#twice wake me up icons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

httpiastri · 3 months

Text

PERFECTLY FINE – CHAPTER FOUR (MONACO)

genre: fluff, angst, etc.

warnings: heartbreak as usual

word count: 5.3k (like, exactly 5.3k. on the word. 😭)

author's note: it feels so wrong to say that im posting this to celebrate ollie's graduation to f1 because... this is such a sad chapter.... pain pain pain for everyone involved (especially ollie) 💔 but yay happy ollie f1 announcement day!!! hope you're all doing well & hope you enjoy <3 (also i wrote a lot of this chapter back in february? and proofreading it today nearly brought me to tears bcs of ollie-)

series masterlist

the career of a racing driver is a roller coaster for everyone involved.

if your name is max verstappen, then you've got more ups than most others. that roller coaster seems pretty fun.

but if your name is y/n harper, then your roller coaster isn't as fun these days. but if there’s ever a place to turn things around, it's monaco.

even just the track walk is enough to bring up your mood after a bad week like last. walking along the monegasque streets, almost getting hit by cars as you sign autographs and take pictures with fans... it's an experience you just can't find anywhere else.

coincidentally enough, ollie is done with the track walk just as you are, which means that the two of you can make your way back to the f2 paddock together. your boyfriend has always loved monaco – he pretty much doesn't ever shut up about the track and it's history unless you tape his mouth shut when you're in the country. that's why it's surprising that he not only brings up another subject, but also that he chooses a quite sensitive one – your father.

"he's going to be here this weekend, right?" ollie asks, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. he seemingly doesn't quite understand just how tense things are with your dad yet. to be fair, it isn't really his fault, since you haven't told him and since he isn't a mind-reader. but still, something in your chest tightens at the way ollie brings him up so casually.

you nod. "you know how much he adores monaco," you say with a sigh, before putting on your best impression of your dad. "the most iconic track ever, the only track to ever... blah blah blah."

having your dad along for races was always a given when you were younger. he was your best helmet carrier, your number-one supporter, and the first person you went to when celebrating or complaining.

but somewhere along the years, having him around started to become more problematic and anxiety-inducing. his support turned into criticism, and it became far more common for him to tell you to "go apologize to the engineers and ask them what you should do to perform better tomorrow" rather than give you any constructive feedback of his own.

at first, it was rough; the man who had always been your pillar to lean on, your main source of support, your safe haven, was seemingly gone. you continued to perform well, though you weren't sure if that was because you wanted to make him proud or if you were terrified of making him disappointed.

"let's have dinner with him someday, then," ollie suggests as the two of you come to a stop right outside the prema garage for the weekend. "maybe sunday, if we have things to celebrate?"

"let's hope so."

pepe calls your name once, twice, thrice, before he resorts to shaking your shoulder gently. his touch, along with the sound of the spaniard's raspy laughter, makes you finally wake from your slumber. you blink up at him, eyes droopy and mind empty. "what?"

"why are you sleeping?" pepe asks, shaking his head. "quali starts in... about an hour."

you begin to slowly push yourself up from the couch you've been lying on, yawning loudly. "i was supposed to just rest my eyes," you start, rubbing your eyes with your hands. "i didn't mean to fall asleep..."

"did you not sleep well last night? were you up late again?" pepe asks as he sits down next to you, watching you stretch your arms over your head with yet another yawn.

what are you supposed to say? yes, i was up until four am because i couldn't find any peace of mind at all? i've been dreading every second of this weekend because i never know when my dad will appear from around the corner? i'm scared he's going to be so mad over my performances that he disowns me?

pepe may know a lot of what's going on with your father, but he doesn't need to know this much.

you did, in fact, meet him earlier today, right before practice – if greeting him briefly and then instantly bolting in the opposite direction counts as a "meeting" – but since then, he's been nowhere to be seen. not even around dino or ollie when you last saw the two of them.

pepe takes your silence as an answer in itself, and he lets out a hum. "well, i'm quite nervous myself," he says frankly, pulling a hand through his hair.

"you did so well here last year, though." you nudge his shoulder with yours. "you'll be great again, i'm sure of it."

"dinner with the prince on sunday? both of us?"

you nod, shooting your friend a smile. "of course." but despite how much you wish it would become a reality, there's not even the slightest trace of faith in you. the only thing you can think about is how likely it is for this round to go in the same footsteps as your recent ones.

a great attitude to bring into a race weekend.

p9.

a top ten placement, sure. second in the reverse grid, sure. but other than that, there's not much positive in it. it's a step in the right direction, but in some way, it feels like a step that's way too short.

the sprint race starts with an incident right by you on the track, which is extremely unlucky for you since you get pretty much blocked and have nowhere to go. after being passed by several cars, the safety car finally comes out, and you find yourself in p7.

of course your father's words echo in your head all the way through the safety car period. "starting p2 means a free podium," he had told you when he stopped by right before you were getting into your car. "don't mess it up."

you're so focused on that expression on his face, the way he tilted his chin up and his head slightly to the side as he spoke, and the way it felt like your heart stopped beating for a few seconds, that you don't even realize that your engineer has told you about the safety car being about to end. you don't even acknowledge the fact that the race leader has taken off, nor that the rest of the field starts pushing again before it's too late.

some blue car tries to overtake you on the outside, and with another car on your inside you have no chance of giving either of them space – and you manage to crash into them both. not only did you ruin your own race, but also two other drivers'.

and of course, one of the cars buried into the wall next to yours is a silver hitech with a big number 17 on it.

climbing out of your car, you can hear several voices calling out for all three of you from the grandstand nearby, and you consider throwing them a wave as you climb through the metal fence to get off the track. but then, you hear one voice that's more familiar – one that belongs to the last person you want to talk to right now. "are you alright?"

you almost don't look at him, but the little glance you shoot him is enough to take in every single bit of disappointment in his eyes. what are the odds that your dad was sitting in the grandstand right where you crashed?

a nod is enough of an answer you reckon, pulling your helmet off your head and beginning to walk the way towards the paddock again. "do you want me to carry that?" your dad asks, having gotten past the security guards after showing his pass, now jogging to catch up with you.

"i'm not ten anymore," you groan. "i can handle it on my own."

"i wasn't saying you can't-" he cuts himself off, placing a hand on your shoulder. "you looked really out of it out there."

you keep your gaze forwards so he won't see you rolling your eyes at his words, determined steps carrying you forward quickly as you shake his hand off. "oh, you could see through my visor? that's cool."

"what's gotten into you lately?" your dad pushes, and you flinch slightly at the harsh tone in his voice. "what's wrong with you?"

"what do you mean?"

"well, frankly, your driving had been shit recently." your eyes snap to him when he speaks, eyebrows furrowed. "it looks like you're not even trying."

you stay silent for a long while, trying to navigate your way back – and to a place where your dad hopefully won't be allowed – but you can't help but scoff. "thank's a lot."

"what? am i wrong?"

"yes, you're wrong!" you finally stop in your tracks, fully facing him by now. a hand goes up to your hair, pulling on it to relieve at least some tension. "i'm trying my best, i-"

"is there something going wrong with ollie?" your jaw drops. "i'll talk to him, i'll settle it with him."

"don't you dare!" you exclaim. "there's nothing wrong with ollie, okay?!"

"then what is wrong with you? why can't you score ten points in nine races?"

that's it – you're going to completely lose it if this goes on for even one more second. "leave me the fuck alone," you tell him, turning your head away so he won't get a chance to see the tears beginning to form in your eyes.

the worst part of it all? the fact that you agree with him. the fact that you can't even argue against it; nine points in five rounds is not a good result at all.

surprisingly enough, he doesn't follow you when you hurry away, allowing you to get to the paddock alone. the silence doesn't mean you can hold back from crying, however; it doesn't take long before your cheeks are stained with your tears, your breaths growing quicker and quicker for every step you take. navigating the paddock with blurry vision is hard, and you're basically just relying on muscle memory to take you back to the right part of the garage. just as you're rounding a corner, you bump into someone – someone whose white suit and broad, muscular shoulders are easy to recognize even through your tears.

the other last person you want to talk to right now.

"hey there," he says, a hand coming up to your shoulder to keep you steady as you stumble a little upon the impact with his chest. "are you- woah, are you crying?"

"leave me alone, paul."

he lets out a little chuckle, one he regrets in hindsight because it makes him sound like he thinks the state you're in is funny. "i can't just walk away when you're this upset, can i?" he asks, having to use all of his willpower to hold back from wiping away a few tears from your cheeks. "is it about the crash? i'm not mad at you, and i don't think victor is either-"

"i couldn't care less about the stupid crash!" you explode, a few sobs following your words. "i'm just- i can't-"

paul's eyes widen in surprise at your outburst, hand on your shoulder slipping further along so he's got his arm draped across your shoulders and it's easier for him to force you to walk with him. now it's your turn to have to hold back, wanting nothing more than to lean into his chest and just let out all of your tears. he pushes you with him into the hitech truck, looking around the lounge area to make sure no one's there before guiding you to sit on one of the sofas there. "what's going on? did something happen?"

"i'm a bad driver, that's what happened." paul slumps into the seat right next to you, eyebrows raised when he hears you speak. "i don't belong here, i don't know what i'm doing, i-"

"hey hey hey," he cuts you off with a shake of his head. "what have we said about this?"

you look down at the floor, wiping away a few tears from your cheek as you continue to sniffle in the silence that fills the area. a burning feeling spreads through your chest at his words, the familiarity of it all making your head spin. it isn't the first time you've been like this in front of him; through the almost entire year you dated, there were quite a few times when he'd have to console you after a breakdown. paul knows your issues like the back of his hand, he knows how hard it can be to convince you that you do belong. but he also knows to never give up.

"you are a great driver," he starts, hesitating for a moment before letting his hand rub your shoulder. the action makes your breath hitch in your throat, but not because it's wrong – it's because you've missed his touch, probably far more than you've admitted to yourself before now.

"even my lousy dad thinks i'm bad," you finally get out in-between sniffles, resting your face in your hands.

"and since when do you care about his opinion, huh?"

he's right. at least partially. but still, you remain hunched over, shaking your head. "i may act like it doesn't matter, but… him calling me all kinds of things…" paul allows you to gather your thoughts, his touch remaining gentle over your racing suit. "it hurt. a lot."

he hums understandingly, letting out a sigh. "when is that stupid little brain of yours going to understand that you're doing well?" his words should bring a smile to your lips – a few months ago, they would've. but now, you don't react at all. "no matter what he says, no matter what the critics say. you're a good driver."

after another few moments of silence, you drop your hands to your lap and look at him. there's a hint of curiousity in his eyes, surprised by your sudden eye contact. "why do you even care?" you question. he's been acting like a complete idiot these past few months – and after you literally cursed him out in melbourne, you haven't spoken a word to each other. and yet, he's taking time out of his day to comfort you like he would a year ago.

"come on…" he presses his lips together in a firm line, shaking his head. "no matter what happens between us, i'll always look after you."

his words, and maybe especially your emotional reaction to them, take you by surprise. despite the anger and frustration you've built up over the last few months, there's an undeniable warmth in his gaze that softens your defenses. the feeling of nostalgia and longing is so strong it's almost painful, as if he has reminded you of a connection you thought had been lost forever.

it's quite strange, considering everything that's happened. but you're not opposed to it.

"how are you feeling after the crash?" paul asks to break the silence as you reach up to dry away the last of your tears from your cheeks. "that was a big impact you had. i got away lightly in comparison."

for the first time since the crash, you stop to actually think about it and allow yourself to feel through your body. the adrenaline from the race has worn off by now, and there's a throbbing in your head that seems to just grow stronger by the second. "i think… i'm alright…"

"do you want me to go get ollie for you? the race should be done by now," he says, checking the clock on the wall in the truck. "he can take you to go see a medic."

you shake your head instantly. "please, don't. for real."

paul shoots you a strange, confused look, though he gives you a slight nod. "okay, but you have to tell him," he says, pausing a second before continuing. "i know that head of yours, you're going to combust if you keep hiding this. you can't go through it alone."

"i promise."

you don't end up going to the medical center.

you do, however, go find ollie yourself – but you don't tell him about your chat with paul. instead, you hope he doesn't take notice of the not-so-subtle signs that you've just had a complete meltdown.

it's easy to break promises to people who you don't need to stay truthful to, you realize. last year, you wouldn't even think about breaking a promise to paul – but an ex boyfriend is much easier to lie to.

your current boyfriend wraps his arms around you the second you step close enough. his lips press to the side of your head, his arms giving you another squeeze before pulling away.

ollie has gotten used to your red eyes.

he's gotten used to the sight of your tearstained cheeks, the slight pout on your lips, the heaviness in your sighs.

he's gotten used to the sinking feeling in his stomach, the pain in his chest, the guilt.

but he's also gotten used to not asking, because he knows you won't tell.

when you wake up on feature race day, something is different. it's like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders after talking to paul; like the air is suddenly much easier to breathe, and the whole world seems a little lighter. you're much more excited for the feature race of the day than any race so far this season.

in today's race, it's ollie's time to crash out. it isn't his fault, though; he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and got squeezed up against the wall by a trident car. there was nothing he could do.

as soon as he's deemed free of injuries, he makes his way back to the prema garage, joining the team in watching the rest of the race. it's a good one for you; choosing to go with the opposite strategy has really worked out for you so far, with you and zak o'sullivan being the only two drivers in the top who haven't pitted yet.

ollie follows your car intently on the screen in the garage, secretly hoping for a safety car to come out and help you out with your strategy as it's nearing the last few laps. he almost doesn't pull out of his trance even when a hand lands on his shoulder. "she's doing great," dino says from behind him, the brit nodding along to his words. "especially considering... well, she must've told you about yesterday, so i won't repeat it to you."

yesterday?

ollie looks dumbfounded for a moment before he composes himself, though he has no idea what the swede is talking about. "of course."

dino lets out a chuckle, patting his friend's shoulder. "paul said she was a complete mess when he found her," he continues, not realizing he's giving ollie more clues to help figure out what in the world he's talking about. "her anxiety was all over the place, apparently. but she's recovering, she's strong. she won't let this affect her."

ollie hums agreeingly at his words, eyes still glued to the tv in front of him. "certainly," he finally gets out. "she'll get through it with ease."

and so you did – at least for this particular race.

the virtual safety car was incredibly lucky, but that's racing sometimes. with both you and zak changing your tyres in the last lap, you both managed to end up ahead of the rest of the field, and secure a podium each.

unlike in jeddah, seeing paul's car pull up right next to yours on parc ferme isn't all that bad. after yesterday's heart-to-heart with him, you feel like at least part of this podium is thanks to him. if it weren't for his encouragement, you likely would've stuck it in the wall again.

you don't ignore him this time. you don't scoff at his words, you don't feel frustrated at his mere presence. this time, you give him a tight hug when he comes over to congratulate you, arms around his shoulders forcing him close.

"thank you," you can't help but whisper, and paul is grinning from ear to ear when he pulls away from the hug.

"don't," he answers with a quick shake of his head. "you could always pull this off. you just needed a little reminder."

and not only do your shoulders and mind feel a bit lighter as you step onto that monaco podium, but most importantly, your heart.

"i'm exhausted," you huff as you shrug your bag off your shoulders, leaving it by the door as ollie, too, makes his way into the hotel room. "thank god this weekend is finally over."

you dive onto his already-made bed, landing face-down between the pillows and blankets. the bed is huge, probably over two meters in width, and unbelievably soft. it's the first time you feel like you can truly relax since you got to monaco, and every single cell in your body thanks you for allowing them to rest a little.

"and i don't even have any sim sessions scheduled in over a week. i'm the luckiest person ever." ollie lets out a chuckle at this, his own bag crashing to the floor with a thud before his feet carry him deeper inside the room.

you turn your head and watch as he picks out a water bottle from the mini fridge, but he doesn't drink from it. instead, he makes his way to the bed, choosing to just stand next to it at first. you can't really read his expression, so you speak up – but he beats you to it. "ollie-"

"can we talk?"

you press your hands into the mattress, sitting up properly. "of course," you say, a look of unknowing dejection spreading across your features. "what's wrong?"

"that's... what i wanted to ask you, actually." ollie finally sits down on the bed, but on the opposite side of it, far from you. "what's going on? what happened yesterday?"

"oh, well..." you pause for a second, eyebrows rising as you try to find an explanation. "i just had a bad day, i didn't realize that the safety car-"

"i don't mean the race, i mean what happened after the race." his eyes are piercing into yours, not missing even the slightest movement of your face now. you've got his full attention. "with paul."

your breath hitches in your throat and you instantly look away. your voice is as low as a whisper when you speak again. "i can't believe he told you..."

"he didn't. it was someone else, but that's beside the point." you don't know if you should feel relieved that paul didn't tell ollie, or furious that he told someone else who then told ollie, but you don't have any time to think before his voice infiltrates your thoughts again. "i heard you were... i'm not going to use the same word he did, but i heard you were really upset. something about anxiety, or..."

he hopes you'll pick up where he trailed off, and despite how you're really not in the mood for this conversation right now, it feels unavoidable. "i guess... yesterday's race was really rough on me. and my racing has felt really bad recently, the anxiety has been through the roof, and..." your eyes land on your hands, watching as your fingers tremble slightly in your lap. "i don't know. something about yesterday just triggered it all again."

out of the corner of your eye, you can see ollie nodding understandingly. "how long have you been feeling like this?"

"since always, basically." a single teardrop rolls down your cheek before you even notice that you've started tearing up. you hurry to wipe it away with the sleeve of your shirt. "my mom likes to tell this story about how i used to cry if i performed poorly when i was jumping rope in kindergarten. or about how one time, i came home sobbing over the fact that i thought i was getting kicked out of kindergarten because my drawings weren't as good as the other kids'." the old stories bring a soft smile to your lips, one that soon disappears when you shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut. "it's not usually this bad, but…"

you sigh.

"it's like... imposter syndrome. i'm one of the very few women in motorsports, and i can't help but think that i'm just here because the fia wants to make the sport more equal. or because my sponsors think it's funny to have a woman among the men. or if i'm just here as eye candy. i don't deserve this, i don't have enough talent."

your little rant makes him speechless – both because he didn't expect it at all, and because to him, you're so wrong.

"you're here because you do deserve it and because you consistently perform good results, unlike most other drivers. that has nothing to do with your gender." ollie pauses for a second. "if you didn't have enough talent, you wouldn't be performing this well in a series this hard."

you can't hold back the little smile that slips onto your lips. "this is all very sweet, and i really appreciate it. but it's not that easy for me to just accept what you're saying."

yet again, he nods. "i understand." his voice is so calm, so gentle, so patient. it makes your heart soften. "i'll make sure to remind you of it more often, so that maybe it sticks."

"thank you, ollie."

a long silence follows, and you take the time to brush away a few more tears that have left your eyes. you don't know what to say or how to follow up on this heavy subject, but you don't have to think much more.

"why did you go to paul instead of me?"

your eyes dart to him at the sudden question. he's sounded so composed and calm, but he actually looks quite... nervous? his fingers are fiddling with the lid of the water bottle in his hands, and his entire upper body looks like it's trembling slightly as he breathes. "i didn't," you tell him simply. it's not a lie, per se. "he just happened to walk in on me crying."

"but why did you tell him?" ollie questions, looking up at you from the bottle. "i thought you two weren't even talking these days? ever since that fight you had?"

he is right. you don't even know why you confided in him yourself – it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. you didn't even try to deny his help; you welcomed it (and him) with open arms.

"we talked about my struggles last year," you finally say, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. "so he knew already. and… i don't know, i guess it felt nice to talk to someone who really knows me."

"but i want to know you." he takes a deep breath before continuing. "i want to know more than your birthday and your favorite color. i want to know it all; what makes you feel good, what makes you anxious, what keeps you going, what slows you down..."

the physical distance between you two may only be a mere two meters, but you feel much more separated than that. you totally understand where he's coming from – he might be exaggerating a little, but your conversations with him are never really deep. though not sure whether it's because you just don't trust him or because you just have a hard time opening up, you can understand the despair he must be feeling.

when ollie notices that you aren't too keen on saying anything, he keeps going. "i want you to trust me. i want to be the person you tell these things to." he scoots closer to you on the bed, one of his hands landing on top of your knee. "i really want to make this work between us. my feelings for you are so strong, just..."

the pain in his eyes is so intense it sends a shiver down your spine, his gaze cutting through you like a knife. your own eyes begin to well up again, but you can't look away now.

"i really want you to give this, give me, a chance."

you've never seen him like this before. hopeless, desperate, practically begging. and in an instant, the guilt comes creeping back into you.

you're the one who's making him feel like this; it's all your fault. and how cruel wouldn't it be to not at least give him an honest chance?

"of course." your voice is weak and shaky, but you nod. "i want that, too. really."

ollie drops his water bottle to the floor before opening his arms wide for you. "come here."

it's easy to climb into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he holds you close. it's easy to lean into him, to inhale his sweet scent, and it's so easy to relax.

you wish it was as easy to open up to him. oh, how badly you wish it was as easy as a-b-c or do-re-mi. you really want to let him in; you, too, want this to work.

the silence that follows is a comfortable one. the air feels thick with unspoken emotions, a heaviness of the previous conversation still lingering, but there's an unspoken understanding between you and ollie. the previously well-known weight of the world on your shoulders seems to lift, if only momentarily; his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back is like a silent reassurance that he's there, he's present, and he's willing to wait for you to open up in your own time.

after what feels like an eternity, ollie breaks the silence. "let's do something. let's go on a vacation together."

you lean back slightly, just enough to look at his face but stay in his hold. "…what?"

your reaction isn't exactly what he had hoped for, but he goes on. "i'm going back to italy this week, you should come with me." he reaches up with a hand to your face, thumb softly massaging away the frown you hadn't even noticed had formed. "we'll travel around, go see the national parks, hike in the mountains... swim in the sea, eat at good italian restaurants..."

your features soften at his suggestions; it all does sound very sweet. still, you can't hold back from asking, "but why?"

"we have almost a month until the next race weekend, and you said that you don't have any sims this week. this could help take your mind off racing, and..." a sheepish smile appears on his face. "maybe it could make us get a little closer."

uncertainties and conflicting thoughts continue to cloud your heart, making the decision harder than it should be. on one hand, accepting the offer could offer a much-needed reprieve from all the pressures of the racing world. on the other hand, your unresolved feelings for paul still hold you back. spending a romantic holiday with ollie sounds like a dream, just as much as the mere thought of revealing yourself to him makes you nauseous from the fear.

but you want to be brave. and maybe to let go of paul, you need to just forget about your worries and dive head-first into ollie.

"it sounds perfect. let's do it."

yourusername just posted!

yourusername we're back baby!! leaving monaco with some good points. 🔜 barcelona and the team's home race, let's go 😁

show all 78 comments

user finally back on the podium! ❤️💙

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

user great drive today !!!

→ user it was just luck 😭 without the vsc she would've never gotten that podium

→ user okay and??

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

olliebearman what's up with the hair dinobeganovic_

→ yourusername it's called fashion

→ dinobeganovic_ it's called waking up at 5 for a feature race

→ user you're still gorgeous dino 😚

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

redbulljuniorteam 💪💙❤️

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

sebasmontoya58 pepe don't punch the girl, she did nothing wrong

→ yourusername i did nothing wrong!!!

→ pepemartiofficial tell him what you did

→ yourusername never

→ pepemartiofficial sebas check your whatsapp

→ yourusername YOU WOULDNT

→ pepemartiofficial i totally would

90 notes · View notes

nolita-fairytale · 2 years

Text

still into you | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | bonus smut scene

summary: the bathtub smut scene i robbed us of. a continuation of chapter one.

warnings: 18+ chapter -- minors dni, smut, unprotected sex in long term relationship, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), spanking (just twice, lol) she/her pronouns & fem anatomy mentioned

word count: 2.2k

listen to: holy - king princess (playlist here)

a/n: can we talk about this iconic and incredible banner that @allthefandomstogether made for this story?! thank you so freaking much. it is pure perfection. anyways in honor of the bear season 2 teaser being released, i need a cold shower after writing this send help.

read: chapter one

“Let’s put it on the list… for when we’re ready to move to a new place,” he suggests, quietly.

“Somewhere with a big tub?” you ask, only sort of surprised by his request.

“Yeah.”

You turn your head to look at him, as Carmy presses a searing kiss to your lips. You feel his hand snake between your legs and you begin to understand exactly why he’s enjoying this whole bath thing.

“As much as I’m enjoying this…” he whispers against your lips. “Think you maybe want to get out of this tub…”

Another kiss.

“… dry off…”

You slide your tongue against his as his fingertips move higher up your inner thigh, earning a hiss of pleasure from you.

“…not put our clothes back on?”

And then he’s swallowing your moans in his mouth, as he continues his exploration. Your head is spinning, and it’s not just the hot water that makes you feel as if your soul was set aflame.

“Yes,” you whimper as he fingers begin their exploration. He slides them through your folds and you throw your head back, grateful that his shoulder catches you.

You relax into Carmy, hissing as he dips his index finger inside of you. Your breathing begins to become heavier as he continues touching you, alternating between sliding his index finger inside of you, then dragging his rough, calloused fingertips up and down your core. His mouth pressed against the shell of your ear, his tongue leaving patterns in their wake. Carmy nips at your earlobe before murmuring a few words, his voice heavy with lust:

“You trust me?”

“Always.”

He waits a beat before saying:

“Good. I wanna make you cum on my fingers first, pretty girl.”

You feel his words shoot straight to your core as you clench around the combination of his index and middle finger he’s now slipped inside of you.

“If that’s okay with you.”

Even after all these years, you love how eager to please he still is.

“Yes, baby,” you say, a smile in your voice. “Very okay.”

Carmy smirks contently.

The fingers he has inside of you journey up through your folds, expertly finding your clit as he begins to rub gentle and deliberate circles. You sigh his name, letting the man you love make you feel absolutely incredible. He buries his face in the crevice of your neck, gently biting then soothing the little marks he leaves with his lips and tongue.

“Carmen,” you pant, suddenly remembering that you’ll be in front of people tomorrow. “Not right there.”

“Hm?” he hums, only half-focusing on what you’ve just said.

His mouth moves further down the top of your shoulders, as he begins to speed up his ministrations, earning another cry from you.

“Don’t want everyone to see what I do to you? How I make you feel?”

You cry out in response as he bites your shoulder, a little harder this time.

“Somewhere I can hide under my chef whites please,” you practically beg him as he begins to speed up the pace of his fingers.

“Think I can do that,” he murmurs into your skin.

Carmy lifts his head off of your shoulder, leaning back against the tall walls of the deep bathtub. His other hand moves around your waist, pressing your back against him, and you feel how absolutely hard he’s become. As his hand comes up to play with your nipples, he stops any movement with his fingers, sliding them back down to your entrance.

You buck your hips up into his hand, impatiently.

“This what you want, pretty girl?” he asks, his voice husky.

His fingertips circle your entrance, but he’s still not where you want him. You let out an impatient groan, whimpering out his name. He knows he’s teasing you and there’s a part of him that loves hearing you beg.

Loves hearing how much you need him.

“Yes, baby,” you pant. “Please. I just want you inside of me.”

And he loves the way it sounds when you say it.

He slides his fingers back inside of you, in and then out of you at a dangerously slow pace, earning a sob from you.

“Just wanna make you feel good, sweetheart.”

And just like that, his hand on your breast begins squeezing, pushing you against his chest, desperate to have you closer to him. He continues fucking you with his fingers with the hand between your legs, as you let go, enjoying this too much to have a care in the world about anything else.

“You are,” you breathe out. “So good, Bear. You make me feel so good.”

Carmy lets out soft moans into your skin as he mouth returns to your shoulder. He’s bucking his hips against you as his fingers find that spongy spot inside of you. You let out a loud moan the minute he hits it, his lips curling into a smile against your skin.

“Right there?”

“Yes.”

Carmy curls his fingers, making a ‘come hither’ motion with them, and you can no longer contain your moans. He knows you’re on the verge and he has no intention of stopping you. The sound of your moans, the way you pant his name, how desperate you are to cum – it’s like crack to him. It all goes straight to his cock, hard and weeping, yearning to be inside of you.

But he’s not ready for that.

Not until he makes you cum first.

He’s a man on a mission with only one goal in mind.

“You gonna cum, baby?”

“Carmen,” you whimper.

“Yes, god. Please let me cum.”

He takes you higher.

And higher.

You feel it like a wave reaching its peak. There’s a tension building, so close to snapping, and as it does, you feel the waves of pleasure crash within you as you let out a loud moan. You’re writhing against your boyfriend as he presses your back to his chest, and you’re gripping the edge of the tub with your hand closest to it. Carmy’s not letting you go anywhere. He wants you exactly where he has you, his hand between your legs, completely at his mercy.

As you begin to come down, your mouth feels dry from all the panting and gasping you’ve been doing. You swallow, and Carmy begins to release you, his grip loosening around your waist.

“What was that… about getting out of this tub? Drying off?” you ask, unsure of how you’ve managed to get words out after that.

“Not putting our clothes back on?” Carmy completes your sentence.

“Uh huh.”

In an instant, you’re standing up in the tub, letting the hot bath water fall down your naked body. Your nipples stand erect against the round, full shape of your breasts as Carmy follows suit, making his way to a standing position. You can’t help but notice his extreme erect dick just begging to be inside of you and the thought alone sends chills down your spine. You’re both quick to towel off, only half way drying your bodies off before Carmy is walking you back to the messy hotel bed from your nap earlier that day.

And he’s very much looking forward to messing up this bed in another way with you.

You fall into position like it’s second nature: Carmy on top of you, your legs wrapped around his waist as he grinds against your wet heat. He reaches down, ready to guide his hard, leaking cock inside of you.

“Wait,” you say.

Carmy stops, his eyes wide.

“I want something else,” you say again.

He nods as you sit up, shifting him onto his back. As you climb on top of your boyfriend, your knees straddling his hips, you crash your lips into his. You’re sucking on his top lip, then sliding your tongue against his, then dragging his bottom lip between your teeth as you begin to make your way down his gorgeously sculpted chest.

“Baby, what’re you-?” he begins, trail off as you begin to kiss down his chest. You take your time, allowing your mouth to leave little love bites across his chest, down his torso, then snaking your tongue across his hip bones.

He hisses in anticipation, as you reach down, grabbing his length in one hand. You pause, looking up at him, his eyes catching yours. With a wicked grin on your face, you lick just the tip of him, causing his eyes to close as he sighs on in pleasure.

“Ffffuck,” he groans, as you begin to take him into your mouth.

You slide your mouth from the head, all the way down his shaft, earning another heavy sigh from Carmy. Your mouth meets your hand, then you’re pulling back up, allowing your hand to follow, getting his dick ready to be inside of you. You use your hand and your mouth in tandem, and Carmy’s trying his best not to buck his hips into your mouth too hard. His head is thrown back, and he reminds himself to open his eyes, wanting to memorize the way you look while going down on him.

He gathers your hair to one side so that he can see you as you alternate through movements, knowing just what he likes.

Suck, lick, sliding your mouth down his length to meet your hand again. The gentlest squeeze…

And then you’re sitting up, making your back up his body and guiding his achingly hard length into you. Carmy’s hands go to your hips as you sink down onto him, muttering something inaudible as he makes you feel so incredibly full. Your hands go to his chest, propping yourself up as you begin to move your hips, his eyes rolling back.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans as you ride him. “What did I do to deserve this?”

He knows he’s been an ass all week and he thinks you’re making him feel better than he deserves.

You shake your head, moving your hips forward and back at an even pace.

“Just wanna help you relax.”

He moves a hand from your hips to your ass, raising up before coming back down with a loud smack.

It’s just an encouragement, an ask for more.

“Yeah?” he asks, feeling the fire in his belly grow stronger and stronger.

You nod, beginning to ride him faster as he spanks you again causing you to throw your head back. You can feel his hips bucking up into you with a sense of urgency, as you meet each one with your own. Your hands go to your hair, just searching for something to hold onto because the way he makes you feel should be illegal. Carmy’s bouncing you on top of his hard length, and he’s hitting that spot so deep inside of you that you have to shut your eyes so tightly you’re seeing stars.

Carmy doesn’t realize how wound tight he’s been all week – not until he’s watching you move on top of him, all feelings of worry and stress out of sight and out of mind.

And then he’s pulling you down to him, keeping the fierce pace he’s set for the two of you. You roll your hips against his as he crashes his lips against yours again.

“Please just let me fuck you,” he murmurs in between kisses.

You’re nodding with a, “Yes,” before he’s flipping you over onto your back, still inside of you.

Carmy sits up, pulling your legs around his waist, slowing the pace of his movements down. He thinks the sight of himself disappearing inside of you will drive him absolutely insane, and he can’t tear his eyes away.

In. Out. In. Out.

Then he’s folding his body on top of yours, hiking one of your legs up higher on his hip so that he can hit that spot so deep inside of you that drives you wild.

“Fuck, Carmy!” you cry.

With the way you’re squeezing around him, he can tell you’re close. And so is he. He’s driving into you, one hand tangled in your hair as he buries his face into your neck. His other hand meets yours, interlacing his fingers between yours, pinning you down to the bed. His thrusts are deep and hard and you’re gasping – holding onto his shoulders, his biceps, and part of him that you can hold onto – as he moves on top of you.

“Are you gonna cum?” you ask, barely able to get the words out.

“Fuck,” Carmy howls as he lifts his head up.

“Yes.”

His lips are back on yours for the messiest, wettest, hungriest kiss before he buries his face in your neck once again. His dick hits all of the right places, and you’re crying out his name, clamping down around him as he brings you to your climax. Carmy fucks you through it, his thrusts becoming more chaotic as he chases his high too.

You’re practically hanging onto his arms for dear life as he gets closer. He’s driving into you, and you're losing your mind as his hand squeezes yours. Carmy lets out a few grunts as he cums, finally slowing down the pace of hips, before coming to a halt.

“Holy shit,” you say, shaking your head.

You’re both flustered, sweaty messes, running your tongue over your kiss-swollen lips.

He chuckles, lifting his head up to look at you.

“Hi," he says.

“Hi,” you say back with a smile.

Carmy moves up your body, leaning his forehead against yours, before leaving a small kiss on your nose.

“I needed that.”

You giggle, “Me fucking too.”

He gives you a half smile in return.

“C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

read: chapter two

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @carmensberzattos

#carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto imagines #make my heart surrender #still into you

520 notes · View notes

bcolfanfic · 2 months

Note

~ person a and person b staying up so late to talk to each other without even paying attention to the time. and then they fall asleep on the phone with each other ~

this on “mutual crush prompt list” but was wondering if we could change it up a little bit for angst purposes and make it so its the first work trip buck has to take months after bucky’s suicide attempt so they’re on the phone all night.

my babiess. for new-to-me folks, this is based off my young veterans modern au- specifially this fic.

---

John unlocked his phone, relocked and unlocked it again, squinting at the brightness before he swiped up to lower it.

10:50

He'd talked to Gale four hours ago and they'd said their goodnights then. It was even later in New York- almost one in the morning to be exact.

Gale was probably asleep or getting close to it, and John didn't want to call him. Wanted to let him rest before he had to go be in academic mode all day, wanted to prove to himself just as much as his husband that he could get through a night alone.

But the longer he laid in the dark the itchier he felt.

There was something in a flask under the mattress that would take the itch away without waking Gale- the only thing keeping him from it being how tired he was down to the bone. Too tired to lift the mattress.

He swiped open to Gale's contact and pressed the small phone icon, sucking in the right side of his cheek.

It barley rang twice before he picked up.

"Hey hon," He said softly, and if he hadn't been asleep he sounded like he was getting pretty close to it. "Everything okay?"

"Mhm." John said, letting his cheek back out with a small exhale. "Sorry if I woke you."

"Don't be. But you know I gotta ask again. You okay?"

Gale Gale Gale. Ever the perceptive one.

"Don't wanna make you feel guilty for going." He said quietly, eyes fixated on a thread coming loose in their comforter. He hated that he could feel his eyes starting to sting. Being vulnerable was still, as his therapist referred to it a skill there was room for progress on.

Whether he knew somewhere in his head that Gale needed no prompting to feel hesitant about going to this conference was irrelevant. John had practically had to push him through the automatic doors of the airport terminal when he'd dropped him off, but guilt clawed at him anyways.

"Hey- no." Gale said on the other end, and John could hear him sitting up a little. "Not gonna do that, so tell me what's going on?"

"Just miss you." He said. "I'm not feeling bad y'know?" He continued, opting for a euphuism- not wanting to say the words that'd be needed to spell it out exactly out loud. "Just weird being alone I guess. I dunno."

It was quiet for a moment, like it always got when Gale figured he might have more to say when he actually did.

"Think you might be able to get some sleep if I stay on the line till you're out?" He said finally, so tender for someone who had to be up in just about five hours that it made John's chest tight.

"Don't have to do that." John replied, predicting the protest he got before it left Gale's mouth.

"Yeah, well I want to- so let me? Can bore you to sleep with physics gibberish."

A small, tired, laugh escaped John at that as he rolled back down onto his stomach, resting his phone on Gale's side of the bed. "'kay," He said, voice half muffled by his pillow. "I'm all ears."

Gale kept to his promise in regard to the psychics talk, and even when it was saying a whole lot of things that he'd still struggle to understand fully awake, his voice made John's chest warm. Made his shoulders feel like they could actually relax, the itch shedding off just enough for him to let sleep pull him under.

#young vets au #buck x bucky #clegan #masters of the air

32 notes · View notes

spookyrealms · 2 years

Text

Fifteen More Minutes

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄/𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬.

𝐖𝐂: 𝟖𝟑𝟕

𝐀𝐍: 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 <𝟑

Mornings when Steve had to work sucked.

With the two of you graduated high school and making enough money to get a crappy apartment on the edge of Hawkins, every night was a cuddle fest. By morning you and Steve had basically become one single person, entangled together like wires. His leg would be over top yours, your arm over his, and when you were cold you would wedge yourself between Steve's body and the mattress, using him as a human blanket.

Twice a week Steve would have to wake up early to get ready for his shift at Family Video. You hated those days. It meant your personal body pillow would leave your side. You'd have to make do with the actual pillows that were on the bed.

The harsh sound of the bedside alarm clock earned sleepy groans from both you and Steve. Your boyfriend was the first to shift from your entangled position.

"Nooo don't leave." you mumbled, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders, the effort to restrain him made Steve chuckle.

"You know I have to." he answered, his voice hoarse and low. Sleepy Steve was goddamn sexy to listen to.

"Actually you have free will, so you don't have to." you countered, finally opening your eyes to view the picture perfect face beside you.

Steve sported a sleepy grin on his face as he admired your equally tired expression. "If you want to afford this crappy apartment then yeah, I have to." he concluded his statement by planting a soft and sweet kiss on your lips.

He had a point, this crappy apartment was a step towards saving up for an actual house. He needed every shift he could get. Your job at the local grocery store wasn't much of a money maker either, but it was enough to get by. That's all you two needed, to just get by.

"You set the alarm fifteen minutes earlier then you need to."

"And?" Steve hoisted himself out of bed and glanced back at you, curious to know what point you were trying to make.

Now that Steve was standing, your eyes gravitated to his bare chest. Although you had been basically molded against his shirtless body the entire night, seeing it in all its glory in front of you was a sight to behold.

"And that's fifteen minutes you could have spent still cuddling with me." you stated.

Steve huffed at your response and disappeared into the bathroom. You lazily plopped your head down on the nearest pillow while you listened to him begin his morning routine.

"I need time to style my hair and eat, ya know." your boyfriend appeared in the bathroom doorway, toothbrush handle poking out of the right side of his mouth as he spoke.

You rolled your eyes. "Throw in a little Farrah Fawcett and call it a day."

Steve retreated back into the bathroom, rinsing out his mouth before answering. "It takes time to perfect this iconic hair."

You audibly grumbled in return, hugging the pillow your head lay on and awaited Steve to come back out of the bathroom. When he did, he crossed the room to his dresser and picked out a fresh shirt. The heartthrob changed into a completely new outfit before checking himself in the mirror as he put the tacky green Family Video vest on.

The vest was the finishing touch, you knew he'd be on his way out the door in the next thirty seconds. Steve's eyes traveled to the left, making eye contact with yours through the reflection in the mirror. You jetted your lower lip out into an adorable but pathetic pout.

"You do this every time." Steve chuckles, turning around to face you.

"I want fifteen more minutes..." you give the best pathetic expression you could muster. It was Oscar worthy in your opinion.

Steve's face was an expressionless enigma. He stared at you with arms crossed over his chest as you dramatically rolled onto your back, trying hard to have just five more minutes with your boyfriend.

With eyes closed, you expected to hear Steve leave the room, but to your complete surprise, you felt the bed jolt violently as your boyfriend crashed onto it. The sudden jolt in the mattress made you laugh out loud and roll onto your side, Steve's strong arms wrapping around your waist as your chest is pressed to his. Steve eyed you as you giggled at him, satisfied that he gave into your pleading.

"Ten minutes, that's it." his voice was firm, demanding, sexy.

"Make it fifteen and we have a deal." you countered cheekily.

Steve's brows knitted together as he stared at you, you maintained a mischievous smile on your lips as you stared back at him. An almost animalistic groan left his mouth as he crashed his lips onto yours. The kiss was harsh but loving, Steve hated when he couldn't deny your requests, but he'd never say no.

After all, what's so bad about fifteen more minutes?

#steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington gif

912 notes · View notes

mayasdeluca · 8 days

Text

Wynonna Earp: Vengeance Thoughts

I've watched the special twice now so I've put some thoughts together on how I felt about it. Overall I thought it was really good and Emily did a good job of balancing both appealing it to new viewers who may not be attached to these characters but having a plot that they could be intrigued by and also still going back to the show's roots and making it about everything we know and love with these characters. I'm going to put more detailed thoughts under the cut, feel free to share yours either on the post or by messaging me and we can discuss! And also keep watching so we give it a bunch of views and a good chance to have more than just this special :)

The beginning of the movie starting with Nedley and Mercedes was unexpected but so good. Sad that Mercedes had to be sacrificed right away, Dani Kind is awesome but the way they did that with her body spelling out ‘Earp’ was insane ad fit this show perfectly.

Wynonna walking through the casino to ‘Tell That Devil’ was perfect and gave me all the feels.

Wayhaught’s first scene was adorable and so them. The Bunny interruption was perfect too. Loved her little involvement lol

I never really liked Wynonna and Doc romantically (Team Dolls all the way) so a lot of their involvement I didn’t really care for (though I do love Tim so it’s hard to not care for Doc completely). Their dynamic has always been sort of odd to me though.

Wynonna putting on the leather jacket before making her way back to Purgatory was another iconic moment. 😭❤️

All the Wynonna/Waverly/Nicole scenes in the movie were perfect. I wish we had more. Wynonna teasing them any chance she could and Nicole giving it to her right back. The scene when Wynonna just returns home was one of my favorites in the whole special. The stairs comment was my favorite Kat’s delivery of ‘Shut your mouth’ 😂 her comment on the chore wheel “It’s your turn to clean the baseboards…whatever that means in gay’ 😂

Wynonna and Waverly drunk at Mercedes wake and Nicole having to deal with their stupidity 😂 that whole sequence was absolute chaos in the best way

Loved Nicole and Nedley’s heart to heart ❤️ their dynamic is so special and important

They really put Nicole through hell (as usual) and we got to see her be badass which I love. Also kudos to Kat for doing all this physical stuff while being pregnant. She’s amazing.

Waverly and Wynonna having a heart to heart in front of the fire just like old times ❤️

The scene of Waverly, Wynonna, Nicole and Doc at the table really felt so right. The four of them are so good together.

The flashbacks of younger Wynonna to tie in her connection to the villain were really well done and especially the shots of present Wynonna seeing some of it. Great directing choice.

Nicole and Wynonna telling each other the hard truths all while being incredibly entertaining is my favorite thing. And in contrast seeing Doc and Waverley’s relationship is so great too.

This Black Badge Agent was incredibly underwhelming. A poor man’s Dolls and did nothing for me. I saw Emily’s explanation about not wanting to have too many familiar characters (as a reason why Jeremy wasn’t more involved) but this guy was just..meh.

The way they just casually dropped a kids mention with Wayhaught only to be interrupted right after…I think it makes sense that Nicole is ready for kids and Waverly isn’t (yet) because she still needs to explore and do things she hasn’t been able to yet but I do hope if they are able to do more that it’s brought up again

Nicole having to save Waverly from a dark goo (again) was a nice touch and I loved seeing that whole sequence (acted brilliantly by both Dom and Kat) Also all the times Nicole said fuck 😂

Wynonna and Doc porch scenes are always so heartbreaking. 😭 I don’t have much of an attachment to them together but Mel and Tim are so good in these kinds of scenes.

The amount of ‘baby’ mentions for Wayhaught in this special made me super happy 😍

This Wayhaught convo about Waverly needing to go do her thing with Black Badge and Nicole assuring her they can handle it was so good. They are so in love and precious. “I wish I could be the one to show you the world.” 😭 My favorite line. Ugh I want that for them so bad!

The Wynonna and Nedley convo at the cemetery was so good too. I love that this show/cast can basically put any two people together in a scene and they’re so good together in said scene.

Wayhaught on stakeout duty up top while Wynonna and Doc handle things on the ground was epic. And then when Nedley joined in…amazing lol

Loved seeing Wynonna being the badass we know her to be and taking care of things in her chaotic way and getting Nicole’s wedding ring back 🥰

I’m still shocked they went there with Doc and killing him but I do think it will end up being temporary if they end up doing more. It’s so sad to do that to Wynonna AGAIN too after she dealt with Dolls dying on top of everything else…stop torturing this poor woman already!!

It also seemed odd to me how none of them really had a reaction to Doc’s death…wonder if that was supposed to mean something. I’m glad they had Jeremy show up at this point though.

Wayhaught’s goodbye before Waverly leaves 😭 and Waverly saying goodbye to Wynonna too 😭…but excited for Waverly to have this journey and now Wynonna and Nicole working together…it leaves so much left for them to still do which I like.

Nedley watching Nicole and Wynonna like a proud dad ❤️ great ending with the last shot being that sign and Earp mailbox...very well done!

I do wish Rachel could have been involved (I loved her dynamic with Nicole especially in Season 4 and she is so Wayhaught's child) but Emily kind of explained that we'll see why she wasn't involved in the audiobook thing so I'm intrigued by that.

I also was kind of hoping we'd get more of just Wayhaught in general but of course I'm biased since they're my favorite part of the show/series and that we'd get more of them being intimate together but it was a lot more of it being implied (which I did enjoy and found funny especially in the way Wynonna would do it) and I get they only had a certain amount of time but now it's just made me want more of them in general so I do hope we get more now 🤞🏻

#vengeance #vengeance spoilers #wayhaught #wynonna earp

12 notes · View notes

chuuyascumsock · 1 year

Note

Okay soooo i kindaa had a silly idea and ran with it…. Fem!dazai who’s a monsterfucker with an AFAB!reader who is ALSO monsterfucker?

-Imagine fem!dazai finding out her s/o is a monsterfucker~

Imagine the two of them on Dazais bed just rambling on to eachother and then reader just says “honestly sometimes id just love to be fucked dumb by a tentacle y’know?”

And dazai just nods like “yass girll me too~” but she has this sneaky look in her eye.

-“Zai?whats up??oh no…what did you just think of🤨”

-“Oh no just…hold on”

She goes over to her closet and picks up a box and brings it back to the bed and opens it.

And lo and behold its fuckin filled with an assortment of monster-dicks.

Reader then looks up at dazai like 😳

And all she says is “ive got way better than a tentacle babe~ take your pick”

And when reader can’t pick on,she just covers their eyes and makes em pick one.

Imagine the rest of the night she just uses them all on you so you can find your absolute favorite…

Well at least that’s the excuse she made to get you on board.

Imagine dazai just goin to townn on you with each and ever one in the box,trying some of her favorite ones twice(just to make sure you get a proper feel for it ofc! she definitely doesnt love seeing your face scrunch up and relax as each one enters your pretty little cunt,each one a different shape,size,length and girth.)

Imagine her going so deep,it rubs against your cervix…imagine cumming so many times that at this point neither of you have kept count accurately.

Imagine her stimulating your clit with a little bullet vibrator as she thrusts the foreign shapes into you revelling in the way you moan out her name and grip the sheets,your toes curling and your back arching.

Imagine her using a vibrating one and just keeping it inside you,buried to the hilt and making u beg to have it pulled out.

Imagine her running her finger along the edge of your cunt,gathering some of your slick and demanding that you clean the mess off her fingers in exchange for taking it out of you.

Imagine by the time your done you feel so sore and exhausted that you can barely even get up to go have a post-coital shower.

Imagine waking up the next day to see that each and every one of the little gadgets had been haphazardly thrown back into their box. Only your decided favorites lying nicely cleaned and dry on your night stand.

Imagine getting just a little sweet revenge on her and buying her one she doesnt have just to use it on her until she cant walk. Honestly I doubt she’d mind~ I mean she gets to skip work the next day, AND she gets to be your little pillow princess~ It was a win win situation!

I hope its okie and not too much😭

ALSO IM SO SORRY I DIDNT KNOW U WERE LACTOSE INTOLERANT!!!!

Lets just imagine my icon is um lactose free cheese?(is that a thing?)

Anywho! OMG GOOD LUCK FOR YOUR EXAMS!!!! Ive got exams on monday too #A Levels🥲 I BELIEVE IN YOU!!!! YOUVE GOT THIS!!!!

Stay safe! Study well and i believe in you!

-🧀

DEAR LORD 🧀, WANT SOME WORD COUNT LIMIT WITH THAT ESSAY 😭⁉️

I love how dedicated you are lol.

But you’re missing the part where Fem!Dazai would get a double sided monster dildo just to share with you so you could fuck yourselves stupid on it. And she only gets more enthusiastic about it when your pussies meet in the middle and your clits rub against each other 🤭

OOOO ALSO BONUS BUT UHM, I HAVE A FEM! CHUUYA x READER x FEM! DAZAI SMUT DRAFT SITTING IN MY DOCS THAT WAS ORIGINALLY GOING TO BE WHAT I POSTED INSTEAD OF JUST THE FEM! CHUUYA SMUT 😶 I had the idea written down but I never wrote it. (I want to though.)

#casual asks #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai smut #fem dazai

56 notes · View notes

adiprose-abernath · 1 year

Text

Proof is in the Pudding

Content Warning: Hypnosis, long term weight gain, fit to fat, slob

Chris was your example of your basic gym rat. Wake up at 5am, start your grind and get your protein shake on. Then, it's the gym for 3 hours and then it's out for a jog. By end of day, he was burning thousands upon thousands of calories carelessly like the gaunt slip of paper of a man he was. One night, however, he gets an advertisement for Adiprose Adipudding, a new product from Adiprose Enterprising that was said to contain "4 times the calories as the leading brand and twice the protein. No need to worry, so whats youre hurry? Try our Insta-Pudding, Today!" Unfortunately for our skeletal sucker the word "protein" was all he needed.

4 days pass and a big box arrives at his doorstep with the logo of a friendly bespeckled werewolf giving a sly wink and grin. Excited for his delivery, he's a bit confused by the portions in small, individually wrapped packages of powder and a flash drive that says "WATCH ME" on it. Supposing its an instructional video, he pops it into his computer and presses play. The video begins with a superimposition of the company mascot and a recipe on how to create the Insta-Pudding mixture followed by a step by step tutorial. Regardless of how redundant a tutorial is for a 4 step process, Chris can't help but be drawn in the by the beautiful baritone tones of the narrator, mesmerized by mindless mixing and making and building and baking and, by its end, he seems to snap out of a trance. He looks back at the box and sees nothing but empty wrappers and...wait...what is this? He feels a grumble in his stomach and touches it to feel his flesh. Did he eat ALL of the puddings? That couldn't be. He rushes to the bathroom to discover his face covered with the chocolate and frosting. How is this even possible? Then the voice in the advertisement seems to waft in his ears. "No need to worry." And he finds himself relaxing and hungry. Perhaps another order will calm his suspicions

A few weeks go by with thus and changes begin to appear on our pitiful protagonist. His pecs begin plumping as a big billowy belly replaces the abs that were there before. His biceps melt and hang with gravity as flabby flesh hang from both sides of his arms. His legs, once lithe and lanky, thicken and turn tubby the thighs like tree trunks. His face isn't spared either as a small double chin rests under his lonely single. His cheeks puffen out and his face fills with fat. Every part of him grows and, though he won't admit it, he's starting to enjoy it?

Ever the dutiful rat, he decides to head to the gym again. Maybe that'll clear the headfog he's been experiencing. As he walks that way though, the adiprose jingle chimes along the street as a delivery van lazily drives along. A red flag in his head is ignored as begins to turn to the fast food parlor right beside the gym and go in instead. Then, after ordering food for people twice his size til hes scarfed it all down in a piggish panicked display as though hed never tasted food in his life.

This activity repeats itself every week for another two months, his belly ballooning bigger and bigger, sagging lower and lower His A cups turn to B and nearly crest C as his bloated breasts become heavy with fat and flab. His steps, when he can make them, are thunderous as his thighs, wide as oaks and nearly as heavy carrying a porkish portly poundage. His body is rarely covered in clothes but it is certainly covered in crumbs and frosting and sauces and food, his smelly form like a buffet of the food he's eaten. He wheezes, his poor lungs having difficulty managing a land whale 3 times his original size. Once a small gym rat of a meager 180 pounds, he flattens his former form with a fantastic five hundred and twelve, practically an inflated ironic icon of his greatest fears made manifest.

This is, of course, not the only case. For you see, the distribution of Instapuddings came with a special hallucinogen that would encourage the consumer to be consumed by calories and cakes and confectionary craze so powerful it made twinks into bears in no time at all. After all, what's the harm in a little self indulgence every now and again, and again, and again.

#male weight gain #gaining fiction #fittofat #hypnosis #slob #fat belly

81 notes · View notes

whoreviewswho · 4 months

Text

You're Serious? - The Time Warrior, 1973

A fact that is becoming somewhat lost to time is that Jon Pertwee's time on Doctor Who was very popular. This is not to say that the Pertwee era is largely disregarded in 2024 but it does seem readily apparent, as time marches on, that the prevalence of Pertwee as a definitive, monolithic icon for the general public has naturally dwindled. Or, perhaps, dwindled is the wrong word – Pertwee's Doctor has truly been eclipsed by even mightier, entirely totemic icons that came in his wake. David Tennant is THE Doctor and the only other challenger remains the indomitable Tom Baker.

But back when I was a kid, circa 2004/2005, Jon Pertwee's era was definitive. My mum, who grew up in regional Australia, recalled fond memories of watching Pertwee and Katy Manning pal around with the Brigadier. A formative step in my journey as a fan was a visit to Hobbyco in Sydney and begging my mum for the Corgi Doctor Who 40th Anniversary Gift Set of die cast models. Like any number of similar curios that shape fan memories, this particular set cemented what were, to my mind, the most iconic building blocks of the series – the Doctor (a S18 Tom Baker, presumably for painting reasons), the TARDIS (not to scale with the rest of the models), K-9 (with lettering in both sides), the Daleks (a Chase model), Davros (no notes), the Cybermen (Earthshock model that I apparently either never got or immediately lost since I have not memories of owning one) and Bessie (also not to scale), driven by Tom Baker. I vividly recall purchasing the set and the guy at the counter being excited to strike up a conversation. He was obviously a fan and talked fondly about the highlights of the series. What I realised in the years that have flowed on since is that, despite speaking highly of the Fourth Doctor and Sarah Jane, the most vivid of those rosy fan memories, the ones he and many other adults always relayed to me pre-revival, were of UNIT and the Master and the Sea Devils and Bessie* and the Axons and the Sontarans.

Put into perspective, this makes a great deal of sense. Leaving aside my home country's personal context (mid-'70s DW was infamously repeated on the ABC, a fact that was immortalised in DWM #104 when Tasmanian Jamie Hillard complained of the tedium of seasons eleven to fourteen being repeated twice a year, every year for the past five years. He was suitably rinsed by the UK fandom), Jon Pertwee's era was the most popular Doctor Who had ever been. While the show chugged along just fine during Troughton's tenure, it was in dire straits when producer Barry Letts inherited it partway through production of season seven, Pertwee's first, in 1970. It was only off the strength of what made it to screen that the programme was renewed at all. Throughout the four years that followed, Letts and script-editor Terrance Dicks retooled Doctor Who from Derrick Sherwin's vision of a hard-edged, political sci-fi thriller into the more accessible glam-infused comic-book show that raked in as many as ten million viewers a week for the first time since 1965.

But a good thing only lasts so long and, by the time of late 1973, just as Doctor Who was kicking off its eleventh season, it felt like a natural end was coming to what had been an incredibly successful five years. Pertwee’s Doctor Who had became an institution in its own right. Not to get too ahead of myself but there is a strong case to be made that Tom Baker and the Philip Hinchcliffe's era ascent to being the most popular the show ever was in its original run owes as much, if not more, of its success to the goodwill and steadily rising audience of the Pertwee years than it does to its actual quality (and it is of a very high quality). This is entirely hyperbolic but I strongly believe that had anybody else been cast as Pertwee's successor, anything less than the perfect storm we got, the Letts/Dicks/Pertwee run of the show would send out as the cultural peak even today. Bessie and the Brig would be wheeled out by the norms instead of the long scarf and K-9, that you can believe,

As everybody reading this article would know, the earthbound stories of Pertwee's time were notable for a distinct 'family feel', so to speak. Unlike previous eras, and any until 2005, the Third Doctor had an ongoing, regular supporting cast of UNIT personnel and assistants as well as the recurring threat of Roger Delgado's Master. There is a familiarity and comfort to the Third Doctor's run. Over the course of the previous year’s season ten, however, Letts and Dicks decided that the format had well and truly run its course and the Doctor was propelled into space and time full-time once again, leaving behind the UNIT regulars as merely recurring characters. It was during this production cycle that Katy Manning had decided that it was time for her to move on from the show, departing at the end of The Green Death, the last story broadcast that season. The final serial of season ten's production block, however, was actually the first story of season eleven – The Time Warrior.

Throughout the 1973-74 season, a slow (and conscious) dismantling of the Pertwee era begun taking place as well as a distinct sense of a lap of honour for the previous four seasons. In real life, this begins with Manning's departure in 1973 which, while her own instigated decision, was encouraged by Letts for fear his two stars would jump ship at the same time. Letts and Dicks had themselves decided to move on by the time season eleven proper began production which ultimately left Pertwee, self-conscious of his self-proclaimed team breaking up, finally deciding to give up the reigns after the tragic death of Roger Delgado. Onscreen, of course, this plays out somewhat quietly masterful. Malcolm Hulke's Invasion of the Dinosaurs is a conspiracy laden, political thriller such as those of season seven (detractors would call it parody) and saw the departure of now disgraced UNIT captain Mike Yates. Death to the Daleks (the hardest to square this circle, tbf)called back to the season ten’s epic return of the ‘60s Dalek adventure and offered the last gasp of the traditional, Hartnell style adventure serial that still permeated across Pertwee's time. The Monster of Peladon offered a direct sequel to the fan-favourite from season nine with some nice, deliberate telegraphing of the Doctor's oncoming death. And then there's the grand finale, Planet of the Spiders, where the Third Doctor departs the show with his remaining UNIT family under a series of self-referential and, frankly, indulgent circumstances set off by his own cavalier behaviour. Season eleven is a twenty-six episode finale for the Pertwee era that retreads all of the highs and exposes its limitations quite deliberately. With all of this in mind, The Time Warrior, the series opener, is entirely lacking in this sort of farewell mentality stands out as something of a different beast for the year.

For each of their seasons on the job, Letts and Dicks made a conscious effort to open each year with a big event and season eleven was no exception. After an absence of eight years (no, The Time Monster doesn't count), the duo thought that it was time for the return of the historical story. Somebody who disagreed, however, was Robert Holmes. Holmes had been a frequent contributor over Dicks' tenure as script-editor and was less than enthused that his proposal, The Automata, was rejected for him to be reassigned an historical. Dicks suggested an adventure be set in and around a medieval castle (it was filmed between Peckforton Castle and Wessex Castle to stunning results) and Holmes agreed only on the proviso that no famous historical figures were to be featured and that strong science-fiction elements were to still be included. The story that made it to screen has become one of the most renowned and celebrated in the history of the show. Frequently, I see it touted up alongside the all-time greats in the franchise as one of the very best and a real highlight of Jon Pertwee’s time in the show. While I think that The Time Warrior is very good, and there is a lot that I really like about it, this level of high praise has never sat entirely well with me. I don't even really have a lot to say on it. I like it a lot, it is the highlight of season eleven and one of many high points of Pertwee's run, but I have never found it to be an unshakable classic.

Let's not get too in the weeds too soon, though because Robert Holmes was a magnificent writer. Despite his personal disinterest, the man took his brief seriously clearly put in a lot of thought into getting the most out of this particular assignment. There is almost an overabundance of wit and charm and character to The Time Warrior's ensemble. As with most sharply intelligent people, Holmes was also obviously quite cynical and Instead of leaning into something fantastically Arthurian or romantically noble, he opted for a medieval world of pure grime and nastiness. This could be taken as Holmes leaning fully into the historical story's roots as an educational programme, insisting upon the most realistic depiction of the middle ages he could on a BBC budget for a family audience. I find this hard to believe. No, what Holmes was far more likely to do, and did, was recognise that this approach would have worked perfectly well and then take the next step which is basically to take the piss out of it. The Time Warrior is not just a witty script, it is hilariously absurd and over-the-top in every aspect of its conception. Irongron and Bloodaxe are laughably incompetent and self-absorbed but the pair it is in how gleefully squalid and brutal they are that Holmes relishes in. Yes, there is a realism to The Time Warrior in that it is not the Shakespearean or mythic depiction one might have expected from the Hartnell days how but the over-exaggeration of the repulsiveness and savagery of medieval life is what I truly adore. Mind you, this is largely just what's on the surface. Holmes is obviously doing here is writing an exaggerated depiction of middle-aged England that is functionally indistinguishable from England as it was in 1973. Holmes basically invented Blackadder. As great as this is, though, it doesn't always work in its favour. We'll get to Sarah Jane shortly.

A different aspect of this serial that has made it so iconic is its main villain. Determining that a small-scale threat would be easier both for him and for the production team, Holmes’ plot revolves around a single alien menace attempting to find his way home. Allegedly inspired by his recent reading of the On War treatise, Holmes was compelled to create an entirely militaristic villain and what he created was the character of Commander Linx, as performed by Kevin Lindsay. However well Linx is realised in the story, as much praise as anyone needs to be directed to make-up designer Sandra Exelby and costume designer James Acheson for their realisation of him. Linx, and by extension the Sontarans themselves, is a grotesque creature with a troll-like quality. It has not escaped notice for many that the species design is built around an extended gag – that part one cliffhanger. Still, fans continuously fail to appreciate just how goddamn funny Linx is. The characterisation is brilliant and nobody behind the scenes, until Steven Moffat, seems to realise that this is why he works.

Holmes, in no genuinely dramatic way, utilises Linx as a threat. What he is instead, besides a visual joke, is a scathing satire of militaristic ideals. That avenue also lends itself perfectly to the exaggerated depiction of the middle-ages. In his first scene, Linx emerges before the primitive natives, in strange armour with advanced weaponry, and claims that this new land now belongs to the Sontaran Empire as he plants a flag and assumes dominance over the people. It doesn't require much analysis to decipher what's happening here. Throughout the story, Linx, whose lines almost entirely consist of spouting rhetoric, offers to make weapons for the humans he's met, all the while condescending them and caring little for their lives and livelihoods. It's a simple but fantastically clever move; Holmes has taken the opportunity to depict the English, typically at one of their most mythic and noble periods, as a cowardly and cruel race to be easily oppressed and mocked.

The Time Warrior also sees the debut of another mainstay in Doctor Who lore in Sarah Jane Smith. Created by Barry Letts in direct contrast to her predecessor, Sarah Jane was pitched to directly address accusations of sexism that the series had garnered by being an obviously capable, career-driven, feisty and adventure-seeking investigative journalist. Incredibly, the role was cast before Elisabeth Sladen had even auditioned and, if to weren't for an uproar made by Pertwee due to his not being consulted, the part would have gone to April Walker show was paid out of the part when Letts cast Sladen (after he'd arranged for her to meet Pertwee, of course). For perhaps the wrong reasons, Pertwee was entirely correct though. From her first appearance, it is impossible not to be enamoured by Elisabeth Sladen. She just has a natural charm in this role and a captivating quality that makes her so very easy to watch.

As introduced in The Time Warrior, Sladen is certainly strong. She is well-defined, well-performed and plays a major role in the events of the plot. She is also at the core of the serial's biggest stumbling block which can come down to Holmes' poorly pitched snark. It is certainly one of Holmes’ regular tricks to lean heavily into sardony and lampshading things that, he at least considers to be, regressive and absurd ways of thinking. Sometimes this can really serve the story the is telling and the characterisation, it does so elsewhere in this one. Here, however, I think he misses the mark drastically and it comes off very poorly. In making the world of The Time Warrior such an exaggerated and vitriolic comment on contemporary Britain, Sarah has little place to assume control in the narrative and is rather brutally victimised by it.

Sure, Sarah Jane is firmly established as a feminist icon and it is a fine idea to drop her into the wretched sexism and reality of how horrible women were treated in the Middle Ages but emphasis is all wrong and it comes off so mean-spirited to me. In a similar vein, so much of the Doctor’s dialogue is designed to tease her about her strong values. The effect of all of this is likely intended to be endearing, and it is certainly to be funny but it comes off so smug and unnecessary. Sarah's beliefs, and the entire concept of feminism by extension, are singled-out as a futile gesture. Women are put down, they have also been put down and they always will be. This is perfectly in line with Holmes' approach to storytelling and his flavour of social commentary. It is also does not work at all.

Even though the Doctor frequently becomes Holmes' mouthpiece, I must stress that Jon Pertwee is not the problem at all. At this point in his run, the actor is so comfortable and confident in his performance that it would be impossible for him to disappear in it. To be honest, this is really the last time he properly turns up during his run since the season eleven filming Despite his oddly sexist jabs, the Third Doctor is wonderfully charismatic and relaxed in this story. There is a lovely development of his character from the rather pig-headed, irrational and moody character from season seven to the more mischievous tutor role he starts to settle into here. It is a similar progression to the First and Twelfth Doctors though rarely garners the same recognition.

The Time Warrior also has a few structural problems in my opinion, especially in episode three. The penultimate quarter of a Doctor Who serial always seems to be the hardest to write without playing for time, the three act structure is so familiar for a reason, and this one is no exception feeling like it does waste quite a lot of time with the Doctor arsing. Getting out of the castle and going back in and all for no really good reason other than to stretch out the runtime. Obviously, all of the antics are fun. This is a good production and Alan Bromley's only true directorial credit but it still has a bit of a sag, in my opinion. Is The Time Warrior a bad story? Far from it. Nothing as fun and as well made as this could possibly be considered wholly bad in my books. It is flawed, certainly but there is so much here to love. In a season of greatest hits, The Time Warrior stands out like a toad-faced git, chuckling with glee at how clever it is.

Later in the year, and despite the reservations of the BBC Head of serials, Holmes would be offered the position of script-editor for season twelve. He took the offer up and, in hindsight, it makes The Time Warrior somewhat of an intriguing curio. On the one hand, this is the last product of the creative fury that was season ten. On the other, it is a tantalising glimpse into what lies ahead around the corner. The Hinchcliffe era doesn't obviously have much in common with The Time Warrior, it is a lot funnier than a lot of those stories would be, but there is a more subtle stylistic shift to be seen here. This is not a comic-book adventure serial. The action is not explosive and the dialogue is not pulpy and punchy in the same way. The Time Warrior is more literary. Not inherently a better or even more intelligent choice but the distinction is palpable. Underneath the sheen of a gritty historical is a silly story about squalid and mean characters whose lives are miserable and ambitions are low. Even with the Doctor, still under UNIT's employ, there is a clear sense of his ready to move on from this status quo. The wheels of the next era are slowly in motion. Even the title sequence has changed, slowly morphing into its next identity but it's not quite there yet. Instead of looking back on the era that is closing up, The Time Warrior sets its sights firmly on the future.

It's not even close to the best Pertwee story though.

*He did, however, question why the Bessie model featured a S18 Tom in the driver's seat saying that it was "mostly Pertwee" who drove the car. Throughout my childhood, I found it easy to reconcile this though thanks to Tom's appearance in the The Five Doctors photoshoot. It's obvious, really.

13 notes · View notes

sacredstarcatcher · 1 year

Text

Cruel Summer - Part 10

Jake x Reader x Sam

Warnings: Phone sex, oral sex, unprotected sex, tourism.

A/N: Thank you for being along for the ride as I published my first ever fic. I love all of you who enjoyed my silly garbage story and look forward to someday writing more for you, if you'll have me. (Please send requests lol) Again, thank you to my inspiring best friends who fed me ideas and and answered all my silly "what if?" questions. Also, thank you for giving me grace and extra time on this last one, it's twice as long as all the other chapters! :P

The morning comes sooner than anticipated. When you wake up, Sam is no longer in his bed, but you hear the faint sound of his voice as he mumbles to Rosie flowing into the bedroom. You stretch and yawn, getting up to brush your teeth and wash your face. It’s hard not to think of Jake, how he’s feeling, what he might be doing, how he’s processing all of this… but you decide to push it aside. There’s seemingly nothing else you can do for him.

You pad across Sam’s wooden floors barefoot, back into the bedroom. You take your phone off the charger and unlock it, wondering if Jake had maybe reached out overnight. Not thinking of him is obviously not going well.

What you’re met with when you open your phone and switch off the Do Not Disturb setting is not Jake. It’s an influx of notifications for likes and comments on “a post you’re tagged in”, the red number on the instagram icon growing every few seconds. You panic, opening the app to see what the hell is going on.

As it opens, you see a photo of the waterfall you visited with Sam two weeks ago. You swipe left and the next photo is a picture of Danny, Sam holding out his beer bottle from behind the camera to clink against Danny’s glass of beer mid-spill. You swipe again, and it’s a photo of the pickles you made together, Sam’s big hand wrapped around the jar, the sunlight reflecting off of it. Then, you swipe once more, and it all becomes clear.

The last slide is a photo of you and Rosie. You’re in the #1 Dad shirt Sam thrifted for you, tucked into your silly vintage elastic denim shorts. You’re kneeling in the garden next to her, your hair in two french braids. Your eyes are hidden behind your heart shaped glasses but your smile conveys more than enough emotion. It’s candid; you’re looking down at her and her tongue sticking out as she pants in the summer sun, her eyes on Sam as always. It looks like she’s posing for the picture, and you’re completely unaware, your hand on her affectionately, mid-scratch.

He took it that day… The day you had first kissed, the day you had come to terms with your developing feelings for him and were met with rejection. You had spent that day together, a seemingly boring day running errands and chores, but he spent every second trying to cheer you up, trying to get you to forget all the stress you were under, between the loneliness you felt from Jake’s absence and the pressures of your job. You stare at the photo, remembering the day, remembering the feeling.

Your memory flashes to the way he rejected you. The way he told you he was just leaning on you for emotional fulfillment his girlfriend at the time wasn’t giving him. It hurt you for days; you thought you had spent that entire day imagining the chemistry and connection between the two of you like a delusional, love-sick teenager.

Seeing this photo now, from the perspective that shows exactly how he saw you as the sun shone down on your funky outfit and smiling face, the way he saw you and thought you were so perfect he needed a picture to remember the moment… it seems to heal a part of you that was hurt or doubting.

Then, you come back to the present. Hundreds, no, thousands of people now know who you are. It’s a good thing your profile was already private, because he was generous enough to tag you in the photo. Maybe you wouldn’t let him out the door last night to wallop his older brother, so he did this to get back at him the best way he could without putting you through too much turmoil. You scurry out of the bedroom, stopping to stand in front of the breakfast bar where Sam is sitting.

“Good morning!” he says, taking a bite of a banana.

“What did you do?” you ask with a laugh, your eyes going back and forth between his face and the comments on your screen.

“Oh fuck, did you want the last banana?” he asks as he chews nonchalantly, but there’s a small, dignified smile on his face as he holds it out to you. “You can have the other half.”

“I’m talking about your 4am instagram post, actually. You can have the banana.” You stroll to the counter to grab the coffee pot, but he stops you.

“Hey wait.” His voice is boyish and light. “I already made you some.” He slides the mug across the counter to you gently. “Heard you were up a little while ago.” His gentle smile and his sweet voice are a soothing balm to any and all of your anxieties.

“Thank you, Sammy.”

You smile at him over the rim of your mug. It’s not just a thank you for the coffee. The sweetness of his very public gesture, even if it may have been powered by possessiveness after everything that happened last night, was special to you.

He stands to toss his banana peel in the trash, then comes around to pull you in closer around your shoulders. There’s a content smile on your face and an indescribable warmth in your heart as he kisses the top of your head.

-oOo-

When the dreaded day you have to say goodbye to Sam comes, you find yourself sitting on top of his suitcase in protest as he stands behind you, arms around your shoulders. Rosie is sniffing around the yard, unphased.

“Gonna miss you, pretty girl.” He mumbles into your hair, and you lean your head against him and nod, your hands coming up to hold his arms. “You better take good care of all my plants. Gotta sing to them. It’s important.”

Even though you’re sad, you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Inside and outside? The neighbors will call a wellness check if they hear me.”

Before he can answer and tell you your singing voice is beautiful to him, the van rolls up. You sigh, knowing this is it. Danny hops out of the driver’s seat and both twins emerge from the back. It’s a tense moment as Jake locks eyes with you, but he quickly averts his gaze.

“Please tell me you’re going to visit us,” Josh says as Sam walks off to put his luggage into the back. You smile, nodding.

“I will, I will. I’ll come out and see you at a few dates, probably.” You’re not lying, but you don’t exactly have anything planned. “It’s only two months. You’ll survive without me.” Josh laughs, looking into your eyes with a raised brow.

“You severely underestimate the manner in which multiple members of this godforsaken band rely on you. Myself included, dearest.” He smirks and pulls you in for a hug, squeezing tightly.

Danny and Jake stand in the grass a few feet away, chatting and playing with Rosie. Your heart hurts just a little.

“I’ll come see you. I promise.” You smile at him, pulling away from the hug. It’s quiet for a second. “Is he in a good mood today? Should I go say goodbye?”

Josh smirks, tilting his head. He knows exactly who you’re talking about.

“I’m not qualified to answer. You’re on your own there.” He laughs a little loudly as he walks away and it catches Jake’s attention. It wouldn’t be right if you didn’t say goodbye, so you put on a brave face and approach Danny first to say goodbye. He immediately offers you a hug.

“Please make sure Sam behaves,” you say over his shoulder as you squeeze each other tightly in a hug. “He’s trying to quit smoking for good this time. I know he’s not going to tell you so I am.”

Danny laughs as you pull back from the hug, giving you a salute. “I’ll hold him to it.”

He knows what’s coming, so he takes his leave, walking over to the van. He starts trying to usher Rosie into the back.

A sigh leaves your chest, turning to look at Jake. He’s got his sunglasses on, his hands in his pockets. You’ve seen each other a few times since that fateful night, but it’s been tense. He and Sam are still avoiding each other for the most part. You meet his eyes over the rim of his dark, round sunglasses, and he’s raising his eyebrows, as if he’s waiting for you to speak first.

“Did you remember to pack your phone charger this time?” you ask. He chuckles, looking down, nodding.

“Yeah. Trying to avoid buying a fifth one.” You smile at that, feeling just a little of the tension release. The silence reemerges though, the two of you avoiding each other’s stare as you look at the grass below or the happenings behind you. You sigh, knowing it can’t be like this forever.

You say his name quietly in an attempt to focus him. He doesn’t lift his head, but his eyes flick up quickly to meet yours.

“You don’t have to forgive me. But you have to forgive Sam.” You pause, your voice a little quieter before you continue. “He’s your brother.”

Jake’s lingering smile fades and he chews on his cheek. “I know he is.” His tone is a little smarmy, as if he’s twisting the knife.

Okay, you deserved that.

“Just.. Please. I want you guys to enjoy yourselves. Go back to the way things were. Like I never existed.”

Jake nods, lifting his head from the grass. “Tall order. But I’ll work on it.”

It’s taking everything in you not to word vomit another ten apologies, but you know it won’t help, so you don’t. Instead, you give him a sincere smile and wish him well. Genuinely.

“I hope you have a good time. I know you’ll be great.” Your voice is weak and your heart is heavy.

Before you have a chance to see his face or feel any worse, you step off, heading towards Sam and interrupting his conversation with Danny. It looks like Sam intervened and got Rosie inside the van and she’s sitting contently in her seat.

“Sorry for holding you guys up,” you say as Sam wraps his arm around your waist and kisses your temple.

“Not a problem, pretty girl. We’re still running on schedule, surprisingly enough.” Danny breaks off, getting the keys back out and heading to start the car. Sam squeezes gently at the flesh of your side, urging you to turn into his arms. “Now kiss me like you’ll miss me.”

You say your goodbyes and watch the van pull away, leaving you in front of Sam’s house alone.

-oOo-

The first week flies by. You start back at work, decorating your classroom. You Facetime Sam as much as his schedule allows. Sometimes that looks like you eating dinner across from a phone propped up against a wine glass. Sometimes it’s folding laundry while you peek down at him in the corner of the screen. Sometimes it’s propping your phone up on the white board in your classroom as you hop up on desks and hang bulletin board borders and bubble letters, fastening the alphabet to run along the top of the walls. He never runs out of things to talk about- he constantly chats on about what he’s up to, what they’re doing on their time off, and of course, Rosie. When he’s not asking about you, of course.

It’s lonely at night, and you realize that about 5 days in. You stand in the kitchen of Sam’s empty home and it’s eerily silent. You’ve watered all of his plants for the evening, and it’s still neat and tidy the way he left it. An urge comes over you to step into his bedroom, and when you do, it physically hurts your heart.

It smells like him. Just a little. Like when he’s in the shower and the smell of his soap is sneaking out of the crack beneath the bedroom door. Like a diluted version of what you experience when you hug him close and breathe him in. There’s nothing in the world that could stop you as you fall into his bed, holding tight to his pillow. Sam is thousands of miles away. It’s almost midnight where he is, and here you are, about to cry in his bed at 7pm.

As your phone starts to vibrate, you scramble and answer, relieved to see Sam’s name on your screen.

“Hey.” Your voice immediately conveys that you’re feeling a little down.

“Hey you. What’s up?” he asks, his voice taking on a sympathetic tone.

“Oh, nothing. I just finished watering your plants. Your house is lonely without you.” You send a big sigh through the receiver. “Somehow I ended up in your bed. It smells like you.”

“Oh, just break my heart, why don’t you?!” he says. You can’t see him, but he’s clutching his heart and playing dead. Your laugh in response is half hearted, but genuine.

“Sorry, sorry. I had every intention of getting up, drying my tears, remaking your bed, and watering your Japanese money plant on the way out. You would have never known if you didn’t call me.” You make light of the situation, getting cozy under his blankets as you chat to him.

“Hey, you can stay. You know, you should actually. My bed probably misses you as much as I do.” You hear him rustling around in his hotel bed halfway around the world. You hug the pillow tight, the smell of him making your heart swell.

“Maybe just for a little while.” The tone of your voice conveys that you’re planning to be wrapped in his sheets for the foreseeable future. You sit in comfortable silence for a few moments before he speaks. “It’s lonely without you, though.”

“You know if I could, I’d be your big spoon until the sunrise.” His voice is a little quieter, a little lower now. He’s alone, but he’s making sure you know his words are only for you. “Miss being able to wake up and just feel you next to me.” He sighs, and your heart starts to pound a little.

“Yeah?” You’re not sure why, but the tone of his voice, despite his mostly innocent words, has flipped a switch in you. He can tell- the way you subtly ask him to continue is laced with the slightest bit of want and he picks up on it immediately.

“Oh, you really miss me.” A self-satisfied chuckle comes through the phone. You feel your cheeks get hot when he calls you out.

“I do.” It comes out like more of a whine.

“What do you miss, pretty girl?” He’s baiting you, and it’s impossible to resist. You respond immediately.

“Your hands, your fingers,” you let out, a little breathless.

He responds with a pleased hum. “Laying in my bed, thinking about how it feels when I sneak my hands into your panties late at night?” As you exhale sharply, a moan escapes you. He hears it and it’s off to the races. “Touch yourself. Go ahead. I know you want to imagine it’s me.”

Your next words come out a little choppy and there’s a bit of a laugh laced between them. “Not as good. Not the same.” You touch yourself teasingly, imagining exactly what he suspected. You fantasize that it’s him, touching you after he’s finally come to bed after you, gently slipping into bed and pulling your back tight to his chest, his hands wandering. You moan a little louder now, letting him hear what the thought of him does to you.

“Fuck,” he groans, and you know that the movement you hear now is him repositioning himself so he can do exactly what you are, thousands of miles away.

“Do you miss me?” you ask, prodding, needing to hear more of the deliciously dirty thoughts in his head. You know the answer but you’re not quite ready to be that direct.

“Do I miss you? I think about you every minute of the fucking day, pretty girl. God, I’d give anything to fuck you right now. Just the way you like.” You hear a muffled groan on the other end and it sends a wave of pleasure through you, the thought of him wanting you that badly.

“The way I like?” You ask, wanting him to tell you. He’s onto your game and he gives you a dirty chuckle in response.

“You know what I mean,” he drawls, voice laced with mischief. “When I push your leg back juuuust right and get ahold of your sweet spot,” he continues, panting a little.

“Mhm,” you respond, touching yourself more urgently now, encouraging him to keep going. He swallows thickly and you hear a moan escape him as if he’s losing control. “I- I do like that..” you confess.

“I know you do. It makes you so wet I can hear it, every time,” he divulges. “Music to my fucking ears.”

“Oh,” you let out in a high pitched whine, knowing exactly what he’s talking about, but still a little shocked at his words. It makes your stomach flip as you recall the sight of him up on his knees looking down at you, pressing your leg back into your chest as he fucks into you slow and deep.

“Miss those little fucked out sounds you make,” he says through his teeth. “When you say my name.”

“Sammy,” you pant out immediately, your breathing ragged, giving you away.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he asks, and you know he’s getting close. “I can hear it in your voice, pretty girl.”

His use of your pet name combined with the filth dripping from his voice is the only push you need, sending you over the edge. Your orgasm pulls a raunchy moan from your chest, the drag of it past the back of your throat will make you hoarse tomorrow as a reminder.

“There we go,” he praises from the other side of the Earth. “Oh, fuck.” Muffled moans and gasps come across the line into your ear, making your heart nearly stop.

“Oh my god,” you say, breathless. “That was…”

“Yeah.” His voice is quiet and playful again as he giggles quietly. “Jesus.” He clears his throat, his voice now a little raspy and laced with sleep. “Surprisingly enough, that is not why I called.” His laugh is contagious as you come down slowly, the fog clearing from your mind. “I was wondering if you’d come out here next weekend. Catch up with us in Paris.”

“Oh, wow. I… I think I could make that work.” You’re sure he can hear your smile through the line.

“Good. Great. Amazing! I’ll have someone get in touch with you about details?” He groans a little, and you know the sound so well, it’s clear he’s stretching.

“I can’t wait.” You pause for a moment. “It’s so late where you are. You should get some rest.”

“I know, I know. I’m gonna go try. You sleeping at my place tonight?”

“I think I might.” There’s no chance you’re leaving now.

“Sleep well, pretty girl. I love you.”

-oOo-

You watch out the window of the car as it drives through the streets of Paris, marveling at the beauty before you. It’s not lost on you how special it is that Sam made arrangements to bring you all the way out here to see him for two days in the middle of their European leg.

He’s standing outside of the hotel when you pull up; he’s in a low cut leopard print shirt, his black pants tied with a shoelace belt he’s probably using because he didn’t pack a real one. You smile, hopping out of the back seat and charging towards him. Sammy squats down, catching you around your thighs, lifting you up as he giggles.

“Hi, handsome,” you mumble with a smile, pushing his hair behind his ear. He grins up at you, holding you tightly. It’s seconds before you lean down and kiss his lips a little forcefully, cupping his cheek in your hand. He puts you down, looking you over in front of him. Your yellow sundress and sneakers make his heart jump.

“Look at you.” He pulls you in under his arm, kissing the top of your head. “You get prettier while I was away?” he says, giving you a faux scrutinous glare. You can’t help but blush, rolling your eyes and shaking your head.

“I could say the same to you..” He’s tan and glowing, the European sun clearly being kind to him. His hair is shining in the sunlight and his facial hair is fuller, neater than it was as you were enjoying time off in the summer.

“You flatter me, gorgeous.” He releases you, grinning. “They’ll take your bags upstairs. We have plans today, so we gotta go.”

“I’m following you,” you say, smiling as you tilt your chin up, wanting just one more kiss.

The first stop is lunch. It’s straight out of a movie, the sight before you. Sam sits in a wrought iron chair across the table, sipping a fruity drink, the view behind him almost as breathtaking as he is. You snap a picture of him after he hands his camera across the table. You know how to use it now- he’s carefully instructed you enough times that you’re comfortable enough.

You eat more than you should and indulge in a few drinks. The two of you are somehow more flushed and smiley as you leave than you were when you arrived. He holds your hand in the back of the car as you make your way to the next stop.

As you exit the car, he laces his fingers with yours as you walk, sunglasses on, camera around his neck. You look like two tourists straight out of a Sky Mall catalog.

“So, this isn’t the Eifell tower, but I think you’re going to like this view better. We can still go there if you want, but… You’ll see. ” It’s sweet, the way he’s showing you around the city he’s already seen, carefully considering what you would like, not just checking off all the traditional visitor boxes.

“This is the Sacre-Coeur Basilica,” he says, trudging up the steps. “Means Sacred Heart. It’s built on the highest hill in Paris.” You reach the top, turning around to see a wide, panoramic view of the city. It’s beautiful- the sun behind you allowing you to stare without squinting.

“If you want, we can go inside and climb up the dome to see even more.” He smiles, pointing up to the top.

“Seriously?” you ask, grinning. He doesn’t need to hear anything else- he pulls you closer and leads you inside.

The afternoon turns into evening, Golden Hour fast approaching. You meander through the Musee d’Orsay together, cracking silly jokes about some of the more interesting art. You scan the walls with wide eyes, taking in real life Monet and Van Gogh, holding Sam close by the waist as he leads you around under his arm.

The two of you scale the upper level of the museum, looking at the sunset through the giant clocks. You can’t help but take in the sight of him as you snap a few pictures, the orange sun just driving home the fact that you find him more beautiful than any of the art you’ve laid eyes on today. He catches you raking your eyes over him and gives you a sly smile. He comes behind you, leaning you against the balcony that overlooks the view, a hand on either side of you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, kissing the shell of your ear. You blush, tilting your head closer to him.

“Can’t say. I’ll get arrested.” You lean back with a little giggle, not so subtly pushing your ass against him. He lets out a sharp exhale at the contact, his hand shooting to your hip to steady you, pulling himself back.

“You better not.” His warning goes for the way you’re touching him and for the potential arrest. “We have dinner plans. And I like these pants.” You laugh, feeling mischievous.

“Well you’re no fun,” you answer, turning around, his arms still trapping you in place. You hook your fingers into his shoelace belt, pulling him closer. “I thought you said you missed me.” You ghost your lips over his, tempting him.

He lets out a playful growl, his hand cupping your ass and pulling you flush against him. He uses the other to hold your neck and pull you in for a deep, passionate kiss. You let out a tiny squeak, hands moving to his waist to pull him closer.

As he breaks the kiss, he lets go of you, mumbling under his breath with a smirk. “Jesus christ. Tightest fucking pants in the world.” He pulls at them, laughing. You can’t help but giggle along, flattening your dress. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You leave the museum, both of you a little flustered and more than ready for a glass of wine. It’s a short drive to the restaurant Sam’s chosen, a wonderful spot along the Seine river. As it gets darker, the lights along the river and through the city are gorgeous and create the most romantic atmosphere. It’s impossible for you to stop smiling as you sit across from Sam, still reeling from the perfect day spent together.

“So, I was doing some thinking the other day.” Sam sips his wine and looks across the table, reaching for your hand. You look at him with attentive eyes, taking his hand, resting your chin in your other palm.

“The day after you spent the night at my place.” You remember, nodding. He seems serious. Immediately, worry floods into the cracks in your brain. He speaks again, squeezing your hand, as if he can sense it. “I was just thinking that maybe it would make more sense if… you moved in with me. It feels like we’re keeping up with two separate, shared places… spending every night together at either one of them…” He’s a little nervous now, as if he’s not sure how you’re going to react. “I don’t know, I just thought maybe it was worth talking about.”

You grin at him, waiting for him to finish. He leans back in his chair, looking at you. “What do you think?

“I think that makes a lot of sense.” It’s hard to hide your smile- not that you have to. “Then I don’t have to water 900 plants over two different places of residence.”

Sam’s eyes soften, his slightly crooked smile on full display. “I want you to know,” he begins, the sincerity in his eyes almost pleading. “I’m serious. About us, about being together. About everything. I know my past doesn’t really help plead my case,” he says, rolling his eyes, “but I mean it. There’s no other girl like you. You’re it for me. And I mean that.”

It never ceases to amaze you, the way it feels like he can read your mind. Any anxiety, any worry, any doubt you have, he will eventually sniff out and eradicate it. He knows the deepest parts of you without having to ask, without you having to offer them up to him. Sam is in touch with every part of you, mind, body, and soul, and there’s nothing left for you to doubt about him now.

“Sammy,” you say, touched by his words. You tilt your head and smile, pulling his hand up to your face, holding it in both of your own. “You’re everything to me.”

His eyes light up as he leans forward, grinning. There hasn’t been a single moment in your entire life where your heart has felt more full than this very second.

“I love you, my pretty girl. My forever girl.” You place a kiss to the back of his hand, cheeks pink and glowing.

“I love you, Sammy.”

-oOo-

The two of you enjoy a celebratory dinner and a bottle and a half of wine. It’s all giggles and stumbles as you head back to the car, the driver waiting patiently as you said you would be done with dinner and drinks 45 minutes prior.

The second you step into the elevator of the hotel, it’s all hands and kisses and giggles. The door slides open and Sam laughs, trying to wrangle you. “Alright, alright,” he says, scrunching his neck up with a laugh as you place kisses on his warm, tan skin. He pulls you out of the elevator and you follow, giggling all the way down the hall.

When you reach the door, he pins you up against it while he fishes the key card out of his pocket. “Don’t think I forgot about the stunt you pulled up in the clock tower,” he whispers into your ear, his voice low, just for you. You reply with a fake gasp, feigning innocence.

“I didn’t pull any stunts, Sammy.” You do the exact thing you did in the clock tower and press yourself against him again. He groans, finally getting the door open. He hugs you tightly around your waist so you don’t fall forward before corralling you inside.

“You’re a shitty liar.” He leads you to the bed, tossing you backwards and you land with a giggle. He stands over you, quickly unlacing your hightops and tossing them across the room. He wastes no time pulling up your sundress, stealing your panties and sliding them down your legs. “You’re lucky I don’t feel like arguing.”

You watch him as he pulls his shirt, the buttons barely putting up a fight. He tosses it to the side, then immediately descends between your legs. You can’t even get a word out- the first stroke of his tongue against you emptying your head of any thought you might have had. It’s long, languid, and slow, as if he’s savoring the taste of you.

Soon enough, he finds his footing and re-centers himself, picking up the pace. You cry out at the feeling and it causes him to flick his eyes up to you, watching through his dark lashes as you completely surrender to his mercy. He’s staring in awe, his hazy eyes making him look almost drunk on the taste of you. His hands are under your thighs, holding your hips tightly, the tip of his perfect upturned nose moving in and out of sight as he tastes every inch of you. He pulls one hand away, deciding to slip two fingers into you with ease. You gasp, letting a wanton moan fly from your lips.

Your hand travels to his hair and gives a gentle tug. The action pulls a low rumble from him, the feeling against you pulling you closer and closer.

It’s probably the fastest he’s ever brought you to your end- he’s determined. Every lick, every movement, perfectly calculated and all for you. You’re so close, arching your back with a hand tightly in his hair, when he releases, pulling back from you with a lewd pop and smack of his lips.

You look up at him, brow knitted up, cheeks hot as you catch your breath. Before you have a chance to complain, he leans over you, his lips crashing into yours. It’s not a chaste kiss by any means. He slips his tongue against your lips and into your mouth. The taste of him and the taste of yourself concocting something so sinful you can’t help but savor it.

“You taste how sweet you are, pretty girl?” he asks, panting as he breaks from you. He looks down at you with dark eyes before he slides his two fingers into your mouth. Without question, you clean them off. “That’s my girl,” he praises as you bat your eyelashes up at him, making a display of yourself as you suck on as much of his long fingers as you can fit in your mouth. He groans at the feeling, then takes them back, replacing them with his tongue as he kisses you again. Your hands sneak down to his shoelace belt and start to mess with it, but he pulls away, opting to do it himself. You move to pull your dress off, but he stops you with a single sentence.

“Leave it on.”

You pant as you look up at him. He pulls his pants off, looking down at you with a smirk.

“You teased me in that little dress all day. Now I’m gonna fuck you in it.” He descends upon you again, pressing himself against your core, but not pushing inside just yet. “...If you ask nicely.”

“Sammy, please,” you whine, squirming beneath him. He pulls at the top of your dress, which luckily has some stretch, and it’s seconds before your nipple is in his mouth. He smiles against you, starting to push inside, the feeling of him filling you so deliciously sending your brain into overdrive.

“God, I missed this tight little pussy. Fuck.” He pushes halfway in and sees your face- just a flicker of a wince, and he retreats, giving you a second to relax. “Gotta breathe for me, baby.” His thumb brushes against your clit, helping you along. He pushes in again, the feeling almost too much for him. You watch as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep himself in check.

He sighs once he’s fully inside you, pushing up to kneel over you. The angle presses him upwards and you cry out, walls fluttering around him. He had edged you earlier and you’re still close now. He feels it and a smug smile crosses his face.

“I think she missed me too,” he says, starting to move. You pant, hands fisting in the skirt of your yellow dress as you try and grapple for some sort of control or release. Either would be fine. “You think she did?” he asks, his hand grabbing onto your leg, thumb running circles against your calf. “Let’s see,” he says, making good on his word, pressing it backwards, his next stroke so deep and perfect it makes you see stars. He breathes raggedly as he fucks into you, watching your face contort.

It’s even better than you remember, the way he drags against the most sensitive, delicious spot deep inside you. He lets out a small chuckle and you look at him, wondering why. He shushes you gently, but keeps moving. You quiet your breathing and you hear it, exactly like he said you would. It’s vulgar, enough to make your cheeks turn pink. The sound of how you’re practically dripping around him, making an absolute mess of him. Your face is guilty and slightly embarrassed, but he doesn’t pay any mind. He laughs once more before he pulls your face gently to look at him. “Come on, baby. Let go for me.”

He knows exactly what he does to you- he pulls up on your hips, intensifying the angle that’s already driving you mad. He presses his hand down on your abdomen, not saying anything, but you know he’s feeling himself in the deepest part of you. You can’t help the way you whine, gasping for air as if there’s so much of him inside you there’s not enough room for a breath. He picks up the pace just slightly and that’s all it takes for the heat in your belly to spread, your climax taking you and dragging you under. You’re not sure how long it lasts or what comes out of your mouth, but you’re sure he’s pleased with himself based on the way he’s looking down at you, slowing his pace. He leans down, releasing your leg, and kisses you gently as he slowly thrusts into you, seeming to want to savor the feeling. He peppers your jaw and cheeks with kisses, petting your hair as you come down.

“Where’d rough Sammy go?” you ask, catching your breath.

“He’s on break.” He laughs quietly, kissing you gently on your lips. You giggle back, and he freezes, as if the muscles contracting as you laugh are bringing him dangerously close. “Want me to go get him?” he jokes, but his voice is strained.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice a little sluttier than you’d like to admit. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He pulls out of you quickly, pulling you up from where you are. “On your knees,” he says, and you listen, your hair falling down your back as you push it all out of your face. You look up at him with bright eyes, waiting. It’s seconds before he fists himself and pushes his cock into your mouth, the tip tasting of precum, the rest coated in you.

He’s not gentle- he’s immediately got a fist in your hair, and once you’re able, you’re taking as much of him as deep as you can. He hits the back of your throat repeatedly, your eyes squeezing shut. He watches you, his eyes burning the image into his memory. He pulls your head down by your hair once, holding it there until you gag. He pulls you off of him, letting you breathe for just a moment before his thumb hooks your bottom teeth, holding your mouth open. You look up at him with wide, teary, mascara streaked eyes, seeing his devilish smirk.

“You ready?” he asks, holding your mouth open. You nod to the best of your ability, keeping your mouth open as a small whimper escapes you. He leans down and spits into your mouth, making you flinch just a little, before letting go of your mouth and moving his fist to furiously stroke himself. It’s only moments before he’s spilling all over your tongue, pushing the tip of himself past your lips. A string of curses with your name tangled between leaves his parted lips as you close your own lips around him, swallowing every drop, rubbing your tongue against the underside of his cock. He whines, pulling away, feeling sensitive already.

You stare up at him, smiling sheepishly, wiping the side of your mouth with your thumb. He wordlessly pulls you to your feet and ushers you to the extravagant Parisian hotel bathroom, drawing you a bath.

-oOo-

While out visiting Sam, you didn’t see any of the other boys. As much as you hated to not visit Josh, you didn’t want to spare a second of your time for anyone but Sam. From what you could gather, things were getting better between him and Jake, so you didn’t want to cause a regression. It was a perfect weekend and you wouldn’t change a thing if you could.

The holidays approach quickly. They fly home a few days before Thanksgiving and get settled. That Wednesday, it’s been decided, you’re all set to go out drinking.

“Everyone goes out the night before Thanksgiving. Everyone.” Josh is explaining the lore behind the small town tradition of getting blackout drunk at bars in your home state the night before a family function. “You get to see all the fucks you knew in high school and get plastered, then eat your ass off the next day. It’s literally called Blackout Wednesday.”

You widen your eyes, shaking your head. “Sounds terrible. Also, you didn’t go to highschool here.”

Josh rolls his eyes, motioning with his hand. “Yes, smartass, but you get the point. That’s how the tradition started. Now let’s go. Daniel and Jake are meeting us there.” You nod, remembering you have to face Jake tonight. It’s been two months, and you’re praying he’s found it in his heart to at least forgive Sam.

You feel absolutely sick as you pull up to the bar, and it’s not because of the pre-game shots you took. The uber drops you off directly in front of a very familiar bar- the one where you met Jake months ago in the beginning of the summer. You feel the emotions wash over you as you step inside, the sticky floors and smell of industrial barkeeping cleaner flooding your senses and making you wonder if you’re going to survive the night.

It’s then that you realize you may stand a chance. Jake and Danny are across the bar, sitting at a long high top table. Jake’s smiling, legitimately smiling, teeth and all, as he waves you all down. They both get up, but Jake gets to you first, squeezing you tightly in a friendly hug over the top of your arms.

“Hi,” you say, laughing, surprised when he backs away. “Welcome home!” you say, grinning.

“Thank you, thank you. Happy to be back.” He pushes his sunglasses up on the bridge of his nose and smirks. “Missed you, kid.”

You smile and look over at Sam, who took the seat next to Jake’s and is smiling as he watches the interaction. You look back at Jake with a smile filled with a metric ton of emotion. “I missed you too.”

You step backwards to hug Danny, and then get situated at the table. It feels right- it feels normal. It’s as if things have finally settled and you’re exactly where you need to be. You laugh as you watch them carry on, Jake and Sam sitting across from you, bickering and shouting and cracking jokes as they always do.

The server approaches with a round of beers, which of course prompts Josh into making a toast. He blathers on as you watch Jake and Sam out of the corner of your eye, smiling happily at the way they interact.

As Josh finishes his toast, you all clink your glasses together and go to drink. Sam and Jake, however, link arms and start to chug their beers in a bout of brotherly competition. You can’t help but grin and snap a candid picture of the two of them, Sam’s eyes staring into his glass, Jake’s off to the side. Jake wins, letting out a loud burp and slamming his glass down. You smile at the both of them, feeling whole again.

@reesetrippingthelight@samstopochico@jordie-gvf-admin@jakesgrapejuice@spark-my-nature@gvfcinema@joshysgirl@hellowgoodbye@ageofwagner@katelynn-gvf@ohgodthefeeling-gvf@fwzco

#danny gvf #forbidden twins #greta van fleet #greta van fic #greta van fleet fic #greta van smut #jake gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #josh gvf #sammy kiszka #sam kiszka #sam kiszka fanfiction #samfkiszka #sam gvf

64 notes · View notes