes it helps to focus on the small things. One step at a time, remember? Have you tried any of those breathing exercises I taught you?"

You nodded, even though she couldn't see you. "Yeah, a little. They help, but it’s hard to remember in the moment."

"Next time you feel a panic attack coming on, call me. Anytime, okay? We'll get through it together," Paige's voice was firm, reassuring. "You don't deserve the shit they give you, like at all."

"Thank you," you whispered, feeling a surge of gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you, P."

"You don't have to thank me. I care about you, and I wanna help. Plus, I like hearing your voice," Paige added with a light chuckle, trying to lift your spirits.

You couldn't help but smile at that. "Me too, especially your cute tired voice."

"Cute, really?" Paige laughed through the phone and you swore you felt like your whole world felt even again. "But uh, if you do really wanna disappear you can always come to Connecticut."

The thought of escaping the relentless spotlight, even for a little while, sounded like a dream. "Really?"

"Yeah, you can stay with me for a bit, if that's uh... what you want." Paige explained through the phone. "My friends are super chill and it's always a fun time, if you ever wanna come. Think about it?"

The idea of spending time with the basketball player you'd quickly become enthralled with, seemed almost like a dream. And getting away from LA and all the madness that came with it sounded heavenly, you were going to give Connecticut a thought.

You sighed, feeling a warmth spread through you that had been absent for far too long. "Yeah, I will. And Paige?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. Really."

"Anytime, Y/N. Sweet dreams."

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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mauvecherie-writes · 4 months ago

Text

be mine this christmas: l.hamilton.

pairing: lewis hamilton x black oc!xenia richards

trope: grumpy billionaire x personal assistant au

ru’s 💌: this will be my last update for a few days because I have some school work to do that I’ve been avoiding lol. The Lewis in this story is not to be conflated with IRL Lewis. He’s an asshole who knows he’s an asshole but you’ll love him the same. This story is fast paced because it takes place in about one day.

series masterlist

chapter: TWO

chapter warning: DUAL POV, mentions of toxic family dynamics: child neglect, asshole!lewis

chapter w.c: 3.86K

𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐒

Lewis had an affinity for pissing people off. Since childhood, it had been something that he loved and it was probably something that he always had a fascination for. Seeing the way that he could affect someone else in such a way that dictates their mood was amusing to him. For most people, it was a funny occurrence that he would quickly forget about as soon as he left their presence . But there was one person that he made a point to aggravate with her furious expression being left in her wakes as she stormed away - his little assistant, Miss Xenia Richards.

Being able to garner a reaction out of her was worth his time in gold. It was like a hobby of his where he kept a running record going of how many times that he could successfully piss her off. Any moment that he was feeling bored, all it took was a swivel of his chair and an intercom call to her desk and it took nothing to invoke a reaction out of her - simply because it was too easy.

Why did Lewis love it so much? A very simple answer. He was an asshole.

It was how he was raised - or lack thereof.

A toxic cycle that he found all too time consuming to break with everything else that he had going on. It was just the way he was and he was not going to dig deep into his childhood trauma to figure out why pissing his PA off gave him a greater satisfaction than winning a new client. He liked the way he was just fine.

He wasn’t going to psychoanalyse why when she bashfully hid her face away from him, it made his dick hard. Or when she storms out of his office, he loved the way her ass jiggled and he pictured it bent over his lap wiggling as he slapped the smooth surface. He didn’t care as to why he enjoyed aggravating Xenia so much. But he was not going to stop any time soon.

When the company was established, Lewis had put it in the company policy that the executive staff would not fraternise with anyone directly in their line of authority and for the last three years he had been deeply regretting that rule. He was sure even the way that he fantasised about Xenia would be grounds for his termination from his position. So the next best thing that he had in his arsenal was riling her up.

His fascination also probably had to do with the fact that getting smart-mouthed and strong-willed women to submit to him was a kink of his. It was a dangerous affliction that he knew would cost him but it was worth it, million times over. Especially if it was Xenia at the end of his tunnel.

Lewis knew that she put up a good front but he could see right through Xenia’s faux exterior. She was nothing more than a brat who needed guidance. Specifically his guidance.

“Sir.” The sweet voice of his secretary, Tabitha, came over the phone’s intercom.

“Yes Tabitha?” He answered as it put a stop to his wayward thoughts.

“I have a list from Olivia on what else is needed for the Christmas party.” He could already feel an idea formulating before he could even utter thank you. The eagerness that swept through him at the thought of his assistant’s displeasure was concerning but he chose not to focus on that. Instead, his mind dwelled on how her face would contort between wanting to be defiant and wanting to submit to his bending. It was too good of a moment to not witness. As for now, he’ll just have to settle for the memories.

Lewis grabbed his cellphone from the desk and typed a quick message to Xenia with an updated list. He predicted that by now she probably would have been grabbing Mile’s lunch as the sushi restaurant was a few more miles further out from their offices. It was a last minute addition and when he thought about it, he preferred the roast blend from MonMouth instead.

After sending his message, he placed his phone back on his hand-carved red oak desk and turned back to face his computer screen. When the screen lit back up, he scrolled through some of the marketing reports and was particularly impressed with the continuous success of PLUS44WORLD. Nearly half a decade later into his retirement, his merch was still a major selling point of his brand. He then schemed through a few proposals from marketing agencies for sponsorships. He forwarded the ones that he thought would work best with the company to Miles and the legal team.

Even despite his obsession with enraging his personal assistant, Lewis could not deny that she did a fantastic job. A damn near perfect job actually. Everything that he threw her way, she was able to handle it with ease. Departments handed in their reports on time due to her delegation. Meetings and proposals, he went through half the time because Xenia often assessed them before forwarding them to him. This ultimately left him with very little to do towards the end of the day.

That was not great for his boredom. As he looked out of the window and watched the falling snow, he was forced to spend time with his thoughts. By the stream of thick fluff, he predicted that by the time Christmas rolled by, the streets of London. Would be covered in blankets of it. He hated the way that his mind shifted to his parents. They hated the cold, snow in particular and spent most of their time somewhere in the tropics.

At the very first sight of snowfall, they ran. As soon as they were able to leave Lewis alone with his nannies, they did. He was raised by his nannies, whichever one they had at the time. Up until he began to take an interest in motorsports, then his parents decided that they wanted to do their job. They had done just enough for it not to cause a media firestorm as his success grew expeditiously. The perfect family, they were dubbed.

It was only ever for the public. Behind closed doors, Lewis was often left alone - back into the arms of his nannies. Alone again, especially at Christmas. He never let it bother him, in essence, he was surrounded by too many people to actually ever be alone. But in his solitude, he had observed a thing or two about humans. Their mannerisms, their habits, their tells - all to come to the conclusion that people were ruled by their emotions. Whether they wanted to or not.

Through his adolescence, he pushed his nannies past their limits - most of them quitting before their contract was over. It was then that he decided that he was not a fan of compliant women. They were not stimulating enough for him. Lewis learnt a lot of things in his isolation as an only child. How to be in charge of his own happiness. He was indifferent to his parents due to their mistreatment and he probably needed professional help to unpack that. Right now, that was not a priority.

Instead, he chose to find solace in causing Xenia discomfort. He enjoyed seeing the life in her eyes when she got mad. He always wondered if there would be that same fire when she reached her climax. Or would she crumble beneath him, spent and exhausted. One assumption he was almost certain of was that she was undoubtedly a screamer. That he was sure.

As if his thoughts had summoned her presence, he turned around at the tumbling of limbs, bags and lunch barraging through his office door.

The better part of him wanted to stand up and offer some help. The arsehole part of him leaned back into his chair, silently watching as Xenia cursed as she struggled to make it through. After a painful moment, she was able to gather herself as she dumped the bags onto the floor and then placed his lunch and coffee onto his desk without a single spill.

“Such a gentleman for helping me with the door, sir.” She spat out the last word with so much venom. Xenia had probably done it to annoy him as if he wasn’t already in the mindset that he was, it would have. All it did now was that it shot shocks through to his dick. Too many times had he fantasised about her using his official title as she thanked him for her pleasure. He chewed on the inside of his cheek to control his smirk from breaking out as he watched her shuffle in one place as she tried to regulate her emotions. Her hand twitched by her sides as she seemed to be counting down.

She was so responsive, Lewis thought to himself. And it only drove his desire to toy with her more. Xenia may not respond with words but in letting her body respond for her, it fuelled the flames in the pit of her stomach.

Since Lewis had hired her, he knew that she would be more than he bargained for and he had begun to wonder if - even by just the smallest fraction, that she also wanted to please him. It would make sense if she did. Xenia was responsive to him in other ways that she may not have been aware of, eager for his touch and eager for his praise.

Yet she would not submit, she would not give up her control to him. But he would take it, own it, bend it to his will and there would be no going back.

However, as tempting as it would be, it was a pleasure that he would not indulge in just yet. The company rules were there for a reason and his desire would remain in his thoughts and burn his soul as they were starved of fruition.

Lewis would just have to settle for the tremble of her full, glossed lips, the rising of her chest instead of the jiggle of her ass. He would observe the fierceness that swirled in her eyes every time that she looked at him rather than the feeling of her cunt clamping down on his dick. He would expand her energy to run around the city with a list in hand for as long as it fuelled the fantasy of her running out of breath as he drove into her, marred the walls of his warped mind.

That would do. For now.

𝐗𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐀

There were many kinds of demons in accordance with the religions and mythologies of the world and as this particular demonic spawn sighed as he leaned forward, Xenia wondered what she had done in her past life to deserve this.

“Let’s hope that I don’t need to get my shirts re-starched due to your negligence.”

Oh, this dickhead.

For the second time in less than two minutes, Xenia had to use the countdown method to control her rising temper. And for the fourth time that week, she thought about handing in her resignation, cashing out her savings and moving to New York. It was wishful thinking. A sigh left her as she patted her hair back into place.

“Maybe if you had helped me then that wouldn’t be a worry would it?”

“And why would I do that? It’s what I hired you for.”

Now, she knew that being of a certain class made people lose touch with reality but to hear such words come out of the cretin had her mind racing with insults that could curse an entire bloodline. All of them colourful and all of them violent enough to get her a secured spot in HM Bronzefield.

So she stood there in silence as she swallowed down her disgust at the complete lack of chivalry. They stayed there, Xenia attempting not to burst with anger and Lewis daring her to defy him.

You just need this job a little bit longer, Xenia.

Pushing her pride aside, she bent down, picked up his dry cleaning and walked across the main office space to the private en suite. She hung them behind the door and took a moment to inhale and exhale, again and again until she felt her hert beating steadily again.

Entering back into the office, she did not offer Lewis a second glance as she picked up the other bags up from the floor. “Now that you have your lunch, I will take these bags to the conference hall.” She turned to walk away, her body burning with anticipation to leave his scrutinising gaze. Then he cleared his throat and she had to stop herself from screaming in frustration.

“Is there anything else that you need from me, sir?”

“I do.” For all of the times for Xenia to be affected by his voice, it had to be when she wanted to bash the side of his head with the bags in her hands. Not only that, she hated the visceral reaction his voice seemed to have on her body. Her core tightened as a shiver rushed down her spine.

Xenia forced herself to stay still, facing the door as he stood directly behind her. She did not want to look into his eyes as she was avoiding whatever she was feeling.

“As soon as you drop those bags in the conference rooms, please come back here. I know your propensity to become distracted.”

He was right and it gutted her that he had picked up on the restlessness of her mind.

“Yes, sir.” Xenia did not stop once she had thrown the door open and rushed across the floor, avoiding the eyes of the other assistance.

“Are you alright?” Her mind couldn’t register that it was the voice of Tabitha. She incessantly pressed on the elevator button, in an effort to increase the distance between her and Lewis. Her eyes cut to his office and she saw him leaning against his desk so he took sips of his coffee as he scrolled through his phone. As if he could feel the intensity of her glare, his eyes flickered up and met hers. Holding her stare, Lewis put his phone down and pressed a button on his desk and the glass walls began to tint darker and darker until they were pitch black. Before he was enclosed in complete privacy, Lewis shot her a wink.

And it almost dissolved her resolve.

“Xenia?” The sound of her name jolted her back to reality. She looked to her right and saw the older woman, Tabitha standing there. In her mid fifties with a full head of grey dreadlocks secured on top of head in a bun with spunky red glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose. “I asked if you were alright dear.” The Jamaican twang to her voice gave her a sense of comfort that made Xenia relax her tense shoulders.

“I’m okay Tabitha, thank you for asking. I’m just trying to get through the day in one piece.”

“Knock on wood as soon as you find some. That boy is very unpredictable.” Tabitha winked at her as the elevator doors closed. The ride down to the ground floor was swift. When she entered the main conference hall where the party would be hosted, it wasn’t a shock to her at the utter chaos that was taking place. Ladders tall and short propped against the walls as frivolous leftovers of decor loitered on the floor. Workers ran around as they tried to finish the last of the set up.

As she stood at the door, Xenia could see the beginnings of her vision coming together after weeks spent designing. This was not just a party for the company staff, no. All of the members currently sitting on the board attended. Major clients that the company wanted to keep in favour amongst social media content creators on the PR list. Ala in all to say that a lot of fucking people were going to be in attendance and Xenia had felt the pressure, to make it perfect as she did every year since her employment.

She managed not to get her feet tangled in discarded tinsel as she entered the room further.

“Drop them near the main stage, Nia.” Olivia, the event coordinator and good friend pointed in the direction that she wanted the bags to be. Her dark, raven locks were pulled into a high ponytail, her beautiful umber skin glowing under the low lights. Similar to little miss bitch, Lola, Olivia had the same gymnast body type. However, Olivia was nowhere close to the bitch that Lola was, she was an angel.

Once the bags were dropped, Xenia stepped back to admire the work that was being put in. The theme this year was Winter Wonderland with a specific colour scheme to stick to considering what the traditions of what a winter wonderland entails. But the design was coming along very well and Xenia was very proud of herself.

Crystal and faux glass decorations adorned the ceilings alongside uniform rows of white christmas lights. The centerpiece was a ten foot Christmas tree sat on the stage that was still in the process of being decorated but she knew that when it was done, it would be the showstopper.

“You think you can help us tackle that monster?” Olivia asked as she opened the bags that Xenia had delivered.

“Not a problem darling. I just need to go and see what Hamilton wants first and then I’ll be back down.” Olivia smirked at the mention of their boss but when she met Xenia’s death glare did she swallow it back. Olivia had a sick fascination with Xenia’s relationship with Lewis. From the beginning, she claimed that the sexual tension was intertwined in the bonds of their hatred for each other. Olivia had the ridiculous notion that Lewis seemed to enjoy infuriating Xenia because she was terrible at hiding her emotions. Whilst that may be true, that he loved goading a reaction out of her, Xenia loved doing the same. Even if it was the smallest loss of composure, it gave her a sliver of triumph.

“When i come back, the very mention of his name, I will fuck off out of here.” Xenia threatened, which caused Olivia to roll her eyes. Her track back up to the executives floor was one she dragged her feet for. She was not in a rush to get back to Lewis’s office. When she approached her desk to grab her iPad, she could feel his eyes peering at her through the privacy window. She had always found it creepy that he could watch the floor but no-one could look into his office when the tint was at full transmission. Xenia didn’t bother with knocking, he knew that it was her anyway.

The air grew thicker as he was unfazed by her show of an entrance. He was ignoring her as he typed away on his computer. She lowered herself onto a chair in front of his desk in a huff.

Can this man hurry up? I have shit to do. Xenia said to herself internally.

“Can you stop being dramatic, Richards? There’s no need for all of that.” His words were slow and mastered as he finally typed in the last of whatever that he was doing and turned his gaze onto her. His deep brown eyes were dark, alluring and made all of the muscles in her body tighten.

She could be honest, Xenia talked a big game and she absolutely had a massive attitude but there was not a lot of bark in her bite. Especially now as they were alone, Xenia’s body knew what her mind refused.

“Can I be honest with you Miss Richards?” The smoothness of his voice was enticing. Like a matured whiskey being poured over ice, she knew not to reach for a taste.

And yet, she still took the bait. “When have you never been honest with me?”

Lewis smirked. “I like this little game that we have going on between us.”

”Game?” Xenia frowned in confusion. Lewis nodded his head as he stood up from his chair and circled the desk until he was closer to her. She froze in her sit but managed to lean back into it so as to create some physical distance. His dark eyes remained on her as he rolled his sleeves, exposing his intrinsically tattooed skin for her viewing pleasure. Xenia forced her eyes back to his face and to maintain that eye contact as her traitorous core tightened at the simple act.

“Don’t play coy. I won’t say what it is that we play as it doesn’t need to be stated.” He paused as he fixed the folds of his shirt. “But I like it.”

Her worst enemy at that very moment was her body. Her nipples tightened as her core pulsated. Once in a while, the thought of hate fucking her boss crossed her mind, more often than it should. However, today was simply not the time nor place to let her mind wander into places that had been locked behind red doors.

Xenia crossed her legs and cleared her throat. “Of course you’d think torturing me is a game that we both like to play. I mean, I knew that you were a narcissist but this sounds concerning. Do you need me to contact someone?” The faux concern in her voice caused Lewis to lean backwards. He folded his arms across his chest and peered down at her. That fucking stupid smirk back on his face. The strands hanging on either side of his face with the overhead lights casting shadows that danced across his skin.

She should have been intimidated but she wasn’t. She was deeply aroused and then it dawned onto her how they were positioned.

Lewis above her and her below, almost eyes level with his crotch.

A show of submission. One that she would not give into. Xenia quickly shuffled back up to her feet and that caused Lewis to widen his smile before he moved back to his seat.

“What did you actually need me here for, Mr Hamilton?”

“I just wanted you to make sure that you don’t forget about the list I have emailed you.” Lewis said so casually as if he had not just accosted her. The scoff that left her could not be held back as she grabbed her iPad from his desk and charged towards the door.

What a waste of my fucking time.

“Oh and one last thing, Miss Richards.”

Don’t roll your eyes girl.

“Yes, sir?”

“Make sure to remember the number six for me.”

Is this man alright?

Xenia exhaled through her gritted teeth. “Yes, sir.” She had almost made it out of her door when she heard the faintest whisper. Whether he had actually said it or not, a shiver rolled down her spine and lit her nerves aflame.

Two simple words,

Good girl.

reading list: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @saturnville @hopefulromantic1 @lettersofgold @cocobutterqwueen @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @sapphireheaven @olyvoyl @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @laneywrld @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy @bekindbecoolbeyou @greedyjudge2 @itsapurrfectstorm @createdbylivingclocks @omgsuperstarg @peyiswriting @miyuhpapayuh @blowmymbackout @purplelewlew @henneseyhoe @perfecttrashface @alianovnaromanovanatalia @leilaxaliel @hotfudgeslug @iamryanl @pickingupmymercedes @eleetalks @ambs-06 @annisassintchaska @boujiestpoet @nayaesworld @nat-lh-44 @mochachocolatteyaya @melaninpov @kindan3rdy951 @elyseesarchive @sl33p-deprived-princess @soiguessimtheshit @acidlv @trinitoldyouso @gwenda-fav @f1-football-fiend

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