#thanks for correcting me with the last photo

[etherealily]

guilt // f.odair

[1/3] Long. this was queued, idk if I've already promised another character before this is out.

Finnick Odair + fem!reader. Warnings : Cuss words, SFW but discretion advised, mature themes.

Desc. : But is it in his nature?

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

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'Suck on his sellout cock, go ahead', your mind taunts you as you traipse behind him into the Victor's Village, a place where you simultaneously hoped you'd live and you'd never step into again.

See, Finnick had always dominated your childhood.

You grew up watching him charm the nation, be welcomed back to the District like he was God.

One of your biggest flexes was that you got to see him in person in a parade once, when he'd come back from one of his many Capitol visits.

However. That all changed once you became fifteen. Because you'd finally got some fucking sense and realized that the people at the Capitol, the Hunger Games, none of it was fair, it was all fucking shit.

And you hated Finnick all the more for it.

Prancing around, doing promotions, adverts, sending children to die, being the Capitol's bitch. You'd narrowly escaped your last chance to be reaped, but you still wished he'd choke on his ridiculously expensive Capitol meal.

You couldn't respect him.

But. But, it wasn't like you'd ever tell him that, though. Because when Finnick Odair talks to you, you fucking talk back.

And when he tells you he wants you to come back home with him after seeing you by the ocean one night, you go, no matter how much you'd rather fucking kill yourself.

"This is my house.", he smiles, and waits expectantly, as if you're supposed to applaud.

"It's nice."

He doesn't look disappointed or surprised at that. In fact, he seems mildly entertained. "Get in."

═════════════════════ ⋆🔱⋆ ══════════════════

"And then, maybe, just bring your hand up the side of your leg? Yeah, yeah, just like that. Okay, yeah, sweetheart, that's it."

Click.

"And this is for..."

"Modelling."

"For the Capitol?"

"Who else?"

You raise a brow, your mind immediately picturing some rhinestone encrusted Capitol asshole getting off to a picture of you. You shudder.

"I'm joking. It's for me."

"For you?"

"Feel free to look around.", he says, offhandedly, as he looks through the camera at all the pictures he'd just clicked of you. "Maybe something will catch your fancy."

"You brought me here to... take pictures of me and... let me take whatever I want from your house?"

"I'm a weirdo, sweetheart."

"What will you do with the pictures?"

"I dunno. Can't publish them anywhere. I guess I'll just use them.", he mutters, more to himself than you, but you catch it. He looks up and then clarifies, "To improve my photography skills."

Thank fuck.

"Why me?"

"You're a good subject."

Your fingers move almost fluidly past various things, bottles of expensive liquor, watches, jewellery that he probably stole from his long list of Capitol lovers, and a single, slightly pathetic looking conch.

"I'm a subject? Like... math?"

He snorts. It's condescending, he's aware - there's no way you'd know. You've never been out of the District.

"It's photography lingo. A subject is who you're taking photos of. You have the correct facial structure for my lighting to illuminate you how I want it to. Hence, you're a good subject."

"Oh."

He continues flicking through photos and adjusting the background, taking a few trial shots with the result of his tinkering, until he seems to notice that you haven't spoken in a while. "You like the conch?"

"It's pretty."

"So are you."

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Ugh. There he goes again, back to Finnick Odair, Capitol man-whore instead of Finnick, photo geek.

You turn to him. "How much did it cost? Twice the wine?"

"I didn't buy it. I found it, back when I was eleven."

"You've had it for almost a decade?"

He licks his lips, his hands pausing their scrolling of the camera's gallery for a moment. "I guess it has been a decade."

"What was it like, though? When you won?"

"Won? Won what?"

"The Games."

"Oh. Uh... bittersweet."

"Bitter? Why would it be bitter?"

"You ask a lot of questions. Sit down."

You know the truth. He just didn't want to admit that there was nothing bitter going on. He won because he was hot, and now, he continued reaping the benefits of his genetic lottery win.

You sit, still looking up at him as he comes to kneel in front of you, turning his camera to you. "What do you think?"

The pictures he's taken of you have an unsettling ethereality to them. In one, you're looking out the window with your back to the camera, your outfit hidden by a rose he'd apparently been holding in front of the camera.

A white rose.

It featured in every fucking picture, so much so that you almost asked him about it. Key word : almost.

In one of the more lighthearted ones, the rose sat in your mouth.

"They're pretty nice."

"Is your vocabulary limited to those two words? Pretty. Nice."

"I don't know what else to say."

He regards your face for a moment - like, really fucking observes you - before fiddling with some knob on the camera. "Take off your clothes."

That shouldn't have surprised you as much as it did.

"What?"

He looks up, confused. "Take off your clothes and I'll take some pictures."

"What? No."

"You don't want to? But you were okay with all the previous pictures."

"Yeah, because I was clothed."

"Being unclothed is a problem for you? Being exposed? Hm? That bothers you?"

What?!

"I- look, man, I'm not trying to offend you."

"But you are. You said you'd let me take photos of you. You are not your clothes, are you? You are your self, your soul, your body."

"Yeah, but I'm just not comfortable."

'Y'know what, sweetheart, people do shit they're not comfortable with all the fucking time. Twenty-five/eight. If you can't deal with it, you're weak. Take. It. Off."

You had a feeling there was another reason he was so angry about your non-compliance, but you didn't push it.

"Please don't make me do this."

"Fine! FUCK! Am I asking you to suck my cock? Huh? I could, y'know that? I could've, but no, I asked you to help me make art, and you chickened out!", he yells, his finger scarily close to poking your eye.

Finnick Odair was no longer pissing you off.

Finnick Odair was genuinely scaring you.

"Just get out.", he mutters, setting his camera down in defeat on his couch. "Get out, seriously."

You don't even have two seconds of backing-away-time before he stops you again. "What if I killed your family?"

That scares you more. "What?"

"What if I killed your family? Or at least, threatened to? Would you do it? Would you?", he asks, and now, he's not angry at you, or frustrated, he's more desperate, frantic, as if your answer would shake his fucking world.

As if your answer would change his self perception.

"Please don't kill my family."

"Would you suck my cock if I threatened to kill your family, Y/N?!"

"YES!", you scream, flinching, almost. "Yes! I would, but please, PLEASE don't!"

Finnick Odair gazes back at you with relief, and you want to strangle him. "You would, wouldn't you? You'd do unspeakable things for your family, yes?"

Well, of course.

"Things that would make your skin crawl. Not just because you love them, but because you're responsible for them. Because you got yourself into this mess."

He's no longer talking to or about you, that much is clear.

"And it's up to you to keep them away from it."

Slowly backing away, you try your hardest not to show up in his peripheral, to make sure he stays in whatever zone he's in.

But he is Finnick Odair. So he doesn't even look up at you as he instructs you. "Don't take the conch." Like stealing from him was the first thing on your mind.

"Wasn't planning to."

"Don't tell anyone about today."

"Wasn't planning to."

"Stay."

Wasn't planning to.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. Please. Stay."

The apology only solidifies your urge to stab him in the gut. "I have to get home."

"I didn't mean stay the night. I don't want you staying the night."

Finnick Odair, as you had begun to gather, was debilitatingly honest.

"I just mean stay for a while. Have dinner and then go."

"Dinner?"

"Yes, dinner. I have turkey from the Capitol."

"What's that?"

"It's a kind of bird. It's just like chicken but better."

"What's chicken?"

"Another kind of bird."

"Oh."

He frowns at you for a moment. "You're not okay with eating birds, are you?"

"They're just... very rare, so I don't see why you have to kill them."

He sighs, looking around the room in deep thought. "I could make fish. You know fish. You like fish."

You do know fish. You do like fish. You nod.

~~~~

Finnick's fish is unlike any you've ever fucking eaten.

Living in District 4, you'd figured you'd had fish every way it could be cooked. But no.

You can't help but take more. And more. And more. You weren't hungry, and momentarily felt guilt, thinking about kids in the other districts who were, but it was divine and you couldn't bring yourself to care much.

"You like that?", he asks, from opposite you, raising a brow in amusement.

"It's really fucking good."

He whistles lowly. "Ooh, nice, vocabulary expansion. So you do cuss. I was afraid I'd corrupted you with my rough Capitol language.", he muses, looking at your plate. "You have room for dessert?"

"Doesn't everyone, always?"

He nods. "That's fair. Cake?"

CAKE? This Capitol whore managed to bring cake back to District 4?

"Sure."

That was divine, too.

"You like that, too?"

"Yeah. It's really good. The Capitol has it really good."

"The Capitol is filled with cunts who throw up food because they want to taste more."

Was that... disdain? Interesting.

"Well, seeing as you spend most of the year there, I just thought..."

He stands, clearing the plates. "What? That I was one of them?"

You watch him go into the kitchen, taking a sip of water as you do. "No, just that... no, yeah, I did."

"It's okay, I get that a lot. I just... I gotta go, do these promotions, adverts. I have to. I made a deal."

You sigh, standing and pushing the dining table chair back to its original position. "Contract?"

He clenches his jaw momentarily, before nodding, his shoulders tense. "Yeah. Sm'n like that.", he grins, his dimples emerging once more. Thirteen year old you would have swooned and fainted and died.

Eighteen year old you just lets him lead you to the door.

"I'm leaving for the Capitol tomorrow. Along with the tributes from this year."

Why he's telling you this, you have no clue.

"You should come and wave me off."

"Do we know each other well enough for that?"

"No, but I know you know the tributes well. One of them goes to school with you, doesn't she?"

Yes. Little Faye.

"Yes, she's in the eighth grade. I used to tutor her."

The reality hits. She will probably never be able to high-five you when she gets a question right again.

"You should give her courage.", he suggests. "Going in thinking you're going to die will get you killed. Let her know she can make it."

"Can she?", you ask, quietly. The answer will ruin you, you can tell.

"She's a Career."

"Yes, but can she?"

"Chances are slim." Finnick fucking Odair. Finnick "debilitatingly honest" fucking Odair. "I won't tell her that, though."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Finnick."

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His hands grip your chin and you swear you're about to kill him. You look up at him, hanging out the open door of the train carriage and holding onto you, and you're half tempted to pull him down with you because what the fuck was he doing?

You can feel it coming, the urge to slap him away, but then again, it's still Finnick FUCKING Odair, and you're not sure if there's a law against rejecting his advances.

So you just kind of let him kiss you. It's not bad, no, far from it, it's just... unexpected.

Considering it's in front of every camera in the district.

Considering you'd only known each other one night.

Considering his last words were 'you're the only thing I care about.'

Considering he said your full name an unsettling amount of times.

Considering little Faye was watching and wondering why you were calm enough to be making out with some hot guy instead of sending her off.

Considering now the entirety of Panem was either going gush at you or rush at you.

~~~~

You can't bring yourself to watch the news.

Everyone assumes it's because of Finnick.

But, ironically, Finnick's the only one who knows it's not.

It's because of Faye.

"Finnick's on TV.", you're informed at least twice an hour.

"'Kay.", is your usual response. "Faye?"

"I'm sure Finnick trained her well. And besides, the 11th is this weekend! You'll find out."

Right. You'd been invited by Snow him-fucking-self to the Capitol. Apparently, the cameras outside your house weren't enough. He needed you there, with Finnick, for promos. While children were dying.

You receive gifts from your family, your neighbours, your teachers - basically anyone you'd breathed around - for your journey to the Capitol, as if you're going to some dreamland.

As you ride the train, your head against the seat, you try to imagine this is the train that leads you out of District 4. Your family will be waiting at the destination - in your head, an actual dreamland - and you'll be fine and dandy.

As you're escorted out, you imagine you're hanging from the ceiling in full display on the TV instead of Faye having to go through the Games.

And as you're directed to Finnick's room, you imagine slitting his throat. It's funny. You almost laugh. Then, the door opens.

Dimples.

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"How is it you've never worn lip tint before?", he mutters, tutting as if you'd just misspelled a basic word. "C'mon, pucker up.", he instructs, his thumb smearing red on your lips.

You have no idea what you look like and you're not sure if you want to find out. "I thought you were a merchant."

You shake your head. "No, I said I live by the merchant sector of 4."

"Not in it?"

"Of course not. Why would I have been picking seashells to make necklaces out of if I were a merchant? I just sell shit in the marketplace. Doesn't make me a merchant."

"I mean, technically... yeah, it does.", he says, his thumb accidentally slipping and smudging your makeup over the left of your cheek.

"Right, well, I'm not merchant class.', you shrug, trying to wipe the results of idiocy that was Finnick Odair off the side of your cheek.

Finnick... seems to get it. He nods along as he continues trying to de-plague your face with makeup.

Guilt is etched on his face. Regret, a tiny bit. Sadness, festering throughout.

"What's that look?"

He doesn't seem like he's out of whatever thought he was in moments ago when he hums in response, before quickly leaping towards his bedside and taking his camera, holding his thumb next to your bottom lip, with your still messy lip tint just about seen. Click.

"What's that look?", you repeat.

"What look?"

"That one.", you say, pointing to his face as if he can see it.

"That's my sorry look. I shouldn't have sprung the kiss on you. It was a dick move.", he says, gently moving behind you and guiding your shoulders to manoeuver you to face the mirror.

He says it as if he already knows you'll forgive him.

Yes, you do. But it irks you that he seems to assume that.

"Yes, it was."

"I'm sorry. What do you think?"

"I look like the 12 escort."

"Trinket? No, no way. You look great.", he assures, and you try to believe him, but you haven't seen yourself in makeup before and it doesn't look as though it's you standing there.

"Beautiful.", he says, as an afterthought, almost, as if he were trying out the word to see if it sounded right or not. He seems to decide on the former. "Beautiful.", he repeats, nodding.

That gets your attention and you take a second glance, and suddenly, you see what he sees. The makeup isn't subtle and hidden, but it isn't what the Capitol wears. It's... pleasant.

He brushes some hair in front of your shoulders. "See? Beautiful.", he reiterates, like he can't get enough of that word now.

"You sure I'll fit in here like this? Like... dressed up?"

"Yeah.", he says, vehemently nodding before doing that thing when he looked in your eyes again. "Well, mostly. I mean, I'd prefer it if you had the easiest time possible, 'cause I kinda got you into this mess."

You nod. That checks out. "Thanks."

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The night sees you staring at the ceiling while Finnick breathes softly in sleep beside you. It's pleasant. Domestic, almost. Like what Finnick wants, you think. Like the Capitol believes, you know.

He shifts and your eyes snap shut. Why you're so afraid of him finding out that you are awake, you don't know, but you are. He reaches out, his knuckles grazing your cheek with enough purpose that you realize he wasn't asleep in the first place, either.

And then he does it.

His hand reaches out, gently feeling around for your hand, before he grips the middle three fingers on your left.

He squeezes them softly, then brings them to his chest, where his own hand lays. That's it.

You watch him actually sleep until he mumbles, shifting again. 'Y/N?"

"Yeah?", you respond immediately, kicking yourself internally. Cover blown.

"Can't sleep?"

"No."

"Scared?"

"Mhm."

"Of the photos we took today? I promise, the makeup isn't bad, and you won't have to take any more - they'll publish them and pass them off as taken over a few months, so it's not-"

"No, for Faye."

Silence. "Oh."

"I feel like I didn't get to even tell her how well she's going to do."

"You can see her."

You can what?

"When?"

"Well, not in person, but we can watch the live feed of the Gam-"

"Yes. Yes, please, thank you.'

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes. Yes, absolutely. When can we?"

"Well, technically, it's always streaming, so I, I guess we can go now."

You nod.

He raises a brow as if he never expected you to agree. "Okay, uh, just, uh... gimme a second to wake up, okay?"

He comes out of the bathroom after washing his face to find you pacing, biting the inside of your cheek. "C'mon."

~~~~

The Viewing Room is desolate except for a few Gamemakers' Assistants (GAs), that have to watch footage 24/7.

"We have to record these things all the time, just in case something happens during the cover of nightfall", he explains, as he walks in front of you and gestures to the large screen in the opposite side of the room. "Usually, the stronger Careers, from 1 or 2-", he cuts himself off. That was not what you needed to be hearing right now.

He watches as you slowly walk up to the screen, as though the soft glow from it could lead you to Faye. Your eyes dart around the entirety of the enormous screen, looking for something - anything - to announce you of Faye's survival.

"She is still alive. You'd have heard a cannon and seen a picture of her if not."

It's not the most comforting thing he can say. He's usually better at this. God, if he didn't miss his old self, but the guilt of essentially using you to keep Snow's interest off his family and on you, the - to the extent of Snow's knowledge, anyway - love of his life, isn't exactly letting him be warm and inviting to you.

But he wants to. Let it be known, he wants nothing more than to do what he usually does. Brighten people up.

"Where is she?"

"WE'VE GOT A RUNNER!", calls one of the GAs and your head snaps to a blue triangle tracking one of the tributes on the screen, and you run over to that side of the massive screen.

The lights come on in the room, and people flood in. Sponsors, gamblers, Gamemakers. Because this is prime TV. He imagines every screen in the country lighting up, because you have to watch. Every child has just been woken up because the feed's back on.

"Who's the runner?", someone asks, and Finnick turns to you, diligently tracking the blue triangle with your eyes. Blue. Ocean. District 4. It's Faye.

"Girl from Four. The boy's already dead."

"How much did I have on her?"

"Oh, c'mon, you didn't have shit on her! No one thought she'd make it this far."

"Fine, fine, but now how much?"

The sounds of cruelty almost have him zoning out, going back into Capitol-Party-Finnick-Mode. That is, until, you call him.

"Finnick?"

He rushes to your side, a guilt induced speed to his gait. "Yeah, y'okay?" No the fuck she isn't. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"Who's the gold triangle chasing her?" Gold. Luxury. District 1. CAREER.

"Uh..." Deliver it softly. Sweetly.

"Unless she's a shapeshifter, the girl's DEAD!", laughs one of the sponsors. "It's my tribute, the Career boy from 1 chasin' her, with... wait, zoom in? Oh, yeah, a dagger!"

Your eyes widen and Finnick wants to kill himself. "She'll be fine. She can swim, he..."

Can also swim. Fuck.

"... he won't be able to keep up with her." , he says, finally.

Partially true. District 1 Careers didn't have access to the ocean, not like those from 4, so it was very much possible that he wasn't trained to know about tides and currents and shit.

There's a moment where no one in the room says anything. Because they both just jumped into the water, and Faye went under.

Finnick holds your head to his chest as you cling onto him in fear. It's not even remotely close to making up for what he's planning to put you through - well, already putting you through - but he at least feels a bit like the old him. The one who could actually comfort.

The tribute from 1 splashes around a bit, looking for Faye. You've turned a bit now, your head's still in his chest, but half your face is facing the screen. You're watching, anxious as ever.

"She's not drowned.", he mutters, stupidly. Duh.

"What if something pulled her under?"

Oh fuck. Yeah. Valid point.

"I'm sure it's just a strategy."

One that he remembers teaching her.

Maybe if she uses this and beats this District 1 Career, he could be one more step closer to gaining your forgiveness, and his redemption.

For a crime that the victim wasn't even aware was being committed.

The Career flounders around a bit more, screaming, clearly, but the audio is muted here. He looks around, not willing to look under, in case that might trigger the release of any muttations the Capitol cooked up for them.

And then, he's tugged a bit, his leg down, and he springs away from the motion. Please be Faye. Please be Faye.

He's jerked fully under, and a splash of Faye's hair can be seen before both disappear underneath the midlly murky waters, a struggle very evident in the way the water's splattering about.

Suddenly, it stops.

Faye leaps exhaustedly onto the bank, gasping for breath.

A cannon goes off. Florian Jentry. District 1 , Luxury. Score : 10.

Finnick holds onto you tighter as you sigh in relief. He softly kisses your hair because he doesn't know what else to do.

Relief is the only possible emotion to feel.

No one's happy. No one's sad. You're only either relieved that your loved one isn't gone, or relieved that they're not gone in a torturous way.

Wait, scratch that. The patron who just bet on Faye is happy.

[sweet-allien]

These photos give me the same vibes and make me laugh 😭

Estás fotos me transmiten las mismas vibras y me da mucha risa 😭

[keithbutgay]

So I don't know if anyone has been keeping up on this case, but I tried looking for posts on it and I've only found transphobic rants and comments. So just... spreading awareness.

There is an ongoing case in Australia currently (the hearing has concluded but the ruling has not been announced) where Roxy Tickle, a trans woman, is suing the Giggle for Girls app and its founder for $100,000, plus another $100,000. Giggle for Girls is a platform exclusively for women, and Roxy was banned from the app after joining.

The app already has a lot of problematic features on it. For example, any new user is required to submit a selfie-- a photo which is then analyzed by ai to determine whether or not the user is a woman. For Roxy, the ai wasn't the issue, however-- in fact, she used the app for several months with no problem. Instead, the owner of the app manually and purposefully overrode the ai, revoking Roxy's access to the app, because she saw her profile. She then refused to reinstate her account and blocked her.

The founder of the app, Sall Grover, has knowingly and persistently misgendered Roxy dozens of times in interviews, articles and posts. I have a chrome extension that shows if a website is queerphobic or not, and when I look up Roxy's name there are only two results not in red.

As well as this, the additional $100,000 dollars Roxy is suing for? That's because of an online campaign waged against her by Grover, who has a large platform on Twitter. Katherine Deves, who had been representing Giggle in court tried to get the case thrown out. And Grover quite literally called in evolutionary biologist Colin Wright to advocate for her case. He's giving evidence for the trial.

There is a fundraiser to "reclaim sex based rights and protections for all women and girls" created specifically for this case. It has raised over $500,000, and that number is still growing.

Anyways. I don't know if I was just the last one to know about this, but the fact that I even found out about this case was because of a post a terf made scares me.

If anyone else has any more information, please add onto this post! And if I missed anything, or said anything wrong, please correct me.

Thank you for taking this time out of your day.

If you want to read more about the case, I would check out these articles:

[thewispsings]

personal photographer | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x photographer!reader

summary: the one where daniel ricciardo is dating his personal photographer.

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen1, landonorris, and 527,153 others!

yourusername: my favorite daniel is a smiling one :D

view comments below!

user1: he looks so good

user2: y/n always makes sure she gets the BEST angles of daniel

user3: he is her bf 😭 can’t post photos of him off guard

maxverstappen1: gorgeous

yourusername: 🤨

danielricciardo: don’t be jealous baby (max we talked about this…)

maxverstappen1: i can’t help it, you look so good 🤤

yourusername: that’s MY boyfriend you’re talking about

maxverstappen1: until i make him mine ☺️

user4: #freeynfrommaxverstappen

landonorris: when can y/n come to my garage and take pictures for me?

danielricciardo: um never?

yourusername; don’t be rude daniel 🤨 just text me lando! we’ll figure something out

danielricciardo: um no you won’t. youre MY photographer, not LANDOS.

landonorris: i just want some pictures mate 😕

danielricciardo: WELL GET THEM SOMEWHERE ELSE

user5: jesus daniel it’s okay yns all yours…

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, and 725,018 others!

daniel3.jpg: the photographer gets photographed

view comments below!

user6: does anyone know what camera y/n uses professionally?? if you do pls let me know 🙏🙏

daniel3.jpg: she uses a canon EOS C70 cinema camera!

user7: that is…a 7 THOUSAND dollar camera.

user8: what the fuck

user9: sometimes i forgot that she’s like rich??

user10: i think that’s the camera daniel bought her as a birthday present, she used to use a Canon EOS Rebel T3i DSLR Camera!! that one’s more on the affordable side, and it lasted her yearrrsss

landonorris: oh but when i take photos of her it’s weird???

daniel3.jpg: YES!! she’s MY girlfriend

landonorris: I TAKE THEM SO I CAN SEND THEM TO YOUUUUUU

user11: y/n is so pretty 🤭🤭

daniel3.jpg: correct!!

user12: she’s so gorgeous

daniel3.jpg: 1000000% agree

user13: the easiest way to get a reply from daniel is to compliment y/n

maxverstappen1: why don’t you post me like this? 😕

daniel3.jpg: we’ve talked about this, you know y/n gets jealous

yourusername: WOW OKAY YOU SICK LIAR 🧍

user: i wonder how many pictures daniel has of y/n like this…

landonorris: LITERALLY thousands.

liked by danielricciardo, daniel3.jpg, maxverstappen1, and 410,017 others!

yourusername; he’s trying to take my job 😡

view comments below!

user14: he could NEVER do it like you tho

user15: y/n we know it’s like your literal job to take pictures of daniel, but pls pls pls the world wants more pictures of YOU

user16: uh pls tell me if the tattoo is on his butt cheek

landonorris: i know where it is 🤫🤫

user16: is it on his butt cheek???

user16: lando pls

user16: is it on the downstairs cheeks

user16: pls lando

user16: LANDO PLEASE

maxverstappen1: you get a tattoo for HER? but not for me. did you ever love me??

danielricciardo: baby please, you know you’re the only one for me

yourusername: he says as he places a kiss on my head AS we cuddle

maxverstappen1: YOURE A SICK MONSTER YN SICK SICK MONSTER.

user17: i’m so jealous of y/n

user18: you and me both sister

user19: i’m actually going insane I NEED TO KNOW WHERE THAT TATTOO IS

user20: man that chicken wing looks nice

user21: where exactly does one apply to take pictures of f1 drivers all day??

user22: wait..were y/n and daniel dating BEFORE she was hired or??

user23: they met on the job!! it was a straight out of wattpad moment

user24: you guys are the cutest ever

maxverstappen1: me and him are cuter.

user25: i’m starting to think it was never a joke..

. . .

notes; i’m thinking of making this like a series?? like f1 drivers dating their __ and it’ll be like, personal trainer, engineer, stylist, and things like that! thank you for reading ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

[jjkamochoso]

Matchmaking Mina

Fluff

Soshiro Hoshina x gn!reader

Your kind-hearted captain has taken it upon herself to stoke the flames of love between you and Soshiro!

Warnings: none

Captain Mina Ashiro may act aloof, but she wasn’t blind. Anyone in the Third Division could see that you and Soshiro were the perfect match for each other. If neither of you were going to make the first move, it was only right that she, as your trusted leader, guided you in the right direction. Only, of course, after assessing the situation to make sure you two really did like one another.

*Click*

Her phone captured a snapshot of you at lunch one day, laughing at something Kafka had said. Your head was thrown back and your eyes were creased with joy—you looked positively radiant. Mina made her way to Soshiro’s office, eager to begin her investigation.

“Captain,” Soshiro saluted, “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

“Just stopping by. Checking on the status of your report from last week.”

“It’s almost done. I’ve been hard at work,” Soshiro grinned, sticking his pointer fingers out.

He’s in a pleasant mood. Let’s see if that changes.

“Good. I also came to show you a new picture of Bakko from the other day.”

It was a plausible excuse; Soshiro was a fan of cats as well and Mina was known for subjecting her friends and subordinates to monologues about how cute Bakko was. The vice captain was now standing by her side, peering over her shoulder at the phone in her hand.

“Here it is—oops! Wrong picture.”

Your picture was the one currently being displayed and from her peripheral vision, she saw Soshiro gulp ever so slightly, his eyes opened a bit wider. She was in no hurry, taking her time to slide her finger over the screen to the “correct” photo.

“Sorry about that. It was a cute photo, though, wasn’t it? Didn’t y/n look nice?”

“Huh? Yeah. I mean, sure,” he mumbled, the tips of his ears a rosy hue.

Now for the real test.

“I’d never seen her laugh so hard, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re around Kafka, right?”

There was an immediate shift of mood in the room, tension filling the open space like a dam had burst. Soshiro had gone from blushing to bloodthirsty in a millisecond and Mina was thankful she’d been blessed with a poker face or else she’d be bursting in laughter at his very apparent jealousy.

“If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I should finish this report.”

Soshiro saluted her again before sitting at his desk and Mina took her leave.

Well, that was informative.

Now she knew that Soshiro definitely harbored a crush for you and a hatred for Hibino. As she walked down the empty hallway, she let a small smile grace her lips.

She loved love.

Mina did the exact same experiment to you a few days later. As a fellow cat enthusiast, you were very excited at the prospect of seeing new Bakko content, quickly taking a seat next to your captain. This time around, she had managed to take an extremely flattering picture of Soshiro during training. He was standing outside, slightly flushed from the previous physical exertion, with one hand on his hip and the other pushing his hair out of his face.

Maybe if I ever retire I’ll become a photographer.

“…and there’s Bakko-oops. Not this.”

Your mouth was partially agape and she spied how you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the man on the screen. His tight fitting shirt hugged every curve of every muscle. His physique and pose were reminiscent of a model you’d see on a billboard in downtown Tokyo or on a runway in Paris.

“T-that’s a great picture you got of Vice Captain,” you breathed out in awe. “He looks so… hot.”

“If you’re into that sort of look, sure,” she answered.

“I definitely am,” you said dreamily, clearing your throat with embarrassment when you realized you said that out loud. “I mean, yeah. If someone was… hypothetically, like… into that sort of… thing.”

Mission 100% accomplished; they’re very much into each other.

Next up was the hard part of figuring out how to get confessions from the two of you without meddling too much. That’s why she was hoping today’s training, with you being partnered with Kafka, would be enough to stir up those same feelings and visceral reactions you both had while looking at the photos of each other not that long ago. So far, it was working splendidly. Kafka would say or do something ridiculous, causing you to howl with laughter and Soshiro to shoot Kafka a burning glare that could rival the intensity of a wildfire. Meanwhile, Soshiro would take his frustration out on the sparring training dummies, in turn leaving you dumbstruck at the way he moved so majestically and remained the most handsome man on earth, even in a state of sweaty exhaustion. When training was finally over, Mina couldn’t slow the buildup of anticipation deep inside her, eager to see the lovebirds admit their feelings, or at the very least, converse with each other. Neither of those things happened; you and Soshiro didn’t even exchange eye contact before going your separate ways.

Mina frowned. Didn’t she plant the seeds of attraction, water the foundations of a relationship, nurture the-

Looking back, I guess I didn’t do all that much.

“L/n.”

You turned around immediately at the sound of your captain’s voice, saluting as the dark haired woman approached you. You had just finished showering after a grueling day of exercise and were on your way to your room to get some much needed rest

“Come with me, please.”

“Right now?” you asked incredulously, eyes raking over the cat pajamas you were sporting. “Should I change into my uniform really quick?”

“No need,” she replied, “it’ll only be a moment:”

“Alright then.”

You were thoroughly confused but who were you to question your captain? You followed behind her dutifully, like a child following their mother to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk after a nightmare. Your eyebrows knit in confusion as she brought you into Soshiro’s office. He, too, had just showered, but he had changed into a fresh tracksuit, presumably because he never stopped working.

“Captain! What can I do for… you?” Soshiro faltered when he saw you peek out from behind Mina.

“I’m horribly underdressed for whatever’s happening. I sincerely apologize,” you said, bowing your head as to not meet his eyes. You weren’t that far below Soshiro’s rank, being a Platoon Leader, but you didn’t want your superior seeing you in such a state of disarray with your wet hair and casual attire in the office. Soshiro, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Y/n! I didn’t see you back there at first. I like your pajamas, cats are always a good choice.” His fanged smile brought you a sense of comfort,

“Thank you.”

You two would’ve gotten lost in each other’s eyes if it weren’t for Mina reminding you she was still there.

“Let me explain what’s going on. Y/n, Soshiro likes you. Soshiro, y/n likes you.”

It was so silent you could hear a pin drop from across the base. You and Soshiro broke eye contact at breakneck speed, becoming self conscious and wary.

Mina was confused. Weird. Aren’t they supposed to kiss or something, like how it happens in books?

“I’ll leave you to it. Good night.”

Mina practically ran out of Soshiro’s office, getting hit with a whole slew of mixed emotions as she made her way to her own office. Was she wrong for getting involved in her subordinates’ love lives? Did she somehow misread the signals you both were giving off? Was her conclusion incorrect, leading her to be labeled a fool, unfit for a leadership position? She fretted all night thinking about the lack of response you and Soshiro had about the great news. The next morning, as she got ready, she thought of all the ways she could explain her behavior and hoped this situation wouldn’t lead to her getting fired (worst case scenario) or you and Soshiro feeling awkward around each other (bad case scenario). You two worked extremely well together, neutralizing kaiju with just glances and nods, no words needed, and she’d never forgive herself for ruining such a good team.

Mina fiddled with her jacket one last time before lifting her chin up and making the trek to her office to start the day. To her surprise, the door was ajar, you and Soshiro apparently waiting for her arrival.

Goodbye Third Division, hello HR…

“Captain,” you began, “Soshiro and I really appreciate what you were trying to do for us, but-”

“I overstepped my boundary,” she cut in. “I’m ashamed that I let my self control slip and I put my subordinates, the people in my care, in an uncomfortable position. I don’t know if I can ever regain your trust again, but I swear that I-”

“Captain.”

This time it was Soshiro who spoke out of turn. “My deepest apologies for interrupting you, but you don’t need to be sorry. Your intuition was correct—y/n and I do like each other.”

Mins could’ve cried tears of happiness hearing that, especially knowing that her job wasn’t at stake anymore, but her joy was turned to confusion when she noticed you and Soshiro share a glance, making a wordless agreement, and then both reaching into your shirts…?

She watched with curious eyes as a chain entered your grasp, previously hidden from view under your shirt, a small ring hanging down from it. Soshiro did the same, a matching ring gleaming under the fluorescent lights. It was then that the inquisitive, intelligent, intuitive captain made the connection—

“Soshiro and I are married,” you said, sheepishly glancing over at your husband. Now it was Mina’s turn to be deadly silent. However, you could tell she wasn’t upset, she was busy comprehending everything that was revealed to her.

“We didn’t tell anyone,” explained Soshiro, “because we didn’t want it to become an issue at work. In retrospect, we could’ve hidden it a bit better.”

He scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. “Though Kafka doesn’t ever seem to get the hint.”

“But we know we can trust you with our lives and we should’ve at least told you. I’m sorry for lying to you, Captain Ashiro,” you said, your head hanging low.

That’s when you heard the strangest sound.

Captain Mina Ashiro… was laughing?

“This was an interesting turn of events,” she eventually said, catching her breath. “It turns out I was correct, but not in the way I thought.”

She strutted over to her desk, sitting down and starting the computer. “If that’s all you had to report, then you’re dismissed. It’s time to go to work.”

She looked up one last time, quirking an eyebrow. “Or are you on your honeymoon?”

[solardrop]

silver.

aaron hotchner x reader.

summary: hotch really doesn't think getting old is sexy. tags: fluff. a suggestive line here or there but nothing crazy. age gap (reader in their 30s, hotch is 57). jack mentioned. i think this could be read as gn!reader but i could be wrong. just short and cute. word count: 1.0k a/n: last fics rules still apply. be nice to me! when i look up photos of hair dying on pinterest i get rainbow haired e-boys so accept this haircut photo <3 divider creds to @/cafekitsune

Your name echoes across the house when Aaron yells for you from the bathroom. Once you enter the space you're greeted by his hair spiked in every which way, covered in a brownish-black goop. His thick hands are gloved and hold a small black toothbrush-like applicator.

"Sweetheart, can you check if I missed a spot?" Aaron hands you the brush and tray of inky black dye. You make a show of rolling your eyes and pouting back at him in the mirror and you take the items from him.

"I forgot it was that time of month that you decided to cover up all your sexy.." you sigh.

"Really," he scoffs, a teasing smile creeping on his lips, "I thought all the sexy was gone when I shaved.'

You almost teared up remembering the loss of his beard. A case off the grid forced him to grow one out for a few weeks. You understandably jumped his bones upon seeing the new look when he returned. The extra hair provided some out-of-this-world sensations for your softest parts that you would never forget. Only for the wicked man to shave all of it after two days, citing the "professional dress code" of the FBI as the culprit.

You snap a latex glove onto your hand, "Shush and bend over, big guy."

He smiles and kneels to face you, his rough hands gripping the fat of your thighs. You slowly worked around his head, dabbing bits of dye in bare spots. Your fingers rake through the inky black mass on his head, gently massaging his scalp. Aaron hums and thanks you under his breath.

"Do you know why I started dying my hair so consistently?"

"To torture me?"

"No," he huffs," when Jack was about... eight? I had taken him on this trip with a couple of his friends and their fathers, it was fun, but at the end of the whole thing Jack pointed at the grays starting to grow out on my hairline and turned to his friends and said-"

"Baby no...."

"'Guys look! My daddy is sooo old!'"

You clamp your lips shut to hold in your laughter. You didn't want to embarrass him further, especially with the deep red flush rising up the nape of his neck.

"Oh honey Jack was still a baby then... kids are insane you know that"

" I do, and I know. I laughed it off. I know he didn't really mean anything by it, but I didn't know if he felt like the odd one out for having an old dad.." Aaron runs his hands up and down your legs mindlessly. "And now I don't want you to feel out of place either."

You pause at that. In the few years you and Hotch have been together, never has he shown any insecurity about the difference in age between you. And he sure as hell wasn't about to start now if you had anything to do with it. You slicked his hair back with your hands and placed the clear complimentary shower cap in the box on his head, snickering at how silly he looked. Once you slide the slimy gloves off you set the timer on your phone and grasp the face of the man you loved so dearly, forcing him to rest his chin on your stomach and look into your eyes.

"You have less than thirty minutes to explain to me why you think I'd care about you looking old"

"you're young-"

"I'm in my thirties-"

"you're younger," he corrects "than me by quite a bit. All your friends have other young people to share their life and first experiences with. Meanwhile, you're stuck with a sixty-year-old-"

"You're fifty-seven-" Your eyes roll.

"a fifty-seven-year-old with a sassy kid turned angsty teenager for a child." he sighs, "Sweetheart I just don't want you to ever look at me and feel a loss."

You take a moment to scan his face. Despite the stupid shower cap mushrooming around his head, his face showed no amusement when he spoke. The sweet, shy smile he always sported around you was gone, replaced with a grimace and furrowed brow.

"Aaron I have never felt more loved, accepted, and safe than I have with you. I know you know that," you say.

He nods, pressing a quick peck to your belly button before looking at you. His eyes search yours for a moment of hesitation or change in resolve. but you stand your ground.

"The only thing I worry about with you on my arm is fighting off all the homewreckers."

He wheezes a laugh at this. Eventually having to stand up before he smears the dark dye all over you. He always does this. Laughs and acts like he wouldn't have crowds of people stop to fawn over his beauty if he let them.

"Remember that neighbor at the old apartment who would only stop by with cookies when she knew you were home?"

"Or the time Jack's classmate profiled their teacher's crush on you?"

"Don't even get me started on that detective JJ keeps telling me about from years ago in New Mexico. The male detective."

He smiles at you sheepishly, "You've made your point."

"If you want to dye your hair or shave to make yourself happy I think you should," you whisper, "but Aar I love every version of you possible"

You press your lips to his cheek before you continue, "You are the most beautiful, devastatingly sexy old man out. And I will still throw myself at you in public if you decide to finally ditch the box dye."

He smiles at you fully now, eyes shining as he looks down at you. He slides his lips against yours, grinning into the kiss before he pulls away to thank you.

"Maybe after this starts to grow out I'll see how I feel about the silver again." He looks back at his reflection in the mirror. He turns his head every which way to peek at the processing strands under the shower cap.

"Think about the beard too damn it.." you mumble. You begin to wander out of the bathroom when he yells for you again.

"Oh and sweetheart one more thing," you turn to look at him, confused when he stifles a laugh, "will you still think I'm sexy if I start balding like my father?"

[marlenesluv]

Amour. (AL)

summary: arthur and his brothers best friends little sister have a little soft-ish launch.

pairing: arthur leclerc x gasly!reader!fem

fc: anna a strip (annaastrup on insta)

warnings: apple translations so they prolly aren’t correct, lol. also small cusses.

masterlist here -> masterlist link

^ check my list for all posts! ^

liked by: arthur_leclerc, pierregasly, and 92,138 others

y/n.gasly: back to monaco 🇲🇨❤️

view comments…

f1fp55: didnt she move to monaco…what does she mean “back to”?

user3: yeah, she has an apartment in monaco but she’s been in italy with pierre, kika, joris, charles, alex, and arthur!

f1fp55: ohhhh ok thank you!

francisca.cgomes: gorgeous💓

*liked by creator*

user9: she’s sooo photogenic ugh

pierregasly: not even one photo of us in italy? worst sister ever

y/n.gasly: pipe down. i’ll post them later 🙄

pierregasly: don’t sas me

f1editss43: queeeennnnn👸

user2: the outfit is sooo cute😇

fashionbb9: ARGH she makes everything look so cute

al.edit: just her auraaa❤️

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: arthur_leclerc, francisca.cgomes, and 93,126 others

y/n.gasly: 🍊🧡🐹

view comments…

f1wags: she’s posting arthur a lotttt more lately🤨

user5: the three prettiest people ever

arthur_leclerc: 🙃🧡

y/n.gasly: 🧡🙃

f1editssszz: ANYONE ELSE SEE THEIR COMMENTS⁉️⁉️⁉️

francisca.cgomes: sip sip sip sip

y/n.gasly: sippy sip

user7: my brain is so spiraling, i need arthur and y/n together nowwwww

wags.88: UM do we sense a new f1 wag….from sister to wag fr

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

your instagram story:

seen by: arthur_leclerc, landonorris, and 98,527 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: y/n.gasly, charles_leclerc and 202,284 others

arthur_leclerc: 🇲🇨❤️

view comments…

*comments have been restricted by creator*

y/n.gasly: ☺️

*liked by creator*

lorenzotl: the photography is 🤌 on the last one

arthur_leclerc: tu es plein de toi-même

author: translation! “you’re full of yourself”

leclerc_pascale: J'adore ces ❤️❤️❤️

author: “love these”

alexandrasaintmleux: 🩷🩷

charles_leclerc: couple préféré, je suppose

arthur_leclerc: bite

author: charles “favorite couple, i guess” arthur “dick”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

twitter:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

arthur’s insta story:

seen by: y/n.gasly, pierregasly, and 267,193 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

your texts with pierre:

your texts with kika:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: alexandrasaintmleux, arthur_leclerc, and 118,024 others

tagged: arthur_leclerc, charles_leclerc, pierregasly, and francisca.cgomes

y/n.gasly: me, my family, friends, and bf 🩷

view comments…

user3: WOAHHHHHH OMGGGG CONFIRMED

f1wags: ohhhh we’ve been waiting for this one☺️

arthur_leclerc: amour❤️

*liked by creator*

cl16.edits: living for them🥹so cute

alexandrasaintmleux: adorable ❤️❤️

y/n.gasly: 🩷🩷

user6: fr tho, gonna need some trio stuff of y/n, kika, and alex!!

pierregasly: yappa yappa yappa

y/n.gasly: you’re so rude

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)

[rcmclachlan]

Wrote this today while I should've been working (don't tattle).

Submitting it for the approval of the Fuck It Friday Society. Thanks to @epiphainie for tagging me!

+

"So? Tell me about the hot pilot."

It takes only a second to scroll through the rows of photos until he finds the one he wants to show her, but instead of handing his phone over, he takes a moment to admire it. The post has nine photos in it and this is the fourth one in—it's by far his favorite out of all the others on the account. Considering how many contenders there are, that's really saying something. 

Maddie pointedly clears her throat and Buck ducks his head with a sheepish laugh, because he knows he's being mean by keeping her waiting. If the tables were turned and she was holding out on him, he'd be ready to tackle her to get to the phone. Plus, he's already looked at the picture at least three hundred times over the last two days; it's not like he's going to miss anything. He's pretty sure he could draw it from memory. 

Nervously licking his suddenly-dry bottom lip, he slides the phone across the counter to her, and she snatches it up like a winning lottery ticket, or Golden Grahams, which she used to hide from him when they were younger because he could house an entire box in a single sitting. 

She draws in a surprised breath when she looks at the screen, and he takes it as his cue to round the island and crowd in behind her so he can peer at it from over her shoulder.

Whoever took the shot should get a Pulitzer. It was taken through the open door of a helicopter, perfectly framing the three people in the cockpit. There are two kids—a girl no more than ten years old wearing a headset and looking at the instrument panel, while the other kid has their back to the camera, showing the familiar logo of two hands holding each other on the back of their shirt—and then there's Tommy, who's half inside the opposite door and haloed by the light of the Harbor hangar, his gaze focused on whatever he's pointing at on the panel. His head is slightly turned, exposing the textbook-perfect right angle of his jawline, and his mouth is half open. But, unlike every picture where Buck looks like a dumbass with his mouth open wide enough to drive a truck through, Tommy looks handsome and competent, caught mid-explanation about manifold pressure or rotor RPMs or any of the other gauges that Buck looked up before he'd called for the Harbor tour. 

"Buck," Maddie says, stunned. She opens her mouth like she's going to say something else, but then she closes it with an audible click. 

"I know."

She spins around and smacks his arm, her grin threatening to consume her entire face. "Buck!"

"I know." He does know. He really does.

"Oh my god." Maddie turns back to the phone and swipes to see the other photos, but the only other one in the post with Tommy in it is a group shot. He stands in the back of a gaggle of kids with four of his teammates, taller than everyone else, and it's either the vivid blue of his flight suit or the magnetic force field that seems to hover around him all the time, but Buck's attention is drawn immediately to him. The first time he saw the photo, it took him a second to realize there were like twenty other people in it. 

"Oh my god," Maddie says again.

Each of Tommy's hands are on the shoulders of two kids, and he's smiling so widely that his eyes are almost closed. He looks so good. He looks like he did when he glanced up from the menu as Buck approached the table—like anyone in the world could've shown up but he was thrilled it was Buck specifically. No one had ever looked at him like that before. Like he was the correct answer.

And that's a wrap on our annual flight rescue simulation! As always, huge thanks to the Los Angeles Boys & Girls Club (@labgc) for introducing us to the next generation of heroes. Can't wait to get up there with them again someday! #labgc #lafdharbor1 

He blows out a breath. "I'm such an idiot."

"You're not an idiot. There's no way you could've anticipated Eddie showing up." Maddie swipes over to Tommy's full Instagram profile and starts tapping open photos at random. When she gets to another of Buck's favorites—the one of Tommy mid-laugh, sandwiched between a man and a woman in a bar booth with trivia sheets spread out on the table in front of them—she mutters, "Good lord."

Buck looks at the man and how he's shoved up against Tommy's side, and he swallows around a familiar sour crackle in his jaw. He'd told Tommy point blank that he can get jealous, but he's a little surprised by how much he wants to reach right into the screen and rip the poor guy out of the photo with his bare hands. He shouldn't be shocked, though; he did maim his best friend for the crime of having Tommy's attention, after all. 

But that guy in the picture could've been Buck. If he hadn't been an asshole, he could've been the one sitting next to Tommy, pressed up against him and laughing, flushed with victory and good company and beer, filling out answers on the sheet and preening when Tommy turned an impressed smile on Buck for helping take their team to the final round because he knew things like what the fear of is flowers called and the world record for the longest hiccupping spree.

"I shouted to the entire restaurant that we were going to pick up hot chicks after dinner, Maddie," Buck says, and looks away from the photo where he isn't. "I might as well have paid someone to skywrite 'NO HOMO' above the Coliseum. So, yeah, I am an idiot for that."

She winces. "How'd he, uh, take that? Was he really mad?"

"Worse," he says miserably. "He was really nice."

Where his hand rests on the countertop next to her, Buck's fingers curl in to press against his palm, and the rest of his body wants to follow suit out of shame. He can't stop thinking about how quiet Tommy was after Eddie and Marisol left, how the confidence and charisma and razor-sharp wit had all grown dull and quiet from the time it took them to get up from their table and make their way to the street. 

When Tommy cut the night short, he could have been awful about it. He could have yelled. He could've called Buck a homophobe, or chewed him out for wasting Tommy's time, or sneer that Buck would be better off watching the movie from the comfort of the closet. It would've been well within his right to do any of it, and Buck had been prepared for it. 

He hadn't been prepared for Tommy to be kind.

"But it's not just that. I'm an idiot because… how did I not know? How do you miss something like this about yourself? Nine year olds are out there figuring it out with no problem, and meanwhile, I'm thirty-two and I had—I had no idea. I'm so stupid." 

He bends over and drops his head onto the counter with a painful, yet somehow satisfying thunk. 

Maddie places a hand between his shoulder blades. It's not too heavy, like she's holding him down, and it's not too light, like she doesn't know if her touch is welcome. It's just right. It always is. Even when she was a kid, she always knew how to hit the goldilocks zone when it came to comfort. His parents never came close. 

"What if it were me?" 

He tilts his head on the counter to look at the contemplative slash of her mouth. "What?"

"What if I were the one discovering this about myself?" 

The question is soft and sweet, like how their backyard in Hershey used to fill up with hundreds of dandelions in the spring and they'd spend hours picking them and blowing the clocks everywhere, but the smile on her face is the sound of their mother shouting at them to stop because she thought the dandelions were an eyesore and they were basically planting more of them to come up in the fall.

"Would you call me stupid for not figuring it out sooner? Would you say, 'Maddie, you're pushing forty, how did you miss this?'"

Offended, Buck comes off the countertop so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. "What?! O-Of course not—"

"Then why is it okay when it's you?" She demands, voice trembling like she's physically pulling on the reins of her anger and it's fighting her, just like it did when he hitchhiked to Marysville with a group of boys and perforated both his ear drums jumping off the Rockville Bridge. "You don't get to call one of my favorite people stupid, okay? You're not. There's no time limit to these things, Buck. You just… you figure it out when you figure it out and not a second before, and I'd be saying the same thing if you were one of those nine year olds or if you were ninety."

Buck doesn't know what his face is doing, but Maddie takes one look at him, clucks her tongue in sympathy, and then wraps her arms around him. He presses into her embrace with a grateful exhale. 

Clinging to Maddie, to the quiet, endless strength of her, is nothing new, and neither is the wave of sheer wonder and disbelief that nearly knocks him on his ass because somehow she's his sister. Out of everyone in the world he could've been saddled with, he got the best of the best. He has no idea what he did in a past life to have earned a place in her current one, but it must have been amazing. 

"Thanks, Mads," he says quietly into her hair. When she first started dating Doug, she switched from the peppermint conditioner she loved to the floral stuff he preferred. Buck inhales a little and swallows tears upon getting a whiff of something sweet and minty.

She pulls back a little and pats his chest, smiling. "So, what's the plan?"

He blinks. "The plan for what?"

"For trying again," Maddie clarifies, pointedly, like she wants to call him dumb but can't because she just spent the last five minutes telling him he wasn't. "So you screwed up. Big deal. We all screw up. What are you going to do to fix it?"

"Uh, I-I don't think he's going to go for that, to be honest," Buck mutters, looking down at his phone. 

Last night, standing in Miceli's foyer and practically leaving craters in the floor where he was bouncing excitedly on his heels, he'd texted Tommy to see if he was already seated. The last message Tommy sent him reads: Head toward the back. I'm in one of the side booths on the left. You can't miss me :-) 

There hasn't been anything since.

After Tommy cheerfully knocked Buck's entire world off its axis and walked out the door with a grin and the promise of a date, Buck had paced his apartment like a caged tiger, feeling both too big and too small for his skin, jittery and restless. The fourth time he'd stopped in the middle of a room and started laughing for no reason, he conceded he might be losing his mind. He'd felt like the only thing keeping him from exploding or floating into the stratosphere was the fact he had a shift in the morning. He'd kept away from the windows just to be on the safe side. 

You like men, he'd thought giddily to himself, over and over. You are attracted to men. A man asked you out on a date and you said yes because you want to go. A man kissed you tonight and you loved it. You didn't want to stop. You want him to do it again. 

It was like he'd finally found the last missing piece to the Buck puzzle he'd been searching for as long as he could remember, and slotting it into place felt like skipping the 5.0 upgrade and going straight to a different operating system. Increased storage capacity. Longer battery life. A brand new product.

He'd swore to himself that he would be cool about it. He wouldn't be a clingy, needy mess and drive Tommy off before he was able to explore whatever this was. That lasted all of twenty minutes before he was texting Tommy with trembling thumbs to thank him for coming over and clearing the air, and then threw his phone across the room. He spent the next ten minutes fighting the urge to claw his own face off until he heard the ping of a new text message.

It said, Sorry for the delay I'm still driving. Thank YOU for your hospitality ;-)

Buck had to go stick his head in the fridge to cool down about the implications of that, but once he calmed down and unscrewed the manic grin from his face, they were off to the races. 

The only times they weren't messaging each other were between the hours of 1am and 5:30am, or if they were on shift. Although Buck didn't exactly hold to that. He found ways to sneak off a text or twenty during calls when he could, and he had the sneaking suspicion Tommy was doing the same. The photo he got of the sun setting over LA, taken through a helicopter's windshield, was kind of a giveaway.

It's been 24 hours since he last heard the text tone he'd assigned to Tommy's contact file—a sort of whuff sound that reminds him a little of rotor blades spinning—and he feels like if he doesn't hear it soon, he's going to go insane. 

This is absolutely not the first time he's fucked up a date and was ghosted afterwards, but it is the first time the subsequent radio silence has made him feel like his colon is tying itself into a square knot. And he hates it.

"So, you're just—giving up," Maddie says, incredulity turning the question into a statement of disbelief. 

He looks away from the phone and shrugs. "I'm… being respectful. It's pretty obvious he doesn't want to hear from me. I wouldn't want to hear from me."

"You don't know what he wants," Maddie points out. "He said he didn't think you were ready for this, right? Maybe he's trying to be respectful too."

He doesn't want to get his hopes up, but it sounds so plausible when she says it. Especially because Tommy hasn't been anything but even-keeled and kind and compassionate, and Buck truly doesn't think any of it is a front. If Buck reached out, he knows Tommy would respond. If Buck started texting him again and never once brought up the kiss or their disaster of a date, if he boxed up the overwhelming need to be the center of Tommy's attention and shifted things back to the safety zone of friendship, Tommy would let him. They'd be okay.

The thought of it makes Buck want to punch something. 

Maddie peers up at him with a sly tilt to her mouth, but instead of calling him on whatever she sees on his face, she simply says, "But I do think keeping this from Eddie is twisting you up a bit. Maybe you need to jump that hurdle before you can move forward."

He clicks his tongue and gives a reluctant nod, because she's right. As usual. "H-How do I tell him that I'm… you know."

"Okay," she says with a falsely bright smile and wide eyes, her tone needling. "If you can't even say it out loud, then maybe you shouldn't—"

"That I like men, Maddie, god," he whines, face hot. "You're so mean to me. Jesus, do you treat Chim like this?"

"Only when he asks really nicely," she says horrifyingly.

He sticks his fingers in his ears and starts shouting, "LA LA LA!"

Maddie cracks up, then gives his chest a conciliatory pat. Annoyed, he shrugs her off, which makes her laugh harder. "I'm your sister, doofus. I'm contractually obligated to piss you off until you do what I want sometimes. Didn't you read the handbook?"

Which makes him duck his head and laugh a little. "The handbook" was a running joke they had when they were kids about what siblings were and weren't allowed to do. He hasn't thought of the handbook since the whole thing with Doug, when he realized Maddie had been taken and a tiny voice in the back of the mind whispered, "According to the handbook, you're allowed to hunt him down like a dog and kill him."

Sighing, he leans into her and nods. "I know. I know I need to talk to Eddie. I-I just wish I had some kind of guarantee he's not going to—that nothing's gonna change when he finds out."

Leaning into him right back, Maddie promises, "If it does, I'll beat him up."

"Yeah?" He smiles, a little pleased by the thought. He wants to tell Tommy about it. But he can't. Not yet. "That in the handbook?"

"Page 53," she says, and hugs him.

[sluts4matt]

okay, i feel like this could be crazy? please take this any direction you want. like reader is at a party (like tara’s party) and her and chris get in a fight over a photo that was posted during the party. this has been on the mind, and im just not the correct person to execute this idea. but please take this any direction and change anything, please and thank you! i love your work please keep posting 🫶🏻

JEALOUS

pairing: rough!dom chris x sub!reader

summary: a picture of you a little to close to another guy at tara's 1 milli party is posted on the internet. chris does NOT like that at all and has to teach you a lesson.

warnings: SMUT, rough sex, spanking, degradation, daddy kink, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, light bondage, blindfolding, choking, orgasm denial, pet names, slight dumbification (because i love it so much ), light fluff at the end

word count: 1652

author's note: i really hope i did your request justice @lovelysturniolos i HAD to feed into everyone saying chris and tara would look cute, i'm sorry, sue me. kind, constructive criticism welcome.

"what the fuck is this?" your boyfriend, chris, asks holding his phone to you. his tone wasn't an amused one which was very unlike him. "what?" you mumble, furrowing your eyebrows as you bring yourself closer to his phone.

the two of you had the house to yourself for the evening, and currently sat on the couch in the living room. you looked at the picture, you were wearing your sparkly black dress, the fabric hugging you just right.

you hand was placed on some guys arm. why? you were absolutely hammered and ended up trying to make chris jealous out of your own jealousy. he had been close to tara almost all night, and while his attention was on you, part of you seemed to think he'd rather pay it to her.

you and chris had ended up losing each other within two hours of being there. but when you found him, and he was talking to tara with tha big ass grin of his. the one he always gives you. you couldn't stand it.your hand immediately found the guy nearest you, batting your eyelashes at him while you giggled at the jokes he told.

all in hopes that chris would look over and see, but he never did.

guess a picture was taken though, so you'd still technically be getting what you want. "who the fuck is that guy? huh?" chris demands. "honestly chris? couldn't tell you," you shrug. "but it was someone who was nice to me while my boyfriend was off with another chick," you mumble the last bit, but chris catches it.

the dry chuckle that leaves his mouth sends shivers down your spine, and the way he was staring at you made your stomach feel tight. "i don't give a fuck about tara," he says.

"really? coulda fooled me," you retort. chris' jaw clenched, and he stood up from the couch, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you off the couch.

"where are we going?" you ask as you try to keep up with his large strides. "i'm gonna fuck some sense into you," he states. "and then, we're going to have a little chat about who the fuck you belong to," he tells you, opening the door to his (your shared) bedroom and shoving you inside.

"chris-" "strip," he says, cutting you off. his voice was stern, and left no room for arguments. he walked over to the closet, grabbing the silk ties and blindfolds that sat in a box on the top shelf. you stripped your clothes, watching chris as he got into the box.

"hands behind your back," he commands, walking over to you. "chris-" "shut the fuck up," he snaps. "unless you're gonna say the safeword, please, shut the fuck up," he repeats. you nod your head.

he places the tie over your eyes, and brings your hands behind your back, tying them together. "get on the bed," he tells you, smacking your ass as you walk towards the bed.

you climb onto the bed, sitting in the middle of the mattress. "chris, i-" you're cut off by chris' hand covering your mouth. "if you're gonna be using that mouth, it's gonna be for something useful ma," he tells you. "so, either stop talking, or put that fucking mouth to work," he says.

you nod your head, and chris removes his hand from your mouth. "yes daddy," you mumble. "what was that baby?" he asks, knowing he heard you. "yes daddy," you speak up, earning a satisfied hum from chris.

"that's more like it," he says, taking his shirt off, and kicking his sweats and boxers off. he grabs a pillow from the head of the bed, and puts it under your knees.

"open your mouth," he tells you. and you obey, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. chris grabs the base of his cock and guides it into your mouth.

you swirl your tongue around the tip, kitty licking it. chris grabs the back of your head, and pushes himself into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat. "fuck, your mouth feels so fucking good ma," he says, moving his hips and thrusting into your mouth.

he pulls himself out, and smacks your face with his cock a few times. he rubs his tip along your lips, smearing pre-cum all over them. "such a pretty fucking face," he muses, shoving his cock back into your mouth.

he groans as you take him back in, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him off. "fucking choke on it baby," he groans, pushing your head further down until his cock hit the back of your throat, over and over again.

you gag on his dick, tears beginning to leak from your eyes, dampening the fabric of the blindfold. saliva dripped down the corners of your mouth.

"fuck, i'm close," he moans. you move your head faster, bobbing your head, gagging and choking on his cock. "shit baby, that's it. gonna cum down that pretty fucking throat," he moans.

he pushes your head down again, and holds you there, letting his cum paint the inside of your throat. "fuck, fuck," he breathes, his chest heaving. he wraps your head in a makeshift ponytail around his hand tugging your head back.

he admires the way the black blindfold contrasts against your tan skin, "so pretty baby, too bad you thought you had to make me jealous to get my fucking attention." he says.

he takes his cock from your mouth and wipes the remaining saliva and cum off on your cheek. "now, i'm gonna fuck some sense into you, and after that, we're gonna talk about why it is you're my fucking girl," he says, pulling you up and positioning you how he wants.

his favorite position had your ass up in the air and your cheek pressed against the mattress. he rubbed your right ass cheek before raising his hand and landing a hard smack down on it. the sound echoed in the room, and the stinging sensation had you moaning because of the pain and pleasure.

"this ass, mine," he says, landing a few more harsh slaps down. "this pussy, mine," he continues, sliding his cock between your folds and pressing the tip at your entrance. "mhm, fuck," you gasp, as chris pushes himself into your cunt.

his right hand finds its way in-between your shoulder blades, shoving you down further as his left hand has a steady grip on your hip. his hips smack against your ass, the sound echoing throughout the room, accompanied by his groans and grunts and your loud moans. "i wanna hear how good my cock is," chris tells you.

"fuck daddy, so big. feels so fucking good," you moan, gripping the silk fabric tied around your wrists. "so fucking tight, ma," he says, his right hand sliding down to grab the fabric tied around your wrists.

he tugs your body back, forcing himself deeper into your cunt, causing your breath to catch in your throat. his hips move a million miles an hour, chasing his release, choked whines left your mouth that had you gasping for air, drool running down your chin.

"so fucking pathetic, look at ya," he chuckles, watching as you come undone underneath him. "such a whiny bitch, can't even speak." he tugs on the tie again, pulling you up. his left hand slides up to wrap around your neck, squeezing lightly.

"gonna cum daddy," you babble, your high approaching. "no you're not," chris says, denying you of your orgasm. he pushes you back down, pounding into you with no mercy, "chris," you whine. "wanna act like a slut to get my attention, gonna get treated and used like one."

"fuck daddy," you whine, the knot in the pit of your stomach becoming tighter. "chris, please, need to cum," you beg. he moves his left hand up to grip the hair at the base of your skull, "don't you fucking dare," he threatens.

"gotta earn it baby," he tells you. "how do you earn daddy's permission?" he asks.

"please," you moan, unable to think of anything else to say. "not what i'm looking for," he says, bringing his hand down on your ass, leaving a red handprint on your skin. "fuck," you hiss. "daddy," you cry. "please, please, fuck," you beg.

"that's more like it," he grunts. he leans over your body, his left hand reaching up to hold the headboard while his right stays in the same place.

"go on then, cum on my cock," he whispers, biting down on your earlobe, tugging on it. his words send you over the edge, and you come undone underneath him. your pussy spasms around his cock, squeezing and clenching, milking his orgasm from him.

he fills your cunt up, coating your walls white. his thrusts become slower, and the grip he has on your body is softer, until he stops altogether, and pulls out of you.

"good girl," he praises, running his thumb along your entrance, catching the mixture of both of your orgasms and bringing it to his mouth. he sucks the digit clean, humming at the taste.

he lays down next to you, pulling you into him, "now, who do i belong too?" he asks, holding you close. "me," you answer. "mm, and who do you belong too?" he asks, kissing your head. "you," you reply, leaning up to kiss him.

"good girl," he hums, placing a kiss on your nose. "want me to doordash panda express princess?" he asks, nuzzling his face into the conjunction of your jaw and neck. he peppered small kisses making you giggle. "nap first," you tell him.

he nods his head, grabbing the blanket and draping it over the both of you. he presses a final kiss to your temple, whispering, "i love you baby," before the two of you drift off.

tag list:

@sturnioloa @junnniiieee07

[luvmila444]

Photo Booth - C.S

…………………………………………….. ☆ ★ ………………………………………………

Chris sturniolo x fmreader

summary: visiting the classic Photo Booth with you boyfriend chris and his brothers becomes a bit dirty while left alone in the booth together.

content warning: SMUT; dry humping; switch chris; praise kink; public (kinda?); no actual p in v

word count: 1.6k words

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“I can’t believe you guys are back here again, what is this the fourth time now?” You ask in a joking tone looking toward the three boys in-front of you. 

“Fifth,” nick corrects in his usual smart, know-it-all tone that i love so much. 

“Yeah, but hey, it’s not the same as the last time because this time we have you,” Chris grinned goofily at you as he started to walk closer to you. Chris has been your boyfriend for almost four months now and you guys couldn’t be happier. You didn’t just love being around him and all his stupid statements that make no sense, or his smell of familiar cologne that lingers in the air, or the way his large hands felt caressing you back soothingly while relaxing. No, you also love being with his family and friends and fans. Everything about you guys was perfect.

Chris slowly moved around you and snakes his hands around your waist before lowering his head down onto your shoulder. You still get butterflies from these small loving actions that he does toward you, but you just can’t help it, he just brings it out in you. Chris was a real touchy person and you loved it. It made you feel so comfortable. You loved that after a passionate night of rough crazy sex, he would then take care of you and envelope you into a tranquil sensual cuddle that would quickly send you both off into a very peaceful sleep.

After a few second, which felt like a lot longer as time had always seemed to slow down when you guys were together, you suddenly remember a familiar presence in the room…

“Woah, yeah thanks for that guys, i was going for the traumatised look while i was in that booth,”matt says with an eye roll while he steps backwards and begins to rub his eyes. The boys then begin to comically argue but i soon drown it out as i look up at chris standing above me.  His hair floppy and falling in-front of his face looking so soft that i could just run my hands through it or tug at at it gently. 

“Yeah, well I’m gonna go freshen up and check myself before taking any photos,” nick cuts everyone off with his assertive tone before beginning to turn around and in the direction of the bathroom, “anyone else coming?’ He asks not sparing a glance to turn as he heard the family footsteps of matt and the car keys that jingled from side to send on his belt loop, doing a short quick jog behind him to get to his side.

As matt and nick exited the room. Chris quickly whirled you around, so you were now facing each other. He was taller than you but that did not stop you from still seeing and admiring every detail of his perfect face, from the smiles lines that were now forever present on his face to the slower vanishing freckles that were once dotted on his nose but only really come out when the sun hits him just right. 

“I have an idea,” he grins, a grin of mischief which you can only assume with get you in trouble latter with his brothers. You tilt my head to the side and squint my eyes and allowing him to finish what he was saying and tell you what this ‘idea’ he had was. “Do you want to do a practise run of the booth without them?” He asked excitedly, it is almost difficult to decline him.

“Chris, i think you’ve had enough practise runs with the a million times you’ve come here before,” you are almost scolding but seeing his face with his ever-present smirk plastered on their you just gave in to easily, “but i dont know how it works so show me,”you then exclaim excitedly before he grabs your hand and pulls you towards the booth, pulling back the curtain and sitting inside. 

It was a lot smaller than you had originally thought, but then again it was quite old fashioned and there was never any harm in getting a little too close to your boyfriend while his brothers aren’t present. So, you decide to place yourself on his lap and close the curtain with one and as the other hand wraps itself around Chris’s neck for stability. 

You hadn’t even noticed how much Chris had enjoyed the touch until you try and get yourself more comfortable on his lap, wriggling about making Chris go crazy behind you. 

“Ma, I’m gonna go crazy if you keep doing that to me”.

You only giggle before sitting still again, however, still missing the small sensation that built up inside the pit of your stomach at the feeling of yourself grazing his crotch area while getting comfy. Chris felt it as well and couldn’t help but get.a little turned on by the action either. But when Chris got turned on, you noticed. 

He rested is head on your shoulder and brings his hands to your waist much like before, but this isn’t as comforting as it once was, this was dirtier and needy. You attempted to ignore it as you turned to the screen of the booth that was going to take your photos and were selected the options for you to use. At that moment you could have sworn that you felt Chris lift his lap upwards into you. 

You let out a gasp at the feel of the now prominent bulge that was now present under his dark cargos. Fuck just the graze of it on your thigh was making you wetter at the moment. 

Chris lifted his head slightly from the crook of your neck and turned it as he began to kiss gently kisses below your ear and onto your neck. Fuck. 

“Chris, we can’t do this right now? look where we are” you try to send Chris straight and attempted to use a stretcher voice that however ended as a quiet moan. Your noises only provoked chris more at this point. He didn’t respond to your question but instead planted more open-mouthed kisses onto you. 

You were having a mental battle with yourself at that very moment as you knew if you voiced it, chris would not be much help. You then decided to give in and slowly begun to move your hips onto his crotch. You could feel him growing harder under you from my movements. He decided to grasp your hips firmer and guide then just how he had wanted onto his clothed cock and helping you to move.

What was once slow grinding became quickly paced, you couldn’t help but let out a moan that wasn’t loud enough to be heard by matt or nick but could be heard if you were close enough to the booth. Chris removed one of his hands from your waists and placed it onto your mouth, muffling you and ensuring you don’t make any more erotic sounds. 

He pulled you even closer if that was possible and continued to move up into you at a crazy pace and you could now feel his pulsating dick beneath the fabric of his trousers making your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“That feel good, ma? You Like humping me when anyone could walk in?” He whispers close into your ear and all you can do is lean your head back onto his shoulder as a muffled whimper had escaped you. 

He continued to rut up into you and a continuous pace and making sure that you felt everything, while sloppily placing open mouth kissed onto your shoulder. The sensation of his clothed dick still hitting your clit was now getting you so worked up that you felt the familiar tightness in you. 

You could feel the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you moved faster and harder on his lap. Again, and again and again. 

“Fuck you’re close already, ma?” he mocks you in your ear in a deep voice that almost send you over the edge. Embarrassment filling your body as you realise that Chris is aware of the power that he has over you. 

You didn’t even realise that Chris had removed the hand that was once in his mouth to play around with the buttons on the machine and before you knew it, the booth was capturing yours and Chris’s pleasure in its old fashioned black and white photographs. 

You began to circle your hip to get just the right pressure onto my clit before i released all over his lap and feeling the knot snap in your stomach as your orgasm washed over you still feeling Chris’s hands still guiding your hips, holding you still very close through your high. Which was captured perfectly on the photo booths camera.

Then you felt his dick twitch against your sensitive clit, which made you let ou a cry while he groaned into my ear. Chris had now taken complete control of your waist, using you to rub himself through his orgasm, which you happily allowed. 

You felt super sensitive due to his fast motions, but it still felt unreal, so you just let him do his thing until he slowed his movements, leaving his hands on your hips while you leaned your head to the side to relax on his shoulder. 

“Fuck, you make me feel so crazy, ma” he turns his head to you giving you a dopey grin ad his eyes are now blown out with lust. 

“I could completely say the same for you, baby” you say before patting down his hair and kissing his lips in a quick passionate kiss. You lean away from each other and hold one another’s gaze while having your foreheads pressed together. You both were very much appreciating the moment until…

“I beg that you clean that seat before any of us sit on it, please,” you hear a disgusted whine coming from nick from further away outside the curtain. 

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A/n: thank so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed if i have made any mistakes please do not hesitate to let me know. I wrote this purely because im obsessed with the booth by Bryant era and i wanted it back… anyway

Love all my angels (especially @gamermattsgf) 💞

[thragedys]

Midnight Visitor

Sol x Reader

Synopsis: Thanks to the takeout you ate last night, the effects of food poisoning from poor catering have finally kicked in, hitting you when you least expected it. To ensure you’re properly cared for, Sol takes the duty of watching over you.

Word count: 1.8k

Includes: Gender neutral reader, sick reader, Sol being soft, affection, trespassing, jealous Sol (+ more!)

After undergoing a series of nausea and intense dizziness, Sol insisted on walking you home despite being out in the city with him and Hyugo. It was as though all life was drained from your face, the only support you had while walking was Sol’s arms holding you upright. 

Food poisoning… Should’ve never eaten from that takeout place with less than three stars in their reviews.

Grabbing the key from your bag, he unlocks the door and escorts you inside, directing you to your bedroom while you whine and hold your face in your hands. Even the slightest tilt of your head would send you spiralling sideways, a recipe for disaster as your stomach decides to conjure its own storm.

Inside the kitchen, Sol spots a paper bag. The logo of the company which made you unwell is there, presented in a large font. Retrieving his phone, he snaps a picture of the logo, alongside the contact details printed on the back. He’ll deal with that later. Currently, he has more important things to tend to. You.

Rummaging through your cupboards, he successfully finds some medication that will ease the aches in your stomach. As for your dizzy head, the best thing he can do for you is close your curtains and encourage you to get rest. Fluid intake is also vital, it’ll aid dehydration. Returning to your side with a glass of water and some pills, Sol places them on your bedside table and sits on the edge of your bed.

“Are you okay? Let me feel your head.” Sol sighs, placing his palm flat on your forehead.

“Sol…” You whine, one hand remaining on your stomach and the other clutching his free hand.

“You’re not that hot, yet. Leave your window open—”

“No! No, I can’t! You’ve seen the news…”

“You will be fine, I promise. Fresh air will make you feel a lot better.” 

“I’m sorry for burdening you with this…”

“Don’t be. I’d rather it be me taking care of you than anyone else.”

“I’ll buy you a—”

“No. Sit down.”

“Ugh, Sol—”

“Rest.”

“I’ll buy you a thank-you gift when I’m better…” You mumble, pouting at him as he leans against the doorframe.

“Send me a text or call me if you need me. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”

“Text… Call… Yeah.” You repeat, rubbing your eyes while burying your head into the pillow.

“Don’t forget, take your medicine.”

“I’m gonna take it… Now.” You reach over and drop the pills into your mouth, then take a small sip of the drink to wash them down.

“Goodnight. I hope you feel better soon.”

Before leaving, he waited until he heard your breathing pattern change, signifying that you were asleep. Alongside the medication, he slipped in a sleeping pill, its dosage strong enough to keep you out for the correct amount of time. 

As if he would leave you alone so easily while you’re sick.

Right now, however, his main concern is dealing with the business that made his soulmate ill, after all, what good is a company in operation if its only achievement is casting a vast majority of its customers extremely unwell upon eating their cheaply sourced food?

Upon arriving back at his apartment, he stripped from his usual attire and threw on a set of his darkest clothes, a matching surgical mask to cover what remained exposed on his face. A complaint wouldn’t be enough, they clearly racked up enough of them online but did not change a singular thing about their selfish ways.

It was just after midnight when the streets were soundless and the civilians were tucked away inside of the safety of their homes. Strolling down the deserted sidewalk, Sol stops outside of a building, comparing the logo to the one saved in his photo album. A perfect match. 

Subtly, Sol explored the perimeter, tracing the outline of the building before returning to the front. It’s no wonder why all of their customers become unwell, the amount of trash that remains behind the building is piled up, much taller than him. 

There is no point in teaching those who do not wish to learn. An ignorant mind reflects an ignorant heart. Only the careless would profit from neglect like this.

Flicking his lighter on, he tosses it to the ground before walking away, the flicker of flames igniting in the distance as he glances back. It won’t be long before a passerby calls the fire department, but that’s no concern to him. When the authorities see the state the building was in previously, they could rule it out as the impact of an unkempt business.

His feet led him back to your apartment, the open window a much easier entrance for him as he climbed up. After all those locks you’ve bought in the past, he’s surprised you never gave up your safety protocols. Securing his footing, he creeps back into your bedroom, kneeling beside you as you rest peacefully in your slumber.

You are so beautiful. Every feature of your face was crafted with tender hands. He traces over your lips with his index finger, slowly drawing his hand back.

“Hi, Pumpkin.” He whispers, leaning in to press his lips against your cheek. “I’m going to check your temperature again.”

This time, Sol uses the back of his hand. Thankfully, he would say you are around average, partially a slight bit higher than usual.

“Good… You’re going to be okay. You might be sick tomorrow but I’ll come over to make sure you aren’t alone.”

“You like having me here, don’t you? You feel so safe, so loved.” He strokes your hair similar to how you would pet a fragile animal. As his hand ventures under the blanket, he comes in contact with something.

“You still sleep with the plushie I bought for you? You…” Sol’s smile expands, his cheeks lighting a subtle shade of pink. “You must love it. Or me. I hope it’s me.”

In your sleep, you moan, your body beginning to shift. He strokes the side of your arm, calming you down as you endure whatever dream is unfolding. After a while, your body stops with its relentless motions and goes still again.

“This is our special time together. It’s my favourite part of the day.” Sol’s lips curve up, his eyes filled with adoration as he clutches your plushie close to his chest. “I’ll make it smell like me again, don’t worry.”

“Mph…” Your lips moved, but he couldn’t decipher the sound that left them.

“Hm?” Sol pinches your cheek, a procedure to test if you’re awake or not. 

You must be mumbling to yourself since you didn’t respond to his touch.

“I’m guessing you missed smelling me then. That’s cute.” When he finished rubbing the plushie against his flesh and clothing, he tucked it under your chin. “You’re cute.”

“He doesn’t deserve you, you know?” Sol mumbles, sinking onto the bed beside you, fingers toying with your hair.

“He would never do the things I have done for you.”

“I know you prefer me. It’s okay if you don’t want to admit it right now. I can wait.” He rolls onto his side, your face now in view. 

“You make it hard for me to leave every single time…” His pitch was low, an almost pouty tone as he nuzzled his head against your chest. Lifting your limbs, he wraps them around himself, drawing the blanket over both of your bodies this time.

“I’ll just stay like this for a few more minutes… Then I have to go.” Sol closes his eyes, the therapeutic beats of your heart are a soothing melody to his ears.

…

Sunlight filters in through the curtains, a bitter breeze hitting your clammy skin. Compared to yesterday, you’re feeling a lot better, the only thing remaining is the dull ache in your stomach. Rubbing your eyes, you squeeze your plushie, only to hear a strange noise. 

Last time you checked, this plushie shouldn’t be able to communicate. Shooting your eyes open, you find a mess of green hair sprawled out on top of you. 

“Sol?” You rub your eyes again, unsure if what is in front of you is reality or a fever dream.

“Yeah…?” Sol mumbles in response, his body shifting. Then he goes still, springing up from his previous position. Shit.

“I thought you left last night.” 

“After you took your medicine, you asked me to stay. You went out like a light but I made sure that you were okay.”

“Did you have this on yesterday?” You tug at his hoodie. “I’ve never seen you wear clothes like this before.”

“These are my comfy clothes, that’s why. I keep the hoodie in my backpack.”

“Oh…” That food poisoning must have hit you hard to leave you so delirious. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“…?” Sol flutters his eyelashes while your hands cup his cheeks, drawing him near. Your lips plant a peck on his forehead, a suiting reward since he went out of his way for you.

“Ah… You shouldn’t have to thank me… It’s what anyone would do.” Sol rubs the back of his neck, a flush spreading over his face.

“I feel sick. Like I’m going to throw up.”

“I’m not surprised. Let’s get you to the bathroom. Get all of that food out of your system for good.” Sol stands first, offering his hand to assist you to your feet.

“I don’t like vomiting.” You mope, refusing to move despite your stomach cramping further.

“But it has to come out. You’ll be okay, I’m right here.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it gently.

The only option is to get up if you don’t want to clean your bedsheets. Swiftly shuffling between rooms, you kneel before the toilet and allow your body to regulate itself, removing the foreign pathogens that invaded your meal. Sol rubbed your back, making the process easier. There wasn’t a lot of retching, but you still felt that familiar burn in your throat when you were finished.

“Any more?” Sol pats your upper back and you shake your head.

“I’ll cook for you this time. No more buying from trashy food places.”

“But they’re cheap…” You puff air into your cheeks, taking your toothbrush which he handed you to remove the bitter taste from your mouth.

“My meals are free. Don’t be ashamed to ask.” Sol takes a final glance at you before heading back to your kitchen, scouring the cupboards in search of something to work with.

For you, he would do anything. Make anything. Even if it’s from scratch. No matter the simplicity or complication of a request you have, he will ensure that you get what you ask for. You don’t deserve anything less. If only you were aware of the lengths he has gone and is still willing to go for you.

[eilidh-eternal]

You learn the truth

Part of the Metanoia series | Part 1 | Masterlist | Ao3 |

| SingleDad!Johnny x f!reader | 18+ MDNI | Fenella has a thick accent | off-screen death of non-major characters | sorta horror-esque metaphors for emotions/feelings (drowning, rotting, the usual) | your desire is a living thing and it's eating away at you | reader is, once again, Going Through It |

Thank you @gemmahale for reading this monstrosity and helping me fine-tune it <3

“Sergeant. How copy?” 

Simon looms over Johnny in the team room, sidled up to a sagging couch that’s seen better days, and when he lifts his derelict gaze from the battle-worn photo in his hands he’s met with pinched brows, sloped granite, and folded arms. Worry, in the staid manner he’s come to expect from Simon.

“Solid, Lt,” he answers dutifully, devoid of his usual ebullience, and with a tenor forged from damascus and flint. 

Simon rounds with a languid gait to the opposite cushion, stained with something dark, iron-rich and oxidizing in the loose weave, and lowers himself down beside him. Holds out a gloved hand. Johnny obeys his silent command and relinquishes what might just be the most valuable thing he owns. Deposits it gingerly in his waiting palm.

“How’s she doin’?” he asks, smoothing out a crease in the portrait.

“Started school this past year. Whole head taller than last ye saw her. Still carries that damn bear ‘round the house, too.” Takes his tea the same as Simon, according to Isobel.

“Better that than the bloody mask.” 

“Aye. Better, that,” he agrees, and a ragged breath saws out of his lungs when he sinks back into the sun-bleached nylon.

“And your pet?” Simon passes the photo back and Johnny tucks it reverently back into his breast pocket, folded neatly and pressed close to his heart—where it belongs.

“Isnae ‘mine’,” he drawls, somnolence roughening his voice despite the afternoon sun pouring in through the concrete window. “Stubborn thing, too. Hasnae been answerin’ her phone.”

“That what’s got you mithered?”

“Worried,” Johnny corrects, and Simon folds his hands across his midsection, settling back alongside him with a throaty grunt and the echo of artillery fire in his bones, popping and cracking beneath the weight of his battle-worn body.

“All the same, innit?”

“Not with her. Not when she…” He toys with a clip on a canvas belt loop, rough fingers tracing the burnished amalgam of iron and carbon, and for a moment, he feels your skin. Metallic beneath his touch, chilled by the wind, precious and perfect in his hands. “You an’ her are cut from the same cloth. Dinnae care much for sharin’.” Even when you should.

You keep him up at night, itinerant thoughts always finding their way through the morass of post-operative lassitude back to you. Wondering what you fill your days with. If you still linger by the window in the placid hours of the morning with a steaming, ceramic mug warming your hands, marking the passage of time by the melting of the ice. If the final snow of spring has laced the wild cherry trees along the row with pearl-drop blossoms and an almond sillage. If you’ve seen the picture he managed to take from the ramp mid-flight, on transport to Laswell’s station, mareel lea of clouds undulating beneath a star-flecked velarium. 

Thinking about all the things he said, and the things he didn’t, before he left. Burning with the memory of you, pressed flush against him; soft and warm and safe in the lambent halo of his arms. You felt like his in that moment, and he lies awake, breathing in char and soot from the moreish conflagration ravaging his chest, staining his throat a fuliginous shade of black with each serrated exhale.

He might have told Simon—if the big bastard weren’t rattling the ballistic glass in his sleep. 

You’re standing in the pasta aisle, staring at the selection of boxed macaroni, and you’re drifting further and further into an endless, atramentous night.

Funny, you think, when the sun and stars live next door. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. None of it was supposed to be this way. Stars don't fall from the sky. But meteors do. And now… now you have to crawl out of the crater at the bottom of a pitiless ocean, navigate the upheaval of silt and abysmal detritus, and search for the surface without the gilded hand of the sun to guide you.

You should have stayed away.

Isobel would choose the box with the cartoonish bear. Johnny would make a joke about bears liking porridge, not cheesy noodles. You toss it in your basket with the rest of your ready meals, soggy cardboard already weeping condensation, and battle the undertow to the queue at the till. 

You should have left them alone.

“Beautiful day, today is.” They don't know that the stars have gone nova. That the ossified remains of the Earth creak and settle in the brumal gloaming, caliginous and desolate. They can’t hear you, pounding on the ice, desperate for apricity in a nuclear winter. 

Now you’re the one who’s alone.

“It is,” you lie, and the effluvium of ozone burns your lungs. Cauterizes the hemorrhaging, pulpy mess you call a heart, languishing in the frangible cage of your ribs.

Free divers can hold their breath for 10 minutes at a time. You wonder how long you’ll last trapped beneath a frozen mantle.

It snowed again, the morning Johnny left—pillowed the earth in anticipation of your fall—but several weeks of sleet and freezing rain has turned the pavement into a patchwork of slush and ice that mimics the glacial floes in your veins. Your wellies don’t have the same grip as proper snow boots. Crampons are better suited for the climb ahead. Neither are very practical for a quick trip to Tesco, though. Would look quite odd, standing on ice cleats in the pasta aisle.

The same can’t be said of the car park. With your canvas tote clutched close to your side, you pick your way through fissures of lingering snow. Opt for trickling streams of runoff rather than attempting to balance on the slick pavement. It’s slow going. Tedious. The lingering wind of last week's squall whips at your exposed skin. Lashes and bites, pumping a gelid venom into your veins, and the blackening, gangrenous bits of your mangled heart feel numb. Numb enough that you don’t immediately recognize the car parked next to yours. Twin sets of eyes, stratified ice, rich with moraine, watching from the windows. You don’t realize how the world suddenly feels too bright, staring up through a polynya, until you glimpse an aureate complexion and charcoal hair, silver-streaked with ash and tied up in a loose pony, emerging from the driver's seat.

Fenella MacTavish is a star in her own right. Has a gravity to her that demands to be felt and heard. The pull of your name on her lips drags you through the hole in the ice and dangles you there. Bait for something bigger. Hungrier. And she does it all with a friendly face, a cordon of coronal light woven into a beaming smile—aimed at the fallstreak hole that’s been punched through your sternum. 

“Ye’re a fair way from home, lass.” The divisional line of the Baltic and North Sea, from the feel of it. Or maybe somewhere off the coast of Shetland. It doesn’t really matter. Dread still percolates down your spine and you blink against the sudden shock of the sun emerging from the clouds, lurid rays burrowing into your retinas.

“Better prices for produce on this side of town,” you hedge, and she looks pointedly at the sharp protrusions of box corners against canvas, faultline of her brow erupting with skepticism. 

“Thought Tesco’s all have the same prices, more or less,” she reasons, and you watch the way she leans against the D pillar, arms folded and braced against a hiemal wind that tousles loose strands of hair about her face. A similar image of Johnny from several weeks ago effervesces to the surface of your memory and you shove it down. Drown it in the brine that spumes on roiling white caps. 

You answer with an indolent shrug and make to step around her, slipping your hand in a fleece-lined coat pocket in search of your keys, but like the other MacTavishes you’ve come to know, Fenella has a propensity for prying questions.

“Have ye heard from Joh—”

“No,” you say before she can speak his name, gloved fingers curling around the worn canvas strap across your shoulder like it’s a lifeline. Trying to pull yourself away from the hole in the ice, procellous waves lapping hungrily at your feet where she dangles you from artfully strung words. It’s not technically a lie. Even if there’s a novel's worth of texts from him that have gone unopened and unanswered. “I have—”

“Come have dinner wi’ us,” she volleys back. Guts the wretched desiderium curled at the back of your throat, backed into a corner and hissing at anything that comes near. Coaxes the dolorous, indignant want festering in your chest into the light. 

You want Johnny and his ribald jokes. Want him to look at you the way he looks at Isobel when they walk together. To hold your hand inside the pocket of his coat when you both forget your gloves on the way to pick her up from school. Remind you to leave work at the door. Shut your laptop and close the manuscript. Give yourself a break and come watch some mind rotting show with him and Isobel on the couch. Curl up in a tartan blanket, woven with his family's colors, and pretend you aren't falling asleep with your cheek pressed to his shoulder. Want to bake with Isobel and chase Johnny from the kitchen. Read to her on the nights he’s away, out at the pub on Main with friends from work. Be there, sleeping on the couch with Isobel, waiting for him to come home from assignment.

You want, and the teratoid it’s become circles with the porbeagles. Has teeth and a consciousness all it’s own, shredding through sinewy trepidation and tearing through every layer of adamantine flesh that you wear like armor. Stripping you down to the bone and sucking on the treacly marrow.

There’s no reason why you can’t. Johnny’s said as much. Made it patently clear when he all but tucked you into his jacket with him and let the warmth of sun-chapped lips bleed into your algid skin that night on your stoop. But there’s a picture in the livingroom of the townhouse next to yours that clamors each time you pass it. A ghost, bound to this plane by molecules of ink on photo paper, materializing at your back and whispering words of doubt from the umbrage. Telling you to leave. They aren’t yours to have. 

You feel rime creeping up your legs, briny sea spray turning denim stiff in the darkening carpark. The sun is sinking, varicolored sky unfurling against the plumage of clouds and an austere snowscape, and it casts shadows across the city, long as the list of reasons you shouldn’t.  

“Tomorrow night,” she presses, “roads ‘round here get a tad dodgy after dark wi’ the ice an’ all.” Her eyes drift to the ice surrounding your feet. Stare for a moment, like there are memories trapped there. 

You’ve found your keys. Found them several minutes ago, and have been toying with pressing the panic button. Manufacturing some way out of this conversation. Your toes are numb, too. Whether it’s from standing in a river of runoff or Fenella’s snare, swaying precariously and staring down into the gaping maw of repressed desire, you don’t know. But you do know that you can’t stay here. Can’t keep staring at this woman who looks like Johnny and pretend you don’t want to know everything about her. Him. Them. That you don’t want to go to dinner with her and Isobel because you miss them.

“Tomorrow,” you begin, “I have a meeting. Have to stay late.”

“Tomorrow’s Friday,” she counters. “Bell stays up late to watch Still Game wi’ me. Sure she wouldnae mind waitin’ an hour tae have a friend join us fer some stovies.” You can see Isobel in the car behind her, twisted around in her car seat to watch the two of you, and your heart lurches in your chest. Gnashes and snarls at the web of lies you’ve woven around it, glittering trip wires disguised as a safety net.

Don’t get too close. Don’t get attached. They’re not yours. This will never be your family.

‘Go!’ it wails, and her eyes beg you to stay.

When you finally find your footing again, you take a step towards your car. “I’ll think about it.” Move carefully between cracks in the ice. “See if I can get the meeting moved up. Isobel should keep to her schedule.” Keep your eyes up. Don’t look at the monster she’s dragged out of you.

Fenella nods like you’ve agreed. Either chooses to ignore your feeble attempt at a polite refusal or twists your words into reluctant acceptance as she fishes her phone from her vest. Hums as she taps away at the screen, and you feel the echo of it when your own phone vibrates in your pocket beside your keys.

“We’ll see ye tomorrow night, then.” She smiles, wide and machiavellian, before she severs the snare and watches you plummet. Slips into the warmth of her car as you plunge through the hole in the ice and it freezes over once more. Chum in the water.

Staring at Fenella’s address on your phone screen effects a sinking feeling in your stomach. Drags you down to that abyss again, only this time, you aren’t alone. You weren’t alone before—not really. You’d just denied the truth of what was clawing its way through your chest. Couldn’t face what its existence means.

You stare until the screen goes dark, and then stare some more, until the oven timer chimes and you wade through your kitchen to silence it. Produce a hot pad from an adjacent drawer to pull a cardboard tray of lasagne from the rack, and nearly drop it when the chiming starts again. 

Your phone vibrates on the table behind you, Johnny’s name lit up across the screen. Calling.

‘Won’t be able to use my phone a lot, but I’ll call when I can.’

The awful thing in your chest shudders in answer.

Every muscle in your body tenses. Aches to open the line. Grab it with both hands and pull. Drag yourself from the depths of your self inflicted misery and bathe in the ardent warmth of his smile. You want to talk to him. Want to hear that gravel rich timbre and your name rolling off the escarpment of his tongue.

But should you?

Should you even try to be something you aren’t? Something you never thought you could be. Would want to be. Should you—?

“Bonnie? Ye there?”

Oh, fuck…

“Yeah… I’m here,” you breathe, and it’s not salt water but kerosene that fills your lungs. Burns with self-loathing and penitence as it commingles with ozone. “Johnny, I—” Your voice pitches, teeters on the precipice of trepidation and want, and crumbles away with the marl.

You’ve been ignoring him. Ignoring how you feel. Absconding yourself in your abnegation and rotting on the ocean floor, too afraid to swim. To look for the light. Afraid of falling even further. 

And all of that want comes pouring out of you now. Out of the hole punched through your chest when he left. In a briny deluge down the berm of your cheeks when he shushes you. From puncture wounds, perfect impressions of serrated teeth, sunk to the bone. Not letting go.

“I know, sweet girl. I know,” he soothes, palliating and emollient, but the breath you take scrapes against your throat, coarse with sand and silt. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Johnny.” You thought it would hurt, admitting it. That the jaws would clamp down and you would scream and kick and fight. You were so heavy, full to the brim with want, that you mistook it for that leaden, sinking feeling. Thought it was drowning you.

“Bell said she saw ye today. That ye’re goin’ to visit her tomorrow?” There’s hope in his voice, nestled in the colluvium that tumbles from his lips and settles at your feet.

“Yeah,” you decide then and there. “I am.”

The MacTavish home isn’t what you thought it would be, limewashed stone tucked at the end of a winding, gravel lane, cradled by the tussock and sedge of a heathland and perched on the slope of a shallow vale. Double paned windows cast a genial glow onto the drifts around it, tenuous peaks capped in flakes of gold, and a scintillant lamp floods the walkway, salted cobble, free of the ice your tires struggled to navigate on the narrow streets of Old Kilpatrick. The door is a bathic blue, nearly the same depth as the lacuna between stars on a moonless night, and a boar-head knocker greets you, impeccably polished silver despite its exposure to the elements. Your hand halts halfway to the ring that dangles from gleaming ivory tusks and hangs surprised between yourself and the refulgent star across the threshold. Everything about Fenella and her home is bright.

She ushers you inside, pulling you by a handful of billowing cashmere into the foyer, and promptly defoliates you of the flailing garment and congruent scarf wound around your neck, taking your bag and hanging it from a brass hook beside your coat. “Bell, come an’ look who’s here!” she calls down the passageway, and a brontide reverberates through the hardwood and soles of your shoes. A storm rattling the foliage of a coppice in the thick of Summer. 

Isobel shrieks, effusive in the manner of her excitement, when she rounds the corner from the doorway to the left and catches sight of you, teddy forgotten and swiftly discarded in favor of launching herself down the wide hall. You rock back when she connects with your leg, sinking her hands into layers of chiffon, pleated at your waist and cascading to the buckles of your flats around your ankles.

“Ye made it!” She wears a t-shirt many sizes too big, sleeves billowing around her and the hem rolled and tucked up inside with a knot that presses against your shin. The cracked, peeling numerals 141 are barely visible, on her left side just below her breastbone, and her surname is printed just below, peaks and plateau of the M and T rising above the cloud of your skirt bunched up in her arms. Her hair is loose, curls tumbling just over her shoulders in an unruly race to the wide crew-collar of her shirt, and the smile she beams up at you is blinding. Disorienting. Burrowing into your brain in search of a home. Looking for its carbon copy, etched in a memory of Johnny, sitting on a wooden chair in a kitchen that mirrors yours.

A timer chimes, echoing off smooth plaster painted with a whisper of green, sage and seafoam, and an eclectic collection of frames maps a rich family history from the front door down the length of the passageway,

“That’ll be dinner,” Fenella announces, a hand coming to rest between your shoulders and another delving into her granddaughter's curls. “Bell, show ‘er where tae wash up.” She herds you both forward, and your stomach knots with budding nerves.

“Can I help with anything? Setting the table?” you offer, attempt to make yourself useful, and she tuts her disapproval.

“Nae, jus’ wash up wi’ Bell. Dinner’ll be on the table when yer done.” She slips by the two of you, disappearing down the passageway and to the right while Isobel fits her hand into yours and leads you through the door she came from.

There’s a sideboard adjacent to the washroom, and while Isobel scrubs the days mire from her nails you cast your attention to the portraiture above it. Echoes of a convivial home, filled with family during the holidays, outings in the city, and school portraits. Johnny’s service portrait hangs front and center above a shadow box, pin board nearly full with brassy medals and gaudy ribbons. Years younger and clean shaven, he looks boyish and bright-eyed, even with the army drab and neutral expression. But there's a familiar tilt to his mouth, permanently skewed in an inveterate smile, and a whisper of laughter in the gentle slope of his shoulders, not yet filled out with the corded muscle that’s become so familiar. Several inches to the right and many years later, he appears as you know him now. Dark shadow of stubble, interrupted by the stitchwork that created the twisting scar on his chin, and— 

The bulk of his body is curled around a young woman, dark cloud of curls concealing her face, buried in the hollow space beneath his jaw, but the swell of her belly is obvious in her profile. Isobel’s mum. 

“Yer turn!” Isobel lilts from behind you, but you remain rooted to the polished hardwood, staring at a ghost, and wait for the rebuttal.

They aren’t yours. This isn’t your family. 

Budding nerves blossom in the loamy pit of your stomach, creeping along spiculated vines towards the moldering gaps between your ribs, and your heart stutters in its crumbling cage alongside the starving, pacing creature you call want. 

Forget them. Leave.

You wait, and wait, and wait—and it never comes. The ink doesn't wail, the frames don’t rattle, and there is no voice whispering over your shoulder.

There is a darling girl, tugging at the fabric of your skirt and the mess of snarled threads around your heart, picking apart the tangled web you’ve been lost in, and she guides you through the fray to the washroom basin.

“Ah spoke wi’ Johnny this morn’,” Fenella begins, reaching across the table to wipe at the broth dribbling down Isobel’s chin. “Said ye finally had a chance tae talk.”

“Oh. Yes, we did.” You don’t tell her how Johnny did most of the talking, took your sniveled apologies for avoiding his messages and buried them in the colluvium. Caught you, from a world away, and lowered you gently to the earth when you fell apart in your kitchen. “He sounds well.”

“Aye, he does. Havnae heard ‘im like that since Kirsten died.” She leans back in her chair, half-finished bowl of stew all but forgotten. “Those two… och, they were a right pain in my arse. Where one went the other followed, an’ made twice the trouble for their Mam.” 

The revelation glues to your brain, tenebrous and viscid. 

“Has he told ye about ‘er, his sister?”

“She saw the picture in the passageway,” Isobel chimes in, babbling around a mouthful of roast potato.

Their Mam. The picture in the hall. Johnny’s sister. The ghost next door.

“He’s mentioned her once before.” You drag your spoon through cooling beef and potato, breaking up the congealed, starchy mass, and try to do the same with the memories that tangle themselves together in your head. “He told me about his wife; that she passed two years ago. I— He never said his sister passed as well. I’m so—”

“His wife?” Quicksilver brows fly towards the inky peak of her hairline, bewilderment etched in the incredulous slash of her mouth, lips drawn tight. “Johnny’s ne’er wed, lass.”

Your hand stills but your heart rattles, throwing itself against baleen bars, and the pinpricks of teeth, gnawing at the fallstreak hole in your sternum, threatens to crack your ribs open at the dinner table. “Isobel’s mother—”

“Is his sister,” Fenella finishes for you.

“Then, Johnny… Why didn’t Isobel’s father raise her?” 

Fenella casts a furtive glance in Isobels direction and finds cordierite eyes staring back at her over an empty bowl, gleaming with a startling discernment. “Stay here,” she motions towards you, and plucks Isobel from the chair between you, balancing her on a broad hip. “All done, Bell? Let’s get ye settled in the den, hm? With Ghost?” Isobel clutches at her shirt for balance, dips her chin in agreement, and Fenella takes her from the dining room, leaving you alone with the savage things in your chest.

Sister. Never married. Niece.

It percolates through gray matter. Drips from the roof of your mouth, nauseating and saccharine, and when you swallow you feel the drop in your stomach like an iron weight. Wilted petals and desiccated vines withering. A febrile joy laced with bile bubbling up your throat; sickly cocktail of absolution and compunction. 

There was never a ghost trapped in a picture frame. No headstone inscribed with the MacTavish name and the words ‘Loving Wife and Mother.’ Every poisonous word whispered in your ear came from the devil on your shoulder, sowing demurral and rooting it in reproval, and the roaring in your chest, thundering pulse in your ears, screams yes.

The muted playing of fanfare from the TV cuts through the cacophony in your head, and Fenella’s voice allays the discordance. “She knows more than she lets on.” A sigh filters through her nose with a ‘hum’ and she slides into the chair Isobel occupied previously. “She misses him. Misses him like a wean misses their Da.” Misses him the same as her Mum. Gone somewhere she can’t follow, a place kept secret from her, with no way to know when he’ll be back. If he’ll come back. 

The unpleasant realization of that very real possibility scrapes down your spine, whetted talons screeching against corrugated bone.

“Johnny’s the closest thing Bell’s ever had tae a Da,” she elucidates. “They used tae work together, ‘fore Johnny joined up wi’ the Task Force. Passed selection the same year.”

“She—Kirsten—met him through Johnny?” She nods, smiling, but the curve of her mouth has a mournful edge.

“She did. Johnny brought some lads round for Hogmanay one year. Took his sister out wi’ ‘em tae the pubs. Said she took one look at Aaron MacAndrew handin’ ‘er brother his own arse at darts and knew she’d marry ‘im. Did so, the following year. Hardly made it another ‘fore she told us she was havin’ Bell.” The memory of her daughter brightens Fenella’s eyes. Bottled lightning, bouncing off maldivian blue glass. “We were all excited. ‘Specially Johnny; couldnae wait tae meet his niece. Brought home gifts for Kirsten and the wean from every tour and couldnae go to ASDA wi’out buyin’ another teddy or romper.”

“Did Johnny and Aaron tour together?” She nods solemnly.

“Few weeks after Kirsten had Bell they left. Got their orders a month earlier, an’ Aaron… He didnae let Johnny tell Kirstin ‘til after she had the wean. Didnae want her tae stress. 

“They were tae be gone three months, so Kirsten stayed here an’ I helped wi’ Bell. Went a while ‘fore we heard anythin’ from Johnny. Said things got hairy. Had tae go dark. Stay hidden. We didnae know why ‘til he called again an’ said he was comin’ home early, but naw Aaron. Naw ‘til he was the only one tae come off the plane.”

Laughter trickles in from the den, pooling in the hollow silence that yawns between you and Fenella. “I…” you try, but every word you string together with the next frays around the knot in your throat. 

“She was angry wi’ him for some time. Aaron had died weeks before he called, an’ he kept it from ‘er. Didnae want tae tell her on the phone. Wanted tae be there when she found out.” She shifts her weight in the chair. Leans forward to fold one arm over the other on the table. “Johnny took it hard, too. Losin’ his mate an’ then his sister. None of us saw her for the better part of a year after he died, an’ Johnny took the blame for it. She wouldnae see him. Didnae come ‘round for holidays. He thought if he made ‘imself scarce she might come out her shell, so when he heard from a Captain he used tae serve under, ‘bout the Task Force an’ the longer assignments that came wi’ it… He packed ‘imself up an’ off he went. Was another year ‘fore they finally saw one another. Never knew what was said between the two of ‘em, but they were close as ever afterwards. Right up ‘til she passed.”

“And she listed Johnny as Isobel's next of kin.” Fenella nods, bottled lightning limned with a silvery tide. “I… I’m so sorry. About Kirsten, Aaron, bringing it up— I shouldn’t—”

Despite the tears tracking down her cheeks, Fenella shakes her head. Smiles, and reaches across the table to clasp your hand in hers. “Ye dinna need tae apologize, lass. I should be thankin’ ye, really.” You try to pull away but her hand tightens around yours.

“Thank me? I haven’t—”

“Done anythin’? Lass, ye’ve done more than ye know. He talks about ye. Every time we go tae lunch. It’s ye, an’ Bell, an’ how excited she always is tae see ye. How he thinks she might fancy ye even more than he does. And he smiles. You brought that back.”

And fuck, if that isn’t everything you hoped for. To know that he smiles for you. Because of you. It alchemizes the iron in your stomach to lead, bathed in acid and leeching an acrimonious guilt into your bloodstream.

You ignored him.

Pulled away, just like his sister did.

And Fenella is thanking you. 

Midnight settles over the MacTavish home in a mantle of crushed velvet and embroidered stars. Fenella insisted that you stay after dinner. Spend some time with Isobel in the den.

That was several hours ago.

Curled in the corner of a chenille couch, you sit with Isobel pressed to your side, head pillowed by the masked bear she clutches in her sleep.

“Someone’s finally tuckered out,” you muse, brushing an errant curl away from her face. “I should head home. Let the two of you rest.” Fenella stands from her chair beside the couch and maneuvers around the coffee table in the dim light of the TV.

“It’s late,” she rebukes. “I’ll naw have ye out at this hour. Stay the night. Ye can take yer rest in Johnny’s old room.” Fenella croons as she peels Isobel out of her cocoon of blankets and hoists her up into the cradle of her arms. “C’mon Bell, let’s show the lass where she’s stayin’ the night.”

“The roads really aren’t that bad, I— I should be able to make the drive just fine,” you insist, but the admonition in the gaze she levels you with quashes any further argument.

You follow, albeit hesitantly, from the den up a narrow flight of stairs, and hope that she can’t hear the tremulous rattling of your breath behind her. She deposits Isobel, teddy and all, in a colorful room, shelves overflowing with picture books and bins piled high with teddies and toys, tucks her snug beneath a hand-sewn quilt and leaves her with a peck on the cheek to guide you into the room across from hers.

She rifles through a chest of drawers, scratched pine and chipped lacquer, stood up against the wall opposite a wrought iron bed, draped in purples and greens that bring thistle to mind. “Ye can wear some of Johnny’s old things. I’d give ye somethin’ of mine but, well… I think ye’d be more comfortable in this.” Tracksuit bottoms and a pullover. She leaves it on the bed as she moves to where you hover near the doorway. “Washroom is just down there, on the right,” she directs, pointing to the far end of the hall. “An’ I’m just across the way if ye need anythin’. See ye at breakfast.”

With you and Isobel settled in your respective rooms, she ambles off to her own, door clicking shut softly behind her, and you’re left staring at Johnny’s clothes. On Johnny’s bed. In the bedroom where he grew up. Wondering how—if at all—you’ll be able to sleep tonight.

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[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

[russellsppttemplates]

For blurb night, carlos and lando taking the kids golfing together

Note: I don't know that much about golf, so please excuse if some term is correct or some technicality isn't quite right!

"You requested to karts, is that correct?", the lady at the front desk checked, "they've been packed like you asked, here are the keys", she smiled as Carlos accepted them, heading outside to see Lando just about containing all six kids into the safe perimeter.

"Sainz little ones, you go with your papa! Norris little ones, follow me!", Lando said after catching the key for his kart, helping Charlotte to the seat next to him so he had more control over his youngest.

"Off we go!", Carlos cheered as she started driving to the first spot.

The idea came from Carlos' wife, suggesting you and her should have a spa day to enjoy yourselves, so your husband's decided to take the kids from you and play golf with them.

"Daddy, do I get to swing?", Matilda asked once they stopped and Lando gave each of them a smaller club.

"Yes, Tilly, after uncle Carlos lets Benjamín have a go first", he said, "let's all take a picture so we can show mummy!", he suggested, setting the phone on the kart and gathering your children. Lando managed to find little matching golf kits for the kids and one of his own that looked nice along with theirs, "looks great guys!", he said after he checked the photo, not helping his smile when he noticed how much the kids looked like him - his little clones, you would say.

"It's my turn!", Matilda yelled, going up to her spot and looking at her father, "I need your help, daddy!", she waved him over.

"You do it like this, careful - yes!", Lando clapped, "Good job princess, that was a very good one", he offered her a smile.

"Clara, amor, you can't be so harsh with it because the club will hit the sand and that's no good", Carlos stated, helping his daughter with it.

"Daddy, am I winning?", Fraser asked as they drove off to the next spot of the course.

"I think you're third, buddy", Lando mused, "the last one you did wasn't so good, but I bet you'll be able to get this one really well! It's very similar to that one we did at the beggining".

"Papa! I got it, I got it!", Mateo clapped as the ball he hit fell on the hole, "I did it! Take a photo so I can show mama!", he asked.

By the time they finished, Carlos and Lando decided to stay in the course for a little longer, the rest of the people playing already beyond that spot which allowed them to get the kids to have some snacks, juice and water before they made their way back.

"We were a daycare for an afternoon, two of us for six kids", Lando stated as he zipped the kids' backpack.

"We did a good enough job, but at least this will tire them out", Carlos reasoned.

"My little rocketship does not look like she has a low battery", Lando argued as they watched Charlotte run around in the grass, giggling and squealing loudly.

"What is it they say? What goes around comes around", the spaniard patted his friend's back.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[honoura]

Shaaloani: The Land of Enchantment Part Two

Hello again! First of all thank you so much for your responses to these posts -- I've really enjoyed reading your reblogs. I'm glad folks are enjoying this!

As I mentioned in the first post -- here is the second half! It's covers the plants and animals I thought worth special distinction. By that I mean animals that communicate how much research was done regarding this zone. So no rroneek, no uxtena. It's pretty clear they are both meant to be buffalo and rattlesnakes.

And if you're somebody who hadn't caught that, um... surprise! That's what they're based on.

If you're somehow getting this post without reading or seeing Part One first, here is a link to Part One. I'd recommend giving it a read first.

With that taken care of, let's pick up where we left off before!

Shaaloani Flora

Aside from the cacti, there are a lot of plants I recognize as native to the regions discussed in Part One! First is this scrubby, short and wide tree. It took a few screenshots and a lot of scrutiny. I was torn for a bit thinking it was a creosote bush, but upon zooming in close I'm of the mind it's a redberry juniper tree instead!

The leaves are long and thing, and the shape gives to mind of juniper needles more. Juniper 'leaves' kind of scale over each other and between texture resolution and my horrible eye sight I can't tell if this does the same. Still! There's a photo below my two screenshots for further emphasis:

These are also the trees turned red near the ceruleum fields -- junipers tend to do that when they are dying. They are also incredibly hardy so typically when you've managed to kill one it's likely not good.

I will say when I was out here I noticed the botanist gathering log has mesquite beans on it -- and you harvest them from these trees! Which is too silly for me; so here's a link to the the wiki about honey mesquite, and a photo of the beans on a tree.

It's probably a reach to try and ID this grass in the Yawtanane Grasslands, but given that it caught my eye I felt inclined to make a pitch. For context child me thought a fun and engaging after school club project was to learn how to identify grass and other plants native to Texas. So when I looked at it I wanted to take a guess based on other regional clues:

To me I think it could be cane bluestem, a grass that's drought tolerant and popular for grazing animals. And its seeds are dispersed from these little fluffy heads like this.

I will say as a caveat that a lot of grass in this area can be dispersed by wind. So it might not be cane bluestem -- hell it's a stretch to even try this. But I like to think they also considered the grass.

The bush above I also hmmed and hrmmed about for a bit before positing if it was meant to be black persimmon. It's commonly called Texas persimmon or Mexican persimmon -- and it's found in Coahuila, Tamaulipas and Neuvo León. They generally just look like big shrubs instead of trees.

I mentioned this in part one, but I'll go ahead and reiterate here a few things:

One is I think Lake Taori's about the only place that reads as specifically Texas

Two is it's not a bayou. That's an East Texas ecosystem and way too wet for Shaaloani

Three is there are cypress trees west of San Antonio growing along the Frio river, and doing quite well! Garner State Park has quite a few of them

I stand by this because these trees are show to be reproducing by making 'knees' -- offshoots from their root system. Think of it like Pando.

I also feel cypress is correct; the trunks are wider at the base than higher up, and the leaves are the right shape. I also appreciate there's Spanish moss hanging from them, which is also pretty common.

The last plant I want to cover is this flowering bush -- I'm going to admit this one was a struggle because I don't know of a lot of bushes with large white flowers like this. I've seen flowers of this shape, but most tend to be ground cover plants that grow very low to the soil.

What I think it might be, which would feel appropriate, is a take on the datura. They can get a bit higher off the ground than most wildflowers. And they were used by several native tribes for cultural practices.

The flowers are bigger in real life than depicted here -- so this is a reach! If someone has a better suggestion I'm open to it.

Shaaloani Fauna

When Fate farming out here, I've seen several players comment like 'huh, there sure are a lot of dinosaurs on this map'. And you're right! Because a lot of this region is home to some incredibly rich fossil formations.

Big Bend National Park contains part of the Javelina Formation -- home to large creatures such as the Quetzalcoatlus, a pterosaur that boasted a 39 foot wingspan. You can read about fossils found in Big Bend here. The Javelina Formation has its own wiki article that details some of the specimens found within it, including the Bravoceratops and the Torosaurus. The Ojo Alamo Formation in New Mexico is home to the Ojoceratops. Just south of these is the Aguja Formation in the Mexican states of Coahuila and Chihuahua. These formations are home to fossils of all three types of scalekin above -- as well as alligators, who are also on this map!

Other Formations in the Southwest home to great fossil finds are:

Kayenta Formation (Colorado & Utah)

Tepetate Formation (Mexico)

Black Peaks Formation (Texas)

There's even a fun sightseeing lore blurb which acknowledges this!

I think this is a fun addition to the zone that strengthens the real world inspiration sources and have fun with world building -- a lot of the formations near the Permian Basin were along the shore or under the waves of the Permian Sea!

And that's all I have! Thank you all for indulging me, and by all means take any and all of this to do with what you will in roleplay. Have fun with it!

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

When they misunderstand and kiss your cheek - svt 97z

💋Who; Seventeen 97z (individually) x reader 💋What; lil fluff reactions 💋Wordcount; 1.9k 💋Warnings; Very minor profanity.

Read the other versions here; 95z - 96z - Maknae3

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- That's it! The last of the series! Ah, these were cute and fun to write, even if I wasn't always in the right headspace to write lil fluff pieces, I still enjoyed the process. Thank you to everyone who showed love to these, I appreciate every one of you 💖

💋Seokmin💋 For as long as you can remember, you've always wanted to go to a photo booth with someone important to you and take some fun and cute photos to get printed on a little strip and treasure them. You don't know why exactly you want to do it so much, nor why you've never done so before when the booths are pretty common, it's just never happened. And if there's anyone you know will do it with you without question, it's Lee Seokmin. So one day you send him a mood board with a few photosets on it and tell him you want to do that with him. As suspected, Seokmin doesn't even ask a question besides "when?" A few days later, the pair of you are excitedly rushing through the shopping centre to the booth he promises you has the best filter options as if he's some kind of photo booth expert. Though he does turn out to be correct, at least as far as you're aware because there are some really cute filter options which you're excited to try. It goes exactly how you expect for a while, the two of you grinning pressed together on the bench and making funny faces and dramatic poses for the camera. Clearly, Seokmin had really paid attention to the photosets you sent him because he's leading you into some of the poses you can recall. You don't remember them all because honestly, you hadn't paid that much attention to the specific photos and just the general vibe. So you really hadn't noticed that most of the sets you sent him included some kind of cute cheek kiss photo. Therefore, Seokmin really can't be blamed for thinking you want that particular pose seeing as it featured so much. A pose you hadn't even noticed. Unbeknownst to you, Seokmin has been working himself up to this the entire time, the whole morning really. It feels like a big move, to kiss your cheek even if he's most certainly kissed most of the guys' cheeks many times. But this feels pretty fucking monumental, honestly.

You're just about to ask him if he wants to add a filter when he starts to lean in after taking a quick inhale to steady his nerves, the clicker in his right hand ready. The photo he happens to take is frankly, hilarious. He hadn't expected you to turn to talk to him right then and you certainly had not expected him to kiss you so what he winds up capturing when he presses the clicker is both of you wide-eyed and lips touching. "Uh," Seokmin starts when he gathers himself and leans back rapidly, cheeks flaming red in a way that matches yours. "I didn't know you were turning." "I didn't know you were…leaning in?" You look genuinely bewildered. "What exactly were you doing?" "Kissing your cheek?" His statement curves up into a question as your expression only grows more puzzled by his words. "Like-like the photos!" "What?" "The photosets all have a cheek kiss photo!" "They do?" He nods rapidly. "Oh, I didn't even notice." He deflates a little, well a lot really, you can see the way his embarrassment rapidly turns to disappointment. "You didn't want me to kiss your cheek?" "Well, I mean, I'm not opposed if you want to." You shrug lightly, trying to play it off as you slide your gaze aside to look at the screen shyly, though you immediately start to laugh at the large photo of you two staring in shock at each other with your lips brushing. "What?" Seokmin looks at the screen and starts to laugh. "We have to print that one." He giggles. "Our first kiss." "First?" "Uh-" He looks at you with wide eyes in alarm, he really had not meant to say that. "It's not even a real kiss." You point out then reach out to gently tug him closer by the collar of his t-shirt. "How about a real kiss this time?" "Seriously?" You nod and then can't help but giggle when he enthusiastically cups your neck with his free hand to lean in quickly. "Don't laugh." He whines. You vaguely register the sound of the booth taking photos. He's looking at you adoringly despite his whine, not that you know that yet, but you will when you have the proof in your hand when Seokmin insists on printing all of the photos you've taken. "You're so eager, it's cute." "I've wanted to kiss you for so long, sweetheart, of course, I'm eager. don't you want to kiss me?" He pouts and you're not entirely convinced it's entirely an act. "Come here, idiot." You tug him in the remaining gap to press your lips to his. Seokmin doesn't forget to press the clicker to capture your first real kiss, though he does very quickly drop it to hold your face and put all of his focus into kissing you breathless.

💋Mingyu💋 A brand Mingyu has an advertisement deal with has sent him a package of their newest products and of course, he shares them with you as you have different skin types and the brand always sends him one of everything to try. So you're both sat on the floor in his living room, headbands on to keep your hair out of your faces and the collection on the coffee table in front of you with two little mirrors. A few minutes ago, he handed you the moisturiser that is apparently designed for your skin type, though you think something has gone very wrong with their formula as it has not dried well at all. Your skin feels all sticky and tacky to the touch, it's pretty gross and you certainly won't be using that again. Mingyu looks over when you mumble his name, his own skin shining with the drying moisturiser he has just finished diligently applying. And he finds you pouting while pressing your cheek slowly. To him, it looks like you want something and all he can think is that you want a kiss on the cheek. Although his stomach is fluttering with nerves at the sudden suggestion, he still shuffles a little closer so that he can lean over and press a kiss to the apple of your cheek. However, when he pulls back, he feels the tackiness on his lips and pulls a slightly disgusted expression while settling back into place and grabbing the packet of face wipes the company supplied. "You're sticky." He comments, tone as impressed as his face shows, which means, not at all. You stare at him for a second then nod slowly. "Yes, I am aware, that's what I was trying to tell you." Mingyu blinks at you dumbly, one hand raised to his mouth as he wipes the sticky residue from his lips. He lowers his hand a little to talk. "Not to kiss your cheek?" "Not to kiss my cheek." Immediately, Mingyu's cheeks flush with embarrassment and he directs his attention back to the mirror to wipe at his lips a little harder around a kind of muffled "oh, sorry." "It's okay," You mumble and hold your hand out. He glances at it and almost takes it into his own, momentarily assuming you want to hold hands but then he puts the packet of wipes on your palm and blushes darker. "I didn't mind." You assure softly as you turn to your own mirror and work on wiping away the product on your skin. "Oh." Mingyu tries not to grin dopily at what is essentially permission to kiss you again. As soon as you're done cleaning your skin, his lips find your cheek again, this time followed by a cute little shy giggle before he hands you a different product to try.

💋Minghao💋 Lately, when you both have a spare few hours, you and Minghao have been watching a fantasy drama full of cute romantic tension between the two main leads. Neither of you had realised just how romance-focused the show is when you started and at first thought it might be a bit weird to watch so many kissing and suggestive scenes together, but it's not been as bad as either of you assumed. In fact, you both find yourselves playfully mimicking the actors quite a lot, it helps to remove the tension that builds otherwise. A tension that has been growing thicker and more obvious over the past months between the pair of you, both of you are aware of it but aren't sure if making a move is wise. You both value your current relationship and ease far too much to want to risk it. Though it comes to a head one afternoon when you're both sat on his couch tucked up under the same blanket with your snacks and the AC on because it's not cold at all, the blanket just feels too cosy and you're used to sharing it from this routine starting in winter. Of all the scenes to cause something to happen between you, it's a very cute one, with no suggestive remarks, and no tension on screen. The main female lead skips up to the main male lead and silently asks for a kiss by cutely pouting and turning her cheek towards him. Of course, he kisses her cheek and that's that, they share an adoring smile and go about their business. Without even thinking about it, you copy her action, pouting and tilting your cheek, just because you think it's a cute action and are used to copying the actors at this point. You really hadn't expected Minghao to be paying you any attention and to follow along. But then his lips are on your cheek and you freeze momentarily. "I think you do it cuter." He informs smoothly as he leans back and gently turns you to face him with his long fingers pressed tenderly against your jaw. Your eyes lock and despite there having been so many chances before now, so many moments full of pure tension, this is the moment that changes everything. "Can we stop pretending that we're going to be able to be friends for the rest of our lives?" "We're not going to be friends?" You reply quietly, heart thumping and certain you know what this means but you don't want to skip any scenes of your own love story. "I still want to be friends, yes, I care about you too much and love being friends with you to not be friends. But I want to be more," "Best friends?" You can't help but tease. Minghao's face drops for a second into his trademark unimpressed expression but he quickly breaks and chuckles. "Best friends and romantic partners sounds perfect to me. What do you say?" "I say it's about time." "Then can I kiss you somewhere else this time?" "Xu Minghao!" You gasp scandalised in the most theatric of ways. "We've just started our relationship and you're already trying to get me in bed, what would-" He cuts you off by leaning in and slotting his lips against yours. You giggle happily and tilt into the kiss. "Are you going to be this dramatic our whole relationship?" He hums when the short kiss breaks, brushing his nose against yours with a fond smile on his lips. "I am. Regret this yet?" "I can never regret you." And to prove his point, he kisses you again with all the months of pent-up affection spilling out to seep through your parted lips and down into your chest, filling it entirely as your own affection fills his in return.

A/N- I think I have ruined myself with the Hao one, why did I make it so soft and sweet omg