#so lucky to have held that hand on the photo

[yuoic]

.

[lanabuckybarnes]

Sergeant’s Got You

18+ Minors DNI

You’re stressed, he knows exactly how to make you feel better.

Note: I was asked for something like this, so it’s heavy on the love for his dog tags

Pairing: beefy Bucky (but he’s got that fatws attitude) x reader

Warnings: Dom Bucky, basically smutty right from the get go, filthy buck, he has his metal arm (I’m a slut for it), you like Bucky’s dog tags, like really like them, Petnames: sweetness, sweetheart, sweet thing, sweetie, good girl, baby, a LOT of dirty talk, sergeant kink, sir kink, oral (M receiving), unprotected p in v sex, he’s rough, degradation, feral Bucky, squirting, creampie, aftercare.

Word Count: 3.2k *insert cat HUH sound*

You were stressed beyond belief. Your mission ended up having a few more loose ends than anyone was anticipating leaving you to pick up the pieces. Now you were finally back in New York and ready to punch the next person who pats your back sympathetically with a ‘you tried’ look on their face.

Just as you were contemplating boxing the cupboard in the kitchen than wouldn’t stay open two strong arms pulled you back and into a hard body.

“You alright sweetness?” Bucky spoke into the locks of hair at the back of your ear. His cologne had you relaxing already, the fingers on his right hand hitched up your shirt to rub soothing circles over your hip bone. What really got you was the subtle grind of his hips against your ass; he was a filthy shit, you loved it when he knew what you wanted.

You flipped your body around in his arms, your fingers running up from his abs to his soft chest until they wrapped around his neck. He smirked, he knew exactly what you wanted him to do but he was a tease, you had to tell him or he wouldn’t. It’s just the way the world worked for you sweetheart.

You surged forward, desperate for a taste of the cherry lips you missed so much. You hated to admit just how much the man in front of you affected you, how often on your mission your hand snaked down your body and in-between your legs at the photos Sam sent of your lost puppy husband, his wide back and tiny waist wrapped in that blue Henley that had the arms pulled up to his forearm revealing the long veins and thick structure underneath. You needed him, now.

He pulled back just as your lips brushed his, a dark smirk and a filthy blue colour surfacing in his orbs. Fucking tease.

“You know you gotta use your words sweetheart” One of his big hands, his metal one, landed on the back of your skull, the metal thumb dancing over your bottom lip before you sucked it into your wet mouth. He growled at the innocent look you gave him as your tongue flicked over the tip before poking out and running up the underside of the shiny plates.

He pushed down, holding your tongue in place as it travelled, drool dripping from the muscle but he didn’t care, the sight of the rivulets of saliva sliding down the silver had him harder than a rock. One of the most technologically advanced pieces of handiwork and you were sucking on it like a little slut, pathetic.

He had you in his room before you could even blink, the rough slamming of the door vibrating the wall he pushed you up against.

“You’re a little slut ain’t you? Sucking on my thumb like my cock, getting your drool everywhere, you’re so lucky I don’t make you clean it up” he spoke as he hastily pulled your shirt and his off, his dog tags jangling softly as they fell back into place between his huge chest. You moved like a magpie, gripping at the shiny metal tags, giving them a squeeze, his name imprinting for a second of the fat of your palm before letting them slip between your fingers.

He watched you, ever fascinated at just how worked up you got about him, but it was your love for his dog tags that had him curious. You always, without fail slipped a finger around them, whether it was when you pulled him close for a kiss or if your slept on his chest, one of your fingers slipped itself through the chain and held them close to your hand.

He wasn’t stupid though, he could practically smell when you soaked yourself, always conveniently after his swinging tags made contact with your chin or ran up the column in your spine, the way that little pussy tightened around him when the old metal swept over your lips, tapping your teeth as you moaned out in pleasure. It made him embarrassingly weak too.

“You want me to fuck you cute girl?” He groaned into the crook of your neck, his plush lips suckling obscene dark marks downward till he reached the crevice of your breasts, your legs wrapped around him tighter as his hand grazed over your sensitive sides to the meat of your tit, gripping it softly and flicking a warm thumb over your nipple. You jerked into him at the shock of pleasure, your hand carding through his waves of hair and pulling him close as worked on the underside of your other boob.

“Words Sweetheart, I need words” He knew it wouldn’t be long till you hit that sub space, the same thing always happened when you were stressed, you needed your big Sergeant to take the wheel, use you a little bit.

“Please” fuck the whimper in your voice had him grinding up into you, the scratchy fabric of his jeans meeting the barely their material of the shorts you wore under your gear.

“Please what sweet thing?” he moved to watch the deep colour of your eyes swim with lust, eradicating any stress they once held, he was doing his job.

“Please use me Sir” you whined, fingers wrapping around the chain of his dog tags again to pull him close, finally getting that kiss you so desperately needed. His left hand cupped your cheek, rubbing a thumb over the high point softly, a sharp contrast to the bruising kiss you had going on. Teeth clashed with teeth, soft whimpers falling from your lips as he pushed closer, flicking his tongue viciously with your much weaker one, running against the top of it and sucking once it gave up it’s fight. He pulled you in again, tender with his lips this time, enclosing your swollen ones with his, his tongue running over your upper lip soothingly.

“Fuck! You’re making me go crazy” he chuckled as he moved off the wall, backing himself up to the bed till his calves hit the frame. He sat down with both of you, your body straddling him, his right hand pushing you back and forth softly on his bulge. The lust in his eyes mixed with a softness as he looked up at you, his metal hand still on your face although now his shiny forefinger and thumb hooked onto your chin, pulling you forward for a kiss, and another, and another. You whined, you didn’t want kisses and grinding, you wanted him to blow your back out, use your pretty face, anything but this.

Seeming to sense your thoughts he stopped your movements, the right hand coming up to join his left on either side of your face.

“What do you want sweetheart? You want your soldier to ruin you? I can feel how hot you are on my dick… you want it bad don’t you?” You moaned at his words, dripping filthily from his tongue, he sure had a way to fuck you up without even pulling out his cock.

“Yes, yes please. Use me” he smirked, satisfied at your whimpered begging. With a click of his tongue and a flick of his eyes he had you manoeuvring onto your knees in front of him.

He was a sight, he looked carved from marble, each bend of his body, every nook and muscle and vein delicately etched into rock solid stone to be preserved for a lifetime. His bulge strained painfully against his jeans, angrily awaiting your slender fingers offering it reprise from its tight cell. You were glad to give it just that.

Clumsily, you fiddled with the thick belt around his waist, smiling in satisfaction when the rhythmic clanks finally hit your ears. You flicked the button open and were about to pull the zip of his fly when his hand stopped you.

“With your mouth sweetness” his lip caught between his teeth, a soft blush decorated his face and chest as he watched you. Your tongue ran up the metal, the slight tang hitting your tastebuds, you flicked the little tab until sat snug between your teeth and pulled it down slowly, each tooth of the zip clicking as it finally opened.

Once you were done, Bucky pushed the thick material down his legs with a relieved sigh, letting it pool at his ankles before flicking them off with your help. His hard-on raged against the soft grey briefs, a pool of darkness lay at the head, precum soaking through.

His hands met yours, pulling them up his thighs and hooking them around the waistband of his briefs. He smiles down at you, eyes crinkling and neck craned as he watched you both inch down his underwear until it caught on his tip, he hissed as the scratchy fabric pulled over his silky head before it slapped deliciously onto his public bone and stomach.

“God” he chuckled breathlessly at the feeling of finally being free “look at you drooling all over yourself for me, you want a taste sweet thing?” His metal fingers had wrapped themselves around the fat base of his length, pushing it forward till the spongy tip hooked onto your upper lip, his salty precum smearing over it like a x-rated lip balm.

You pecked the tip of his dick, the tip of your tongue barely poking him as you did. You moved down, lips brushing against every angry vein on his cock until you met the metal of his hand in which you slowly licked a thick strip back up until you swirled your wet muscle against his head relentlessly.

“Fuck sweetheart, good girl” he groaned, head lulling back as his hips jittered off the bed softly, pushing his head into your awaiting mouth. You sucked him in greedily, selfishly inhaling his thick musky scent that had your pussy drooling against your lace panties, threatening to spill into your shorts— you didn’t doubt that if he had you naked, your essence would drip all over the wood of the floor— he’d have a field day making you clean it up.

“God you’re so good, ha— making your soldier feel so good, you like your sergeant all needy? Ready to pull you up off that floor and sink my cock into you” You moaned against his length, gagging softly when he jerked up into the back of your throat.

“Shit, Nuh uh get up here, I wanna cum in that pretty pussy, move come on” He pulled you up and off his length like you weighed nothing at all, his fingers ripping the shorts from your body and only stopping when he caught a glimpse of you’re soaked panties.

“Fuck girl, who’s got you like this hmm?” His thick thumb brushed small circles over your neglected clit. You moaned loudly, jerking off the bed with a shudder at the feeling, more of your slick pooling into your already soaked gusset.

“Mmm I can fucking smell you, smell so good baby… bet I could fuck you without prep, you want that?” He spoke, his voice deep, laced with primal lust— nothing like the composed grumpy old man everyone else saw— no, he was raw, unhinged, pupils blown wide with sexual desire. You wanted nothing more than his cock in you.

“Please Buck, just your cock I don’t care just please” you cried when he pushed particularly hard on your aching nub, your knuckles turning white as you fisted then covers beneath you; your legs shook as they threatened to close on his thick forearm, you were close already but you didn’t want to cum without him filling you out.

He gleamed at your form, fucked out, soaked and crying already— he’d barely fucking touched you— he couldn’t wait to see your face as he fucked you raw.

He ripped your panties with renewed vigour, the ruined material pulled away from your sensitive heat to hang around the your ankle that now sat over Bucky’s muscular shoulder. Your thigh quaked softly at the stretch but his cold digits ran softly against the tight muscle, soothing it for the time being.

His fat head tapped against your clit, each wet slap causing your body to twitch off the bed at the electric jolts of pleasure it sent up your spine. You could feel Bucky’s fingers circling your entrance, two of his thick fingers squishing into your tight hole as he prepped you lightly. When they left, a long line of arousal followed, connecting him to you, he growled at the sight before licking the wetness from his rough palm and middle finger.

“Mmm so sweet, if I wasn’t so fucking horny I’d make you cum all over my face… make you soak my mouth, shit” he was talking more to himself than you but you clenched around nothing at the thought, the thought of him eating you out for hours was not impossible, he’d done it before.

His thick tip drooling against your entrance pulled you from your trance, he pushed softly, hooking his head along the tight rim of your pussy as he stared up at you.

“you ready sweet thing?” He leaned over, right hand resting against the side of your head, his thumb flicking stray tears from your cheeks. You nodded softly, eyes unmoving from him, watching as his lips twitched in pleasure as his head popped into you, each inch dragging in slowly, aided by your soaked folds.

You moaned pathetically, his head running over your g-spot had you clenching around him, your orgasm hitting you quickly, your hands tightening painfully against the sheets as white hot pleasure soaked through your nerves. Everything was tingling, flashes of colour dancing over your closed eyelids.

Bucky wasn’t much better as he watched you, having to will his own orgasm down at the sight of you losing yourself over him already. You were a fucking sight to him, your tits bouncing with each sharp breath you took, mouth hung open allowing each whimper or silent scream to escape unabashedly.

“Ohh good girl, that’s it mmmm shit you’re fucking clenching me tight baby” Bucky mumbled, words falling from his lips in verbal mush, his own mind barely keeping up. When you finally came down from your high you open your eyes to look up at him, a shy little smile playing on your lips at the way he bore down at you.

“I’m so-“ you began but he pushed forward, sucking up your moan at the feeling of him hitting your cervix into his mouth.

“Don’t you dare be fucking sorry for that sweetheart, you hear? Fucking almost made me cum like a fucking teenager again, naughty girl ain’t you? I fucking love you” His hot breath panted against your lips as he growled at you, the last thing he wanted was for you to feel ashamed about the pleasure you were feeling. You blushed deeply, it was quite funny just how much his love for you made you blush, even when he was currently pushing against the deepest parts of you.

“Can I move baby?” He asked against your lips, smiling satisfyingly as you nodded before planting a wet kiss on your lips and pushing himself up.

He started slow, letting each vein pull against every nerve in your heat, his teeth clenching at just how tight you’d squeeze every time his head brushed against your sweet bundle of pleasure. His smooth pace never lasted long though, his hips jerked violently against you once he deemed you ready enough, your body slipping up across the sheets at each slam of his hips against your thighs.

He was leaning over you now, your leg pushed up between both your bodies, his dog tags clanging above your face at each jerk of his body. You reached a hand up, encircling the darkened metal, pulling on it as your body twitched with hints of a second orgasm.

“Shit! You like when my fucking tags hang over your face, fucking little slut aren’t you? You like being fucked like this? your sergeant fucking all that stress away? Mmm god, maybe I’ll put them around your neck next time hmm? Have you wear them when you’re riding me, let them fucking swing between those tits— god you’d love that” Bucky rambled, on and on, thrusts becoming sloppy as you clenched around him for the umpteenth time, only this time your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train, you could feel yourself soaking Bucky’s dick and thighs— probably soaking the already destroyed sheets below you.

With one final thrust Bucky’s moan caught in this throat as he pushed himself the deepest he could go, hot cum soaking your cervix and pushing out against his length to run along your folds, mixing with your juices. His legs give out forcing himself against you even more, pulling a pained whine from you at the feeling. As your orgasms settled, your breathing slightly less laboured although still heavy, you pulled him close by his tags, kissing his blissed out face right on the lips.

“You were so good for me sweet thing, so fucking good” he praised, his metal hand running through your tangled hair, soothing your heated scalp.

He leaned back up with a groan, massaging your aching leg as he pulled it from his shoulder before slipping out of your pussy. You both moaned at the loss, your heat clenching against nothing as his cum slipped from your body in waves. He couldn’t tear his eyes from your heat, tongue poking out to wet his lips as he watched intently. You giggled shyly at his intense expression, your aching legs closing softly in embarrassment much to Bucky’s dismay.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up” he smiled, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you to the bathroom. You snuck a glimpse of the sheets as he carried you, the whole area soaked in a mixture of you both.

“Oh my god” you whispered in disbelief against his head.

“What?” He replied as he set you down and began running a bath.

“The sheets are ruined, I can’t believe I did that” you eyed his naked frame from behind, his wide back flushed red but still absolutely stunning, each muscle rippling as he moved methodically, his small waist directing you to his thick globes. It was then Bucky turned to look at you, catching you ogling at his ass, he laughed when you turned quickly.

“It makes me proud when I look at those sheets, I mean who else can make you squirt like that? Fucking no one” he growled the last part against your lips giving you a quick smooch before turning the water off and lifting you both into the hot bubbled water.

His hands massaged your shoulders, working out the knots from your activities as well as any left over stress from your mission, not that there was any after he fucked it out of you.

You two sat in silence, save for the occasional sigh you let out when he hit the right spot, both savouring each other’s presence, reminiscing on the way you exhausted each other. You laugh when you remember his words.

“What? what’s got you all giggly?” he asked, nipping the skin on the nape of your neck.

“Nothing… just… were you being serious?”

“About what sweetheart?” He eyes you curiously.

“About letting me wear your dog tags” you suppress a smirk as you feel him twitch against your back, obviously your words sparking something in him.

“We’ll discuss it later” he rasped causing you to laugh out loud.

Your week had been stressful, with never ending problems and constant nagging from the higher ups to do the job but when you were in Bucky’s embrace, when you had those dog tags between your fingers or dangling over your face, everything melted away into nothingness, leaving you and Bucky alone.

-

So I lied mwahahahaha, I was going to post it yesterday but I love alcohol so I was drunk but here we are.

I’m a little nervous to post this one idk why.

I hope you enjoyed x

(I do not own any of the photos, credits to original owners)

[elaci]

You need a subject for a photography submission, 'the face of sport'. Art offers one up- him. He doesn't know, however, the long-lasting effects one photo can have.

cw; consensual voyeurism, piv sex, f-receiving oral, masturbation, tennis...

Art Donaldson x fem!reader | The Rule of Thirds masterlist | talk to me!

An old tennis racket, two trophies, a signed ball, three pairs of worn shoes he couldn't bear to part with. Art Donaldson sifts through piles of memories with a smile on his face. Tashi would call it junk and insist Art gave up on what he does not use anymore if she knew it was here, hidden in boxes labelled ‘LINEN’ in the basement where the dust collects dust.

His old pair of lucky socks, an empty bottle of sunscreen, a drive-in ticket to Fast and The Furious, another old tennis racket, his last ever report card from school. Art has to take a moment to stretch his back out, being hunched over a box of old things doesn't work for long periods of time when your posture is everything. He isn't so sure what he's looking for under the dim light of a bulb that needs to be changed: a piece of himself, if he were ever that pensive.

A box of condoms with only one left inside, a toy race car he found on the side of the road after losing a match, three different lighters. The blond has a match the next day and a sore shoulder to boot- with a grimace, he pushes his hair out of his eyes. The basement feels cold and stale and Art doesn't quite know why he prefers being down here than lounging in the wide expanse of his multi-million dollar home. Tashi will be back soon and aching to go and train— maybe it's just a moment alone that Art is after.

Art throws an old neck pillow on the ground beside him and coughs at the dust it kicks up. He knows he should go back upstairs and forget about a life gone by, but when Art peers into what he thinks is a now-empty box, his eyes widen. A camera bag sits abandoned at the bottom of the box, a ribbon that was once tied around the handle lays discarded next to the bag, frayed at the edges.

Art Donaldson feels like an infidel, an apostate, as he reaches in and picks up the bag. It's smooth against his fingertips, the zip cold from its neglect, though the bag is in good condition in spite of a half decade's worth of dust and the constant use of it beforehand. It smells like something old and sweet, and Art feels perverted for even remembering a time of such struggle when his life now is so easy. The feeling makes his breath catch, and he holds the bag to his chest like it'll give him strength- the idolater that he is.

He's seen many cameras in his life, but the one inside is what he remembers most fondly, it's an old Canon with a scratched lens. Though Art is no religious man, this is an occasion that warrants a little extra faith and he thanks whoever listened for blessing his hands with the volition to dig into his past. Also in the bag is a set of printed polaroids held together with a worn elastic hair tie, though Art discards them for the moment in fear of recalling too much.

He takes the camera in both hands and turns it on, half expecting a dead battery symbol to greet his piqued attention, but instead, the screen lights up and he's looking at his spacious basement through a camera that's seen more than it should. He aims the camera into the box mislabelled 'LINEN' and snaps a photo of the white ribbon lying at the bottom. He smiles, presses a button on the camera, and waits as it loads the picture onto the display.

"Not too shabby," he hums to himself, though falls silent again when his finger hovers over the PREVIOUS button, and Art Donaldson falls victim to the sin of nostalgia.

He presses the button and is immediately assaulted with a flash into the past that burns a hole right through his stomach. There he stands, spry and grinning like an idiot with a lollipop stick between his teeth, his arms draped around Patrick Zweig, who is sticking up bunny ears on top of his head. They look happier than ever, bound by a friendship they had thought to be unbreakable. Art can't bear the sight, he presses the button again and feels nauseous.

It's the same scene, the same lollipop stick between his teeth, the same eye-slanting grin across his face. But rather than Patrick Zweig by his side, someone else hangs off his arm...

The door upstairs slams- Tashi's home. The basement ceiling shakes with the rattle of the door, and Art jumps when his wife, his wife, calls into the house for him.

"Art?"

He drops the camera, and the damned thing breaks as it hits the concrete flooring. His heart pounds in his chest as he scrambles for the shattered pieces, eyes glued on the now-dull display screen.

"Art, come on." Tashi's voice is loud enough for Art to catch as she walks through their first floor. "I want to get an hour in before we leave."

Art looks from the camera to the stairs, and then to the set of polaroids he had left unlooked at. And like a dog biting his own tail despite the pain of his own teeth, Art shoves the polaroids into his back pocket and straightens up.

“Coming, babe!”

SIX YEARS EARLIER

“If you hit my camera with that ball, I’ll never forgive you.”

Art grins, “What, you don’t trust my aim?”

You stand to the side of the court, eyes squinted in opposition to the sun as you watch Art Donaldson take a tennis racket from his bag and stretch out his shoulders. You don’t know him, not really, but you’ll vouch on any given day that the man has nice hands. 

You manage yourself as he pulls a tennis ball from his pocket and hits it against the floor a few times before catching it and looking up at you, hands on hips.

“So, I just hit the ball a few times?”

You nod, “and look good doing it.”

Art snorts out a peal of sweet laughter that has you grinning in response, though when you take your camera from its bag, you’re struck with an issue.

“Hey, can I put my camera bag with your things? I really don’t want to lose it.”

Art looks from you to the bag you hold, a black camera bag with a white ribbon tied dutifully around the handle, he nods and gestures over to his belongings that sit to the side of the court, but can't help his curiosity. "What's the ribbon for?"

"So I know it's mine, everyone in my photography class opted for the same bag," you shrug. "Plus, it's pretty."

Art lets out a hearty laugh and readies himself with a few more stretches as you situation yourself, checking settings and exposure and the such. He doesn't want to distract you, but the silence between you is heavy and awkward. He wishes desperately to fill it, but words of much grandiosity fail to find their way out of his mouth.

"So, you like photography?"

You giggle at his attempt and squint up at him. "You could say that. It's a bit of an entry-level requirement for being a photographer, you know... liking it."

He laughs again, leaning back on his heels to admire the care you take with the camera, fiddling with the settings. He doesn't know you, not really, but he'll vouch on any given day that you have nice hands.

Art's tennis coach is in the midst of a hot work-fling with a professor who happens to head the photography club. She had a student lost on a subject for the 'faces of sport' submission, and Art's coach put his name forward. And here you are, now one of many who have watched him through a camera lens. He had seen you around campus on occasion, taken note of you talking to a friend of a friend- he'd have introduced himself if Patrick wasn't always dragging him away for a drink or four.

Now though, sober and grounded in his element: the court, Art can't help but let his eyes train on you a moment too long. He wonders what you see through the camera lens- a tennis player or a peer?

"Ready?" You're looking up at him with an encouraging smile and he feels his cheeks burn under your gaze as you snap a picture of him as he stands unassumingly.

"I did not say I was ready," Art points an accusing finger at you, but replaces his butthurt tone with a smile and readies himself to hit a few balls. "But I am. Now, at least."

You laugh, and Art finds himself wanting to hear it every day for the rest of his natural life. He smiles at the sound, a toothy grin he'd usually only flash when drunk or ecstatic.

You take another picture, and one more when he frowns at your antics. "You said you were ready," you shrug.

Art serves a few times, getting into his element as you photograph him. The click of your camera becomes background noise as Art works with his mind's eye and body's memory, making precise adjustments and hitting perfectly every single time. He gets into a sweet rhythm, serve after serve as he hits the balls to an empty other half of the court. You watch his form through the camera, taking each shot as they present themselves to you. All he does is play tennis, yet you find yourself eyeing something breathtaking. He's beautiful, like a piece of art with skill unmatched, but it's not his form that piques your interest: it's the look in his eyes. Focused, intent— in love. He adores what he does, the narcotic feeling it gives him, and you find you adore watching it flood his system.

Though your perfect shot, your submission picture, comes as an idea. 

"Okay," your voice breaks Art's reverie, and he stops mid-serve to look at you. "I have what I need."

Art's brows furrow, "that's all?"

His arms fall to his sides, tennis ball dropping by his feet as his racket hangs loosely from his grip. He's sweaty, hair damp and sticking to his forehead. Though he hasn't done much, you blame the sun and thank it in the same regard: he looks good.

"Just one more thing," you hum, raising your camera one last time. "Smile like you did before."

"What?"

"Just do it, Art."

He likes the sound of his name on your lips and obliges without further question. There he stands like a boy on his first day of school, arms by his side, racket hanging from his grip, sweaty and squinting under the bleating sun with a wide grin plastered on his face. 

And you take the photo, him to the left of the shot as an empty court fills the rest of the frame. Remnants of that elated look still shine in his eyes, you've caught the afterglow. 

"That's the one," you practically jump up and down at the picture staring back at you on the display.

Art makes a face. "What? I wasn't even playing."

You have to look from camera-Art to real-life-Art to catch his frown. You smile in response and walk pointedly over to the blond so you can practically shove your camera in his face.

"Look," you offer, feeling the extra heat of his body against you when he looks over your shoulder to gaze at the camera screen. You click through photos of him playing, all basic pictures he's seen a hundred times with a hundred different players. "That's the game, hitting a ball with a racket. You look good, you're focused, in touch with yourself, that's great. But this..." you click forward until you find your latest image, the one of him smiling, "...this is the afterglow, the dopamine rush, the actual game, the face of sport."

Art is quiet. He stares at himself, his own smile. A moment passes, and then another, and you're beginning to think he doesn't see the vision when he finally breaks the silence.

"Have you ever played tennis?" His voice is barely there, loud enough for you to hear as he leans down a little, right next to your ear. 

You shake your head, you know he can see it, his breath is hot on your neck. 

Art stands upright. "You should let me teach you. It's a good skill to have."

You turn and look up at him, "anyone can hit a ball with a racket."

He's quick to frown, a dramatic faux hurt etched across his face, "anyone can press a button on a camera."

You're about to defend your sport, ramble about the editing process and exposure settings and moving subjects and the rule of thirds when Art's sour expression loses to his breaking grin, and you catch the hypocrisy as it's about to drip from your tongue. 

Before you can reply, however, he cuts you off. "I'll let you use that photo of me... if you let me teach you the basics."

The basics aren’t so basic when you spend most of your time photographing the ball, not trying to hit it. Art is patient, laughing ceremoniously whenever you flinch at the ball as it comes towards you, clapping when you do hit, and offering you pointers when you don’t. Half of the guys at Stanford for sports would have left fifteen minutes ago when you called tennis ‘a game straight from Satan's hole’. Art just laughed.

You wonder if you weren’t in need of a subject for your submission, whether you and Art would have ever crossed paths naturally. You wonder who his friends are, what he does when he’s not playing tennis, if he has other hopes and dreams.

“Your grip is wrong,” Art calls from the other side of the net. “You can hurt your wrist like that.”

You look down at your grip on Art’s racket and sigh—there’s a proper way of doing everything in tennis, you presume. You’re about to try and correct it yourself when Art quite literally jumps over the net to your side, he’s right in front of you in only a second. 

“Hi,” he huffs.

“Hi.”

Art gestures something with his hands that you don’t quite get, then takes another step closer to you before freezing. “Oh, can I touch you? To fix your stance, I mean.”

“I thought it was my grip that was wrong.”

“That too.”

You have to laugh at your fuck-ups if you want to avoid looking like an egg. You nod to Art, who moves behind you and gently places his hands on your hips. He guides your body, slender fingers splayed over your waist, into a position that feels unnatural yet somewhat powerful. With a gentle nudge of his foot between your legs, he parts them and pushes one slightly forward.

“That’s good,” his voice hits your ears in waves, and you feel the tingle of goosebumps creep up along your arm. “Now your grip."

Art Donaldson slides his hands down your arms, taking each of your wrists in each of his hands and readjusts your grip on the handle of the racket, one hand above the other.

You stare at the ground, and he clears his throat quietly. “Like this.”

He brings both of his hands down to cup around yours and pulls your arms up as he swings your arms back and forth, the movement fluid. in demonstration of the godforsaken 'proper technique'. Your back is pressed right against his front, his chest flush against your back and the ridges of his stomach brushing against the line of your spine. Your heart races, and though you're sure he hears it, it's drowned out by the pounding of blood throughout your head as you focus on each movement of his hands, on his words, and on his voice.

"There we go," he nods, his mess of blond hair brushing against your neck as he dips his head down, presumably to check your footing. Your body shudders as he whispers, "Good job," and his mouth tickles the shell of your ear before he releases you. The world seems to tilt, no longer relying on Art for balance. You're surprised the racket doesn't fall from your grasp when he steps back, though with the loss of contact, your knees feel weak enough to collapse. As it stands, though, you're still standing, and Art is beaming down at you like he's just taught a puppy a new trick.

"So, what'd you think?" he asks.

You tilt your head in question.

Art smiles wider, "is it easier than pressing a button on a camera?"

"Oh, so you're an asshole," a bemused smile crawls across your lips.

He snorts, "Maybe."

Your laughter dies away as a strange sort of melancholy seeps in. You're suddenly aware of how far apart you two are, the space between your bodies, the lack of physical contact. Art notices, and gives a soft laugh of his own, a lighthearted chuckle that breaks the eerie need to replace the warmth of the sun with the warmth of each other. 

"So," Art crosses his arms. "Now you just have to learn how to hit the ball."

"Ha ha ha," you verbalise, straight-lipped and eyebrows furrowed. "Maybe next time, hot shot."

"Next time?" Art's reply is quick. "So you'll let me keep teaching you?"

You smile at him, "No, I was lying to be polite."

It's Art's turn to act unimpressed, but you see him bite back a grin. He lets out a stressed-short laugh that turns into a huff at the end. "You're so funny."

"I know."

"Will you show me the photo once it's printed?"

It takes you a moment to realise he's being serious.

"Huh?" you ask, looking up.

Art's eyes are wide, and he raises an eyebrow. "Can I have your phone number?" he clarifies.

You open your mouth to object, to tell him no- you don't give your number to random boys you've just met, but instead, the corners of your mouth twitch upward and you're suddenly typing your number into Art's phone and saving your name with a smiley face next to it. Art smiles at the gesture and pockets his phone. There's a moment of silence shared between you, an unassuming silence that's more comfortable than it is awkward, but a silence nonetheless.

A silence broken by the loud echoing voice of another boy calling out from the far side of the courts- a brunette with curls that are more defined than Arts, that's the most you can make of him as he calls to the blond by your side, waving his arms above his head and then gesturing to his wrist like he's tapping a watch.

"Oh, shit," Art pulls his phone back out to check the time. "Fuck, sorry, I have to go."

You shrug, smiling. "It's fine, thanks for giving up some of your time."

Art smiles back, thanking you in turn for putting up with his tennis brain, then hurries to grab his things and race away in the direction of his friend. For a few seconds, all you can do is stand there dumbly watching his retreating form until he reaches his friend, who nudges Art and looks over his shoulder at you before the pair of them disappear around the corner leading back towards campus.

It's not until they're out of eyeshot that you turn to grab your camera bag, just to be greeted by an empty space where you had left it. Your heart drops for a moment, the thought of losing your camera a soul-crushing one. You remember, though, tucking it away with Art's stuff for safekeeping. He must have grabbed it in his rush to leave.

You exhale, running a hand over your forehead. Well fuck.

Art Donaldsons dorm room number plays on a loop in your head that night. He had texted you as promised, with a simple ‘I HAVE YOUR CAMERA!’ along with an easy ‘COME TO MY DORM I HAVE BEER’

It had taken him another ten minutes to realise you’d have no clue where his dorm was, and send through his dorm number. You had debated sending him a text back, telling him to meet you tomorrow on campus to hand over the camera, but your submission deadline is the next night and you need time to edit, decide you hate your prospective career as a photographer, and then fall in love with the process all over again.

You roam the halls of the boys' dorms for a few minutes, eyeing door numbers until you find his. Some doors are left ajar, some wide open and sporting odours so bad you curse God for giving you a sense of smell. You finally find Art’s door, and double check the number twice before knocking, despite a tennis ball sticker just above the door handle. 

There's a little rustling inside when you knock, but his voice calls out clearly. "Come in!"

When you open the door, you're greeted not by Art Donaldson, but by the blinding flash of your own camera. You blink away the stun to find Art grinning at the display, admiring his handiwork as an amateur photographer. He turns your camera in his hands to show you to yourself, startled and wide-eyed in a half-blurred photo: Art's finger covers a corner of the frame too, it must have been over the lens.

"I think I'm a natural," he bites his tongue cheekily as he hands you your camera back. You check it over, out of habit more than mistrust of Art, and he pushes his door wide open to reveal the dorm room in all its college-student glory. It's not large by any means, but it has everything you could ever possibly want and then some, plus an impressive collection of sports memorabilia from past years and awards displayed in frames on the walls. Your camera bag is sitting on his bed, and Art gestures you towards it with a smile.

"Sorry," he spins around and opens a little cooler sitting on his floor, pulling out two beer cans from inside and offering you one. "I didn't realise I had picked it up. Were you okay without it?"

You take the beer with a 'thanks' and pat the small shoulder bag you wear. You lift the flap open to reveal a little Polaroid camera, an old one you barely use anymore. "Had to pull this off the shelf," you say.  "But yeah, it should be good now."

"That's good," Art nods as you pop the top of your beer.

You sit on the edge of his bed while he takes a sip of his beer, staring at you. You notice a slight flush to his cheeks and wonder if he's a few drinks ahead of you. You can't help but laugh, leaning forward as you rest your elbows on your thighs. "Why am I here, Art?"

He frowns, looking down at you from where he stands, leaning against his countertop. "To pick up your camera?"

"You could have met me with it tomorrow. It's..." you glance at the alarm clock beside his bed, "nearly midnight."

He blinks and laughs sheepishly at you, scratching behind his neck. "Yeah, about that... I guess I just wanted to see you again?"

"Oh," you lean back and purse your lips in surprise, glancing from Art and the beautiful nervous look on his face to the beer he holds in a tight grip.

Art laughs softly, "Are you freaked out?"

"No," you shake your head quickly, "I'm not freaked out, Art."

Art chuckles lightly at that, his smile widening as his blush deepens. "Okay," he breathes out before he takes another sip of his beer and moves to sit beside you on the bed. It dips under his weight, almost pulling you closer into him, though he leaves enough space to remain respectable. His eyes seem darker now, more focused, even though his expression remains soft and pleasant. His gaze lingers on your face for a while before he opens his mouth to speak. "You said earlier, on the court, that the photo you took was the real face of sport. You're good, huh?"

"I'd like to think so," you smile fondly, gaze flitting from his lips to his eyes.

"Are you in love with it?"

You hum, "with photography?"

Art's eyes flick up to your eyes. His gaze is intense, not in a scary way, but something more playful and inviting. He nods.

"I love it, sure," you nod, situating yourself to sit more comfortably on Art’s bed. "Are you in love with tennis?"

Art nods, taking a longer drink from his beer. "Yes."

Your brow furrows and you raise an eyebrow. "I didn't know. You seemed pretty nonchalant about the whole 'look at me, I'm a tennis player' thing, actually."

His face splits in a toothy grin. "I'm humble."

You giggle quietly at that, and stare at him for a couple of seconds, studying his face, taking in every little detail. His hair, his eyes, the faintest hint of stubble on his jawline and chin, his smile, and the dimples on each cheek that said smile brings out. There are traces of dark circles underneath his eyes, you realise, and they're highlighted when his pupils expand slightly at your laughter. 

You feel warm, and not from the alcohol that sits inside your stomach. The both of you place down your beers, and Art Donaldson, who may well have a girlfriend and dirtied intentions, takes in a deep breath before asking you lowly, "Can I kiss you?"

The word 'please' escapes your lips before you can stop it and the red tint in Art's ears deepens. You bite the insides of your cheeks nervously, waiting for Art to speak again, but he doesn't, and suddenly his hand is at the nape of your neck, tugging you forwards and pressing his lips to yours in a hungry, desperate manner.

As he starts moving slowly, his tongue darts out and traces the curve of your bottom lip as he pulls you further into him, the taste of his beer lingering on his lips making the gesture feel all the more enticing. A hand cups your jaw, slender fingers trailing down your neck in sensual exploration of your exposed body before his other hand rests on the small of your back and he draws you even closer until the heat radiating off himself feels almost unbearable on your skin.

There's no hesitation, no awkward pauses, or second-guessing, you find yourself melting against his body instinctively. A narcotic, he is, the way he smells and tastes and sounds and touches, and there's only so much you can handle before it overwhelms your senses completely. The kiss itself isn't that hot, it's chaste and messy and your teeth click against his in the desperation of it all, but it fills you with something unfamiliar, makes you feel lightheaded and dizzy and yearning wholeheartedly for more. You don't care how little you know him, you don't mind the lack of foreplay; you just feel overwhelmed and need more, you need more than just his lips on yours.

He practically whimpers when you pull back, his hands sliding down to hold onto your hips possessively. Sad eyes meet yours at the loss of your taste, but you brush off his worry easily, running your thumb across his cheekbone as he leans into your touch, breathing in and out heavily through his nose as if you are his only source of breath, and the sight causes a knot to form in your stomach.

"You are single, right?" your kiss-swollen lips whisper against his and you feel him exhale.

"Yes," he speaks against your mouth, a husky sound that makes your heart ache.

"Good."

You kiss him again, more fervently, letting your tongue tangle with his as his arm wraps around you tightly. Before you know it, Art has your back against his mattress and is hovering over you, hands gliding swiftly under your shirt. You aid him in getting it over your head and watch as he follows suit, pulling off his own shirt and tossing it to the floor in dismissal. He slides down his shorts and leaves himself in a pair of blue boxers that you already notice are tenting.

You take a moment, you have to, to appreciate the sculpt of Art’s body—the muscled planes of his chest, the breadth of his shoulders. His face is flushed, hair mussed and unkempt, lips swollen and kissed pink. You want to commit every last inch of this man to memory, keep him locked in the back of your mind in fear of never experiencing this again. 

Is this a one-time thing? You lift your hips as Art pulls down your shorts and panties in one go, and you can't help but wonder if this is the first and only time you'll feel his fingertips against the skin of your thighs. When morning comes, and your lust is expelled and tired, will Art turn his shoulder from you? Is this something? Hell, you don't know the guy, not really.

But he presses a gentle kiss to your lower abdomen and you feel safe and comfortable; your heart rate slows as the tension eases and your body sinks further into the mattress, letting Art's hand slip between your legs to part them. "Art…"

A low moan passes your lips as he brushes his fingertips over your clit, they're still cold from holding his beer, and the stark contrast in temperature is enough to make you gasp. Art slides his thumb over the sensitive nub and you arch your back in response. Your hands come to grasp at the sheet beneath you, knuckles whitening from the amount of pressure you're exerting on them. You want more, but you realise quickly that Art is a man for taking his time. Slow, languid circles over your clit, not daring to even push a finger inside of you just yet. You whine and buck your hips against his hand, needing his touch to be deeper.

He presses a kiss to your chest, and then trails his mouth down your stomach, pausing briefly to look up at you before he dips to place a kiss directly to your pulsing clit.

You freeze, and a wave of insecurity washes over you. "You don't have to..."

"I'm dying here," Art's eyes meet yours: he looks starved. "Please let me."

All you can do is nod your head and close your eyes as he delves between your thighs for a taste of your lust. His free hand digs into the flesh of your thigh, grip tight as if he’s dead set on leaving his mark, staking his claim. He’s showering in the way you writhe, his tongue rolling over your clit as he slips two fingers inside of you. He’s high off your taste alone, latching his lips around your clit in an assault fueled by insatiable need.

You can feel him shuffle a little, moving his free hand from your thigh to reach under his own waistband and stroke himself in tandem with the thrust of his fingers inside of you. His pace quickens, though he still manages to savour your pleasure. Your hand snakes down to thread your fingers through his mess of blond hair, pushing your hips up in an attempt for more.

As Art pumps his cock with his hand, he groans against your heated flesh, sending vibrations from your sex to your spine: you arch your back in pleasure, the tightness of an impending orgasm beginning to roll over you. You try to vocalise it, tell Art you’re close, but you’re already a mess of incoherent moans and pleads for more— but he doesn’t need words to know, not when he can feel you clenching around his fingers, your every muscle tensing. His scalp must burn from the stress of your pulling, but he doesn’t seem to mind so much, smiling against your pussy as he finger-fucks you to climax.

With a sharp inhale and a choked sob of a moan from your throat, you come undone under Art’s ministrations, your vision blurred and stomach in knots of ecstasy. It's only once your breath finds you again that Art pulls his fingers out of you and climbs over you once more to press a messy kiss to your lips, he shares with you a taste of yourself, lips glistening with your release. He grins into the kiss, as pussydrunk as can be, and moves to press a sloppy mixture of kisses and bites to your exposed neck.

"You taste so good," he speaks against your skin, nipping at your pulse. 

"I want more of you," you exhale, dizzy with lust.

Your legs tighten around his back as he meets your eyes once again, a sultry smile creeping across his face. You snake a hand down to the waistband of his boxers, noting the thin layer of sweat that already glosses Art's torso, and dip a finger under the elastic. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah, please," he murmurs, ducking down to press another kiss to your shoulder. You tuck your hand into his boxers, feeling past his trimmed-short hair and wrapping your fingers around his cock, rock hard and pulsing in your hand. He groans and presses himself further into your hand, his teeth dragging along the expanse of your shoulder as you pump his shaft. His hips rise of their own accord as you bring your hand higher, rubbing along his length until you have him completely desperate for the now-familiar warmth of your pussy.

"I need to be inside of you," he lays his intentions out, head tilting up to watch you for a sign of protest.

You nod, eager and willing to accommodate him, and release his cock, raising yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at the beautiful mess of a man moving to stand. He (ungracefully) reaches over to grab a condom from his bedside drawer and sheds his boxers. Inhaling slowly through his nose, he takes his time as he slides the condom onto his dick, stroking his cock gently once it's on. He watches you closely, a fond look on his face as he rubs the head of his cock up and down your pussy a few times, collecting the remnants of your lust and his spit before he enters you. It's slow, and careful, and deliberate, and your body trembles in anticipation, eyes flickering closed when he finally gives into your silent plea. The shared gasp between you is uniform, a symphony of pleasure and endurance. Him, overwhelmed by just how tight you are. You, overwhelmed by the stretch of just how big he is.

Art bottoms out in one movement, to get the harshest part out of the way for you; you hiss at the searing heat of the stretch, but calm as Art stills inside of you. You both take a moment, a shared breath, to appreciate being one, and the pleasure that comes with such entwining.

Once you’re ready, you squeeze his bicep, giving him the green-light to move. And he does, painstakingly slow, he pulls out of you, just to snap his hips forward to plunge himself back inside. The hand that isn't holding him up is pressed down on your stomach, feeling himself through you as he pushes in deep, then withdraws.  Each thrust of his cock brings forth a loud gasp from your lips, which only serves to guide him further into a state of mindless bliss. He keeps himself in check as best he can, though his breathing has quickened considerably as he continues to fuck you. You feel like you're going to lose your mind, unable to breathe or speak or think straight as you're pulled closer and closer to your end. Though as you've learnt, Art Donaldson is a man to take his time, and he switches from the fast snapping thrusts to a slow roll of his hips once he feels he's a little too close to the edge.

You notice, too: you see the tension building in his muscles, how he pants and groans with each movement he makes. He stares at you adoringly, heavy lids weighing his sights down to your chest, your arched torso, your sweet design. He leans down to press another kiss to you, lips parting so he can slide his tongue into your mouth as his rhythm quickens even more. The kiss feels more intimate than even the act of his cock splitting you open, it's a sweet one, a honeymoon-style kiss where after his forehead meets yours and his eyes bore into your eyes in a mixture of something hazy.

You notice the glossy look in his eyes immediately, it's the same one you had seen on the tennis court earlier. The awestruck, total blissful look in his eyes that had spurred your inspiration. The face of sport. Even through your fucked-dumb haze of lust and a hedonistic desire to finish like this, with Art on top of you, the opportunist in yourself can't help but move. You place a firm hand on Art's shoulder, and his thrusts roll to a stop.

"You okay?" he pants, a sudden worry in his eyes, he looks you over for any signs of discomfort.

"Fine," you shake your head, trying to clear it, blinking away the foggy sensation clouding your mind. "Just, uh... do you trust me?"

Art's eyebrows shoot up, taken aback by the question: "Why?"

Your voice is barely there, a heat spreading across your face as you ask; "will you let me on top?"

Art chuckles low and deep, eyes never breaking contact with yours. A gentle touch to the curve of your ass cheek tells you that he'll miss the view, but he nods nonetheless, and you smile in turn. You expect Art to pull out and lay back on the bed, but instead, he wraps one arm under your back and pushes up with his other, flipping the both of you in one fluid motion. As soon as he's flipped over you straddle his waist, resting your hands on his chest for support, and laugh at the sheer adrenaline rush of it all.

This new position, with you sitting on Art's cock, makes you feel twice as full. You can tell that neither of your orgasms are far off, and you take the opportunity to test the waters. You roll your hips, grinding down on Art's cock, enjoying the way his eyes flutter shut. When he lets out a low noise of approval that sends shivers down your spine, you lower your body closer, pressing a wet kiss to Art's jaw as he grips your waist with a strength you don't doubt will bruise come morning.

His hips raise underneath you, fucking up into you as you continue your ministrations. The sound of skin hitting skin fills the air, and you'd close your eyes in ecstasy if you weren't so hypnotised by the sheen in Art's eyes. With each thrust Art manages to drive into you, you find your nails biting into the skin of his chest. He gets louder, groans and whines that you'd play on repeat if you could,, he's close, and he says as such.

"Let me take a picture," you say before you can stop yourself; his jaw slacks open at your words, staring up at you with incredulity written across his face. You defend your proposal- "With the Polaroid. I'll let you keep it, no copies."

A bad idea, probably, what with his face being one he hopes to see plastered across buildings one day. He doesn't know why he nods, why he smiles when you reach across the bed for your Polaroid. Maybe it's the mindless state of lust he's in, maybe it's the danger, or maybe he'll find the photo in ten years' time and remember this night with a smile or a frown depending on the grand outcome.

You ready the camera, roll your hips against his a few more times, and look down at pretty Art Donaldson. 

"You're fucking gorgeous," you let slip, praise falling from your lips straight to his reddened ears. You feel him twitch inside of you, you squeeze around him in coaxing. "Look at you."

He fucks up into you with a pace unrelenting. Your second orgasm of the night is only seconds away, and you cope through the haze of pleasure and lust to focus on Art's face, memorising every detail of that look in his eyes as he starts to falter.

"Fuck," you groan, pressing down onto him to a new depth. He's tense for a moment, a sweet moment of shared rapture as you both fall over the edge of your climaxes. 

"Shit, shit," his sounds mirror yours, veins pulsing in his neck as he cums. One hand digs into your hips, the other grips the sheets. 

His eyes meet yours, and you see it. The look, the face of pleasure, of need, of sin. 

You take the shot.

SIX YEARS LATER

The night is quiet, save for the sound of rustling trees outside and the occasional passing car. Art Donaldson has to bite his tongue to stop himself from making a noise.

He stands in the shower, water falling over his back, though cleanliness is an afterthought despite being sweat-ridden after hours of training with Tashi.

With one hand, Art pumps his cock in vigorous strokes, leaning against the cold tile wall as he jerks himself off. His eyes are locked onto what he holds in his other hand- the photo you took all those years ago. He's careful not to get it wet, but it's hard to focus on the state of it when his pooling orgasm nearly blinds him. 

His eyes burn into the image, a display of himself at his most vulnerable. You had taken it looking down at him as your orgasms synced, and now he looks down at the same sight you had seen at your peak. He cums ropes onto the shower floor, biting so hard on his tongue to stifle his moans that he's surprised he can't taste blood in his mouth. 

He’s left breathless, eyes still locked on the polaroid he had found in the basement earlier in the day. There's a handful more of them, but Art had no time to go through them, not after pulling this one out first and being hit with a wave of memories he’s not sure he should have.

He has to satiate his guilt by telling himself it’s not wrong to jerk off, especially not when it’s only a photo of himself… or, that could make it worse. Art exhales deeply, emptying his lungs so he can take a breath of new air.

Art steps backward into the fall of water, letting it run down his face in a rejuvenating cleanse of his sins and unholy ways of thinking. He sighs, wonders what level of hell he’s going to, and then flips the polaroid around.

Written in your handwriting on the strip of white down the bottom in permanent marker, 

THE ART OF MAKING LOVE.

series taglist: @lotties-ashwagandha @daughterhouse @kiiwizz @doll-0f-flesh @jackierose902109 @lonnie2390147 @hedonisticwomen @ysuftmikey @viena-vie @whitewashedghanianlol @kolsmikaelson @nikirikii @dumbass-sappho-stan @seriousaliysa @majathepapaya @lovezclub @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo

[keisobe]

── ⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 (𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚)

from spider-man : across the spiderverse (spoiler free!!)

characters. miles morales. miguel o’hara. hobie brown & peter b. parker. + pavitr prabhakar

notes. i quickly wrote this because spiderverse has consumed a lot of my attention (cue the tiktok edits i’ve saved of hobie and miguel). anyways hope i did the characterization accurate enough and hope it was fun to read ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) + not completely proofread

𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 ❤︎

he’s painfully awkward when it comes to hugging. his limbs don’t know where to wrap around, so they keep flaring everywhere until you end up locking him into one solid hug.

miles is also very respectful of your boundaries, he would do that weird hover hand thing over your waist that would look very off in photos (his hand literally 3 inches away from your shoulder, but a good photo overall).

but when he’s close to you, he would pull you into a protective and warm embrace— especially if he has been worried sick about you. that’s until he pulls away and let’s out a chuckle accompanied with a light scratch on the back of his neck to ease his worries.

“umm… wait— lemme just…”

miles’ arms were bending awkwardly and moving in lightning speed, a nervous smile plastered onto his conflicted features— twitching brows and all.

you huffed at his failed attempt to simply embrace you, so you forcefully hooked your arms around his neck and brought him closer, feeling the softness of his cheek against your forehead and the pacing heartbeat you didn’t know he had.

“it’s fine, it’s just me silly.” you teased into his ear, prompting miles to chuckle at his own awkwardness and to wrap his strong arms around your waist.

“right, it’s you.” he whispered more to himself, leaning down to reach your height and to cutely rest his head in the nape of your neck. “just you.”

𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 ❤︎

hasn’t been held in so long. he says that he doesn’t do hugs, will probably go into flight-and-fight mode if you even asked for a small embrace. if you’re lucky though, he’ll leave you with a deadly glare and an annoyed huff.

but in the heat of the moment, in the moments of needed comfort, he will be there to give you an embrace. although, his hugs are tight, to the point you have a hard time breathing. it’ll take him a moment to notice that you’re literally breathless and will cough a lousy sorry as compensation for squeezing you to death (but he actually feels bad).

what nobody knows (maybe expect you) is that he prefers hugs that can display his strength. lifting you off from the ground with ease makes him smirk to himself. surprise hugs from the back also avoids the awkwardness of confronting actual romantic contact (it’s also more fun for him).

“what now?” miguel folds his arms impatiently as he watches you dumbly spread your arms out, a determined glint in your eyes.

no response, you simply spread your arms wider. miguel huffs an annoyed laugh and awkwardly comes up to you to embrace you, with a tightness that made you choke for air. then he suddenly lifts you from the floor, making you latch tightly around his neck.

miguel sighs deeply, the irritation that emitted from him suddenly became comfortably warm.

“did you need this hug?” you managed to breathe out, threading your fingers through the loose brown hair in the back of his neck.

“yeah, i really needed it.” miguel mumbles out in embarrassment, tightening his muscular arms around your waist— prompting a weak yet satisfied wheeze from your lips.

𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 ❤︎

he’s chill with hugs, but he’s very friendly about it. likes to latch an arm on his mates and such— but an immediate sweet embrace you won’t really get (he’s good at reading people, so if you’re vibes are off, he ain’t moving an inch).

he generally prefers to give side hugs, nothing too personal and definitely fits his overall demeanor. match that up with a firm compliment and a friendly pat on the shoulder. but if he’s close to you, he’ll be there patiently with open arms.

then he’s analyzing you closely as you embrace him, listening closely for a change in your heartbeat or any small noise that escapes your mouth. he subtly smells you too and will not forget your scent (will use the same detergent as you right after the embrace). there’s a moment of silence and it’s perfectly comfortable.

“c’mere.” hobie faintly whispers with an expanded arm, his expression unusually soft.

immediately you ran to receive an embrace from his slim body, a wet sniffle muffled into his webbed suit as tears began to pour from your eyes. hobie hovers a calloused hand over your back, thinking for a moment, until he decides that it was fine to do so. he pats the small of your back comfortably, murmuring a song he wrote to soothe your sadness.

“thank you hobie.” you hiccuped, leaning onto his chest. hobie simply nodded, playing with the ends of your hair with a painted finger.

“yea...” he mumbled, noticing that the tears that stained your cheeks before faded and your breathing steadied. “no probs.”

𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛. 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 ❤︎

he’s painfully awkward too. pull him into an embrace, he will let out an uncomfortable chuckle as he carefully pries you off his body. peter makes it obvious he wants his space, rightfully so.

actually, head pats is something he prefers to give. it’s comforting for him to be able to teasingly mess your hair to get a whine from you, or feel the texture of your hair under his palms. also, he’s an old man (will feel extremely insulted if you say his comforting technique is equivalent to that of an elderly folk).

but if he’s close with you or there is a moment when an embrace is desperately needed, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull you into a deep embrace. due to his new plushness to his body and rarity of his soft affection, peter’s embraces feel warm and inviting. sorry though, it’ll only last a few seconds until he’s pulling away immediately (will give up if you pull him back into the embrace tho).

“there, there kiddo…” peter softly pats your head, poorly attempting to cool your temper.

“not working peter.”

peter sighs in defeat as he slowly retracted his hand, thinking of a solution to cheer you up. without a second thought, he quickly pulled you into an embrace with efficient strength— the softness of his stomach contrasted the hardness of his chest. immediately you light up, nuzzling into his warm arms as he playfully swayed your body side-to-side.

“better?” he chuckled at your dazed expression, maybe hugging wasn’t so bad.

“yeah…” you could hear the slow patters of his heartbeat as he tightened the protective hold around your waist.

MOCHIFILM © 2023. please do not copy, translate, or modify any of my work. all of my works are not permitted to be posted on any other sites.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Can you do a Clark Kent, with a mate? Maybe she gets jealous of Lois but doesn’t know why; an to get over him she tries to go out with another guy but Clark is like no. Your mine.

.⋆｡Office Crushes｡⋆.

Alpha!Clark Kent x omega!plus size reader

Little bit of Bruce Wayne x plus size reader

Your best friend has an office crush that seems to be becoming something more, maybe you should get your own office romance but not because you’re jealous- obviously

Warnings: a/b/o, jealousy, mutual pining, idiots in love, little bit of angst, protective!clark, fluff

WC: 3.1k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

It was quite common for any office to have its workers develop a sort of infatuation with each other. A confined space where you spend upwards of 40 hours a week with the same people, feelings are destined to arise, especially when it’s such a large mixture of alphas, betas and omegas. Hormones tend to go wild.

You were proud that you had never developed an office crush, knowing how disastrous it could be if the relationship ended, but you doubted your best friend could say the same. Clark had a big heart that he always wore on his sleeve and tended to attract a lot of romantic interest from practically everyone in the office. And apparently, Lois Lane was the lucky one who finally caught his eye.

A strange churning in your stomach began as you looked over the wall of your cubicle and spotted Clark leaning on the small kitchen counter, head thrown back in laughter as Lois chuckled over her now full cup of coffee. You know you should have seen it from a mile away- they were constantly paired up for articles, their chemistry was unmatched and they were by far the most attractive people in the office. You had even teased Clark on occasion for how often he met up with her after hours for some new lead, calling them dates.

Evidently, you were right. And for some reason, it was really bothering you. You felt physical disgust as Clark bent down to whisper something into the smaller omega’s ear and down right nausea as she placed a hand onto his broad chest to steady herself.

You swallowed down the bitter emotions and forced yourself to return to editing your article though a sour taste remained on your tongue. Maybe it was finally time to get your own office crush and the perfect opportunity had just landed in your inbox.

‘Bruce Wayne Interview- I trust you’ll get this done professionally’. You bit your lip at the offer, not only would an interview with Gotham’s golden boy boost your career, but whenever you had encountered the alpha before, he had always asked you out and you had always brushed him off. It was a win-win for you, and maybe it would stop the inexplicable rage you felt when you looked up and saw the goofy grin on Clark’s face as he sat back down at his desk.

Your nose wrinkled as you caught Lois’s scent clinging to him. Your fingers flew across the keyboard as you quickly sent a response back to your boss, accepting the offer. 

You just needed a distraction and then everything would go back to normal.

——————

The tension in the conference room at the top of Wayne Enterprise was so thick you swore you could cut it with a butter knife. You cleared your throat and tugged down your pencil skirt, over-aware of just how high it sat on your plump thighs as you reclined in one of the many expensive seats in the room. 

Bruce’s eyes flicked down to where your hands were curled into the material of the skirt and then back to your eyes but not before stopping very briefly at your lips. “Mr Wayne-“ You began again, glancing at your notepad. The small talk had gone well as did the customary chit chat about any new scandal he happened to have instigated and the photos of the both of you for the article.

“Bruce please, I think we’re far beyond that now.” He winked and you swore that his tone held a bit of a teasing purr. Your stomach flipped at the blatant attention from the alpha but it quickly dropped as yet another wave of thick, bitter scent filled the room making you cringe away from the other man standing to the side.

Through a series of several unfortunate events, your usual photographer had fallen ill and his stand-in got hired from right under the company and left so the only person that even had the slightest bit of talent with a camera in the office was forced to come with you today for shots of the billionaire. And in the worst stroke of luck, that person happened to be the very man that ‘inspired’ you to take the job in the first place.

Clark shifted on his feet and you barely repressed an eye roll. He had been very vocal in his disapproval of the whole thing given how often the mogul had put the moves on you but none of his arguments had done anything to deter you, instead they only fuelled the fire.

Bruce’s jaw clenched and you watched in fascination as the muscles beneath his skin moved, although they were not nearly as impressive as Clark’s (you would never admit that out loud). “Well Bruce,” He beamed at you, “Wayne Enterprises has just introduced a new product line that promises to ease the severe heats often experienced by omegas, my question for you is, what about this product is so different from all others on the market that promise the same things yet all others have failed?”

The alpha leaned back in his seat, his muscular thighs spreading slightly, instantly drawing your gaze to the thick bulge that was perfectly hugged by the material of his pants. Your eyes immediately flicked back up to him but given the smirk on his lips, Bruce knew exactly what he was doing. 

“I’m actually quite proud of my team for this, they’ve worked tirelessly on development for years and I believe that it really shows. While other products are usually prescribed by doctors in the forms of ointments and perfumes that mimic the scent of an alpha, which almost never work by the way, we have gone in a totally new direction. Instead, omegas can buy these pouches at any pharmacy and when heated, they give off the scent of a pup.” Bruce gestured to the small bags that were barely the size of your palm that sat on the table next to him. They gave the appearance of a miniature version of a microwavable heat pack but he was right, if you concentrated hard enough, you could smell the mixture of milk and flowers that all babies had.

“It is common knowledge that the presence of pups actually help to lessen the effects of a heat whereas the scent of an alpha is far more complex to manufacture and can actually make an omega’s heat worse if they don’t have any other-“ he paused then, his smirk growing as the room seemed to grow smaller, “-tools to help them through it.” You barely suppressed a squeak and quickly ducked your head as if you were checking your notes once more.

You gathered yourself for a moment then spoke again, missing the way that Clark was glaring at the other alpha over your shoulder. “And how affordable are these products?”

“Wayne Enterprises are donating 2 million to women’s shelters throughout Gotham and we plan to sell them for less than $10.” As if anticipating your next question, Bruce licked his lips and continued. “While it is not feasible to gain a profit from such a low price, I would rather give them away to the people that need it but I do have a board that I have to listen to… sometimes.” He winked at you.

Heat crawled up your neck and settled onto your full cheeks. You squeezed your thighs together though you weren’t quite sure if it was because you were attempting to feign arousal or keep him from looking up your skirt. You laid a hand onto your notebook, shutting off your recorder, as you leaned forwards and offered him your other one. “Thank you for being so open to this interview, you have been a hard man to pin down.”

You could feel the way Clark’s body seized as Bruce’s smirk grew and his eyes twinkled deviously. “If it’s by you miss Y/L/N, I would gladly be pinned down any time.” He shook your hand with a firm grip, letting the tips of his fingers brush against your wrist. “For an interview that is.”

He rose to his feet and politely helped you to yours, steadying you with a hand on your waist as you wobbled on your heels. Once he was sure that you were steady, he ducked down and grabbed one of the unopened boxes of Heat Helpers (quite the cheesy name in your opinion) and gave it to you, along with a small piece of cardstock. “Why don’t you take this, a thank you for a great conversation.”

You flipped over the piece of paper to reveal a phone number scrawled on in pen. You gave him a questioning look to which he chuckled. “My number, if you ever want to have a one-on-one with me, with or without the tape recorder.” 

You swallowed thickly and stuttered out some kind of polite response before Clark ushered you out of the room, muttering under his breath about being in a time crunch. You were barely able to catch one last, “Anytime miss Y/L/N” before the heavy door slammed shut and you were quite literally pushed into the awaiting elevator by your friend.

As soon as the doors were shut, you were on him. “What was that all about?” You crossed your arms over your chest and gave him a scrutinising look. Clark refused to make eye contact with you, instead he stared at the elevator doors like he was willing them to open.

“He was flirting with you.” You rolled your eyes and looked away from the tall alpha. “And you let him.”

“So what? He’s attractive and available, as am I. It was only natural.” Clark’s shoulders tensed, his grip on his camera tightening until his knuckles turned white. The confined space was now filled with a bitter scent that made your stomach drop and your omega howl in displeasure.

“Why are you so concerned about this, Clark?”

The elevator doors opened with a ping and he quickly walked out. “It’s nothing.” He said and you knew you weren’t going to get anything else out of him until he decided he was done throwing a tantrum.

——————

“So have you called him?” Lois was leaning against the bar next to you, her drink half empty but the flush on her cheeks told you that it wasn’t the first one of the night. 

“Called who?” She rolled her eyes like it was obvious.

“Bruce Wayne! He obviously wants you too, I saw the photos Clark took. He’s fucking—what’s the word— enamoured!” You scoff behind your tumbler of whiskey which you had been nursing since Perry gave it to you an hour ago. The whole office had gathered at the bar down the road for an end-of-workweek drink and against your better judgement, you had decided to join.

Clark had been convinced into joining a game of pool, leaving you without anyone to talk to but it’s not like he would anyway. For some stupid reason, the alpha had been giving you the silent treatment for days and it was really starting to piss you off. You regarded Lois with a look but she was far too tipsy to get it.

“He was just flirting, he does it with everybody.” You dismissed it but she scoffed.

“Then why did he ask Perry for your personal number?” Your head snapped up, your eyes wide. “Clark didn’t tell you?” Evidently, your wide open mouth and lack of a verbal response told her everything she needed to know. Suddenly, Lois was very sober, a serious expression on her face.

“We were in a meeting with Perry the day after the interview and Wayne just strolled in like he fucking owned the place. He said how great you were and that he was hoping to get your number for a follow-up interview sometime soon. Clark said he would handle it, I assumed that he would have talked to you.” Her gaze travelled over to said man. “Shit I guess he didn’t.”

You slammed back the rest of your drink and without any sort of conscious thought, stormed over to the group of men huddled around the pool table. “Where the fuck do you get off Kent?” You snarled. Immediately all of the men seemed to find their phones incredibly interesting.

“I’m sorry?” He asked in that way too polite way he did that really meant ‘what the fuck is the matter with you’ but you were having none of it.

“Why didn’t you tell me Bruce asked for my number?” 

“There’s a lot of Bruces in the world, you’ll have to be more specific.” He dismissed.

Anger flared in your gut. “You know exactly what I’m fucking talking about.” You snarled, making Clark stand up straight and meet your eyes. In the dim light of the bar, his expression was far darker than you had ever seen before as aggravation rolled off of his powerful body in waves. “You had no right to keep something like that from me!”

“I had every right! He was just going to use you and then never talk to you again! I was protecting you!” 

“I didn’t ask you to!” The bar went completely silent as Clark visibly flinched but you were far too upset to care. “You know what, I’m done.” You raised your hands in surrender as you turned and pushed through the stunned crowd, your anger slowly trickling away into sadness.

The night air was like a punch in the gut but it also eased the tenseness in your shoulders. Taking a deep breath, you willed yourself not to cry. It wasn’t like you were in love with Bruce, but even if you were, Clark’s blatant disapproval of him and his distrust in your decisions made you feel incredibly small. And it was breaking your heart.

He was your best friend, he was supposed to be supportive if not a little teasing about your choice in men. He was supposed to console you when things went wrong, not say ‘I told you so’. Why did he get to control your love life while you could only sit back and watch him fall in love with someone else?

Your feet carried you further and further from the bar as the urge to sob was quickly becoming overwhelming. “Y/N!” You turned in time to see Clark throw open the door, the light from inside spilling out onto the street as he endeavoured to chase you.

“Leave me alone!” You cried or at least tried to, but then suddenly, the air was knocked from your lungs and you were looking up at the stars.

The shrill screech of a speeding car came from somewhere on your left as bright headlights illuminated the mass of a man above you before the sound was in the distance and darkness folded over you both. His weight kept you pinned to the slightly damp grass and you had the vague thought that you must be in a park of some kind, even though just a second ago you were standing on a sidewalk- or was it the street?

“Are you okay?” That was Clark’s voice but he had been so far away from you. “Omega?” He sounded distressed and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why.

“Say something!” His huge hands were planted by your head and it was only when one of them cupped your cheek did you find your voice again.

“Clark?” His whole body sagged with relief and he let his forehead rest against yours.

“Thank god. I thought I didn’t get to you in time. The car came out of nowhere and you were so close.” You turned your head away from him, your eyes focusing on the bar… that was across the street… a block away. The glint of something in the grass catches your attention, Clark’s glasses. 

He looked so different without them and all your confused mind could think was just how blue his eyes were when they were unobscured by the glass. 

His button up shirt which was normally so perfectly done up was unbuttoned, exposing the tight material of something navy beneath. “What?” But you couldn’t get out anymore, not when he shifted his weight, exposing even more of what was covered by his shirt and you were stunned into silence.

The red ’S’ practically glowed as realisation dawned into you. His brows scrunched in confusion, following your gaze. “I- I can explain.” Your head spun as he yanked you to your feet, though his hands never left your skin like he needed the reassurance that you were still there.

“I was going to tell you but then I realised how much danger it would put you in and if you were hurt in any way because of me, I couldn’t even stand the thought. And then we had known each other for months and Lois said you would feel betrayed so I kept it a secret-“ You placed an open palm onto his chest, stopping him in his tracks. His mouth snapped shut with a click.

“Is this why you were acting so weird about Bruce? You thought he would hurt me because of you?” Your voice wobbled with emotions as your nails dug into his warm peck. 

Clark’s growl was shocking in its intensity. The vibrations shot up your arm as the ground shook beneath your feet with its power. “No, he would never even dare to fucking touch you. He knows who you belong to.” Your heart skipped a beat, this possessiveness was nothing you had ever seen from the soft-spoken reporter before. You knew that you should find it disgusting considering how he had been treating you but instead your veins filled with warmth.

“And who is it that I belong to? There’s no claiming mark on my neck.” His grip on your hips tightened which should have been a warning but the anger was quickly returning now that the foggy haze of danger had passed. “If I can remember correctly, you’ve been courting Lois, not me.”

“I’ve been asking her for advice on how to ask you out!” He said, exasperated. “I just couldn't find the perfect time to do it.”

“You’re an idiot.” You retorted before grabbing his black curls in a tight grip and yanking his mouth to yours. His body tensed but then quickly melted into you, groaning against your lips. 

Maybe you did have an office crush but it’s not like you’d actually admit it.

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[finelinevogue]

always

summary - you and harry finally say those three words

pairing - actress!reader x harry

word count - ~1.5k

💐🌷☀️💗 💐🌷☀️💗 💐🌷☀️💗 💐🌷☀️💗

It was the Oscar’s after party at Vanity Fair and you were a little tipsy.

A happy drunk, some may say.

Just tipsy enough to be able to giggle at everything, but to also still have your entire wits about you. Your boyfriend on your arm was exactly the same. It was lucky neither of you were the designated driver.

“It was nice seeing you!” You politely waved off two people you would not mind never seeing again.

After they were gone, Harry clearly had the same opinion as you.

“Knobheads.” He muttered close to your ear, so no one with a camera could even pick up what he was saying.

“That’s Hollywood, my love.”

“Yeah, but they could have been slightly more discreet about only liking your recent film because you were topless for a small scene.” He huffed.

You looked up at him, filtering out every other star-studded celebrity in the room.

“They were two white old men, what did you expect?”

“Some respect.”

“At least I’ll always have you for that.” You cupped his cheek and his frown melted away. The soft touch of your skin against his was enough to coax back the smile that had been missing on his face.

Harry continued to look at you as you looked at him.

You couldn’t help but give off a blush and a nervous smile as you watched his gaze upon yours. “What?”

“Nothing,” He tried to bite back a ridiculous grin, “Just like that word.”

“What word?” You furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Always.”

You thought back to what you’d just said and you ducked your head to hide the nervous smile widen, docking your forehead onto his chest.

You felt Harry’s chest rise and fall with a chuckle and you wrapped your arms around him to conceal all that happiness between just you two.

It was moments like this when you wanted to lean up and whisper those three words. The three words that apparently change everything. You’d never spoken them to anyone, like this, before so it was difficult to know how to even say them.

You were certain of one thing though. Even though you’d only been together for less than half a year, you’d never felt like this for anyone before. And sometimes you felt like Harry was the same.

You were certain that you loved Harry.

It was only a matter of how to tell him.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

An hour later and you found yourself at the front of the photo booth queue.

Harry had been doing his rounds, saying hello to friendly faces such as Billie and Florence.

You had done your rounds, as well as take non-negotiable photos with your cast mates for one final hurrah.

Even though your movie hadn’t swept at the Oscar’s this year, you were just happy to have been a part of it. Creating movies and bringing stories to life is more than you could ever have dreamed of. Plus, you always had Harry’s hand to hold through it all now - which made it easier.

Harry was in fact holding your hand now.

As Barry and Sabrina walked out of the booth, lipstick smudged all over Barry’s smirking lips, Harry squeezed your hand to signal you were next.

Harry held back the curtain for you, but you waited for him to sit down first.

There was a bench that could fit at least four people on it, but you and Harry had pre-discussed what your photos would be (whilst waiting in the queue) and you’d both agreed that you sitting on his lap was the only way.

The “only way” being Harry’s words…

Not that you minded.

“Only photobooth where you don’t have to pay.” You commented, as you situated yourself sideaways on Harry’s lap.

Your arms slunk across his shoulders for support and his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

You moved slightly to get more comfortable on Harry’s thighs.

“Stop wriggling.” He grunted, making you instantly stop.

“Wh… Oh… Oh, Babe! You’re so….” You laughed at him.

“Hey, you’re not the one who has to go back out there with an obvious issue.”

“Doesn’t have to be an issue…” You attempted your best seductive whisper, but ended up bursting out giggling at the end.

“I hate you.”

You shut up, but his words had you thinking about the hidden meaning. He clearly didn’t hate you, that much was quite visibly obvious, so did he technically mean the opposite? Did he actually mean he lo–

“Y/N/N?” Your nickname being spoken brought you away from your thoughts, “You ready?”

You cleared your throat and approved.

The camera counted down…

The first photo would be of you and Harry simply smiling at the camera, faces leaning against each other.

3. 2. 1.

*snap*

You quickly moved yourselves for the next photo.

The second photo was of Harry kissing your cheek, whilst you made whatever face you wanted to. You decided to scrunch your eyes and smile like an idiot - because that’s how it felt to be in love.

3. 2. 1.

*snap*

In love.

That’s what you were.

You were insanely in love with Harry and he deserved to know. You deserved to share this love.

“Love?” Harry quickly reminded you off the next photo quickly approaching.

It was meant to be of you now kissing Harry’s cheek and him doing whatever he wanted, but now you wanted to do something else.

You cupped the far side of his cheek gently and leant your lips against his ear.

3.

“Y/N?”

2.

“I love you.”

1.

*snap*

Harry quickly turned his head towards you, nearly knocking your nose off in the process.

“What?” He had tiny pools of water collecting in his eyes.

“I love you.” You smiled warmly, softly rubbing over his cheek.

“Fuck.” He smiled, letting a tear fall.

3.

“I love you, too.” He said.

2.

“So much.” He cupped your cheek.

1.

And he kissed you with so much force.

*snap*

You almost fell back with how much he pushed into you, but that’s what kissing him felt like anyway - free falling.

Saying three words had never felt so explosive.

It was like a confetti cannon had been set off and the confetti was all your love for each other being scattered around the photo booth. You felt full and happy, and you could tell by Harry’s kiss that he felt exactly the same.

You pulled back, licking your lips and trying your best not to cry in case it ruined your makeup.

Harry didn’t care, he let some tears fall.

You brushed them away carefully with your thumbs.

“Those better be happy tears and not tears of instant regret.” You joked.

“Happy falls a bit flat of describing how I feel right now, love.”

You giggled and pushed yourself back onto his lips, kissing him to let those three words sink in more.

He moved back, needing to take you in, in this moment, before giving you a few smaller kisses.

“We should go.” You whispered.

“No.” Harry pouted.

“H, this is a photo booth not a kissing booth.”

He laughed, “Okay.”

You both got up to leave, pushing the curtain away and taking the little strip of photos from the deposit on the side of the booth.

Two had printed.

You both laughed at the one where you’d spoken those little words, because Harry’s facial expressions were so funny. He looked a mixture of shocked and happy all at once.

Harry tucked the photo strip into the inside pocket on his suit jacket, whilst you kept a tight grip on yours.

You held onto Harry’s hand and hugged onto his arm.

“That was a better moment than any Oscar award.” You honestly spoke.

Harry leant down to kiss your forehead.

“I love you.” He looked genuinely excited to be able to say that to you. “And I’m proud of you.”

“I know.”

“Oi, don’t you Star wars me!” He mocked. “Say it, or else.”

“I looooovvee you.” You teased out the word. Harry shook his head at you for being so annoying, but also he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Those three words belonged to him now as they belonged to you. And always will.

[anadiasmount]

photo booth kisses - jude bellingham x reader.

quick sum: sharing a cheesy kiss with your boyfriend who can’t hide his shy face away from you.

psa 🗣️: a little birthday gift from me to you 🤭🤍

“sit here,” said jude tapping his lap as you closed the red curtain from the booth. you sat on his lap your legs resting by his right side and wrapping an arm behind his shoulders. “i’ll pay!” you quickly say pulling out your card and doing so before jude.

the whole date he refused to let you pay. the food, the arcade, the gifts you won at the end. while you loved the idea of being spoiled you wanted to do something for him, well the both of you to remember the date. you had made a memory box together, which held concert tickets, small flowers he picked for you, polaroids, and other reminders from old dates.

“why did you do that?” jude frowned pulling you closer to him resting his head on top of your shoulder. “because i wanted to,” you mocked him, knowing this would make him rage inside like how you felt when he said to you. “how many did you pay for?” he asked adjusting himself and you so you fit better in the frame.

“three, one for me and one for you! and then the other can go on the fridge or my vanity,” you explained smiling like an idiot as you looked up and saw jude in the frame, cheesing harder and wanting to press kisses all over his face. “i’m putting ours in my locker. my good luck anytime i play,” jude replied kissing your shoulder as you fixed the setting and picked out a cute xoxo frames for the pictures.

“or maybe cut it in half and place it in my wallet to carry you around with me all day,” he said making you pout with joy. “you’re so cute baby,” you tell him seeing jude’s face flush in shyness, his lips in a upside down smile and face begging to be tucked into your neck. “okay get ready! these have to be perfect!” you say clapping your hands excitedly.

three. two. one.

you pose cheesing and smiling hard together, two ducks in a lake happier and more in love then ever. your face beamed with a glow that only appeared when you were with him, not to say the least with jude, his brown eyes shimmering with adoration and love towards you.

three. two. one.

the two of you did a silly face. jude posing like roadman while you stuck up a peace and sticker your tongue out. you laughed it off brushing away how silly jude indeed looked while posing. you had not noticed that it automatically took a picture of you two laughing catched off guard. which made you want to squeal at how perfect it looked.

three. two. one.

you brushed your hand against jude’s jaw, bring his face close to yours and brushed your lips together. the kiss so soft and delicate it made you want more. jude sighed in pleasure, his eyes fluttering as his hands tugged your waist, his thumb rubbing shapes against your skin. you deepen the kiss, jude’s tongue brushing against yours, he tasted like candy, so sweet and tasty.

you both pulled away at the same time, you bit your bottom lip as jude hid the tiny shy smirk in your neck. just like in the movies and tv shows you had seen growing up as a teen, but now you finally experienced it with your handsome boyfriend. who also couldn’t stop cheesing at the kiss and you.

oh he was a madly in love with you. jude was never afraid of anything, but after meeting you, he was so afraid to lose you, so used to you now in his life. you were his lucky charm and the perfect person to be sent at the most perfect time for him. like a photograph taken at the most perfect time and place. a gorgeous flower grown and standing tall between roots and roots of short and dull grass.

“why are you hiding from me?” you teased jude who rested his head still on your shoulder. “because i get shy,” jude admitted with pursed lips. “because when you look at me… all i feel is this?” he took your hand and placed it over his heart. “i love you y/n…” he pecked your lips again, hearing you murmur and i love you back and feel you smiling.

“oh hey wait! they gave us four in total!”

[storiesforallfandoms]

height advantage ~ jacob elordi

word count: 2857

request?: yes!

“Can you write how a 5’2 photographer was having trouble getting good shots at the Met Gala because people kept pushing in front of her so Jacob Elordi held her hand and helped her get to the front so she could get some good shots and then she gave him her business card to hook up in the future please and thank you”

description: in which the tall actor helps the short photographer to get good shots

pairing: jacob elordi x short!female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two, three)

Being short as a photographer was a major disadvantage. Sure, sometimes you were able to get to the front of the pack at events, but most times the other photographers were too hungry for the money shots to remember common decency. You were shoved and stood in front of and completely ignored on more than one occasion. Most nights, you were lucky to get some good pictures of the first few people to arrive at the red carpet. You were terrified that your agency was going to can you soon.

You were given the opportunity to photograph the next MET Gala. It would be huge for your career, if you could get any pictures. You were determined not to let anyone shove in front of you tonight. You were going to get good pictures tonight. You were determined.

There was a dull chatter among the photographers as they waited for the event to start. It all went away basically immediately when the first vehicle pulled up. The interviewers got into place as every camera was immediately raised. The dull chatter became yells and camera flashes as the first celebrity stepped onto the carpet. You had been holding onto the barrier to really make sure no one stood in front of you, but now there were enough bodies pressing you against the barrier that you felt confident that you wouldn’t be moved. You got a lot of good snaps as more guests began to arrive. You were feeling almost giddy.

You paused long enough to check a photo you had just taken, but that was enough for a photographer next to you to start elbowing you to get in front of you.

“Hey, watch it!” you snapped.

“You snooze, you lose, kid,” he said before stepping on front of you.

You tried to step around him, but the space around him was quickly filled in. You sighed and got onto the tips of your toes, raising you camera over your head and hoping the shots you were getting were good ones.

Someone hit your arm and snapped, “Move, you’re blocking my shot!”

You almost dropped your camera and turned to curse out the person who hit you proved to be a mistake when you were just shoved further. You started to panic. You couldn’t see the red carpet anymore, so you certainly weren’t going to get any good pictures. Your boss was going to kill you if you came back with a small handful of pictures again.

“Hey! Is she okay there?”

An accented voice cut through the commotion around you. You tried to get a look at what was going on, but your efforts were for naught. You were starting to wonder if you should just leave and take whatever verbal lashing you were going to get from your boss.

Until the sea of photographers suddenly parted and a towering figure was looking down at you.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You were so taken by him that you couldn’t form a single sentence. He was so handsome, and so goddamn tall. Not just tall by your standards; everyone normally towered over you, but he towered over everyone. And he was looking - talking - directly at you. The photographers around you weren’t sure if they should be taking pictures or not, so they just kept looking between the two of you in shock.

You remembered he had asked you a question and finally managed to snap out of your trance. “Oh, you, I’m okay. Just being shoved around a bit. That’s par for the course with this profession.”

He extended a hand to you. You took it and gasped when he pulled you forward towards the barrier again. To those around you he said, “She stands here and she stays here. I get that you all have a job to do, but there’s no reason you need to trample one of your own for a good stop. Especially when she’s the smallest one among you all. No offense.”

You shook your head, once again unable to speak.

He smiled and winked at you before stepping back. “Here, get a shot of my good side.”

It took you a moment to remember what you were even supposed to be doing, and quickly fumbled with your camera to start taking pictures again.

Your fellow photographers were quick to move on from the encounter when a new celebrity arrived to the red carpet, but your gaze lingered on him as he started to walk away. You were almost embarrassed to say you had no idea who he was. He was obviously someone famous, but you didn’t recognize him. Either way, he was your savior tonight and you didn’t get the chance to thank him for helping you.

The rest of the night passed quickly after that. No one else shoved or trampled you, so you managed to get a lot of good photos. Once the last celebrity had arrived and entered the building, the reporters and photographers began to disperse. Some went into the building to photograph the events of the night, but you weren’t one of those so you were able to get ready to leave. You started texting your boss to let her know you’d scan the pictures onto your laptop when you got home and send them along right away when you heard someone behind you say, “Hey, was everything alright after?”

You turned to see the tall guy from earlier coming up to you.

“Oh...hi,” you said. “Yes, everything was fine. Thank you for your help there, by the way. I thought for sure I was going to be leaving another event with more pictures of the back of people’s heads than the actual event.”

“Does that happen often?”

“I mean...look at me.” You gestured to your small stature.

He chuckled. “Okay, point taken.”

“My name is (Y/N), by the way.”

“Jacob.”

You shook his hand. “Shouldn’t you be inside, by the way? The event is just starting.”

“I stepped out for some air. I come to these things for the charity aspect, but they’re not really my thing. I plan to eat and slip out immediately afterwards.”

Before I could respond, my Uber pulled up.

“I won’t keep you from getting home,” Jacob said. “I saw you out here and just wanted to check in.”

“I appreciate it, and I appreciate you helping me out back there.”

“Hey, I had to use my height advantage for good eventually. In this case, it helped me to spot a cute photographer before she was turned into a pancake.”

You felt your face heating up at his compliment. Suddenly you were tongue tied again and didn’t have enough time to try and figure out a response because your Uber driver was impatiently waiting for you.

You suddenly remembered the business cards you kept with you in case you ever got to talking with event organizers or celebrities looking for photographers for their photoshoots (or agencies with better pay and benefits, but you’d never say that out lout). You dug one out of your purse and passed it to Jacob. “In case you ever need a cute photographer for a shoot. Or...I don’t know, if you just want to talk.”

He looked down at your business card before smiling at you. “Is this your personal number or a business one?”

“Personal. It’s easier to reach me on my cell than to try and call my workplace.”

“I’ll remember that, then.”

You nodded and finally managed to break yourself from his trance. Your Uber driver was glaring at you through the rearview mirror as you climbed into his car, but you could’ve cared less. You glanced out the window as the car began to pull away. Jacob was still looking down at your business card, a light smile on his lips. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself in return. You hoped it wouldn’t be too long before you heard from Jacob again.

~~~~~~

The next day you were at your desk, going over some of the pictures from the night before to submit to your boss. You had managed to scan the photos onto your laptop when you got home the night before, but it was so late that your boss told you to wait until this morning to submit them. Most publications had their pictures from the Gala posted immediately after they were taken, so your boss said she wasn’t in any rush to have them.

“It gives you more time to pick out the good ones to be submitted,” she had told you.

Your phone vibrated, pulling your attention away from work for just a split second. You looked down to see an unknown number was trying to text me.

“looking for a cute photographer. know anyone who fits the bill? :) - j”

I smiled to myself.

“i may have some ideas. depends on what you’re looking for.”

The response came almost immediately.

“looking for someone to join me for coffee. say in about 15 minutes?”

The urge to shut down your computer and immediately run to meet Jacob was strong. But you knew you had work to do first, even though you would much rather be sitting across from him at some coffee shop than in your cubicle.

“finishing an assignment for work and then i’ll be free for my break. just text me a place and i’ll meet you there :)”

Within 20 minutes, you were approaching the place Jacob had told you to meet him. You didn’t have to look for him as he was stood waiting for you, his tall stature basically sticking out like a sore thumb. You didn’t think you had ever met anyone as tall as him before. It was almost intimidating, if he wasn’t so hot.

He looked up as you approached and smiled. “Hey!”

You were shocked when he pulled you in for a hug, but graciously took the display of affection.

“How was the rest of your night?” you asked as you both stepped into the shop and got into line.

“It was alright. Did as I said and slipped out after eating, but not before hearing a couple of the speeches they do talking about the event’s history and why they choose the yearly trends and stuff.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m lucky I didn’t die of boredom.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“If you really think that, I’ll take you to the next one I get invited to and you can sit through all the speeches. Then you can tell me if it’s not that bad.”

You tried not to dwell on the fact that he was already talking about taking you to an event with him. You knew that it was way too quickly to be thinking about stuff like that - this was literally the second time you had met him and the first time you were actually spending any amount of time together - but there was something about the fact that he was already planning ahead like that that gave you some hope for where this was going.

After ordering your coffees and stepping aside to wait for them, Jacob asked, “How was your night? Surely it was much better than mine.”

You chuckled. “I wouldn’t go that far. I got home, put on my pajamas, and watched some trashy Netflix reality until I fell asleep.”

“At least trashy reality has some excitement.”

“A lot more than listening to speeches about the history of the MET Gala.”

“I could’ve looked up a Wikipedia article and read the whole thing from start to finish and it would’ve been more exciting than listening to that.”

You giggled. The barista gave you your coffees and you moved to a table by the window to sit down.

“How long do I have you for?” Jacob asked.

“Our breaks can last anywhere between 30 minutes to an hour. Usually if it’s 30 minutes, you get another 30 minute break later on. If it’s the full hour, I only get this one break today.”

“Well, I’ll try not to be stingy with your time, but I think I’m going to have some difficulty in letting you leave.”

“I gotta say, you are quite the flirt.”

“Only when I really like someone.”

We spent most of the time getting to know one another. You admitted that you hadn’t heard of Jacob before, so he told you about some of the movies and shows he had done. You had only heard of Euphoria, but had never watched it nor did you have any desire to. Jacob told you he wouldn’t hold it against you that you hadn’t seen any of his work. You told him about going to college for photography fresh out of high school because you knew that was the one thing you wanted to do more than anything. You were lucky enough that the company you did your work term with wanted to take you in full time after you graduated, and you were still there years later.

“You mentioned that stuff like what happened to you last night is a normal occurrence?” he asked.

You sighed. “Yeah. I mean, in general it is par for the course that photographers at such events can be a little ruthless. We all want the good shots that can and will be used, that’s how we make our money. But it’s especially hard for me because I am a short woman. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of female photographers who get taken just as seriously as the male ones, but there are also plenty of male photographers who aren’t afraid to shove a woman out of their way to get their shot instead of another man. Throw in the fact that I’m usually the shortest one in attendance and I become an easy target. Get me out of the way, get in my space, and then that’s it for me.”

“That’s awful,” Jacob said. “You’d think being shorter than they are would make it easier for them to just shoot around you instead of moving you out of the way.”

“You would think, but that’s not the case.” You shrugged. “It’s nothing new for me. I was always the shortest person in the room, and thus was treated one way or another because of it. It’s just now I’m worried that if I can’t do my job properly I’ll be fired.”

“They can’t fire you for being short.”

“They can if I’m not getting any pictures when I’m sent to red carpet events. Most of the time I only get the first one or two people to arrive and that’s it. My boss is mostly understanding about it, but I know realistically she can’t keep me if I’m not able to do my job. Or at least she won’t send me out to events anymore, which would be just as bad as getting fired honestly. I don’t want to just sit behind a desk all day using photoshop to fix up pictures before they’re published.”

The mention of your job had you glancing down at your watch and realizing how much time had passed. “Shit! I gotta be back to work in 10 minutes.”

“Already?” Jacob had a crestfallen look on his face.

“I know. I would much rather stay with you. I’m enjoying our conversation.”

Jacob stood as you did. “Let me walk you back to work at least. We can prolong the goodbyes that way.”

You accepted and you both headed towards your job. The walk was silent at first. You were trying to find something to ask him so that the time wasn’t wasted in silence, but nothing was coming to your head right now.

Luckily, Jacob broke the silence by asking, “When do you usually get off work?”

“Around 5,” you responded.

“Maybe we could pick this up when you’re off then. If you feel up for it, that is. I get it if you’d rather do nothing after working all day.”

“Well...normally I do prefer to spend my evenings by myself after work. But, if this isn’t too forward to ask, maybe you could come over and we could keep getting to know each other.”

His face lit up. “I’d like that a lot.”

He took you by surprise once more as he leaned down to kiss your cheek. If you weren’t already so enamored by this man, you probably would’ve been thinking about how funny the two of you looked together - the under 5′ photographer and the over 6′ actor. But all I could think about was how Jacob wanted to see me again so soon, and how much I did want to see him too. It was hard to break away and go back to work, but I knew I’d get in trouble if I showed up late from my break.

The only thing that kept me going was the smile on Jacob’s face as I turned back around to look at him, and the thought that it wouldn’t be too much longer until I got to see him again.

[honeykaes]

inside/out

wriothesley x convict!reader II 2.6k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, convict!reader,  fingering, squirting, marking, biting, piercings, rough sex, hate sex, office sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampie, you and wriothesley are exes, angst, degradation, domestic disputes, set in fontaine before the traveler comes, fontaine plot points references, discussions of legal systems and injustice, mention of drugs, discussion of murder, open ending for interpretation, unedited

synopsis: you swore that you would leave the fortress of meropide when your sentence was done. And when you do, your relationship with wriothesley sours as your two break up. Five years later, you're shocked to end up right back in the iron prison where he’s there waiting for you.

The world seemed so distant to you. The whispering throughout sounded as if it were an untuned violin as they lapped up the drama they so desperately craved in their lives. The Oratrice Mécanique D'analyse Cardinale clicked in the irritating orchestra about to come up with its verdict. 

The lawyer next to you fumbled with his papers with a look of shame and defeat in his eyes. Out of everyone in this room, you felt for him. He would surely bounce back with the next chum in your position.

The loud smacking of a cane caused the whispering to dissipate as you finally lifted your head up to witness the Iudeux of Fontaine.His eyes seemed heavy with sorrow. This wasn’t the first time you had witnessed this expression directed at you. Your eyes flickered to your God, Furina yawning as she whispered something to herself in her boredom.

 You can’t help feeling irked at her expression; at all of their expressions.

Why were these people allowed to judge you? 

The only answer you could find was justice was only for the privileged lucky, and you clearly had run out of it.

The contraption glowed, as Neuvillette collected your sentence.

“Under Article D of the Fontainian Code of Law, you are found guilty of fraud. Under Article J of Fontainian Law, you are found guilty of tax evasion…” he rambled on as you bit your lip.

It seemed that the rumors were right, after all. Most people who come out of the Fortress of Meropide find themselves right back in.

”And finally you are guilty of 1st degree murder of your former business partner, Henry Maugham. As a result, you will be serving a life sentence at the Fortress of Meropide,” Neuvillette announced.

You couldn’t help chuckling, covering your mouth from the cruel smile on your face. The whispering sparked once more, heavy eyes judging every movement you made. You finally lifted your hand away, smiling at the judge, but your eyes remained cold on Neuvillette’s somber ones

”Glad to see you never change, Monsieur."

The Melusine officers escorted you down to the Meropide, with only a small sack of clothes you were allowed to bring. From the photos, to the pat downs, it all seemed nostalgic to you. How many familiar faces would you see? You assumed quite a few.

This underwater prison you desperately wanted to escape from in the past, would be your sole future.

Finally finished with orientation, you threw your sack on your assigned bed sitting down, looking down on the steel ground.  With the bed squeaking, your roommates whisper, feeling the heavy air as they make their escape and let you have some space.  

Just as you sigh, thankful to have the room briefly to yourself to process, credit coupons hovered in your view as you looked up to see a tiny girl. Her long ear twitched in anticipation, ruby eyes gleaming at you, but at the same time, held pity in them.

”It’s nice to see you again. I really thought I wouldn’t have the opportunity once you left five years ago,” she chimed, brushing a bit of her baby blue hair.You looked at the tickets trying to give it back to her silently but she puffed her cheeks and shook her head.

”No! Think about it like this; this is for all the birthdays I missed,” she reasoned. You sighed, moving to massage the headache threatening to form.

-”...Sigwienne…why are you here? I’m sorry but-”

”Don’t apologize!” she interrupted, ears slightly drooping. “I, of all people, knew how much you wanted to get out. I-I’m here because the Duke wanted to see you.”

”No.”

”Please! I thought you wouldn’t be mad at him anymore,” she pleaded as eyes blew wide, pleading.Your gaze grew more bitter: 

“So he sent you to soften the blow or some shit,” you grunted. Sigwienne furrowed her eyebrows in disappointment before you clicked your tongue catching your mistake.

”Sorry…language. I know…” you muttered. Your eyes looked up to see a guard at the door, glaring down at you. It seems she was the nice “cop” and if you kept refusing her, he would get involved. You turn back to Sigwienne’s pleading gaze.

”Fine. Lead the way…” you grumbled getting up from your place. Sigwienne smiled, clasping her tiny hand with yours. 

”Off we go then!”

The only solace Sigwienne gave was a timid smile, waving as the door to the Duke’s office closed, leaving you with a man you haven’t seen in five years.

Your former boyfriend. Honestly, the man you naively thought you’d have happily ever after with.

He took a sip of tea before sighing, throwing papers on his desk as he leaned into his chair that creaked from the shifting weight. His hair was the same, black with odd streaks of gray hair he always had. He had a few new piercings on his ears though. 

”In all these years, I didn’t think I’d see your face again,” he murmured.Your jaw tense and eyes narrowed. His voice seemed as irritating as he’s ever been.

“You think I wanted you to see your sorry ass again, Wriothelsey?” you barked back. -He clicked his tongue, rolling his icy eyes.

 “I can see you’re not over our breakup..” he grumbled, drumming his fingers on the desk. You crossed your eyes, looking down with him with all the defiance you could muster up.

”If that’s what you want to call you being a selfish prick, sure,” you replied back.Wriothesley's nostrils flared but he didn’t spout any insults back.

”I thought you said you wanted to change for the better,” he asked, grabbing a file and holding it up. Of course he knew everything. He knew the second you were preparing to dive down to the Meropide.

”I did and I was. As if I wanted to come down here again. You know that out of everyone! But, I forgot something, people are cruel. And now, I’m stuck here for the rest of my life,” you raised your hands out, proclaiming loudly.

”...Just like you wanted.”

”I did not want that and you know it!” he shouted. It seemed his temper had started to reflect out. Tension was thick in the air as you laughed.

”Oh, right. My mistake. No you wanted to stay in this shithole and be the king of it, how could I forget? Your heart only had room for one person—the Meropide— not me!”

He rose from his seat, face beginning to go red in anger.

”Don’t! I’m not playing this game with you! You know how much I loved you. I loved you so much but you knew there’s nothing out there for me.”

Nails dug in your palms hearing his response as your emotions were beginning to get to you. 

 “Well you would have made something with ME out there!” you yelled, tears beginning to weld in your eyes. You turned away, wiping your tears and shuttered. You felt embarrassed being right in the same position as you were when the two of you first broke up and crying in front of him again after years.

”...I wanted us to build a new life together. Our sentences finished at the same time. You could have left with me, but you didn’t,” you whispered, angrily wiping your face. Silence fell the both of you besides your occasional sniffle and his heavy footsteps walking closer to you.

-”...And I wanted us to build a new life together here. But I wasn’t going to stop you from getting out of the Meropide.”

A frustrated grunt ripped from you as you couldn’t hold your irritation anymore. You marched to him, glaring at his form towering over you. 

To your surprise, he leaned down and kissed you. And shocking you both, you kissed him back with just as much fervor. 

”Selfish. Blockheaded. Smug dick--” you stammered out  among the heated kisses, claiming your lips with every second. Nibbling on your bottom lip, his tongue darted in your parted mouth as you threw your arms around his shoulder. His kiss was of the familiar taste of Earl Grey you remembered he was so fond of.

“Moody, Frustrating, Manipulative asshole,” he grunted back. Article after article of clothing, fell on the floor as you fell onto his couch with a plop. Your hands ran across his firm stomach and chest.You gasped feeling his large palm cup against your sex.

”Still wearing the same underwear I smuggled in for our anniversary. I see you’re still a cheapskate or are you just sentimental?” he grunted  in your ear. His finger firmly brushed across your clit, pleasure soon beginning to reverberate throughout  your lower form. You groan, hitting his toned thigh.

”Shut the fuck up!”

Wriothesley slid your panties down until they caught on your ankle as his fingers glided along the bare cunt. He rubbed your clit with his calloused thumb.

”I see you still have rough ass hands,” you chimed. Wriothesley rolled his eyes, before chuckling.

”Yet you can’t get enough of them as always” he shot back. Fingers slowly sank inside of you as you threw your head back. His digits curled and stretched you out, tenderly pumping at a decent pace as you squirmed under his touch.

His hips bucked slightly against your thigh where you could feel how hard his cock was, desperately pressed against his gray slacks.He hitched your legs over his broad shoulders as he nibbled your inner thighs—leaving a wake of discolored marks and soft bite marks.

”Fuck! Fuck!”you whined out, hands shooting out to pull his soft hair. Your legs caved in closer to his cheeks as he pumped his faster.

He leaned in, letting his tongue brush against your clit as it was the last thing to push you over. Back arched, fluid spraying from you as he continually lapped at your overstimulated cunt as the liquid made a mess of his face and the couch. 

As your body fell, breath heavy from your high, his fingers pulled out of you—walls unconsciously tightening, wishing they would stay. Satisfied with your fucked out expression, he smirked wiping his hand with his chin from your fluids. You narrow your eyes at him, watching him swirl his tongue around cleaning his fingers that were coated in your essence.

”Your face, it’s pissing me off,” you grunted. Wriothesley briefly laughed. Your heart fluttered momentarily. You hated how much you missed it.

“Said the person who squirted on my face. Been a long time hasn’t it, hm?” he teased. You glared before his eyes softened to something genuine.

”..Yeah, me too.”

He sat on his couch, shifting his pants down as his cock slapped on his lower stomach

He stroked his length as it pulsated in his grip. Every once and a while, a wavering moan left his lips. It seemed he had a new piercing too.

A Prince Albert piercing, glinting from the light and precum budding at his flushed tip.You shifted your hips, contemplating if you should go to the next step of someone that was your ex, but seeing him shutter, muffling his mouth and hearing your name was the push you needed.

”Fuck I missed you inside of me,” you groaned, kissing him. You hovered over his cock lining yourself up before sinking down. His hands found their way to the globe of your ass, grabbing the mounds tightly before you managed to reach his hilt.

”Like old times…” he whispered  out, hazy lust gazing over his eyes.

”Just like it…” you moaned.

His pace was relentless as you called out his name. His jaw was clenched, watching your slick dripped down your thighs and his cock as he continued to slam you down on it. Your whole body jumped, as his hips moved up to meet him pulling you down his cock.

”I missed you so fucking much. Your smile. Your voice…fuck your scent. I couldn’t sleep properly for months when you left.” he groaned. 

”I-I couldn’t either…fuck! There! Right there!!” you yelled out. HIs cock continued to press against your soft walls, hitting the spot that caused your voice to reach higher and higher, stomach churning as you almost hit your release.

“ ‘Thesley,” you cried out, nails harpooning into his back as you brought him closer to you. Your body shuttered, walls quivering and tightening. He clenched his jaw, having a harder time bouncing you on his cock.

”...I still fucking love you!” Wriothesley grunted, sinking his teeth into your neck. With one final rough thrust— his hips faltered—as thick ropes of cup jet out and inside of you. He slowly thrusted, moving to try to nurse down his high.

You shifted your neck, leaning his chin up before you kissed him once more. 

For a second, just for a second, it was like you never left him. That you two were still together.That you were in your early twenties, dumb and in love.

Wriothesley broke the kiss first as your fantasy was briefly shattered. His eyes were soft but clearly searching for something within yours. 

“...You still never told me why you are back here,” he replied. You groaned, and rolled your eyes pushing his face away as he grunted. You rose from him, his cum and your slick drooling from your hole before you went to grab your panties and put them back on.

Wriothesley merely sighed, lifting his boxers and pants back on. 

”...I was framed,” you admitted, putting your bra on. Just as Wriothesley was about to put his shirt on, he looked up in shock.

”What��

”Out there, I owned a small cute cafe. You know the one I always talked about based on a beloved classic, Les Aventures d’Alice au Pays des Merveilles,” you chuckled to yourself, recalling reading it to Sigwienne with Wriothesley at times. 

“ I didn’t have funds. Who would fund an ex-convict, y’know. But I met Henry, the aristocrat who promised my dreams. I thought things were going well until I discovered he had used the business as a front to sell absinthe.” You looked down, finally buttoning your shirt on and looking at Wriothesley’s somber face.

“He tried to kill me, I killed him first.”

Wriothelsey briefly closed his eyes processing the information before buttoning his own shirt.

“..But you know this country more than anyone else. He had power after death, and I was pinned with the crime by his frustrated associates,” you whispered, adjusting your color to hide the marks you knew Wriothesley left.

“I can help. We can catch them and get you back--” 

“There’s no point.” you sighed, but smiled. You chuckled humorlessly, walking to the door to his office. You clenched the handle, your back turned to hide your expression. 

Your real expression.

”I guess I wasn’t meant to be out there after all."

[expirednukacola]

ORANGE COLORED SKY 🏜️ || Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader

𐚁⊹₊ ⋆☆

My first fic about this bonafide work of ART! AKA The one and only, Cooper Howard / The Ghoul. This MAN has everyone lined up to get a taste so I am here to deliver! This is also a little surprise for @lexiway121!!! Reader is fem and in her mid-ish - late-ish 20s in this fic! This will also be a two part fic!! ..Maybe even more. SUMMARY: reader is little miss janey’s babysitter (cooper is going to need all the help he can get ESPECIALLY DURING A DIVORCE) and reader was invited to the kids birthday party (seen in the beginning of ep 1) as cooper’s plus two just to keep an extra eye on janey and the horse/sugarfoot. everything was nice until.. FLASH! BAM! ALAKAZAM!

chapter 1.5 : here!

og gif made by: @lousolversons !!

“Flash! Bam! Alakazam!”

“Out of an orange colored sky!”

The birthday party was going perfectly! You and Janey were standing somewhat near Cooper as he did his lasso tricks on his beloved horse, Sugarfoot. The birthday boy, alongside with his plethora of friends, were all staring and gasping in awe as the cowpoke twirled the lasso up and down to where he was inside of the spinning circle of rope. Cooper noticed their precious, little reactions and smiled back at his audience, a tender yet low chuckle escaping his throat.

Seeing how happy he looked and smiled as well, your cheeks became a tad bit blushed.. definitely from the L.A. heat — and that’s when Janey looked up at her and noticed how you, her babysitter, were smiling at her dad.. “Twitterpated..” -Was what the seven year old mumbled under her breath; she really needed to slow her roll on asking her dad what certain words meant. You, on the other hand, didn’t quite hear what Janey mumbled so you jokingly decided to peep out a little, “What was that, sweetie?” and all you got in response was an “innocent” little “Nothiiiiiiiing!”

After a few minutes of continuing his lasso show, Cooper got off his trusty stead and adjusted Sugarfoot’s saddle with such care while Janey rushed over to try and help her father. “Alright, birthday boy,” The cowboy said while looking at the VERY excited kid, “Let’s get a photo of ya up here on Sugarfoot.” As Cooper picked up the boy to place him on the horse while his daughter held onto the reigns, the birthday boy’s dad and his buddy, aka Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dipshit, start talking about Cooper Howard.

“Why the hell is Cooper Howard workin’ kids’ birthday parties?” The dad’s friend muttered as he held onto a bottle of some pretty cheap beer, and the dad responded with the most embarrassing answer known to man, “What else? Alimony.” The asshole said nonchalantly before he went back to nursing his shitty bottle of beer. That made Cooper whip his head around to look at the father with his mouth slightly agape, flabbergasted he would even bring that shit up at his kid’s party. To make things worse, sweet Janey popped up and asked the billion dollar question.. “What did they say, dad?”

Cooper looked down at his precious little angel with a quiet yet warm voice, “That I’m lucky to have such a good helper like you.” Poor, innocent Janey didn’t know what was going on between her Dad and Momma. All she knew was that she would have some very long weekends with her Momma and her Grandma and then she would go back to stay with her tired Dad.

Knowing what Cooper was going through and hearing those horrible words come out of that assholes mouth, you glared at the boy’s father so hard that he could fucking feel it. The dad looked back at you and rolled his eyes, pointing at you while muttering, “Some people say he cheated on his wife with his kid’s babysitter.” That was the last fucking straw and you wanted to smack the living daylights out of him. “Are you fucking kidding me, you goddamn pig-” You muttered but Janey quickly grabbed onto your hand with that same sweet smile she always had.

The anger that boiled inside of your body slowly began to simmer down into nothingness as you moved out of the way so the dad (AKA the head honcho of being an asshole) could take a photo of his son on top of the horse with Cooper standing next to him and little Janey holding onto the reigns, “All right- You ready?” The dad positioned the camera and even though the kid had a smile that was brighter than the 4th of July, the cowboy’s smile seemed.. off. Usually, Cooper would have these sweet dimples on either side of his mouth when he would smile real big for photos or when his daughter would do something extraordinary.. But those dimples weren’t there for these pictures.

Click!

After the photo was taken, the cowpoke carefully lifted up the giddy child from the saddle on Sugarfoot to the soft and lush green grass beneath them. Cooper was just about to check up on you and his daughter, but- “Hey, honey- Honey! Get with Cooper. Let’s get a picture.” -Mayor Asshat of Assville motioned the man to stand next to his wife. Though Cooper was a little awkward about the whole ordeal, he quickly posed up next to the wife and had that fake smile on his face once more.

Click!

“Aw- Coop, Coop, Coop! Do your thumbs-up.” The jerkwad ordered and right as you were about to intervene, Cooper (sorta) stood his ground and quickly responded with, “..Yeah, you know, given the state of everything, I prefer not to, if that’s all right.” But guess what? Señor Shit-for-brains wasn’t having it because being an asshole was in his damn genes. “Why not?” asked Count Fuckhead-ula, “It’s what you’re famous for.” he added right after but his wife, the one with common sense in the relationship, told “Bob” to drop it.

“We- uh.. We gotta get this rodeo on the road.” Cooper said with his head tilted slightly downwards towards the vibrant green grass beneath his worn leather boots while the boy’s mother handed him a check. Quickly, you grabbed onto the reigns that hung from Sugarfoot’s neck and clicked your tongue to get the horse to start walking. “..Well that was just fuckin’ lovely, huh Sugar?” Muttering solemnly under your breath, you walked alongside the sweet stead, tying the beautiful horse up to a tree so it wouldn’t run loose.

A good 5 minutes roll on by like a tumbleweed and You were walking around with Cooper by your side.. while the two of you were picking up giblets of trash left behind by some kids and adults. “I never thought that I was going to be doing this at a kid’s birthday party, Mr. Howard. Picking up trash after people is not what I had planned.” You stood back up after having to bend over to pick up an empty bottle of orange flavored Nuka Cola. “Oh yeah? What did you have planned, missy?” Cooper looked over at you with one of his eyebrows raised up and a smirk growing on his lips.. those gorgeous lips alongside those beautiful hazel eyes- “Uhhh- I don’t know? Maybe mingle with some of the parents and swipe myself a piece of cake. I heard it was chocolate cake.” A little smile grew on your face but your blooming happiness all went to waste when you saw “Bob the Shit Talker” staring at both of you through the window.

“But for a grown ass man to talk shit about us with his lil buddy and then having us pick up trash left by him and his guests was definitely not on my list.” You angrily sneered at the man who continued to glare at you two through the window before letting out a loud and deep sigh. Cooper, God bless this sweet man’s soul, quickly stood up and looked at you. “He did.. what? I knew he was talking shit about me but he and Mr. Clean were talking about you? ..Fuck- It was that rumor again, huh?”

The sweet-hearted cowboy looked up at the sky as if he were silently praying to God himself to smite down that piece of shit before he looked over at your slightly blushed to make sure you weren’t boo-hooing over something that wasn’t even true. He knew you didn’t have to answer him because the look of embarrassment on your face was all he needed to know.. but at least you weren’t crying.

After a few minutes of some much needed silence, you both made your way back to Janey, who was eyeing that delicious chocolate cake as she wrapped her own little lasso around her hand. You saw how Janey was looking at that cake.. and you started to look at the cake the same way the little girl was staring at that frosted piece of heaven.

“Why didn’t you do it?” Janey’s words snapped you out of your hungered staring contest with the cake. You looked down at the little girl that was looking at her father, who was now crouched down next to her. “The thumbs-up.” Oh shit.. She just accidentally busted open a huge ass can of Marine flashbacks for Cooper. At first, he tried to make her forget about it by telling her it was “grown up business” but those sweet, sweet eyes of hers were just too much for his heart to handle.

You crouched down next to the girl and gently placed a hand on her upper back, gently rubbing your thumb against the material of her button up’s collar. “Honey.. The reason why your dad doesn’t like having his thumb up is because-” Your words were cut off from Cooper clearing his throat and placing a hand on your shoulder, immediately making you shut up so he could be the one to explain it to his daughter. The older man explained what they taught him when he was in the Marines to his daughter, telling her that he and his fellow marines would hold up their thumbs whenever a bomb would drop. If the cloud of smoke was smaller than their thumbs, they had to run for the hills.. and if the cloud was larger than their thumbs, they wouldn’t even have to worry about running.

“..Who wants some cake?” You chirped out awkwardly while standing up, brushing your hands against your top before placing them on your hips. Janey’s eyes immediately lit up with absolute joy from the thought of having a slice of cake, and she quickly nodded her head with her hands clasped together. “I’ll see if I can snag you girls a couple o’ pieces, ‘kay?” The infamous cowboy stood up as well and walked inside of the house and you decided to join him to grab your own slice of heaven.

FLASH!

Once Cooper grabbed his daughter a slice and you grabbed your own, you two rejoined his little angel once more but instead of seeing her sweet smile shining brightly on her face, you were both met with her holding up her thumb and a horrified look on her face. Her body was trembling, her bottom lip was quivering, her eyes were tearing up, and when she spoke, she sounded like she was looking Death itself straight in the eyes..

“Is it your thumb or mine?”

…

“It’s just a fire..”

You could hear the dread in his voice and the sound of her little heart pounding against her ribcage as you followed their gazes to a.. large cloud of smoke and destruction. Your own heart start to rapidly beat profusely inside your body and your eyes widened in terror as a wave of radiation started coming your way. Everything felt as if it were in slow motion as you and Cooper both decided to crouch down to clutch Janey close to your bodies to shield her from any harm.

As the wave finally passed through, the glass windows shattered into millions of shards varying from large pieces to microscopic fragments and felt one of the medium sized pieces plunge itself into the side of your calf. “Oh GOD!!” A horrifying shriek of pain found its way from out of your body as Cooper quickly scooped both you and his daughter up in his arms, quickly running towards his much needed horse, Sugarfoot.

BAM!

Dread pulses throughout your body while your eyes darted across the scene around you — Parents with their sons and daughters in their arms, people running around aimlessly like ants after a menace of a child stepped on their nest, and the screams and cries of frightened young children wanting to go home. You’re pulled out of your frightened state when Cooper tried to push you up on Sugarfoot after he placed his daughter up on the saddle. “Cooper.. Cooper! No!! Get Janey out of here! You have to get her out of here!!” You pushed yourself away from him and stumbled back, your limp leg giving its all to keep you somewhat supported.

“Y/N- Get on the damn horse! I can’t just leave you here!” He tried to pull you back towards him but you limped back away from him once more. “You need to get her out of here, Coop.. Please.” Tears welled up in your eyes and they fell down your cheeks when they became too heavy for your eyes to hold. “Please.. Go- Get out of here!!” You pushed him away and back towards the horse, and you swore you saw him shed a lone tear.

As more bombs fell from the sky, you watched in grief as your beloved cowboy hop on his horse and grabbed on the reigns, immediately whipping them a little to signal Sugarfoot to get the fuck out of there — away from the chaos and away from the horror.. away from you. You dropped to your knees as you bawled your pretty little eyes until there were no more tears to shed.. and when you heard the faint whistle of a bomb dropping nearby.

ALAKAZAM!

This was the end, you thought. The end of the world, the end of your life, and the end of everything and everyone that you loved.. and the beginning of a new age: The beginning of a nuclear fallout. As you kneeled down on the green grass that was way too vibrant to be real, you tilted your head upwards and looked towards the sky, smiling one last time before your skin began to burn, your insides feeling as if they were being cooked at a thousand degrees, your voice becoming rasped and broken as you screamed in complete and utter agony. You took your final breath of irradiated air underneath that hideous orange colored sky.

THE END ..?

—————

thank you so much for reading the first chapter of Orange Colored Sky! i hope you liked it as much as i did and i hope you can excuse the.. nicknames i gave “bob” at the beginning (he deserved it though! he was an asshole for absolutely no reason.)

TAG LIST: @lexiway121

[san8ny]

Honestly, GeekSquad! Ellie

GeekSquad! Ellie who’s really got nothing going on for her other than updating her LinkedIn picture here and there, alternating between her college ID photo and a the default flower.

GeekSquad! Ellie who spends her days sitting in uncomfortable swivel chairs, and having to tiredly explain over and over again to elderly women that the promotional sign outside does NOT mean ‘hand in your old phones and get free smart ones!’

‘No ma’am, we don’t take Nokias.’

‘But the sign said give one, get one free!’

GeekSquad! Ellie who’s eyes squint in confusion when she sees you enter from the slide doors, arms crossed as you curiously look around for any standby employees. She doesn’t really ever see hot girls at her location.

GeekSquad! Ellie who practically knocks over some USB stand in her pursuit of getting to you first, which is uncommon since she’s all the way in the back.

GeekSquad! Ellie who notices your pursed lips and teary eyes as you show her your broken laptop.

GeekSquad! Ellie who takes you over to the little stand-by bar, setting your device down, which, let’s be honest, was a lost cause from the start.

‘W-will you be able to fix it? I have my senior thesis on there!’ You practically choke up, the mere thought of months of hard work going down the drain making you tremble.

GeekSquad! Ellie who’s suppose to give you the generic capitalistic answering of, ‘Well, you can always make a membership with us and get 20% off a future purch—

“I’ll fix it.”

GeekSquad! Ellie who’s now being held in a warm embrace by you, your tears now soaking her blue polo workshirt. It’s bad enough you’re pretty, but a pretty crier?

“Thank you so much! God, you don’t even know how much trouble you’ve saved me!” You stumble over words, disoriented as you begin to let go of the lanky girl.

GeekSquad! Ellie who waves a hand in dismissal, scoffing as she leans on the counter, “That thing? Pfft, i’ve done harder things.”

GeekSquad! Ellie who’s lied, and has likely lied to also get this job—but that’s beyond things!

“I just,” You say breathlessly, looking around, “I went to the other branch? Downtown? They said it was over!” You whisper to her, all doe eyed, “you really are amazing.”

GeekSquad! Ellie who blankly stares down at you, she’s always had a thing for frazzled girls such as yourself; the ones who just say the very shit Ellie only watches in cheesy movies.

‘Right..guess you’re in-luck you came here?” She probes, typing your name and number into the system to get you all checked in for an appointment.

‘So lucky.’

GeekSquad! Ellie who after her shift, goes home and makes a bee-line for her room, slamming it shut and shedding her clothes, needing to fuck herself to you while the interaction is still fresh, and the night is still young.

‘S-she said she’s—mm, lucky! f-for me..’ She whimpers, pumping 2 fingers in her drenched pussy, and her other hand busying her perky tits. Her eyes are furrowed, and her teeth threaten to break the skin of her lips from the way she’s biting them; Her messy cunt squelches from the speed she’s going at, cum trailing down her thighs in a sluggish matter.

GeekSquad! Ellie who switches on over to her tummy, raising her ass up as she relentlessly slaps at her swollen pearl through her plethora of orgasms— she thinks you’d do it like this, giving yourself something to cry about. It makes sense to her. She wants to practice on herself to perfect it for you.

GeekSquad! Ellie who, once tired out, realizes how fucked up this just is. I mean, she’s so..perverse. So nasty.. so..so..

so GeekSquad! Ellie

[harryslittlefreakk]

drunk in love

a late night talking extra 💓

summary: harry invites y/n to a party celebrating his upcoming final LOT show

warnings: very light smut (pretty much just touchy feely, male masturbation), alcohol use

wordcount: 4.1k

a/n: i want this to be me ? if i could have any harry, i want this one 😭 can’t believe it’s nearly a month since i last posted!!! sorry!!

you can find my masterlist here! happy reading 🫶🏼💖

“Harry, seriously!” You were swatting his hands away for what felt like the thousandth time that evening.

“Please. Missed you,” he pouted, opting to wrap his arms around your waist instead.

“I know baby, missed you too. But walking into the party late and together is hardly keeping it on the down low.”

It was Harry’s idea to keep it quiet tonight, for you to be by his side as a friend of Gemma’s and nothing more. His nearest and dearest had flown to Italy to celebrate the end of Love on Tour, and while he knew he could trust the majority of the guests, there were sure to be people who’d sell photos for a quick buck. You were happy to keep your privacy a little longer, but truthfully, you were itching to shout from the rooftops. It had only been a month since you’d met Harry, and you hadn’t even seen him for 3 weeks of that month. But it was the best month of your life.

“Don’t wanna keep it on the down low,” he groaned, throwing his head down into the crook of your neck. “You do, and you’ll thank yourself for it.”

His green eyes were peeking at you through the mirror, hungry and desperate for more of you. If it were any other occasion you’d be straight into bed with him, but you wanted so badly to make a good impression tonight. You were lucky to have Anne and Gemma on your side already, the pair of them taking to you so well that Harry even ended up setting up a group chat for the four of you to keep in touch while he was away. A mother’s judgement was quick and usually correct, and Harry had made it explicitly clear to you that she totally adored you. You were normal, she said. But still, meeting the remainder of Harry’s closest business partners, friends and family was downright terrifying to you.

“Would help with your nerves.”

“Harry, we have to be there in half an hour. You’re not even dressed.”

“Don’t have to get dressed if I’m jus’ going to get undressed.”

“Go next door and get dressed. Or let go of me so I can,” you laughed, turning around to press a kiss to his forehead.

He trailed away silently, feet scuffing on the carpet before he threw himself down on the bed. Always one for the dramatics. “At least let me see what you’re wearing before I go.”

You padded across the hotel room, pulling a metallic gold maxi dress from the wardrobe. You’d worried it would be too much, far too attention grabbing at a party where you wanted to stay out of the spotlight. But Gemma and Joanie had convinced you, and now that you held it up towards the window, you could finally see their vision.

The slowly setting sun was beautiful, gold and pink tones washing across the sky. You’d never been to Italy before, and suddenly it was your favourite place to be. The Mediterranean was good to Harry, the tan he’d picked up since you saw him last now rich and deep. He was glowing so brightly that you swore he could literally illuminate a dark room. Even the tiny beads of sweat on his chest sparkled like diamonds. He was delicious, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him for too long. The way his eyes were fixed on you, likely imagining himself doing filthy things to you in that dress, made you weak at the knees. You had, what, 5 or so minutes until Gemma came to collect you? Plenty could be done in that time. But as soon as the idea popped into your head, Gemma’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Get out Harry,” she called. He groaned as he heard her, running a frustrated hand through his messy curls. “You’ll look beautiful, always do,” Harry told you, pressing a kiss on your lips as he moped over to the door. He said a quick hello to Gemma before leaving, knowing that if he lingered around you for any longer, he’d never make it to his own celebration.

“What’s up with him?” Gemma laughed, pointing behind her as the heavy door swung shut. “Needy,” you told her, amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I told you he still throws a tantrum! You think he’s all grown up on the surface, but there’s a stroppy little boy in there still.”

You pulled her in for a hug, grateful to have her by your side. “I’m really nervous,” you confessed, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t know who Harry’s told what to, don’t want to slip up and ruin it for either of us.” You pulled your bottom lip into your mouth, the weight of your nerves finally crashing down on you. You hadn’t wanted to show Harry how anxious you were, knowing that he’d never leave your side if he knew.

“You poor thing,” Gemma smiled, placing a protective hand on your arm as she joined you on the soft bed. “I’ll be by your side as long as you want me to be. Some of Mum’s friends are coming too, so if you need a break from the crazy, they’ll be happy to look after you. Proper British mums.”

—

The venue was potentially one of the most beautiful places you’d ever seen. A rooftop bar with floor to ceiling windows leading out onto a patio, the evening sun casting a warm orange glow over every inch of the crowded room. You didn’t think you could ever get over the views from this high up, even stores and corner shops looked beautiful. In the few hours since you’d arrived in Italy, it had totally captured your heart. You could see why Harry chose here for his final show.

“Ready?” Gemma asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Ready,” you smiled, taking a deep breath as you followed her through the double doors.

There were so many people you recognised, some people you didn’t, and it was genuinely like walking into a weird fantasy. A month ago you were getting ready to see your favourite artist perform, now you were walking into a room of celebrities with his sister by your side. It didn’t matter how many times you went through it in your head, how many times you looked through your pictures with Harry, it never felt real.

Gemma took you to meet some of the band first, Sarah, Mitch and Pauli all huddled around a high table. They greeted Gemma warmly, but when Sarah’s eyes landed on you, she threw her arms around you with almost enough enthusiasm to knock you off your feet. “Y/n! You look incredible,” she grinned, squeezing you tightly. “She’s had one too many already,” Mitch muttered, nodding a gentle hello.

You stayed with them as Gemma went to get you both a drink, listening to their stories of touring and performing in different cities around the world, each tale filled with laughter and joy. Speaking to people who had known Harry on a deeper level for so many years made your heart soar, the same tenderness and care he showed you evident in the way his band mates spoke of him. Just as your eyes began to wander across the room to find him, Gemma returned with two glasses of Prosecco, handing one to you with a warm smile. “Got to keep moving, but we’ll be back,” she told the group, guiding you to some more of Harry’s friends.

—

From the other end of the bar, Harry’s eyes were fixed on you. He took a sip of his drink, his gaze never wavering as he watched you laugh with Sarah and Glenne. The way your eyes sparkled as you giggled, the tiny snorts that slipped out when something was truly funny. He was totally captivated by you. Harry couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming protectiveness, so desperately wishing he could’ve been the one to introduce you to his loved ones. He’d watched as you and Gemma made the rounds, shaking hands and exchanging hugs with his friends and colleagues. You’d mesmerised every single one of them, effortlessly commanding attention as if tonight was for you. He’d had no doubts about them liking you, seeing in you what he did, but there was still a little bit of pride bubbling away inside of him. You were his girl, and you were fitting into his life so perfectly. He may have been a little tipsy, his emotions a little heightened, but right there he realised he couldn’t imagine a life without you.

He started to make his way towards you, silently joining your group with a dorky grin plastered on his face. Your brows furrowed as you looked over at him, rocking on his heels slowly as he stared between the three of you. Sarah and Glenne could only laugh, taking his appearance as their cue to leave.

“Do I have something on my face?” you smirked once you were alone with Harry.

“Little bit of sexy right.. there,” he grinned, reaching out slowly to poke at your cheek. His playful grin widened as he leaned in closer, a tiny chuckle slipping past his lips. "Gonna need to wipe that off," Harry teased, his warm breath brushing over your skin.

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. Can’t risk anyone else seeing that.” His finger lingered on your skin for a moment, tracing light patterns before he pulled away, replacing his gentle touch with soft kisses.

“Harry!” you scolded, trying to pull away from him before anyone noticed.

“No one’s looking,” he murmured against your skin, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you closer. His lips wrapped around your earlobe, his teeth grazing the skin as he sucked tenderly.

“Let’s leave, come home with me,” Harry groaned, his voice husky. His hand was splayed against the curve of your ass, his bulge starting to stiffen against your core. Being so close to him for the first time that evening felt like heaven, but you were far too conscious of the amount of people around you. Still, you instinctively turned your head, giving him access to kiss along your neck.

“This is your party, H,” you reminded him, familiar butterflies taking flight within your core as his tongue flicked against your skin. As much as you wanted to give in to Harry, you couldn’t be responsible for taking him away from his own celebration, so many people here for him.

But each movement of his tongue tightened the knot in your core, your walls aching for his touch. His voice, muffled against your skin, whispered, “I know, love. But y’look so fuckin’ good.“

You let out a soft moan as his lips trailed higher, his teeth grazing lightly along your jawline. The pleasure was almost agonising, you couldn’t help arching your back, craving more of his touch. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine, the strong scent of spirits mixed with his aftershave, almost enough to put you in a trance.

Harry’s voice was filled with desire, continuing to coax you into surrendering to him. “Can’t help myself, princess. Not when y’look like that,” he murmured, your breath hitching as his lips finally found your mouth, his movements soft yet desperate. His tongue danced around yours, exploring every corner of your mouth as though trying to memorise each taste and sensation.

You gripped onto his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, desperately trying to ground yourself. “I want you,” Harry panted as he pulled away, his lips swollen and breath ragged.

You were totally lost in him, your chest heaving as Harry stared deep into your eyes, searching for any sign that he’d convinced you enough.

“That is quite enough of that.” A voice came from behind you, startling you both out of your moment of serenity. You jumped away from Harry to see Anne giving you both the once-over, a hint of amusement dancing across her face. “You,” she pointed at Harry, “keep your tongue where it belongs. You,” she was grabbing a hold of your forearm, “with me.”

You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as Anne whisked you away, consumed by the long forgotten teenage embarrassment of being caught kissing by a parent. “Sorry,” you cringed, unable to meet her eyes. “It’s only a little kiss, love. I just wanted to help you escape him before anyone else saw,” Anne smiled.

“Oh,” you giggled, relief washing over you. With all the sneaking around, you sometimes had to remind yourself that you weren’t actually a disobedient teenager, waiting to be caught after sneaking a boy into your room.

Anne took you to meet her friends properly, the women she referred to as Harry’s other mums. They were exactly as Gemma had described, the exact same personality that your mum had, the stereotypical welcoming British mum. They told you countless stories of a younger Harry - the cheeky little boy who was always trying to make everyone laugh, to the teenager who took every opportunity to sing in his bedroom. It was always weird to you, knowing so much already about someone who was still new to you. Thankfully, everyone in Harry’s life seemed to accept that you’d been a (deranged) fan of his before you started dating. As he’d told you many times, it would be borderline impossible to date someone who had no idea who he was. Unless he dated babies or old ladies, and he’d been very clear that he didn’t fancy dating either of them.

“How did you two meet?” one of Anne’s friends had asked. It may have only been a month ago, but this was already your favourite story to tell. “In a Starbucks,” you confessed, cheeks tinged pink at the memory. “I was actually seeing him at Wembley, and we just happened to be in Starbucks at the same time. He asked me for a napkin and,” you shrugged, “we just hit it off from there.” Even the world’s strongest man couldn’t wipe the grin off your face at that moment. You loved to talk about your meet-cute, the way your heart caught in your throat at the sight of Harry’s rings, the way you ended up basically living with him for a week from that moment onwards. And yet, you couldn’t focus fully, still heated from your moment with Harry earlier.

His touch still lingered on your skin, warm tingles spreading across your waist where he’d pulled you into him. Anne’s friend grinned back at you, your feelings for Harry evident in the way you spoke about him. “Sounds like fate,” she told you, rubbing a hand on Anne’s thigh. “Your little boy all grown up and in love,” she laughed.

You nodded, unable to hide the sparkle in your eyes as you thought about Harry. It really did feel like fate had bought you here, a higher power intervening to lead you to him. As the conversation continued, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Harry across the room. He was dancing with Jeff, and an unexpected guest - at least for you - James Corden. You knew they were friends, you’d watched Harry’s carpool karaoke and every other late late show segment an embarrassing number of times. But to see him here, genuinely friends with Harry was so bizarre to you. You’d never seen him drunk before, and it wasn’t too different from a puppy with the zoomies. His feet moving too fast for his body, his drink sloshing around the glass as he threw his arms around anyone who caught his eye. He just radiated pure happiness, the very definition of a golden retriever boyfriend.

Harry’s eyes met yours as you watched him, the green of his irises darkening the longer his gaze rested on you. You blew him a kiss, laughing as he mimed catching it and pressing it to his lips. It was insane how someone so sexually driven could be so fucking cute. If you met him for the very first time while he was being sweet, you’d never expect what he could do to you in bed. And if you met him for the very first time in bed, you’d never expect how loving he could be. And now you were thinking of him in bed and getting yourself all worked up again.

“I’m just going to nip to the toilet,” you told Anne, signalling your head towards the corner of the room. You purposely walked behind Harry, trailing a light hand across his lower back to grab his attention, sauntering away without a glance back. You didn’t have to look to know he’d be following you. He caught up to you as you reached the entrance of the toilets, grabbing a hold of your hips with his bulge pressed firmly against your lower back.

“Didn’t think you could get away without me, did you?” he slurred against your ear, guiding you towards the cubicle at the end of the corridor. “Harry, babe, I got your attention so that you’d follow me.”

He laughed, locking the door behind him as one hand trailed up your torso. “Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he smirked, eyes landing on your tits as you turned to face him.

“Was doing fine until you played dirty,” you told him, tangling a hand in the curls at the nape of his neck. He pulled you close to him, his mouth lingering dangerously close to yours. All he could think about was ruining you, having you begging for mercy as he shot streams of his hot cum into you, finally fucking something other than his fist. But he couldn’t do any of that here, couldn’t fuck you the way he needed to in a bathroom stall. “I like playing dirty,” he whispered, crashing his lips against yours. He walked you backwards, hands moving to unzip your dress as his tongue danced around your mouth.

He pulled away to help you out of your dress, his cock twitching as you stepped out of it, left in only your tiny thong and heels. “Fucking hell,” Harry groaned, one hand tracing the curve of your waist as he looked you up and down. Your lips were swollen from his kiss, eyes hazy as you watched him undo his trousers. The second his cock sprung out of his pants you reached for it, desperate to feel it again after so long. Harry grabbed your hand, tangling his fingers in yours, denying you a touch. “Can’t fuck you the way I want to here,” he whispered. “Just need you to stand there and look pretty f’me.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly as he began to stroke his cock. You needed to come, but you didn’t want to spoil your appetite for him. So if Harry needed you to stand and watch him, a starter before your well-earned main course, you were more than happy to. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” he groaned, gripping onto your hip with his free hand. He knew he wasn’t going to last long, he never did with you involved, each stroke only making his core tighten more.

He looked fucking hot. His hair messy, sweat glistening on his neck as he stroked the sweet cock that you’d missed so dearly. Precum was gathering on his tip, his rings clashing together as he grunted and groaned, blown-out pupils fixed on your body. You couldn’t hold in the pants and moans that were forming in your throat, your core on fire as you watched Harry bring himself closer to his climax.

“Turn around,” he drawled, pushing your back down as his tip bumped against your ass, your eyes glued to him in the mirror. He pulled your thong to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your entrance. “Gonna- fuck-” he panted, no time to get you stretched out for his cock before his orgasm started to creep up on him. You shuffled your feet outwards, resting your elbows down on the countertop so he could enter you. He pushed into you quickly, the burn pulling a deep cry from inside of you. “Come, baby,” you pleaded, mouth locked open as your walls closed around him. Harry shot his cum into you, sighs of relief tumbling out of both of your mouths to finally feel your cores connected again, finally have his thick cum deep inside of you.

He stilled, rubbing his hands across your asscheeks, dizzy from the sensation of being deep in you.

The moment was quickly broken by someone banging on the door, and Harry jumped back, the sudden absence of his cock making you a little sad. “Occupied,” he called out, buttoning up his trousers before picking up your dress. “Bastards,” he smirked, bending down behind you to help you back into your clothes. He pressed a kiss to the bottom of your asscheek, moving your panties back over to cover your mound.

“Can’t leave together,” Harry said as his shaky hands did up your zip, still dazed from his orgasm.

“Go,” you told him, pressing a final kiss to his lips. “Need to touch up my makeup anyway.”

—

You could hear Harry’s voice booming over the music as you left the toilets, the rest of the party fallen silent. “Here she is!” he slurred as you came around the corner. Harry was standing on a table, a microphone in his hand as he addressed the crowd gathered in front of him. He reached out a beckoning finger to you, motioning for you to come over. You could hardly reject him in front of all of these eyes, let alone with that cheesy grin calling out to you. “This is Y/N, and f’anybody who doesn’t know, she’s my future wife,” he beamed as you got closer.

He giggled into the microphone, jumping down off of the table on unsteady legs. Harry’s audience clapped at his words, a few drunken cheers erupting. “Louder!” he demanded, “everyone cheer for Y/N!”

He had far too much power with a microphone in his hands, you thought to yourself as he wrapped an arm tight around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your temple. You knew you were blushing wildly, not at all used to being in the spotlight. You rested your head on his shoulder, hoping it would somehow obscure you from view. “Seriously,” Harry continued, his goofy grin not budging as he glanced down at you, “this woman is the joy of my life. And you’re all close seconds. Thank you f’coming out to celebrate me, the band and everyone who’s worked on this tour. Roll on Saturday!”

He dropped the microphone onto the table behind him, moving his hand to cup your cheek before pressing his lips to yours, harder this time. The rest of the party had started to disperse around the room again, but now it didn’t matter if anyone saw. You were kissing Harry, properly kissing him, in public, and there was very little that could bring you down from that high. As he pulled away, Harry sat back on the table, pulling you to stand between his legs. “M’ so proud of you,” you whispered, brushing your fingertips across his cheek. He was looking deep in your eyes, his stare laced with something deeper than the affection he’d shown you before. “I love y-”, he started, his words cut off when you slapped a hand over his mouth. “Nuh uh, not letting you say it when you’re drunk,” you laughed, snarling at him as he tried to pull your hand away. When he finally managed, he pinned your hands to your sides, turning you around in his arms until your back was flush with his chest.

“A drunken mind speaks sober thoughts,” he chuckled, peppering soft kisses down your shoulder. You could have exploded, physically exploded in that moment. “Harry,” you warned, unable to wipe the smile from your face. He pressed his lips close to your ear, his warm breath washing over the side of your face. “I love you,” he whispered, grinning at you as you craned your neck to face him. “I love you,” you replied, heart hammering against your ribcage as the words finally came out. “Can I take you home now?” Harry smirked, his fingers dancing across your waist. “Please,” you whispered, taking his hand in yours.

taglist: @sleutherclaw @slutforcoffein @harrysolaf @opheliaofficial07 @dragonslayersupremacy @nikkisimps @michellekstyles @im-an-overthinker @fangirl7060 @indierockgirrl @palmettogal508 @thereunion1d @hannah9921 @harryshotpocket @daphnesutton @tenaciousperfectionunknown @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @mema10 @annageeeezzzz @cicicavill7 @drewsephrry @tswiftsgf @ashleighsss @bikestyles @he6rtshaker @prettygurl-2009 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @teammom4 @chesthairrry @golden-hoax @lilfreakjez @swag13r @cursingatdaylight @s-h-e-l-b-e-e

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Story Time || LN4 & MV1

Random blurb that popped into my head. Lando Norris x Fem!reader, platonic!max verstappen x bestfriend!reader

Max was streaming with his Redline Team as he usually did when it wasn’t race week. You had received the notification that he had gone live on Twitch and grabbed Lando’s laptop from beside the bed to log in and watch it.

“Okay, I have another story you might enjoy.”

Lando chuckled as he entered the room with the cups of tea he had gone to make. “His stories are the best.”

There was never a shortage of stories from Max and you were lucky to have witnessed them for a large portion of your life. You had known Max since you were young and it was through him that you met Lando.

Your boyfriend handed you the mug that he had given you for Valentine’s Day last year: a big red heart that had his LN4 symbol in the middle. It still amused you that his gift was really for himself and you happily drank from it every day.

“He can hardly keep a straight face,” you said as you pointed to Max’s video feed. “It has to be a good one.”

“So I got a call last week from my good friend, Y/N.” Max had to stop to take a sip of his red Bull as he was laughing too much. “She was on a date with Lando, still don’t know how that happened but that’s another story, and they went to dinner in Florence. Lovely, right. One thing about Lando and Y/N, their Italian is absolutely terrible.”

“I’m already offended,” you said as you grabbed your phone.

“Oh, she’s watching the stream!” Max laughed as he read the text message you had sent him and he held it up to the screen for a second. “It says, ‘eighteen years of friendship and you settle on good? I’m insulted. Sincerely, your ex-best friend and current good friend.’ I think I’ve hurt her feelings. I’m sorry, I love you.

“Anyway, my good friend, she sends me a photo of her meal and immediately calls me. ‘Like what the fuck is this? I asked for pasta.’ Blah, blah, blah. Turns out she ordered a bean salad. She’s too embarrassed to admit she messed up so she eats the salad, she fucking hates salads, and then orders dessert.

“I get another picture and phone call soon after and she’s absolutely fuming because she received another bean salad.”

Lando was in hysterics beside you as he relived the disastrous date and he put his mug down before more tea spilled over the bedspread. “I’m sorry, baby, but it was funny.”

The chat down the side of the live stream was already getting bombarded with information you could have done with last weekend.

@/tifosi1: Cannelloni = Pasta @/vinividivici: Cannellini = Beans @/verstap1: Cannoli = Dessert

“We’ll have to see if she shows up to Monza, because she swore she would never step foot in Italy again.”

You fired another text through and he choked on his laugh. “I can’t read this one out loud, I’ll probably get censored and the race is ready. That’s it for story time.”

“I hate him,” you huffed as you slammed the laptop closed.

“I don’t,” Lando grinned, taking the laptop away and pulling you into his arms. “He brought you into my life.”

“Shhh, stop being sweet and let me be mad at him.”

“Okay, he’s an absolute bastard. We should toilet paper his apartment and throw eggs at his car.”

You cupped his face and pecked him on the lips. “Thank you. That must have been hard to say.”

“Yeah,” he shivered with a grimace. “Can we not be mad at him now? I don’t like it.”

“Me neither…fine.”

You unlocked your phone and sent him one last text.

To Max: I’m still your best friend.

You didn’t receive a reply until his race finished and you smiled as you showed it to Lando.

From Max: Always.

[rabbitblackx]

Can I get head canons for Jason, Brahms, Bubba RZ and Og Michael and Freddy with an s/o who has a picture of them (the slasher) in a heart shaped locket they wear all the time? I got one for christmas and I’m trying to figure out how to add a picture that will fit to it. Thank you as always

Thank u for ur patience🫠💞

Slashers with a Reader that has a photo of them in a heart shaped locket

Includes: Bubba Sawyer, Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger and Brahms Heelshire

Bubba Sawyer💖

Bubba nearly cried when you first showed him the locket around your neck. He held the heart shaped pendant in his shaky hands, running his thumb over the tiny picture of himself in it

Bubba completely melted when you pulled him into a kiss, his hands slipping off the necklace and around your waist

He made an effort to dance around with you more often after you got the locket. He was also somehow even more snuggly, always stealing kisses and touches

Bubba couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you. And wow! You had his picture in a heart shaped locket? Wha?? He loved to show you off to his brothers

Michael Myers💖

You opened your heart shaped locket in front of Michael, revealing a photo of him inside. It was of him as a child, unmasked with a mop of blonde hair over his eyes

Michael slowly tilted his head. He didn’t understand why you had this. Honestly, he probably would be very indifferent about it at first. If anything, he probably thought you were dumb for it. Didn’t you know what he was? He didn’t know why you always glorified him

If Michael was having one of his very rare good days, he may of gotten a bit soft with you (don’t count on it). He came home to you at night, laying next to you on your bed. You sleepily smiled at him in the dark, while he took in your stunning features

As you drifted off to sleep, Michael’s hand wandered to the locket around your neck. He popped it open, gazing upon the photo of him

It was the little things like this that reminded him why he spared you

Jason Voorhees💖

You skipped over to Jason one day and popped open the heart shaped locket around your neck, revealing a photograph of him inside. You had taken the photo a little while back. It was just him with his mask on by the lake, but it was very special to you

Jason silently stared down at it for a long while. After a few moments, he turned and walked off into the woods without even looking at you. It wasn’t exactly the reaction you had hoped for, but at least he didn’t smash it or something

You didn’t bring up the locket again. Jason didn’t give it much thought, except when he caught himself staring at it every once in a while

If Jason got mad or upset, he broke things. All he saw was red, until your soothing voice cooed for him to calm down

He stormed over to you, his dirty boots trudging over the floorboards of your cabin. You flinched back in fear as Jason snatched up your locket, nearly tearing it from your neck. As his vision came back to him, he looked down at the heart shaped pendant in his hand

As Jason’s rage slowly washed away, he dropped the locket and stormed back out of your cabin. He was so unpredictable. You didn’t know what made Jason so upset, but you knew he would come back for comfort soon enough

Jason was pretty much always in a bad mood. But the thought of your dumb locket you wore with his photo in it, weirdly soothed him

Freddy Krueger💖

When you showed him his photo that you had in the heart shaped locket around your neck, Freddy let out an evil laugh that echoed throughout the boiler room

“Are you sweet on me, prince(ss)?” He smirked

You playfully rolled your eyes with a giggle. “Of course, silly!” You joked

Freddy licked his burned lips before slamming a kiss onto your own. He was already very possessive of you, so this necklace just tipped him over the edge

Safe to say, when you woke up from that ‘nightmare’, all you were wearing was the locket. Your pyjamas were strewn all over the floor, tattered and torn from a certain bladed glove

Brahms Heeshire💖

Brahms was so happy to see his photo in your heart shaped locket. Expect him to demand a lot more kisses than usual. He was also a lot more clingy, following you close behind throughout the entire day like a lost puppy. He would throw a massive tantrum if you were to leave to run errands or something. He snaked his lanky arms around you in an effort to make you stay

Seeing that locket dangling over your chest made Brahms go wild. He grabbed you by the hair, and dragged you down to his lair within the walls

Brahms threw you onto his bed with a deep grunt, straddling your hips and tearing off your clothes, leaving you in nothing but the necklace

[ohimsummer]

✎ . . .❝…YOU LITTLE THIEF! ❞

—poly! stsgverse, some light shoko x reader, implied stsg x reader (?), ntm just some goofy silly antics

⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ reader is able to skate like this during their getaway >:3 ( read the sequel! )

The Jaws theme is playing on the soundtrack within your mind. They’re both clueless, none the wiser to the incoming threat that slowly creeps up behind them. Whatever is on Gojo’s phone must be life changing, the way he and Geto are so transfixed, smiling and laughing as if they’re not about to be pulled into the depths. The perfect opportunity reveals itself when they part, leaving a gap just big enough for you to squeeze through. Locked on the target, you pick up speed, careful to avoid any stragglers between you and your prize, until…

“Hey!’” Gojo exclaims as you zoom between them, gaping at the bare hand that just held his phone. “Give that back!”

Twirling around, you stick out a tongue in reply, still gliding away as both men try and fail to run after you on their own skates. Both are stuck fumbling through groups of people, pros or others clinging to the rail just to stay upright. Your escape is swift, efficient, and they haven’t even covered half the distance by the time you’ve kicked off your skates and scurried over to the booth Shoko has claimed.

“Lookie!” Your squeal is eager, victorious, mischievous. She squeezes in next to you as you switch on Gojo’s phone, unfortunately having locked during your get away, but lucky for you, opening his camera doesn’t require a password. “Say cheese!” And Shoko leans in close, hand braced on your thigh, as you snap the first photo. And then another. And another. Picture after picture, photo after photo in rapid succession. A video of you and Shoko faux pouting, before bursting into laughter. Your selfie. Her selfie. A short clip of you puckering your lips, holding up a peace sign and blinking your lashes. You’re doing another where you and Shoko’s hands are forming a heart when something catches her eye.

“Move, move!,” she warns, and tugs you away from the wall of the booth, shared with the roller rink. You don’t question her, having spotted the tuft of white during the frantic turns of your head, and Gojo’s fingertips just brush the collar of your jacket as you settle into Shoko’s lap, mere inches out of his reach.

“Hand that over, you little thief!,” he pouts. Geto, leaning on the rail, mutters aloud ‘And how the hell were you running in roller skates…?’ but it’s mostly drowned out by Gojo’s next exclamation. “What do you think you’re doing with my property?”

You switch the camera, holding it up to snap a quick photo of them both. “I’m taking pictures, duh. Souvenirs. Something to remember us by.”

“Oh, are we dead?” Shoko squeezes her arms around your waist, and then answers her own question. “I suppose we will be, for this, right?”

The two of you share a girlish giggle, before Gojo, unamused, holds out his palm. “Phone, now.”

You don’t think you like this tone. “Why don’t you get out of the rink and come take it from me?”

Shoko, ever the instigator, mumbles an ‘oooh!’. She and Suguru are audience to the brief standoff between you and Gojo, before he straightens up, nibbles his lips in contemplation, narrows darkening blue eyes at you.

“Oh, just wait, you are gonna be in for it.” And you three watch him roll off towards the nearest rink exit.

Geto lingers a second longer, and so he spots you tucking his friend’s phone beneath your shirt, before leaping from Shoko’s lap. Gojo reaches one of the openings where the rink ends and black carpet begins, making eye contact with your fleeing figure and running for his shoes as you disappear into the darkness outside. Shortly afterward comes Geto. He leisurely slips off his skates, replaces them with his boots, and strolls over to join Shoko at the booth.

“Those idiots.,” she laughs as he slides in opposite of her. “How’d he let her steal his phone anyway? Thought Gojo had spidey senses?”

“We were…looking at something.” Geto hesitates on his words.

“Something?” Shoko sends you a text that goes unread and unanswered. “As in another picture of some model?”

A selfie of you, specifically. But Geto will never admit that, especially not to Shoko. “It was.”

She gives him a teasing grin. If she knows, he can’t tell. “Must’ve been quite the looker, huh?”

He props a hand under his chin. “Oh, yeah. You have no idea.”

tagz: @anthoosies @staryukis

[nexysworld]

Summary: Leon is sent on a mission to carry out a hit for the government. He hated these missions the most, but worst of all you weren't supposed to be there. You weren't supposed to see him. Pairing: ID!Assassin Leon x Fem!Reader Tags: NSFW, MDNI, Smut, canon typical gore, graphic depictions of murder, comfort sex, mild dubcon, unprotected sex, fem!receiving oral sex, soft sex, angsty sex, hurt/comfort/hurt, dark content, descriptions of wound dressing. WC: 5.2k

A/N: This was a birthday fic for the wonderful @elfven-blog. <3 Title from the lyrics to the song Sextape by Deftones. Edit: I also have a bot based on this fic now: Character AI | Spicychat

Read on A03 || Ask Box || Masterlists

Cool air bristled the hairs on the back of his neck, limbs tingling with the typical anticipation of what came next. Hits weren’t his favorite type of mission, not by a longshot, he wanted to save people, not kill them. But with experience came a certain professional numbness and a way to compartmentalize. It didn’t help that the locale for this affair was in the dead center of a suburban upper class neighborhood. Every home had that same limestone brick or white overlapping paneling. Every door the same mahogany brown, tacky lawn gnomes, overly green grass, white picket fences – the works. The possibility of witnesses was high, the escape routes limited. 

Regardless, Leon was a professional, and he would make it work. He always did.

Tilting his wrist, he looked down at the gold rolex, it was a little past 2:30am. He listened closely, to ensure there was no movement inside. The double windowed back doors were his point of entry. The brass knobs were old, the locks inside not quite as intricate as modern ones, all it took was a good smack against the swiss army knife he’d jammed into it for the lock to click open. The door opened quietly, he made sure to not close it completely behind him to ensure he could make his escape. 

The house had an eerie quiet over it, almost like the universe knew what was about to happen. Leon cracked his neck and let out a breath, careful to not touch anything as he moved throughout the lower floor, clearing each room. The kitchen was pristine, nothing out of place on the island or counter. There was no homely smell of food, only the lingering scent of some harsh cleaner. Not a sign that anyone had even been down there within the past several hours – a good thing, he noted. Through the archway came the living room, he had been hopeful someone had opted to sleep on the couch, separate targets were easier targets. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t so lucky. 

The plush gray sectional was untouched, not so much as a divet into the cushion. The TV remote lay on the dark oak coffee table. Unlike the kitchen, this room felt more homely. The faint smell of some fruity air freshener was all over, the cherry walls were lined with gold plated frames of the family. 

His target was some small town politician, Jackson Moore, normally somebody not noteworthy to the government in the slightest, but he made the unfortunate mistake of shaking hands with terrorists, facilitating the sale of some new viral invention through the local pharmacies. The idea of another Raccoon City incident made his stomach turn. He wasn’t sure who he held more anger for, the people like this person who’d bring it about, or the government that he knew turned a blind eye until now – the same government who wouldn’t make the effort to save the people who uphold it. 

He shook his head, and pushed his bangs back refocusing for a moment. He scanned over the pictures. Most normal family outings, some graduation photos and holiday ones in there. Hunnigan had told him beforehand that all of the kids were off to college, none due back for several more weeks. The only targets in the house were Mr. and Mrs. Moore. 

There was only one more room on the bottom floor, where he was sure his victims were, the master bedroom. Leon made his way over, silently padding down the short hall staring at the door. It was cracked, the sound of light snoring and the smell of mint wafting from the room. He peeked inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dark room, a string of moonlight the only thing illuminating the sleeping lumps on the bed. 

He tested the door, it squealed slightly as it opened making him freeze. One of the sleeping forms moved slightly rolling over. He waited, still as a statue until he was sure that both still remained asleep before sliding himself through the narrow opening he’d made. 

Looming over the sleeping forms, he pulled his gun out from it’s holster attached to his waist. Even with the silencer, he knew he needed to be quick. One shot would wake the other, and then it was a matter of speed. He cocked the pistol, taking a few more steps towards the unaware persons before him. The gun felt heavy in his hand, but he lifted it anyway, deciding to start with the official target first. 

Will the trigger pulled back, the room lit up for a split second with the bang of the gun. Time slowed as he watched the man’s body jolt slightly, blood splattering onto the pillow, the walls. The smell of gunpowder and iron hit his nose. The man’s fingers twitched slightly before his movement stopped. Just like he had expected, his wife was awake instantly, though no noise came from her. 

Wide eyed, she stared at Leon, then down at her husband next to her. Her mouth opened like she was trying to scream, but the noise was caught in her throat, tears welled in the woman’s eyes. Blood had splattered onto her too, some chunks of brain along with it dripped from her curlers onto her lap. Her trembling hands reached over to her husband, “Jacks.” She whispered, reaching over and putting her hand on his deformed face. “Jacks.” She leaned over the man, trying to scoop the bits and pieces of him back together. 

Leon wanted to feel sorry for her, wanted to wonder if that’s how someone might react to his death some day. But he pushed those feelings aside, she was a target, culpable in everything just as her husband was. He lifted the gun again, pointing it at her.

As she looked at him, eyes wide with fear, her mouth formed the shape of a word. He didn’t need to hear it to know it was a plea. He pulled the trigger again.

Deadshot, like putting down an animal, between the eyes. 

Her body crumbled over itself as she slumped forward onto the bed, the back of her head exploded open like a volcano of bone, blood, and brain matter. 

Not dwelling on it,  he put his finger to the device in his ear. “It’s done, Hunnigan.” “Good work Leon. I’ll make sure that –”

“Hey mom, you still up? I thought I heard something.” 

The soft voice pulled Leon from his conversation, there were footsteps out in the hallway and the sound of a lightswitch clicking on. ‘Shit.’ He cursed to himself inwardly.  He took a few steps back from the door, whispering to Hunnigan. “You said there were no other targets here.” “There aren't –” “The daughter is home.” “Does she know you’re there?” “No, not yet.” 

There was a moment of silence on the line before she spoke again. “Leon.” Hunnigan’s voice was serious, she knew him well enough after all these years to know his thoughts. “Leave no witnesses.” “There won’t be, she doesn’t even know I'm here.” The sound of the fridge opening and closing indicated the girl’s location.  “Everyone at the location is a target, Leon. Everyone at the location is a witness.” “Not if she – “ “Leon, this is an order.” “I can wait for her –” “Leon –” 

“She doesn’t have to die.” “Dad, is that you?” The sound of his voice, despite him doing his best to stay at a whisper, must've alerted the girl.  There was shuffling around on the other end of the line, the next voice he heard made his blood cold. The head of the D.S.O shouting into his ear. “Kennedy, this is an order, kill her! Complete the mission. Do you understand me?”

“Understood.” He said flatly, disconnecting from the call. In a worse stroke of bad luck, the door to the bedroom swung open nearly at the same time. 

And there you were. 

Glass shattering as it hit the floor, water splattering around as the light from the hallway lit up the room from the opened door. You trembled in place as you processed the sight of things. Leon was frozen where he stood too. You were an adult, but young, more importantly innocent in all of this. Rarely in his forced-on-him career has he had to kill someone completely innocent. Usually it was the partners of criminals, civilians caught in crossfire. But never someone as young as you, never in a situation so targeted.

He hardly registered the shriek you made before you bolted. Acting purely on instinct he took off after you, the delay of his own shock didn’t matter much when he noticed the slimy trail of bloody footprints from where you’d ran through the glass left in the hallway. His own boots crunching it against the ground as he moved.  If you had been smart, you’d have turned for the front door, or even the back. Instead, nearly sliding on your own blood you went for the staircase, the one route that would trap you on the upper floor. You let out a yelp of pain, trying your hardest to only use your less injured foot to bounce up the stairs as quickly as you could, the blood matting down into the carpet with each step. 

It didn’t take long for Leon to catch up, thumping up each one loudly as his boots made contact. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t take his gun out, why he was even letting you attempt this unwinnable escape, he also didn’t know. Maybe it was just delaying the inevitable. 

He reached out for you just as you made it to the top of the stairs. A simple shove was all it took to send you flying into the decorative hall table that waited at the top. A sickening crack was heard as your head collided with the dark wood, knocking it over as you rolled over with a groan, dazed from it. Managing to prop yourself up on your elbows, Leon could see the trickle of blood that began to run down your eye and cheek, along with the starting to swell shiner from your high-speed table collision. 

You scuttled backwards, as best you could, haphazardly tossing the vase that had fallen at him. It missed, and went crashing onto the stairs. Tears mixed with the blood on your face, diluting the color, only leaving the dry specs stuck there. You looked pathetic and terrified in a way that made Leon’s heart twist.

“P-please… don’t.” You pleaded, putting your hand out and up as if that simple gesture would be enough to stop him, distance him from yourself. 

He couldn’t do this, at least not like this. He kneeled before you, cupping your uninjured cheek in his hand. “Shhhh. Shhh.” 

“P-please… I won’t tell any–” “It’s ok,” he cooed. “It’s not my style to hurt pretty girls, you know that?” He added as he scooped you up from the ground bridal style. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Getting his DNA all over you, getting your blood on him. This wasn’t a clean kill, this wasn’t what the upper brass wanted. For the moment though, he didn’t care. “Where’s your room, Sweetheart?”

You didn’t point or make a sound, your eyes darted from him to the cracked door next to him and then back to him as you shook in his hold. He wedged it open the rest of the way with his foot, before gently placing you down on your bed. It didn’t look right, all the blood staining into the fresh and plush sheets. It was different than your parents downstairs, the whole room screamed you. From the decor on the walls, to the laptop on the nightstand, your college hoodie hanging off the back of the chair at your desk. More reminders that you didn’t deserve this. 

Before you could, he swiped the phone off of the side table, stuffing it into his pant pocket. “I know you hurt right now.” He said sweetly, “Give me a minute and we’ll get you all cleaned up, alright?” He gave you a moment to process his words. ‘What the fuck am I doing?’ He asked himself, as he held your hand, patting your arm gently. He could see the confusion in your eyes as the gears in your head turned to try and make a decision – timidly you nodded. He shot you his signature smile. “Atta girl. Stay here for me, no funny business.” Pointing a finger gun at you before he slipped out into the hallway and into the upstairs bathroom. 

The suddenly bright lighting stung his eyes, he saw himself in the mirror, your blood speckled onto his jacket, some dried to his face. He looked rough, a cold sweat broken out onto his face, blue eyes distant looking back at himself. He splashed some cold water onto his face to calm his nerves before digging around to see if there was anything he could use to alleviate some of your pain, even if temporarily. The medicine cabinet was well stocked, though nothing would be enough to really combat the pain of your cracked head and torn up feet. He bit his lip as he grabbed some bandages and the bottle of peroxide. 

First aide wasn’t really his specialty, but he knew enough from training. Along with the other supplies, he filled the empty cup on the counter with warm soap water, and took the washcloth with him. 

To his surprise you were exactly where he’d left you, splayed out on the bed, looking scared and exhausted. Your head rested against the pillow, eyes staring up at the ceiling. “I’m going to take a look at your feet first.” Not that he really gave you the option, but you nodded in return. Leon was no stranger to gore, guts, and the rest, but something about them gave him pause. There was so much blood he could hardly see what was skin and what was glass. “It might sting just a little.” He assured, pouring the cold liquid out onto your feet. You hissed and squirmed a bit, but he placed his arm over your ankles to keep them still, watching as the peroxide bubbled, clearing away the redness of the blood. Small pieces of glass fell with it onto the now stained carpet. He opted to speak to you, see if he could get you to calm down some more while he worked, pouring more over the wounds. “You’re in college?” There was something about you that was indescribable to him, familiar to him, and he wasn’t sure why. 

“Yeah.” Finally you answered with words, voice barely above a whisper.  “Shouldn’t you be at school then? I thought the semester was still going.” He as he checked you over for any more obvious glass. When it was clear the peroxide had done it’s job, he took the bandages, gently wrapping them around your feet, gauze padding them. 

“D-dropped out.” You squeaked out. “Last minute decision, had to come home.” He tied off the bandage before moving to look at your face. “School’s not for everyone. You’re probably better off without it.” Leon dipped the washcloth into the cup, wringing it out over the carpet, not really caring about the mess. He dabbed it gently against your injured face, helping to remove the remaining mess and to get a better look. Luckily the cut above your eye seemed superficial and the blood had stopped running, it was just a matter of cleaning up the  dried mess that was left over. He was careful around the tender purple skin as he cleared as much as he could. “You have a boyfriend you leave back at school?” 

“No. Never had one at all actually.” You replied, wincing when he accidentally touched a painful spot.  “Never had one?” He asked more for himself than as a real question to you. ‘Hasn’t finished school, never had a boyfriend. This is so fucked up. She can’t be any older than Ashley was…’ He thought to himself, debating whether the court marshalling would be worth letting you go. In the same train of thought, he considered what would happen to you if he did. The government would probably send someone else just like him, someone less soft. He bristled at the thought, sitting up straight on the side of your bed. “That’s a shame, I would’ve thought a cute girl like you would be drowning in guys asking her out.”  “Not really” You seemed to relax a bit now, well as relaxed as a person could be in your state. He could still tell from your blown pupils and 1000 mile stare that you were still in shock. Probably a good thing. “My parents are… were, strict.” Your face contorted like you were about to be sick at the memory. 

Leon went back to stroking your cheek gently for comfort. “So no boyfriend, ever have your first kiss? First time?” Now that he had a better chance to really look at you, all cleaned up he realized who you reminded him of. Not so much Ashley, she was more strong willed and you didn’t quite look the part either. It wasn’t just the age, no…your voice, mannerisms, the way you looked. It was so very much her. Someone he hadn’t thought about since before even Raccoon City.

“Yeah. Wasn’t very good, some drunk frat boy.” You admitted leaning slightly into his touch. Silence passed between you both, nothing but the ceiling fan whirring above you. An automated air freshener spritzed roses and lilac into the air, barely covering the distinct peroxide and blood smell. Leon was surprised when you finally spoke again. “Why did you do it?”

The look on your face gutted him more than it should have. “I had to.”  “Because of his job?” “Something like that, yeah.”  “Did he deserve it?”  “Yeah.”

You nodded, turning your eyes away from the ceiling to look at him. There was another tense silence before you spoke again. “Are you going to kill me too?” 

He felt a chill ran over his body at the question. He leaned forward pressing his forehead to yours, moving his hand up to stroke your hair. “I don’t want to.” It wasn’t a real answer and he knew that, but it was honest.  “Why are you being nice to me?”  “I told you, I don’t like to hurt cute girls.” “That’s not it.” 

How you read him for filth like that he’ll never know. “You remind me of someone.” He leaned back just enough to look at you again, but kept your faces close, so close he could feel the warmth of your breath on his face.  “Who was she?”  “My first girlfriend.” He admitted.  “What happened to her?”  “We broke up.” He said with a short laugh. “Right before my very first day as a cop.” While the conversation was far from appropriate for the situation, he supposed it worked to calm you down more as he felt you relax into the bed. His internal struggle was still playing tug-of-war with his psyche, not sure of how to proceed.

The piece in his ear picked up with some static before Hunnigan’s familiar voice was heard. “Leon are you there?” 

He ignored her in favor of continuing to dote over you, hand gently running through your hair, taking in your features more. That trepidation never left your eyes – he understood it. He probably looked psychotic right now, a murderer who was being eerily kind. He was self aware enough to know that much. 

“Leon, we haven’t heard a status report. Has the last target been eliminated?” She spoke loud enough this time that while it couldn’t have been above the lowest whisper for you, it was obvious you heard it, eyes widened again, mouth opening slightly. To keep you quiet he leaned forward pressing his lips to yours, a soft kiss you didn’t really return. “Stay quiet for me, ok?” He mumbled against your lips, before sitting up again. He considered replying to Hunnigan, but looking down at you, he took his earpiece out, tossing it to the other side of the room instead. 

Hey eyed you again, before adding another kiss. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this.’ He reprimanded himself, as he placed another this time to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then jaw. Another on your neck for good measure. ‘I should’ve done it the second she opened the door. I should’ve done my job.’ Despite his mind’s dialogue he continued now at your collar bone. ‘Like ripping off a band aid…. I can’t let her last moments be like that.’ He began to rationalize as he looked up at you. “Let me make you feel good.” 

“Wh-what?”  “You deserve better than a drunk frat boy. Let me make you feel good.” He repeated.  “Why?”  “Because I want to.” He could clock the nervousness in your voice immediately. “You can say no.” He added. “I’m not a rapist.” 

“A-are you going to kill me if I say no?”  “No, of course not.” Again, it wasn’t technically a lie. He wouldn’t be doing it because you declined, but he felt mild disgust with himself for side-stepping the reality of the situation again. ‘It’s better this way though. For her.’ 

“Ok.” You said, nodding at him to continue.  He treated you like glass, gently working your thin tank top up and over your breasts. He continued by kissing each one tenderly before taking your left nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it until he felt it pebble. When you whimpered at the feeling, he began to suck on it, kneading your other breast with his hand. When he pulled himself off with a pop, he looked down at you, lips parted, eyes closed. Enjoying so much despite him having done so little. Adorable. 

He ran his thumb along your bottom lip until he saw those pretty eyes crack open before capturing your lips again, taking the chance to slip his tongue inside once parted. You were sloppy with inexperience, but tasted like dessert, sweet. It made his cock twitch against his pants. He groaned slightly into your mouth, ignoring his own need. Pulling away he let you catch your breath, giving him the chance to move down your body one kiss under your breasts. The next above your naval – stomach contracting slightly. He added one more above the hem of your night pants. 

He looked up at you, silently checking with you if it was alright to continue again. When you nodded, he helped you out of the pants. Gently tugging them down from the waist band, lifting each separate leg himself, careful to not hurt your already injured feet. “You alright?” “Y-yeah.” 

“Let me know if anything hurts, ok?” “Ok.” “Good girl.” 

Leon tugged his leather jacket off discarding it on the floor before rolling up the sleeves of his button up. He claimed a spot between your legs, lifting one over his shoulder for better access to what he was about to do. He gave a reassuring kiss to your thigh, using a free hand to part your folds, rubbing his thumb over your clit gently. He eyed you watching as you melted under his touch, soft whimpers tickling at his eardrums. “Such a pretty girl.” He cooed, replacing his thumb with his tongue, swirling it around the sensitive bud. 

He had to grind down on the bed himself to relieve some of his own tension, reminding himself to keep his focus on you. His grip on your leg tightened as you arched your back, squirming more and more against his touch.  “God…oh god…” You chanted, head tossed back, the leg draped over his shoulder kicking at his back. He knew you were close when your voice cracked, soft gasps escaped your lips. He continued lapping at you as you ground against his face, letting you ride through your orgasm – only stopping when your hands made purchase in his hair to get his attention. “C-can’t…can’t.” 

Pulling back, he wiped your slick off his chin with his forearm, looking down at you. He watched as your chest heaved slowly, returning to a normal rhythm. Your uninjured eye was lidded less with shock and more with that familiar coming down of pleasure. He went to move back when you grabbed his arm, looking directly at him. “What about you?”  He was a little shocked by the words, your concern for him. “I said I wanted to make you feel good.” He chalked it up to your likely traumatized and now lust hazed brain. “Don’t worry about me.” Leon made the motion to move again.  “Wait.” You called, grip on his arm tightening. “What if… what if I want to?” 

He didn’t move, unsure of how to respond. He’d already fucked up the mission, already covered you in his DNA, yours on him – but he couldn’t do what you were asking. That was too far.

“P-please?” You choked out, tears now welling in your eyes, spilling over and staining your cheeks again. 

And just like that he was taken back to that day again, right before Raccoon City. A night he swore was the worst of his life, until he knew better. Sitting there across from him, begging him not to go – you sounded just like her too, like she was frozen in time beneath him. Even worse, this was the opposite of what he wanted, he wanted to make things easier for you, relax you.  “I just want to be close, please? Please?” You were full on crying now, face scrunching up, barely able to catch your breath.  “Ok. Ok.” He said, leaning down to kiss you again. “Shhh, don’t cry. Don’t cry. How do you want me to take you?” Your words came out between sniffles and hiccups. “Any way, you want.” 

He nodded, sitting back enough to help you sit up, slipping your shirt off all the way. “Can you flip over for me? Lay down flat on your stomach.” He helped you comply with the command, still careful of your injuries. He could see the bandages on your feet had turned a slight pink. Once you were laid out the way he wanted, relaxed, face down into the pillow, he worked his own shirt off, tossing it over in a pile atop his jacket. His gun was removed from the holster, he was careful to lock the safety, discarding it with his other items. He left his pants on, undoing them enough to free his half hard cock, the head still weeping. 

He spat in his hand, giving himself a few good tugs, feeling himself hardening fully again. “You ready?”  “Yeah.”  He crawled forward, gently lifting your butt up just enough for him to line himself at your soaking entrance. He grunted when he pressed in, you sucking him in warm and wet. He let you take a moment  to relax down again as he leaned forward, pressing the entirety of his bare chest to your back, sinking his cock in slowly until he was buried all the way inside of your heat. 

He kissed up your shoulders, and neck, rolling his hips into your slowly. “God you’re tight baby.” He whispered against your ear. He didn’t have the heart to rail you into the mattress, wanting to abate your request for closeness, intimacy.  “S’big…” You lazily mumbled into the pillow.  “I know, I know.” He crooned your neck just enough for him to lock your lips together again. “But you’re doing so good, taking me so well.” Letting you rest, he returned to focusing on the motion of setting a steady but not too rough pace, angling himself so that he hit that spot inside of you that had you whimpering again. He rewarded the noises by rolling you both onto the side, where he could wrap an arm around you like a tight hug, leg gently pulled over over his own so he had a better angle.  Likely for the best, Leon was close already, he slowed down more, returning to simply rolling his hips as he trailed his hand down your stomach, ghosting it over your naval and thighs before rubbing at your clit for a bit as he kissed and sucked softly against your neck. He fucked you like he would’ve done to her, like you were his lover, the most important thing to him. 

Your velvet walls felt like heaven as they squeezed against him, closer and closer to your own second orgasm. “That’s it baby.” He whispered hotly against your ear. “One more time for me, ok?” He sped up his fingers, feeling you tighten around him so much that he nearly felt his own eyes roll back. “G-good girl.” He praised, gripping your hip to speed up his own movements, his balls tightening as he came, cock throbbing as spurts of his seed painted your insides. 

Leon held you like that for a while, curling in on you, offering soft praises as he nuzzled into your neck from behind. He didn’t move a muscle until your breath evened out completely, and he could tell by the low thrum of your heartbeat that you were incredibly close, if not already asleep. He looked up at the clock on the nightstand – 4:45am it read. He had about 20 more minutes max before someone from HQ would be sent in as backup, now that he’d been MIA for so long. 

Now fully soft, he gently pulled himself out of you, and carefully rolled off the bed. He watched you for any more signs of movement as he buckled back up and redressed. There was that eerie silence settling over the house again, he felt heavy with the weight of the evening crushing against him like an invisible force. He wished for a moment that the world would swallow him up where he stood so he didn’t have to face his responsibilities, the consequences. 

You looked peaceful laying there. He knew it was just the exhaustion, shock, and grief, that kept you tugged under the waves of unconsciousness, but for his own sake he pretended you were in a truly relaxed state. Moreso, he was glad you wouldn’t experience any more of that pain or fear tonight.  Leon clicked the safety off the gun, watching you for any signs of movement. Not even a twitch as he cocked the gun again. He walked over, sitting at the side of the bed again, eyeing you over one more time. It felt like he was saying goodbye to a lot of things at that moment, his ex all over again, your future,  another piece of the man he wanted to be.  “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this, you know?” He whispered, mostly to himself as he pressed the barrel of the pistol to the pillow. 

He couldn’t look this time. He wouldn’t look this time.  His chest tightened, having to take a moment to stop the bile trying to work its way up, and the urge to cry that had him wanting to heave against the floor. He grabbed his earpiece as he made his exit. 

“This is Kennedy to HQ – the last target has been exterminated.”