#this is a lie i’m having a heart attack

[pinkfey]

chuckles i’m in danger

[khytal]

this shit is so stressful

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

feeling mellow this evening

[danielnelsen]

a week ago i might have said i feel mostly ok, just a little off, but i am Suffering now. why can’t graves’ disease have fun symptoms like……………idk i can’t think of anything.

[loveofastarvingdog]

i am having an incredibly [REDACTED] time right now

[eeunwoo]

they moved my injection appointment to the next day to give me an extra 15 minutes they really think im gonna code 😬

[landososcar]

so american ; CL16

pairing(s) ; charles leclerc x american!reader

summary ; in which a trip to monaco turns permenant because of one ferrari racing driver

warnings ; fast paced relationship, smau, google translated french (pls correct anything that’s wrong) & FLUFFF

note ; lol sorry i lowkey disappeared. anyways. here’s charles and leo (aka everyone’s fav duo)

instagram !

liked by friend1, charlesleclerc, and others

youruser leo & i might never leave 🥰🇲🇨

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friend1 monaco is so so beautiful

yourbff you can’t leave me here alone in the us

youruser but…

charles_leclerc im stealing her

yourbff you’ve know her for 3 weeks

charles_leclerc whats your point ??

friend2 the states miss you come home

friend3 leo has a new lap to sit in????

yourbff i feel cheated on

charles_leclerc i’ll make sure you don’t leave ☺️❤️

youruser having the best time of my life with you🫶

yourbff saying you’re not gonna let her leave is kinda creepy not gonna lie…

charles_leclerc you’re just jealous coz she doesn’t wanna go back to the us and wants to stay with me

friend4 you look so happy😁

instagram !

liked by fan1, fan2, and others

cl16updating recent pictures of charles with a puppy, fans who asked him about the dog say his name is leo and he is not charles dog but he is staying with him for a while!! we are also unsure who the girl in his car in the last picture is, if anyone has any idea please share her instagram @ with us!!!!!!!!

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fan1 omg he’s not his dog??? i’m devastated now i wanted leo paddock appearances

fan2 idk maybe if you guys find her instagram @ don’t share it,, if charles wanted us to know about her he’d share with us

fan3 if she doesn’t want us to know about her maybe she shouldn’t hang out with the prince of monaco

fan4 she should be able to hang with whoever she wants. some of y’all are so weird

fan5 imma steal that dog

fan6 that means we probs won’t get leo in the paddock😭

fan7 maybe leo is the girls’ dog and she’s a friend of charles visiting him or something idk

imessages !

translation 1: ‘i’ll miss you so much’

translation 2: ‘we can be crazy together, my love’

twitter !

instsgram !

youruser added to the story!

charles_leclerc added to his close friends story!

charles_leclerc replied to your story

↳ you always do baby

↳ god you’re so cheesy

↳ i hate you

↳ can we go back home i miss leo

↳ charlie babe leo will be fine by himself for 3 hours

↳ i know i know

↳ i just love him so much

you replied to charles_leclerc’s story

↳ CHARLIE DELETE

↳ THE DOGS ARE OUT😭😭😭

↳ LEO GOT OUT??????????????? WHERE IS HE ??? IS HE SAFE??? DID SOMEONE FIND HIM??:??;??/??

↳ omg baby no leo’s fine i’m sorry for worrying you

↳ why would you joke about that

↳ i think i nearly had a heart attack

↳ you’re more obsessed with leo than me

instagram !

liked by user1, user2, and others

f1wagupdates charles and his girlfriend (leo’s mum — we don’t know her name) this saturday. the owner of the first pic said that they were out for dinner with pascale, arthur, lorenzo, and their girlfriends.

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user1 she so beautiful oh my god

user2 where’s leo

user3 girl she doesn’t have to take him everywhere

user4 i think her name is y/n… my cousin in america said that she looks like someone she used to go to school with

user5 i looked through charles’ following and he follows a private account with that name @youruser

user6 ooo that could be her fs

user7 did she really leave leo alone.. she’s a bad owner wtf

user8 leo is a dog he’ll be ok by himself for a few hours omg you just want a reason to hate her go touch grass

twitter !

twitter !

instagram !

liked by carlossainz55, lorenzotl, and others

charles_leclerc happy gorgeous amazing month ☺️❤️

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user1 CHARLES who is THAT

user2 Y/N CONTENT ON THE MAIN ‼️‼️‼️

carlossainz55 whipped

user3 omg is she playing his piano

user4 yes with her feet

youruser love love love you

charles_leclerc chérie💓💓

user4 anyone else think they’re moving REALLY quickly…. like i heard they’re living together already

user5 who CAREEESSSSS

user6 it’s none of our business

yourbff you’re all she talks about oh my GOD

charles_leclerc are you jealous

instagram !

liked by leclerc_pascale, yourbff, and others

youruser “too much, too soon” i’m living with him lol

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yourbff remember when we had conversations that weren’t about him

youruser wdym

yourbff i hate him

yourbff you’re OBSESSED with him

yourbff you guys are DISGUSTING

youruser you sound jealous

yourbff i AM. that little french driving man STOLE my best friend

charles_leclerc FRENCH????????

friend1 miss you 🫶🫶

joris__trouche ❤️

friend2 come visit soon we miss youuuu

friend3 you’re so so so gorgeous

charles_leclerc MON AMOURRR

charles_leclerc YOURE SO BEAUTIFUL I WANNA KISS YOUR FACE

yourbff can you get me a ticket to the miami gp so i can see my wife pls

charles_leclerc no you’re gonna try steal her back

yourbff @youruser ur boyfriend is being mean to me

youruser charlie i lost my miami paddock pass can you get me another one pls but like could you put it under the name y/bff/n y/bff/ln please, for no reason☺️

charles_leclerc okay baby💓💓

youruser stop it i love you so so much you’re so adorable😭

leclerc_pascale Leo ❤️

youruser he misses you 🥰

imessages !

my other works !

[danikamariewrites]

My Poor Shadowsinger

Azriel x reader

A/n: I saw this post on twitter of Rogue carrying Gambit and it said ‘can’t let the bros know I’m cool with this’ or something like that. Anyway it immediately made me think of the babying Az hc I wrote and I couldn’t focus on anything else until I wrote this.

Warnings: mentions of injuries

Now that Madja was gone and his brother’s fussing was over Azriel could finally relax. His latest mission was fairly easy, that was until the last day. It’s always the last day. Azriel had won the fight easily, the male who attacked him clearly didn’t know how to fight, just throwing his muscular body around and hoping to land a blow.

Not that Az would admit this but he got cocky, too cocky and the bastard got him with his knife leaving a wide gash across his chest.

As Azriel relaxed into his pillows, letting his eyes finally rest. Of course right at that moment the front door slammed against the wall, followed by your worried voice. Azriel sat up in anticipation of you entering his room. Bursting through the room with Cass and Rhys on your heels you stop on the threshold.

Dropping your bag you rest your hands above your heart, your face contorted in worry. Your eyes scanning the bandages wrapped around his strong chest. “Oh Azzy,” you say breathless. Rhys opens his mouth to tell you Azriel is fine but Cassian grasped his shoulder. The smirk on his face telling Rhys that he wanted to see how this went.

You rush over to his bed, curling up next to him and holding his head to your chest. Placing kisses all over his face and head you sway him gently. “Are you ok baby? I was so scared when Rhys told me you came home hurt.” leaning back you run your hands over his shoulders gently, making sure to not pull at the bandages.

To your surprise Az leaned into you accepting your loving attention. Not caring that his brothers were watching on. Resting his head against your chest again and wrapping his arms around your middle. “I’m ok, it just stings a lot.” You let out a sympathetic sound, running your hands through his dark hair.

“You poor thing. Rhys,” you turn to the High Lord with a slight scowl on your face, “why didn’t you tell me he was in pain?” Cassian and Rhys couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Their jaws open wide in shock. “I-he, are you kidding? He said he was fine! Az even kicked us out because he said ‘stop babying me, I’m a full grown male!’” Rhys complained.

Cassian was speechless. He couldn’t believe his brother was acting this way.

You let out a sound of disgust, untangling yourself from Azriel’s vice like hold. “Lay back Az,” you say in a soft tone, adjusting his pillows so he can be comfortable. “Are you hungry? What can I get you baby?” You coo at him while brushing his hair back from his slightly warm forehead. You click your tongue at the warmth. “Ugh and you’re warm, did Madja give you something to fight off a potential fever?”

Az nods against his pillows, “It’s downstairs will you get it for me? And can I have that sandwich that you always make, with the cold chicken and stuff?” His voice small and a slight pout on his plump lips. “Of course baby. I’ll be right back.” You kiss the pout from his lips and make your way downstairs with a disapproving look at Rhys.

They all watch you leave. Once you’re down the stairs Rhys and Cass walk over to the end of Azriel’s bed. The High Lord places his hands on his hips giving Azriel an exasperated look. “You are unbelievable.” All Azriel does is smirk at his brother, bringing his arms to rest behind his head. “Don’t lie, you let Feyre and Nesta baby you two.” His brothers scoff at the accusation.

“Nesta would never.” Cassian says dramatically. Rhys purses his lips and shakes his head. “Run along now,” Az says teasingly. “Let me enjoy my pampering in peace brothers.” Rhys shakes his head again as the pair laugh while leaving.

[luvring]

WEDDING MOMENTS

gn!reader | kuroo, bokuto, akaashi, hinata, atsumu, osamu, ushijima hello everyone i'm back 🫶 these are more reception moments than wedding but y'know. give me a break man...

KUROO leans in and whispers in your ear as you dance, “is it bad i want to go home and just lie in bed with you now?” “why are you whispering as if someone can hear you?” you snicker back. tetsurou shoots you a cheeky smile. “so it looks like i’m saying something romantic.” you hit his shoulder, and he only laughs before pulling you into a tight hug. you wait for him to let go before replying. “idiot. but no, it isn’t. my back and feet hurt.” he hums, and you can feel his fingers tapping your back. “do you think it’s possible for newly weds to sneak out of their own wedding reception?”

BOKUTO is walking down the aisle again as everyone disperses to talk or get ready for the reception. you walk up to him, curiosity piqued as he bends down. “what are you doing?” “huh?” he drops a few petals that he was clutching. “crap—hi, baby. i’m just, uh, picking up some of the flowers to take with us. i saw someone do it online, and i thought we could press them or put them somewhere,” he explains softly, as if a little embarrassed. your heart flutters at the thought, and you smile before reaching down yourself. “we better get some flowers, then. and a ziploc bag or something.”

AKAASHI relaxes and rests his head against yours while you watch your guests mingling and dancing. you reach for his hand and intertwine fingers. “you okay?” he nods in response and presses a chaste kiss to your jaw. “yeah, i can finally calm down and not worry about something terrible happening.” “mm, something terrible could still happen.” “love of my life, can you please give your husband a break?” keiji blows air against your skin, eliciting a laugh from you. his tone is light, and you can feel him smiling even while you apologize.

HINATA takes one of the polaroid cameras that you got for the guests. you watch as he poses and takes a picture of himself before handing it to you. “do you want me to take a selfie?” he nods with a grin. “yeah! and also sign it so i can put it in my wallet, or maybe the back of my phone?” his sentence ends as a question to himself. you get your phone so you can check your appearance before mimicking your now husband’s pose. “sho, i swear if mine is bad i want a redo,” you say. he sputters as he looks at his forming photo. “well that’s good because i definitely screwed mine up. i’m like half in the frame.”

ATSUMU’s knee bounces as the video of your relationship the both of you got done nears its end. you shoot him a look, but he doesn’t seem to notice, gaze fixed on the scene. that’s when you hear a familiar voice, but unfamiliar clip start to play. “it’s, fuck, what day is it? november 13, and i’m pretty sure i need t’look for an engagement ring,” your now husband says into the camera. you gape, shock evident across your face. atsumu’s voice is soft as he says your name. “i love you, really. and if you’re seeing this then i didn’t fuck this up, and you decided to marry me, and i’m probably ‘bout to have a heart attack,” he nervously laughs. you turn to atsumu next to you, whose face is flushed red. “don’t look at me, the video isn’t done yet.”

OSAMU keeps holding your hand, and if he isn’t holding it he’s probably thinking of doing so. you don’t mind, finding comfort in the way he rubs the back of it. you’re sitting together when he silently reaches for it again. “i’m pretty sure you’ve held my hand more today than this entire week.” osamu rolls his eyes but smiles. you stare as he gently takes hold of your ring and fidgets with it. “sorry, can’t stop thinkin’ about how we’re actually married now.” you stare at each other, and he rests his chin in his palm. with his other hand, he brings yours up to press gentle kisses against the ring and your skin. “just another excuse to stay close t’you.”

USHIJIMA looks over when you poke his shoulder, and quickly realizes you’re trying to feed him some cake. “say ahh,” you sing song. it’s a half-joke, and you don’t fully expect him to accept, but he leans forward and opens his mouth, hand underneath the fork to catch any crumbs. despite his serious expression and stature, you can't help but think he looks cute. “i know we picked this flavour, but does it taste good?” you ask. wakatoshi nods. “it was a good choice.” he gets a forkful for who you assume is himself. but instead he lifts it toward you. “do you want to try now?”

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @dimslover @kuroaka @vampyrkookie @sunaslay @the-midnightskies @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @scill-a @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia @mitskiologist

[chrollohearttags]

kinktober day nine

character: connie springer

show: attack on titan

kink: anal

word count: 1.9k

content + themes: sex toys (rose, spreader bar, butt plug, anal beads, etc), spit play, fingering, squirting + creaming, choking, reader calls him daddy and papi, baby oil, creampie in a, he is so fucking vocal my goodness, rapper connie/hairstylist reader bc I haven’t written for them in a while.

📝: I hope y’all are still fucking with my kinktober posts. Even though I’m a little delayed with them.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.

dating a rapper was not something for the weak. It was one thing you had heard constantly since your time, working as a hairstylist in the heart of Miami. In a city filled with would-be Instagram models and ladies looking for a come up by marrying some famous athlete or musician, you’d hear the horror stories of how their pursuits had gone wrong. Some left with emotional scars from being led on, others left with a child and little to no support from the fathers. It was a mess to say the least. But the same could not be said when the famed artist and one fourth of the Dead Boys Society, Connie Springer aka Prince Cee, entered your salon…or rather you’d say, for the same reasons. From the second he laid his eyes on you, he was smitten. He was rather familiar with your work and asked to come in for a color job and to put some designs on his head to match his nails he had just gotten manicured. You were more than happy to oblige. Thinking that if for nothing else, he’d make great publicity for your business. What you didn’t count on was falling as hard as you did for the artist! From the second he entered your shop, Connie was such a vibe. Sweet, respectful and so hilarious. He had you cracking up the entire time. As a way to thank you on such short notice, he gave you free tickets, extra pay and asked if he could have the honor of taking you to dinner later in the week. Rather forward, but you liked that in a man. Skip almost six months and some change…and that same man who had walked in that day was now yours officially. Caught up in what could only be described as a whirlwind romance turned beautiful relationship, he had changed your life for the better! Traveling, being lowkey and making love to one another when the time permits. Fucking on islands or the at high rise condo you called home.

by far the healthiest relationship you’d ever had and you had no plans of coming up off of him anytime soon. Especially when the things he did to you…no other man could ever dream of. It was almost your one year anniversary and Connie had gone all out planning a surprise. Gifting you expensive jewelry, eternal roses, a stay in the Maldives and the keys to your second salon. Needless to say, you were overcome with joy. And he didn’t leave empty handed either but you gifted him a new chain, grill and watch. Along with a giant gift box full of his favorite things; shoes, designer clothes and ten bands. You loved a little different when you dated in your tax bracket. But perhaps the best gift of all was not any of those but it was what awaited at the hotel. A bed scattered with rose petals, wine and…some other treasures. Ones that he was going to take great pleasure in using on you. Intense kissing ensued the second you got behind shut doors. Clothes being torn off and tongues clashing in a haze of passion. Fast forward and the next thing you know:

“Ooh..fuck. Connie…”

here you were, howling at the ceiling with your legs spread ten inches apart, courtesy of the bar between your ankles with metal cuffs surrounding them. Your wrists lie suspended in the middle of it and you were entirely under his control. Not that you minded too much. Especially when the plethora of sensations he was inflicting on your body hit all at once. Rubbing on those sensitive, erect nipples whilst the steel of his tongue ring scoured all over your delectable little cunt. Repeatedly prodding at your clit and drumming up a trail of creamy arousal, that was currently dripping down to that puckering asshole..which was also a little preoccupied with a bejeweled plug. It was so sexy and Connie was having his absolute way with you. “Don’t worry, mami. Just keep puttin’ it in my face. Imma let you come soon. Lemme’ enjoy this shit a lil’ bit longer.” That drowsy drawl of his instantly causing your privates to thump. It was something about that voice that got you all worked up. Currently sprawled across the bed in nothing more than his boxers and jewelry, Connie grasped your plush thighs with his hands, sucking on those fat lips and folds..purely enjoying the flavor of your essence. “..’Dis pussy so good, baby. Goddamn.” Even so, he craved a little more tonight. It was no coincidence that you were sporting that toy in your other entrance. Because whilst he was having his fill of your sweet sex, he’d work to train that little hole; stretching and stuffing you with a string of beads designed for this, lubing you up and finally, letting you sport that cute plug. Just for his viewing pleasure though, he’d slick that pretty brown skin of yours up with oil. It was like an adult flick, just for his viewing and tasting pleasure. He’d slowly push two fingers into your core, gently working them in and out of your tightness..his hand intermittently slipping between his thighs to stroke his cock. He was getting extremely aroused at the thought of what was to come. Growing far more excited as he thought about getting to explore that pretty little asshole. Puckering and eagerly awaiting him..suddenly, he’d withdraw and drag a trail of saliva along with him, feeding you a kiss to let you get a sample.

“Mmm, damn. Can’t wait to fuck you, baby..can’t wait to fuck that lil’ asshole.” Almost drowsy and drunk off of your essence. Connie then reached over to retrieve the tiny bottle of condensed lubricant to coat himself and your hole. In one fell swoop, he’d shuffle those boxers down his waistline and let his length spring forth. His swollen tip pulsating red and emitting slippery precum as he laid it flat across your slit. Waiting patiently, you’d find yourself huffing in anticipation..wondering how it would feel. He’d done ample prep so now, it was time for the real thing. Spread wide open, (y/n) chewed profusely at your bottom lip as he’d slowly remove that plug; toiling his thumb pad over the entrance.

“You ready f’r this dick, mama? Hmm?..” questioning sweetly whilst slicking you up with a trail of spit. “Beg for it. Tell me how much you want that shit..” and you had no issue doing so. Begging him and whimpering in that sweet little tone. “Fuck me..put that dick in my ass, please..wanna feel you so deep.” It was as you were pleading your case, you’d feel a rather interesting sensation. That swollen member pushing through your tight bundle of nerves, filling you in an instant. Those brown eyes expanded to the width of quarters and your breath hitched within the back of your throat. It was unlike anything you’ve ever felt..warm, full and so goddamn good! But you weren’t the only one loving the sensation of your body right now. Tossing his head back, Connie shuddered with only half of his shaft embedded in you. But still stuffing you to the brim..he didn’t know for sure how long he’d last in it, as this was his first time doing anal as well but he’d enjoy every moment! Grasping the backs on your pinned legs, he’d ensure that you were okay for him to start moving and then proceed..

“There we go…just stay still and keep them’ eyes on me, okay?” Those rose petals pressed to your skin as you slicked with sweat and oil, lying there as you allowed him to delve deeper. Starting out with a slow pace, Connie began bucking his hips forward and developing a rhythm. Sucking his teeth to try and grit through it. He didn’t want to bust too quickly and embarrass himself but it was too much..so he’d eventually speed up and gather his bearings. That’s when he’d truly find his footing; fucking you the way he was supposed to!

“Just like that, baby. Just like that..feel good, mama? Yeah, you gon’ come for me, ain’t you?” Cooing whilst slipping a thumb between your lips. Nodding with a pathetic whimper. “Yes, papi. Keep fucking me..that dick feels so good in my ass.” “And you takin’ that muhfucka’ so good, baby. Shit…”

encouraging you as he could feel himself swelling inside of you..growing by the second. He couldn’t take it. Especially when he felt you twitching around his entire shaft and watching that pussy drip with cream from the impact. It was unbelievable how wet you had gotten from getting your asshole pounded. Those strokes turned from gentle and repetitive to fast and sporadic. He couldn’t stay still any longer nor could he feign off his urges to fuck you like an animal! Grasping for both your bars and the headboard, he’d free your wrists from the confines with one click, only to prompt you to use them elsewhere. “Grab that toy, baby. Play with that pussy real quick. Know she wet as hell f’r me.” Not even halting to give you the instructions. Only digging deeper and deeper. Grasping for the pink rose device, you’d make haste in clicking the on switch as you placed the suction part directly on your clit. The zaps of vibration combined with that euphoric fullness had you ready to shoot from the bed but alas, you weren’t done quite yet and neither was he! Those hazel eyes glaring down at you in absolute adoration as he whispered sweet nothings over your lips. Telling you how pretty you looked, how you were his good girl and that he loved you so much. Constantly rumbling on without a single breath. He was running on pure adrenaline and just at the moment; knowing that his impending climax was near.

“Fuck…fuuuuck me. Yes, stretch this ass. Don’t stop, please..”

“Not ‘till I nut all in this bitch, baby. Not till I fill you—“

at that very moment, his inflated words came to a halt and you’d watch as Connie’s face began to contort in pleasure. You knew he had just broken stride and next thing you knew, he’d halt in his tracks, but those warm strings began pumping into you, just as he promised. Stuffing you with ropes full of cum. It was the best thing you’d ever experienced. Shortly thereafter, that rose would bring you to your peak and a stream of squirt shot up against his abs. Finding yourself flailing around in pure bliss. Reality seemed to have faded for both of you in that split second, but you’d come back to as you basked in the afterglow together. Caressing the side of his face, (y/n) pulled him..

“I need a kiss. C’mere.” Shoving his tongue into your jaws as he clutched a hand around your throat. Hands down, this was the best night of your life. One you’d cherish for a long time.

“Happy anniversary, ma. I love you.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :

@greenieweeniesworld @spaceforher @anubisisthebomb @crazychaoticizzy @makaylasierra789 @momobaby227 @certified-stargirl @thickbihhwitdagapp @kameko-ko @valentineluvu @mukurosbracup @prettypink-princesss @bleach-your-panties @astrokatsuki

[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo going berserk after his wife got injured

Pairing: husband!Gojo x reader

Word Count: 1,5k

Warnings: slight injury, language, Gojo being really mad lol

Notes: My dearest @hitori979, this one is dedicated to you! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for supporting me since day 0, always liking and commenting my brainrot. I hope you enjoy this fanfic as a little thank you from me 🤍 How other JJK men react when (y/n) gets hurt here Choso with injured (y/n) who has blood phobia here

„Do you really have to go, babe?“, Satoru’s oh so sweet voice mumbles against your neck.

You know exactly what he’s up to. Satoru always acts this way when you’re about to leave for a mission. How much he hates to see you walk through the door. While he’s fully aware of the fact that you’re a damn strong jujutsu sorcerer, he just dislikes the thought of you getting injured on some stupid mission. If he had it his way, you would stay at home, maybe teach here and there at Jujutsu High, but that’s it.

You are way too precious to risk your life on a mission.

“You know I have to. This is my job, remember? And I have to let you go every day, knowing that you’re not even paying attention. May I remind you that I haven’t been injured for over a year?”, you softly reply.

“That’s not true, I am paying attention!”

You raise your eyebrow demandingly by the way he ignored your last question.

“At least sometimes…Come on babe, this is not fair! Just because you haven’t been injured for some time doesn’t mean you won’t get injured today! Also, I wanted to spend the day with you!”, he complains, arms wrapped around your frame so tightly that it’s getting hard to breathe.

“You always want to spend the day with me. As much as I’d love to stay here, I have to go. Megumi will assist me.”

“I should assist you…”, he mumbles.

“They wouldn’t even send me, then”, you chuckle.

“Promise that you’ll text me, I already threatened Megumi to take care of you.”

“I will, darling. Now let me go or I’ll be late.”

With one last grumble and kiss, he finally lets go of you while you smile to yourself. God, how much you adore your husband. Even though it can be quite challenging from time to time, you admire the way he cares about you.

“I love you”, you shout before you close the door behind you.

“Love you too!”

-later-

“Don’t worry, one or two hours and we’ll be done with this”, you reassure Megumi who stands beside you.

“This doesn’t look good”, he comments.

Unfortunately, he’s right. You don’t know why there are so many curses around, but an uneasy feeling spreads in your guts. This isn’t the right place for a grade 2 sorcerer, let alone a first class student. Well, maybe even you…

“Try to stay behind me. This will get ugly”, you instruct Megumi when another wave of curses appears.

“Gojo-sensei will kill me if you get injured because of me.”

You wink at him while as you unsheathe your sword.

“Who said I will?”

Without wasting another precious minute you sprint forwards, eyes darting around the area. There are so many, way too fucking many, curses around here. This isn’t normal, something is very wrong here. But you don’t have time to think about it any further – Megumi’s and your life depend on your abilities.

You fight off more than 40 curses with ease, slashing your sword over and over. Fuck, this has no end. As soon as you exorcise one curse, two more appear on your sides and try to attack you. With every passing minute it becomes clearer and clearer to you that you won’t be able to complete this mission unscathed with Megumi alone.

“Here are many curses around, I can’t explain why though. It wouldn’t hurt to send some help”, you instruct into your headphone, fully aware of the fact that your husband is able to hear your decent cry for help as well and might freak out.

Where do all of these curses come from? This is a public place, it shouldn’t be possible for them to develop here this well. Expect this aren’t traditional curses…

“I won’t lie to you: Something’s off here. I’m not entirely sure if these are normal curses. Just stand your ground, I already informed the higher ups about this”, you inform Megumi with firm voice, fighting off a curse just before it is able to scratch your face open.

They come from all directions, almost absorbing you. Desperately you fight back with all your abilities, holding onto your sword so tight that your knuckles stand out white. You have to get through all of these curses, you have to find out why they’re here and why on earth so numerous.

But you can’t. Your thoughts wander to Satoru and his words this morning. He’ll definitely go insane when he hears about this. And for a moment, a wave of relief washes over you by that thought. Because this means he’ll come here and end this madness without Megumi getting hurt.

Megumi.

You almost miss the way a curse lunges from behind towards him while he’s busy fighting off three other ones at the same time. Instinctively you sprint forwards as fast as your feet carry you, breath going sharp and fast. No way in hell this thing will hurt Megumi. Not when you’re in charge.

“Bend over!”, you scream on top of your lungs, blade already on its way to cut through that curse.

But just before you hit it, its claws find their way into your face, scratching your forehead slightly before it falls to the ground lifelessly.

You hiss, a stinging pain crawling up your skin. But when you gently scan the spot with your fingertips, only a minor stain of blood shows itself. You let out your breath, relief flooding your body. This is nothing serious, nothing to worry about.

But before you sprint back in action, a reflex holds you back.

“Don’t move an inch, Megumi”, you warn the boy next to you.

In the split of a second, a wave of hollow purple rushes past your orbs, killing every curse on its way. You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, heartbeat picking up in an instant. It’s him. It has to be him.

“(y/n)!”, he cries out, large frame suddenly by your side.

“What is this?”, he hisses.

Frantically, his eyes scan your forehead, widen in blank horror.

“Oh, this? Just a minor wound, nothing to worry ab-“

“Nothing to worry about!? You promised to be careful, you promised not to get hurt!”, he literally scolds you while his fingertips inspect your wound.

“Stop that”, you warn him, slapping his hand away.

“I did the best I could but they were just too many. And there are always more to come, look.”

Not even a minute later, dozens of new curses begin to flood the streets.

“We need to get back to work!”

“No”, he interrupts you roughly.

“Not you, you’ll stay here.”

You can’t believe your ears, mouth too stunned to speak for a second. He can’t be serious, right? This is your mission. You won’t give up because a small wound on your forehead that isn’t even bleeding severely.

“This is my mission, Satoru. I will help you exorcising these curses”, you state in all seriousness.

“Oh yeah? Watch me, then.”

You aren’t able to react any further. With breathtaking speed, Satoru lunges from curse to curse, ripping their heads off in the most violent way you have ever seen while all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. Of course you always knew that your husband is not to be trifled with when it comes to his precious wife, but you’ve never thought that his concern would reach as far as him going berserk because of you.

Because of a minor laceration on your forehead.

It doesn’t even take him 30 seconds to kill all the curses entirely, leaving you completely speechless and a little dizzy. When he walks towards you, a maniac smile is plastered on his blood-covered face.

“No one is hurting my wife and gets away with it. Especially not some random curse”, he announces under his breath, gaze still stone cold.

“How are you feeling, love? Is your head doing okay? Did you get injured somewhere else?”

As soon as his eyes meet yours, they are filled with nothing but concern and love, making your heart skip a beat.

“N-No…I’m fine…”, you stutter while getting lost in his bright blue orbs all over again.

His hands roam around your body gently, gaze scanning every inch of you with that worried expression plastered on his face. Moments like these show you with all urgency how much you really mean to your husband.

“I will kill every single curse walking on this earth to save you, (y/n)”, he speaks out with low voice, lips hungrily brushing over yours so strongly expressed that you feel like fainting.

“I’m sorry you were worried”, you mumble against his mouth.

“You’ll never get hurt by a curse again. I’ll make sure of that.”

[juneofdoom]

What up, whump fam?!

June of Doom 2024 Prompts!

We've brought back some old favorites/ popular prompts from last year with a healthy dash of new!

Please feel free to participate with original or fan works of any kind (writing, photos, gifs, mood boards, videos, songs, whatever creative medium your heart desires!). You can do one or all of the prompts on any given day, and if none are to your liking, check out the alternate prompts!

Two rules this year!

As with last year, tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.

AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.

Text list below the cut for easier crossings-off. And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog your awesome here! Have fun!

“Help me.”                                        | Failed Escape | On the Run | Fetal Position |

“It didn’t have to be this way.”             | Scream | Double Cross | Made to Watch |

“Well, well, well…”                            | Hiding | Ambushed | Stalking |

“Does that hurt?”                               | Impalement | Fracture | Punishment |

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”                 | Bite | Swelling | Disfiguration |

“They don’t care about you.”               | Flinch | Broken Promise | Abandoned |

“What happened?”                            | Nightmare | Isolation | Stumbling |

“This is your last chance.”                    | Drowning | Chair | Prisoner Trade |

“I made a mistake.”                            | Accident | Acceptance | Blame |

“Can you hear me?”                           | Fear | Smoke | Phone Call |

“We’re out of time.”                           | Bleeding Out | Collapse | Flatline |

“I can’t stand seeing you like this.”        | Dehydration | Grief | Coma |

“Wait!”                                             | Sacrifice | Adrenaline | Cornered |

“What were you thinking?”                  | Surrender | Human Shield | Outmatched |

“Get me out of here!”                         | Rescue | Chainsaw | Presumed Dead |

“At least it can’t get any worse.”           | Secret | Stranded | Setback |

“You don’t want to do that.”                | Struggle | Blackmail | Desperate Measures |

“I’m fine.”                                         | Self-defense | Allergies | Headache |

“This can’t be happening!”                  | Sobbing | Straitjacket | Dissociation |

“I can handle it.”                                | Scrape | Panic Attack | Neglect |

“Let’s play a game. “                           | Stairs | Pressure Points | Trap Door |

“What’s the bad news?”                      | Poison | Bedridden | Cauterization |

“You’re doing great.”                         | Trembling | Gaslighting | Rules |

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”                  | Blankets | Stitches | Bandages |

“I should have listened to you.”           | Guilt | Backseat | Failure |

“Don’t lie to me.”                               | Rage | Choke | Paranoia |

“Or what?”                                       | Defiance | Display | Last Resort |

“Say something.”                               | Numb | Cold Shoulder | Gag |

“I’m so cold.”                                    | Delirium | Fever | Exposure |

“Breathe, damn you!”                         | Shock | Asphyxiation | Emergency Room |

ALTERNATE PROMPTS

“Who did this to you?”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not okay.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“You poor thing.”

Attending Your Own Funeral

Broken Glass

Mask

Whip

Obedience

[remuslovebot]

Ok but what if Felix x fem!reader and Oliver is tryin to kill her first yk but fails like maybe Felix walks in and Oliver tries to lie n cover it up type of thing or that reader just ended up in a small coma? Am I ok to request this?

please i love this, honestly a sucker for angst so thank you for sending this to me 😵🫶🏻

i hope you enjoy xx

❧❧❧❧

pairing: felix catton x fem! reader

warnings: attempted murder, physical abuse, angst but with a happy ending, oliver is his own warning. lmk if i missed anything

masterlist

You had found out Oliver’s secret. He was lying to Felix and everyone about his family.

One day you and Oliver were sun bathing, waiting for Felix to return from a discussion with Farleigh. Oliver was wondering what was taking so long so he went over to where they were. He’d left his phone on his chair and it started to ring.

It was his mother. Curious, you answered the call. That was when you found out everything. The lie about his Father, his financial status, everything. You were in shock and also angry. How dare Oliver take advantage of Felix like that. How dare he take advantage of your friendship.

You planned to confront him and that’s exactly what you went to do. Walking back into the castle, you saw Oliver walking up the stairs.

“Hey Ollie!” You shouted. He turned around and looked at you with confusion. You tossed him his flip phone.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You asked, your protective side coming out.

“Y/n, you’re acting strange. I don’t know what you mean?” Oliver said, although on the inside he was nervous.

Oliver and you were both on the stair case, he was above you and you were closer to the ledge.

“I know you lied. I know everything! About your father and where you come from. You’re a fucking liar, Ollie,” you said, looking up at him defensively.

With him being on the stairs, he was taller than you. Oliver walked down a couple steps, to match your eyesight.

“How could you have possibly found out?” Oliver asked, his voice now lower and more intense. It wasn’t a denial and you took a step back.

“Your mother called. She wanted to send you a card for your birthday,” you snapped.

“You should be careful. You might trip,” Oliver said. He needed to get rid of you. Or else you would mess up his plans.

You stood your ground, “I’m going to tell Felix. In fact I’m going to tell everyone,” you said lowly, looking directly into Ollie’s eyes.

In an instant, Oliver’s hand went around your neck, choking you. “You are not going to tell a soul. Is that clear?” He asked, almost teasingly.

You panicked and tried to pull away from him, but when you did you fell down the bottom of the stairs. Everything went pitch black.

At that moment, Felix and Farleigh had walked into the room. Farleigh only saw you fall but Felix saw Oliver’s hand around your throat and then saw you collapse down the stairs.

Felix’s heart broke, seeing you unconscious at the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh my god! did you push you her?” Farleigh yelled in shock.

Oliver looked at Farleigh and Felix. “It was an accident. She was going to attack me,” Oliver said, trying to play the victim.

Felix didn’t care though, he knew what he saw. And he wanted answers. But first you need to go a hospital.

“Y/n, baby please wake up,” Felix said, hovering over you on his knees. He lifted your head up and some of your body but you were out cold.

“Felix I—,” Oliver began to say, but Felix looked up at him in pure anger.

“Go. Now. Before I do something I’ll have to cover up,” Felix threatened. If looks could kill then Oliver would be a dead man.

Farleigh called Elsbeth and Sir James and the family immediately called the fastest doctor they could find.

That was the thing about being rich, you could get anything delivered to you at any time.

One of the guest rooms was turned into a hospital room. You still hadn’t woken up and Felix wouldn’t leave your side. The doctor said you weren’t in grave danger. But just in a small coma because of the impact of your head hitting the stone floor and the loss of oxygen from being choked.

Felix was angry at Oliver. Oliver had went to his room after Felix threatened him. Duncan had locked the door.

Felix would get his answers soon. But he knew he wouldn’t believe Oliver in the slightest. He had no right to put his hands on you.

Felix stayed by your side the entire night. You still hadn’t woken up and he was worried you never would. He took your hand and squeezed it comfortingly, he needed you to know that he was by your side.

Then, as if you’d felt Felix’s touch, you slowly opened your eyes.

“Felix,” you said, your voice soft and hoarse.

Felix’s heart leaped and he smiled when you awoke. “Y/n, darling. I’m here,” he said, softly.

“Felix,” you said, beginning to cry. You thought you were going to die. You didn’t know Oliver could do those horrible things.

“Shh it’s okay, lovely girl. I got you. You are safe,” Felix comforted. “I’m not going to let anybody hurt you,” he insisted.

Your stomach filled with butterflies and a small wave of comfort washed over you.

“But Oliver—he, he’s not who you say he is,” You said, looking at Felix like you would need hours to convince him.

But Felix wanted him out of the house for just purely putting his hands on you. When hearing this though, Felix raised a brow.

“How do you mean?” He asked. And you explained. The call with his mother, the confused questions you asked when you heard that his father really wanted to see Oliver.

Felix’s face broke and grew in concern. He felt like an idiot. How could he have put his trust in such a person? How could he have let someone like him anywhere near you?

“I’m so sorry, Felix. I know you two are close,” you said, tears streaming delicately down your face.

Felix shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I should apologize to you. I’ll fix this. We’ll have Oliver out of the house by the end of the day,”

“And when we return to Oxford?” You asked, Felix wiped your tears away with the pads of his thumb.

“We won’t see him back at Oxford, I promise,” Felix replied. “Get some rest. I’ll be right here and I’ll protect you.”

You nodded and closed your eyes. As soon as you fell asleep, Felix called his father into the room. Felix never left your side but told his father that Oliver needed to be removed from the house and a restraining order needed to be placed on him.

Felix would never let anything like this happen again. Not to the people he loves—especially you.

[devilmademewriteit]

If You Lie Down With Me

pairing: (pre-ellie) dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: there’s only one guy in all of boston that can get you a morning after pill. unfortunately, on top of being a huge asshole, Joel Miller also happens to be your dad’s closest peer.

warnings: rough sex / smut (masturbation, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; unprotected sex; light choking & restraint; light dom/sub dynamic; fem afab reader; reader has long-ish hair (that gets touched); plot-typical violence (guns, death); plot deviations (no Tess); medication ingestion; pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, no explicit consent).

word count: 6.5k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all I’m baaaaAAAaack! so this is basically the other version of Dark But Just a Game that I started back when I was writing it & figured I’d finish it to get out of my hiatus. like any devilmademewriteit fic, it’s dark and nasty and deprived like meeeeeee <3 hope u enjoy !

don’t forget to reblog, check out my masterlist, sign up for the taglist, & leave any comments / feedback / & suggestions!

(ps: new part of Salvatore up next !)

—

“three times the guy I ever thought I would meet, so don't say you're over me when we both know that you lie”

— lana del rey, ‘If You Lie Down With Me’

—

Fuck.

Waking up to a racing heart, a pounding head, and a stomach swimming with nausea was never ideal, although it was always a better experience alone — when you could squint and hiss at the light slicing through the weaknesses in the drapes without hearing your groans echoed by a lower, louder, and annoyingly more pitiful voice.

Right. What was his name?

Jared? Jordan? Jermaine?

Ah, who cares.

If he’d wanted a safe place to nurse his hangover, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed. Sure, the odds of dad being conscious at this hour (especially the odds after a party like last night’s) were Kate Moss — no, Rolling Stones — slim, but the man would get up at some point, meaning that this poor J-whatever was likely sleeping through his only window of escape from certain homicide.

You whisper. You shake him gently. You gingerly tap the roundness of his bicep.

Huh — Not bad.

You congratulate last-night-you for reeling in this morning’s good-looking catch.

Still… nothing. Not a twitch. Nary a croaked ‘lemmesleep’ graces your ears.

After loosing an exasperated sigh and running through your options, you decide to take the most effective (and least girl-next-door) route. The corner of your elbow collides with his ribs, and the boy jumps up, his loose, blonde curls as wild as his eyes, searching the room for his attacker.

You want to smile at the scene, but the motion hurts your head.

“Y’gotta go,” you croak out, thumbs rubbing circles against your aching temples.

He collapses onto his back, copying your movement with his own fingers to his brow. “God. I feel like shit.”

Despite muttering your agreement, you let your eyelashes flutter closed and your weight turn you away from last night’s paramour: no use figuring out who he is after the (f)act — that just makes it personal.

After a few breaths, the boy moves back up to a shakey sitting position.

Probably sourcing for his clothes.

He reeks of booze and sex — but then again, so do you. His roughened, unfamiliar tenor climbs to barely above a whisper, “Z’something stuck on my leg… blood, or something…”

His interrupting your suffering comes as a deeply unwelcome annoyance, so you try to sort him out to clear him out: “Prolly just the condom,” you mumble, rolling back onto your shoulders, reluctantly supervising his movements.

He lifts up fully, sitting criss-cross and pulling his calf towards him.

“No,” he tries to laugh but succumbs to the nausea, settling for a low breath instead, “S’blood, dude, from beer darts — and I didn’t use a condom.”

Your eyes immediately dart over, settling on his naked, wretched, shivering form. He notices your ire and the hitching of your throat, immediately defensive.

“I asked if you wanted to.”

Unfortunately, he had. The memories of your drunken entanglement start to resurface inside your mind. “It just feels better without one.” This time, you curse last-night-you for being such a careless, inconsiderate, horny bastard.

You’re making problems for me, girl.

“J’s get out.”

J-whatever spares no time complying, collecting his few strewn belongings and staggering out the front door. Once it slides shut, so too do your poor, weary eyes.

Shit.

There goes the afternoon.

Getting your hands on condoms in the QZ was at least fifteen times easier than snatching a morning after pill. Those were a hot commodity, especially among the younger, less responsible crowds.

Luckily for you, as a member of aforementioned younger, less responsible crowds, you knew where your best chances lay in finding whatever it was you needed (if what you needed was deeply immoral or wholly illegal). Unluckily for you, that ‘best chance’ happened to be your dad’s closest and longest-running business partner: temperamental, judgemental, frustratingly competent, Joel ‘Local Asshole’ Miller.

But that could all be dealt with after another eight hours of sleep.

—

Opportunity strikes sooner than expected.

Miller’s in your living room by the time you wake up, the low rumble of his southern baritone recognizable even through the closed door. After scrambling to throw on some clothes, you press an ear to the chipping paint, hoping to determine the number of bodies gathered in your home.

Not many. Just Miller (and the old man, of course).

The latter’s presence bodes ill for you. This would all have to be done in secret, which was not an uncommon strategy where ever the former was involved. No one dealt with Joel Miller to conduct clean-cut, wholesome activities. No one was calling him up for a spare copy of the holy book.

No, getting him alone was essential.

A drink slams down on the counter. After a good, patient ten minutes, you hear your father (‘s rather crude way of) excusing himself to the washroom and heavy-set footsteps decrescendoing down the hall.

This is it.

You slip through the door.

At first, your company takes no notice of you, his eyes still glued to the maps and papers littering the counter before him.

Then, a low grumble: “fun night?”

His voice makes you weak in the knees — an involuntary, near ritual-like response you’d noticed around your mid teens and hadn’t managed to kick yet.

You swallow before responding. “Yes.”

It’s all you manage to muster. Miller finally looks up, wincing slightly as his back straightens. He looks tired, at least more than usual, with his wild, grey-streaked hair tousled and the lines by his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

You’re sure you don’t look much better, a suspicion proven by the man’s slowly spreading, barely-noticeable smirk. That gaze makes you self conscious, mute; your right hand snakes up, absent-mindedly dragging a fallen bra strap back to its proper position.

“So, what was his name?”

He’s teasing, sure, but Miller was there last night. He’d always had sharper perceptions than your father did, especially — and ironically — when it came to you. That skill tended to squander your confidence as the daughter of a modern-day mafia-boss and the owner of a hard, violent heart.

Rushed by the sound of your father’s footsteps, you default to honesty.

“I don’t remember.”

“Try.”

“Josh.”

Amusement flits across his stern expression. “Again.”

“Jamie.”

“Warmer.”

“J-J-something—”

“Gettin’ colder, sweetheart—”

“I need the pill.”

It just tumbles out, an exasperated, desperate plea. Miller, a bit taken aback by your candor, drains of his previous playfulness. You almost notice the split second those dark eyes glaze over. For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s distracted by his imagination’s recreations of the act that had you making such a request.

You almost notice the tingling between your thighs.

He stares. You stare back.

Fuck.

It was moments like this that made you wish Tess was still around. Oh, she wouldn’t be any kinder — no, not at all — but she’d certainly be more professional. Tess was all work, no play. Joel was…

You’re enjoying this, you bastard. You’re enjoying that I’m cornered like this, aren’t you?

The bathroom handle clicks when it turns, and your heart drops into your toes.

Maybe Miller really wasn’t going to help you. Maybe he didn’t have the pill and you’d just embarrassed yourself for nothing. Or, maybe he did, but preferred outing you to your dad at the very first opportunity — letting him deal with you the only way he knew how.

Your fears seem confirmed: his eyes leave the grace of your own, trailing back to his big, splayed hands on the countertop. Unwelcome tears burn the corners of your eyes as the panic begins to set in, as footsteps begin to fall…

“Mine. Tonight.”

It’s low and rushed, but it’s clear, cutting off to the sound of your father lumbering in. A man who saw, thought, and lived through transactions, he’s (thankfully) blissfully ignorant of the tension collapsing around him.

“Morning,” he throws your way.

A taunt, of course — it was well past noon.

You nod in acknowledgement, slowly backing into the doorway of your sacred, beckoning room. They resume their conversation from before, letting you sink into irrelevance.

Before shutting yourself in, you catch a few of Miller’s hushed words. They’re spoken casually to your father but, you later decide, surely meant for you:

“Not that one kid — Jeremy — don’t trust him.”

The door seals (well, not seals… it creaks on its rusty hinges and squeezes into its shrinking frame), and relief courses through you, reaching the very tips of your fingers.

That only lasts a minute.

Soon, you’re negotiating with the rising anxiety of being at Miller’s place alone, asking for his help with a problem that could’ve been avoided if you’d only kept your legs shut.

Alone with Miller, the both of you knowing that you hadn’t.

Crawling back under your covers, you begrudgingly make a vow of celibacy. If this was the cost of attention and a (potential) mid-range orgasm, you were about to become very frugal.

Dreams come easy, but they don’t come sweet.

Flashes of last night’s sins overlay Joel Miller’s unintelligible speech, his voice from the next room over lulling you into a rather confusing, disturbed sleep.

—

At nighttime, it’s a short walk to his building.

Down this alley, past this street, up this back stairwell. Part of being in with Boston’s seedy underbelly gained you access to the best and most up-to-date intel; by the age of twelve, you could run the safest — well, least policed — post-curfew routes from memory.

(Which had come in handy in situations a lot more dire than this.)

Sneaking in was easy, although you cursed him for being so preoccupied during the day. Coming in at this hour required some delicate maneuvers through a half-shattered window, and a less-than-graceful leap down left you with a nick on your cheekbone and a shallow cut along the side of your hand.

Thankfully, the blood mostly dries on your walk up the six or eight or ten flights of stairs. You don’t resent the exercise; it feels good to move, putting the jitters building in every still moment in abeyance.

Still moments like the kind that passes after a barely-audible, coded knock delivered by a girl sucking on the side of her hand, almost wishing for the door not to open.

It does.

He’s in jeans — dirty jeans, dusty — and a simple flannel. It’s Miller — it’s Miller at his most Joel-Miller-like-ness.

So why am I so fucking nervous?

He holds the door open, brows knitting at the sight of your hand in your mouth.

“Window,” You offer.

He mouthes a silent ‘ah,’ before leaning forward to duck his head out the door and, in the process, somewhat sandwiching you against his chest.

Maybe it’s because he smells like forest-fires, but your skin burns red-hot.

Miller looks both ways, checking the status of the hall (empty), then nudges you into the dim light of his place with the weight of his hand against your lower back.

The door shuts behind you.

You’d been here at least a million times before, but the thoughts rising now feel so… new. The jacket strewn on the side of the sagging sofa is his — Joel Miller has sat at this table and showered, slept, fucked inside these walls.

Cut it out. It’s just ‘cause you’re alone. And older.

But what about it, now that you were alone and older?

Old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman and a little bit of desperation at just the right amounts… and there sure was a lot of him, and some desperation, too…

“Nervous?”

Your feet hit the floor, all thoughts evaporating at the sound of his word. Blushing, you try to de-code his taunt, spoken with playfulness and too much condescension.

“Wh — what’d you — nervous for what? No.”

He’s already across the room, sifting through a box of miscellaneous items. A yellowed lamp shade catches his side-profile, illuminates the smirk spreading across his face. Then, a low command:

“Relax,” and your spine settles, acceding to his wish. “Some girls get nervous, y’know, takin’ it the first time.”

Oh.

You clear your throat, daring to take a step into his place, incensed enough to trace the indents and stab-marks decorating his kitchen table.

“No.”

You’re taken aback by the accuracy and the strength underpinning your answer. It’s true, you aren’t afraid, and hadn’t been afraid of much in a very long while.

What’s a Joel Miller to your best friend’s public hanging? What’s he to a dozen rows of semi automatics raining down on your zigzagging toes? What’s he to a period cramp?

Like a bolt of lightning hitting you in the chest, that cocky, gauche and indelicate rebel you’d grown into reappears.

“I’ve been told I take things pretty well my first time.” The tension rises — this time, at your command — just as Joel does, carrying a leather pouch in his right hand. “And it’s not, anyways,” you add for good measure.

The leather drops onto the marked-up table. Joel crosses his arms.

“Not sellin’ me on givin’ you one of these, sweetheart.”

He gestures to the bag.

A mock-frown as you draw closer to him. His eyes, although severe, reflect the playfulness dancing in your own.

“Why not?” You ask, voice dripping with false innocence.

Joel’s gaze doesn’t stray as it hardens, focused on your own. “They’re for accidents, mistakes, attacks,” he explains, deep and dangerous, “Not girls who can’t keep their pretty lil’ legs together.”

Oof.

On one hand, it sounds like he’s genuinely chastising you for your careless behaviour. But, on the other, he sounds jealous, taunting, hungry.

I’ll play that hand.

Sleeping all day had left you wide awake, and that long-time, school-girl crush on the man before you was dying for content to fantasize about. Even if he pushed you off, you’d get to feel the weight of his hands on your body, right?

So, you return with a taunt of your own: “You think my legs are pretty?”

He shakes his head, his signature scowl spreading as he mostly ignores you. “I think you should at least use condoms,” a breath, “N’ know their first names.”

Ouch.

“I usually do.” you murmur, “and it broke last night.”

“Bullshit.”

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

Joel sighs and lowers himself into one of the four old, rickety chairs lining the table. His hand comes up to his temples and you notice how his legs, exhausted, part.

The man doesn’t deign to respond.

Irritation begins to well in your core, sneaking through your arms and up into your throat. The muscle in your jaw must be twitching like crazy.

How does he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Across the QZ, as a skilled liar and born and bred bandit, people tended to hold whatever image of you that you’d crafted for them.

Not Joel. Never Joel.

He saw through you in a way that had always felt… intimate. It was one of the reasons, you guessed, he didn’t dare spend too much time alone with you and why you’d always been curious about him (as a man, of course). Now, there was no avoiding your obvious vulnerability from either of you — you were stripped bare, your dressings in his hand.

It makes you want to flee as much as it makes you want to leap into his arms.

You snatch up the pouch, opening it up to find a mass of differently coloured and shaped pills. Rifling through, you ignore Joel’s stare boring into your hands’ erratic search.

“Yellow ones,” he says.

“I know what they look like,” you retort.

“‘Course you do.”

He moves faster than he should be able to.

One moment, your palm is slicing through the air, headed straight for the highest point of his cheek. The next, you’re facedown on the table. Your attacking hand is caged in by a much larger, much stronger one, pinned to the decaying wood; the other, he pins behind your back. Pills litter the floor — Joel’s boot crunches into a wayward one as he adjusts himself behind you, leaning over your struggling, smaller frame, immobilizing you with his weight.

“Let go of me—” you hiss, words smothered by the wooden surface pressed to your profile.

“—Shut up ‘n listen,” he commands, leaning over to tower over his trapped victim. “Try that again n’I’ll do worse’n kill you. Understand?”

Despite the authenticity of his threat, a strangled laugh wracks your lungs.

“Gonna turn me in for contraband, Miller? Watch them gun me down in the square?”

You smile through your heavy breaths. There, behind your hips, is a growing movement indicative of some other kind of punishment he’s got in mind.

“Or,” you continue on coyly, “Give me another reason to need that pill?”

Joel pauses, untangling your meaning.

Then, an exasperated scoff. His hold tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You always thinkin’ of the fastest way to get a man to fuck you?”

“Only when his cock’s pressed against my ass.”

He goes quiet — only for a moment. Somewhere outside, rounds echo through the night.

“Z’that what you want?” His voice is deep and threatening, promising of the kind of hard, mind-numbing fuck you’d been craving for weeks.

After a hard swallow, you nod, catching the raise of his eyebrows in your periphery.

A moment passes as he mulls over your answer. Only your shallow, anticipatory breaths populate the quiet space.

“Alright.”

And he lets go.

Heart racing, wrists aching, you flip around to his neutral, impenetrable expression.

“Get down on your knees.”

Without taking a moment to decide whether you’re living anything more than just a really fucked up dream, you sink to your knees, folding your hands in your lap (to stop them from shaking). Before you, Joel’s bulge twitches while he watches you yielding to submission, and you try to ignore the excitement building between your own two legs.

His eyes burn into yours: black, starved, weighty. He tells you to shut your own and you do, unable to resist the tone of his command. Within the self-imposed darkness, Joel’s following order — ‘open your mouth,’ — parts your lips as if they were under his spell. You wonder what you must look like to him, needy and ready to receive whatever you’re given.

He speaks again.

“Show me your tongue, angel.”

The gruffness punctuating his arousal doesn’t let you stand a chance. You let your mouth fall open wider.

Next, there’s rustling. You try to remember whether or not he’d had on a belt, listening and failing to hear the soft clinks of a buckle coming undone.

Too soon, something wraps around your chin — thick, calloused fingers — and the pressure of a thumb running down the middle of your tongue sends a rush of electricity down every stacked vertebrae. It’s slow, tantalizingly slow, as if the man were trying to memorize the feel of every groove, ridge, and bud on his leisurely way out.

When Joel drops his hand, a small weight remains at the back of your throat.

“Close.”

You do, opening your eyes to meet his own: severe and wanting — or wanting for severity?

It’s a pill. That much is obvious once the taste begins to spread, bitter and chemical and totally gag-worthy. He follows up with ‘swallow’ for his own sick enjoyment; by the time he says it, it’s clear that you already have.

What kind of game is this, Miller?

Your cheeks burn when your company kneels down. He places his big, broad hand partly on your neck, partly to the side of your jaw, and you’re still too taken aback to tear it off. The feel of his rough palm against your racing pulse silences every urge to enact revenge. Words don’t come — too quickly forgotten on one’s knees.

“You’re way too easy for your own good, sweetheart,” he near-whispers, shooting to kill in a blow packed tight with condescension. “Don’t let me see you here again.”

And that’s it: your cue to get lost.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Miller pulls away from your reddening skin, straightening to stand. You follow suit soon after, heart pumping lead, tongue bruised by the memory of his touch (more overwhelming than the metallic residue dripping down your throat).

He turns, running a few fingers through his hair. It’s the last look you get before resigning yourself to the journey back home.

Still, before turning the rusted handle, in a brief moment of respite, of clarity, you seize the final word:

“I’m only ‘easy’ when I’m drunk. Or interested.”

Silence courses through the room as Joel registers the meaning behind your confession.

“Goodnight, Miller.”

With that, you see yourself into the hallway, checking its status before tearing into the stairwell.

You barely breathe.

He wanted me — he had to have wanted me.

Miller was a pragmatic player; surely, he’d only bother to play with toys he liked like that… right?

Right?

Unable to clear your head or cool the heat radiating through your core, you take the long way home, the distant sounds of a war between rivals soothing the cacophony of noise swimming between your ears.

—

For the next two weeks, all you’re able to think about is him.

You think about him when he’s gone and when he’s in the room, grumbling in hushed tones to your father. You think about him when you’re unable to fall asleep, letting your hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, imagining your own fingers as thick, tan ones running through the warmth between your legs.

He takes no notice of you — a fact you deeply resent. Even in your skimpiest clothing, he’s like a damn horse with blinders on. You decide, in the past weeks, he’d either acquired the patience of Job or purged every sinful craving from his system when he’d stuck his fingers down your throat.

Naturally, you’re more than happy when, at breakfast (two in the afternoon), your father gives you the heads up about tonight’s gathering at the Bar (which was really just an asbestos-ridden basement equipped with enough prohibition-style gadgets and architecture to host a good ‘strategic meeting’ every other month).

“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he mumbles. “Need you to keep your ears open. Had to take a couple rats out last week…”

Everyone’s gonna be there.

Smiling to yourself, your thoughts start to spin out. Business, distractions, booze. Tonight would host a million opportunities for you to get him alone.

Hope blooms through your chest.

Do your worst, Miller.

—

“Man, I wish we could’ve experienced cocktails. Straight hooch is ass.”

A peer named Mel, just a year older than yourself, cringes as she sips on whatever murky liquor’s found its way into her cup.

You don’t mind the taste so much, having grown mostly immune to its taste and burn. In fact, you’d come to welcome the subsequent lapse in breath and judgement.

There was little else in this world that made you feel alive.

“Mhm,” you respond absent-mindedly, looking for a familiar scowl among the mass of scowls peppering the crowd.

A sigh to your right. “Always awesome, having your attention.”

The criticism snaps you back into your body. You smile sheepishly at your friend, apologizing through a wince.

She shrugs, her raggedy, pin-decorated jacket jingling with the movement. “S’okay. Known you long enough to know that look.”

For that, she receives a quizzical glance.

Mel comes back with a scoff. “No victims tonight?”

“Oh god,” you shoot her a look of disgust. “Do you mind not using such weird vocabulary? Make me sound like a predator.”

As the words tumble out, you zero in on the object of your search. There he is: eyebrows knit together in concentration, drink in hand, unsurprisingly (and annoyingly) in conversation with your father. A few other stragglers are in the mix, too, but they’re easily overlooked. Time slows to a full stop in his wake —only for the briefest of seconds —

“Well since the last guy actually wound up dead a week later, I think it’s fitting.”

Once again, Mel’s managed to wrangle your interest.

You stare blankly into her onyx eyes, ringlets falling through molasses around her face. “Jeremy?”

And she’s bewildered. “You didn’t hear?”

This time, both of your heads turn in the same direction.

“Ratted to FEDRA about the storehouse off tenth,” she explains, gesturing towards Miller and your father with a tilt of her head. Famous for her bravery, she stoops into your shoulder, averting his gaze and speaking under her breath, “Judging by the way they found him, my guess is it was mostly Miller’s stuff.”

It’s as if she’d screamed it.

The subject of your conversation turns to face you right as your company’s words drift off. Despite the level of noise, the amount of people, and the cloudiness of the air, you’re trapped in the corridor of your mutual stare, cornered.

The challenge, the knowing marking his expression.

“I need some air.”

You twist into the body standing behind you, shoving row after row of criminal scum out of the way. Mel doesn’t follow — she’d never hung around to comfort you, only to inform you. A mutual, typical relationship for the age, and just how things worked in the QZ.

You slam into the door, stomping into a deserted, silent alley, empty save for a few drunk strays. Your lips begin to tingle and a scream builds inside your lungs. Stalking blindly into the night, unsure of your direction, alone in half a top and a plain, ass-length skirt, shivering despite the warmth of the air…

You’re practically begging for trouble.

Just as your eyes catch the numbers on the old, rusted street sign above, just as you realize you’re on a monitored street tonight, only safe after curfew every other Monday and Wednesday, you’re grabbed by the waist, pulled into the space between two buildings, and shoved into a sheltered nook.

A dim, yellow light clicks on automatically. There’s a door (chained closed) leading into the building to your left and darkness to your right.

And there’s Joel Miller above you, his expression indeterminable.

“You asshole,” you barely hear yourself breathe over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears before lunging forward in a useless attempt to, once again, strike his profile.

He catches your wrist, no doubt having anticipated the attack. It’s written on your face, in your eyes, in your shallow, uneven inhalations. He takes your other hand before you’ve even thought to use it, lifting it above your head and slamming it against the old stucco behind you.

“You’re violent,” he says flatly.

He tightens his hold when you struggle against it. “Proud of yourself, yeah? You’re a killer.”

That inspires a slight smirk. You half expect him to return with an ‘as if you didn’t already know that.’

Instead, he says, “Sweetheart, you didn’t even know his name.”

“You should’ve told me.”

And that’s the real source of this anger: it’s rage at being the last to know.

And for what? To protect your feelings? Since when had anyone in your life bothered to do that?

“And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” you add for good measure.

You’d wanted him to touch you so badly for weeks now, but here, scorned at being left in the dark and confused at the death of a paramour, you only want to get free.

“And what’d he call you?” He spits, leaning down and in, inadvertently pressing his thigh between your legs — when his breath grazes the skin of your ear, it causes them to part (against your better judgement). “Got lots of names, right?” He continues to tease, “Heard your boyfriend’s pretty one for you before I shut him up — ‘that fuckin’ slut,’ f’I’m rememberin’ right.”

Despite your rage-shakes, you’re warming at the core, Joel’s pressure against it dizzying your already-addled head. It confuses you, makes the scorn easier to access.

“How did I come up, Miller?” You exhale, jutting your chin towards him. “Couldn’t help asking for all the dirty little details, could you?”

He smiles, and the act lacks any sort of kindness. “‘Lot easier gettin’ him alone once he thought he was meetin’ you.” Joel slams your wrist harder into the wall when you try to wriggle away. “Not sure you wanna keep making that kind of impression, angel.”

It’s hard to rationalize with him so close, as his pet-names echoe inside your head. He’d used your name to enact gang-law violence on a boy who’d been inside you, and yet, all you can think, all you can hear, is the way ‘sweetheart’ sounds tumbling off his lips.

“Fucking let me go, Miller,” you manage to exasperate, resenting the begging edge to every word. “I don’t need another abstinence lecture from you.”

Kicking one ankle off balance, Joel turns you around, pressing your stomach to the wall, your back into his chest. Ignoring your whines and pitiful struggle, he wraps a free hand around your neck, pushing your head against his collarbone. Your stomach erupts with butterflies as the rough pad of his thumb traces the front of your throat.

Yes — no — yes, he wants me — no, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong —

“‘Be wasted on you, anyways,” he says, rough and earnest, like his hand sliding down your chest, your breasts, your stomach, “Startin’ to realize if I can’t fix your dad’s mistakes…” and he’s finding the hem of your skirt and yanking it up, bunching the fabric around your hips —

“Might as well take advantage of them.”

He moves hungrily. He’s everywhere, sliding into your underwear and across your breasts, his big arms and suffocating biceps enveloping your entire frame.

“Joel—”

But he claps a hand over your mouth, silencing any hope of your pleas being effective.

“Think I haven’t seen you? Your lil’ looks…” a low laugh, “n’ those fuckin’ clothes?” God, the rumble, the sheer want in his voice hammers at your initial resistance, and you feel yourself welcoming the feel of his thick, long fingers, sliding between your wet folds. You’re clay, melting against the curved, firm wall of his chest.

You mewl pathetically into his palm.

Another low laugh wracks his lungs, dances at the top of your ear.

“Knew you’d be this wet for me.”

“Knew since you got down on your knees,” Joel continues, uncovering your mouth only to ease a few fingers between your lips — lips that part as though commanded, and a mouth that welcomes and caresses whatever it receives, “‘N opened this pretty lil’ mouth for me to fuck it. Can’t close my eyes without seein’ you like that — so fuckin’ needy.” He exhales from between his teeth, signalling his approval while you suck him down to the knuckles.

His fingers tease your clit and you give him your thanks by pleasuring those of his other hand.

When his hands move, it’s to hold you steady and balanced as he drags your underwear down your legs. That thick, heavy cloud of arousal hides any and all rational thoughts from view.

And he knows. He knows you’re past the point of no return, restraining you only out of his desire to rather than out of a real need to. He knows from the whine you breathe at the loss of his hand against your clit, moving to work at his belt buckle instead.

“Gonna use a condom?” You breathe, emboldened by your clearing senses at the temporary lack of stimulation.

At first, you think he’s missed your taunt.

He backs up, pulling your hips along with him until the tips of your fingers are no longer touching the decaying wall before you. Joel pulls you upright and against him with an arm around your waist and a hand around your throat, turning your head and tilting it back to meet your eyes.

You grasp onto his forearms, failing to stand, unable to breathe. His hardness digs into your back, and his cruel eyes show you just how much pleasure he takes in your struggle.

“Don’t like to waste ‘em,” he finally answers, rocking his cock against your spine, “But I will if you beg. You gonna beg?”

He manipulates your answer, fingers moving to your red-hot core — he barely grazes the nerves, only dancing over the needy flesh. You can’t tear your eyes from him either, tethered to your body through his gaze.

Joel Miller was a frustrating lover.

“N-no,” is your answer, slightly strangled and softly stuttered.

He smiles. “S’what I thought.” Then, “Show me what you can do, angel,” he coos, lips just inches away from yours, his hold on your body relaxing —

“Use your pretty lil’ hands n’ put my cock where you want it most.”

And you both know exactly where that is.

After a nod, Joel allows you to bend forward slowly — it’s like moving through honey. Your legs burn with effort as you reach between your legs to wrap a hand around his thick, hard length.

Christ, he’s huge.

He groans when you touch him and uses his own hand to help guide his tip between your folds. One hand holds your waist, fingers extended under your ribs to support your weight in a skilled show of experience.

With his tip at your aching entrance, you try to lean back, to slide yourself slowly down his many inches.

But Joel doesn’t allow it.

He pushes into you in one go, clicking his tongue at your strangled gasp —

The man hadn’t even bothered to open you up with his fingers.

“Ah, c’mon,” he condescends, “You can take it.”

Then he’s setting a hard pace, hands moving from your hips to your ribs to your biceps to your hair to your neck — anywhere he wanted to go, he went. One eventually comes to the front of your throat, tilting your eyes back and up towards the ceiling. Every one of his thrusts arches your back further until you’re contorting into a half-moon shape, standing only by the grace of his support.

And it feels so good. Joel fills you up to the brim, takes you to heaven and floods your ears with hymns, punishes you in the kind of way you’d only experienced in dreams.

Words tumble out, but they’re filled with nothingness. “Joel,” “fuck,” and “yesohgodyes,” quickly become staples of your vocabulary.

He laughs whenever you sob, grows harder every time you moan, restrains you when you try to run away.

The hand around your throat tightens, digging unforgivably into the flesh as you start to let go, as your walls begin to clench and flutter appreciatively around his cock.

“M’I making you happy, sweetheart? My cock making you smile?” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into his chest. Joel readjusts you into whatever shape you need to be in at the new angle, hips still slamming into your ass. Struggling to stand on your tiptoes, he steadies you with his arms and his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look up into his rugged face.

“Mmhm,” is all you can offer him, the pitch jumping up halfway through when the head of his cock grazes that perfect spot inside your cunt.

He doesn’t let up.

“Show me, baby—” he commands, out of breath, too, but not nearly as tortured as you, “—Show me your smile.”

You do your best, smiling up at him, degrading yourself even more at the hands of Joel-fucking-Miller. And he eats it up, loves the way your grin turns into a bitten lip and knit eyebrows over closed eyes, slowing his thrusts to rock even deeper inside you.

You moan something unintelligible, and a laugh rustles through your tangled hair.

“Am I makin’ you come?”

You nod, feeling that familiar rush of pressure blooming somewhere within that throbbing bundle of nerves under his spell.

He smirks in pride and victory, the last look you get before your head falls against his shoulder, your muscles going lax as the peak builds, as your half-sobs grow louder.

“S’it, baby, tell ‘em,” he coos, nipping and sucking the skin on the side of your throat. “Gonna tell the whole street how you take it like a good lil’ slut.”

His fingers fall to your clit, enticing you right over the edge. You vision blurs and your legs shake, but Joel talks you through your orgasm, sweet nothings starting with, “S’right — show me — yes, fuck — good girl…”

And then —

He stops.

You whine, stars dancing before your eyes as the mean, mean man inside you refuses to fuck you through your climax.

“Joel,” you plead, grinding back against him in a pathetic show of need, “Come with me.”

He does the opposite, sliding himself out of your sore opening. You turn to face him, restoring your balance with hands against his chest, gazing up at him in desire-stricken reproach.

“Use your mouth,” he says, voice gruff at your ruined sight and from his own hand on his cock, keeping his arousal level, “Not gettin’ any more help from me.”

It’s unclear whether ‘help’ means pills or his cock, but you assume both to be safe.

You try to argue (having spent the last few weeks dreaming of Joel dripping down your legs) but he just won’t budge.

Then, his voice softens.

“You know your dad’d kill me, angel.”

And it’s really the sweetness of his tone that does it.

Sinking to your knees, it’s déjà vu when you open wide for him, steadying your shaking knees with both hands on his half clothed, half naked hips. Gravel and debris dig painfully into your bare knees, but you ignore the sting, smiling instead at the taste of yourself on Joel’s cock, lips sliding adoringly down the thick length of it.

He groans his approval, tangling his fingers in your hair to help guide your movements.

As you take him in again and again and again, pleasing every inch of him, he chokes out a laugh.

“Never seen you so quiet,” he muses (mostly to himself), caressing your cheekbone with his free hand —

“Gagged by an old man’s cock.”

You pull off, pumping him with both hands, asking breathlessly, “Are you all so big?”

He smiles, eyes darkening at the dirty compliment. “Give you a few numbers n’ you can tell me.”

God, he’s beautiful from down here.

You hold his attention and lick a slow stripe down the underside of his cock, half-grinning up at his lust-filled expression.

“I only want yours, Joel Miller.”

An uneasy inhale as you take him back in, his brows furrowing and his cock growing impossibly harder. Your words please him, he returns by groaning orders and praises like: “S’all yours, baby — take it all — take aaall that dick — good fuckin’ girl.”

He’s so close and you know it, moaning in submission at his hand’s pressure against the back of your head. With your nose crunched into his abdomen, you hold your throat open for him to use it however he pleases — reduced to nothing more than the man’s plaything.

There’s a low “ah, fuck,” from above, and then you finally know what Joel Miller tastes like.

It’s better than the Plan B.

You hear nothing beyond his recovering breaths, feel nothing past pride, lust, and exhaustion.

Eventually, he loosens his grip. You pull off of him delicately, drawing a groan from between his gritted teeth when you make sure to suck every last drop of his seed into your mouth.

Sitting back on your ankles, you roll your head up to face him.

He swipes a thumb under your lips, clearing the saliva connecting you to his softening cock.

“Still mad at me?” He asks.

You’d be crazy to say yes.

“Only for pulling out.”

You note the twitch at the corner of his mustache.

Joel helps you back on your feet, using one hand to pull you up by your arm and another to arrange himself back to decency.

You adjust your shirt; Joel fixes your skirt. It’s a strange kind of silence settling inside this pocket at the side of a random, ruined building.

Then, your company clears his throat, that mask of seriousness falling over his expression once again.

“You gonna be smart?”

What ever could he mean?

Stay away from him? Stay away from men? Practice abstinence? Use protection?

Either way, you’re not one to make promises you know you can’t keep.

You cross your arms.

“No.”

He sighs.

Well, looks like things are already back to normal.

His face softens and he shakes his head, already regretting his next words. “Just — just come find me, then. I won’t do… this again, but — but I’ll help.”

You frown.

“What do you mean, ‘this’?”

He stares down into your accusatory eyes with a look you’d received many times from him, one screaming, “get real.”

“Fine,” you mutter, breaking eye-contact, “Thank you.”

With a stoic nod, he walks around you, heading back into the night. You try, in vain, to watch him go in silence — god knows you had some thinking to get to — and find that, instead of getting it out of your system, the entanglement had only left you wanting for more.

And more and more.

“Is this what you meant?” and you hear his footsteps halt, “When you told me you’d do worse than kill me? When I tried to hit you?”

It comes out before you can help it, and you twist around to face his still, broad shoulders.

You can hear the smile teasing his lips as he utters the words.

“Why are you askin’ me that?”

Still facing his back, you break into a smile of your own. “So I’ll know what I have to do to get you to do it again.”

You watch him shake his head, grey-streaked ripples in the low light.

“Try your best not to find out, angel.”

With that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving you in the flickering doorway. Thighs aching, heart racing, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of what it felt to have them taken from you by Joel Miller.

A feeling you’d chase.

—

Put your red boots on

Baby, giddy up

Baby wants a dance

Baby gets her way

Dreamy nights

Talk to me with that whiskey breath

Twirl me twice

I'll treat you like a holiday

And don't say you're over me

When we both know that you ain't

Don't say you're over me

Baby, it's already too late

Just do what you do best with me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like a ballerina, super high

Dance me all around the moon

Light me up like the 4th of July

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When we both know that you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

When you lie down right next to me

Get your jacket on

Be a gentleman

Get into your truck

And pick me up at eight

'Cause we were built for

The long haul freight train

Burnt by fire

Without trial like a stowaway

And don't say you're over me

When they all know that you ain't

If you lay down right next to me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like ballerina super high

Dance me all around the moon

Like six times 'til I'm sick and I cry

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When they all know that you're lying

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

When you lie down right next to me

—

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[dumbseee]

noticed pt2.

f1 au/fic: having her celebrity crush as her boyfriend was something y/n didn’t expect to happen, which she also didn’t expect is the hate she would’ve receive.

lando norris x reader.

fc: bruna marquezine.

part 1.

note: i wasn’t planning on doing a part 2 but you guys asked so you shall receive :) (i wrote that very quickly so it’s not that good i’m so sorry)

liked by landonorris, francisca.cgomes, pierregasly and 230 997 others.

y/n: lil photo dump because i’m living my best life with my loved ones <3 have a nice week guys!

_

landonorris: pretty girl <3

liked by y/n.

francisca.cgomes: had the best time with you baby

yourfriend: you’re shining girl

fan1: who tf is y/n? why is she even so popular?

fan2. @.fan1 bc she’s fucking lando and people have an obsession with wags

fan3: ew such a whore

fan4: why is she always half naked?

fan5: i’d be so embarrassed if i were lando bc wtf is she wearing?

fan6: lando RUN

fan7: y’all see a pretty woman dating y’all favourite driver and decide to hate her for no reason

fan8: y/n get behind me

you couldn’t stop crying, you didn’t know what you did to deserve that. you deactivated all your socials so you won’t receive any messages from people with bad intentions, and turned off your phone that kept buzzing with notifications from friends and family. you tried to call lando, to make sure he knew that this was bullshit and that never would you even think about cheating on him. you did go to neymar’s party but only as your friend’s plus one. you talked with the footballer but for literally five minutes. the girl in the picture wasn’t you and you prayed that lando knew that. but he wasn’t answering his phone and that actually made you panic even more. your whole body was shaking, you were having a panic attack and you didn’t know how to calm it since you never had one before.

this situation was horrible for you, you didn’t even know how to fix it, of course it was all a lie but would the internet believe you? deactivating all your socials could be seen as suspicious by fans. they hated you anyway so whatever excuse you’d come up with, they’d never believe you. would lando even believe you? that thought made you sob even more, you struggled to breath and fell on the ground, resting your head on your knees. you could hear your heart beats going way too fast and you prayed for someone to help you because you were going to die from that damn panic attack.

"y/n! hey y/n!" you heard a voice, but it was faint, as if someone was calling you from very far away. "y/n, please baby! breath!" lando. it was lando’s voice. you opened your eyes and saw your boyfriend, shaking you to make you come to your senses, his eyes were glossy and he looked worried, when he saw you open your eyes and look at him he sighed softly and smiled at you. "welcome back, baby." he kissed your forehead before putting your hand on his own heart while he did the same to yours. "breath for me. we’ll do it together, okay?" you nodded slowly and started to follow his breaths. "one. two. three. yeah, you’re doing amazing my love." he smiled again and rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "you scared the shit out of me." he whispered, still against your forehead. "i am so sorry, lando, i swear it’s not-" he shushed you and wrapped his arms around you, giving you a long and soothing embrace. you felt silent tears roll down your cheeks.

"don’t say a word, i already know." he says, he grabbed your face in his hands and kissed your tears away. "those pretty eyes can’t be drowning in tears, love." he added. "i trust you y/n. i love and trust you with my life, i know that you’d never do such a thing." he finished by kissing your lips. "then why did you ignore my calls?" you asked. "because i needed to get back home asap to confort you." he smiled and you swore that your heart exploded.

that was the moment where you realised how deeply in love you were with lando. he was so perfect with you, always taking care of you and putting you first. you sometimes wondered if you deserved that kind of love.

"we’re going to watch your favorite tv show, order some food and take a bath later. today is y/n self care day. and don’t think about that rumour, i’m going to take care of that." he kissed the top of your head and helped you get up from the ground.

liked by y/n, carlossainz55, danielricciardo and 1 790 007 others.

landonorris: i’m going to say this once and for all: y/n l/n is the sweetest most loving and respectful person i’ve ever met in my entire existence. she’s the light that keeps shining during my darkest days, she’s the presence i crave after a long day away from her. y/n has been the victim of disgusting rumours and death threats, i’ll be taking action against every single ones of you who even just commented one single bad emoji under her posts, i’ll come for you. you made her cry, i think it’s fair enough that i make you pay back for every single tear that she shed because of people like you.

_

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[st4rrth0ughts]

Ok I know I said I’m taking a break but I’m going to just dump this idea and expand on it soon, warnings below

Reader is aven’s bodyguard, mentions of dead body, death, a bit of a word vomit, and a sfw brainrot (I know, shocking, Im writing on the train anyways) probably ooc aven? Prodding at the hsr 2.1 leaks (if ykyk), I’m not in my computer so no more yellow text T-T

Aventurine peeking into your dreams through that phone in the Penacony dreamscape, only to see you, his precious bodyguard, always so stoic and unemotional, breathing hard, in the ‘real’ dreamscape, desperately yelling his name.

but the feelings of happiness, the feeling that he was important to someone, goes away the moment he sees you mortified, staring at his dead body. He wants to just jump into the dream, hold you and tell you it’s alright, seeing the look of panic, desperation and pure agony in your eyes makes his heart shatter. He would never make you cry, and he certainly wouldn’t want to in your own dream, where it’s supposed to be relaxing.

nothing much he can do about it when he stares at the dream playing out in shock, when your begging, begging for him to wake up, praying to the Amber Lord himself that this dammed nightmare would end soon, and that you would see him alive and well again. 

Aventurine has never known how to receive from anyone. All his life, it was him giving, since childhood to his current age as Senior Manager of the IPC. The fact you, on a daily basis, already sacrifice so much for him, your time, freedom, even your own safety, bearing cuts, wounds while Aventurine remains perfectly unharmed was a foreign concept he still struggles to comprehend.

the fact that in a dream state, where your supposed to be happy, thinking about something else, no, even in your dream, it revolves around him. As much as he wanted to be smug and shit and be proud he was the main priority in your life, seeing you quietly sob as you hold the dead body of his doesn’t sit right with him. Never in 700 years. (See what I did there)

the dream ends, and the caller cuts off the call before he can even say anything. He walks aimlessly through Penacony, the dream replaying in his mind.

You crying. You holding him close. Of course, close contact wasn’t exactly unheard of between you two, you always did keep a eye on him, mostly during gambling sessions because of jealous competittors, he can’t count the number of times you pounced on someone for trying to attack him, but to be still cannot wrap his head around the fact that he was so important to you that he was quite literally on your mind even unconscious.

He hears footsteps, and your just right behind him. He always questions and teases you about how fast you can clear up your appearance after it gets disheveled, but he doesn’t say anything as he stares at your slightly trembling hands.

“Apologies for being late, sir. I was caught up in the dreamscape.”

Stop apologising, he wants to yell. You just had one of the most horrific nightmares in your life and your apologising for being late?! He grabs you and pulls you close. Sometimes he wishes he was taller so he could bury you in his chest and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, but feeling your chest in his face isn’t that bad either.

“I’m staying here. I won’t leave you, never did and never will.”

You run your hands through his hair. It’s not just the nightmare, it was the fact you were trying to find him, and overheard his plan to be a sacrifice to reveal The Family’s secrets to the universe. But you can’t tell him that for now, he’ll be sure to make changes so that you can’t interfere and be a self sacrificing idiot (as he puts it). 

So you simply nod, thank the Amber Lord that you have those sunglasses that hide your bloodshot eyes as you let yourself be consumed by his lie of forever.

“Likewise, sir.”