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adrienneleclerc · 2 months

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Prince of Ferrari

Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Y/N meets F1 driver, Charles Leclerc, in a surprising and completely unexpected way.

Warning: THIS IS MY FIRST CHARLES LECLERC FANFIC, inaccurate F1 details (I’m a new fan, I’m learning) Grammatical and spelling errors

A/N: inspired by the way Ella of Frell met Prince Charmont in the movie Ella Enchanted. It is kinda a mix of Ella Enchanted and the DCOM Starstruck which really mad eme believe I'll have a Y/N moment, I really hope y’all like it!

Y/N was not a huge sports girl, but she LOVES Formula 1. Y/N started watching F1 with her dad when Checo Pérez joined in 2011 and now she’s living in Miami with the Grand Prix being only a few days away. Though everyone is a Ferrari fan according to Sebastian Vettel, Y/N was a total Red Bull fan.

That brings her to the Aventura Mall where Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz had an event with Ray-Ban.

"Do you know why there are so many people here?" Y/N asked her friend, trying to push through the crowd to get to Guess.

"Didn't you hear? The Ferrari boys are coming to the mall because of their Ray-Ban sponsorship/partnership, how did you not know this? I though you were a big F1 fan." Y/N's friend, Francesca, said.

"Exactly, I am an F1 fan, not a Ferrari fan. Isn't there are a Ferrari store here too? Why can't they do a Ferrari event?" Y/n asked.

"I think that is Sunday after the race." Francesca said, Y/N was going to say somwthing before she heard screaming. "Looks like the Ferrari boys are here. Can I meet them please?" Francesca asked Y/N with puppy dog eyes.

"Sure, I'll try to go to the Dolphin mall and see if I can get my mom a birthday gift without the crowd, let me know if you get a photo with them." Y/N said, she kissed Francesca goodbye and made it towards the exit.

Charles and Carlos were entering the mall, signing things as people were taking photos and videos of them.

"Remind me again why we are here?" Charles asked Fred.

"We need to maintain a good relationship with Ray-Ban." Fred said.

"It is completely fine, Lord Perceval, lighten up." Carlos said. They kept signing things until they made it to the stage set up in the center of the first floor.

"Welcome Formula 1 Ferrari drivers Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz!" Ray Ban employee said. The crowd cheered and got closer to the stage to see the Ferrari boys even closer as the boys walked on stage, shaking hands with the Ray-Ban employee before sitting down on the chair set up and with microphones in their hands. "Before we get this event started, we are raffling off 5 sunglasses with cases signed by the drivers themselves, if you haven't bought tickets, do so now. Carlos and Charles will be answering your questions." The employee said.

The event itself was going well for the first 10 minutes until..

"Charles, are you a fast runner?" A girl asked.

"Not particulary, no, why?" Charles asked.

"Get him!" That same girl said and Charles saw how there were many girls trying to get on stage so Charles did what any guy would do and thats run off the stage and through the exit, 13 girls chasing after him.

"This cannot be happening!" Charles exclaimed to himself. He ran to the parking garage and looked behind him and there were still girls chasing him. He tried to hide behind a car when he bumped into a girl.

"Puta madre, watch where.." Y/N didn't finish her sentence because Charles covered her mouth, pulled her close to him by her waist and slid down the car door, successfully hiding from the girls chasing him. Y/N psuhed his hand away from her mouth. "Huh, well if it isn't the prince of Ferrari."

"Please, call me.." Charles looked into her eyes. "Call me Charles. Sorry about that, occupational hazard." Charles said getting up, dusting himself off. "Allow me." Charles said, helping Y/N off the floor as she dusted herself off as well.

"Does this kind of thing happen often? Being chased by girls?" Y/N asked, looking around the parking garage.

"I don't get chased like this, thats for sure, its more the American fans. But i do get approached often when I am in Monaco." Charles said.

"Well yeah, you're not exactly subtle driving around the country in a fucking sports car that all your fans recognize." Y/N commented.

"So you know a lot about me?" Charles asked with his arms crossed and a stupid smirk on his face.

"Charming, such Libra behavior. Now as you are clearly not in danger from screaming fans and I am nothing but a humble American, I'll leave you to it." Y/N said, about to unlock her car when Charles put his hand over hers.

"Wait, what is your name?" Charles asked.

"Y/N." Y/N responded.

"Do you have anywhere you need to be?" Charles asked.

"Well I'm shopping for my mom's birthday present. I couldn't really do the shopping in this mall." Y/N said.

"Maybe I can help you, as a thank you of course for not blowing my cover." Charles said.

"You gotta lose the Ferrari merch if you don't want to get chase again." Y/N said.

"Oh, of course." Charles said. He took off the Ferrari hoodie he had on and Y/N couldn't help but look when Charles's shirt started riding up when he did so. "Better?"

"I have a Disney baseball cap and sunglasses in my purse, just wear the 'Marvel disguise'." Y/N said laughing as she handed Charles the items and he puts them on.

"Do I look like a normal guy?" Charles asked posing.

"Sure, get in." Y/N said, unlocking her car to get into the driver's seat and Charles circled the car to get into the passenger seat. "Wouldn't your team principal freak out that you are missing?"

"I'll let him know I'm okay, It's only Wednesday, press is not until tomorrow, I think I can have a little fun." Charles said. Y/N started the car and left the parking garage when she got a call from Francesca.

"Digame Fran, como te fue?" Y/N asked her friend.

"Mal, no sabes lo que paso, some girl decided to fucking jump the stage, her and a group of girls chase Charles out of the mall, and now the event is canceled. Like what the fuck. How about you? Did you make it to the other mall?" Francesca asked.

"Actually Fran, you have no idea what happened." Y/N said.

"Hello Fran, how are you?" Charles spoke and Francesca went silent. "Are you alright?" Charles asked again and Francesca screamed.

"You bitch, you have Charles Leclerc in your car?!?" Francesca screamed.

"Relax, he's helping me with something and in turn, he plays hooky until this whole thing blows over." Y/N said. "I'll call you later, okay?" Y/N said, hanging up. "Sorry about her, she is a huge Ferrari fan."

"What about you? Ared you a Ferrari fan?" Charles asked curiously.

"Sorry, red is not my color, I'm a Red Bull fan." Y/N told him. Charles put his hand on his chest.

"Ouch, you hurt me." Charles said and Y/n laughed. "Its such a shame, you would look great in red."

"Charming." Y/N replied.

"So i have been told." Charles said. Y/N played music in the car until they made it to the Dolphin mall. "Miami has a lot of malls."

"Yes, yes it does." Y/N replied before getting out of the car and getting reusable bags from the trunk. "Lets pay for parking."

"You pay to park the car yourself?" Charles asked.

"oh you have so much to learn." Y/N walked to the meter at the entrance of the mall to pay before Y/N grabbed his hand to enter the mall.

"As my tour guide, where do we go first?" Charles asked.

"I wanted to go to Swarovski to get a necklace for my mom." Y/N said.

"Any stores you want to go to?" Charles asked.

"There is a Saks Off Fifth but I don't think I have enough money." Y/N said. Charles pulled out his wallet.

"I'll pay." Charles said but Y/N shook her head.

"There is no way I can let you do that." Y/N said.

"I insist. You are helping me a lot by treating me like a regular guy. Its the least I can do, you are babysitting me after all." Charles said.

"Well I can't argue with that." Y/N said.

That is exactly what happened, Charles helped Y/N pick out a necklace with matching earrings for Y/N's mom and paid for it. Charles was very insistent in Y/N trying on clothes from different stores she wanted to look at. When Charles saw Y/N's eyes light up in a certain item, he always said "Do not look at the price tag, do you like it? Do you want to get it? Then its done, I'll buy it for you." Charles ended up carrying Y/N's shopping bags after every trip. They went to the food court and Charles also paid for their lunch, they sat in a far away booth.

"So how did you get into F1?" Charles asked, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

"Well my dad is a fan, we like Checo Perez because he is Mexican, Latino power and all that." Y/N said, eating her Chinese food.

"So that is why you are a Red Bull fan, good to know." Charles said.

"Yep, that's why. I hate to ruin the moment, but what happens after today?" Y/N asked.

"Well I wouldn't see you in person until the next Miami GP, but we could talk everyday if you give me your phone number, If you want fo course, I liked spending the day with you." Charles admitted.

"I liked spending the day with you too, I never had a guy friend before so this type of relationship is new to me, but i don't hate it." Y/N replied. Charles got out his phone.

"Here, put your contact in." Charles handed Y/N his phone. Y/N added her name and her photo, han ding it back to Charles. "'Y/N American', very cute." Charles said.

"why thank you." Y/N did the nose scrunch and Charles found it adorable. "Now do you want to buy anything sir or are you okay? It's almost 5 and tomorrow is your media day." Y/n said.

"yeah, we can go." Charles said, they finished their food, threw out their garbage, left the mall, and went to Y/N's car, she got in front of his hotel. "You should come over one day." Charles said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"If your team principal says its okay." Y/N said.

"I'll make sure he says its okay, see you around." Charles said, leaving the car. Y/N drove back to her house, her parents watching TV in the living room.

"Como te fue, mija?" Y/N's mom asked.

"Me fue bien, Mami, luego te cuento." Y/N said, dropping off her bags in her room. She closed her door and collapsed on her bed when she got a text.

Unknown number: Fred said its okay, whenever you want to come over, let me know.

Unknown number: It is Charles by the way.

Y/n laughed and replied to him.

You: Sounds like a plan, I'll let you know, Charlie.

Y/N saved Charles's number as Charlie and sighed. Today was a good day.

The End

Hope y'all liked it, if you did, maybe I can write more, I don't know, I need more Latina representation. Up to you if you want more or if i should just stick to reading F1 fanfics.

#hispanic reader #latina #hispanic #prince of ferrari #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff

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multifandomgirl08 · 9 months

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Race Day [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Fiancée!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: Nico tags along with Max during a race day in Monza, well as much as he can.

Warning(s): Fluff

A/N: Request sent in by @mbappebby. I got to sit on YouTube and just watch a whole bunch of interviews on Max for this. Posting this on Max's birthday today. I will be publishing the last request that I got on Sunday instead.

Words: 2.1k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

Max had wanted Nico to spend every minute of the race that he could with him today. He wanted Nico to experience everything that he could. Walking through the paddock with him and even seeing Max talk to the fans and take pictures with them. Nico never asked why people wanted pictures of him. He had just accepted it, even thanking someone for supporting his Papa during the race today.

As they got closer to hospitality before the drivers' parade started Nico waved at Charles and Lando from Y/N’s arms, both drivers waved back. Y/N and Nico slipped into the McLaren garage to say hi to Oscar before meeting Max back in front of the Red Bull garage.

Nico would be with Max during the driver's parade wanting to take him around the track with the other drivers, before you and Nico would both be sitting in your normal seats while the race was going on.

"You sure you want to take him with you?" You asked Max as he was holding Nico getting ready for the driver's parade.

"He'll be fine, mijn leeuwin." Max said to Y/N. “Right?” Max turned his head to Nico seeing the little boy nod enthusiastically.

“Okay. Be good for Papa.” Max kissed Y/N’s forehead before Max and Nico made their way out to the bus that would take the drivers around the track.

Max knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold Nico the whole time they were making their way around the track. Max sat down towards the back, Nico in his lap pointing out little things in the distance, from the other people to the turquoise Aston Martin safety cars that were at the race.

They would be playing musical chairs for the first part of the drive around the track but he hadn’t been called up yet to talk to the reporter.

He enjoyed holding Nico before he was called over to answer a few questions. Nico wouldn’t let go of his hand when he sat down at the front of the car, “Max 14th consecutive pole of the year, congratulations. So what’s the plan for you and the team today?”

“Have fun, the car has been good all weekend. So, hopefully, we can show that again today.”

“Who is this little boy that you have with you?” She asked.

“This is my son, Nico. Wave hi to Mama?” Max asked before Nico waved to the camera and then quickly buried his head in Max’s shoulder.

“He’s quite cute. I’m sure your fiancée feels the same way as well.” Max gave a slight nod at her statement.

“And just a few words in Dutch.” Max was quick to respond rattling off something about having a productive race day and getting a good result out of the car.

“Well, I hope the two of you enjoy the rest of your day together, and good luck with the race.” Max gave a final nod, and then moved to the back of the car to sit next to Daniel and Checo.

“So, decided to take Mini Max with you before the race?” Daniel asked.

Max had never minded Daniel’s nickname for Nico, ever since the moment that Daniel met Nico, he had been Mini Max. He was the first person on the grid, not including himself, to hold his son.

“I don’t know. I guess I just want him with me.” This was the first time that Max had really spent a race day with Nico. Normally on race days, Nico would be with Y/N. They had their little routine of walking around the paddock before getting lunch and then watching the race when the time came.

“Maybe you’re now realizing that he’s getting older. He won’t be a little boy forever.”

Maybe Daniel was right. Nico was getting older, he had already started go-karting this year, almost the same age as when he started.

“Possibly.” He said before he started to wave out into the crowd.

“Does that mean when the time comes, you and Y/N are gonna have another?” Checo had asked.

“Another, what?” He said dropping his hand for a moment.

“Another one of these.” Daniel was quick to gesture to Nico.

It wasn’t that Max hadn’t thought about it. Sure, one day he could see himself and Y/N having kids but he liked that it was just the three of them. She was already an amazing mother to Nico, she would be an amazing mother to any children that they had.

“I don’t know. But not right now. Wedding planning and dealing with the house. It’s too much.”

“One day, right?”

“Yeah, one day,” Max said with sincerity. Y/N deserved to have her own children, even though she considered Nico her own.

Once they had gotten out of the car, Max was quick to find Y/N in the garage talking to GP while Christain stood by them.

“He’s starting from pole, I’m sure he’ll do fine.” He heard GP say.

"Max always does well under pressure Christian, you know that." He heard you say. Max couldn’t help but smile. You talking Christian down from whatever he was concerned about.

“I know. It’s just another record that could be broken today.”

“He’ll do great, and if he starts to get bored he’ll make jokes about wanting to test the pit crew or something.”

Max couldn’t help but beam. You had that much confidence in his win today even after the issues that they had earlier in the weekend.

Nico was quick to slip out of Max’s arms before running up to Christian, yelling “Grandpa!” capturing the team principal's attention. Christian welcomed Nico with a hug and an exaggerated, “When did you get so big?”

Max couldn’t help but think that Christian was the only grandfather that Nico would have as he grew up.

“I’m not that big,” Nico said, before reaching for Y/N’s hand.

“Not that big?” Christian asked back. “You’re up to here.” Christian gestured up to his hip to demonstrate how tall Nico had gotten since he had last seen him. Nico couldn’t help but laugh before pressing his face into the shorts that Max was wearing.

The small group stayed talking for a bit longer until Max had to go change into his race suit. Nico didn’t want to leave Max until he had to get into the car for the formation lap.

Y/N had been outside while Max was doing his post-race press conference after his P1 finish. She had been so occupied with talking to Alex's girlfriend Lily that she didn't see Nico slip away into the media tent where Max sat between Lewis and Charles.

Max had seen Nico walk into the tent, he knew he shouldn't be around the cameras. Max was able to look past the crowd of people to see Y/N just outside of the tent talking with someone.

The interview hadn't started yet so Max opened his arms for Nico to walk to him. Nico struggled to get on the couch before Max lifted him up and sat him down next to him.

Once the interview had started, Max waited until there was a question to be answered.

"In third place Charles Leclerc, in second Lewis Hamilton, and our winner Max Verstappen. And it seems like we have a guest with us today in Nico Verstappen. To the drivers, if you wouldn't mind telling us about some of the challenges that you faced today." He heard from Tom and fixed his posture toward the cameras.

"Yeah, my first lap was pretty good, was able to avoid a collision after turn 1. Luckily I was able to go wide as to not cause any damage to the car. Things finally looked like they were turning around after I changed to the medium tires given the issues that we had in qualifying. You know, every race is a challenge in their own right. One wrong move and it can change the race at any moment." He rattled off without having to think about the question.

Max saw Nico had tried to get Lewis' attention who was sitting to the right of him.

The question had gone in a semicircle, from him to Lewis and then to Charles before the reporter moved on asking how the car was today.

“Max, 14th consecutive pole this weekend and with a record-breaking 12 wins in a row. How does it feel?”

“It feels good. I never set out to break records. The achievement is something to appreciate and be happy with.” Max rattled off quickly before he thought the reporter would go to Lewis next.

"How do you think your dad did during the race today, Nico?" Max's attention was immediately drawn to the reporter. He never thought that any of the reporters would ask Nico a question.

Nico looked up at him from aimlessly playing with the zipper of Max's suit. Silently asking if it was okay to answer the voice coming from the small crowd of reporters. Max gave a slight nod, encouraging him to speak.

"Papa did well, even if he wouldn't have started from P1." Nico muttered into the mic that Max placed in front of him.

There were chuckles from the reporters.

Max couldn't help but pull Nico in a little closer giving him a proud smile. He loved that Nico didn't care where he was starting the race from, Nico though he did well regardless.

"Would you have changed anything during the race if it was you behind the wheel?" Nico looked back up at Max again.

He would need to ask Christian if he could start bringing Nico to interviews.

"Trying to overtake Uncle Lewis at lap 15. Small gap," Nico said with a shrug of his shoulders. Lewis reached over and gave Nico a little fist bump while Max smiled.

"Smart kid you've got there, Max." Lewis said just loud enough for the mics to pick it up. Max slightly nodded before laughing.

Nico revealing how close he was to the other drivers on the grid wasn't news. He was seen at races much more often now that Max wasn’t hiding his son from the media. It had taken Nico no time whatsoever to start thinking of the other guys on the grid as his family.

"Max, do you agree with that? Would you have tried to overtake Lewis at turn 3 during that lap?" Max couldn't help but laugh. Of course, that's what they'd ask him.

"It's just like Nico said, there was a small gap. But then you have to wonder if it's worth it to overtake or risk damaging the car. I knew that I would get another opportunity so I wasn't worried about overtaking him then."

"Okay, thank you, Max, Nico." Max gave a small nod before looking over the brim of his hat to see Y/N standing in the back behind the reporters with a wide smile on her face.

The reporters asked Charles and Lewis a few more questions. "Last few questions." He had heard.

"My question is for Max." Max moved to sit up a little taller.

"With your son here, do you think he'll follow in your footsteps driving in F1 for Red Bull?"

They were trying to dig deep, huh?

"That's the dream, right." He started before pausing. "No, I mean. If that's what Nico wants, I will support him, even if he decides that he doesn't want to drive in F1. I'll still support him. As for driving for Red Bull, that I don’t know."

Nico tapped Max on the shoulder before he started talking into the mic. "Ask Grandpa Christian." Nico said.

More laughter broke out from the reporters.

Max reached over and tickled Nico’s right side. He broke out in laughter curling up at Max’s side. He loved having his family here.

ynlnusername 📍Autodromo Nazionale Monza

Liked by yourbestfriend and 475,123 others

ynlnusername Second race back after the break. Congratulations to my better half on another record breaking win! You work every day to achieve your dream and I hope that our son is lucky enough to do the same one day.

charles_leclerc Lovely seeing you and Nico around the paddock today!

landonorris The only Verstappen's allowed in the McLaren garage. Don't tell Max.

View all 629 comments

fan76 Y/N calling Max her better half. Babe, you are the better half.

fan46 Was at Monza today. Loved seeing Max spend time with Nico before the race. He's such a cute kid.

fan27 Nico in his Red Bull headphones in the team garage!

wagsoff1

3,472 likes

wagsoff1 Max and Y/N see out in Milano, Italy celebrating after his 12th consecutive win in Monza.

View all 120 comments

fan56 What is this look that Max is giving Y/N? Love?? Respect?? Devotion?? Can I get a man to look at me like that?

fan86 Wondering when the wedding is going to be.

fan29 Probably during the mid-season break next year. Makes the most sense given when Max proposed.

October 20, 2024

taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr, @champomiel, @gothicwidowsworld, @lighttsoutlewis, @itsalwaysgay

#mini verstappen series #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #mv1 x reader #mv1 imagine #mv33 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 imagines #max verstappen x you

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half-oz-eddie · 3 months

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🎁 ❤️

Max was not supposed to be in Billy’s room. She knew better.

But it was 7:30 AM and she really wanted to leave something for him on his desk.

She quietly crept in, sliding her slim frame through the ajar door and tiptoed to his desk to gently place something on it.

“The hell’re you doing?” A groggy voice startled her.

She should’ve expected the hyper-vigilant teen to wake up while she was there.

“I was—I just wanted t-to leave something here for you.” She nervously stammered.

He narrowed his sleepy eyes at her. “Give it here.”

Max slowly walked over, handing the surprise to Billy.

It slowly exchanged hands and Billy examined it closely.

“I-I know you don’t have a record player but I saw the posters in your room and I thought you’d want to—like—have something to collect. So Steve drove me to a record store to get you a vinyl.”

He stared at the Mötley Crüe vinyl for a few moments, then handed it back to Max. “Put it on my desk.” He said as he laid back down.

“Y-you don’t like it?” She frowned.

“Never said I didn’t. I’m just tired.”

Max slowly walked back over to his desk and set the vinyl down.

“Why’d you buy that for me?” He asked.

“Don’t you know what today is? It’s your—“

“I know that.” He said in a snippy voice. “I’m asking why the hell you bought me anything. You never cared before.”

“Well, last year, I tried to buy you something with my allowance and my mom said Neil would be mad if I used my money on you, so she wouldn’t take me to the mall.”

“And you said Harrington drove you? Why the hell did he do that?” Billy continued to question.

“We had a long talk about that night at the Byers and we came to a realization of how unfair we were being to you. So I—I didn’t wanna lose you forever. We don’t get along but like, we had our moments, where we’d talk to each other a little bit. Now we don’t speak at all.”

“You stabbed me with a needle.”

“You were gonna kill Steve if I didn’t stop you.” Max sighed. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“You don’t need to be. But whatever, guess I’m sorry too.”

Max smiled. “I’ll let you sleep. Happy birthday.”

She closed the door behind her upon exiting and went back to her bed.

It was nearly 11AM when Max woke up again. Neil and Susan were already at work. Susan left a note behind with instructions for heating up lunch.

This year, there was no school on Billy’s birthday, so Max decided to heat up the lunch for both of them.

She set down two plates just in time, as she heard Billy resurfacing from his room.

He stepped through the quiet house and stopped by the table, glaring at Max.

“Nobody’s home?”

“No. Mom left lunch for us, so I heated it up.”

Billy looked down at the chicken Parmesan. Susan normally only made it for holidays, but Easter wasn’t until Sunday.

Max figured it was Susan’s subtle way of giving Billy a little something special for his birthday.

“There were some breadsticks too.” Max mentioned, grabbing them out of the toaster oven. “I put some of that garlic and herb stuff on them because I remembered that you like it.”

Billy glared at Max as she started eating.

“What?” She asked with her mouth half full.

Billy shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Nothin’. Forget it.”

They ate in complete silence. Billy finished first and got up from the table without a word.

Max didn’t expect much conversation from Billy, but he wasn’t as unpleasant as he could’ve been, so it was fine.

She washed the dishes and sat back down at the table reading a magazine when Billy returned once more with his jacket on.

“C’mon.”

“Where’re we going?”

“Somewhere. I can’t leave you here by yourself. Susan and dad would bitch about it.”

Max grabbed her jacket and slipped on some shoes, then followed Billy to his car.

The drive was brief and they stopped at the quarry.

To Max’s surprise, Billy invited her to sit on the hood of his car. He offered her a soda and cracked open a beer for himself.

They clinked their cans together and drank as they quietly watched the early afternoon scenery.

“It’s surprisingly warm today.” Max initiated small talk.

“I think the groundhog saw its shadow—or didn’t see its shadow—or whichever meant a late winter.”

“It’s…when he sees his shadow.” She paused. “I think.”

Billy snorted. “Why are we listening to a big ass rodent about the weather anyway?”

Max softly giggled. “Tradition, I guess.”

“Yeah, well, it’s stupid.” He mumbled in response as he brought the beer can to his lips.

Silence returned again, and Billy glanced over at Max.

“So y’said Harrington drove you to the record store. That’s like…across town.”

“I wasn’t alone with him, if that’s what you’re worried about. Dustin and Lucas went too.”

Billy quickly responded with a scoff. “What’s so great about Harrington anyway? You defended him over me that night—“

“Is that what made you so upset?”

“No. But you defended him and I’m asking about it.”

“Well, he’s really nice. He looks after all my friends, everyone around town knows him and his family—“

“So he’s just the opposite of me.”

“W—I—I mean, you’re nice sometimes. You’ve been nice to me 4 times and I remember them all.”

Billy shrugged. “Yeah. Anyway, thanks for the gift, shitbird.”

“You better get me something nice for my birthday too!”

“When is it again? April…may…tember…”

“July.” She snapped.

Billy laughed. “I know when your birthday is, don’t be such a baby.”

“I’m not.” She fired back. “You’re just a jerk.”

“And?”

Max scoffed. “You’re so lucky it’s your birthday or I’d—“

“You’d what?”

Max chugged her soda and tossed the empty can at Billy.

“You piece of shit. You’re dead!”

Max jumped off the hood of Billy’s car and ran off laughing, with Billy not too far behind.

When Billy finally caught up to Max, he chugged his beer and tossed the can at Max.

The out of breath siblings glared at one another, before their expressions softened and they began to laugh.

“Hey, d’you wanna go to the movies or something?” Max offered. “I’ll buy you popcorn.”

“And I get to pick the movie?”

Max groaned. “Fine.”

“You know I pick better movies than you do, anyway.”

“Bullshit! Your movie choices suck ass!”

The two bickered all the way back to Billy’s car. Sure, this was a nice day, but Billy couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t stop thinking about Steve Harrington driving his little sister across town to get him a gift.

‘Maybe I should thank him too…’

#ivy.doc #calikids.doc #caliscoops

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 8 months

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The Danger Zone (Part 3) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Fem!Bradshaw!Reader | OC

Word Count: 2.2k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ ONLY

Warnings: Unplanned Pregnancy; Secret Relationship; Angst; Undefined Relationships; Overprotective Family; Background Relationships; Use of "You," No Use of Y/N, No Set Physical Description

Summary: You struggle to keep your secret. Maverick's birthday dinner is off to a disastrous start.

Series Master List

Master List

It had been about two weeks since Phoenix and Coyote’s wedding and you hadn’t slept well a single night since. There was a weariness to your movements that wasn’t there before. Jake’s words were still echoing around in your head, threatening to upend what was left of your sanity at any second.

And you still didn’t know what to do.

Jake was pretty much ignoring you, doing what you did to him before the wedding. He dodged your calls, didn’t answer your texts, and the only thing that you hadn’t done yet to get his attention was show up at his apartment. You did have a key, but you were worried about pushing too much into crazy ex-girlfriend territory.

And you weren’t even his ex-girlfriend. You were just the woman he fucked around with and knocked up.

But could you really raise a baby on your own? Maybe. After all, your mom was a single mom for most of your life. And you knew that even though Maverick and Rooster would go apeshit for some time after finding out, they wouldn’t turn their backs on you. You would have help. You would have support. There was no way that your family would leave you and the baby to fend for yourselves.

But was that the future, the life you really wanted?

“Are you okay?” Emma asked you as you slowly worked on Maverick's birthday cake.

You were standing in Maverick’s kitchen with your sister-in-law, preparing Maverick’s surprise birthday dinner. Emma was cooking dinner with some help from Bradley, though his real job was to go out and grab ingredients that his wife forgot to buy, Penny was distracting Maverick for the day, and you were in charge of baking the cake.

You always found baking soothing. It took you back to the Sunday afternoons that you spent with your mom while she taught you how to make everything from scratch. Bradley never really had an interest in baking, just eating, so it was always your alone time with your mom. And after she passed, you always turned to baking when you needed some kind of comfort or a simple, meaningless task to focus on.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you murmured, lazily frosting the cake in front of you.

“Are you sure? You haven’t really been like yourself for some time.”

“I’m just tired.”

It wasn’t even a lie. You were exhausted. And it didn’t help that your stomach decided when it was happy with the food that you gave it and when it wasn’t with the flip of a coin. You felt so tired and drained already. Pulling the cake closer to you, you started writing out ‘Happy Birthday’ with the tube of blue icing.

“Is it something with work?”

“No.”

“Something wrong with your apartment again?”

“No, it’s just . . . it’s nothing.”

Since Jake walked off at the reception, you hadn’t told anyone else about your pregnancy. Penny asked you about it once a few days after the wedding and you just told her that you were still trying to tell the father and that was it. You didn’t really have the strength to mention the fact that Jake was ignoring you and you were very quickly beginning to spiral.

“Alright,” Emma replied softly, going back to chopping vegetables. She left you alone for about a minute before turning back to you. “Did you want some wine? Bradley nicked some bottles from the reception. Including that rosé that you like so much.”

“No, I’m alright with water.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m . . . not drinking right now,” you replied awkwardly.

“Really?” Emma asked, sounding honestly surprised at your poor attempt to get out of drinking that evening. “So, no more Wine Down Wednesdays then?”

“Not for a bit, no.”

“Alright,” Emma replied quietly, now more than a little suspicious.

Emma had known you for longer than she had known Bradley. The two of you went to the same college and knew each other through sports. She was one of the captains when you were a freshman and took you under her wing. And when she moved out to San Diego, you offered to take her out for a drink at the Hard Deck. Rooster was there and you introduced them and the rest was history.

And she knew that something was off with you.

Emma knew that both you and Bradley had a tendency to shut yourselves down when you were feeling a lot of emotional stress. She chalked it up to unresolved childhood trauma, of which you both had a decent amount.

And it was written all over your face. You were stressed. You weren’t sleeping well. You weren’t eating well. You were cutting yourself off from the world around you. And she was getting seriously concerned about you and your health.

Emma set down her knife and slowly turned to face you, though you ignored her gaze, and gently called your name. You kept your head stubbornly down, focusing on the design on Maverick’s birthday cake, piping meaningless designs to just try and bide your time away from the conversation with your sister-in-law.

“Did something happen at the wedding?”

“Can you drop it?” you snapped, finally turning to face Emma.

She paused, not looking offended, but all the more concerned. Sighing, you set down the icing bag and walked out of the kitchen. Emma didn’t follow after you immediately, giving you some space to breathe for a moment as you stepped out for some fresh air. But when she saw you starting to cry, she hurried outside after you.

As she approached the bench where you were sitting outside, you didn’t look up. But when she sat down beside you and gently pulled you in for a hug, you immediately turned to her. Latching onto her, every emotion that you plugged up inside since the wedding just came pouring out. She brushed your hair and just let you cry, not entirely shocked by your reaction.

“You know, if you tell me anything, whatever it is, I’m not going to share it with Bradley without your permission, right?” Emma spoke softly, rubbing your back supportively. “And that goes for any topic here, okay?”

You wanted the first person you told about your pregnancy, minus Penny that is, to be Jake. He was the one who knocked you up. This was his baby. But Jake wasn’t listening to you. And holy shit you wanted to get some of the burden of this secret off of your shoulders. You wouldn’t last much longer just holding onto this by yourself.

“You can’t tell Bradley, okay?” you whispered out shakily, causing Emma to nod.

“Lips are sealed,” Emma promised you, giving you a supportive squeeze.

You pursed your quivering lips together, just trying to take a moment to pull yourself together so that you didn’t start sobbing again. Sniffling, you buried your face into Emma’s chest a bit more, thinking for a moment about how your mom would have reacted to this situation, before finally letting it out.

“I’m pregnant.”

You could feel Emma tense up, but she didn’t say a word. Your stomach started to grow tight as the stress and anxiety of the last few weeks reached a new peak. But right as you started to go down the train of thought that you were truly on your own, Emma pulled you in for a tighter hug and steeled her own emotions in the moment.

“You’re sure?” she whispered, rubbing your back again.

“I took three tests. Penny knows. She was there when I took them.”

“Have you been to see a doctor?”

“No,” you croaked out, straightening up on your own. Wiping away your tears and snot, you stared down at your lap for a moment. “I got an appointment. But I don’t really know what to expect with the whole . . . situation.”

“And how are you feeling about it all?” Emma asked softly.

“I’m . . . I’ve been better,” you replied lamely, wiping some more tears away.

“Has the . . . father been supporting you through this? What did you say when you told him?” Emma questioned quietly.

“Well, I haven’t told him yet,” you stated, causing Emma to nod slowly.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes, of course,” you responded a bit sharper than you meant to, turning to meet Emma’s concerned gaze. “I meant to, but he’s . . . sort of . . . ignoring me now.”

“Ignoring you?” Emma demanded, frowning protectively. “Why do you think he is ignoring you?”

“I sort of . . . pushed away from him after I found out I was pregnant and then he tried to talk to me about it when I wasn’t ready and I tried to push it off a little bit more and then he got mad and stormed off and hasn’t spoken to me since.”

Without digging too much into how much the situation reminded her of petty high school drama, Emma straightened up in her seat, trying to come up with some sort of plan to get the father of your baby to grow the fuck up.

“Who is he anyways? Does he live around here?”

“You’re not going to break down his door,” you sighed, rubbing your face. Biting your lip, you turned to your sister-in-law. “I would tell you, but I think that you’ll freak out.”

“I promise that I won’t freak out,” Emma assured you.

“The father . . . is Jake,” you announced after a few moments of silence.

“Jake who?”

“Hangman,” you rephrased, a bit harsher than you intended.

“Hangman?” Emma repeated, clearly trying to manage her tone and expression. When you nodded, she tried to manage her expression further. “The father of your baby is . . . Hangman. And he’s the one ignoring you?”

“Yes,” you stressed, your anxiety starting to spike again.

Before Emma could reply, the sound of the fire alarm inside caused you both to get to your feet. Running and swearing, you raced inside. Smoke billowed out of the oven as soon as Emma pulled it open. She hurried to turn it off as you started to open the windows and beat the smoke away from the fire alarm.

“What the fuck!?” Bradley cursed, running into the house after returning from the store.

Grabbing the fire extinguisher by the front door, he ran over and put out the fire. You kept fanning the smoke away, but soon the smell of burnt food caused your stomach to roll and you were rushing into the bathroom.

“For fuck’s sake,” you groaned as you yanked the lid up.

Emma ran into the bathroom once the chaos in the kitchen dwindled down and Bradley got control of the situation some more. Cursing, she kneeled down beside you and delicately pulled the strands of hair that unfortunately made their way into the bowl.

“Sorry,” she apologized, wincing as you wretched again. “I forgot to turn off the oven before I ran outside after you.”

“It’s fine,” you sighed, picking your head up. “It’s just how my life’s going at this point. What’s another disaster?”

“Well, it’s all settled,” Bradley sighed, walking over to where you and Emma were in the bathroom. Spotting you leaning over the toilet, he quickly stepped into the room, concerned. “What happened to you?”

“The smoke just made me nauseous,” you replied softly, not meeting your brother’s gaze. “I’m fine, Bradley.”

“This is like the tenth time I’ve seen you throw up,” Bradley stated, folding his arms over his chest, like he always did when he was about to lecture you. “I think that you should see a doctor at this point.”

“I’ve got an appointment,” you sighed, closing the lid and flushing your stomach’s contents away. “I’m a big girl, Bradley.” Sitting on the floor and leaning against the vanity, you looked up at your brother. “How’s the cake?”

“A little smokey, but it should be fine. As for the rest of it . . .”

“There’s always take out,” Emma stated, standing up. “But maybe we should host it somewhere that isn’t so smokey.”

“The only other option is my apartment,” you replied, getting to your feet.

“Great,” Bradley sighed, earning a nudge from his wife. “I mean, that’s great.”

“Hilarious,” you muttered, getting to your feet as well. “I’ll text Penny and tell her about the change in plans. I’ll take the cake and go set up at my apartment. You two clean up here and figure out dinner.”

You left Maverick’s house shortly thereafter, returning to your apartment. It didn’t take too long to set up the cake and dinner. Bradley and Emma arrived with the food about thirty minutes later and the three of you were hurrying around trying to make it look homemade.

“Shit,” you cursed when your doorbell rang. “Just hide the containers in my pantry.”

Rushing over to the door, you pulled it open, just expecting it to be Maverick and Penny. But when you looked up and saw Jake standing there, you instantly tensed up. He stared at you for a moment, looking a bit nervous, but with that usual reserved air of confidence about him.

“Jake,” you breathed out, gripping the door so hard it hurt.

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eccentricwritingbaby · 7 months

Text

meet-cute

part one part two! part three

lando norris x fem!reader

summary - y/n is giving lando a run for his money in playing hard to get, and lando knows he's in love so so soon.

masterlist

author's note! should i make another part or possibly make this into a series? lmk what ya think!

you woke up to a distant ringing running throughout the room. slowly rubbing your eyes and giving a bit of a stretch, you roll over in an attempt to find your phone. once found, you grimace at the time yet your smirk grows when seeing the contact read ‘mr mclaren’.

“yes?” you answer the phone while letting out a cough to remove the sleep from your throat.

“did you just wake, love?” lando replies. you can practically see his teasing smile through the phone as he questions you. you rearrange your body so that you’re leaning against the headboard of the bed while biting into your answer, “mclaren, it’s currently 8am on a sunday, no person alive should be awake right now,”

you hear lando’s contagious chuckle from the other line along with a bit of shuffling around on his end, “i wanted to know if you were busy tonight,” he gently asks. you could tell he was a bit nervous from the small quiver in his voice. it had been around two weeks since your first meeting at the coffee shop, since then there were texts and calls constantly, but never an in person meeting since. you didn’t want to just be used by lando, expecting him to be a prick due to his celebrity status. there were certain insecurities that would become undone with seeing him in person that you were yearning to keep at bay for the time being. lando, on the other hand, only grew more attached to you. ever since he even saw you in the coffee shop he was beyond forward which he had never done before. sure there were girls in clubs that he could easily chat up, but he would never be so bold. and so sober. he knew from that moment - you were something special. something he needed. he enjoyed that you didn’t care about his celebrity status and were making him work, it gave him the reassurance that you liked him, not his wallet size.

“i have dinner tonight for a friend's birthday,” you sigh, “maybe a quick lunch before?” you add on in haste for lando’s peace of mind. you honestly were not trying to avoid him, but his schedule was hectic with travel and you had many friends with whom you’ve made previous plans.

“i’ve got plans during lunchtime,” lando says, you could practically hear the irritation in his voice, therefore leading to your next line, “i’m really not trying to avoid you, lando. I’ve just got a loaded schedule,” your words are gently said, attempting to ease his brain.

“I know, love. I just really want to see you,”

and then your next words came out of your mouth so quick you couldn’t even think, “come over,”

“what? i-i mean, are you sure?” his excitement was not hidden, yet the hesitation was purely based on his knowledge that you had just woken up, and only ever been with each other in person once. and that was your first time meeting. and nothing overly romantic happened. and now he’s invited straight to your place.

“well, shit, if you don’t want to come thats fine ill just head back to sleep-”

“no no no no,” he interrupts sporadically, “i’ll be there soon, send me your address please,”

“hmm, i don’t know. you’re lack of excitement really turned me off from the whole idea i think i’ll keep my address to myself,” you giggle a bit into your teasing. lando wants to be annoyed - he truly does. and if this was any other girl he just may have been. he most likely would have given up this chase the minute any other girl turned his request down in the first place. yet - there was something about you. you were different. and you were so worth it.

lando clears his throat and begins to speak in a dramatic tone while giving your teasing right back, “that’s alright, y/n. i will drive all day and night if i have to, knock on every door. trust, my love, i shall find you,” your loud laughter rings through the phone and he swears his heart skips a beat.

“ah mr. norris, your lovely sense of humor and perseverance have allowed you access to my apartment,” you smile once more and rattle off your address. once the call has ended, you jump out of bed and begin to get ready as lando said the ride would only be about 10 minutes. face washed, teeth brushed, perfume and lotion on, quick change of clothes from your ratty old pajamas to cuter loungewear, hair tied up to look as though you didn’t even try - all in record time. just as you finished the last spritz of your perfume, the knock on your door echoed through your home.

sauntering over towards the door and swinging it open, you’re met with the face you hadn’t realized you miss so dearly. “why hello sleepyhead,” he chuckles. you usher him into your home while replying, “y’know you’re the one being irrational here? its currently 830 in the morning, it is crazy to be up right now. on a sunday,” he laughs once more while grabbing your wrists and lightly tossing them around his waist. his own arms then wrap around your shoulders as he plants a kiss to the top of your head. “i’m not being irrational, darling. but if you want to head back to sleep i would not be opposed to a nap,” you look up at him from where your face was resting against his chest, “please,” lando plants a kiss to your nose, “lead the way,”

lando wakes up around an hour later, tucked into your bed with your head adorably pushed into his neck. he soaks in your appearance, one leg thrown over his hip, head cuddled into him, arm thrown over his chest and he relishes in it. the two of you hadn’t even kissed, hadn’t gone on a proper date, for the past two weeks only had fleeting phone calls and yet - this was normal. this was home. you were home. he thought as he laid with you curled into his side, he thought about a future, about a new beginning, about how adorable you would look in a certain papaya color, and god how his mother would just love you. lando couldn’t help the thoughts. he didn’t even know if you had siblings or anything remotely deep about you however he knew for sure three things. one - he was and forever will be completely, head over heels, insanely in love with you. two - his future has you and you only in it. and three - you both were so unconventional in your ways and in your soon to be love story that he knew his life would never be boring as long as you were in it.

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avastrasposts · 7 months

Text

A Baker's Dozen - One

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

This is my first original fic after The Pilot and his Girl and it will be a very different read (just in case you're totally traumatised by The Pilot...😬)

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve short stories, each set in the same bakery. The plan is to post one chapter every Sunday night so hold me to that schedule when my procrastination kicks in!

Warnings won't be very serious, just lots of fluff, lots of food, some mention of drugs because you know some of these Pedro boys are just like that.

Series Master List

@harriedandharassed tagging you in this because you said you wanted to read anything new ❤❤❤

The drawback of being a baker is that your working day starts when others are still tucked in bed with hours left to sleep. Or just coming home from a party. But you don’t mind all that much, there’s a certain tranquil peace to being awake and working in the bakery while the rest of the world sleeps.

In the warmer months you prop open the back door so that you can hear the birds starting to sing as the sky slowly grows lighter outside, today is just one of those mornings.

The early morning radio show is on low in the background as you prepare the day. Yesterday's loaves have proofed overnight in the cold storage and are ready for the oven, the pie doughs taken out and softening while you prepare the cookie doughs.

People don’t often knock on the bakery's back door before you open for the day, but it happens, so when you suddenly hear someone shuffle and knock, you’re not surprised. Wiping your hands on your apron you turn the corner into the small back room. A man is leaning on the door frame, but not the sexy, romance novel leaning. No, this man is leaning in a ‘lean-or-fall-over’ kinda way. His eyes are covered by large black sunglasses that he pulls down as you spot him, a tired but cheeky smirk on his face.

“Hey, baker girl,” he grins, his voice gravelly like he’s chain smoked all night, “got any sna- oh whoops!” he giggles madly as he loses his balance and tumbles sideways, catching the other door frame before he grabs onto your arms and almost manages to stand up straight.

“You might need coffee, not snacks,” you say, holding onto him to stop him from falling face forward into your apron.

“I’m fine,” he grins, pushing himself upright again but still holding on to the door frame, “I just came from this party, were you there?,” he asks, giving you another over the glasses look, this time clearly checking you out as his eyes drag up and down your form, lingering on your pink crocs.

“Actually, I would’ve remembered if you were there, love the crocs,” he chuckles.

“What’s wrong with my crocs?” you ask, slightly offended, “They’re great for people like me, you know, people who actually work on Thursdays.”

“No, no, I mean it, I love your crocs!” the man says, wide eyed and shoving his glasses up in his wild curls, “I have like ten crocs, one pair is pink too.”

He furrows his eyebrows, giving you a confused look, “Wait, it’s Thursday?”

“Yeah, five am, Thursday morning,” you say, wondering how to get rid of this disheveled man so that you can get back to the cookie dough.

“Fuck, oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck….” the man groans, bending double and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “I’m so fucked…I thought it was Wednesday.”

He stands up again and you can’t help but feel sorry for him, he looks devastated.

“I was meant to fly out to San Antonio yesterday and take my nice to Six Flags for her birthday, and I fucking missed it!”

He slumps against the door frame and thumps the back of his head against it repeatedly, moaning, “I’m such a fuck up, I’m such a fuck up.”

“Hey, take it easy, I’m sure it’ll be fine, just apologize and take her another day,” you say, putting your hand on the man’s arm to stop him from giving himself a concussion in your bakery, “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“You think?” he says, “I’m not the best at remembering birthdays, I may have missed a few in the past.”

“Well, then she’ll be mad at you, but all you can do is apologize right? And try to make it up to her as best you can.”

“Yeah…yeah…maybe you’re right, thanks baker girl.” He gives you a lopsided smile and you notice the smudges of dark eyeliner around his eyes, “How about those snacks? I’m fucking starving.”

You can’t help but laugh, the man’s a mess but somehow adorable at the same time with his wild hair and stained t-shirt.

“Sure, I’ll get you something, what do you like?”

“Do you have sausage rolls?” he asks, following you into the kitchen, “I fucking love sausage rolls.”

“What, like those things they made on the Great British Bake Off?” you reply, opening your walk in fridge to survey the snack options.

“Yeah, I did this movie once, in England, and there was a bakery next to my apartment and whenever I got back from a party, early morning, I’d knock on their back door and they’d sell me these fat sausage rolls, fresh from the oven, fucking amazing.”

“Sorry, no sausage rolls in this bakery,” you say, “but my cookies will be done soon, if you can wait.”

You turn back to the man and realize he’s wandering around the kitchen, sticking his nose in your bowls, sniffing loudly.

“Hey, don’t stick your finger in that,” you say, “Health and Safety are going to have my license if they catch you.”

“Sorry, I’ve just got the munchies, I’ve been high for like, two days,” he says, waving his arms around, “this place is torture for a high pers-OH! Do you know what I love?”

“No,” you sigh, exasperated, “I don’t know what you love.”

He completely misses your tone as he spins in a circle around the kitchen and you realize that he’s wearing what looks like very expensive pajama pants and no shoes, just socks.

“I love those…what do you call them, like…millionaire’s something?”

“Millionaire's shortbread?” you ask and he spins around to you with a big grin.

“Yes! Those! With like the chocolate and the peanut butter and they’re like the best Reese’s ever, only even more fucking amazing. Can you make those?” “I don’t know, maybe,” you begin and the man actually falls to his knees, shuffling over the floor to you.

“Please, I’ll do anything, I’m dying here, beautiful baker girl, make me happy!”

“Are you asking me to bake for you or proposing?” you laugh, this man is too ridiculous as he grins up at you.

“If you make them for me, I won’t marry you, but there are many other things I can do,” he says, pulling down his dark sunglasses from his head and winking at you from over the edge, his cheeky grin making it impossible to scowl at him.

“Fine, I’ll make them for you, just get up from my floor, please,” you say, reaching for his hand. He takes yours with a bright smile, kissing the back of it, before he stumbles to his feet and follows you over to your big workbench.

“I’m Dieter, by the way. Can I sit here?” he asks, pointing to the stool that stands next to the bench.

“Nice to meet you Dieter,” you say, “sure, go ahead, it’s got wheels on it though so be careful.”

“Awesome,” Dieter says and sits down, immediately speeding across the floor with a kick of his socked feet. He stops himself from crashing into the fridge door by grabbing on to the handle before he shoots off again, rolling all the way over to the open back door.

“Don’t fall out through the door please,” you call after him and you hear him giggle, a second later he comes spinning into the kitchen again.

“This thing is awesome, I need to buy one for my house.”

“Happy you’re enjoying yourself,” you laugh and walk to where yesterday’s bakes are stacked on trays. You’d made a layer of shortbread yesterday, you were planning on making lemon bars but Millionaire’s shortbread will work too. As you bring it over to your work station Dieter rolls past you and stops by the bench. “Can I help?” he asks, looking up at you, his sunglasses back in his messy hair. He’s kinda cute when you think about it, gorgeous brown eyes, and the smile he’s giving you is open and curious with an adorable dimple.

“Yeah, sure, you can be in charge of peanuts,” you say, walking over to the dry storage, “They need to be bashed into chunks with a rolling pin, something tells me that’s something you can probably handle.”

“That sounds fun, please, direct me,” he says, kicking himself over to the storage cupboard on the stool.

“Oops, sorry,” he giggles, grabbing hold of your hips to stop himself from crashing into the storage door, “I kicked too hard that time.”

“Go easy there, Dieter,” you laugh as he untangles himself from the stool and stands up. You get on your tiptoes to grab the peanuts and suddenly realize he’s still holding on to your hips, standing close behind you. You swear you feel his nose brush the side of your head, a quick inhale from him, and then he steps back, letting go.

“Peanuts?” he says, leaning past you and reaching up to grab the bag sitting just out of your reach. His arm brushes over yours and he’s suddenly very close again, his citrusy after shave, mingling with the heady sweet smoke of weed, fills your senses.

“Uhh…y-yeah,” you stutter, “thanks. And the dark chocolate if you can reach it.”

“Sure, this one?” he asks, grabbing the bag of Valrhona from the shelf. This time his chest is pressed against your back, you really should move out of his way, but he’s right behind you, almost pinning you in place, as he has to stretch to his full length to reach. And you find that you don’t mind at all, he’s warm and solid behind you, and this is more action than you’ve had in months.

“That’s the one, thanks,” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral.

Dieter brings it down to your level and you take it from him, expecting him to step back and give you room to go back to the work bench. But instead he stays right behind you, and this time you really do feel him bend down and brush his nose over your cheek, down to where your neck meets your shoulder.

“You smell delicious, like a cookie,” he mumbles and your heart literally skips a beat.

“Th-thanks,” you splutter and when Dieter steps back, letting you move, you avoid his eyes, feeling your cheeks burn.

“S-so the…umm…rolling pin is on that shelf there,” you say, pointing down to your right, “and there’s a measuring cup too, just…umm…just get a cup of peanuts, and put them in a plastic bag and bash away. Just wash your hands first.”

“Ok, I can do that,” he says with a grin and he walks behind you to the sink in the corner while you measure out the peanut butter into a sauce pan.

Dieter gets to work on the peanuts with great enthusiasm until you tell him they’re broken up enough.

“Just leave them there, you can come here and stir the peanut butter while I get the caramel ready,” you instruct him and he ambles over in just his socks.

“What happened to your shoes? If you don’t mind me asking,” you point at his stripey, multicolored socks.

“I’m not sure,” Dieter glances down at his feet, “I had shoes when I left home, I’m sure of it, but after that it gets a bit hazy.”

“You’ve really been partying since Tuesday?” you ask and he nods.

“Yeah, it was a good party so we just kinda kept going,” he grins, “there was a huge pool and we all went in. Actually, maybe that’s where I lost my shoes?”

“Maybe, you could go back and look for them?”

“And miss out on baking with a pretty baker girl? Never!” he chuckles and you’re not totally sure he’s being serious or not, but the grin he gives you makes you hope he is.

“I think this is melted,” he says, draggin the spoon through the silky smooth peanut butter, showing you the bowl.

“Yeah, that looks done. Just pass me that tray of shortbread and I’ll pour the caramel on top.”

“Can I lick the bowl?” he asks, looking over your shoulder as you let the thick golden liquid pool on top of the shortbread.

“I’m pretty good at scraping, there’s usually nothing left to lick,” you say, dragging the spatula around the edge.

“Can’t you be a bit sloppy, just for me?” Dieter grins, standing entirely too close, “It smells so good, I wanna taste it.”

This time he’s definitely flirting, the salacious smile on his face while he winks at you, makes you both roll your eyes and squash down butterflies on the inside.

“Fine, I’ll leave some for you,” you smile, looking back at the shortbread again and scraping out caramel, leaving the last of it on the spatula. Putting the bowl to the side, you hold out the spatula for him. But instead of taking it, he grabs hold of your hand, and licks the caramel off the spatula with a long swipe of his tongue. His eyes don’t leave yours and the whole thing is so over the top you burst out laughing.

“Jesus fucking Christ, tone it down maybe?” you snort, as he abruptly stops licking, letting go of your hand.

“What?” he blushes, “I saw it in this movie, it looked sexy.”

“Yeah, in a porno maybe!” you say, handing him the spatula, and only the spatula.

He takes it with a sheepish look, “Sorry, that usually works.”

“Not in this bakery, I have to work with that spatula when you’re gone, I can’t have it being used as a porno prop, Dieter.” You grab a new spatula from the holder on the counter and start smoothing out the caramel.

“You do smell good though,” Dieter says, still looking sheepish, “that wasn’t just a line.”

“Thanks,” you shoot him a quick smile, working over the caramel, “you smell good too, underneath all that weed funk.”

At this he grabs the front of his t-shirt and sniffs it, wrinkling his nose, “Yeah, it’s kinda obvious, huh.”

“Can’t believe you partied for forty-eight hours, I’d be dead on my feet,” you say, mixing the peanut butter into the caramel layer, sprinkling in some of the crushed peanuts, “Do you want coffee or something while we wait for this to set?”

“Fuck yes, coffee sounds amazing!” Dieter exclaims, dropping the spatula from his mouth, “And this stuff is amazing too, I’d eat a bowl of just this.”

“You’d die of a sugar rush if you did,” you laugh, sliding the tray into the large fridge and setting a timer on your phone, “C’mon, the coffee machine is out front.”

One of the advantages of being the sole owner of the bakery was that you got to decide what to skimp on, and what to splurge on. And the espresso machine was something you’d really splurged on. For a shop that mainly sold take out baked goods, it was way over the top, but it meant you always had great coffee on hand for your early mornings. The machine was already up and running, humming quietly as you started preparing two shots.

“How do you take it, Dieter?” you ask and he winks at you. “Anyway you wanna give it to me, baker girl,” he grins and when you sigh loudly, he laughs and holds up his hands in defense. “C’mon! I had to! You set it up perfectly!”

“How do you take your coffee?” you emphasis and glare at him, but your smile is breaking through and he gives you a playful poke as he comes up and stands next to the machine.

“Extra everything, cream, sugar, any of those coffee syrups if you have ‘em.”

“Why am I not surprised?” you smirk, “A guy who loves Millionaire’s Shortbread, of course he wants extra everything. I bet you’re lining up outside your local Starbucks the morning they start selling Pumpkin Spice.”

“I would never drink Starbucks!” he protests, “Fucking vile coffee and the worst of corporate America. But you can’t beat a good pumpkin spice if you’ve got quality coffee.”

“I’ve only got great coffee here, but no syrup, you want a latte? Double shot espresso?”

“Please,” he says, leaning against the counter next to the espresso machine as he looks over the front of your little shop, crossing his arms. You can’t help the glance up at his arms, the t-shirt hanging on for dear life as it clings to his biceps and broad shoulders. The many rings on his fingers look tiny on his large hands as he grips the outside of his arms, and you’re temporarily distracted by them, and his close proximity.

The hiss of the machine pulls you back to reality, coffee sputtering out of the spouts into the cup. You glance back up at Dieter and find him watching you with a crooked smile, a dimple in his cheek.

“What?” you say, looking back at the machine and begin to steam the milk.

“You really are beautiful,” he says, almost matter of factly, “especially when you zone out.”

“It’s early, and I’ve been up since two am, but thanks, I guess,” you reply, handing him the latte and pointing to the sugar bowl on the counter next to the till.

“I wasn’t trying to make a move or anything,” he says, sounding slightly hurt, “I just wanted to tell you I think you’re gorgeous.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you say, immediately regretting your tone, “I’m just not used to compliments I guess, I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I should’ve just said thanks,” you look over at him and give him a smile, “Thanks Dieter.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies, smiling back.

You knock out the used coffee grounds and fill it up again to make your own coffee. Dieter reaches over and grabs four sugar cubes and drops them in the latte, stirring while he watches you work. He’s watching you closely again and it makes your cheeks heat up. He’s got a strange energy of childish mayhem and intense magnetism, chaos that’s either going to make you laugh until your sides hurt or fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week. And you’re not sure which one you want.

Your coffee done, you add a splash of milk and lean against the counter opposite Dieter, taking a careful sip. He’s wrapped both his large hands around the thick glass and is delicately licking the foam, drawing a pattern in it with his tongue. You watch him for a few seconds until he notices you and gives you a sheepish grin.

“What?” he asks, copying your tone from earlier.

“You really think I’m pretty?” you ask, the question slipping out before you have a chance to stop it, immediately regretting your filterless mouth.

But he gives you a disarming smile, “Gorgeous. Gorgeous baker girl that smells like cookies and caramel and chocolate.”

“You’re just high,” you can’t help but scoff at him, but he just shakes his head.

“No, not at all.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you, the silence stretching between you until you think something will have to snap and it’s probably going to be you.

The phone saves you, the timer going off just as you don’t think you can stand another second of his chocolate brown eyes looking at you like you’re the snack he’s been asking for.

“Thecaramelisset,” you rush out, breaking eye contact and hurrying back into the kitchen as if another second in the fridge would ruin the whole thing. Dieter comes in behind you at a slower pace, still drinking his coffee.

You pull out the tray and set it down on the workbench before turning on the burner under a saucepan of water, setting up a water bath.

“I’m just gonna melt this chocolate, and then I’ll spread it on top, it’ll set pretty quickly. And then it’s done.” You work quickly, too flustered to look at him and he hoovers just to your side, watching your movements.

The chocolate melts fast, you only need a thin layer, and then you pour it over the caramel. You scrape the bowl clean but leave a generous amount of chocolate on the spatula, giving it to Dieter.

“Don’t burn your mouth, it’s still warm”, you say when he takes it. He doesn’t grab your hand this time, but his fingertips brushes over yours as he nods, and it sends a sharp little jolt through you.

You turn back to the almost finished shortbread but can’t help glancing over at him. His pink tongue comes out and licks the chocolate, this time it’s not over the top, nothing provocative about it, he’s not even looking at you. But you swear you can feel every stroke of his tongue on your own skin, burning hot and wet.

You swallow and tear your eyes away, blindly reaching for the crushed peanuts, taking a handful and scattering it across the chocolate. The Millionaire’s Shortbread is done and you slide the tray back into the fridge, it only needs a few minutes. Dieter remains by the counter, finishing off the chocolate on the spatula as you start to clean up the kitchen and bring out the cookie dough that still needs to be taken care of. You see Dieters eyes widen as he sees the first scoop of dough land on the baking tray.

“Is that chocolate chip,” he almost whispers reverently, spatula forgotten, as he slowly comes over to stare down into the bowl.

“You want to try it? It’s double chocolate chip with browned butter.”

He makes a gurgling noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head back before he looks at you and nods, “Please, it smells so good.”

You grab a tasting spoon, giving him a generous scoop and watch with a smile as he puts it in his mouth. His eyes close of their own volition as he moans, far too enticingly, around the spoon.

“Oh my god…” he sighs, slowly chewing the dough, “This is like heaven, better than sex, better than fucking coke.”

“Knock yourself out,” you chuckle, “it’s not healthy but it’s sure as hell better for you than coke.”

“And sex?” he asks with a wink, still rolling the dough around his mouth.

“They’re probably on par, but this is tastier than cum.”

Dieter nearly chokes, coughing loudly as you giggle. Between repeated attempts at clearing his throat he points his finger at you accusingly, trying to grin between his coughing.

“You’re…” he coughs again, “You’re a dirty baker girl!” he finally manages, grinning widely as you go back to scooping dough, still giggling.

“I can’t believe I said that, but you did serve it up perfectly.”

“I did, but I never thought your mind was that filthy, I’m appalled” he laughs, placing a hand on his chest in a mock gesture of shock. “Better than cum huh? You have a lot of experience in that department?”

Now he’s winking again, poking to get more details out of you. So instead you take another tasting spoon, scoop up more dough and put it straight into his mouth to shut him up. It works, he grins around the spoon and smacks his lips at the taste.

“So fucking good, definitely better than cum,” he smirks, earning an eye roll from you. “Do you wanna taste it?”

“I’m good, I’ve already tasted the dough many times,” you reply, careful to specify that you’re talking about dough.

“Maybe not like this though,” Dieter says, suddenly bending down and pressing his lips against yours. It almost makes you jump, his soft lips against yours, his aftershave, it all envelops you in an instance. He’s not touching you anywhere else, just your lips, and you can’t taste him, his mouth is still closed. Maybe you should push him off, the thought flits through your mind for a split second. But you want to taste him, taste the cookie dough you know is delicious, mingled with him, so you part your lips, your tongue coming out.

Dieter lets a quiet groan slip out as he part his lips, letting you in, opening his mouth and tilting his head to come closer. You hear the spoon clatter to the floor as his hand comes up and cups your cheek, his big hand reaching behind your neck, another stifled groan from him. He tastes of sugar, coffee and chocolate, all flavors mingling into something enticing that pulls you closer.

There’s nothing delicate about this kiss now, you lick into his mouth, and he offers you all the space you want, holding you close and moaning softly as your tongues tangle.

“Touch my hair,” he mumbles, breathing into your mouth, “I want to feel your hands in my hair.”

“They’re all sticky, Dieter,” you protest but you feel him shake his head, his lips brushing over yours.

“I don’t care, touch me, hold me, I want to smell like you when I leave,” his tongue slips between your lips, and you run your hands through his hair. You can feel it sticking, tugging at his wild locks but he just groans, his hands holding you tighter and, encouraged, you let your own hands run across his body, eliciting another loud groan from him.

Tension is building between the two of you, he is growing hard against your belly, unmistakably turned on and doing nothing to hide it. You can feel heat radiating from your own core, so scorching he must feel it too through the thin fabric of his pajama pants. If this doesn’t stop soon he’ll have you bent over the workbench in a minute, and Health and Safety would definitely have something to say about that.

With a groan and tremendous effort, you put your hands on his chest and push him away. His lips chase yours for a few seconds, eyes closed, a protest coming from him, before he looks down at you with a sigh.

“You taste even better than you smell,” he says, not letting go of your cheek, his other hand still around your waist.

“The cookie dough goes really well with the coffee,” you reply, your mouth quirking up in a smile and he matches it, a dopey look on his face.

“Amazing,” he breathes, "you're amazing, baker girl.”

His adoration makes you tremble, you feel the heat in your cheeks, and he sees it, leaning into your lips. He stops and looks at you for a beat, to ask for your permission, and when you don’t pull away he presses a soft kiss to your warm mouth, so different from the hasty, heated kiss you just shared. This one lasts only for a few seconds, gentle, before he pulls back, his hand slowly trailing along your check.

“I should probably call for my ride,” he says softly, “it’ll take a while to get here.”

“Ok,” you nod, “the shortbread should be done too.”

“Ok,” he replies, but he doesn’t make a move to leave and you can’t seem to take your eyes off him.

“I really should…” he sighs, tracing his fingertips over your cheek again, “call that ride.”

“Go, do that, I’ll cut the shortbread, we can have some while we wait for your ride.” You lightly put your hand on his warm chest and push him away, smiling, but you really want to bunch your hand in the soft t-shirt and pull him closer.

“Ok,” he says, louder this time, as if making up his mind. He shoves his hand in his pocket, miraculously finding his phone intact as you bring the tray out of the fridge.

The whole thing has set into layers, so you take a sharp knife and start cutting rectangles, slipping them up and onto the tray that goes in your display case, some go into a take away box, two you put on a separate plate and then look around for Dieter, spotting his broad back out by the back door. Just as you come over to him he ends his call, turning around to you with a smile.

“My ride will be here in about twenty minutes,” he says, following you to the doorstep and sitting down. You sink down next to him, maybe a little bit closer than necessary, but he’s wide and takes up almost the whole door frame. Your cookie dough is still waiting for you, you’ll be playing catch up with your baking for the rest of the morning, but it’ll be worth it. This chaotic, disheveled man has made your morning a lot more exciting than usual and you’re a little bit sad to see him go.

“Here, what you came for,” you say, holding out the plate, and Dieter takes one of the Millionaire’s Shortbread.

“I can’t believe you made these just for me,” he grins and bites into it. You watch his face, this is your favorite part of baking, watching people when they taste the finished thing. And Dieter doesn’t disappoint, he groans, loudly, grabbing onto your arm and leaning his forehead against your shoulder, his whole body reacting to the flavors in his mouth as he chews.

“I Iive here now,” he moans, “I’m giving up my career, I’m going to live in your bakery and pay you to feed me for the rest of my life.” He lifts his head up and takes another big bite of the shortbread, groaning again as he looks at you, his eyebrows pulled together, big brown eyes pleading. “How is this so good?” he moans, his tongue coming out to catch an errant peanut crumb, “you’ve got to taste this.”

He holds up the last bite of the shortbread to you, and you open your mouth, letting him place it between your lips. You feel his fingers brush over them as he pulls back, his thumb coming up to swipe over your bottom lip.

“It’s really good, I’m pretty happy with this,” you say, trying to not chew with your mouth open as Dieter looks at you, his eyes on your lips.

“Do you want another one?” you ask, holding up the plate and Dieter nods fervently and groans again as he takes a bite.

“I can’t decide, this or sex, which is better,” he chuckles, and you nod. You know the cake is good, but you can’t help but wonder if sex with Dieter might not be even better.

You sit side by side in the early morning sunshine, eating the cakes. Dieter soon finishes his second one and cracks the lid on the take away box you’ve given him, sneaking a third one with a childish grin that makes you happy to see.

“Seriously, I live here now, I’m moving in tomorrow,” he mumbles, moaning between bites, leaning on you, his head on your shoulder.

“You do that Dieter, I might even let you lick the bowl once in a while,” you say, patting his messy hair.

“Lick the bowl or lick your bowl, baker girl?” he giggles and you give him a light smack, shaking your head.

“Enough with the porn jokes,” you scold him, no menace to your words, he can hear the smile in your voice and giggles again.

“Can I put my head in your lap?” he asks, “Nothing weird, I promise, I’m just really tired suddenly.”

“Ok, sure, but your ride should be here soon.”

“Yeah, I just wanna relax my eyes for a while….” Dieter yawns and slips down the stairs to sit on the last step, hooking his arm around your hips and putting his head on your lap. The warm weight of him on your legs is actually comforting, his arm a steady hold behind you. Without thinking about it you start carding your fingers through his hair, adding to the sticky mess, making it stand on end, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It takes him minutes to fall asleep, a low rumbling snore coming from him.

You keep stroking his head for a few more minutes before you carefully lift his head up and slip out from under him, letting his arm be his pillow. You need to go back to baking, your first customers will be arriving soon and you haven’t even put the cookies in the oven, you want them fresh and warm when the early morning commuters arrive.

Back in the kitchen you quickly scoop the rest of the dough on the trays and get them in the oven and start stocking the display case out front with what’s already done. You’re just sliding the last croissants into the tray when the opening hour strikes and you flip the sign on the front door. You’ve been listening out back for a car to pull up but you haven’t heard anything and once the morning rush starts, you’re swamped and a couple of hours pass before you even realize. When it finally calms down you wipe down the counter and clean your hands before checking out by the back door. It’s still open, but Dieter is gone, as is the take away box, not a trace of your chaotic, magnetic early morning visitor.

Hours later, as you’re about to close up for the day, a delivery van pulls up in front of the shop. A man in a uniform jumps out and comes rushing in with a box and an extravagant bouquet of flowers with a vase. “Delivery for you, miss,” he says, handing you a device to sign your name on, and then the flowers and the box.

“Thanks,” you say but the man is already halfway out the door.

The flowers fill the small shop with their scent, and you place them on the counter, next to the till, stopping to stick your nose into the white lilac and breathing deeply before getting the shop closed up.

You flip the sign and take the box into the kitchen, the back door is still open to let the warm spring air in. Sinking down on the stairs where you sat with Dieter just this morning, you open the box. It contains another box and inside that, a note. But there’s also a mouth watering, rich, smell of pastry and meat coming from the box. Intrigued, you open the lid, only to find a thermal container inside, like a small version of the ones used to keep delivery pizza warm. Inside are six fat, delicious looking sausages rolls. Your stomach gives a hungry grumble and you immediately grab one, laughing as you remember Dieter’s first request this morning; sausage rolls, like the ones he bought in England after party nights.

The sausage roll really is as delicious as it looks and you grab a second one before you pick up the note that came with them.

It's a double folded piece of paper, so thick it almost looks like part of a canvas. On the inside a note is scribbled in a looped, flowing handwriting.

“Next time I’m asking you on a date, baker girl /D”

Part Two

If you want to make Dieter's Millionaire's Shortbread, here's the recipe I used.

#dieter bravo #pedro pascal character fanfiction #a bakers dozen #pedro pascal #dieter bravo fluff #the bubble

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hiraethwa · 5 months

Text

one summer day

04 new dawn. where you learn something surprising about ushijima

<< 03 shining light. | >> 05 saturn i.

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader a/n: i want ushijima to give me his jacket too, CRYING,,, side note i’m going be to busy in feb so updates will be posted every 2 weeks. thanks for reading! - ave word count: 1.3k warnings: mentions of past trauma terms: gap moe -- when someone has a hidden side that contradicts their usual personality/behavior

march, first year

ever since ushijima and tendo joined you and semi at your home back during the first semester, they have remained a constant presence at your study sessions. the four of you have become an inseparable group of friends, even though you stick out like a sore thumb between the tall volleyball players. you were considered tall among your female classmates, but next to the three of them? just a midget.

“i’m an adopted introvert,” you would explain when classmates ask you about how you became close friends with the ushijima wakatoshi and the oddball tendo satori and the pretty setter semi eita.

the only complaint you have are the sidetracks from the actual point of said sessions, studying. with tendo and semi arguing over literally everything, it is difficult to stay on track. even ushijima adds in a quip to the banters every now and then, his straight-faced delivery of the infrequent lines making them even funnier.

that is not to say you did not enjoy the privilege of learning about the different sides of the boys compared to how they were on court. no, you fully delighted in finding out random facts about the intimidating players that other people are not privy to. like how they had gotten you a plushie for your birthday, but it seems like they were more attached to it than you, by the way they greet the plushie whenever they are over at your house.

today, with your parents being home, you all ended up studying in ushijima and tendo’s shared dorm room, all sprawled out in various states around the coffee table that sits in the middle of the simple room.

“that’s it,” you announce, notebook flopping down on your face as you laid on the floor. “the words are no longer registering in my brain.”

“maybe if you sleep with the book under your pillow tonight, the knowledge will diffuse into your brain by tomorrow for the exam.” semi jokes from across the room in a similar state of dishevel as the four of you try your best to study for the last exam week of the school year on a sunday afternoon turned into night.

“would that actually work?”

“what do you think?”

“maybe if i take a quick nap, then continue studying” you mumble more to yourself as you turn on your stomach, dropping your face on the floor unceremoniously.

“miyamura-san, it’s almost time for curfew, if you don’t go home soon, you will have to spend the night in the dorms.” ushijima kneels before you, picking up the book that you were covering your head with.

you pick your head up to look at the boy solemnly, lips set in a pout. “so what? i am so fucked for the exam tomorrow, ushijima” you wonder how studying was going for him.

“you will be fine.” he puts a hand on your head in a gesture to comfort you.

“you don’t know that!”

“in any case, having a good night’s rest is more important than any studying now.”

“you know, he’s technically right, school is just like volleyball, and ushijima-san is an expert at that.” tendo agrees with ushijima.

you sigh. “help me up then,” fingers wiggling in the air as you wait for ushijima to pull you upright.

if you were not in autopilot mode as you picked your things up and stuffed them in your backpack, you would have heard tendo’s teasing “semi, help me up” pointed at ushijima, followed by an instant flat “no” from your best friend. but your brain was turned off for the night as you pull your shoes on to go home.

“see you later,” ushijima throws to the two boys before he clicks the door shut behind him, gesturing to you. “shall we?”

for the most part, you two walk in comfortable silence under the summer moon. that is, until the neighborhood’s stray cat decides to jump out in front of you out of nowhere. you yelp and grab onto ushijima’s sleeve, startled by the sudden movement.

he chuckles and much to your dismay (and shock), squats down and starts psps-ing at the orange cat. you are not sure how much gap moe he could be than this image in front of you right now. for starters, you are not sure if you are hallucinating from how tired you are, and secondly, if this is real, you need proof that this ever happened. so you sneakily take your phone out before calling his name innocently and snap a photo of him and the cat before he can react.

“i’m gonna let that slide.” he puts his hand out in front of him in what looked like an attempt to pet the cat. you aren’t faking the shock on your face as the cat sniffs at his fingers before brushing up against his hand, as if saying pet me.

your jaw drops from the sight, “oh yeah? you don’t seem like the type.” you wanted to pet the cat, but this cat has only ever hissed at you in passing, so you are completely in awe and jealous of ushijima at this moment.

“only for you,” he turns to really look at you, a small smile playing on his lips. and then, as if he sensed the yearning in you, he tugs on your wrist lightly. “here, hold your hand out for the cat to sniff you.”

you listen to him warily, slowly inching towards the cat in case it tries to attack you, “like this?”

he hums in agreement, “and then, you wait for him to decide if you can pet him.”

surely enough, the cat starts sniffing you, tail brushing against ushijima’s knees. you carefully smooth the fur between his ears, feeling awed for the acceptance. though shortly after, he returns to the boy next to you, rubbing its head against his hand. “he likes you more than me”

“i am a cat whisperer,” he nods.

you laugh at his words. before you realize it, the words start falling from your lips. “my little sister was a cat whisperer too”

and as if being doused with a bucket of ice water, you snap back into reality, painfully aware of your admission. your heart thunders as memories threaten to overwhelm you. stop. turn. lock. you picture shoving them into a bottomless box, locking it and throwing the key away until the next time they break free. just as you have practiced for the last 8 years.

“miyamura?” ushijima looks at you expectantly as you snap back into the present.

“yeah? i am feeling a little tired. let’s go.” you stand up abruptly, hoping that he won’t ask you about what you just said. that you mentioned having a sister to this boy you just became friends with a few months ago. you haven’t said those words out loud in a long time. you don’t even remember when the last time was.

to his credit, he does not ask any prying questions about the sister he has never heard of. the sister he has never seen.

you don’t even realize that you were shaking, mostly from reliving your memories, but also shivering from the chilly night breeze until he drapes a jacket over your shoulders.

“let’s get you home” he states, hands shoved into his pant pockets as he strolls ahead.

leaving you staring at his retreating figure, brain muddled and heart jumbled. you vaguely remember him grabbing his track jacket and carrying it instead of putting it on before you left shiratorizawa.

“are you coming?” he turns around to look at you. you hurry towards his familiar aura that encompasses your roughness, as he strikes up another conversation about something random. that night you lie in your bed, staring at the ceiling with paint scars from when it used to have glow-in-the-dark stars and planets taped to it; one question keeping you awake despite your exhaustion – what is it about this boy that makes you feel so safe?

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lliminall · 1 year

Text

carino

[giorno giovanna/reader]

word count: 6.9k

tags: fem reader, NSFW (minors do not interact), giorno being smitten with you, fingering, teasing, giorno is older than you by about 10 years, sappy sweet sex for the birthday boy. giorno is charming but he’s also a bit of an intense weirdo and I wish we would talk about that more

It occurs to you, as your shoulder is clipped for the third time this night and you almost spill your drink again, that you should learn to get more comfortable with saying the word no.

No, Chiara, I don’t want to go clubbing with you tonight. No, I’m tired and I’ve got work in the morning and I’m really not that thrilled at the thought of spending my Sunday night surrounded by people several tax brackets above me.

Ah, but as your drink sloshes in your glass and you bite back a sharp fuck, Chiara leans against you and laughs wholeheartedly, and you remember why you can’t ever seem to deny her anything. For all the trouble she gets you into, she’s your friend.

And she’s got a credit card with her dad’s name on it that she whips out every time she drags you to these upscale venues. That certainly helps.

“God, your clumsy tonight,” she laughs. “I told you not to wear those shoes.”

“What, and ruin this outfit with my sneakers?” you say, gesturing to your dress and heels. Around you people mingle and dance, wearing clothes from brands you see in fashion magazines. And here you are among them, in your bargain rack best.

“True,” Chiara concedes. “Well. At least you look pretty.”

Before you can thank her, her eyes blow wide and her shoulders go rigid as she catches sight of something behind you.

“Oh, god,” she says with dread, and you follow her line of sight to see none other than her father, seated at a table on the balcony overlooking the floor. She gasps.

“Oh, god,” she says, with even more dread, as her father catches sight of her and waves her over. She whips around to face you.

“Shit. I didn’t know he was going to be here,” she whispers.

“I mean, I guess old men are allowed to have fun, too,” you tease.

“No,” she hisses. “That’s not what he’s here for. Don’t you see who he’s sitting with?”

You peer over her shoulder to look at his table again. Through the crowd you can just make out bits and pieces of men in fine suits, a man in a bright red hat, and…someone else. Someone who certainly stands out from the rest with his long blonde curls and the low cut of his pink suit. The set of his shoulders and the hard line of his gaze as he converses with the man in the hat communicates clearly that he is someone important. Someone who’s used to being treated as important.

“The blonde?” you ask.

“The blonde?” Chiara repeats, incredulous. “The blonde? You don’t know who that is?”

You tilt your head at her. “Uhm, should I?”

She stares at you for a moment, thinking.

“Right,” she says. “I forget that you’re not…well. I guess you wouldn’t know. Just, uh, be polite. Really polite. Like you’re talking to the president.”

She takes your hand and begins to tug you to the stairs.

“Sorry, what?” you hiss. “Who’s up there?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll just go up and say hi to my dad and leave.”

“Don’t worry about it?” you argue as she drags you up the stairs. “You can’t make a huge deal out of it and then tell me not to-“ your voice trails off as you realize you’re coming within earshot of the table, and Chiara’s face breaks into a grin as her father waves the both of you over.

“Ah, mia principessa,” he greets her as she leans over his chair to kiss his cheek. “How fortunate to see you here. You never visit your poor father these days.”

“Papá, I told you I’ve been busy,” Chiara groans.

Her father says your name warmly, and offers his hand for you to take. In the few times you’ve met him, Signore Alessi has only ever been kind to you. “A pleasure to see you, as always. I trust you’re keeping my daughter in line?”

“Trying to,” you say, letting him clasp your hand in his. “You know how it goes.”

“Indeed I do,” he says, and motions to two men who immediately pull out a chair for each of you.

“Oh, we don’t want to interrupt,” Chiara says, and tries to wave one of the men away.

“Nonsense,” her father replies. “I was just telling Don Giovanna about you, anyway.”

Chiara laughs nervously and takes her seat. You follow suit.

The seat you’re offered places you next to Chiara, and across from the man with the red hat. At the head of table, beside him, is who you assume is Don Giovanna.

“He had only the best to say of you,” Don Giovanna says with a low smile. Signore Alessi couldn’t look more pleased, and it occurs to you that this man, although younger than him, is clearly the one with the most influence at this table. The honorific title of Don only confirms that he’s someone of great social standing here. Your gut twists uncomfortably with anxiety; Chiara really has brought you out of your league with this one.

“Your father tells me you’re studying sociology?” Don Giovanna continues.

“Ah, yes,” Chiara stutters quickly.

“What would you like to do with it?”

“Social work,” she answers.

Don Giovanna nods his head. “That’s an admirable goal,” he says. “We could certainly use more compassionate workers in the social services.”

And because Chiara is apparently uncomfortable with the amount of attention on her, and because you’re the most convenient victim, she says, “thank you, Don Giovanna, but really I only chose to do it because of my friend.”

She motions to you, and the Don’s eyes, and every other pair of eyes at the table, move to watch you.

“She’s always there for me, even when I don’t deserve it, and she’s the kindest person I know. I just want to be able to become that kind of person for others.”

You think you could cry at hearing such genuine praise, if you couldn’t feel Chiara nudging your heel under the table to shake you out of your headspace. The table full of important men is awaiting your response (and, conveniently, no longer pinning that attention on Chiara).

You don’t know what to say. How do you even respond to such high praise? You don’t know what to say but you need to say something. Anything.

“Oh, uhm. Fuck.”

Ok, well. Anything but that.

The table bursts into laughter. Chiara covers her mouth and snorts as her father claps his hand to his chest in a full belly laugh. The man in the hat cracks the first grin you’ve seen from him yet, and even the Don is stifling a low smile. You don’t know whether you should be relieved or even more embarrassed.

“(Y/n) has been a wonderful friend to my girl,” Signore Alessi says, saving you from having to recover yourself with a response. “I’m grateful that my daughter has such a good influence in her life.”

As Signore Alessi goes on, gracefully rescuing you with a change of subject, the man in the hat catches your attention.

“Is that an accent I’m hearing?” he asks.

“That obvious?” you say sheepishly. “Yeah, I moved here a couple of years ago.”

“Your Italian’s very good, but I can always clock a foreigner,” he says. “And I’m also guessing this isn’t the type of place you usually hang out in.”

God, you’re going to kick Chiara for this later.

“Uh, no. I mean yes, you’re right. This wasn’t exactly my first choice for tonight.”

“Ooh, well don’t tell my boss that,” he says with a teasing lilt, nodding his head towards Don Giovanna, who is listening attentively to whatever story Signore Alessi is in the middle of. “He kind of owns the place.”

Beside you, Chiara sighs. “What she means to say is that she’s a homebody who doesn’t know how to party. Of course the club is lovely.” She kicks you under the table.

“Hey, no shame in that,” the man says. “Between you and me, I’d rather be at home with a beer right now, but duty calls.”

“Oh, are you in real estate like Signore Alessi?” you ask. The man stares at you for a beat. Chiara shifts in her seat beside you.

“Yeah,” he answers at last. “Real estate. We were just meeting about uh, property and shit, you know how it goes. Boring stuff.”

As Chiara is folding and unfolding her hands, you notice that her eyes have flicked to the Don, and you also notice, in your peripheral, that the Don’s eyes have flicked to you. There’s a sense that something is going over your head here, like being on the outside of a joke everyone else is in on, but as soon as the feeling appears the man in front of you is speaking again.

“Anyway! I haven’t even introduced myself. The name’s Mista.”

You offer him your own name, and he orders drinks for you and Chiara, insisting that you stay and chat with everyone. Their meeting has wrapped up anyway, and he would never turn down the company of two pretty girls, he explains.

Mista is easy to talk to. Easygoing and genial, he quickly has you relaxing into a friendly conversation. Your anxiety from before melts away as you tell him about your home country, about the ridiculous situations Chiara has dragged you into (which she responds to with a groan), and as he answers with a laugh and a funny story of his own. You are so wrapped up in conversation with them, that you pay no attention to the eyes watching you quietly from further down the table.

You’re laughing with a half-empty glass in your hand when Chiara tugs on your wrist and excuses you both from the table for a moment.

“Oh my god. He’s checking you out,” she whispers as she pulls you into the bathroom.

“Mista?” you ask, feeling your cheeks warm. “I mean, he’s sweet but-“

“No!” she interrupts, and leans into your space conspiratorially. “The Don.”

Hah. The Don.

“Ok. Sure,” you say.

“I’m not joking,” she says. “God, you’re so clueless. He’s been watching you this whole time.”

“I haven’t even spoken to him,” you say. “And he’s like, 10 years older than us, at least. And rich.”

“And he was watching you,” Chiara huffs. She says your name lowly and levels you with a stare. “I know these things. Remember the last time I caught someone checking you out?”

“The guy who showed up to our date with an ankle monitor on?”

“God, that’s not the point. I told you he was flirting and I was right.”

Sensing that this conversation is not about to go anywhere else, you concede with a halfhearted “ok” and push the door open to leave.

You push the door open into the Don’s face.

He catches it smoothly with one large hand and doesn’t flinch as you squawk.

“Sorry! I didn’t see you there,” you squeak.

“No worries, Signorina,” he says. In the small space of the hallway, you notice that his voice is rich, masculine, smooth. “Is everything all right? Your friend seemed to be in a hurry.” Has he sounded like that all night? Has he been looking at you like that all night?

The hallway to the bathrooms is small, and the the placement of his hand on the door has his arm and body hovering over you in a way that’s almost…intimate. You notice, not for the first time that night, that Giorno is handsome. Very handsome. You decide that you’re reading into things too much because this isn’t a romance novel and things like this don’t happen to you, of course.

“Everything’s fine,” you answer, looking over your shoulder to see that the bathroom behind you is empty, which means that Chiara has hidden herself in one of the stalls.

“My friend was just”-you think of telling him she has a headache, and then remember how embarrassed she made you earlier-“throwing up. A lot. I told her she should have eaten something before coming out and drinking.”

Giorno’s brows pinch in concern. “Ah. Is she…all right? I would be happy to call someone over to check on her.”

“Nope,” you answer. “She’ll be fine as soon as she gets it all out. Last time we went out clubbing it took-“

“Actually!” Chiara’s voice rings out behind you, the stall door flying open with a thud. “I think I’m sick, because I can handle my alcohol just fine, actually, so I’d like you to take me home now, please?”

She sidles up beside you and pinches your side, politely excusing the both of you from the Don as you say “ow.” He makes a face somewhere between quizzical and amused as you’re dragged back to the table for Chiara to kiss her father on the cheek and tell him goodbye.

“So good to see you, principessa,” he says, and turns to you. “Tell her to come visit her poor father sometime, and bring yourself along while you’re at it.”

You smile. “Of course, Signore.”

It seems that the rest of the table is ready to call it a night as well, as Signore Alessi and the others stand and begin to give their goodbyes. You down the rest of your drink quickly, finishing just in time to see that Don Giovanna has come back to the balcony—and that his eyes are on you again, for the second before Signore Alessi is calling for his attention.

You decide that you should leave before he can ask about your poor, sick friend again.

The wash of cool air is more than welcome as you step out of the building and into the street. Your skin must have been flushed for half the night, between the embarrassment, the laughter, the drinks, and…whatever that was with the Don.

“Thank god that’s over,” Chiara sighs beside you, whipping her phone out to call an Uber. “I’m remembering why I always skipped out on dad’s dinners when I was a kid.”

“Oh, I didn’t think they were that bad,” you say. “Especially for a bunch of middle aged-“

The door swings open behind you, and Mista strolls out alone.

“Good, I caught you before you took off,” he says. He nods at Chiara and then looks at you expectantly. “I’ve got a little favor to ask. Could I get your number?”

Oh. Oh no. Mista seems sweet, really, but-

“For my boss.”

Oh. Oh.

Over Mista’s shoulder, you see Chiara’s mouth fall open as she holds herself back from giving you an immediate “I told you so.”

Don Giovanna wants your number. The Don wants your number. You have to be misreading this. Maybe he’s just got an open position for an intern that needs filling. Maybe he’s just very polite and wants to check up on your supposedly nauseous friend later.

“He would’ve asked you himself, but he got a little wrapped up, as you saw,” Mista goes on with a laugh.

“Yeah, sure,” you say before your brain can catch up to your mouth. You enter your number into a phone Mista hands you, and he turns to enter the building again as your Uber pulls up to the curb.

“He’ll probably call you sometime tomorrow,” he says with a wave. “Great meeting you guys. Ciao!”

You watch the door click shut behind him. Chiara is going to be so obnoxious about this. You dive into the car before you can see how smug her expression is and look very pointedly out the window. Incredibly, she says nothing as the driver pulls up to her apartment just a few blocks away, and the both of you trudge through the lobby, into the elevator, and through the doors to her apartment. You’re tugging your dress over your head to change into your pajamas when she finally speaks.

“I’m booking you an appointment with my Brazilian waxer,” she says.

You would smack her with a pillow, if you didn’t know that she was also offering to pay. And with the way your nerves are already beginning to act up, it’s an offer you may want to take her up on.

—

The next weekend, Chiara comes over to help you get ready for your date by laying in bed and watching while you put your makeup on and offering such useful suggestions as “are you sure you don’t want my push-up bra? I would want a push-up bra.”

You don’t bother to respond, because you think your boobs look fine in the mirror, and because you still can’t make yourself believe this date will end up in that direction anyway. Giorno, as he asked you to call him, had been nothing but polite over his texts to you. Brief, formal, but polite.

He did specifically call it a date, which defeated your theory of a job offering, but it all still feels so…unbelievable.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” Chiara says, as if reading your thoughts. “I mean, of course he’s into you, because you’re beautiful and smart and nice, but-“ she sighs. “God. You have no idea how big this guy is. This is so insane.”

“What, is he the prime minister’s landlord?” you laugh. “I can handle some big-shot real estate mogul.”

Chiara looks at you the way she might look at a dog with three legs. Sweet, but pitiful.

“You are so, so clueless,” she says. “You should probably stay that way.”

You don’t have time to wonder what the fuck she’s talking about, because your phone pings with a text from Giorno. He’s pulling up to your apartment complex.

—

It’s drizzling as you push past the doors of your apartment building. You didn’t think to bring an umbrella down, you hope this doesn’t smudge your makeup—and the worms have already begun to wriggle onto the sidewalk.

Poor things. The skies will be cleared up and the sidewalk will be bone dry again in just a couple of hours. They don’t even know that they’re about to die slowly and horribly.

It’s just as you’re picking up the last one that you hear a car pull up to the curb behind you. You pray that it isn’t Giorno, come just in time to see you crouched in a puddle with a worm between your fingers, but you can’t imagine that anyone else in this grubby apartment block would be driving a Ferrari. He steps out just as you’re placing the little guy into a soft patch of grass.

“Buonasera,” he greets you as he takes in the scene. Your hands are dripping with mud water and worm slime, and suddenly you’re very worried about getting dirt in this car that probably cost more than you’ll make in years.

“Buonasera,” you say. “I was just, um. The worms-“ you trail off as you realize you don’t have an explanation that doesn’t make you feel a bit silly, but Giorno’s face breaks into a soft smile. He produces a handkerchief from his pocket and takes your dirty hands in his.

“I can see that,” he says, rubbing your hands gently between the fabric, brushing it between each finger and over every knuckle. His hands are warm. Your skin is clammy. “I’m sure they appreciate the effort.”

He opens the passenger door for you and escorts you in with a hand on your arm, and your cheeks begin to warm with that familiar heat.

The restaurant he brings you to is easily the nicest you’ve ever stepped foot in. Certainly nicer than the boutique cafes Chiara (and her dad’s credit card) often treat you to. Giorno hands his keys to a valet and leads you up the steps with a hand on your lower back, through a set of heavy double doors and into the lavish building. Elegant decor, low lighting, floor to ceiling windows overlooking Naple’s skyline and the bay…this definitely has ankle monitor guy beat. Regretfully, you do have to give this one to Chiara.

The hostess looks up from her station as you approach, and upon seeing Giorno, immediately gathers a couple of menus and motions for the two of you to follow her. He must be a regular here, you think, or maybe it has something to do with what Chiara was telling you earlier. Something about Giorno being a bigger deal than you understood.

The hostess seats you at a table in the far corner of the restaurant. Quiet, secluded from the other patrons. Giorno pulls your seat out for you and takes the jacket from your shoulders. He orders a bottle of wine with a name you don’t recognize and the hostess leaves you with your menus.

“I hope the restaurant is to your liking,” he says. He must be joking. Everything about it is beautiful, if not a little intimidating for someone unused to such luxury.

“It’s very pretty,” you say, looking out across the bay. The sun is beginning to set, casting vivid red hues across the seawater.

“Do you like to watch the ocean?” he asks.

“From a distance, absolutely,” you answer. “Up close it gets a little…scarier.”

“Scary? Are you not a fan of swimming, then?”

“Oh no,” you say quickly. “I saw Jaws when I was a kid. Never been the same since.”

The corner of Giorno’s mouth quirks. “I can assure you no one here has died in a shark attack for a very long time.”

The waiter returns to set a wine bottle and two glasses on the table, pouring it out for both of you. Giorno takes a slow sip of his and you pick up your glass to do the same. You aren’t usually one for wine, but you’re not about to offend him by rejecting it. You take a sip and try not to make a face that says “ew.”

“Do you enjoy wine?” Giorno asks.

“Yes,” you lie. “Your friend said you own the club we met at?” A smooth change of subject.

“I do, as well as a couple of others in the city. My business partners and I often hold meetings there, as you saw.”

“Meeting about uh, real estate things?” God, you’re bad at this.

Giorno smiles. “No, not quite. We were actually discussing an upcoming charity fundraiser.”

“That’s nice. Chiara always said her dad’s coworkers were-“ you realize you’re about to put your foot in your mouth yet again, and change course. “-great people. Really generous.”

Giorno takes another slow sip from his glass, and fixes you with a look you can’t quite place. “That very kind of her, but things haven’t always been this way. I do try to keep them in line now that I’m in the business.”

“What charity are you fundraising for?”

“A few,” Giorno begins. “Most of them supporting children and families affected by substance abuse.”

Ah, Naple’s infamous addiction issues. From what you’ve heard, the problem has lessened in severity since the last decade, but an issue with roots so deep can only be uprooted so quickly.

“I’ve heard about the addiction rates here,” you say. “Is it something you’re passionate about?”

“Absolutely,” Giorno says, and his gaze becomes intense, even more so than it always seems to be. “You could say that my life’s work has revolved around it. To threaten the well-being of these people, to pollute these streets with drugs-“ he turns to gaze through the window, at the sidewalks and people below. “-it’s unforgivable.”

You aren’t sure how to respond to such a speech, at first. Giorno’s intensity is brilliant to the point of intimidation, firm and absolute in this conviction he’s shared with you. You realize that this is the same assuredness you’ve seen in him since you met him that night, in every small interaction you witnessed (and shared) with him. In the way he’s looked at you, even after only just having met you. An absolute certainty in what he wants, and the absolute confidence to pursue it. You have no doubt, somehow, that he’ll have it.

“I like that,” you say simply. “I mean, you must be very proud. It seems like all your work is paying off.”

“I am,” he says, with that intense gaze fixed on you. Bright. Brilliant. “Thank you. You would be surprised at how much…resistance my work has been met with. It isn’t something one receives thanks for often, in my circle.”

You can’t imagine an apparent philanthropist being so deprived of something as basic as genuine praise, but the look on his face is achingly close to something you’ve seen before. In kids who were never told enough how good they were, in quiet classmates who’s work never seemed to be noticed. It’s uncomfortable, almost, to see pieces of those people in the man in front of you. It’s intimate, too intimate, and Giorno is still pinning you with that look, so you decide now is a good time to veer the conversation onto a different course.

“Well, if your whole real estate business doesn’t work out, I guess you could always ask the local mafia for a job,” you say.

Giorno’s mouth quirks again. “Oh?”

“My friend says they’ve really cracked down on the drug trade around here,” you explain. “I bet you’d fit right in. Be like a real Dark Knight type of situation.”

“Was Batman in the mafia?” Giorno says, matching your playful tone.

“Uh, maybe? He broke a lot of laws, right? So basically the same thing.”

“Mm,” Giorno hums. “Yes, I suppose it is.” Something in his smile is unplaceable to you. It reminds you of the night in the club, when you were pricked with the feeling that something was going over your head. That Giorno is in on some private joke you’re oblivious to.

“But if I was spending my evenings fighting crime,” he begins. “I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of meeting you.”

Warmth spreads through your cheeks, now from more than just the wine. Giorno is easy to talk to. Charming, witty, polite. The food he orders for you is delicious, of course, and you don’t realize until your plate is cleared and the sun has set that Giorno has managed to keep you talking for the entire evening. To think that you had been so anxious about this date, and just a few hours later here you are, chatting like you’ve known him for months.

When Giorno leads you outside the moon has already begun to rise, cool night air brushing past your flushed skin. His hand is warm on your lower back as he escorts you down the steps, firm under your fingers as he helps you into the car. When he slides into the driver’s seat and his own door clicks shut beside him, the bustle of the street and chatter of the crowds melts away, an intimate silence filling the small space of the car.

“Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight?” Giorno says, his eyes dipping briefly along the curves of your face, your neck, your…they flit back up to meet yours. Your skin prickles.

“Mm, maybe a couple of times,” you say.

Headlights from passing cars bathe Giorno in fleeting streaks of light, glinting off the rings on his fingers, illuminating his face and the skin of his chest where his unbuttoned shirt parts. He brushes his fingers over the soft skin of your hand, watching your face intently, as if testing the waters for your reaction. You curl your fingers into his, feeling the warmth of his palms, the slick metal of his rings.

“Thank you for taking me out,” you say softly.

“The pleasure was mine,” he says, his thumb making slow drags across your knuckles. “You’ll have to allow me the chance to do it again. After all, I need to redeem myself with a drink you actually enjoy.”

You huff sharply at the mischievous edge to his words. “You noticed.”

He smiles, teasing as his fingers brush up and down yours. “It was very kind of you to try to spare my ego, but I did notice.”

“And you were just going to let me suffer through it?” your smile back.

Giorno leans into your space, your twined hands close enough to his face that you can feel his breath on your fingers.

“Do you know that you scrunch your face when you drink something bitter?” he says. You’re suddenly very aware of the drool pooling underneath your tongue, and swallow hard. “It’s very endearing, (y/n).”

You can’t seem to push a response through your lips. The two of you sit in a charged silence, watching each other, feeling the warmth radiating from his body.

He says your name in a low voice. “May I kiss you?”

Oh, he may. He absolutely may.

“Yes,” you breathe. His hand untangles from yours to slide up your shoulder, your neck, under the line of your jaw and into the thick of your hair. His fingers curl into it there, the pressure on your scalp tilting your head back and pulling a sharp exhale from your lips.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says, his breathe fanning across your mouth. You answer with an “mm,” too woozy with anticipation to put together anything more.

“How long have you wanted me to do it?”

Oh, he is cocky. Most frustrating is the fact that you can’t say it’s undeserved; Giorno is gorgeous, and charming, and right in front you, and you do want it. You have wanted it since…you think back to the first time you felt this familiar heat around him.

“Since you cornered me. Against the bathroom door in the club,” you tell him.

From this close, you can see the tiniest pull of a smile on his lips. “Hm,” he says. “That long?”

He’s finally worn out your patience. Your hands fly to his face, cupping the sharp lines of his jaw, threading into his hair and tugging him into you, covering his warm mouth with your own. He hums into it, returning your kiss with equal pressure, and as quickly as you’ve kissed him you realize he’s already taken back the reigns.

Giorno’s mouth works against yours slowly, surely. You cede control to him happily, letting your hands slide down the hard lines of his neck and shoulders. The fabric of his jacket is like butter under your hands, fine and delicate over his sturdy form. You nudge it to the side as your hands wander, the skin of them pressing into the bare skin of his neck where his muscles work as he takes your mouth over and over again.

His other hand presses into your waist then, encouraging you over the center console and closer to his chest. You let him pull you wherever he pleases, one hand dropping onto his leg to steady yourself as you’re dragged nearly on top of him. With the distance closed, his hand slides to wrap his entire arm around you, pulling you further into his chest, close enough for his mouth to wander down, down to your neck and the sensitive space where it meets your shoulder.

Your breathing has picked up. Enough that the window in front of you is beginning to fog, and you can feel your chest brushing up against his with every gulp of air. He runs a hand down your back in soothing strokes.

“Easy,” he coos. “I’ve got you.”

He pulls away just enough for you catch your breath, but close enough still to leave his grip in your hair and his arm around your body, making steady, steady strokes. It isn’t like you to get so worked up so quickly. But then, none of your dates before now have been…well, Giorno.

“Giorno,”you breathe. Your fingers find the skin of his shoulders again, scratching lightly them, and the sharp breath it pulls from the man pressed up against you is delicious.

“I’m here,” he says. Is his voice getting huskier? “Is there something you need?”

There is, but it isn’t something you normally ask for. Not on a first date, and certainly not from a man your hardly know.

But Giorno has made you feel nothing but safe in the short time you’ve spent with him. It’s irrational, how much you want to trust him despite practically being strangers, but you cannot deny this quality about him that just makes you feel…safe. That coaxes you gently into placing your faith in him.

He says your name again. “You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I can take you home now, if that’s what you want.”

But you do want it. You do want him. The hard part is asking for it. Giorno is older than you, wealthy, gorgeous, wildly successful, and a dozen other things that make insecurity coil tightly in your gut. But he watches you so patiently while you deliberate, his gentle hand making circles on your back, and to assume that he would look down on you for any of those things feels as if it would be an insult to his character.

You swallow hard. “No, I want it.”

That smile on his lips again. “Want what?”

Your head drops to his shoulder and you groan, taking a fistful of his undershirt. “Please don’t tease me like this.”

Giorno tucks his head into the space between your neck and your shoulder, his breath fanning over your ear. “Tell me exactly what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

You whine into his shoulder and only feel a bit embarrassed at the childishness of it. “I can’t,” you tell him.

He places one of his hands into yours and you take it in your grasp. “Then show me.”

Splaying his hand out on your ribs, he waits for your guidance. You intertwine your fingers again, feeling the size of his hand under yours, the metallic edge of his rings. He squeezes your fingers back, but makes no other move. He really is going to make you ask for this.

You let out a long, shaky breath. You want this. You want him. Tentatively, you begin dragging his hand across the plane of your body. Up your ribs, just underneath the swell of your breast, where his thumb brushes curiously over the underwire of your bra. You linger there, moving his hand in short arcs under the curve of your breast, breath hitching as his thumb travels closer and closer to the stiff peak of your nipple…and then you drop your hand, dragging him away from the soft flesh.

His mouth curls into a smile against your shoulder. “Teasing me?”

You laugh breathlessly as you guide his hand over the dip in your waist. “Only since you seem to like it so much.”

His hand slides appreciatively over the meat of your hip, kneading it firmly. You follow the cut of your hipbone inward, underneath the plush of your belly, to the crease between you thigh. Blood rushes hot through your ears, making you almost dizzy with want. Anything you ask for, he said. Anything you ask, he’ll give.

The heat of his mouth attaches to your neck again, and the feeling is so wonderful against your buzzing skin that you feel your eyes flutter close. He’s encouraging you, you realize. Gently coaxing you into confidence. He wants you, too.

Inching him down, you guide his hand to brush over the mound between your hips. Your breath catches. You’ve never had to ask for this before.

You think of the men you’ve been with in times past. How they practically threw themselves at you, taking absolutely anything they could get from you, hungrily, without restraint. This is foreign. It makes you feel almost desperate with need, to be so close to having what you want, but to be so nervous to reach out for it.

Sensing your hesitation, Giorno opens his mouth and presses the wet heat of his tongue flat against your neck, dragging it up along the line of your jaw to the sensitive skin below your ear, and this time your eyes do roll back. The wet trail he leaves on your skin chills in the night air, and you moan for him.

“Che brava ragazza (what a good girl),” he praises you. “You can have it. Just ask me for it, you can have it.”

He squeezes your hand gently, reassuringly, and you don’t have the patience to be bashful anymore. You slide him down to the bunched up hem of your dress, under the fabric, and flat against your aching core. The meat of his palm is firm against your folds and he rewards you immediately with a strong grip around your pussy.

“Good, good girl,” he says, making short strokes with his whole hand up and down your center. He pulls away from your neck only to drag you into another kiss, harder than the last, and you abandon his hand against you to fist both of yours into his hair. The moan you let into his mouth is wanton, embarrassingly so for someone who’s only barely been touched. You can’t bring yourself to care. The pressure between your legs is so, so good.

Deft fingers slip under your panties and you gasp as he slides the pads of his fingers along the wet of your lips.

“All this? Already?” Giorno says airily.

“You make—fuck,” your voice clips as the pads of Giorno’s fingers dip into your entrance, dragging your slick up to the nub of your clit. “Mmmm fuck, you make me feel good.”

Giorno groans, a low rumble in his chest, and you drop your head to his shoulder as his fingers make quick circles around your clit. His pace is steady, pressure firm, as he works you closer and closer to a peak that is quickly approaching.

You take the hand still tangled in your hair and drag it to rest flat on the meat of your breast, which he kneads greedily. The temperature in the confined space of the car has risen, high enough that you can feel sweat starting to gather on your skin and dampen your clothes, but you don’t care. You might be about to squirt all over the interior of Giorno’s nice car, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that either when he’s pulling you so diligently to your climax.

“You’re so worked up,” he says, and his voice is definitely shot now. Deep. Gravelly. A little bit desperate. “Are you going to cum for me?”

You are. You are you are you are, and his fingers pick up their pace under your panties, and the hand on your breast finds the soft peak of your nipple underneath the pad of your bra and pinches, and you squeal. The pressure between your legs is hot, hot, hot.

“Yes, I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m gonna cum, please please please-“ You collapse into his chest, thighs shaking underneath you, and moan into the fabric of his suit as the pressure in your hips finally releases. With the arm around your waist Giorno holds you upright while you go practically boneless against him, hips stuttering into his hand as he works you through the length of your orgasm, his chest rumbling against you as he praises, “brava, brava ragazza, proprio così (good, good girl, just like that).”

As the rush begins to sizzle out, his fingers continue in their persistent slide against your clit, until you’re pushing at his hand with an “ah, ah” that has him laughing airily. The car is filled with the sound of your fluttering breaths, and of the quiet, soothing noises Giorno makes above you.

“Good thing I don’t have a night job fighting crime,” Giorno teases you.

You laugh breathlessly. “Yeah, good thing.”

You wrap your arms around his broad chest, sinking into the warmth of his body, and he envelops you in his arms. Stroking your back as you shiver, carding fingers through the tangles of your hair. As the fuzz begins to clear from your head, you feel the faintest warmth in your belly again as you realize you aren’t quite finished. Your fingers slide along the edge of his belt, playing with the buckle before he scoops your hand into his and brings it to his lips for a kiss.

“Not yet, amore,” he says. “Not here.”

Your shoulders slump with your disappointment and he laughs against your hair.

“When I fuck you,” he speaks into your ear. “I’m going to do it properly.” You shiver against him.

He lets you rest against his chest until you’ve caught your breath. “Do you have work tomorrow?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Then come home with me,” he says with a smile and a kiss to your head. “And I’ll let you have whatever else you want.”

You pull back to look at him. Cheeks flushed. Hair tousled from the work of your fingers. The collar of his shirt pushed wide open against his chest. You want, you want, you want.

“Ok,” you answer, and press your lips to his warm cheek. The car starts with a low rumble, and you fix yourself in your seat. Your skirt is bunched around your waist, your hair a mess, your makeup smeared, no doubt. Giorno pulls away from the curb and you roll down the emptying Naples streets. “But only if I get to tease you this time.”

He meets your eyes with that look that promises absolutely nothing good. “Of course,” he says, pulling your hand to his mouth for another kiss. And another.

“Anything you want.”

#happy birthday mr giovanna 🎂#bit unsure of his characterization here but it's my first fic for him so #he's been running a criminal org for like twenty years he's allowed to be sweet and smitten and a little bit cocky #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #giorno giovanna #jjba x reader #giorno imagine #giorno giovanna imagine #vento aureo x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #giorno #giorno.ll #jjba.ll #my works.ll

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morganbritton132 · 1 year

Note

How does the inevitable “Steve’s mom doesn’t show up” realization go? How does everyone react? I know they all kind of know she won’t be there but I can’t imagine that it doesn’t still hurt.

It is unspoken.

No one mentions her name. No one asks if Steve has heard anything. No one even calls him Harrington the whole weekend, but they’re kinda waiting to see if she does show up. Though, they know that they shouldn’t.

The general consensus among the party is to keep Steve as occupied as possible during the weekend because you can’t think too hard about the absence of a parent when El is telling you that she’s thinking of joining an MLM (She is not, but Steve is certainly not thinking about his mother when he starts listing of the reasons why MLMs are bad). The parents seem to have gotten the memo too because they give Steve a little extra love.

In quieter moments when Steve gets a little too in his head or his eyes get a little glassy, Eddie will pull him away from the window and back into the fray. After a little bit to drink and a little distance from the noise, he asks Hopper, “Is she – Just, is she happy? After my dad, uh. After him, is she happy?”

He says later after the evening sun slips below the horizon, and him and Eddie are passing cigarettes between each other, “I just thought – this is it. This is the last time I can reach out where she might reach back, and…and I just don’t understand why she won’t.”

He never really seems that upset.

Even in the quiet moments. Even after everybody leaves. Even after Hopper and Joyce linger later into Sunday night than they usually do, Steve never seems upset that his mother didn’t show up.

Eddie gives it two days before he brings it up again. If they don’t talk about the elephant in the room than Eddie is going to have a stroke, so he brings it up over dinner, “It sucks that your mom didn’t come. I know you wanted her there.”

“It’s okay.”

“How is it okay?” Eddie asked. “I couldn’t even suggest that she might not be here before the weekend without you biting my head off but you’re just fine now?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugged. “It was – I overreacted, I know. I’m sorry. I’m just – I’m dumb for thinking that she’d show up.”

“You’re not-“

“She’s always late.”

“…What?”

“My birthday. She, uh. Every year, Ma would call and say that they’d be home for my birthday and they never were, but they’d come home. Sometimes it was a few days, sometimes a few weeks, but they’d come home. She always bought a cake.”

Eddie’s heart kinda breaks a little, “Stevie.”

“So,” Steve steamrolls on. “So, she’s just late. Not this weekend, not next. But. But maybe the one after that, or in a month. I don’t know, but…she might. I’m not ready to give up yet.”

#Eddie just immediately texts Robin and Nancy like ‘what do I do?’#eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

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therealcocoshady · 4 months

Text

Recovery - Chapter 23

Eminem x FemReader Fanfiction

Summary : Em gets a little jealous when Y/N catches the attention of a new beat maker he works with.

Tags : Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Smut (P in V, oral)

Y/N’s POV

Telling Talia the truth about your relationship with Marshall definitely made your life easier. As it was to be expected, she told Jamal, but the two of them actually promised to keep it a secret from everyone else. You spent a lot of your time at Marshall’s but, on occasions, he would spend the night at your place too, and the four of you would hang out. You would spend as much time as possible with your boyfriend, even though the two of you were drowning in work, you with uni, him at the studio. However, you made it work. You spent every night together, except for one night a week. He usually had his family over for brunch on Sundays, so he would sleep alone at his place on Saturday night. The rest of the time, though, you had a little routine. Whether it was at his place or yours, both of you left stuff at each other’s house. By usual relationship standards, it was moving pretty fast, but it felt right for the two of you. After all, before even getting together, you were hanging out all the time so it wasn’t like you were just getting to know each other.

At that point, you had been together for about two months and your relationship was still a secret. Everyone at the studio had really enjoyed meeting Josh at Talia’s birthday dinner and they seemed disappointed when you announced that the two had broken up, a couple of weeks afterwards. Obviously, they didn’t know the reason why and you were officially single. One of the drawbacks of no one knowing that you were spoken for is that they tried to get you to date and set you up with some people they knew. You tried to tell them that you weren’t really looking for a relationship, but they didn’t seem to care too much. It had sort of become a running joke in your household.

Come on, Talia said during dinner, Royce’s cousin is pretty hot. If you’d been single, you should totally have gone to dinner with him !

Well I’m not single, you giggled. I feel bad for Royce and Porter though. It’s the third time they are trying to set me up with someone and I end up refusing all the time. I hope they don't take it personally !

Especially when they come up with such fine choices, she replied. The men they want to set you up with are total snacks !!!

Yeah, they’re pretty attractive, you agreed.

I’m right here, Marshall said with a chuckle. Do you remember me ? You know, your boyfriend ???

Feeling threatened, Em ? Jamal asked with a grin.

Not at all, Marshall replied sternly.

Not that we’d blame you, Em, Talia said playfully. I mean, that basketball was like half your age and twice your height ? Not to mention that he was buff…

Remind me why we’re eating with them and not at my place, babe ? He asked you with a faux-exasperated face.

Because we want to spend time with Y/N ! Talia shrieked. You’re basically stealing our bestie, Em.

I’m not stealing her, he said as he rolled his eyes.

After dinner, the two of you were cuddling on your bed, watching a movie and talking about outfits for an appearance Marshall was supposed to make on some documentary.

You can’t have me wear the Saint Laurent jacket all the time, he chuckled. People are going to think I only have one outfit.

But you look so good in it, you said. Plus, it really shows off your muscles. Like, your broad shoulders and everything…

Not enough, apparently, he muttered under his breath.

What ? You asked.

Nothing, he sighed before getting up.

Suddenly, he seemed a little bothered. You paused the movie and looked at him. He was standing in front of your mirror, inspecting himself, looking displeased at what he saw. You got up and hugged him from behind.

You look handsome, you whispered in his back.

I don’t, he groaned. I look like one of the seven dwarves.

You don’t, you giggled. What’s up with you ? Are you stressed out about this documentary ?

Not really, he said. I mean, I couldn’t care less.

What is it then ? You asked as you ran your hands on his stomach.

Don’t do that, he grumbled before removing your hands.

You looked at him, not really understanding. One minute you were cuddling and the next he didn’t seem to want you touching him. Plus, his snapping was sort of unusual. You sat on the bed and patted the mattress so that he would sit next to you.

Want to talk about it ? You asked softly.

Do you agree with Talia ? He asked.

About what ?

About those guys. he said. Do you think they’re better than me ?

You stared at him in disbelief. To you, it seemed like a stupid question. Of course they weren’t better than him.

You know she was just kidding, right ? You asked.

Yeah but… Are they ? He asked.

Of course not, you said. Why would you even worry about that ?

I think it’s pretty obvious why, he sighed. Just… forget it alright ?

He groaned again and got undressed. You thought he’d stay in his boxers, as he usually did when you went to bed, but he put on sweatpants he had left in your room a while ago and a tee-shirt, as well as a hoodie. He got under the covers while you stared at him.

What ? He asked in an annoyed tone. Why are you staring at me like that ?

Nothing, you said timidly. Are you… cold ? I can adjust the room’s temperature if you want.

I’m good, he said. Let’s go to bed, ok ? I have a big day tomorrow.

Sure, you said in a sad voice. Good night.

You quickly got into Marshall’s discarded tee-shirt, using it as a nightgown and got into bed. After turning the lights off, you got into your usual position, expecting him to cuddle with you as he always did, but he didn’t. It made you a little sad, although you knew it probably wasn’t a big deal. You were spending almost every night together and he was entitled to some distance if he wanted. This was your first night without cuddling and, without being overly dramatic, it felt like the end of an era. Even though the temperature of the room was perfectly fine, it felt cold. You grabbed a hoodie of his and put it on. When you got back in bed, he had turned and you could only see his back.

I love you, you whispered shyly.

Love you too, he mumbled.

You didn’t sleep too well that night. You ended up tossing and turning a lot, wondering what was on his mind and what you could do to make it better and if you were the one to blame. You hated that kind of mood. Back when you were with Simon, he would often be grumpy over small stuff and give you the silent treatment. This had led to you second-guessing everything and overthinking every time someone’s mood changed. Your heart sank a little as you fell asleep.

Fortunately, in the morning, Marshall’s mood seemed to have improved. You woke up to him kissing your forehead.

Hey you, you whispered in a sleepy voice.

Hey, you little hoodie thief, he chuckled.

Slept well ? You asked.

Yeah, I needed that, he said with a smile. Mind giving that hoodie back ? I have to get ready for the day.

There’s another of your hoodies in the closet.

I want this one, he chuckled.

It’s going to reek of me, you pointed out.

Maybe that’s what I want, he chuckled. I’m going to miss you today.

I’m going to miss you too, you said with a pout. How about we both blow off work and sleep in ?

I’d love to but I can’t, he chuckled. We’re having a session with a beatmaker I’m really excited to work with. Why don’t you come by after uni ? You’d really like his work.

Sure, you said.

He seemed genuinely excited and it made you happy. He often smiled, but his happiness radiated even more when it came to music, the thing he was born to do. You loved that he shared that with you. Of course, you cherished the moments when it was just the two of you, because it allowed for more intimacy, but you just loved watching him work.

When you were done with your day, you joined everyone at the studio. They had just finished recording a track with Chris, the beatmaker Marshall had told you about. Apparently, he had reached out through Porter and everyone on the team seemed to really like his stuff. You greeted everyone and they played the track for you. You immediately understood what all the fuss was about : Chris was insanely talented. What he did was different, but also in line with the vibe Marshall had chosen for the album. You complimented him and he ended up playing some of his beats for you while the others took a break. You also talked for a bit. The two of you were roughly the same age, making you the youngest in the room, and you had a lot of common cultural references, seeing as his mother was french. You even talked about french rap music and joked around. He seemed to take a liking towards you but you didn’t pay much attention to it. You were spoken for anyway. Plus, he was clearly the type to flirt with anyone and everyone so you knew it was nothing special here. When they got back to work, you watched them and you couldn’t take your eyes off Marshall. However, the session ran long. Not that it bothered you too much. You always enjoyed hanging out at the studio, getting a preview of what they were working on. Plus, Chris kept on joking with you, either in English or French. Whenever they couldn’t understand, the others threw a side-eye at you, so you tried to stick to English. When the session came to an end, Chris came to see you.

So, what did you think ? He asked.

I love your beats, you said earnestly. You’re super talented and I just can’t believe that you started a few months ago.

I have collabs with a bunch of other people, he said. They won’t be released for a few weeks, but maybe I can get your e-mail and send them to you ?

I’d like that, you said with a smile.

And then, maybe you can tell me what you think about them over dinner, a movie, that sort of stuff ? He added with a wink.

You were a bit taken aback. You quickly glanced at the others in the room. Porter and Royce were excited, Jamal was staring sternly and Marshall’s eyed seemed to have turned a shade darker. He was pursing his lips.

I’m sorry, you said, I’m not interested in dating right now.

Can’t blame me for trying, he said with a smile before kissing your hand.

He took a piece of paper and wrote his number on it before giving it to you.

I really enjoyed meeting you, Y/N. Maybe you can give me a call when you change your mind about dating ?

You blushed a little and mumbled before he left. His confidence was a bit unsettling. As soon as he was gone, Royce and Porter started groaning.

What was wrong with this one ? Royce asked as he crossed his arms.

Nothing, you said. I just said I’m not interested in dating.

Will you guys just stop pushing people on her ? Jamal asked with a frown. I don’t need a thousand suitors coming to my house trying to woo her.

Hey we didn’t plan for this one, Porter chuckled. But I think there’s something wrong with you, Y/N. This one was attractive, funny, french and more talented than any of us were at his age.

Told you, I’m not looking for anything right now, you said.

Well when that changes, you might want to give this one a call, though, Royce said. That’s the kind of guy you should be with.

You shook your head and changed the conversation subject, going back to music. After everyone left, you got in Marshall’s car to go to his place. You were happy to finally be alone with him. Plus, it was a Friday night, meaning that the two would be able to spend the next morning lounging in bed. As soon as he got into the car, you grabbed his hand but he pushed it away angrily.

Care to explain why you were flirting with that jackass right in front of me, Y/N ?!

What ?! You asked defensively.

Oh, please. “Oh my God, you’re so talented. I can’t believe you just started a few months ago”, he said, imitating your voice and vocalizing fake french words. You were practically riding his dick !!!

I was complimenting him ! I also complimented you when we first met, if you recall, you pointed out sternly.

He literally asked you out ! Marshall blurted.

And I said no ! Why are you making a big deal out of it ? I like his beats, so what ? I like a lot of stuff.

Yeah, you like him, he scoffed.

I don’t even know him, you said. You like his work as much as I do, so what’s the big deal ?

Yeah well I don’t think I’m going to use these beats anymore, he groaned.

You looked at him and let out an involuntary laugh.

He hit on me so you’re not going to work with him ? You asked in disbelief.

Well I don’t want to work with anyone who wants to fuck my girlfriend, he said. It’s a matter of respect.

Marshall… He doesn’t even know I’m your girlfriend, you said softly. Everyone thinks I’m single.

Well maybe that’s the fucking problem ! He screamed.

You stared at him in confusion. You took a deep breath and tried to keep your composure, even though you were startled by his outburst of anger.

I’m lost here, you said. Walk me through it, because it doesn’t make much sense…

You’re not here all the time. You don’t hear everyone commenting on how cute and sweet you are. On how they love you and anyone would be lucky to date you because you’re a goddamn catch. And how “That’s too bad for that dude Josh, he seemed great”. You don’t see everyone looking at you because you’re the brightest person in every room you enter. I do.

He took a deep breath and avoided your gaze.

And I know it makes sense to keep it on the low, right now, he added. We agreed to it and shit but then, I see you with that dude who is like half my age and talented as fuck and I’m like… It gets to me. That’s it. You heard Royce. That’s the kind of dude you should be with.

You smiled shyly and took his hand that was balled in a fist. You kissed his knuckles and caressed his cheek as he closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

So you’re… insecure ? You asked softly.

If you want to call it that, yeah, he admitted with a groan.

You really shouldn’t be, you said. You are the brightest person in every room, my love. Especially when you’re in the studio. You’re great and everyone reveres you. Same goes for me. I only have eyes for you and every time I hang out here, I am amazed at how great and talented you are. And yes, I complimented that guy, because he is talented. But his talent and his beats, they make you shine even more because you are the one putting them to good use. You’re the one writing incredible lyrics and rapping them. No one does it like you.

You think ? He asked.

Of course, you said with a smile. And as for me practically riding his dick, don’t you dare say that to me again. Because yours is the only one I want to ride and I will prove it to you right now if I have to.

He let out a laugh and kissed you.

I’m sorry for losing my temper, baby, he said gently. And I’d love to take you on that offer but we’re in a public parking lot.

Then let’s drive to your place and I’ll get on my knees to show you how much I appreciate you, you offered with a devilish grin.

He laughed, kissed you again and wasted no time before starting the car. During the short drive to his place, you strategically placed your hand on his thigh, tracing circles on it, gently teasing him. When you got to his house, as soon as the front door was closed, you immediately jumped on him and removed his jacket and tee-shirt. Now that the two of you were alone, there was no reason why you should keep your hands off each other. You shoved him against the wall and immediately dropped to your knees. You undid his pants, letting his cock spring free and began licking the head. He closed his eyes and let you work your magic. You stroked him as you licked, taking as much of him in your mouth as you could. His fingers were in your hair, slightly pulling and encouraging you.

I’m not going to last long, he warned.

You shrugged to show it didn’t really matter to you. All you wanted was to pleasure him and for him to enjoy the moment. But he stopped you and made you get up.

What are you… ? You began asking.

I want to be inside of you, baby.

He quickly undressed you and pinned you against the wall as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He immediately picked up a fast pace, wasting no time. He was thrusting into you harder than ever, kissing you sloppily.

Say you’re mine, he whispered in your ear.

Of course I am, you chuckled softly.

Say it. I want to hear it.

I’m… Yours, you said as he slammed into you. Yours only, Marshall.

Right when you thought it wasn’t possible, he thrusted into you harder and made you come, taking the both of you to climax. You came at the same time and ended up panting on the floor. You were both sweaty, dripping messes, but as far as you were concerned, you were too stunned and exhausted to move. Your eyes were closed and you felt Marshall’s fingers stroking your cheeks.

You’re a goddess, he said before kissing your forehead.

You simply hummed in response. You were so tired you could fall asleep right then and there.

Up, he said. Let’s shower.

Bath ? You tried to negotiate. I don’t feel like standing up.

Bath it is, princess, he said as he picked you up and carried you.

I’m going to be so sore, you complained with a small laugh.

Good, he said with a hint of pride. That’ll remind you of me. Of who you belong to.

Territorial much ? You teased.

He didn’t bother responding. He drew a bath and you settled in his arms and between his legs as he looked at you intensely before starting to wash your back.

You don’t need to worry about anyone else, you said softly. There’s only you. You are the only one I want to be with. The only one I want to sleep with.

I know, he said as he interlocked his fingers with yours. But…

He stopped and sighed.

What’s wrong, my love ?

You don’t have to agree, and I know it’s early but… What if we went public ? Like, not “public” public, obviously, but… People we know ? He asked.

You took a second before responding. You were a little stunned that he even suggested that. Plus, you didn’t feel ready, as you were scared that it might change the group dynamic. You didn’t want to suddenly become “Em’s girl”.

I don’t know, you said. Do you think it would make you feel better ?

I guess, he said. But you know, it’s not just a territorial thing. I mean, I want to claim you as mine so that the guys stop suggesting that you date and that these other dudes know that they should back off, don’t get me wrong but… Being with you feels natural. Pretending I’m not feels like lying.

I’m not ready for people to know about us, you said.

Are you ashamed of me ? He asked bluntly, his behavior suddenly changing.

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh. The idea that you might be ashamed of him seemed preposterous to you. He was the hottest man you knew, the wet dream of millions of people around the world, insanely smart and talented. If anything, you thought he might be the one ashamed of being with someone as bland as you.

Ashamed of you ? Why would I be ashamed of you, Marsh ?

You tell me, he groaned.

That’s stupid, you said as you shook your head.

Now I’m stupid ? Great, he said before getting up and leaving you alone in the bathtub.

Marshall, don’t…, you began to say, but he left and went to his bedroom.

You groaned as you got up as well, your body still sore from your earlier exertions. You grabbed a robe and joined him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist, looking pissed off.

What’s with you, lately ? You asked.

Nothing.

Clearly, there’s something, you said. Yesterday, you got distant out of the blue, then you acted jealous before claiming me as yours and now you think I’m ashamed of you ? Where is all that coming from ? You asked calmly.

I never thought a girl would be reluctant to tell anyone she’s dating me, he said.

So, that’s ego, you pointed out.

No, it’s not fucking ego ! If it was, I could easily get anyone else and it would be a done deal, he said as he rolled his eyes.

Way to make me feel good and convince me to go public with you, you said sarcastically.

He looked at you and sighed before taking your hand.

I didn’t mean it like that, he said apologetically. All I’m saying is… I don’t understand why you want to hide our relationship, he said. I thought it was going great.

It is going great, you said softly.

So what is it ? He asked. Is it because I’m old ? Because of how I look ? What makes you so ashamed of me ?

You looked at him in disbelief. He seemed sad and genuinely thought you were ashamed of him. It broke your heart.

I don’t think fifty qualifies as old, Marshall, you said.

Fifty-one, he bitterly corrected.

You could be ten years younger or older, it wouldn’t matter to me, you know ? You said. And it's not how you look either. You look great. I mean… Have you seen yourself in a mirror ?

I have, that’s the problem, he groaned. I’ve also seen the last two guys you dated and the men Royce and Porter keep on trying to set you up with. I know I’m not your type.

Of course, you’re my type, you said softly.

Come on, have you seen them ? They’re all at least 6”5, most of them are super buff…

Yeah, well, I have dated tall men, you shrugged. But you’re muscular too.

I’m not tall, he sighed. And I haven’t worked out too much lately. I think I’ve put on a few, actually…, he added as he touched his stomach.

Marshall, I’m 4”9, you chuckled. You might not be as tall as other guys I have dated, but you’re still a freaking giant to me ! And I like your body the way it is. It’s freaking perfect. You might not hit the gym as much as you used to, but with all the time you spend fucking me in those weird positions, I think you work out just as much, if not more…

True, he chuckled. But I don’t know, Talia said…

Talia was just teasing you, you said softly. You know how she is. She loves being mean to you.

She’s a fucking bully, he said.

But she’s like that because she likes you, you said.

I know, it’s just… I’m a bit sensitive about that, I guess ? He shrugged. Like, I’m aware that you have a lot of options. And that some of them are literally half my age.

Ok, you said calmly. I think we should address this because it seems like you’re obsessing over it, at this point. What’s up with your age ? You seem to make a big deal out of it. You have always pointed out our age difference, but it seems to bother you more, these days.

Royce made a joke the other day, he admitted. Or a… comment. I don’t know.

What did he say ?

That if I wasn’t too old for you, maybe I would have had a chance to put you in my bed, he said.

Well joke’s on him, you chuckled. Because we’re in bed together almost every night. And I love your age.

You love my age ? He asked in disbelief.

Well, I do love that you are experienced, you said with a wink. You’re the best sex I’ve ever had. Like, no one makes me come like you. And I had never even squirted before you.

Really ?

Yes, you giggled. And, the sex thing aside, I like the fact that you’re more mature than guys my age. So you don’t have to worry : I am not ashamed of you or anything. If we were the same age, we wouldn’t even be together.

What do you mean ?

Well, if I had met you twenty years ago, I would probably have thought you were an asshole, from what I gathered, you explained. And right now, I wouldn’t be as attractive. I’d be… older. You men age like fine wine but what you see of me right now is my prime.

The asshole thing is true, he chuckled. But I’m not fucking DiCaprio, you know ? I’m not only into girls who are in their twenties. And for the record, you’d be beautiful at any age. I’ll still love you when you’re 51. I’ll be an old man by then and you will have put me in a retirement home, but I’ll still be crazy about you.

You swooned at how sweet it was that he thought about loving you almost twenty-five years from now. It implied that things were serious between the two of you and that he thought your relationship might be going somewhere. You sat on his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck before kissing him softly.

I love you, he said.

I love you too, you whispered. I’m so happy and proud to be your girlfriend.

You are ? He mused.

Of course, you giggled.

So… Can I ask why you don’t want people to know about us ? He asked carefully.

I just don’t want people to get the wrong idea, you admitted.

What idea ?

That I’m dating you because you’re this famous rapper. I like the Eminem, talented dude part for sure. But I’m not dating him. I’m dating Marshall Mathers. I’m with you because you are the most caring, funny, nice and good-looking man I know. I’m more interested in your comic book collection than your career anyway. And I don’t want people to see me as just your girlfriend. I like being their friend too, you know ?

I see, he said. That makes sense, actually.

He kissed your cheek and played with your hair.

Sorry for being a dick, he apologized.

It’s fine, you said. There’s something else, too…

Mmmh ?

People knowing about us would include your family, right ? You asked.

Well… yeah, he said. I guess I hadn’t really thought about that. But yeah, I guess.

Now you might be the one ashamed of me, you giggled.

Not at all, he said reassuringly. You’re right, it might be too early for that. But I am in love with you and I’m serious about us. So, at some point, I’d like to tell them about you.

Aren’t you scared of what they will think ? You asked nervously.

Not really, he said. They will love you. You have no idea how long they have been pestering me about dating, so you’re probably going to come across as some sort of savior.

They won’t think it’s weird ? You asked.

I don’t think so, he said. I haven’t really thought about that, I guess. I never thought I’d want to introduce anyone to my family anyway, you know ? But I know that they’re going to like you. You already get along with Hailie and I know that Lainey and Stevie will love you. But we’ll see how it goes when you meet them as my friend anyway.

You really want us to meet ? You asked in shock, suddenly nervous.

Chill, he chuckled. It’s not going to be any sort of proper introduction or anything like that. But they usually come and watch football games with me, either here or at the stadium. There’s always a bunch of friends too. So I might invite you, Talia and Jamal. What do you think ?

As long as I don’t have to wear stupid Lions apparel, you chuckled.

You don’t get to disrespect my team under my roof, he said with a faux frown.

It’s not the team, it’s the outfit, you corrected with a smile. I don’t even understand the rules anyway.

Now I’m ashamed of you, he joked.

You chuckled and kissed him.

Be ashamed of me all you want, but I’m starting to get cold and I want my bath, you said as you got up. Care to join ?

Sure, he replied with a smile. I’ll explain the rules to you, once again.

No, you begged - fully knowing that he could be unstoppable when it came to talking about football.

Come on, it’s easy, he began.

I didn’t ask for it, you said sheepishly.

But you just said you don’t know the rules of football, he said.

Doesn’t mean I care, you giggled. I swear, if you start talking about football, I will rap some Benzino.

Do that under my roof and you’re dead, woman, he said before tickling you.

You tried to push him away but he was too strong for you. He pushed you onto the bed and buried his face in your neck, gently nipping at the sweet spot he knew you had. You couldn’t control your moans as he started sucking on it and untying your robe, exploring your body with his hands. You were sore but clearly ready for another round. After some sweet love making, you got back to the bathroom to draw another bath - the water being too cold now and saw your reflection in the mirror. You let out a gasp. Your neck was full of hickies. Marshall arrived behind you with a shit-eating grin.

I’m going to kill you, you sighed.

What ? Just because we’re not going public doesn’t mean I’m letting people think you’re single, he chuckled.

They're going to think I’m dating a freak, you commented as you inspected the hickies and figured out they’d be hard to hide.

I should have done that earlier, he said with a smile. Now maybe Royce and Porter will stop.

If I have to walk around like this, I’m going to start leaving hickies too, you threatened.

Don’t you dare, he chuckled. My kids are going to freak out if they see that.

You owe me, then, you said sternly.

Anything you want, princess, he said lovingly.

#eminem x reader #eminem fluff #eminem imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine #eminem fanfiction #slim shady #marshall mathers #marshall mathers headcanons #eminem

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momobani · 11 months

Text

Like Tonight’s Your Birthday | Nicholas | 1.6k

warnings: smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), afab reader, semi-public sex (at the beach), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (be safe! this is fiction), established relationship

Title reference to Birthday by TEN (aka the birthday sex song of our generation lmao)

a/n: surprise! Another nicho fic cuz this boy is running circles in my brain and it’s his birthday today, happy sunday y’all, join me in my madness <3

“Where are you taking me?” Nicholas whines in your passenger seat. “C’mon, at least give me a hint.” He begs.

“Nope, it’s a surprise.” You insist. “You’ll love it.”

“You’re lucky I trust you this much. I’m practically being kidnapped.” He huffs, crossing his arms. You crack a smile.

“Oh calm down, you dramatic bean. It’s somewhere we’ve been before.” You reassure. You were almost there in fact. “Close your eyes.”

“Fine.” You can hear the pout in his voice but he complies.

You park the car and rush to the passenger side to open the door before he trips over his own feet. The night breeze is cool as you guide Nicholas a few steps forward. You were sure he could tell by his surroundings, the sound, the smell, where you were.

“Okay, open your eyes.” You say. Nicholas blinks slowly and looks around.

“The beach?” He asks, as if it wasn’t obvious from the view and the crashing of the waves some distance away.

“Yeah, I thought we could have a date.” You say. You’d already had dinner but that had been only part one of your plans for Nicho’s birthday. “Do you like it?”

“I love it! Let’s go.” He grins, taking your hand.

You stop him so you can get a towel out of the car, just in case you wanted to sit down. You definitely didn’t want sand everywhere. You kick off your shoes and step into the cool sand, hand in hand.

It’s a warm night, the moon out in its gibbous state, shining in the darkness. You walk for a while, dipping your feet along the shore and yelping at how cool the water was during the night and laughing as you ran away from the oncoming waves.

You settled on your towel after a while, just looking up at the sky, huddled together under the stars.

“This is a great end to a great day.” Nicholas says after a while. He turns to you, a sweet smile playing across his lips. “Thank you.” He says and brings you in for a kiss.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” You reply, smiling back. You kiss him again, but linger, your mouth growing far too attached to his.

You kiss gently at first, basking in the romanticness of the moment but you can’t deny how the hunger begins to gnaw at your core. Your hands get busy, playing with the hair at the back of Nicholas’ head, travelling to the hem of his shirt and pulling.

Nicholas helps you out, whipping the item off and barely taking a breath before his lips are attached to yours again. Your tongue is down his throat, his hands caressing your thighs and ass, looking for a way to slide your shorts off. You lift your hips, assisting in the quest, all without breaking your intense kiss.

Making out had only been half on your mind when you’d sat down, but now you were here, you found yourselves wanting to go beyond that. The ache in your pussy was overpowering your judgment of the situation. Suddenly the sand didn’t bother you all that much.

“Are you sure you want to do this here?” You asked, panting but barely pulling away an inch while your hands were busy trying to get your shorts down your legs.

“I am if you are.” Nicholas replies, equally as breathless, discarding the item to join his shirt.

“I definitely am.” You say, catching your breath, but it doesn’t last long before Nicholas is on you again, tongue in your mouth.

You make a move, trying to get onto his lap and even before you straddle him, you can feel the hard outline of his cock against his jeans. There’s a momentary fumble with his jean buttons and zipper but you manage to get it open and your hand goes straight to tease him over his boxers.

It makes Nicholas sigh against your mouth and you take the opportunity to kiss down his cheek and jawline, to his neck, nipping slightly at the soft skin there but not enough to leave a mark. He closes his eyes, savouring the waves of pleasure that run through his veins as you work his cock out of his underwear and start to pump his shaft, spreading the precum that had collected over the head of his cock.

A low groan escapes Nicholas’ lips and the sound zaps straight to your core, reminding you that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you and you should do something about it. So you let go of his cock and shuffle closer to Nicholas, reaching to pull your panties to the side. He helps you balance by holding your hips but you don’t attempt to do anything, instead opting to grind down on his shaft, teasing him (and yourself) some more.

“Fuck, baby, I don’t know if I can last when you keep doing that.” Nicholas warns you, voice gruff and chest rising and falling rapidly as he catches your eye. You give him a breathless smile, smirking because you knew exactly what you were doing.

“Well, you have a mouth, honey, tell me what you want.” You hum, feeling particularly smug when you saw the fucked out look on his face. His lips were parted and swollen, and his eyes glazed over.

“I want you to hurry up and let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours, or I’ll make you regret ever teasing me, sweetheart.” He replies, somehow sounding sober unlike two seconds ago.

You slide across his cock one last time before reaching down and trying to line yourself up with him. “You got it.” You whisper before burying his head between your folds. There’s instant relief in being filled though slowly as you sink down onto his cock. Nicholas hums in approval when he’s sheathed fully inside you, whereas you feel too full to even speak.

It takes you a moment to adjust before you start to grind your hips down again, your legs starting to burn immediately but the pleasure overrides your screaming muscles. That and the way that Nicholas looks at you - as if he wants to devour you whole - only spurs you on to move your hips in a steady rhythm.

“That’s it, just like that, baby. You’re doing so well for me.” He praises in a quiet voice. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

You can only just groan in response, far too preoccupied to string together any coherent sentences.

Nicholas holds your hips, squeezing lightly while helping you balance. His teeth graze your neck and you can’t help the way your head falls back, exposing your neck further. He knows exactly which spots to pay special attention to and he has you moaning, your voice lost in the wind as the waves crash down on the shore, far away from you.

Your pace slows significantly, your body finally running out of juice and Nicholas senses your fatigue, deciding to take matters into his own hands. Suddenly, you’re being pressed against his bare chest and you instinctively curl your arms around his frame as he holds you close and starts to snap his hips up and fucking into you.

You yelp slightly in surprise when he starts a punishing rhythm to make up for your slack and you hold on to him tightly, letting your whines and whimpers fall right to his ears. The pleasure shooting through you starts to fog your brain and your eyes snap shut, savouring every single thrust while you grip onto Nicholas.

There’s no mistake about how incredibly close you are, your walls starting to tighten over his cock but he doesn’t let up the pace.

“Nicho!” You moan, as if that would be warning enough. He seems to understand and uncurls one arm from around your frame and reaches between your bodies, barely millimetres between you. You feel his fingers trace gently at first over your underwear, trying to tease your clit before starting to really circle them over the fabric.

That really is the cherry on top and you feel your body finally reach its peak, your orgasm hitting you full force, crashing down on you like a wave. You almost scream in pleasure, your voice barely coming out of your throat while your cunt goes into overdrive. Nicholas slows down thankfully, still fucking into you but more gently, chasing his own high while your walls contract around him deliciously.

You hum contently as the waves of pleasure diminish to light ripples before you’re being pulled back into a harder pace again by Nicholas.

“Cum for me, birthday boy.” You coax him gently, running a hand through his hair, pulling on the strands at the back of his head slightly. You put your mouth to his ear again. “Fill me up, baby, I want your cum.” You beg, knowing that it would absolutely obliterate any sane thought left in your boyfriend’s head.

Sure enough, your encouragement got through to him and he groans loudly, face buried in your neck so you feel the vibration, as his cock twitches inside you, filling you up as you wished. If it’s possible you feel even fuller in your guts, overwhelmed by how deep inside you he was.

You take a moment to recover, the both of you panting under the moonlight and coming down together. You rest your forehead against Nicholas’, breathing in each other’s breaths, a smile pulling at your lips.

“Happy birthday.” You mumble. Nicholas presses a firm kiss to your mouth and you know exactly what he’s thinking.

“Thank you.” He whispers back. He kisses you again, lingers for a moment. “I love you.”

You could never get tired of hearing that. “I love you too, honey.” Or saying it.

a/n: thanks for reading, feedback is always appreciated <3 (read: scream with me into the void). tbh this was unplanned, spur of the moment, got possessed by something and had to write it down thing. anyways, i’m going to sleep, happy nicho day :D

momobani masterlist

#&team #&team nicholas #&audition #&team smut #andteam #andteam smut #wang yixiang #&team fics #&team x reader #&team imagines #nicholas x reader #&team scenarios #momobani.writes

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