#really proud of myself for getting here and continuing to be a better me every day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leclsrc · 1 year

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you know it ✴︎ cl16

genre: porn WITH plot (for once?! everyone cheered), humor, bit of fluff... oh inaccurate depictions of the 2022 season sorry

word count: 7k

Charles is a bit disappointed the pretty girl he harbors a crush on doesn’t have him listed as a Formula 1 crush. He is a lot disappointed that you two can’t fuck.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... degradation, praise, charles is a bit switchy here lol, penetrative sex, a bit of ass play sorry...., oral (m receiving), semi public sex, yeah

title from this. i love u guys im so sleepy

Joris insists there’s some big present waiting for Charles in his car, to celebrate the middle of the season that has, and will no doubt continue to stretch into a period of conflict and strategy woes. He yanks off the beanie sitting on his head, listens to small talk drifting between Joris and Carlos as they all walk toward their cars to alleviate the bubble of nerves in the low of his stomach.

Sure enough, there’s an unassuming box lying on the driver’s seat. Joris slides into the passenger seat after Carlos drives away with his girlfriend, his grin shit-eating and mischievous. The door is half open when Charles takes the box to inspect it. White, with the Ferrari logo printed neatly on the centre (very classy touch), the sides are signed by different members of his team. He scratches through the seal and pulls the flap open.

He’s been given a quasi-official Ferrari box of condoms.

Thirty-six condoms, at that, small squares neatly lined up next to each other. Talk about a welcoming present. Not a camera, not racing memorabilia, not a new pair of shoes. Just condoms. Thirty-six of them.

“A mid-season pick-me-up,” presses his friend, giddily. The shorter male lounges comfortably on the seat, a blissful look of pride on his face. Laughing with exasperation, Charles wedges the box shut and tosses it carelessly into the backseat, preparing to drive. This isn’t his first rodeo with weird gifts—he’s half-sure he got adoption papers from an especially excited fan once before.

“You are such an asshole.”

“It’s also a congratulations on winning literally every race so far present,” Joris adds. It’s hyperbole but has a ring of truth to it. As the season closes, Charles’ chances of holding up the trophy this year increase.

Despite himself, Charles has a better outlook on his chances for the remainder of the season, driving-wise. He’s given it his all so far, and the rest looks promising enough. He only hopes he’s right. Netflix also increased the amount of people getting into the sport, so he’s dealing with tons more fans and nosey DMs, but it’s not too much of an impediment to a hopefully stellar season.

Charles makes a right. “Do you plan to use them?” Joris asks then, a teasing tone taking on his voice as he scrolls through his phone.

“No, not really,” Charles says, lying straight through his teeth.

“You’re a fucking liar, you are.” He whips his head toward Charles, observing his stoic side profile. “You’re single, haven’t gotten laid in months—”

“—weeks.” Corrects Charles with a cough, the defense coming at an embarrassing speed.

“…Case in point. And sports gets everyone horny. And if you didn’t know, Mattia actually OK-ed the condoms, so you’ve basically been greenlit by your boss to fuck half the world. Thank me later. I’m proud of myself.”

“Sports gets everyone competitive. Because it’s sports. Which, you’re conveniently forgetting, is my life profession.”

“Loosen up,” Joris whistles lowly. “You think Lewis got seven titles by being a closed-off celibate? It’s practically tradition to fuck around if you’re single in sports. And, for others, being in a relationship is barely an obstacle, anyway.”

Charles hates to admit that Joris is right—because he is. Racing isn’t racing without the extravagant parties that follow, and the girls and guys brought back to hotels for reasons known to everyone. People from everywhere come to the paddock and the clubs—models, influencers, actors. The pent-up energy has to go somewhere, he supposes.

But even if the little shit is right, Charles still maintains a level of dignity. Ergo, he’s steadfast in his belief that he will not be sleeping around or putting this godforsaken box of condoms to any semblance of use while the rest of the season progresses. He just hopes he won’t eat his words.

—

Monza kicks off with a 1-2 and secures Charles with a comfortable lead ahead Max.

He is high on adrenaline all night, toasting and chugging to the win, snapping pictures with Carlos, proud out of his mind. It’s everything he’s wanted and more, a quench to the thirst he’d developed over the season, a slap in the face to his doubters, a kiss on his. He texts his family, friends who aren’t present, some other people who he feels are deserving of a personal announcement, and pockets his phone.

“Now would be a great time to put that gift to use,” Carlos says at some point, when everyone in the garage is kicking back alcohol and slowly preparing to move the celebrations someplace else.

Charles cringes visibly, having almost forgotten about the dreaded gift, and totally forgotten Carlos’ knowledge of it. Even with the recent win, he’s already thinking of the next, the promise of a two-peat, another podium, hell, another 1-2. The condoms were honest to God the last thing on his mind.

They break apart an hour later, when Charles is heading to the hotel and Carlos is headed somewhere else. He’s almost to the exit when someone calls his attention in a curt English voice.He turns and finds Lewis jogging toward him, outside of his race suit and back in the fashionable apparel Charles merely wishes he could pull off.

“Lewis,” he waves, pacing toward him to save the extra few seconds of waiting.

“Amazing, amazing race, man,” the elder compliments. “You’ve got the best chance at the title here.”

Warmth melts into Charles’ body and he offers praise back, which—praising Lewis is just about the easiest thing in the world. Nerves bleed out of him as the conversation continues, the atmosphere of a finished race a welcome accompaniment to their strategic talk.

“Headed to a party, yeah?” Lewis asks when they’ve both exhausted the topic. Charles gives a half-hearted shrug, already energized enough from such a momentous win, and he nods in response. “Nah, I get it. Sometimes you just gotta sleep. But hey, if you’re ever free, we should go get dinner sometime.”

—

The “dinner sometime” happens in Singapore. Having gotten P1 beside Lewis and therefore once again high off the adrenaline, Charles claps Andrea on the back and retrieves his phone to view two texts. One reads Put the condoms to use yet, champ? from Joris, and the other Can I take you up on the dinner? from Lewis. One goes answered and the other goes muted on his iMessage.

A little something he failed to remember was Lewis’ plant-based diet, a fact that hurtles back toward him when he can’t find steak on the menu of this classy, hole-in-the-wall type of restaurant. Of course Lewis would know these types of places, he thinks. He’s a millennial semi-hipster with a separate Instagram account for his dog.

Charles ends up ordering pasta, and Lewis beside him orders a cacophony of very vegan, hippy sounding meals, the quantity of which could feed the two of them. “I hope you don’t mind,” Lewis says when the waiter departs, “but a friend is actually joining us tonight.”

“Sure,” Charles says honestly. As long as it’s not some deranged hyperfan, he does well in social situations. Right then, Lewis calls someone over. Charles looks up, squints through the dim mood lighting to try and make out the nearing figure. And then you’re sitting down across them, smiling softly, exchanging hellos with Lewis.

A little something Lewis fails to remember is his “friends” can just as well be called “celebrities,” because he is, after all, a sporting legend. So if Lewis says “friend,” Charles will assume it’s a “friend,” and not a world-famous model whose face is plastered everywhere on and offline.

“Charles Leclerc,” he says blankly.

You introduce yourself, sliding easily into a bout of questions, apologies for missing the race, you’re impossibly jetlagged, it’s crazy. Lewis chips in with something about how he’s already ordered food for the both of you, and this and that, and Charles is hopeless, staring at your face the entire time. He hopes he looks more sexy than aloof or, worse, starstruck, because it’s turning out to be the kind of situation where he looks like the deranged hyperfan, and not the other way around for once.

To be clear, Charles isn’t a fan of you. He just knows of you, because honestly, who doesn’t at this point? You’re talking on and on about how your latest shoot with Jacquemus was a pain because you shot in a tank top in sub-zero weather, but you express it like it’s the most profound topic on Earth.

Lewis turns to him and, in an (eventually successful) effort to include more of Charles in the conversation, goes, “She’s a big Formula One fan, Charles.”

Okay. Common ground. Charles lifts both brows smugly, his eyes flickering back over to you. “Really?”

You meet his eyes and smile, looking downward and blinking owlishly. You’re so pretty, long lashes fluttering as you blink and try to find an answer. Christ, you’re so painfully his type.

Lewis chimes in again—“Really. And not just because she and I are friends. I mean she was into racing before we got acquainted. Honestly. Quiz her and everything”—then excuses himself to “take a call.” (His phone wasn’t even ringing—total bullshit—but Charles is ultimately grateful for it.)

You make a face of shut up toward the departing Lewis, and Charles exhales a quiet laugh at your defiance. You clear your throat and come up with an answer.

“I’m not a big fan,” you say. “I’m more of a casual, ‘every once in a while’ type of fan.”

“That’s what every big fan of sports says,” Charles says smoothly.

“Is it?” You ask, cocking your head to the side, making a tch noise. You chuckle before going, “Well, if you insist, I’ll be honest. I didn’t want it to come to this, but okay. I am a fan… of Red Bull.”

Charles fakes extreme offense, his jaw dropping as if totally scandalized. You laugh, throwing two hands up in faux surrender. “Not Red Bull,” he says, his tone making him sound even more devastated. “You’re telling me you—don’t tell me you think Max Verstappen is attractive.”

“I mean, a bit!”

Charles makes sarcastic sounds of disapproval, and you laugh. Charles leans forward, and you do, too, both of you smiling. “So you’re into the angry drivers?”

“I’m not into a specific kind of driver,” you say casually, your tongue peeking out to lick over your bottom lip. Your voice is as soft as it is firm, slow and demure, matching the way your eyes glint. You’re impossibly pretty. He almost can’t handle it.

“So who’s making the cut?” He prompts, interested.

“Well, for starters, drivers who are my age,” you say slowly. “I turned twenty-four this year, so anyone within that bracket.”

“Oh?” Charles pretends to delve into deep thought, teasing. “Maybe Stroll? He’s very funny, speaks good English. You can never really say no to a Canadian.”

Your face warms, and you hope your flustered state isn’t too obvious as you shake your head. “He seems fun, but I prefer somebody a bit… a bit older.”

“Older…” he hums. “Pierre, perhaps? Tad bit older, real charming, great driver. I can introduce you. We’re good friends, you know.”

You click your tongue, smiling shyly. You bite your lip and it takes everything in Charles to not turn on his horny gears when he sees you, big eyes and lip bite, look so pretty. “You tease me,” you say meekly. Charles covers a cough with a chuckle and adjusts his position on the seat.

Later, after Lewis comes back in (“Long call, eh? It was about Roscoe.” Bullshit again) and you all get to order drinks, and you’ve departed in your private car, pressing an air kiss to Lewis and waving goodbye to Charles, he turns to the Mercedes driver and hums.

“Next time you have one of these”—he points to the restaurant, gestures to the front door—“dinners, let me know, okay?”

“Ah.” Lewis winks, smirking. “I’ll be sure to.”

—

Understandably, your schedules never seem to mesh well together. Lewis ends up giving Charles your number as compensation.

He stares at the contact longer than he’d like to admit, when he’s marinating in the sweltering heat of Austin. He’s finished much of his work for this half of the day so he’s mostly watching the engineers work on the last bits of modification for Sunday; he cherishest the free time and drafts, reads, and rereads texts, scours Google and Instagram for pictures of, and anything related to, you.

There’s a few new articles about buying a new car (a Benz, much to Charles’ chagrin) and new photoshoots intermittently scattered across Europe, with all sorts of brands. He sees a picture you’ve posted of yourself smiling at the camera and thinks of how pretty it would look as his lockscreen.

Am I seeing you soon? He texts finally. He hopes it’s enough to let you know who he is.

Hopefully is the reply. He smiles the whole day.

—

You’ve been texting and calling almost everyday, conversations stretching continents. He only sees you next in Mexico, Friday night, at a club Lewis has rented out for a crazy price that will no doubt be replenished in days anyway. He’s dropped to second here, but the thrill riding in him makes up for his disappointment. The place is so crowded—everyone and their mums seem to have been invited here—room blinking purple and blue, each step vibrating with the heavy bass of EDM. He catches you right as you exit the washroom area, and you look pleasantly surprised to see him.

He saw you earlier, when you were doing shots of tequila and chatting with with Bella and Lewis, but just as quickly as he spotted you, you’d dipped back into the sea of people. Now is better, he thinks. You two are alone.

“Charles, hi,” you say casually. You’re wearing a tight top and a short skirt that, despite Charles’ best efforts, always cast his gaze downward. He wonders what’s underneath, hungers to get his hands there. But he’s nothing if he’s not patient, willing to play the long game.

He takes a step forward, his gaze steady on you. Charles isn’t the tallest driver, but he’s got a big presence. You swallow, taking a step back to accommodate him. He smirks. “You look pretty.”

“You flatter me,” you say thickly, smiling, inviting him closer. The air is hot around the both of you—when your eyes flit around, they see nobody. You’re alone together. His eyes pierce into yours so deep you feel like breaking eye contact, exhaling as you take another step back—evidently, you’re distracted, because you stumble.

His arm circles around your waist, and once you steady, the hand moves down to your hip. It stays, a reminder of what you might be getting soon. You smile curtly, wondering what this might look like to a bystander, a stranger. Somebody might want to piss and walk in to see the strongest world champion contender’s hand on Chanel’s poster girl’s waist.

“Is this okay?” He asks softly against your ear.

“More than.” You say, breath shaky. “It’s more than okay.”

He chuckles. “Good. I’d hate if we couldn’t fuck before Abu Dhabi.”

Your finger traces down and wraps around the belt loop of his jeans. “Who said anything about fucking?”

Charles exhales a laugh, his lips curling upward into an amused smile. “Ah? I can’t fuck you, then?”

“I’ll let you fuck me when you’re holding up the world champion trophy,” you say sweetly, tugging him closer. “That’s okay, right?” You stare up at him, blinking, pouty. He wonders, is this how you might look with your lips wrapped around his—

“That’s about a month away.” His composure barely wavers, his hand traveling lower, blunt nails digging into your ass. Your breath hitches.

“I’m aware,” you say lowly. So be it, Charles thinks—he’s got thirty-six condoms for a reason.

“Define fuck,” he says, voice rough.

“Penetration.” You’re quick with it, cocking your head to the side. You lean back confidently, testin him, eyes batting flirtatiously.

It’s time he get a little creative.

—

Daytime weather is hot and the paddock is swarming with people, but Charles has his sights set on somebody sitting in the Mercedes hospitality. He manages to get out of morning meetings earlier, wedging himself out of the room and passing by a mirror to fix his hair with admirable concentration. He’s in the middle of combing through it when a force tugs at the hem of his polo, causing him to stumble backwards.

“Uh—Carlos? What the hell?” He asks, brow raised defensively. Facing him are Carlos, Joris, and Pierre, arms crossed over their torsos and amused expressions on their faces.

“What are you doing?” Asks Pierre, cocking his head to the side.

“Fixing my hair.”

“Pussy appointment?” Joris interjects; the vulgarity of his statement earns him a poke on the side from Carlos, who clicks his tongue.

“Wh—I don’t—”

“You are shit at lying, mate,” says Pierre, his lips curled into a devious smile. “Who is it?”

“It’s nobody,” he lies.

“Charles,” says Lewis suddenly from behind them, waving his arms to get the former’s attention, “are you going to go over and say hi?”

Hook, line, and sinker. He’s been caught. “Well, well, well,” Carlos starts, mischievous.

“Guys—” Charles says, attempting to make an excuse.

“Looks like your vow of celibacy isn’t so far off after all,” Pierre adds. “That one over at Mercedes is going to break it, eh?”

“Yeah.” Joris says, smirking. “Lucky George, huh.”

The three face him, incredulous. “I was kidding,” he fibs, once he realizes his epiphany is wrong. “Kidding.”

Charles walks off, and ends up seeing you right where he expected you, sitting beside Lewis in a tiny dress with your hair pinned up into a bun. Almost naturally, your words fall into the flirtatious back-and-forth you’d started at the dinner, hyperaware of the cameras snapping your pictures. At some point, the Brit excuses himself to “take a call” (again, bullshit) and leaves the two of you alone.

“See anything nice on the paddock?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with a teasing smile, head cocking to the side to gauge his reaction. He chuckles.

“Did you get a picture with Max?”

“Only a ton.” You pause. “And Daniel, too.”

“Ah, you’re just crushing on the whole paddock, now are you?” He pokes his tongue into his cheek, leans forward.” Uh, Checo?”

“Pass,” you say with a nose scrunch. You’re so fucking pretty.

“Lewis.”

“God, pass. He’s not ugly, but he’s my brother at this point.”

“Pierre.”

“Horribly French, but… smash.”

“Are you not into the French?” He smiles. “Good to know. Hmm—Carlos.”

“I’d be stupid to say anything other than smash.” You narrow your eyes, licking over your lips. “I’m into the Ferrari guys, is the thing.” His gaze travels to your crossed legs, long and disappearing into the hem of your dress.

He smirks. “Are you?”

“I really am,” you hum.

“Are you staying long? All weekend?”

“Yeah, I’m free from work for now,” you say casually. “Any recommendations on what fun things I can do here?”

“I can think of…” he says, smirking a little. “A few.”

—

Stupid places to have sex, number one: a motorhome.

Still, Charles is crowding you up against the wall of the room, swallowing the whimper that leaves your mouth with his own. And still, this isn’t sex. At least not the kind he wants the most. He mentally praises Carlos for being able to decipher the typo-laden text he’d sent out on the way here, one hand around your waist, the other barely capable of typing with how fast his brain ran. Clesr the fuckng room npw now npw it read. Thank God.

Your mouth tastes like champagne, and everywhere else smells divine. Your hands roam impatiently over his shoulders and you make muted noises of frustration at your inability to pull his shirt off. You settle for letting your hands crawl underneath it, stroking over his abs.

“D’you remember what I told you,” you pant, his lips insistent on your neck, “at the club?”

“Yeah,” he says, grunting at the memory.

“Okay.” You breathe. “Let me suck you off.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “Jesus. Okay. Fuck.”

You giggle, and he watches intently as you drop onto your knees, looking up at him through thick lashes. You’re insistent, pulling the zip of his jeans down and tugging his cock out. It’s pretty, thick like the rest of him, already hard.

He’s at his limit, having you here like this, on you knees and stretching your lips around the tip of his dick. Your eyes barely leave his, fluttering as they tear up when you take him in your throat.

He throws his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, lets a hand unpin your bun and thread itself into the untangled hair. If he looks at you, he’ll see your head bobbing up and down on his cock, and he genuinely needs to hold off the orgasm first.

He rocks forward into your mouth and feels your throat close up around him. That’s enough to weaken his resolve, send grunts out of his throat that he can’t keep quiet.

“Oh, shit,” he says, feeling every part of your mouth and throat around him, warm and tense. He can’t help but thrust harder, steady but not too rough, growing more aroused with every sound of you choking on him.

His gaze flickers toward you. You’re teary-eyed, lips dotted with spit, choking yourself on his cock. Just for him, here in public. You pull off, blinking tears away from your face and looking up at him smilingly.

He laughs, guiding his cock back into your mouth, watching the way your brows knit together, pleading, almost. You're at his mercy, he thinks, thrusting harder, listening to your coughs. He loves seeing you like this, innocent face messy and slick with spit and precum, eyes big and needy.

“You like that?” He grunts. “Look at me.”

You nod the best you can. Yes, you want to say. Give me more, I love it.

“Yeaaah, fuck. I know you do,” he says through his teeth, staving off his orgasm the best he can before he releases all over you. The image alone of streaking you with his cum, claiming you all over-eyelashes, tits, cheeks splashed with cum-is enough to send him closer to the edge. “Gonna cum,” he grunts.

You moan around him, the vibrations causing his eyelids to flutter. You shake your head, pulling off and wrapping your hand around his dick, stroking slower. “Not yet,” you say sweetly, watching him throw his head back in pleasure and frustration. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, exhales shakily.

“Shit.” He whines. “Come on, baby. Make me cum.” He cups your jaw, stares down at you.

You stroke him faster, lip between your teeth. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “Cum for me, Charles.”

He stops staving himself off, falls into the pleasure and relief of your hand around his cock until he’s tense all over, knitting his hand into your hair and pushing you backwards so he can press his tip on the flat expanse of your tongue and let his cum shoot there. It drips from your tongue and lips onto your chin and you giggle, swallowing it, scooping up the rest to push into your mouth.

You stand, licking your lips slowly. “I owe you,” he pants, zipping himself up. Already he’s thinking about what he can do to you in return. Tease you, like you did him, bend you over his lap or sit you on it and make you whine and writhe and wait and cum.

“I’ll hold you to that, champion,” you murmur, kissing his cheek and slipping back outside.

—

Ferrari’s advice is shit and despite his good mood and quick-witted driving, Charles finishes in fifth—not too shabby, but disastrous for his overall standings.

He suffers through a horrible debrief where attempts to defend his honor go unheard, his mood wilting and wilting until he’s at the media pen and ushered in front of some network he hasn’t heard of. They’ve probably paid to get a good seat here.

He’s in a shit mood, he hasn’t seen Joris or Pierre or you in hours, and has only faced red-faced frustrated superiors and now, wide-eyed journalists with loose mouths. The media’s done the mandatory speculation between the two of you, so he already expects questions of that variety, but it’s still hot and angry when he does.

Are you banging the Marc Jacobs model? The Irish reporter asks with a wink, so very unprofessional and not at all belonging to reputable media. The hot leggy one who has fuck me eyes?

Charles clenches his jaw, rolls his eyes, says fuck off mate and shoves him backward a little, then walks away and readjusts his cap. The clip makes Twitter and he feels even worse with the amount of troll accounts telling him to Jeez, take a joke.

After the ordeal, in your hotel room, you sigh softly and run your hands through his still shampoo-smelling hair. “You didn’t need to do that,” you say, a bit strictly. He knows you’re grateful, though, and a bit proud.

“I wanted to,” he insists softly. He forgets to leave before morning; when he does, he forgets his official Ferrari shirt hanging on the seat, leaving in a spare one instead. It’s got his number across the back. You don’t tell him.

—

In between Mexico and Sao Paulo, he manages to catch a flight to New York to peek into one of your photoshoots. It’s for Chanel and he’s half-sure he’s taken more pictures of you than the official photographer did. At this point your vague relationship status has caught onto headlines everywhere, and he doesn’t miss the curious murmurs from paparazzo that follow him as he enters your apartment later to greet you.

You’re in a pair of shorts and a tank top when you open the door, greeting him with a tight hug and leading him inside with a loose grip.

“Wine?”

“Please.” He eyes the wide area, the big floor-to-ceiling windows and the art on the walls. “Hungry?”

“Mmm.” You hum, sliding a glass toward him. “Starving.”

“Pizza?”

“Something else.” You smile. He tears his eyes away from your tits, poking out of the thin cotton, and coughs.

The both of you end up on the couch, your legs draped over his as you talk about racing.

He’s ranting about how he’s neck to neck with Max now, and the final verdict will likely be decided at Abu Dhabi, a fact that sends nerves all through him. You’re listening, you really are, but it’s difficult to keep listening because his hand, big and rough, is stroking your bare calf as he talks absentmindedly.

You offer the occasional mmm-hmm and uh-huh and even the oh really to sell it, but he doesn’t seem to be conscious of how many sparks are coursing through you because of his hand on your leg. He just talks and talks, accent curving into curse words elicited by the competition.

And his voice, rough and deeper when he slides into Italian phrases, gets in your head, reminds you of the way he’d moaned when you had his dick in your mouth. You like that? he’d said, panting, heavy, hot. His hand remained in your hair, controlling you the same way you did him. Fuck.

When you blink, he’s stopped talking, and has likely noticed your wandering imagination if his teasing smile is anything to go by. You cough, clear your throat, adjust your thighs. You’re thinking—you can’t stop thinking—about what happened in Mexico, not just in the motorhome but in the club where he’d let his hand sprawl over your ass and stay there, possessive.

The tension rises. I owe you. He really does. You reach over and grab your phone from the coffee table, snap a few pictures of him. “—Hey!” He protests, scrabbling to grab it from you while balancing his half-full glass. “I look god awful.”

You stand up, review the picture. He looks so impossibly handsome. “You’re right, you do,” you say, pouting.

He reaches over again, chuckling, and you avoid him. “Foul play!”

“Tch. At least show it to me,” he says defeatedly, so you do: presenting your screen to him.

Quickly, he makes a grab for it, but you just escape his grip, ending up right in front of him and leaning over. You’re losing your balance, digging your toes into your carpet to maintain stance. He spares a glance at your shorts, riding low on your hips, showing a bit of thin lace.

Charles tugs you forward by the hem of your top and then takes your wrist into his grip—the force of his grab makes your tits shake underneath your flimsy tank top. It’s dragged down so far your tits are spilling out. His eyes flicker down to them, dark, and a pretty smile spreads across his face.

“Come on, give it,” he challenges, eyes narrowing a little. You bite your lip, inwardly liking this a little too much—being at his mercy, trapped in his strong grip. You’re flustered and it shows.

He wrestles you onto his lap with ease, his arms steady around you. You stare downwards, dark eyes meeting his, hand on his broad shoulder for leverage. He’s so pretty, you think, so hot and handsome and you need him right now. Through his jeans you can feel how thick he is, his dick growing, getting hard and huge under you. It feels big even through a few layers—you can’t help but imagine how it might feel inside you.

Your phone clatters to the carpet behind the couch. “I win,” you say breathlessly.

He grabs your hips and jerks his upward, letting his stiff dick press up even more against your shorts.

“I think I’m the winner here,” he says gruffly, hands feeling you up all over. He thumbs at your chest, rubbing over your tits. You shiver—it feels good having him on you like this, your mind turning to mush.

“Shut up,” you laugh, shakily. A hand wanders in between your thighs, another coming to squeeze your barely-covered ass. You can’t focus on much, just his hands roaming everywhere and his hard dick pressing against your core. He shoves your hips downward again, his cock hard and perfectly against your pussy.

“You feel that?” He asks; it leaves him in one low breath.

“Yeah,” you say, whimpering. “I want it.”

He grinds up against you again, his thumb teasing the hem of your shorts. Closer to where you want it. “Don’t think you could even take it, baby.”

“I hate you,” you say. “You know I can.”

He laughs. “We’ll see, yeah?” You find a rhythm of grinding down against his cock, nestled right against your ass. He’s everywhere and you can’t handle it anymore, finding yourself craving him more and more.

You moan against his neck—and then come to your senses. “No.”

He smirks when you pull away. “Tempted, were you?”

“Not…” You pause. You’re sweaty, flushed all over, and your panties are sticking to you from how wet you’ve grown. “Not very.”

—

Abu Dhabi is a son of a bitch.

It comes with meetings, meetings, debriefs, calls, meetings. Everything is riding on the night’s race, the flurry of social media a welcome source of anxiety for him as he watches the hours whiz by. You’d missed seeing him, understood he was busy; you send a selfie to compensate and it gets him calm enough to last the pre-race buzz.

Time speeds by with lunch, coaching, drills, talks with Carlos and Mattia and even Max, who displays support as strongly as competitiveness. Before he even realizes it, he blinks and he’s in his suit, adjusting his balaclava, inhaling, exhaling. Everything is just the way he likes—needs—it to be.

He drives himself to P2 behind Max, eyes shut.

All else seeps into him, natural method, natural routine. He flexes his thumbs. Through the team radio his engineer goes good luck, and Charles’ practice bleeds into his subconscious. The air is heavy, with tension and excitement, the division of blue and red. Everyone’s eager to see who claims the title.

The lights go off and everything is left to skill, blurring into noise and turns and expletives yelled into the team radio. He can’t even feel himself think, turning with dexterity and overtaking with the kind of vengeance he hasn’t let out in a while.

For all his trying, Max keeps up just the same, keeping a neck and neck level for the relative entirety of the race. They’re milking out the last few laps together, and Charles feels every fibre of his being work toward this, just this, nothing but this right now. Nothing but the finish line.

You got this, Charles, says the engineer, voice heightening. Maiden world championship.

He nods to himself, trusts his instincts and when he catches sight of the finish line, he thinks: he’s the best driver on the grid.

So he revs faster, and the rest descends into—

Absolute fucking chaos.

—

He’s smiling when he approaches the reporter, who’s already holding the mic with wonder. He asks for a message in Italian, then reminds him—and the crowd—that, in case he forgot, he’s world champion. Charles thinks he genuinely can’t ever.

“What are you doing to celebrate?” He asks then, smiling.

Sweaty, with damp hair and shiny skin, he smirks and leans closer. “Someone, I hope.”

—

“Hey there, champ.”

You’re already leaning against his hotel room door when he gets there, after the chore of wrestling himself free from the rest of the team pressuring him to get drinks. Carlos helps out, babbles something or other about Charles being “busy with something else”—which isn't wrong, not at all. He offers a smooth wink, bending down to kiss you.

Your mouths meet, softly first then increasingly messy as he pins you against the door. You push away, breathing heavy. “I don’t know what you’re into, but I don't want the top floor of this hotel seeing us fucking.”

“I wasn’t into that, but now that you brought it up…” You swat his arm and he laughs, unlocking the door and pulling you inside. You’re clinging onto him—his arms, his chest, anything, kissing up his neck and jaw. He groans at how needy you are. All for him, he thinks. Probably soaked through your panties and it’s all because of him.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says gently, voice low as he leads you to the bed. He catches sight of your shirt and a brow raises. “Did you buy that?”

“Hmm?” You look down, following his gaze and blinking. The shirt you’re wearing is loose, hanging off your shoulders and hastily tucked into your miniskirt so it looks like you actually have trousers on. “Oh. No, this is yours.”

“Mine.” He smiles a little. “You look so good in it, princess.” His hands mindlessly grope at you, hungry, sneaking underneath your skirt to feel at the lace there.

In retaliation, you lean forward, unbutton his jeans and tug at it.

“You left it at one of my”—you gasp, feeling his finger sneak its way beneath your panties—“my hotel rooms.”

“Pretty girl, pretty shirt, pretty lace, yeah?” He tugs, lets the garter of the skirt loosen and fall off your hips on its own. “Red.”

“You take too long,” you groan.

“You’re just eager,” he laughs, thumbing at your clothed cunt.

You’re so wet, evident even in the lazy circles he rubs over your entrance. You’re aching, desperate, begging almost. So he gives you what you want, maneuvers you onto his lap and pushes your (his) shirt up to stuff your mouth with it.

It won’t work for long, but it’s enough. He pushes your panties to the side and pulls his hard dick out. You’re sitting against it now, leaking slick onto it, at his mercy, branding his name and his number across your back. It’s hot.

He stares at the way you rock softly against him, hungry eyes meeting yours. “You’re so pretty, baby. Ruined.”

“Fuck me already,” you say, voice throaty, innocent.

“Can you take it?” He asks, teasing you, slapping his dick against your clit softly. You whine.

“Please,” you insist. “I want it. Make it fit.”

He’s a massive tease with it, his breath fanning against your skin, hands sticky on where they’ve hiked your shirt up. He lowers you, slower, against the tip of his dick and he watches your eyes flutter when you sink onto it. After ages of waiting. Your grip’s like iron on his shoulders, moans leaving you in quiet bursts of pleasure.

You’re far away, dumb from the feeling, you barely register the way he shoves the shirt back into your mouth to keep you quiet. “So fucking tight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. It’s muffled, barely intelligible. “For you.”

You’re only able to take it because you’re so wet, so turned on, face and brain filled with nothing but pleasure. He can’t take it.

“Mmmfh,” you say, muffled by the bite of cotton in your mouth. You’re sweaty, flushed, overstimulated—you don’t know where to focus. On his lips against your jaw, his hand on your neck, the way your pussy swallows his aching dick. “It’s so big, I—”

“You okay?” He asks, breathily. Smiling. He’s in control, but still he sounds whiny—almost, if not as desperate as you. “You’ll take it all for me, won’t you?”

“Oh god,” is all you muster, letting him stretch you out even more, gushing all over his cock. “I, I—”

He moans, his grip tight against your waist, watching his dick bury itself in you. “You’re getting me so full,” you whine. “So deep, I feel it—” you taper off into a moan again when he presses hs thumb to your clit, distracting you from the stretch as he finally, finally bottoms out.

“Good?”

You nod. So good, give me more.

You grind against him, let the shirt fall out of your mouth. “You’re getting my dick so wet,” he comments, breathless. “So pretty for me, too.”

Growing antsy, he attempts to move, but you whine. Your turn to tease, you think, after he was a dick to you just now. “Not yet,” you say, lip caught between your teeth. His hands are tight around your waist. Desperate.

You squeeze around him, watch his brows knit together, a grunt leave him in a frustrated exhale. “You wanna fuck me?” You tease against his neck, blinking innocently.

“Yes,” he replies, not missing a beat. You pout, like you’re empathizing with the problem you’re causing; you grind slowly against him and he lets out a guttural fuuuuck. He’s so big, so hard—you can feel every inch of him inside you.

“Tell me again, Charles,” you say with a giggle. You’re so hot like this, face flushed and timid, hips moving slowly. He could cum just from the way you bite your lip, the way a whimper slips out of you when he hits the right spot.

“—Yeah,” he says, sweetly. “I want to—please, let me fuck you. C’mon, baby, can I?”

“Aww,” you tease.

“Can I?” He asks again, voice deep and thin with the need to fuck you, thrust up into you and make you the dumb one. His face is flushed and desperate. “Can I move, baby? Let me, please.”

You’re not stupid. You know—if his flushed, pleading face and big green puppy eyes are anything to go by—that he’s going crazy, growing antsy. But you’re not complaining.

“Hmm,” you say, feigning genuine thought. “I don’t know, Charles. Feels good just like this. And you want to make me feel good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Yeah.” You repeat, staring into his dark eyes. He’s frustrated, desperate, flushed all over and sweaty. His fingers dig into your hips. “I’ll make you feel really good, baby, if you let me.”

“Go ahead,” you say softly, “fuck me, please.” And he’s thrusting upwards to meet you halfway. It’s knocking you out, almost, the pleasure of it, the dizzy onslaught of euphoria. He’s stretching you out so well, whining softly into your neck and yeah, you two have waited far too long to have this. You

“Fuck,” he grunts, lids squeezed shut and head rolled onto your shoulder. “Go on, baby, ride it, make me cum.” He cups your jaw, reaches his thumb into your mouth. It’s too much, all of it. He makes you suck on it while thrusting up, dizzying you with his cock.

He grabs handfuls of your ass, teases his thumb at your tighter asshole just to watch your eyes flutter, feel your cunt grow wetter. “I’ll fuck you even fuller next time,” he says; the implication gets you hot.

You bounce harder, chasing release as his thumb teases over your ass, the tip of it just thrusting in enough to elicit strings of moans out of you. “Come on, ride me,” he goads. “So good for me.”

“Fuck,” you pant, “cum in me, please.”

You cum first, writhing around him and riding your orgasm out in lazy grinds over his hard cock. You want to see him cum, see his eyebrows knit and his mouth release pretty whines, feel him claim you inside, hands hot and heavy on your ass. He does, with a guttural fuuuuck, shoving his dick up in you to the base and spurting all his cum in you.

He thrusts, watches his cum leak out of you, fucks it back in, in a vicious cycle. You shiver, blinking coquettishly and watching along—and then you’re both crumpling over each other on the bed behind you. You pant heavily against his chest.

“Hey.” He muses out loud, drumming against your skin.

“Yeah?”

“I have thirty-six condoms we need to go through. Wanna go on a date?”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

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blueparadis · 10 months

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LEMONADE + SHIU KONG // f!reader ( she's a sniper), smoking, mention of murder and violence, implicit smut, semi-public ( happens in a car ), little tension between them, rivals to fvck buddies dynamics, he is such a tease here. 1.3 (w.c)

special thanks to @poohbea for beta-reading. without her, i really wouldn't have posted this. i had something in mind and this is entirely different. so i said better luck next time to myself and found the courage to post this. | back to nav. | also tagging @yuujispinkhair

“You’re not nearly as inconspicuous as you believe yourself to be.” Kong mutters off-handedly under his breath, reaching for the latch of your belt. His minty tobacco-laced breath paired with that familiar musky cologne threatens to send your nerves into a frenzy. He’s too close for someone who claims to ‘just wanted to undo your seatbelt’. He had no reason to but he did it anyway, probably because you were asking too many questions. He could have easily pressed one of those buttons on the driver’s side door, the one that unlocks all seat belts at once. The car is fancy enough to have those kinds of luxury features anyway, but you can’t help the racing of your heart when his fingers brush your skin. It’s only when he sits back in his own seat do you register his remark. Did he just scold you? The possibility alone has you licking your bottom lip nervously.

It’s not as though he never has, but given your history with him, he rarely comments on your professionalism. He has been your handler for almost a year now and has yet to actually correct or complain about the way you do your job. He’s proud of your skills, he has to be, otherwise, he wouldn’t be hiring you for every sniper-kill case he gets.

“I heard you were back in town,” he starts, tapping on his cigarette packet before taking one between his lips. “But I couldn't contact you until I got the green light. That, and I’ve been too damn busy with the bounty offers that keep coming up.” He digs into his breast pocket to fish out a lighter, the flame flicking to life as his thumb rolls over the spark wheel. You look at him visibly confused, something he acknowledges with an amused huff. “Were you really so busy that you couldn't read the briefing I sent you?” He is definitely scolding you, but for what exactly? Trying to stay neutral in the face of his crude teasing, you let out a small breath, choosing to keep his gaze despite the nagging need to look away. He’s changed a bit. There’s worry in his eyes, more than usual, eyebrows creased as he continues. “Ah! I can't let you slip up now — ”

“Why am I here?” You interject with a frown.

“What?” He has the audacity to look at you surprised, as if he wasn’t the one to call you here again.

“This is the third time this month you’ve had me meet you… and in case you haven’t noticed, I have a bit of a busy schedule.” Kong lets you speak for longer than ten seconds for the first time in a very long time, his bad habit of interrupting taking the backseat for once. When he doesn’t answer you, you click your tongue, irritation evident in the furrow of your brow. “Why am I here, Kong-san—?”

“Shiu.” He corrects. Guess you spoke too soon. “And you still didn't answer my question. Did you or did you not—”

“I did.” You respond sourly. “And it told me a whole lot of nothing. Which is why I'll ask you again. Why am I here, Shiu?” Despite your irritation, the glaring fact of his contributions to your career as a sniper sits heavy on your shoulders as you sit in weighted silence. He knows it too, and never fails to bring it up every time you try to walk away, try to tell him you don’t need his help. He’s pushed you farther than anyone else ever has. Certainly, you owe it to him, but his ego is already big enough without the offer of such a confession, and you would rather put a bullet in your skull than admit that.

The air inside the car grows thick with smoke as he takes drag after drag of his cigarette, not that you minded, you’re a smoker yourself, but just to spite him you opened the window by your side. “Isn’t it obvious?” Kong soon discards the butt out of his own window, studying you all the while, observing the mix of question and frustration that creases your forehead as your frown deepens. His lips tug up in one corner ever so slightly, too slight for anyone else to spot, but being around him as often as you have, you knew it was coming. “I’ve missed you.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. What a horrible man… he’s toying with you.

“Hilarious,” you mutter, offering him a sarcastic chuckle. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t look away, that small smile growing at your skepticism. The realization has your heart beating in your ears, and suddenly finding it difficult to keep his gaze.

“Want me to prove it to you?” He dips his head slightly, the leather of his seat squeaking in protest as he leans closer.

“No.” Your reply was instantaneous but you do not move, his hand reaching to play with the necklace resting against your collarbone, the very someone he gifted you after your first successful case. “Aren't we supposed to be doing a job here?”

“You tell me. Haven't you read the briefing?” Again with the same question. He is far too calm in this situation, fingers caressing the hammering pulse that lies just below the surface of your skin. “You weren’t lying to me were you—?”

“This is going nowhere.” You huff, finally breaking the intense staring contest he had trapped you in, finding the courage to withdraw from his touch momentarily.

“It could if…” he guides you back to him, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, gaze dipping to your lips. “If you wanted.”

You bite your lip lowering your head to hide your merriment. “Like the last time?” You ask with a knowing smile. If you wanted. Yeah. Sure. As if he didn’t. Because during the ‘last time’ in question, things were entirely different. You two weren’t out for a job. In fact, you were in a situation similar to this one, in his car, engaging in your usual back and forth. It’s unclear exactly what came over you that day, but those sly eyes and that cocky smile had you seeing your handler as less of a mentor and more of the man he was. The conversation devolved into his lips against yours, his hands against your hips as he encouraged you from your seat onto his lap. Thunder rumbled the heavens and rain battered against the windshield, the perfect mask for inevitable heavy breaths and throaty moans. Your skin tingled beneath his touch, his lips, his teeth, the press of his thigh between your legs that had electricity crackling up the base of your spine. His name fogged the windows, each syllable working its way through the tresses of your mind till that was all you could utter, all that truly mattered. He reveled in that, in the way you gave yourself to him almost entirely. How your body grew hot with every caress, every thrust, every kiss. What did you even call this feeling? Neither of you knew, but it was clear that either didn’t want it to stop. By the end of it, his presence spanned your body, inside and out.

Shiu laughs at your subtle accusation. It has the kind of warmth that reminds you of cozy mornings during winter. There is a pregnant pause after he says. “Yeah.” Bobbing his head in a ‘yes’. You shake your head slowly, an amused breath leaving your nose as your nerves buzz with memories past.

You sigh, assessing him with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what exactly he’s hiding beneath that elaborately organized talk of his. But the man is a vault, hiding behind dark eyes that threaten to reel you in again. It has you playing with your tongue, curling it against the insides of your mouth before smacking your lips. “Was there really any job for me to begin with?” You retort.

Shiu Kong smiles, his carefully crafted demeanor crumbling in the face of the woman he’s slowly beginning to fall for. “There wasn’t.” He says bashfully.

—

@angelshub @public-safety-network @underratedcharactercorner

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dilfl0v3rss · 11 months

Text

boxer!todo who trains almost every damn day. always wanting to be at his top physique at all times.

boxer!todo who lets you come with him to every training session or workout at the gym so you don’t get lonely.

boxer!todo who is undefeated due to his raw strength and ability to adjust to anyone’s fighting style. he’s beaten men bigger and faster than him because he’s just that good.

boxer!todo who doesn’t allow you to come to some of his fights. not wanting you to see how gruesome it could get in the ring.

“papa why notttt” you whined, feet stomping on the ground as you followed your boyfriend around the house. “cause i can tell how it’s gonna go. ion want you seeing all the blood and bruises ma.” he said calmly as he bent down to grab a water from the fridge. “but he was talkin so much shit at the press conference. talkin bout how he’s the best and how you never gon amount to him. wish i could fuck that nigga up myself.” you mumbled your last sentence, making todo chuckle as he watched how upset you were getting. you took the insults worse than him, and he was the one getting them. “don’t worry mama ima whoop his ass. jus need you t’stay here when the day comes while i go handle my business, aight?”

boxer!todo who spends his day offs taking you out or chilling with you at home.

boxer!todo who spoils you rotten with most of his money. if there’s was something you liked, expect it to be at your doorstep within the next week.

boxer!todo who makes sure you always have a good view of him at the fights he lets you attend. loving how you scream for him when he does a move he’s been working on or how you’re quick to lift him up when he takes a particularly hard hit.

“cmon pa we eat those”

“you got it baby hit him in the body”

“focus todo! you not done yet!”

“uhh huhhh he can’t fuck wit you baby”

he loved hearing your pretty voice.

boxer!todo who made sure to give you a reward for keeping him in check during ever match.

“you my good little motivator ain’t you mama?” his thrusts were quick, large hand pressed down lightly on your stomach so he could feel himself moving inside of you. “mhmm. you d-did so good daddy” you moaned. todo smiled as he began fucking you deeper, making your back arch off the bed as he caressed your cheek with his other hand. “did good ‘cause i had you there to cheer me on. love makin my pretty girl proud. you proud of me ma? lemme hear you say it.” todo didn’t care about how anyone else felt about him, but you. always seeking your validation after a good fight. “m’so proud of you. there’s n-nobody better papa.” “uhh huh. nobody.”

boxer!todo who also fucks you so good when he’s not happy with his performance after barely winning a fight that should’ve been “light work” for him. feeling that since he couldn’t give his all in the ring he’ll make up for it in the bedroom.

boxer!todo who never went out partying after his fights. always choosing to relax at home with you rather than be in a room with a bunch of drunk guys and bitches with their asses out.

boxer!todo who has you wear his chain during every match. you bought him the chain as a gift when he won his first fight as a pro boxer. it wasn’t the most expensive, but it was still worth a lot. you saved up for months to get it for him and he almost cried when you showed it to him.

“you didn’t have to-” “yes i did. you been working so hard and you deserve it. gon be the best there ever was baby” todo’s eyes began to water as he let you put the chain around his neck. it fit nice, sitting right over his strong pecs. “cant wear it while i fight so ima need you t’keep it safe f’me. that okay ma?” you nodded your head before giving him a passionate kiss on the lips. “i don’t mind wearin it as long as you continue to think of me” todo smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulled your head into his broad chest. “always.”

boxer!todo who keeps a level head for most of his fights, never really letting the trash talk at the conferences get to him. he saw no point in trying to get a rise out of his opponent and felt that they should feel the same way, but they never did. there was only one time he let his anger take over and it nearly got him disqualified.

“a.t how do you feel about your ability to win this fight” the reporter said. todo kept his face serious as he thought about his answer. “well i been training real hard, learning some new skills. i feel like if i keep my head straight and fall through with my plans i should be able to win this thing.” he toyed with his chain as he spoke, not really thinking anything of this little event and just wanting to get home to his pretty girlfriend. the reporter asked his opponent the same question, and while he answered he noticed todo wasn’t paying attention to him at all. still playing with the gold around his neck. he noticed that it was the same chain he’d see you wearing when he would come to scout todo’s matches. a smirk planted on his face before he uttered something he’d come to regret. “yea i know ima win. and after i do, ima bring me a honey home. might even give his little girlfriend a taste since i heard she got a thing for winners.” loud gasps immediately filled the room as well as your living room while you watched the whole thing live on the edge of your couch.

everyone waited for todo to retaliate, but he didn’t. he kept calm as a small chuckle flew from his lips. holding his head down as he began to crack his knuckles. “we’ll see.” was all he said before the press moved on with their next question. everyone thought he was fine. his opponent even slumped down in his chair a little more as he thought his insult did absolutely nothing, but you knew the truth. todo only cracked his knuckles when he was angry. really angry. usually only doing so to keep himself from punching or breaking something. when he got home that night he acted as if everything was fine, but you could tell he thought about it all the time. by the way he’d hit the punching bag with a little more force than usual or how he nearly sent his trainer flying out the ring before walking towards his locker room. todo was pissed.

when the day came he made you promise not to come to or watch the fight. the seriousness in his tone made you worry, but you fell through with your promise because it meant so much to him. when todo came home it was a lot earlier than you’d imagine. his fights usually took thirty minutes to an hour, but at this rate his opponent couldn’t have lasted longer than the first round. “you win?” voice small as you watched your boyfriend quietly walk straight towards the bedroom. “mhm…” he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. you scrambled to your phone to see what could have him acting like this. a quiet gasp left your lips as you watched clips of the very short fight. like you thought, the poor guy didn’t last the first round. receiving blow after deadly blow from your boyfriend before eventually getting punched so hard in the face that he flew to the other side of the ring. “mama get in here! need you right now.” you smiled before taking a deep breath and skipping your way to your bedroom.

boxer!todo who fucked you the best when he was hot and jealous after a fight.

#aoi todo x black y/n #aoi todo x black reader #aoi todo x black!reader #aoi todo × black!reader #jjk aoi todo x black reader #aoi todo x reader #aoi todo × black reader #aoi x black reader #jjk aoi todo x black!reader #aoi todo smut #jjk aoi todo smut #jjk aoi todo x black y/n

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worldlxvlys · 3 months

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bae whenever ur free or feel like it could u write a Chris fluff where like ur stressed out about school and stuff and ur parents are always hard on you about it and he like comforts you and tells you everything’s gonna be okay?

not alone

chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: cursing, just fluffy

a/n: ily, hope you enjoy <33

my hands shook against my steering wheel as tears flooded my field of vision.

i tried my best to stop them from obstructing my view, frantically wiping my eyes, but they continued to fall.

“fuck” i cried out between sobs.

i have to stop driving.

i pulled over, putting my car into park and staring out of my windshield.

i wasn’t even able to focus on the road when i was driving. my thoughts were consumed by every assignment that i had due, my next test, working harder, getting better grades. even when i tried to give myself a break, it was always there in the back of my mind.

i could practically hear my parents, “you need to do better” “are you even trying?” “tired? tired from what?” “you need to start taking this more seriously”

i couldn’t help but let my mind be consumed by the negative thoughts.

i picked up my phone, clicking on chris’s contact.

“hello?”

“chris? i really need you” i tried my best not to make it obvious that i had been crying, but my shaky voice gave it away.

“are you crying baby? what’s wrong?”

“just school and everything. but i can’t drive, can you come get me ?” i asked.

there was some talking in the background, presumably chris asking matt if he could give him a ride.

“of course, ma. matt and i are on the way. do you want me to stay on the phone?”

“no it’s ok, we can talk when you get here”

“ok, i love you”

“love you too”

i hung up the phone and rested my head back on my seat, trying to slow my tears.

when they arrived, chris got out of the car and made his way to mine.

when he entered the car, his eyes softened as he took in my current state.

“hi baby” he said as he held his arms out for a hug.

i placed my arms around his shoulders, resting my nose in the crook of his neck.

without warning, the tears started again and my body shook against his.

he soothingly ran his hand up and down my back, whispering into my ear.

“i know, baby. i got you, let it out”

“it’s too much, chris. nothing that i do is ever enough for them” i sobbed into his shoulder.

“hey, you’re doing amazing. i’ve watched you put in so much work, i’m sorry they don’t see that”

i pulled away to look him in the eyes.

“i’m so fucking proud of you” he said as he wiped my tears and cupped my cheek with his hand.

“it may not seem like it now, but you’re gonna get through this. i’m not going anywhere, ok ?”

i nodded in response.

“come here, baby” he said as he opened his arms.

i climbed over the console, sitting on his lap and laying my head on his chest.

he wrapped his arms around me and placed a kiss on my forehead.

“everything’s gonna be ok ma. you don’t have to deal with this by yourself, ok? we’ll figure it out” he said as he gently ran his hand up and down my back.

“thank you, chris” i whispered.

“anything for you, baby”

—————

sorry it’s kinda short, hope you still like it tho <33

masterlist

tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sturnspepsi @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @rheaakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @abbie13sworld @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @sturns-posts @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf

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angelsinluv · 1 year

Text

honestly

there's not much to say. just change your identification and persist in that by continue to be the person you want to be. do it now. there's only now and imagination.

i'm not gonna be on here much anymore unless i have thoughts and success stories from you guys to post so i hope you guys learn about states and send me successes. and when i'm comfortable i'll share more successes too. i've had a lot, every day of my life is getting better and you guys know my situation so take that into account. i am proud of myself but it's time to grow even more.

being on here is useless and if it just threads on twitter, that app is better to post my random thoughts than on tumblr and even on twitter, i won't be on there as much as before. i was never really a big loa blogger in the first place but i hope i helped out a lot of you.

and if you're asking yourself how you can get to that point in your manifesting journey: stop rushing. you're not in a race. just focus on fulfilling and being easy on yourself. and get off tumblr. at this point it's nothing but people answering asks and posting things we all already know about the law. so you have nothing to gain, only when you, yourself start changing your state.

be the change.

“You are already that which you want to be, and your refusal to believe is the only reason you do not see it”

with all the things I’ve been dragged in on twitter and tumblr, all i got was love so thank you for being the kindest to me. i love u. you know damn well you can and will succeed. just imagine you are it and don’t take no for an answer. love imagination. don’t stop. there is only self to change.

☆ signed angel

p.s. click the links

#angel is out #byee c u soon #or never #☆#angel chat 💭#☆.txt #law of assumption #neville goddard #void state #void #manifest #manifest your dreams

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taeraemisu · 4 months

Text

your love is my medicine ; hanbin zb1

synopsis ; in which hanbin is there by reader’s side to help go through the pain

genre ; fluff, chronic pain!reader, perfect boyfriend!hanbin, established relationship, they are in a hospital in case that will trigger anyone

pairings ; hanbin x reader

word count ; 0.7 words

requested ! can be found here

a/n ; it’s been so long omg how are yall !!!! and also to anon i hope you like it this is like my first time writing soemtbing like this LOL i hope i didn’t mess up

you groaned as you turned and turned on your bed. you put the pillow over your face. the bright lights were hurting your eyes so bad.

your body was aching all over. you were getting so tired. no matter how much you tried to sleep the pain away or take painkillers, it just won’t go away.

you sat up despite the pain, you wanted to turn the lights off. which nurse thought it was a great idea to on the lights so early in the morning? you were about to get off the bed when—

“what do you think you are doing!”

you heard the door slide open and you looked up to see a familiar guy in a blue hoodie. he closed the door behind him, immediately coming by your bed and getting you to lay back down.

“you shouldn’t move,” he said, making you lay down again. he was holding a few plastic bags and placed them gently on a nearby table. “i got us some breakfast.”

“hanbin,” you mumbled, feeling aches all over. “the lights, it’s too—“

hanbin immediately went over to the light switch, dimming it down. “there, better?” he asked softly, coming by your side again. you nod, closing your eyes. you just felt so tired. you spent the most of the previous days going through tests and checkups, you were exhausted.

hanbin smiled, sitting down on a stool beside your bed. he pat your head, relaxing you. “i got us some breakfast in case you were hungry. i got your favourite sandwich from the stall across my house,” he whispered softly, standing up again and getting a sandwich he out of the plastic bags he was holding earlier.

he came back by your side as he unwraps the packaging. “the auntie there asks me how you are doing,” he said as he held the sandwich in front of your mouth. he began to feed you, watching you softly as you take a bite. “i tell her you are doing better but you will still be here for awhile.”

you reached out to get the sandwich out of his hands but hanbin pulled back, shaking his head. “let me feed you.”

“but i can do it myself,” you pouted.

“i know, but let me help you.”

“but—“

hanbin shoved a piece of sandwich into your mouth. “i want to.”

you stopped protesting, letting him feed you. once you were done, hanbin unscrewed the cap of a water bottle and handed it to you, making you drink.

he watched you drink, a small smile on his face. once you were done, he took it back from you, putting it away. “do you have anything to do today?” he asked, playing with your fingers.

“probably more tests,” you replied, sighing. “they need to test my blood levels again so…”

hanbin nodded, patting your head again. you were afraid of needles so having to deal with them almost every day wasn’t really the best. he knew that, of course. he knew how much you always dreaded them so he always made sure to be there when you have to go through the whole process.

“it’s okay,” he said, smiling at you. “i am proud that you are still so strong.”

you turned your head to face him, smiling softly. “you go through this every single day, countless of checkups and tests,” he continued. “and you still manage to be the happiest, best person ever. you always tried to show that it doesn’t affect you but it’s okay, you don’t have to hide it around me.”

hanbin leaned in and gave you a soft kiss on the forehead. “you will get better and won’t have to take more tests. you will get discharged and go out about in the world. and i will be with you, every step of the way.”

you smiled even brighter. god, how did you get so lucky?

“thank you,” you mumbled, bringing your hand up to his cheek. you caressed it softly as he leans into your touch. as much as how you hated being there in the hospital, it was okay as long as you had hanbin by your side.

him being there was your preferred way of getting better. who needs pills and tests when hanbin is by your side?

perm taglist ! (send an ask) ; @wtfhyuck

#taeraemisu #（＾Ｏ＾☆♪ — taeraemisu’s requests !#zb1 #boys planet #zb1 imagines #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone #zb1 oneshots #zb1 scenarios #sung hanbin imagines #sung hanbin x reader #sung hanbin #zb1 hanbin #hanbin x reader #hanbin imagines #zerobaseone hanbin

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anton-luvr · 7 months

Note

hii! i actually have a new riize fic blog myself but i thought it'd be fun to req you hehe, i love your stuff so far! <3 can i please request a college!au with swim team captain!anton teaching fem!reader how to gain confidence in the pool? she's not a strong swimmer but she wants to learn, and who better than the captain of the swim team with his reputation for being kind and understanding in his lessons? plus, he's super cute, it's no wonder he's so popular despite his shy personality~

in case you'd like to be moots or check out my blog, my riize user is antoniefic !

# TO GET TO MEET YOU.

𖦹 swim team captain!anton x fem!reader | fluff | college au 𖦹 note ; ahhh tysm!! this is so cute… this is also perhaps the longest fic i've ever written so enjoy!! + reqs are opennn

If you had to swim another lap, you think you were going to pass out.

“Okay, no more,” you gasped to your best friend, Sungchan, as you clambered out of the pool. “50 laps are too much.”

Sungchan frowns in response, looming over your panting figure with his hands planted on his hips. “If you keep giving up like this, you’re not gonna win the competition y’know.” he tuts. “You still need to work on your form too.”

You groaned, rolling over to get up from the hard tiled floor.

“I kinda don’t care ‘Chan.” you sighed, picking up a towel to dry off.

Your best friend scoffs, whacking you lightly on your exposed shoulder. “Don’t care?” he echoed. “Your scholarship is at risk here. It’s either you win the competition or enslave yourself to years of student loan debt.” he continues dramatically.

You grit your teeth at his comment, knowing that he’s unfortunately right.

Opening your mouth to attempt a witty retort, you’re interrupted by Sungchan’s sudden shout.

“Anton! Anton, over here!” he shrieks.

Anton?

He was known all over campus as the college’s swim team’s captain.

As the proud owner of countless medals, trophies, and certificates, swimming competitions weren’t the only things Anton won.

His signature shy smile was something girls talked about almost every day, giggling and swooning whenever he strode past lecture rooms effortlessly cool.

Not just that, he was well-known amongst teachers for his A* grades and respectful demeanor.

“Anton, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet Anton.” Sungchan chirps, tugging the popular boy towards the both of you.

“Nice to meet you.” he says softly, respectfully sticking his hand out for a shake.

“Hi.” you greet back flatly, too tired to really care at the moment.

“So,” Sungchan starts, throwing an arm around Anton’s shoulders. “I’m sure you know about the swimming scholarship event that’s being held next month, right? The one that’s going to be held here.”

Anton nods, his eyes sparkling with curiosity and confusion.

“Yeah, why?”

Sungchan chuckles at this, now throwing his other arm around you. “Well, my friend Y/N here needs that scholarship. But she’s also not the best at swimming. So I was wondering if you could help her out.” he says nonchalantly.

You’re flabbergasted, staring morbidly at Sungchan.

“Um, sure.” Anton replies, smiling. “I don’t mind.”

“Wait, no I didn’t agree to this I don’t really need help on my swimm-“

“Okay, fantastic! I’ll see the both of you here every day after classes. Bye!” Sungchan cheers, cutting off your rambling. You don’t even get the chance to say goodbye to Anton as Sungchan pulls you away with him to the locker rooms.

“Bro, what was that all about?” you sputter in disbelief. “I’m already bad at swimming, I can’t ask someone that talented to waste their time trying to help me!”

Sungchan mimics you talking, picking up your duffel bag and throwing it at you.

“He already agreed, so don’t worry. Now go and shower and change, and we can talk about it over tacos. I’m starving.” he complains, sassily walking out of the locker room.

You groan, resting your forehead against the wall.

What did your best friend just get you into?

Staying true to his word, Anton would show up at the swimming arena every day after classes.

Today was no different as the two of you treaded through the pool.

"You need to remember to keep your legs together and straight when you kick, or else you'll mess up your form really quickly." Anton says, using his fingers to visualize it for you.

"Alright, go ahead and try it again. I'll be right behind you to check your form." he assures.

You nod, taking a deep breath.

With a few seconds to prepare yourself, you push yourself off the wall of the pool and start swimming.

All the noise of the swimming arena drowns out as it becomes just you and the water. You try to keep Anton's words in mind as you swim your way through, your legs propelling you through the crystal clear water.

"How was that?" you ask, catching your breath when you resurface at the end of the pool.

Anton runs a hand through his wet hair, shaking his head. "There's improvement, but you still need to straighten them more. You can't swim as fast as I know you can if you don't." he sighs.

Maybe it was because you were more tired today, but his words pierced a bit at your heart. Tears fill in your eyes as a sense of hopelessness and exasperation pounds at your heart.

"I'm trying," you mumble, sniffling. "I just can't do it."

Anton's pretty eyes widen when he hears your sniffle, quick to move closer to you. "Are you crying?" he asks, concerned.

"No, I'm laughing." you snap sarcastically, turning away from him to hide your tears.

"Hey," he calls softly, turning you to face him. "It's fine. We still have time to improve. And practice makes perfect! I'm sure you'll get it by the time of the competition."

"But what if I don't?" you ask weakly.

Anton shushes you immediately. "Y/N, you got this. The first step to winning is to believe in yourself. Maybe you don't believe in yourself, but I do. I know you got this."

Your heart melts when you look up to see how sincere he's looking at you, eyes full of genuine care and concern.

"Thank you." you mumble, wiping your tears away.

Anton grins, hugging you. "Don't give up. I know you can win this." he says, rubbing your shoulder.

You smile at his words, nodding. "You sound like those... motivational life coaches." you joke.

Anton chuckles, rolling his eyes. "You're welcome then."

"Hey, keep swimming!" Sungchan hollers from the chairs, looking like an upper-class mom with sunglasses perched on his nose and his arms folded. "The competition is in a week!"

Both you and Anton burst out laughing at this, the curly haired boy treading backwards away from you.

"Okay, another lap! Remember, keep your legs straight and believe in yourself!" he calls.

You flash him a thumbs up, taking deep breaths.

And with that, you dive right back into the water.

Embraced by the peace of the water, you can't help but think about how much closer you became with Anton over the past few weeks.

From shy 'good jobs!' to dinners together after practices, he was truly as nice as people said he was.

You're pulled out of your thoughts when the dark blue wall of the swimming pool comes into view, signalling the end of your lap. Resurfacing, you pull yourself out of the pool.

"So? How was that?"

This time around, Anton looks at you with a stunned face.

"What?" you asked, laughing awkwardly.

"Did you just become The Flash or something?" he questions, dumbfounded. "You swam so fast! And your legs were totally straight the entire time! You did it!" he squeals excitedly.

For a moment, you suspect Anton's lying, but Sungchan running over to you while cheering assures you that he's not.

"Only two minutes! That's almost college record timing!" he screams in disbelief, squeezing you in a hug.

You'd hug Sungchan back, but he pulls away, disgusted. "Oh ew, chlorine water on my t-shirt!" he whines.

You giggle at this, turning back to face Anton.

He's laughing too, and your heart skips a beat at the sight. His bright eyes curved into crescents, a soft glow on his pink cheeks while water dripped off his slicked back hair.

"Do it again!" Sungchan urges you. "If you get two minutes again, I'll treat you to sushi, promise."

You raise an eyebrow, eyeing him suspiciously. "You better keep your promise." you threaten.

"Because she'll definitely get two minutes again." Anton adds on, his hand stretched out for you to get back into the pool.

God, he was so sweet.

Taking his hand, a wave of newfound determination and hope washes over you.

You got this.

Game day came sooner than you could imagine.

"Come on," Sungchan screeches, excitedly waving around a sign that had your name printed on it. "Swim faster!"

Anton sat beside him, nervously biting his lip as he watched you glide across the swimming pool.

The girl beside you was going slightly faster, threading through the water with perfect form.

Time was closing in fast, and if you managed to swim faster than her by around two seconds, the scholarship would be yours immediately.

The crowd roared in nervous excitement as you caught up to her, now only a mere ten meters away from the endpoint.

Down in the water, your mind raced with thoughts about Anton. He worked so hard to help you; you couldn't let him down now.

So with one more kick and a surge of adrenaline, you pushed forward and swam faster - hitting the end of the pool almost immediately.

Screams and cheers flood your ears the moment you resurface, and when you see no one out of the pool yet, you let out your own scream of joy.

You won; the scholarship was all yours.

You've barely gotten out of the pool when college officials rush up to you, congratulating you and wrapping a towel around you.

"We have a winner!" you hear the emcee announce. "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the annual swimming scholarship! Contestant two!"

The crowd cheers for you, and you see Anton cheering along amongst the crowd, happily jumping up and down.

"I knew you could do it!" He mouths to you, beaming.

A warm and unfamiliar feeling settles in your heart as you smile back, waving.

"Coming through! Make way for the winner!" Sungchan announces loudly, shoving his way through the crowd. You and Anton follow after him, giggling.

Sunlight hugs your body the moment you step out of the swimming arena, but it doesn't feel as warm as Anton's arm that was around your shoulders.

"I'm so happy for you!" he gushes, excitedly skipping his way to Sungchan's car. "It's all thanks to you, honestly." you laugh, slightly embarrassed.

Anton clicks his tongue, waving his finger 'no' at you.

"You believed in yourself," he says. "That's why you could win. And you took the initiative to try to win, so you should thank yourself, really."

"Hey, where's my thank you?" Sungchan scoffed as all of you got into his car.

"Thank you." you laugh, buckling up.

"But seriously," Anton says, slipping his hand into yours. "You need to thank yourself. I'm glad I got to teach you."

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you grin as you squeeze his hand.

"And I'm glad I got to meet you."

#riize #riize anton #riize fics #kpop fics #kpop fluff #riize fluff #riize icons #riize moodboard #anton riize #riize drabbles #anton #riize sungchan #riize shotaro #riize eunseok #riize wonbin #riize seunghan #riize sohee

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the-karma-cafe · 30 days

Note

Medium honor Arthur picks up character but it’s for a crime she didn’t do! Oh and outdoorsy love stuff

a/n: omg ok i dont know what you mean by outdoorsy love stuff is that SEX or is that FLUFF (im giving you both) thank you for the request !!

warnings: DID NOT PROOFREAD, sex (hell no !!!), spanking, he's a little mean but not really (as medium honor usually goes), mildly dubious consent

It was the age-old story of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When I discovered Mrs. Braithwaite on the floor一thick, wine-red blood pooled beneath her chest一I’d barely had a second to react before one of her sons screamed, tackling me to the ground. His fingers were bruising against my arms, shaking me, asking what the fuck was the matter with me, telling me I’d fucking swing for this.

I don’t even remember how I got away from him, slamming something into his skull and breaking free from that iron grip, leaping off the balcony without a second thought.

It was only miles away on one of their prized horses did it finally hit me that whatever case I’d had to defend myself with was long gone. I wouldn’t be able to show my face in Rhodes again一or really anywhere else一with a high-profile family like the Braithwaites on my ass.

I kept riding further north, hoping to put as much distance between me and that damn corpse as possible. Of all the people, it had to be her, and it had to be me.

By the time I reached Valentine, I’d felt more sorry for myself than I had in a long time. Thanked my lucky stars I always kept my money on me and bought some supplies there to… well, live on the lam, I supposed.

But for the first couple nights, I moped. Stayed in the saloon every morning and the hotel every night一not much else to do in a livestock town.

When I felt a bit better, I sold the Braithwaite horse. It was big and proud and all sorts of attention-grabbing. I bought a different one一drab and small, but fast.

Sooner than I thought, the news had travelled. A new bounty poster was slapped right on the wooden post outside the saloon, my sketchy reflection glaring back at me. MURDEROUS MAID.

I pursed my lips. They could’ve spared me the alliteration.

Tore it down, stuffed it in my bag, and left town. Wouldn’t take long for a small town like Valentine to put two and two together.

The bounty was nothing to sneeze at. I was almost flattered. Wanted alive, $500. I figured it’d take a lot to deter bounty hunters from $500, so I took to the mountains. It was likely just a matter of time, but by god was I going to make them work for it.

Now, here I was, having found some barn to hole up in, next to the remains of a torched homestead (I’d briefly picked through it and rescued a dented can of peaches and a lock box holding some fancy necklace). Would’ve preferred the house, but shelter was shelter. Peaches (affectionately named after said can) seemed to like it in here, at least.

“You want one, boy?” I held one out to where he sat a foot or so away from me. For only having just met me, he was a sweet horse, resting his head on my lap while I slept, following me around while I hunted (although I quickly found he loved to scare off game, and it took a lot of convincing to get him to just stay put, goddammit).

Peaches leaned his big head forward and sniffed at the proffered fruit. To my surprise, he snorted and turned away from it, flicking back his ears and giving me a severe side-eye. “What!” I laughed, bringing it back away from him. “Now you tell me.”

He huffed out of his nose, like it should have been quite obvious, thank you very much. I giggled and continued to eat, idly watching the flame flicker in one of the lanterns hung from the ceiling.

I eventually drifted off to sleep, still not any closer to figuring out my future than I was a month ago.

The next morning, I ventured back into the wilderness to hunt. So far, I’d been a bit less successful than I’d hoped, but I had done well enough for myself.

I breathed out slowly, my arm steadily following the movements of a buck a couple yards away. My breath puffed out white in front of me, warming my nose. This was the closest I’d ever gotten to game this big.

The buck lowered its head, nosing past the snow to the damp grass below. I kept my arrow aimed above, where I knew its head would return. A breath in. C’mon…

It raised its head, staring off to its right somewhere, and I stretched back the string, my grip still a bit wobbly against its force. Another breath out.

A whisk of air whooshed over me, and I startled, releasing my grip on the arrow. It flew a couple feet away before planting headfirst into the snow. Something forcibly tightened around my torso, crushing my arms against my sides. What the hell?! I yelped in surprise and wobbled from my perch, falling backwards.

My head dented the snow behind me, sending it down my collar and into my hair, freezing my neck and ears. “Ahh!” I struggled against the coil around me, simultaneously flinching away from the cold now assaulting my warm skin.

Footsteps crunched over to me, and an upside-down face and chest soon came into view. He looked down at me with a pleased expression on his face, or at least it seemed like it, it was hard to tell behind that high collar and tipped hat.

He rounded to my front and his gloved hands yanked at the rope, pulling me slightly up from the snow to face him better. He squinted at my face, now surely pinkened from the snow I could still see on my lashes. His chest rumbled with approval, and he nodded, more to himself than me. “Thought so.”

“What?” I exhaled, staring up at him dumbly.

He cracked a smile, and this time I could tell. “The murderous maid, I take it?”

My blood ran cold. Oh, fuck. I had almost forgotten, tucked away in this silent, snowy haven.

Apparently my expression was all it took to confirm things for him. His smile turned to a smirk and he tugged at the rope, bringing me up to stand. I instinctively pushed away from him, but he held me firmly to him, his arms thick and strong (my god this man was big). He looped the rope around me again before tying it securely at my front.

Then, he promptly threw me over his shoulder and began to walk.

“Let me go!!” I thrashed from my perch, kicking at him.

He growled and tightened his grip on my thighs. “Kick me again and I'll make you regret it, girl.”

A fearful whimper slipped past my lips and I stilled.

“That’s what I thought,” he grunted, but his grip didn’t loosen.

He whistled, loud and sharp, and I heard the familiar sound of hooves approaching. The image of Peaches by himself in the barn flitted through my head.

“Um, mister?” I whispered, my tone timid and polite. The tone I used to use with the Braithwaites.

He heaved a sigh, annoyed with me. “What.”

I bit my lip. I didn’t want to anger him further. “My… my horse. He’s in a barn nearby, I don’t want him to be stuck up here all by himself.”

He didn’t respond to that. I grimaced. If I’d kept the Braithwaite horse at least he would’ve saved it to sell it一Peaches was likely barely worth the walk to a man like him.

His horse slowed to a stop nearby, and the man none-too-gently threw me over its back. I winced, feeling its butt dig into my stomach.

The bounty hunter made quick work of me, tying my legs together and then securing me to his horse. He patted my thigh, “Comfy?” I could almost hear the smug look on his face.

“More ’n ever.” I grumbled, mostly to myself. He barked a laugh and pulled away from me, leaving me cold. He mounted up on his horse and began to ride.

I couldn’t see much from my “seat,” but I began to vaguely recognize the path he followed.

“Are you…” I started, my voice quiet. I turned my head to look up at him, and raised my voice. “Are you goin’ back for him?”

He didn’t answer, and made no move to indicate he had even heard me.

Not wanting to push my luck (or Peaches’), I stayed quiet.

Sure enough, we reached that barn and he dismounted. When he returned, Peaches was in tow, neighing happily when he saw me.

I laughed brightly despite the situation. “Hey, boy!!” The bounty hunter released his reins and Peaches bounded up to me, nuzzling and snorting into my hair wetly. I giggled and tried to move my head away. “Oh my god, Peaches, gross.”

“Peaches?” the man echoed, a note of disbelief coloring his tone.

I turned and smiled up at him. “What?”

He shook his head, gesturing to the horse. “Ain’t he a boah?”

“So?”

He snorted, but didn’t answer me, instead mounting back up on his horse. My smile faded from my face as we continued. My last days of freedom.

I stayed quiet as we rode, figuring that was the best way to get on his good side (I didn’t need to get smacked for yapping). The horse’s gait made me feel sick enough that I didn’t want to, anyway, its back poking into me, alternating between every corner of my stomach with each step.

Eventually, the snow began to taper off down the path, though a chill still hung in the air. I shivered, the back of my jacket still wet and cold against my neck. The sky was beginning to darken, subtly and colorlessly as winter skies often did.

Wordlessly, the bounty hunter turned us off the path and into the trees, likely seeking some spot to set up camp for the night. Peaches followed dutifully behind us, although he seemed to have sobered a bit, as if sensing my discomfort.

He must have found a spot he liked, as he dismounted and reached by my side for his tent and bedroll. He pulled them off and got to work setting everything up.

I felt my eyelids droop, my body finally able to relax with the horse stopped.

Not ten minutes later, I was jolted awake by hands grabbing me off of the horse and hoisting me up. I made a small noise of surprise in my throat, feeling him drop me back onto his shoulder, carrying me over to his makeshift camp. Truthfully, I had thought he’d just leave me on his horse for the night.

I wasn’t sure if this was better or worse.

The bounty hunter dropped me to the ground by the fire, and I huffed, adjusting myself to sit upright. The warmth wafting off of it confirmed that this was definitely better than being stuck on that horse all night. I leaned closer to it, and made to bring my hands up, but was cruelly reminded of the ropes keeping them by my sides. I heaved a sigh.

A bottle appeared in my vision. I blinked down at it in confusion, before looking up at the man who held it. “Whiskey?” I prompted.

“If there’s any time to drink, it’d be now.” He nudged the lip of the bottle closer to my mouth.

I held his gaze for a moment longer before turning to it. “…Can’t argue with that.” I pressed my lips against it. He lightly tipped the bottle, letting a good mouthful flow past my lips. I choked it down, then another, then another, then another, before finally wrenching my face from it, coughing. “Jesus!”

He laughed, corking it and tucking it into his satchel. He knelt down behind me and I felt a pressure on the ropes before they snapped away. I brought my arms forward slowly, rubbing my hands over them. He stood and rounded the fire, plopping down on the other side of it. I looked up at him in confusion.

He grinned. “Gave you enough whiskey that even if you try to hop away,” He paused, his grin turning wolfish, “You won’t get far.” He stretched out languidly, finally allowing himself to relax.

Heat crept up my neck, flustered at his reasoning. “You just get all your bounties drunk?” I spluttered.

He shrugged.

I huffed, holding out my hands towards the fire to warm them. “Creep.”

“I ain’t the one goin’ around killin’ old ladies.” He retorted.

I threw my hands in the air in exasperation. “I didn’t kill her!”

“Sure sounds like you did.”

I raked my hand through my hair. “Why the hell would I kill the woman payin’ me to live?” I met his gaze again.

He didn’t seem very sympathetic. Another shrug. “Lots of people wanna kill their boss.”

“Not me!”

He snorted. “I’m shoah.”

I shook my head at the fire, deflating. “I had it made working for her. Easy work, good pay, didn’t really have to talk to anyone, and,” I shrugged my shoulders, “best part of having a lady boss is she won’t let the men get away with being terrible to you.”

He stayed quiet, and I felt myself ramble more, “I mean, sure, she was a miserable old hag, mean ’n sour, but as long as you stayed out of her way and did your job, she was cordial enough.” The image of her on the ground flicked through my mind. “Shit.” I pressed my palms into my eyes, wiling them to cast it from my brain. “Can’t believe this is how it ends.”

The drink began to encroach further into my head, making my thoughts hazy. I cursed again under my breath, the reality of the situation truly, truly, settling in. This was it for me. Swinging from a rope for a crime I didn’t commit.

“You really didn’t do it.”

I scoffed, not meeting his eyes. “Been sayin’ that, haven’t I?”

“…That you have.”

Silence fell between us once more, each left with our thoughts. It felt nice to be believed by at least one person before the end.

A gust of wind blew by, and I shivered, reminded of the wet coat I was still shrouded in. I glanced over the fire at the bounty hunter, but he didn’t look up, eyes hidden under his hat.

“...Mister?”

He raised his head, and that piercing gaze met mine. I faltered, almost losing my voice to it.

He heaved a great sigh. “…Arthur.”

“What?”

He sighed, raising his hat momentarily to rake a hand through his hair before placing it back down again. “Call me Arthur.”

I smiled softly in spite of myself. “Okay.”

“…And what did you need?” Arthur prompted, as I had already forgotten. Perhaps he was right about that whiskey.

I rubbed my hands on my arms. “Do you have any… drier clothes I could wear?”

He nodded, pushing up from the ground. I watched him make his way over to his saddlebag, watched him rifle through it for something dry.

It had to be the whiskey. Or that he was the first to believe me. Or that he was really the first person I’d seen in weeks.

His back was just so… broad. My eyes followed how the muscles underneath his shirt moved, following his arms’ movements. My mind helpfully supplied how one of those big arms felt wrapped around my thighs, how that big hand felt patting my thigh, so close to…

He turned around, and I forcefully muted my thoughts, spreading a polite smile on my face. He made his way back to me, some bunched up garment in hand. I began to shrug off my coat, struggling with it as it snagged on my undershirt and held tight to my shoulders.

Arthur watched me try to figure it out, but eventually I just gave up, so fatigued from the day that I just didn’t care anymore. He chuckled, kneeling down next to me. “Outsmart you, did it?”

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “I’ll deal with it in a second,” I offered a small smile, “Thank you.”

“I got it,” he said, and at first I wasn’t sure what he meant. He dropped the coat in his hand and moved in front of me. I watched him wordlessly, suddenly feeling very tired of talking anyway.

Arthur’s eyes met my own for a moment, searching my face. Whatever he found there, he seemed satisfied with, and he moved his hands to the buttons of my jacket. He started from the top, unbuttoning each at an impossibly slow pace, or at least it felt like it.

He smoothed his hands up to my shoulders, and gently pushed off each sleeve, taking out my arms. I shivered again, my skin now freshly exposed to the cold. I spied the slightest twitch of his lips. He reached around me, his body hovering slightly above mine, his neck an inch from my lips. I felt myself lean forward, my nose brushing up against him. His hands pulled the rest of my coat off from behind me, and he sat back, bunching it into a ball. He then took his dry coat and pulled it over me in its place, rubbing his hands slightly up and down my arms. “There,” he said, and rested back on his heels again.

I blinked up at him, my lips slightly parted. His face softened, his lips pulling down into a teasing smile. He reached out and cupped my cheek, and I leaned into it almost immediately, not caring enough to be embarrassed by it. So big and warm. “Lookit you…” he cooed, his thumb stroking my skin. “Feelin’ that drink already?”

I hummed noncommittally, too focused on the newfound warmth from his jacket around me and his hand on my cheek.

Arthur huffed a quiet laugh, “Guess that’s a yes.”

He stood, dropping his hand from my cheek, and my head dropped slightly. I sighed, snuggling into his jacket to make up for it. It wasn’t the same.

“‘M still cold.” I complained.

“Yer insatiable.” He said, but knelt back down again nonetheless. I raised my head to meet his gaze. He thinned his lips. “Don’t think I’ve ever had such a whiny bounty.”

“Sorry, Arthur.” I mumbled, looking over at his tent longingly. It wasn’t my barn, but it would give at least some protection from this wind, as opposed to sleeping out here.

Before I could ask about it, air whooshed beneath me, and I yelped in surprise. Arthur had hoisted me up into his arms, and began to carry me to his tent. My eyes widened slightly. “A..Arthur?” I whispered, subconsciously snuggling into his chest. He was so strong, it was like I weighed nothing to him.

“You’ll just whine all night if I don’t let you stay in here.” He explained, ducking past the flaps to drop me down on the bedroll. He was probably right about that. Or maybe this was just another way of making sure I didn’t escape while he slept.

I rolled under the cover, snuggling into it as far as I could. I inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of him, so much stronger here than on his jacket. My eyelids fluttered closed.

I felt him sigh and enter the bedroll next to me. It was a tight fit, Arthur pressed against my back to keep any amount of cover atop him. His hand rested on my hip, heavy and possessive. “Warmer?” He whispered, his breath tickling my ear. He was so close.

“Mm-hm,” I hummed, my voice barely coming out.

I thought that was it, but then…

His voice dropped lower, quieter. “…You sure?”

A shiver ran through me. What? His hand squeezed my hip lightly, pulling me closer into him. His breath ghosted past my ear, against my neck. Was he…?

I exhaled shakily, some deep part of my whiskey-addled brain telling me that this was my chance. That if there was anything that would convince this man to let me go…

Lightly, I pressed back into him, sighing when I felt his hand smooth to the top of my thigh. “Could use a bit more,” I murmured.

It was all the prompting Arthur needed. Hot lips pressed against my neck, his hand insistent on molding my ass against the hard line in his pants. My breath hitched in surprise, and I felt myself rock back against him before I could think. He cursed under his breath, dragging his hand forward and between my thighs. I attempted to part my legs, allow him better access, but was met with resistance.

Oh, right. The rope.

He laughed behind me, smoothing his hand back to grab my ass instead. I squeaked in surprise, feeling him push me onto my stomach. “Don’t think you’re gettin’ out of those anytime soon,” he promised. I flushed at that.

Arthur yanked me back, forcing my ass into the air. I felt his hands palm me, smoothing circles into my pants. “Looks even better like this,” he muttered, and I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or himself.

Before I could respond, he reached around and unclasped my pants (much faster than my jacket), pulling down at the sides just enough. The rope bound me mid-thigh, so he could only get my pants down so far. A cool breeze blew past the tent, and I felt a bit of it ghost against me. My face reddened, feeling all at once how wet I was. Really? I felt surprised at myself.

I squirmed, rubbing my thighs together. “Arthur, are-“

A slap to my ass silenced me. I squeaked and jolted forward, the heat in my face increasing tenfold. “Dealt with enough of yer whinin’ for one night.” He bit, soothing his hand over where he slapped.

I exhaled, burying my face deeper into the bedroll, feeling my hips sway against his hand, begging for more.

His hands smoothed down my ass, reaching down to squeeze my thighs apart, to better see me, see how wet I already was for him. I hoped he couldn’t see. It was bad enough to have him feel-

“A-Ah…” my breath hitched, feeling his thumb drag down through my folds.

He hissed, sliding the pad of his thumb against my clit. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re soakin’,”

I squirmed against his touch, trying not to moan, unsure if I’d be punished again for it. He pushed his thumb back up, pressing it inside of me, and I felt myself try to part my legs again, to feel more of him, deeper, and almost cried in frustration when I couldn’t.

I heard him chuckle again behind me. “Aww, I’ll take care of you, darlin’, don’ worry,” he said, moving his thumb out to trace back down to my clit, pushing another finger inside of me in its stead. I muffled my moan into the pillow.

Arthur continued working at me, circling my clit with those deft, rough fingers of his, slowly pushing in and out of me. I pushed back against him, desperately trying to feel more, but every time he just shoved me right back where I was before, keeping up his torturous pace.

All at once, he pulled away, and I whined. Another slap to my ass as a result, and I let out a muffled groan, feeling my eyes roll back. “What’d I say about whinin’?” He admonished.

I wiggled my hips back, hearing him undo his own pants. Please, please, please. He was all I could think about, my legs desperately trying to separate, to take in more, more, more.

I almost wept when I felt him nudge against me, coating himself in the wetness he’d created. I pushed back, trying to take him in, knowing if I angled it right he wouldn’t even need to help me. His hand kept my ass steady, soothing circles onto it. “So needy…” he mocked, smoothing his hand down to my hips, to my waist, squeezing there.

Slowly, god, so slowly, he pushed into me, forcing me open around him. I moaned obscenely, unable to keep it back anymore. He didn’t seem to care this time, letting out a low curse of his own under his breath. Almost there, almost there… and he thrust into me, making me gasp at the sudden movement.

He pulled back and rammed back in, setting a bruising pace. I pushed back into him with each thrust, the ropes cutting into my thighs with how I fought against them, trying to take in as much of him as possible each time.

His hands gripped the tops of my thighs and part of my ass like a handle, using me like some kind of toy. “God-damn,” his voice came out staccato, matching his movements, “you’re so fuckin’.. tight.. for me…”

I whimpered, arching back, so lost in pleasure that I truly didn’t care what he did to me. He could have whatever he wanted, as far as I was concerned.

Drool dribbled out of my mouth, wetting his pillow. I felt limp under him, only kept upright by those rough hands of his.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his movements becoming less regular, more frantic. He swore again before pulling out of me, spending onto my ass and back.

We stayed like that for a moment or two, catching our breath, before he swiped off my back with something and collapsed next to me.

I flopped onto my side to face him, my legs still bound together. “Thank you, Arthur,” I whispered, “I’m much warmer now.”

Arthur snorted, snaking his arm around me to pull me to his chest. “My pleasure.”

The next morning I awoke alone in his tent, hearing him shuffle around outside. I blinked blearily, reaching up to rub the crust from my eyes. I yawned, laying onto my back, stretching my legs apart.

Wait. Stretching my legs apart?

I glanced down to visually confirm the sensation, finding my legs freed from the rope. I also noticed my pants had been pulled back up to cover me.

I sat up, peeking through the tent flaps. He sat at the fire, his back to me. Was he just letting me sleep comfortably before we left?

Despite the threat of death hanging over my head, I felt myself warm at the thought. This was a much sweeter awakening than I had expected.

Before I could think about escaping, or at least putting off our trip to the hangman, Arthur turned, as if sensing I was awake. "Mornin'," he greeted, his voice soft and low. I shrank a little under his gaze, and whispered a greeting back before creeping out from the tent.

Once outside, I shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around me. Arthur grunted, beckoning to me. "C'mere,"

I obeyed, walking over to where he sat. He spread his legs, patting the ground between them. I blinked down at him blankly.

He rolled his eyes and snatched at my hand, pulling me to the ground. I made a small noise of surprise, falling to sit between his legs. His arms and knees caged me in, bringing me back into his chest. This was so strange.

But not unwelcome.

I snuggled back into him anyway, not about to turn my nose up at the last physical affection I'd ever receive.

We stared into the fire for who knows how long. I almost didn't breathe, trying not to remind him that we had places to be.

Arthur squeezed me lightly, propping his chin on my shoulder. "Y'can relax," he sighed, his accent thicker now, in the morning. "'M not bringin' y'in."

What? My breath hitched, my heart beating faster. Was he serious? I turned in his hold slowly, craning my neck to look back at him. I didn't trust myself to speak.

He met my gaze, his expression unreadable.

"...Thank you," I said dumbly, breaking eye contact. Well, now what?

Now, I certainly didn't want him to change his mind.

I turned a bit more in his hold to better face him, feeling his arms adjust around me. I smoothed my hands up his shirt and met his eyes again. He watched me carefully, suspiciously, like he was expecting some kind of attack.

I moved slowly, not wanting to startle him, inching my face closer to his. I watched his eyes drop to my lips, his own parting in anticipation. I hadn't noticed before, but I seemed to have some sway over this bounty hunter, readily accepting whatever touch I offered him.

I smiled softly at that, and closed the gap between us, gently pressing my lips to his. Warm.

He melted the slightest amount, his shoulders sagging, his chest leaning closer to me. He was sweeter, now, in the morning. Softer, more patient. I slipped my hands up behind his neck, scratching lightly at the hair poking out from beneath his hat. He sighed into my mouth, his arms squeezing me closer to him.

I wasn't sure how long we stayed like that, warm and close. When we broke apart, he cleared his throat, looking past me to not meet my eyes. "You..." his voice scratched out and he cleared his throat again, "Y'can stay with me, if you want. 'Till this whole thing blows over."

I had a sneaking suspicion it would be a long time yet. I nuzzled my nose against his jaw. Staying with him was safer than anything I would try on my own. "Thank you, Arthur."

He hummed.

a/n: on a scale of 1-10 how terrible is it that i posted this from class NOT WROTE IN CLASS posted from

anyway teehee hope you enjoyed and also hope it wasnt obvious that i kinda had no idea where to go with this teehee im just a girl

(also posted on ao3 under same user)

#fanfic #fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanfic #bounty hunter #request #requests open #reqs open #writing requests

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mrs-santoss · 1 year

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You're Here - Neymar Imagine

Summary:

Hii, so I was wondering if you could do a fanfic about us (Y/n) not being able to attend the world cup and Ney being kinda upset about it, but then we (Y/n) surprise him just before his game?

Neymar's POV: I was at the hotel eating breakfast with the team and I decided to text my girlfriend a good morning text to see if she's woken up yet. I text her good morning and place my phone on the table and continue to eat. After 10 minutes or so, I get a call from Y/N. "Hii, meu amor. Good morning. Did you sleep well?" she says excitedly as soon as I answer the phone. "Hii, bebê. Good morning to you too. Yes, I did. How about you? Do you miss me?" I ask her back and I excuse myself to the lobby and sit on a comfortable chair. "Yes, Ney, of course. I miss you everyday, bebê." she says this in a sad tone making me worried. "What is it, amor? Why do you sound sad?"

"I don't think I can make it to your game, amor. I tried my best to convince my boss, however, he didn't even want to hear me out." she says this almost in a verge of crying.

I have to admit, I feel pretty upset about this. She was supposed to travel here 2 weeks after me and stay with me hopefully until I win this World Cup. I know she feels sad about this too. She is my number one fan and supports me on every single thing. "I have to admit I feel pretty upset about this, bebê. But, I know it's not your fault, so please don't cry about this. You can support me from there too. I know it's not the same as being here, but I know you're always watching me no matter what." I say this trying to make her feel better about the situation. "I'm so sorry, Ney. I love you much, meu amor. Please don't be mad at me." she says back in a small voice. "Of course not, bebê. I love you too." I tell her and I hear the coach ordering us to get on the bus. " Y/N, I have to leave. The coach wants us to get on the bus, I will talk to you as soon as I can, amor. I love you." I say to her and she says i love you back and we end the call. Great. Just great. I was really looking forward to having her here, but I guess it wasn't meant to be. _________________________________________ We get on the field to start the game. I'm pretty nervous but still calm at the same time, I didn't even know it was possible to feel like this. I do warm ups with Dani and we chat about small things unrelated to the game so we can ease our nerves a little bit. I take a look at the fans in the stadium and appreciate the view. I love this about Brazil. People are very enthusiastic about football. I wish Y/N was here to experience this.

It's like my wish came true in that second, because as soon as I look over at the VIP section I can see Y/N waving at me and yelling my name like crazy. I blink a few times making sure I'm not dreaming. I smile back at her and run near the stadium chairs. "YOU MADE IT" I yell at her and she makes her way down to me. As soon as she gets close, I grab her and spin her around. I stop and kiss her passionately. "Of course, I would. I wanted to surprise you. I was at the airport when we had our last conversation on the phone a few hours ago." she says back proud of her surprise. Everyone is cheering and taking photos of us. "Oh, really? So, this is how we're playing now?" I ask her back playfully. "Hmm, I guess so." she says back and kisses my cheek. I hear the guys yelling for me to join them. "I have to go, bebê. Wish me luck. I'm so so so fucking happy you're here." I give her a quick kiss and run to the guys. "You won't need it bebeeee. I love youuu!!" she yells at me while making her way up to her seat. "I love you tooo."

#neymar masterlist #neymar #neymar x reader #neymar imagines #neymar imagine #neymar jr x reader #neymar jr fanfiction #neymar jr imagines #neymar jr imagine #neymar jr #masterlist #football masterlist #imagines #football imagine #football imagines #fanfiction

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lost-in-derry · 2 months

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WIP Snippet!

I Know You Can’t Hear Me (But Baby I Need You to Save Me Tonight)

Kallus and Zeb were hiding from the hot sun beating down on them in the shade of a large tree that sat near their sparring ground.

“There was one person I don’t feel bad about arresting,” Kallus was saying. “His name was Jovan, he was a classmate of mine in the Academy. We were friends until we became rivals. He liked me but not more than he hated that an orphan from the underworld was going to take the top spot. He tried to cheat on the final tests to get ahead and got caught. His parents saved him from getting kicked out but he was stuck with being a supply officer in the outer rim. I arrested him for smuggling Imperial property around the same time I met you all. He tried to convince me to let him go, claimed I owed him for helping me get through the Academy.”

“Oh please,” Zeb cut in, “that snob didn’t get you anywhere. I saw your test scores when they pulled your Academy file after you joined, you were running circles around those nerfherders.”

Kallus snorted softly.

“You should’ve seen their faces when I was selected for the ISB program over them.” His smile faded quickly. “In retrospect, I suppose I got addicted to that feeling… it made me accept a lot of things I shouldn’t have.”

Zeb nudged him out of his guilty thoughts.

“Hey, you’re not that guy anymore.”

The smile returned to Kallus’ face, grateful this time.

“Had a similar experience, actually.” Zeb reminisced.

“Really?”

“Yeah, there was this guy I went through Honor Guard training with. I guess my great-great-great-great-however many greats grandfather beat his when the first Queen of Lasan was choosing a Captain of the High Honor Guard. The family never got over it an’ it became a blood feud or somethin’. All through trainin’ we were neck and neck, and the whole time he was sayin’ I wasn’t fit to be the next Captain. Didn’t stop when we were Guards either, an’ he was pissed when I did take my father’s place.”

“What reason could he have besides envy to think you’d be unfit for a role you’d prepared for your whole life?”

Zeb scratched the back of his neck self-consciously and mumbled, “Well, I was a bit of a trouble maker as a kid.”

“You? Nooo.” Kallus smirked as Zeb swatted his shoulder good-naturedly.

“Quiet, I’m telling a story. Yeah, there were a lot of expectations for me but it ain’t like my family was strict. Suppose they figured I’d find my way to bein’ the next Captain at my own pace. But it was hard to imagine me taking over for my adan when he was the perfect example of what the High Honor Guard should be.” Zeb’s playful demeanor sobered. “Then he died…”

The other man placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Zeb patted his leg gratefully before continuing, “He took a bad hit defending the Queen. Lasan was peaceful but there was still the rare assassin every few reigns. The last thing he told me was that it was time to become the Honor Guard he always knew I would be.”

Old self-doubts started worming its way into the back of his mind. Was father wrong about me? I failed to protect Lasan. The royal family, our people, they’re all gone while I’m still here. Maybe Pike would’ve been a better Captain… maybe they’d’ve lived.

Kallus flicked one of his ears.

“Stop that. If I’m not allowed to feel bad about myself than neither are you.” He went on more gently, “You were an exceptional Captain and you made your father proud.”

Zeb looked at him dubiously but couldn’t hold back a grin.

“You didn’t even know me back then, Sasha.”

“And you didn’t know me when I was in the Academy. Maybe I cheated on those tests too.”

“Hah! I think I’d like you even more for scammin’ the system like that!”

Kallus stared into the distance thoughtfully for a moment.

“Do you think we’d have been friends if we’d met as children?”

“Absolutely.” Zeb answered without hesitation. “A snarky street punk who learned to talk fancy from readin’ old books and knew how to throw a punch? We’d’ve been thick as thieves, mate!”

“In my case, I actually was a thief. I doubt your parents would think me a good influence on you.”

“Nah, my mum and dad were never judgmental like that.” His expression was wistful as he stared at Kallus.

“They would’a liked you.”

It was an impossible fantasy. They’d grown up a galaxy apart from one another; one with high expectations and looming responsibilities, the other trapped in sunless poverty beneath the weight of a corrupt and uncaring world. But it was a beautiful dream nonetheless…

#kalluzeb #alexsandr kallus #garazeb orrelios #star wars rebels #IKYCHM(BBINYTSMT)#my writing #Derry Writes #snippets

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simplyholl · 6 months

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Although I was a constant lurker for months, today marks my one year as a Loki writer. It has been so fun whoring out with all of you. There have been too many laughs to count. By some miracle, I’ve reached a little over 1,000 followers. I’m shook that so many of you are interested in partaking in my wildest fantasies. But I am so thankful for all of you. If you have read, liked, commented, or reblogged anything - thank you from the bottom of my heart! I love reading every wild thing you have to say about these scenes I’ve created.

Sometimes I will just sit there and read your comments over and over in complete shock that my words would elicit such responses. I am so thankful for our little corner of the internet where we can unashamedly be ourselves. We all have different backgrounds, cultures, and lives but we can all agree we just want our favorite god to dick us down.

I’ve made lifelong friends from doing this, and I would’ve never met them otherwise.

@lokisgoodgirl Thank you for giving me the kick in the cooch I needed to start posting my writing. I would have none of this, if it wasn’t for you. Your words of encouragement mean everything to me. Thank you for being my tech expert for the first little bit. I would never give anyone else my login info. You’ve helped me get through some of the toughest times of my life and I am forever grateful for your friendship. I love listening to your voice notes. Your “Good morning” always puts a smile on my face. I hope we can meet in person one day, although I can’t promise that I would keep my hands to myself. I love you endlessly.

@wheredafandomat I only met you at the end of January, but it feels like I have known you my whole life. Is it possible for two people to share the same brain? Because I’m sure that we do. You can make a 2 hour phone call feel like 5 minutes. I’m lucky to have you in my life. My frequent collaborator and birthday twin - I love you so much.

I couldn’t think of a celebration that I wanted to do, but I wanted to share some of my favorite comments over the course of my time on here.

#burdened with a glorious manhood

-@coldnique

The threat to use his vibranium hand to do the choking was just the cherry on top of my death day cake. This is a filthy masterpiece

- @joyful-enchantress

Well spank me sideways, this went from O-deranged in 2.5 seconds AND I'M NOT MAD ABOUT IT

- @thedistractedagglomeration

Ohhhhhh he talks her out of her hero panties and in to his heart

- @cakesandtom

"sit on his face darling" l'm not gonna survive another paragraph I swear to god.this is too much in the best way

- @lokisgoodgirl

The thought of being an avenger and having Loki fuck you senseless is stupid hot, but add into it him talking about making you carry his secret sex baby and still be an avenger is 🔥🔥🔥

- @itsybitchylittlewitchy

Take that you little shit! I am so glad he saw them together and still mounted at that!

- @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed

I mean it's a fitting description after all the devil is tempting and so is Lokis dick

- @fictive-sl0th

You had me at President Loki and biting!

- @marygoddessofmischief

should have really realized that it was you, my dear, who wrote this!

- @smolvenger

I don't need legs, l'll just drag myself around.

- @goblingirlsarah

Spelling his....spelling his name.. ☠️☠️

- @lokisgoodgirl

absolute genius. i read the part about considering staying with him even if just for the sex and i was like "YOU GO Y/N GO GET THAT MULTIVERSAL ASGARDIAN DICK"

- @muddyorbsblr

Yeah Narfi you little bitch. Take that!

- @wheredafandomat

This was so naughty!!! When the vacuum fell and he was like, "fuck it" then continues to pound you harder!!! 🥵🥵🥵

- @mochie85

I neeeed a tall Loki to be my coworker for the job I don't have so he can fuck me in the storage closet

- @wheredafandomat

The best part of waking up is Bucky & Loki in your cup!! WAY better than Folgers.

- @km-ffluv

IT WAS PHENOMENAL. would have tears in my eyes with how proud I am if I wasn't so horny

- @lokisgoodgirl

Just for fun,

If anyone wants to give it a re-read, here’s the first fic I posted.

Snowed In

And this is actually the first thing I wrote

Across the Multiverse

It’s been a great year. I can’t wait to share more horny, unhinged, wild fantasies with you in the next one.

All my love,

-Holly 💚🖤

#loki #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fandom

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beril66 · 3 months

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So I am reading banger character analysis of various necron characters from people like Ghost and Magistralucis so I wanted to put my two sents in about two things; the absolute HYPOCRISY of Orikan the Diviner and necrons as a whole;

Those who have read I&D no doubt remember the incredible Opera scene. It was probably the most profound part of the entire book; more than their hilarious feud , their team up aganist Orks and subsequent betrayals , their clashes of importance of culture and history and complete disregard of it even if its your own (put a pin on that we'll come back to this) , the heartwrenching flashes of memories or even the final kaiju battles at the end. These two old coots finally FINALLY have to breath methaphorically and just...talk.

Well mostly Orikan talks. Conveniently 'just' remembering it was Trazyn who dragged him into the biofurnaces (even if you think for a MOMENT it's while possible HIGHLY improbable.) So he engages Trazyn in the way it would impact him the most. Through cultural analysis. Both @ghostinthegallery and @magistralucis did analysis on these scenes better than I ever could and I want to a particular parts of Orikan's speech because even as I know practically nothing about 40k or necrons (I&D is my first 40k book) it always made me laugh out loud at the absolute GALL of it.

"Children of Important people, judging by their clothing, though Orikan had no interest in this world or its Byzantine ideas of hierarchy' and

"but we call each other low and bumbling because we are highly civilized"

I legit laughed myself silly here before the gut punch of their interaction continued because... the ridiculous amount of lack of self awareness and hypocrisy just absolutely stunned me.

This is the SAME species who before the biotransference killed each other for basically for sport.

The same species who calls those who are in the lower class as 'it' and has literal philosophical works that brings their SAPIENCE AND SENTIENCE into question (Aristotle would be PROUD)

The same species where a crown prince can get away with shooting 50 commoner soldier in the head as a 'LESSON IN RULING' .

Same species STILL in some cases look down on Imotekh the fucking Stormlord just because he is apparently a 'sandborne'.

Same species who turned their entire lives and culture into a death cult.

The same species who seem to ironically instead of uniting and searching for a cure of their condition just continue to paint galaxy in red with their own and other species blood.

The same race after Old Ones rejected them decided to not just fought aganist them but TRIED TO DESTROY EVERY OTHER PEOPLE THEY COME ACROSS until Old Ones kicked their asses enough.

Tangent here; I mostly agree Old Ones refusing to at least cure them of their cancers is a massive dick move but a counter argument can be made; if you saw a species like necrontyr spread in the galaxy conquering everything they see (and lets be honest here.. if they had vassal species they most likely treat them worse than any Sand born) and the only thing keeping them in check is their sickness , internal political bullshit and equevalant species...would you help them?

And after ALL OF THAT you just...turn each on other and start to REALLY go at it to the point you get the attention of hungry melicious star parasites.

After completely ignoring the increasingly desperate warnings of your almost always correct court astromancer and paint him as insane and a charlatan;

THEN these things, using higher echelon's desperation for eternal life fool you into turning your entire race into soulless terminators because suprise!! During your transformation of course the 'gods' duped you and not only they stuck you into sub-optimal metal coffins , not only (some lore bits implies nobility %100 aware and content) %95 precent of your population is lobotomized , not only you are made to forget %98 of your entire culture even forget where your homeworld is , not only you sacrificed every single class of your young children and will NEVER have future generations EVER, but the cherry on top of this shit cake is your souls are gobbled by said star parasites and also ALL of you, SK included turned into their slaves.

So you and your new masters start a 5 million years worth of war so horrific you give chaos such a power boost , killed about %80 of the galaxy , forced psykic frogs into tearing the first anus in reality and drove the possibly only species keeping the Chaos Gods in check into (possible) extinction. You fucked the afterlife for everyone else until the heat death of the universe in Milky Way.

After that little debacle you turn on your gods , fought them, shatter them (and 'kill' one that in some shape harmed the reality) then after seeing the absolute devestation your gods and kind inflicted go to 60 millions of years of sleep which lets be honest helped more than hurt as mental problems were cropping up BEFORE the end of the war (TDK)

Now you are waking up and did you learn ANYTHING from all of the 5 million worth of life experience?

They learned jackshit thats what happened. Every single sapient necron even the likes of Trazyn, even Zhandrekh are still making the SAME mistakes and inflicts same cruelties they kind always had done.

Trazyn is at the end of the day is a thief and a kidnapper. I&D happened BECAUSE he was so stubborn to steal that gem he wounded the World Spirit and caused the Deciever shard to gain enough power by sending some Aeldari souls his way before Slaanesh can take them. My guy killed an ENTIRE WORLD for a joke.

We all know the reason he is so obsessed with his work is to keep himself sane and have a purpose but just imagine the GOOD he can do. He library rivals the actual BLACK LIBRARY in universe. He tried to help at Cadia and it was amazing to see but at the end of the day even Trazyn didn't seem to grasp that the galaxy is dying in front of him and he can CHANGE that. Or unwilling. This is the worst attributes of the necrons; not caring when they actually really SHOULD.

Zhandrekh is as much as the setting allows is a good man. He could be considered kind even in Flesh Times. He is an honourable man. He is also a terrifyingly competent warlord serving Imotekh whose damage seems to be his insaitable desire to conquer and CONTROL (as much as we know GW for what? 8 years didn't characterized him other than "really clever , great general , obsession with proving his worth and control by dueling with strong opponents"). I think people forget about that about him. He didn't lost a SINGLE campaign aganist Imperium. My senile old sweet man is TERRIFYING.Not much more to say about him honestly he is a good dude in a horrific setting with dementia and married to his bodyguard.

Now lets come to Orikan. Orikan the Diviner is %100 has the right to be a resentful bastard to his own people. He tried so hard to stop the catasthrophy of biotransference. Not only he didn't succeed but they THROW HIM AGANIST HIS WILL into the fires.

What I really like about him however is while he is a venomous , back stabbing little bastard who takes a little too much pleasure of his people' suffering he has these...flashes that shows there is SOMETHING kinder underneath deep deep DEEP down. He didn't want to destroy Serenade. Interestinf thing about him is he only refers to humans as an "it" ONCE. And thats a corpse something even we do. These are very small but it shows Orikan ISN'T just a complete and utter douchbag XD

That being said Orikan abject denial of basically anything positive about anything or anyone necron or not shows how small minded he can be. His destruction of necrontyr artifacts, his dismissal of human anything without giving it a try (like apperantly SK prepared shadow puppet theater for palace kids? How is that a drivel Orikan???) Etc. He simultaneously despises everything necrontyr/necron that ISN'T his or Vishani's provess in their fields yet claims total superiority in everything Necrons do as he insults them. He is the single most hypocritical character bar chaos SM.

Don't get me wrong its a great character work and shows us how flimsy necron identity even is. Because minus general archetypes of their dynasties they have...none. Soulless God Killers isn't an identity. It's the curse of their entire species however metal (pun intended) it is to turn your treacherous gods into cattle. At the end of the day however advanced tech they possess or claims to have high manners (if they are sentient enough) or 'elegance' they are as barren as a civilization can get in all account bar tech.

And the fact that they can call themselves 'Civilized' making me giggle for the sheer absurdity of it BECAUSE they equate technological advancement as 'Cultured amd civilized'.

Necrons while I LOVE THEM and want them to have a happy ending (I want that for all species honetly everyone is horrible in 40k its okay :D) are the indisputed the WORST people in this shithole of a galaxy.

Imperium in many ways are lightyears ahead of us technologically would we call them civilized? Aeldari despite all their tech and arts were creating blood orgies on bodies of sacrificed children and I didn't met many people who would consider even the today's Crafworld Aeldari civilized.

Necrons are the same as these two. There is beside technology and cultural ticks no difference between them. Orikan calls the class system of Serenade 'Byzantine ideas' while he himself is subjected to the EXACT SAME THING in Mendragora court.

So if we rib on the Imperium and Aeldar...why shouldn't we on necrons?

All the races of the Milky Way are sides of a multi-faced coin (except Tyranids obviously). Bloodthirsty , cruel savages with certain exceptions in characters because they are marginally less shitty than the rest (Trazyn , Zhandrekh , Oltyx , Yenekh , Eldrad , Vulcan , Farsight , Shadowsun , Jaghatai Khan etc.) Who wants the same thing.

Necrons are just the most delusional of them all and its so tragic it loops back around to being funny. All races have fell from grace in Warhammer. The Necrontyr might be the only race started with very little redeeming qualities though. And the have not changed a SINGLE BIT in 65 fucking MILLION YEARS besides Oltyx (who because the Flayer King. A literal flesh tearing and wearing monster) . A single character. This is beyond horrific when you think about it.

Ironically in 40k DAOT humans might have been the most civilized race ever existed. They had peace treaties with ORKS. Interex have not eradicated Mega-arachnids just banished them to a world where they can live and let live. Diasporex just wanted to be left alone. Humanity even Aledari used to have compassion. Necrontyr and necron minus few never had that as a SOCIETY. Not to their own NOT to others. (I am not humans fuck yeah! In the slightest but...history speaks for itself)

And with their souls gone it seems something needs to shake them up so badly to start actual REFLECTION of eho they have been/who they are. Because with the way the are going...their minds will give long before their bodies do.

Sooo...this is my 'analysis' of the hypocrisy of Orikan and Necrons as a whole considering them so above all despite being in the same mudpit wirh other races. Would love to hear your opinions do you agree? Disagree?

#necrons #warhammer 40k #orikan the diviner #trazyn the infinite #necrons are objectively the most pitiable race in 40k #they feared death so so much yet even after become what they are they are still terrified #take reanimation protocols from them and you can make them to practically ANTHING #their society was a fucking nightmare as necrontyr #at least the commoners have no mind to suffer anymore #'Allegedly' because certain lore bits implies they ARE basically suffering from. 'locked in syndrome #thats a face I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy #like they legit basically killed EVERY SINGLE CHILD #when you think about it #Oltyx was about 17-18 . I think really young ones like 11-12 regardless of class turned into a warrior #I love them but boy do they pathetic as a species #Sad depressed skeletons needs a collective reality check #i love them anyway

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theunstuffedpepper · 9 months

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These first two weeks postpartum have been going kinda great, honestly. I expected to be wracked with anxiety and fear after the experience of losing Linc last year, and there’s definitely a small amount of that in the background of my mind, but it’s not taken over like I expected it to.

Derrick is a wonderfully healthy little babe. Breastfeeding is going so well; he had lost 5oz in his first few days of life, but by 1.5 weeks, he had already gained the weight back and surpassed his birth weight by a few ounces. He’s now 2 weeks and 4 days old and he has yet to have any formula. I didn’t go into this journey dead set on exclusive breastfeeding but it’s just been going so well that that’s what’s happened so far. I’m proud of myself and I’m proud of him. We’ve bonded so much in these first weeks and we’re kinda kicking ass together. I feel very connected to him already. I have moments where I feel myself falling more in love with him. It’s beautiful.

So far, sleep has been a mess as you’d expect, but I haven’t experienced the frustration of him waking and fussing every time I try and put him down in his bassinet. Once I nurse him to sleep, for the most part, I can tuck him into his bassinet in a swaddle and he’s good. We’re waking about 3 times a night but he’s letting me get 1 longer stretch of about 3 hours each night. I’m piecing together sleep at this point and napping when I can. I’ve been able to rest as much as I need to.

That being said, sitting around and not doing much has been tough. I find myself wanting to do things.. whether it’s laundry or sweeping or just getting out of the house, I want to be able to do things. I’ve been doing little things here and there but I think I’ve been over doing it a little. The last few days, my body has physically regressed in its healing. I feel it. I’m having a hell of a time with digestion this time around and it’s getting worse, not better. My back and neck are incredibly sore and knotted. Time to slow down, rest, and trust that the healing will continue.

My MIL has been here supporting us however we need and that transition of having her here has gone largely better than expected. She takes Holden for the mornings some days and brings meals often. Holden looks forward to going to nana’s house to play with all the toys she has for him there. It’s pretty great. I’m happy he’ll grow up close to his grandmother.

So, all things considered, this postpartum experience has been surprisingly positive so far. I can’t get over how blessed I am to have been able to bring another healthy baby into this world. There’s a part of me that’s terrified that something will happen to him, but that part hasn’t taken over. Things are really, really looking up for us over here.

#Also buying all the matching Halloween things #how cute are those costumes #momblr #postpartum #2.5 weeks #08222023

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fandom-chic · 1 year

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The Time We Lost: Chapter 4

Summary: 40 years have passed since you saw Soldier Boy. Yet here he was at your door. With so many things having changed, will you two be able to withstand the modern world?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Y/N

*JAMIE’S POV*

“Are you there yet?”

“Yeah, I just got to 5th and 81st; how long will I be waiting here?” Jamie says into the phone. The Manhattan crowds shove past him, acting as if a 6’3” wall of a man is not there. That is the main difference between Manhattan and Brooklyn, the number of people.

“Not long, Hughie, and I won’t take too much time.” Jamie could swear he heard Butcher’s lighter click on the other line. He shuddered at the idea of Billy’s plan, but it had to be done. After that day in the hospital, Jamie knew he had to take action into his own hands. His mother was dying. If there was a solution to this, he had to try and find it.

The plan wasn’t too complicated. On the contrary, it was straightforward: save the family from the burning building. He did this daily at his job. He knew it would just be another day in the office; however, this felt different. Usually, he only took his own life into his hands, but today, his mother was counting on him. No pressure, right?

“Alright, just give me the signal when you’re ready.” Jamie heard a dark chuckle on the other line.

“Oh, you will definitely get a signal.” Jamie could swear he heard Butcher smirking on the other line. Fuck that guy. Jamie lightly kicked an empty soda can in frustration, watching it fly a little farther than he wanted it to. Sometimes he forgets his strength, but here he was, planning to show it to the world. Letting himself finally fall onto the path his father had followed.

That might be why his mother was so protective of him. Jamie leans against a bodega, watching the people walk by as he remembers that conversation with his mother all those years ago.

He was barely sixteen when he came home from school with a giant smirk. Y/N could not help but smile back at her son as he seemed to glide into the yard.

“Well, someone had a good day at school,” She says, shutting her book. “What’s got you smiling so much?”

“I did a really good thing today.” He sounded excited, overjoyed about what had happened that day.

“What may that be?” She says, trying to match his energy.

“You know that kid Martin? The one in my English class who gets the shit beat outta him every other day? Well, today, they got a taste of their own medicine.” Immediately, Y/N’s smile dropped. Jamie’s was still plastered on his face as he continued, “Mom, I think it’s time I make something of myself. I want to follow my dad’s footsteps and try out for Vought-”

“No.” The thought had barely left his lips before Y/N shut him up. There was a beat before the inevitable question came up.

“Why not?” He asked.

“Jamie, we’ve talked about this. Being a full-time hero is extremely dangerous.” Y/N wanted to add the caveat that it’s what got his father killed, but Jamie already knew that.

“And that’s why I’d be so good at it! I’m basically indestructible.” He hits himself in the chest to prove to Y/N that he wasn’t stretching the truth.

“Jamie, it’s a no, and that’s final,” Y/N said, her voice cutting at the final syllable. Jamie takes a step toward his mother.

“Mom, it’s what I’m meant to do. I want to be like my dad. He was the greatest supe of all time, and I want to live up to him. I want to make him proud. Please?” Jamie was pleading, wishing with everything in his heart for this dream to come true. But it didn’t seem to be in the cards for him.

“How many times must I tell you that the answer is no? Do you want to wind up dead like your father? Do you want to make your loved ones constantly fear for your life? The answer better be no, or you’re no son of mine.” And at that, the conversation was truly over. Jamie could feel tears coming into his eyes as he ran past his mother into the house, slamming the front door behind him.

From that day forward, there was a rift between Jamie and Y/N. Things were said that couldn’t be unsaid. The day Jamie turned 18, he left home and kept to his mother's wishes but on his terms. That’s how he ended up becoming a firefighter. Still saving people, but he wasn’t a supe. Although, he was a hero by a technicality.

Jamie sighed as he stared at the silhouette of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. True, Brooklyn was superior to Manhattan, but The MET truly was glorious. He took a deep breath then, focusing on what was about to happen any minute now. He looked away from The MET to the apartment building a block away. That building was the target. There were people in that building that he was going to save. This would be the day that things looked up for him.

Almost as if on cue, Jamie heard an explosion erupt from the top story of the apartment complex. All heads shot to the building as screaming and running began.

Showtime.

Jamie ran against the grain of the foot traffic, taking massive strides toward the fire. He made it in no time at all. He stopped and looked up, taking in the situation. It was a relatively big fire, but it was controlled. Easy. When initially assessing this building with Billy and Hughie, they realized there were only four families in this medium-sized townhouse. He will have the families in and out within five minutes.

Jamie’s sprint quickened as he approached the front door. It didn’t take much force to break it down. He almost flew inside as he went to the top floor. The door opened with ease as it was already half broken. Inside, a small child was cowering in his mother’s arms. Jamie approaches them.

“I’m here to save you!” He yells over the sound of flames smacking the walls. The woman nodded and gave her child to Jamie. Her little arms held on tight to him as the woman grabbed his arm. He knew she would only slow him down, so he scoops her onto his back. Once she is secured, he runs out of the apartment and the building. When he has returned outside, he notices that groups of people have started to form near the building, watching his heroism. All he could think about was how smoothly this was going. As if all the pieces were falling into place.

That was until he heard a crack.

At this point, there was only one person left in the building. He could see her in the window as the flames seemed to sneak up behind her. Her tears were staining her cheeks as she watched his attention turn. There was another crack, this time louder. That was when the building began to fall. There was no way he would be able to make it inside. If he were to save the woman, the building would land on the people in the crowd. If he didn’t save the one woman… what was the point of all of this? He was stuck, and he had no way to get unstuck.

Well, he did have one. And that was when the building’s base cracked in half and fell. He couldn’t be stuck anymore. Suddenly, the weight of the world is on his back. Usually, objects weren’t heavy, almost like picking up stuffed animals, but this was different. He could feel himself falter under a new level of weight. Everything seemed to freeze as the building lay on his back, but his mind was racing. He had to put it down, or he would die.

And that was when he took all the effort left in him to shout, “Move!” And the crowd parted like the Red Sea. That was the new home of the carcass of this building. Once it made a home on the rugged ground, he grabbed the woman from the building. It was over. He did it. And he managed to get the front page shot with the beautiful damsel in his arms, carrying her into safety.

It took less than a day for Vought to find him. He was back at the fire station, going through the motions of a typical day—just an average Joe Hero. The red-headed woman who entered had a flustered energy. One that immediately brought his attention to alert.

“You’re the Brownstone Hero, right?” She exclaims.

“I guess I am,” Jamie says, giving a knowing laugh.

“Ashley Barrett,” Her hand shoots out for him to shake, “Director of Talent Relations at Vought.” Vought. Perfect. He shook her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Ashley. I’m Jamie.” He let go of her hand, but she held on.

“Let’s cut the formalities,” That was when she pulled her hand away, “The Seven is in desperate need of a new member, and we want it to be you.” It was like taking candy from a baby.

“Wow,” Feigning shock was not difficult, “I can’t believe this is happening.” Ashley's smile was like a statue trying to break marble that had been there for thousands of years.

“Your interview is at 2:00 PM,” It was currently 9:00 AM. “Don’t be late.” And she was gone.

It wasn’t long until Jamie found himself seated in front of a set of familiar faces. The Seven. They were exactly like he expected. He smiled to himself.

“And that is why we think you should join The Seven.” Jamie had not listened to a word Starlight had said. He knew he was a shoe-in.

“This is all so exciting,” They are all eating his bullshit, “I don’t know what to say,” Almost all of them.

“Say yes, dude!” The Deep exclaimed.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted, but I feel like there’s something you all should know,” Jamie looks over at Ashley as she stares daggers at him over her laptop. “And it may impact whether you want me or not.”

“What’s the fucking caveat?” Maeve said, crossing her arms.

“My dad is Solider Boy.” The whole room lit up, and he was signed.

“Guess you’re the new Solider Boy!” Starlight says through a smile. They were all smiles, except one man. Jamie turned to see Homelander’s glare deepen. If only he knew what he had gotten himself into.

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