#Barrel Racing fic

[ripperdoc-is-daddy]

She wins her own buckles

Reader is black coded and AFAB.

It's your first barrel race and you are nervous af. Inspo was me reminiscing back when I used to do western riding events. Heavy on the Western Horse world terminology. Mare slander abound. Geldings FTW. MHA/BNHA gang are support af. No pairings but if you can ship it if you want. It's written for you to interpret that aspect yourself. Fluff!

You were nervous. Today was the day all that training and work was gonna finally gonna come to fruition. You were competing in your first barrel race. You were in the open Adults (18-34) category and there were quite a few entrants. You would estimate that there were around 25 people including yourself who had all registered to run. The excitement of the competition was starting to make you nervous and you were gnawing on your bottom lip.  

A harsh jostling under you and between your thighs breaks your thoughts. Looking down you frown at your Grulla tovero mare and smack her thick neck. “Aiight. That was a dick move. How about we just not?” you speak to your steed knowing she doesn’t care. Mares never did. Rolling your eyes you look around for your trainer to hurry up and arrive.   

You had driven here 2 days ago with your mare and both of y’alls equipment. Your 4-horse Gooseneck trailer with quarters was a better ride and more comfortable for the horses than his 2-horse bumper pull. Plus, it had AC and the horses could lounge inside out of the heat. Drinking filtered water and munching that good, good, Alfalfa hay to make them nice and hot. Your trainer would show up the next day and help you prep.   

  

Well, that had been the plan. Clearly, that isn’t what went down since it was just you here. By yourself. Taking care of 3 horses and getting all the gear sets up and organized. Shaking your head, you bite your lip and glare at nowhere in particular. You were going to give him a verbal ass reaming when you saw him. He didn’t even have the decency to call and let you know what the fuck was going on. Well, he might have. You tilted your head off to the side and scrunched up your nose when you remember the signal here was spotty at best. He still could have called one of the other riders you both knew or even the organizers to relay the message to you, so he wasn’t off the hook!   

  

Righting yourself, you nod your head. Satisfied with your logic that said he was def in the wrong. Your mare begins to paw at the dirt impatiently. You cluck at her and she stops with a snort and neck bounce. Shaking your head, you begin to whisper self-affirmations inside your head that will reassure you that you will do great! You will score 2-D and bring home some cash so you can brag to a certain someone that he isn’t the only one who can make money racing.  

A woman with a long blonde braided ponytail is fast walking towards you with a clipboard and some dark shades on. Her skin is a beautiful warm umber color and she carries herself with a sense of authority and command. She stops when she is next to you, gives your horse a quick rub on the neck before her focus settles on you. “You’re up after this run. Gate 2. Stay behind the line and don’t move up until you are told to. Good luck.” She nods at you and you return it. She turns away and you nudge your mare forward with a shift of your body weight.   

As you ride forward to your gate you catch sight of the current race going on for the Men’s Division and wince. The runner had a horse who dropped its shoulder. That was bad form. He was all up in that poor thing's mouth too. Busy hands. It looked like a hot fuckin’ mess. Shaking your head, you nudge with your heels on your mount’s barrel and she begins to trot forward. The aisle is clear so you aren’t too worried about being reprimanded for bad etiquette. Besides, you both had nerves to work out. It’s all good.   

  

You bring your mare to a complete halt after you arrive at your gate and line up. You were happy all the work you put into this paint mare was worth it. She was a registered, 16hh Grulla Tobiano out of a dam and sire you had been in love with. She was pedigreed out the ass with amazing extension and the most beautiful engine you had ever seen on a horse since her Great Great Grand Dam. Densely muscled but testing negative for HYPP and Lethal White she was also a breeder's dream. Hopefully, this would be the beginning of a lustrous career that would set her up for a successful breeding career afterwards. She clocked high and was fully grown and matured at 4 years old. Sure, she was older than most of the 2-year-olds here but she would outperform the vast majority of them. You knew it. Now you had to do it.   

“What are you smilin’ like that for? You look creepy smilin’ to yourself like that.” A brash and deep voice breaks you out of your musings. “Mmm. Oh, look. You FINALLY decided to show up. Good for you. I’m about to run now soooo, you can go. I grained your horses as well. You’re welcome.” you snap back letting annoyance bleed into your tone of voice.   

  

“Yeah, yeah. I had some shit to do back home before I headed out. I thought I sent you a text about it but I guess it never sent out. Thanks for taking care of my idiots. Now stop being an idiot and get out of your head. You haven’t won shit.” Your head whips around so fast you feel the bones snap in a somewhat pleasant way though it sounds alarming as hell. “What the he-ARE YOU OK?” his voice gets louder as he inquires on your status after hearing that. Your mare snorts and begins to nod her head rudely over and over while pulling at the reins.   

Both of you chastise her and she turns her head to rudely bump your trainer in the chest. He grabs her chin and pulls her closer then scratches between her ears. “You haven’t lost shit either. Go in with a clear mind. Remember she reflects you. If you are shit for brains then she is gonna run for shit.” he scolds you while cooing at your mare and telling the traitor that she is the most beautiful and important woman in his life.   

Rolling your eyes, you tap your mare’s neck with the reins lightly and face both your heads forward. “Yeah, yeah. I got it, Bakugou,” you grumble, adjusting the Black Swarovski crystal-studded, 20x Beaver Felt hat with an Ostrich leather hat band that had cowrie shells around it. You hear an approving grunt in your trainer's direction so you sit up a little straighter in your seat. Thankful that your saddle was broken in so nicely. He “tch’s” and flips you off. “Bakugou, is it now?”  

  

Warm hands lightly pat your leg and you lift your black base with turquoise and red feather-stitched ARIATs out of your stirrups while the blonde owner of the hands begins to shorten your stirrups a bit more. “You need a proper seat. You had um too long. Leave them here for now. Any higher and you’ll be a jockey.” He says in jest though part of what he said you know is the truth. You look over at his tall frame, making contact with his Sanguine colored eyes. “Worried?” you question him. “Nah, I believe in her.” He kisses your mare’s neck and brings her head down for another smooch just above her brow bone. “You got a medicine hat. You’ll both do amazing.” Two more pats to her neck and he 2 finger salutes you.   

  

A cough on your other side breaks your attention away from your current conversation. Katsuki continues to check your gear and double-check your girth. Smacking your mare’s gut when she refuses to let out. She does with a loud fart and a rumble in her chest. The blond shakes his head and readjusts the girth one more time.   

“Move to the gate, please. You’re up.” Another somewhat shorter blonde winks at you from underneath a bright red rabbit-felt hat. It had matching red feathers on the browband and a single bright topaz concho affixed to it. “Thank you kindly.” You say as mockingly polite as you can. Trying to hold in the snickers. “Go away Hawks. She needs to focus. Why do people call you that?” Bakugou complains loudly as she places a hand on your mare’s rump and moves behind you both to cross the aisle.   

  

“Later boys!” you call out behind you as you nudge your mount forward. “Later. DO YOUR BEST!” Hawks calls out after you, breaking from his conversation with Bakugou. “Kill ‘em all!” Bakugou yells slightly louder earning him a few wary stares. You chuckle to yourself and steel your mind. Your moment was about to happen and you were going to prove that you were gonna be one of the best.  

  

The aisle is cleared and you see the attendants hop up over the corrugated steel gates. On either side. You are instructed to go forward to the starting line. You take a deep breath and clear your mind. Focusing on the beat of the music and calming yourself. Heart rate slowing and the sound of the crowd was drowned out the by words of the music.  You didn’t need to completely tune out everything.  

  

You hear y/n with your mare’s registered name along with nickname announced. Sucking in one last breath you let all the tension leave your body. Right now, was your time to shine.   

  

And shine you did. As soon as the signal to go went off, your mare shot out them gates like a bat out of hell! You made your way to the first barrel. Hugging it so tight it looked like your black, boot-cut ARIAT jeans were gonna touch the barrel but they didn’t. You and that mare were in perfect sync as you came around to the second barrel. Your hat is still firmly affixed to your head via bobby pin magic. Your 2B Senegalese twists were blowing black behind you as you came around the side and continued the pattern to loop the last barrel. After this, it was the straight shot.   

All those close turns shaved your time down but what you really needed was your mare to let go in this final stretch and secure y’alls win. Rounding the final barrel you kick your mare a few times and urge her to go all out and out all she does. The two of you are blazing down the center. You atop your lightning-fast steed, lookin’ like a force of nature. Running through the exit you use the lane to slow your horse down and bring her into a circle at the end to slow her down into a trot and then a walk until you can finally stop.  

You fan yourself several times and grab the collar of your black and turquoise stitch ARIAT long-sleeve top and pop it to give yourself some air. “Holy shit. Holy shit.” you chant to yourself realizing you finally did it. You made your race! A smile steals itself across your face and you beam up looking proud. You begin to walk you and your mare outside for a cooldown and to clear the lane for the next runner. Trusting your trainer to get back to you about your score results.   

  

You are on your cooldown walk with your mare when Hawks comes walking up to you eyes wide. “You did it!” he cheers quietly so as not to startle your excited beast of burden. “I did it!” you chime back at him happily. He gives you double-finger guns and comes up to your side to help you down. You take the offered assistance and slide out of the saddle and into his arms. You stare up at the man and thank him graciously. “Where is Katsuki?” you ask as you bring your reins around and unclip them as Hawks halters her up and hands you the lead once he is finished.   

“Mm? Dynamite had a run himself that started after yours. He is probably getting both of your scores right now.” the taller red and yellow Stetson-outfitted man says as he hands you a water bottle you have no idea where he produced it from. Not lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth, you begin to chug it. “Settle down now. We don’t want you to choke after that perfect run.” He chastises you.   

Rolling your eyes must have been the theme of the day because here you were doing it again. Sighing you shook your head and resumed drinking till the plastic bottle was empty. The two of you headed back to your truck and trailer pleasantly chatting and catching up with one another. When you arrive, you see a couple members of your circle lounging on your black Dodge Ram 3500 fully loaded.   

  

You whistle at the group and wave at Kirishima, the Todorokis (Touya and Shouto), Ashido, and Midoriya. They look over at you and cheer. Touya nods at you in his black jeans and black short sleeve t-shirt combo. A stark contrast from his brilliantly white hair. He walks up to you and takes the lead out your hand. He guides your mare to the round pen you had brought with you and set up off to the side. Out of the way of everyone and with permission from the grounds manager. He removes her gear and sets it off to the side while he leans against the gate and watches her buck and fart after he turns her out.   

You smile fondly at him admiring how he dotes on your mare. Cheering her on and praising her. Overinflating her already overly inflated mare ego. That would be a thing you were gonna have to deal with later. When you got home. You weren’t gonna deal with that attitude right now.   

  

Right Now, you wanted to celebrate with your friends and wait for Bakugou to get back with your damn results. You already knew he had won his run. He always does. Huffing you dance over to your group. Moving to the rhythm of GIMS-YOLO. Ashido meets you and the two of you giggle as you celebrate your run and Keigo (or Hawks as he goes by) recounts your run with much embellishment.   

  

The playlist continues to go through GIMS, Mohammed Ramadan, Idris, Soolking, and a few of y’alls other favorites when Bakugou shows up with his Gelding. Scowling. Like normal. He ignores you as he removes his tack and ties his horse to the trailer. Going inside the stall compartment to grab a hose, brushes, and various other things he would need to cool his horse off. Izuku joins him and begins to water his horse and quietly praise him while Bakugou leans back on his heels contemplating.   

  

You start to wander over in his direction but stop when two women boldly come up to him and begin to chat him up. Shouto side-eyes them and nudges Eijiro as they turn their focus onto your trainer and his new companions. The conversation starts out harmlessly enough. They praise his run. Say it was expected since he is a 4-time Pendleton Round-Up champion. He nods boredly at first and gives the usual canned answers. It wasn’t until they begin to talk about you that his attitude changes.   

You were upfront by the speakers with Ashido to give Katsuki some space to have his conversation since the area was small when you heard the slander.   

“You must be so sick of y/n following you around all the time.” A short pale blonde commented.   

“For real! Her race wasn’t even that great. I left as soon as I heard you were running, Dynamite.” a slightly taller redhead says beside her.   

Your head snaps back and to the side with your mouth doing an “O” face in surprise. “Oh no they didn’t like I am not here!?” you loudly whisper to Mina who motions for you to quiet down and points to Katsuki who appears to be neutral about the whole thing. For a whole four seconds. Then he is roaring with raucous laughter.   

“The hell are you two harpies talkin’ about? You tryin’ to say she is a buckle bunny? Hah! Right! She is so much of one she went and earned one herself!” he announces proudly as he flashes you a bright and happy smile. Breaking away from the now put-off women to strut over to you and hand you a paper with your time on it circled in bright red.   

  

You had placed first! You were 1-D! Your jaw drops and you begin to whisper your disbelief. “Is this legit?!” you demand to know. “No shit, Sherlock.” He flicks you on your forehead. You jump up and wrap your arms around his neck and hug him dearly. “I won! I really won!” you cheer and chant over and over. “OH OH! GROUP HUG!” Mina announces and runs over to join in. Katsuki growls and wraps his arms around you returning your hug and accepting Mina touching him when she joins to hug you.   

The rest of your group joins in, including Touya. He enjoys the look of misery on Katsuki’s face. Your crew completely dismisses the rude pair of women who summarily leave. They are not missed as your circle continues to celebrate till your next event is to start later that night. Everyone smiles as they cheer you on and leave you fresh and ready to take on your next sport which you were completely at home with. You were on Bakugou’s cow-eatin’ Bay Tobiano Stallion and you were getting ready to show everyone what the sport of cutting was all about.   

  

You grin up at the crowd, wave then turn to face your opponent. A beautiful black Angus steer that had mean written all over it. He was a beacon in the herd of red Angus. Tipping your hat to your quarry you grin deviously and move forward. Ready to win this shit and take home another buckle.   

  

Fin 

[tightjeansjavi]

♡‧₊˚𓃗 City Slickers 𓃗 ♡‧₊˚

A/N: horse girlies..imma need y’all to rise up for this one 🤠 double trouble are coming around the corner, and they’re comin’ in HOT

Pairing | barrel racing! Joel Miller x barrel racing Tommy Miller x barrel racing! f! reader

Summary: it’s Austin’s biggest barrel racing season yet. You’ve been the reigning champ for the past two years, and you’re not about to give up your title willingly. Joel and Tommy Miller are rookies in your eyes. City Slicker pretty boys is all they are to you, until you see them ride. Perhaps they aren’t just two city slickers after all.

Warnings: eventual smut, threesome! Paris is lovely this time of year, reader doesn’t take to losing lightly, Joel and Tommy are lowkey cocky assholes but the reader is into it, unsanitary sexual situations (in the back of a horse trailer) no outbreak/AU, no age gap, reader is a Texas native, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

Chapters |

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

[crookedteethed]

18+ smut, cursing, Dark!Rafe, fearplay, gunplay, manipulation, slut shaming, accused cheating, this is readers punishment : (

⋆ ★ dark!rafe fucks you with his asp pistol <3

plink (the catalyst for this fic frl)

Rafe puts his pistol to your dome and tells you:

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't shoot you."

The scent of gunpowder and leather filled the air, the taste of fear and desire lingering on your tongue.

You could feel his hot breath against your skin, his fingers tightening around the trigger.

A part of you wanted to fight, to defy him and refuse to give in to his demands. But another part, a darker part, was drawn to his power and dominance.

"Fucking answer me!" Rafe rattled your body.

Your cheeks had been wet with tears--your cunt wetter than a barrel of slugs.

"B...Because I love you?" You squealed.

"B-Because I love you." Rafe mocked your whiny tone, a small smile curling unto his lips.

"You don't fucking love me!" Rafe spat. "You think I'm an idiot, y/n?" He rattled your body once more. "I see the way you slut your way around the Country Club."

"I do love you, Rafe!" you whined, tears spewing from your eyes. How could he say this? "Rafe, I swear I love you, I don't want anybody but you." 

"I mean, do you intentionally try to fuck with me Y/n?" He asks, his brows furrowing together.

You quickly shook your head. "no." 

"It's like--" Rafe paused, his hand starting to get wobbly, but he never let down; he never kept the barrel aiming away from your brain. 

"It's like you don't even consider that I'm a person in this relationship too." He continued. "It’s like you don't even consider that it's men out there that want to hurt you--take advantage of you, but you continue to prance around here--shaking your little ass in these slutty fucking clothes--"

Your heart raced as you were certain his finger had pulled back on the trigger - a sight that made you let out a desperate "Please, I love you." in terror.

"Prove it to me, then. Get on your knees. Prove to me that you love me." Rafe lightly kicked your knees in to kneel under him.

Your body trembled as you sank to your knees, the hardwood floor cold against your skin. Rafe towered above you, his eyes cold and unyielding.

"Please, Rafe, let me prove it to you. Let me show you how much I love you." Your voice shook, but your gaze remained fixed on him, pleading.

"If you truly loved me, you'll do as I say." Rafe's voice was harsh, his breath coming in sharp rasps.

You reached for him, your hands shaking as you pulled him closer, your shaky hands palming his hard cock.

"Un uh." He hummed, pushing you away. "Turn around and get on all fours."

You did as you were told, feeling a slight relief from the release of the gun pointed towards your head.

As you took your position on all fours, Rafe trailed after you, settling into a kneeling stance behind you, mimicking the posture of doggy style.

As his fingers traced the hem of your mini skirt, baring your ass and swollen core glistening with wetness, you let out a heavy breath.

"You're such a slut," he elongated, his gaze and touch fixated on your buttocks.

Suddenly, his hand connected with your flesh in a sharp smack, eliciting a surprised cry from you.

And then, with a hungry urgency, he pulled your dainty panties aside, sending a shiver of pleasure through your body as the cool air brushed against your sensitive clit.

Just as you thought you could feel him entering you, the realization hit that it was not his cock, but the chilly draft from his gun.

A sharp intake of breath, a moment of anticipation, and then the cold, hard steel of the pistol pressed against your heated skin.

You flinched, a shiver running down your spine, as he held the weapon there, its tip teasing your entrance. "Please…" you whispered, your voice hoarse with need.

"I need it." He said nothing, only smirked, his eyes dark with desire, as he ran the barrel of the gun along your slit, collecting your juices.

"Look at this shit." Rafe said, showing you the barrel of the gun, coated in your arousal. "Such a greedy little cunt you have." he cooed.

You whimpered, your body trembling, craving more. Then, with a swift movement, he plunged the pistol into you, filling you with its unyielding length.

A gasp escaped your lips as he began to thrust, the sound of metal sliding against your wetness filling the room.

The feeling was incomparable to any other, a distinctive combination of delight and risk--and at no point did the thought cross your mind if his firearm was loaded.

All you cared about was proving to Rafe you love him.

You could feel the power in his movements, each thrust sending a rush of sensation through you.

"I should pull the trigger." Rafe grimacingly spoke into your ear, causing an illicit moan to escape your lips "My final staple to show everyone who really owns you--taking your life as if I brought you into it."

"Please Rafe--" You choke.

You were terrified but couldn't help but be aroused as Rafe pressed his gun into your cunt, threatening to kill you.

Each thrust was a punishment, a reminder of how much you truly loved him.

You wanted to tell him that you didn't care about anyone else, that he was the only one who truly owned you.

But the words were caught in your throat, choked out by the fear and pleasure coursing through you.

The gun felt cold inside your cunt, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Rafe's body.

You could feel his anger and jealousy consuming him, his desire to possess you completely. And in that moment, you realized that this was all you ever wanted. To be owned by Rafe, to belong to him in every way possible.

But as Rafe's grip on the gun tightened and his thrusts became more bruising, you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. This was a dangerous game you were playing, and you had no idea how it would end.

But despite the fear, you couldn't bring yourself to stop. All you cared about was proving your love to Rafe, even if it meant risking your own life.

Your body moved with his, your curves swaying, your breath coming in sharp pants.

You surrendered to the sensation, to the feel of the pistol's grip digging into your core as Rafe pounded it into you.

A cry escaped your lips as you climaxed, your body shaking with the force of it.

He continued to thrust the gun into you, his movements relentless, drawing out your pleasure until you thought you could take no more.

Then, with a final, deep push, he held the pistol still, its barrel buried within you—grazing that sweet spot.

You felt the warmth of his body against your back as he whispered, his hot breath on your skin, "You like that, don't you, slut?”

And as those last words escaped Rafe's lips, you had drenched the metal of his gun with your essence. Your fluids covered the ground, his hand, and your legs, leaving you spent and exhausted, your climax intertwining with the metal of Rafe's gun.

The ground beneath you was soaked, a testament to the intensity of your release. Your legs trembled, unable to support your weight, as you whispered those three words that held so much power.

"I told you I love you," you murmured, your voice hoarse and filled with emotion.

In that moment, as you lay vulnerable and exposed, you knew that your words carried a weight that could not be undone.

The metal of the gun, now cool to the touch, contrasted with the heat of your declaration.

Rafe, witnessing the raw honesty of your emotions, was rendered speechless, his hand still resting on your leg, feeling the tremors of your heart's confession.

What other lengths would you go to for his affection, Rafe pondered, what other depths?

[theemporium]

yes lando comfort fic where maybe you weren’t at qatar but after yesterday took the first flight there. and it’s just full of hugs, kisses, massages, praise, pep talks. He’s got his head on your chest or in your lap :(

my heart actually breaks for the boy :(

.

The second you saw the qualifying results, you knew you had to fly out. 

You hadn’t originally planned to. You were swamped with classes and lectures and work, and after taking time off to travel to Singapore and Japan with him, you couldn’t exactly afford to take more time off for Qatar as well. 

And Lando had been understanding. To be honest, he was just happy you had taken time out to join him on two race weekends that turned out pretty damn well in respect to the start of the season. And he knew no matter what he said about compensating for your time off work, you wanted to go back before you eventually flew out to join him in the last stint of races. 

But that was before the shit-show of the Qatar Grand Prix weekend started. 

You hadn’t been able to talk to him earlier that day, too late running for work that a simple reply to his good morning message was the only thing you could send. Nor did you have the chance to keep up with the practice session. However, when you opened your phone after walking out of work to see the qualifying results, you didn’t even hesitate. 

You had played it all out perfectly, getting onto the next plane out to Qatar whilst messaging your boss that you had a stomach bug and couldn’t come in until you stopped vomiting. You had shared a few messages here and there with Lando, but he didn’t seem all too eager to talk to you, let alone anyone after the messy qualifying session. 

You didn’t arrive at the paddock until the sprint had already started, and it only went downhill from there. You thought the McLaren front row lock out would have brought up morale, but you were wrong. 

It was shit. You knew the second he crossed the line in P3 that he wasn’t going to be happy with himself. You knew it, and yet, the second his radio came through confirming as such, your heart only broke more. 

You knew your boy. You knew he would be keeping it all in. But you knew no matter what, he wouldn’t break in front of everyone else. He would pat Oscar on the back and he would play the good teammate and happy chap as best he could to the media. He would play his part. 

Until he said five words that truly shattered your heart.

“Just a lack of talent.”

The second he was done with interviews, he just wanted to be left alone. He didn’t want to listen to whatever his team were saying, he didn’t want to deal with the debrief and strategy planning for tomorrow’s race. He just wanted to be fucking alone so he could stop pretending. 

He was almost annoyed when he saw his driver room door was open, ready to snap at whoever it was lingering inside his room. But then he was standing at the doorway and he saw you in the room, a sad smile on your face as you waited for him, and every resolve within him crumbled in seconds. 

The door was slammed shut and he was barrelling towards you before you could even open your mouth. His arms locked around your waist, his face was nuzzled into the crook of your neck and he sunk into your embrace, almost like it was a sigh of relief. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered to him, clinging onto him tightly.

And then, he just sobbed.

You didn’t say anything as he cried in your arms, simply holding him and hugging him and doing your best to sway back and forth as his body wracked with sobs. And when he couldn’t keep himself standing anymore, you sat down on the couch with his head buried in your lap as you slowly wiped away the tears streaming down his face, hot and flushed and embarrassed but he didn’t care about his mask when he was with you.

“I’m not good enough,” he whispered, his voice raspy from all the crying.

You blanched. “Lando—”

“Five fucking seasons,” he murmured, his glossy eyes looking anywhere but you, because he knew he would start crying again if he looked at you and he was far too tired for that. “I have been doing this for five seasons and everyone keeps fucking expecting that I get a win and it’s not happened—”

“Lando,” you tried again, but he continued.

“He’s a fucking rookie,” Lando whispered in disbelief. “I just….this is just what they need. This is what they need to say that I’m done, that I’m fucking useless, that I don’t deserve my seat and I’m just some waste of fucking space that can’t even win a fucking race and—”

“Hey,” you snapped enough to finally gain his attention. “Look at me.”

He shook his head.

“Lando,” you said in a softer voice as your palm cupped his cheek, gently turning his head until he was looking up at you. “Look at me.” 

“I’m not good enough to be here,” he whispered in a broken voice. “I’m not as good as they say I am. As they expected me to be.”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it,” you whispered back, shaking your head as you took in his glossy eyes and pink cheeks.

Lando started shaking his head again, but you continued. 

“Lando Norris, you are one of the most talented and skilled drivers in this sport,” you said to him. “One weekend does not define you, nor does it take away from all your achievements.”

“I made stupid mistakes—” He started again.

“And everyone does,” you countered. “Everyone makes mistakes, Lando. That’s what makes us human, but that does not make us not good enough or untaleneted.”

He didn’t say anything. 

“Your day will come,” you said as your thumb gently stroked the apple of his cheek. “And it will be fucking amazing. And I can’t wait to be standing there, watching you on that top step as you hit that stupid champagne bottle and try not to break your trophy. And it will be the first of many.”

He let out a small huff of amusement. 

“You are more than enough, Lando, and I’m so proud of you,” you whispered to him, your eyes finding his so he could see the sincerity in your voice and words. “And you’re enough whether you have a million race wins or none. You are enough just the way you are.”

Lando sniffled, giving you a wet smile—and it wasn’t much, but it was a step forward. 

“I love you,” you whispered with a soft smile. “And I’ll love you no matter what.”

“I love you too,” he whispered back as he nuzzled himself further into your lap. “Thank you for coming.”

“Always, baby,” you grinned. “I’m always gonna be here for you.”

“Promise?” 

Your heart almost broke with how vulnerable he sounded. 

“Promise.” 

.

[shouyuus]

chapter five: true love's kiss

roronoa zoro; 4,063 words; fluff, hurt/comfort, no "y/n", enemies to LOVERS (the lovers happen now), dreams as a literary device, first kisses, possessive!zoro, happy endings, sanji is a tease but a good friend

summary: in which love does conquer all, actually

a/n: phew!!! and here we are friends! the last chapter!!!! thank u all for the lovely comments and for sticking this through! it's def my longest fic to date (and i think will be for a while... 21k is a lot of words lmfao); anyway, enjoy all the fluff! it's def earned i think!

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By the time the fighting ends, the rain is coming down in great sleet-gray sheets, washing the deck of the last remnants of blood, even as the Merry tips this way and that, tossed over the waves of a careless sea.

Zoro kicks bodies over left and right, slinging them over the edge of the ship as he checks each face, grimacing as he thinks to himself — no, no, no.

“Zoro!” it’s Sanji that finally manages to drag Zoro upright, pinning him to the edge of the ship, shaking him by his shoulders, “what the hell are you doing?!”

“Her body!” Zoro shouts, shoving at Sanji’s rain-slick hands, “I have to find it —”

Nami has both arms wrapped around herself as she takes two steps forward, her bright hair stuck to her cheeks in tangerine streaks.

“Didn’t she say she’d show up at the last place she fell asleep?”

Zoro stares at her, wide-eyed, for three solid seconds before he scrambles out of Sanji’s grip and makes for the crow’s nest, taking the ladder three rungs at a time. He nearly rolls across the tiny crow’s nest as he forces his way through the trap door, his eyes whipping wildly from left to right, but there’s already a sharp, relentless dread ossifying in the marrow of his bones as he leans over the edge and shouts —

“She’s not here!”

It’s Usopp who answers, “What about your room?”

Zoro tumbles out of the crow’s nest, skidding down the length of the mast, but by the time he manages to get below decks, Nami’s already standing in his opened doorway, a hand pressed to her mouth.

Zoro races to her side and feels his breath freeze in his lungs.

Because you’re there, tucked into his hammock, your cheek pressed into his pillow, a blanket tucked around your shoulders, your eyelids fluttering as if they’d caught you in the middle of a particularly active dream.

In stumbling steps, Zoro makes his way to the edge of the bed, his shoulder bumping Nami’s as he inches by. He drops onto a wooden barrel and buries his face in his hands. Behind him, he hears Nami slump to her knees with a sound that’s caught halfway between a sob and a laugh.

Relief crackles through his veins like so much static electricity. Vaguely, he registers the sounds of the rest of the crew gathering by the door, Sanji helping Nami to her feet, Luffy making his way over to clap Zoro hard on the shoulder.

“Well, she’s for sure breathing!” he remarks, to which Usopp lets out a small, tinny laugh, and everyone follows suit. Zoro puffs out a breath and feels a saltwater sting in his throat.

He licks his lips and tastes the sea; when he blinks, his lashes come away wet.

It’s still relatively early in the day, so eventually, Sanji begs off to go make some lunch — for the recovering soul, he says. Luffy follows him, and a few minutes later, so does Usopp. Only Nami stays, her knees curled into her chest, her back against the wall, her eyes fixed on you as she counts your steady, drawn out breaths. But eventually, even she gets to her feet, reaching out to give Zoro’s shoulder a hard squeeze before ducking quietly out of the door.

Sometime in the late afternoon, Sanji comes to put a tray of food on a barrel by the bed. Zoro spares it a single glance, noting that Sanji’s included all your favorites as well as his own.

In the early evening, he reaches over for a riceball, and then another.

It isn’t till midnight that exhaustion finally takes over and he dozes into a shallow, fitful sleep.

— — —

You dream of dying.

Of falling down an endless ravine, of feeling your lungs fill and fill and fill with water. Of the sharp, silvering lick of a hungry blade, of fire as it burns slowly, creeping across your blushing skin.

You dream of terror, of your body fighting for a breath, a kick, a life, even as your mind resigns to the dull knowledge of impending death. You dream of peace, of lying down and falling asleep, of surrendering yourself to the warm, merciful dark and it’s wide, welcoming embrace.

You dream of Zoro, of the boy he used to be, of the raw hunger and determination in his eyes as he ran through his katas, of how wide he smiled when he was convinced no one else was looking. You dream of the man he is now, of the softness that had bled from him when he traced a hand along your cheek to press a strand of hair behind your ear. You dream of falling asleep next to him, of waking up to find yourself in his arms, of being cradled against his chest, of being laid gently in his hammock, of his body next to yours.

You dream.

You dream of falling, and falling, and falling. You dream of a voice, so deep it sounds like the underbelly of sound, grating out of the fathomless dark, reminding you of the bargain you weren’t even alive to make.

But your dreams always come back to dying, the act now so familiar to you that your body aches for it like a heart aches for company. You have died so many times the motion is braided into your muscles, inked into your skin, your lungs so used to giving up air that sometimes, you find yourself gasping out of a dream, clutching at your chest.

And that is how you wake — rocketing upright, fingers scrabbling at your throat, the phantom bite of Zoro’s blade lingering over your skin like the persistent itch of a healing wound.

It’s Zoro’s voice that pulls you back, his breathless, startled voice, your name tearing out of him like a curse, or a prayer.

“Y-you’re…” he seems unable to continue, the sight of you sitting up in his hammock, your eyes bright and a little glossy, your cheeks flushed with the remnants of your dreams, the early morning light pouring through his tiny window like so much pale gold, casting you in it’s relentless light.

Zoro blinks, feeling his muscles ache from the strange position he’d fallen asleep in, having roused himself so often during the night, if only to check that you’re still here, and still breathing.

“Zoro…” his name on your lips sounds like absolution, the final bit of proof he’d been waiting for before he jolts forward to pull you into his chest, pressing you to him so hard you yelp in surprise, the entire hammock swinging back with the force of his body.

He spears his fingers through your hair, cradling the back of your head, his nails scraping against your scalp as he clutches you close enough to count your heartbeats reverberating through his chest. Your hands fist in the front of his shirt as you bury your face in the side of his neck, your uneven breaths hot against his skin.

“Never,” he says, in a voice ribboned with fear and anger and regret, still holding you to his chest as if he might be able to meld your skins into one, “make me do that again.”

You let out a shattered little laugh, shaking your head as you burrow deeper into the crook of his neck.

“Yeah, I’ll make someone else do it next time.”

Zoro jerks back, his glare fierce as he narrows his eyes.

“I mean it,” he says, his fingers inching up to cup your cheeks, his thumbs pressing divots into your skin as he searches your eyes. You stare up at him, softening as you reach up to wrap your hands around his wrists.

“I’m sorry if I scared you — it was — that was the only thing I could think of to do —”

“Don’t be sorry — just promise.”

Your breath hitches in your chest as your gaze cuts away. Your hands drop but Zoro’s grip never wavers.

“I — I don’t —”

“I’ve already had to watch you die twice,” Zoro says, his fingers finally loosening as he leans down, his eyes flickering frantically over your face as if trying to commit every part of you to memory, “I’m not trying to go for a third.”

“Yeah, I know…” you reach up to smooth your thumbs over his furrowed brows, feeling them relax as you trace your fingers over and down the sides of his face. And for a moment, the pair of you are caught in the startling light of dawn, each unwilling to let go of the other, drinking each other in as if you might never get another chance.

“It’s just…” you find your gaze held still at his lips, at the way they’re parted ever so slightly, before you trace a line up the bridge of his nose to admire the skin there, kissed by a constellation of soft freckles.

Zoro grazes his fingers down to your jaw, tipping your head up, massaging at the knots at the junction of your neck and shoulders.

You let out a soft gasp that sends shivers wreathing through his body.

“Just?” he asks, almost surprised to find his own voice so husky as he swallows.

“I thought that if I were to die… yours is the last face I’d ever want to see.”

Its this admission that somehow simultaneously melts the tension in his muscles and also sets fire to his skin as if his whole body were made of nothing but kindling, your words the spark, your voice the wind that fans alive the flames.

He leans down to press his forehead to yours, letting his eyes flutter close as he tries to take a steadying breath even as the heat chases into the depth of his stomach and coils tight in his gut, making his knees feel weak.

“Fuck…” is the best he can manage, the pair of you still face to face, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling.

He feels you let out another laugh, and then — something warm and soft pressing to his lips. His eyes flash open just as you’re pulling away, looking deliciously bashful as you try to glance away. But Zoro chases after you with the determined precision of a hunter, pulling you back and melding your lips so smoothly it’s all you can do is let yourself be kissed.

And as he kisses you, you briefly wonder if this isn’t what all those deaths had been preparing you for. All those drownings just to make sure you were ready for a kiss like this — a kiss where you wouldn’t need or want to ever breathe again. A kiss that burns hotter than any fire, one that tears you open from the inside out and sews you back together again.

You can feel the force of it cracking open your ribs, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he could reach inside you and cup your heart in the palms of his hands. You almost want him to. You think it wouldn’t be such a terrible way to go.

When you finally pull apart for the first time, it’s you who chases after him, tugging him back down in an urgent, messy clash of teeth against teeth, mouths open, licking and eager and hungry.

Zoro grunts at the force of your kiss, at the wildfire burn of ravenous longing braiding through his blood, exploding in sparks of white behind his eyes till he’s reeling and dizzy from the light. And when you finally pull back for a half-drawn breath, it’s him that once again surges forward, but the hammock swings up too far, and the resulting downward momentum catapults you both onto the floor, his body cushioning your fall till his back is pressed against far wall, you half-straddling his lap, your hands on either side of his face to stop yourself from toppling further into him.

You let out a shocked laugh, even as he too finds himself chuckling. The ridiculousness of the situation finally settling in around the pair of you.

A second later, Sanji slams open the door, looking wildly around for a second before spotting you. His eyebrows jerk up as he takes in the scene, the tangle of blankets around your legs, Zoro’s hands on your hips, the clear high blush in both your cheeks.

“Oh so sorry to interrupt — I heard all this commotion and thought something bad might’ve happened,” his voice is half-teasing, half relieved exasperation. He puffs out a dramatic sigh, digging in his pocket for a cigarette and lighter.

Finding both, he takes a deep pull, letting a thin stream of smoke out through his nose before casting you both a sharp, mischievous look.

“Should’ve known it was moss-head here having dessert for breakfast.”

“Fuck off, cook.”

Sanji smirks, rolling his eyes as he saunters away from the door, leaving it to swing shut behind him, but not before calling out —

“Remember to take breaks! Breakfast’s in an hour, and I’m not savin’ you any if you miss it!”

— — —

Breakfast is a messy affair that day — with both you and Zoro slinking into the kitchen exactly one hour later, Zoro looking annoyed, and you looking understandably sheepish. The second you meet Sanji’s eyes, you flush a bright crimson and look away, but Zoro only scoffs as he drops into his normal seat and folds his arms. You slip into the seat next to his, your gaze fixed determinedly on the table before you.

When Nami arrives, she flings her arms around you, giving you a hard squeeze.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she says, pulling back with fever-glass eyes, shimmering with tears.

Zoro grunts, “I’ve already tried that.”

You resist the urge to shoot Zoro a dirty look, and instead, squeeze Nami’s arms.

“Sorry I scared you.”

“It was pretty scary!” Luffy’s voice rings out as he joins the throng, plopping into the seat at the head of the table and flashing you a massive grin, “but boy are we glad you’re okay! It’s kinda a cool power you have! Scary, but cool!”

“I wasn’t worried for a minute!” Usopp claims as he trundles in, smiling bravely as he takes the last seat. At a pointed look from Nami, he clears his throat and turns towards Sanji, “So! Uh — what’s for breakfast?”

Sanji smirks as he starts to set out an entire breakfast service, complete with eggs three ways, freshly baked brioche with a variety of homemade jams, grilled fish, sausages, bacon, a steaming pot of rice, along with miso soup, freshly squeeze tangerine juice, and hot tea.

“And an aged ale,” Sanji says, offhandedly, setting a bottle in front of Zoro without looking at him, “for medicinal reason only, alright? Don’t go looking for this kind of treatment every day.”

Zoro blinks at the bottle of ale before shrugging and popping off the cap with a finger.

“Wow, Sanji! This is amazing!” Luffy compliments, before immediately digging in. Usopp looks similarly eager as he reaches for a steaming brioche bun.

Sanji smiles as you make to reach for some eggs and Zoro bats your hand away, tugging the entire tray towards you for easier access.

Nami only smirks.

“I figured we could all use some good fuel after —” Sanji clears his throat as he settles in his own seat, neatly tucking a napkin into the collar of his shirt, “well, after a hard battle.”

His voice catches briefly before he hitches a bright smile back onto his face and serves himself a thick slice of bacon.

You pause, halfway through slicing a perfectly poached egg, your eyes caught on the golden yoke beading at the tiny puncture wound from your knife.

“Look — I’m really sorry for —”

“Don’t.”

“It’s alright.”

Zoro and Nami speak at the same time, both freezing for a second before glancing at each other and Zoro sighs, slumping back in his chair with his arms folded.

Nami purses her lips before taking a breath.

“It’s… well, it’s not alright,” she amends, staring down at her own breakfast, “but you don’t have to apologize. Just…” she finally looks up, her gaze electric in the morning light spilling through the wide windows, “let us protect you next time.”

Zoro grunts a brief affirmation as you swallow passed the lump in your throat.

“I — it’s just — it’s hard,” you admit, setting down your utensils to stare at the palms of your hands, the skin there soft and unworn, so deceivingly so. Sometimes, you hated the fact that you always came back devoid of scars — as if even that has to be stripped from you. The proof that you’d suffered, the reminders that you’d time and time again survived.

“When dying —” you force your mouth to wrap around the word, to hold it on your tongue without shrinking away, “is the only thing I’ve known for… for forever, really.”

“Mm, well,” Luffy’s slightly muffled voice breaks out from down the table, making everyone jump. He grins, swallowing a mouthful of sausage, “Shanks used to tell me that dying and living are really just the same thing in the end — you just gotta choose what you’d rather do that day!”

A beat of thin, shocked silence follows, before you break into a surprised laugh.

“Whoever this Shanks person is — he sounds like a pretty cool guy.”

Luffy nods enthusiastically, spearing another sausage with great voracity, “He was! And I think he’s right! I mean — we’re your crew now! And we’ll take care of you. So… just choose to live next time!”

Nami is the first one to start laughing, and soon, everyone follows after. The sheer ridiculous simplicity of the statement catching everyone off-guard, the truth of it sweet as freshly made mochi.

— — —

Later that day, you find yourself staring out at the endless stretch of sea at the head of the ship, the wind tangling loose fingers through your undone hair.

Zoro sidles up next to you, standing close enough for your arms to brush.

He’s rarely left you alone in the hours since the fight, since you’d woken up again in his hammock. But it’d been his turn to clean out the bilge, and he’d mercifully not asked you to accompany him for that specific little venture.

Now, he stands next to you, his body warm, his hair slightly damp from what looks like a recent wash.

“We’re goin’ after him,” he says, his eyes following yours as you both scan the wide expanse of shattered-glass sea.

“Crocodile?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“Yeah, and Baroque Works.”

You turn to face him, the wind whipping your hair into so many thin tendrils of darkened silk. You reach up a hand to catch a few strands in a vain attempt to keep them from flying into your eyes.

Zoro twists around, leaning in to rake his fingers through your hair, wrapping them around his fist till he’s reeling you in, close enough for you to press both hands to his chest.

He watches as you fight with some internal compulsion, probably to tell him that it’s too dangerous, that they’ll never win. But finally, you seem to steel yourself, looking back up at him with a liquid fire deep in the warm darkness of your eyes.

“It won’t be easy,” you say, your voice soft, but he’s close enough to catch them, his other hand steadying itself along your hip.

His lip slants into an amused grin.

“Good. I’ve never liked an easy fight.”

You smile despite yourself, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Masochist,” you say, inching your hands up to loop around his neck. Zoro smirks, cocking his head to one side, tugging you ever closer by the back of your neck.

“Maybe. But speaking of liking pain — what’s this I hear about you and the waiter makin’ stuff later on in the kitchen?”

You peer up at him with huge, doleful eyes before heaving a melodramatic sigh.

“I always thought you were the jealous type,” you lament, attempting to turn your face away but Zoro’s fingers dig into your skin, sending a strange, gooseberry ache tingling through you as you gasp, your eyes flickering back to meet his molten gaze. Heat blisters into your cheeks as something very much like desire pools in the depths of your belly.

“I’ve never been good at sharing.”

You laugh, nodding, “Yeah… that was true even when we were kids. Even though you always pretended you didn’t want anything till it was offered to you.”

Zoro scoffs, shrugging, “Figured if something was mine… it’d come to me in the end.”

“And now?” you ask, the hint of a tease threading through your voice, just enough to make Zoro’s skin prickle with want.

“Now, I just take what I want.”

“Or…” you lean in to skim your lips along his cheek, lilting your voice low enough to make him shiver, “you follow them for three whole weeks, then offer to buy them a drink at a bar, right?”

Zoro makes a half-annoyed, half-contemptuous noise, frowning as he pulls back. But before he can say anything, you’re laughing, and the sight of it strikes him breathless, the mid-morning sun draping you in orange and gold, your cheeks flushed with life and color, your body warm and soft in the circle of his arms.

You’ve never looked so beautiful — you’ve never looked so daringly, dashingly alive.

By the time the laughter trickles out of you, Zoro is also smiling. He reaches up to coax your face towards his, brushing your hair back with a careful finger.

“Guess you’re right — you got away in the end.”

You still against him, watching as he glances off towards the vast expanse of endless sea.

“But rumor has it, you’ve never let go of a mark,” you say.

Zoro’s eyes snap back to you, and the way you’re grinning up at him makes the world tilt on it’s axis around him.

“I haven’t,” he murmurs, lowering his head till your noses are bare inches apart.

“Then… don’t let me ruin your record.” The moth-wing flutter of your lashes twists tight the torque in his chest, and it takes him half a breath to realize that this must be what it feels like to fall in love, or rather — to realize that you’ve already fallen.

“Hn. Wasn’t planning on it,” he says, delighting in the tiny little shiver that shakes through you at his words. He pauses as your noses finally brush, your breath ghosting across his lips, so painfully, torturously close.

“So…” he purposefully draws out the word, letting it rumble through him, a low growl of sound. You blink up at him, curious, but pliant, and so, so terribly trusting. He allows himself a wolfish grin.

“What’re you and the cook makin’ later?”

You let out a frustrated groan and make to pull away but Zoro easily jerks you back, locking you against his chest even as you let out a surprised squeak.

“Are you going to kiss me or not, Roronoa?”

Zoro chuckles, “Depends on what your answer is.”

You flush, crinkling your nose as you glare up at him, “Sakura-mochi, the kind you like. There, happy?”

“Sure. So long as no one else gets to have any.”

Your eyes go wide, and you open your mouth to retaliate but Zoro presses in, crushing your lips to his in a searing kiss. The only noise you make is a tiny, desperate sigh as he sates himself on the taste of you, the sharp thundering in his chest quelled by the way you clutch at him, your fingers digging sharp pinpricks into his chest as you scrabble to pull him closer.

He is breathless when you break apart, and he’s light-headed with the sight of you and your kiss-bruised lips, stained dark by the pressure of his teeth. It sets something savage on edge inside him and it takes everything in him not to drag you somewhere and let the burning hunger swallow you whole.

“Like I said,” he says, his voice ragged, “I’ve never been good at sharing.”

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the next chapter (the epilogue) will be smut! pls comment below if you'd like to be tagged!!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 16

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

When the monster emerges again, you refuse to look at him. He leaves without trying to get your attention. Is he off to smear more blood on his hands? Or is he just trying to get away from the violations he’s committed in this place? Can he even fathom the pain he’s caused? 

You stay by the fire for the night. You put a pillow under your head and sleep on the floor. Your angry burns as hot as the flames and the morning greets you in an exhausted haze. 

You busy yourself by cooking. Your human instinct draws you to eat but by the time you have a plate ready, your hunger dissipates. You leave it on the table to rot as you pace around the cabin. 

You look around the front room and it’s worn walls. You examine where his fist snapped the planks then stand in the doorway of the bathroom. The dingy tub drips and the mirror is cracked in the corner. You turn and head into the bedroom. 

You kick the door open and shiver as you peer around. The bed is made tidily. The corners are so tight, like a military barrack. The armoire looms against the wall. You turn away from it and approach the shelf in the corner. You stare at the images of yourself, of your former life, of your family. 

You grab onto it and throw it all to the ground. It takes several tries to tip it but you do. It crashes and breaks the monotony of that prison. You stumble back and shake your head. What is wrong with you? 

You spin and race from the room. The cabin blurs around you and you skid to the front door. You twist the handle and wrench it open. You grit your teeth as you stand in the frame and stare out into the shadows between the trees. Your eyes scan the patchy grass turned grey with the wintry decent. 

Fuck it. You won’t stay. Even if you won’t escape, you won’t stay. 

You hurl yourself forward. You stumble down the stairs and your socks soak with the first step over the frosty ground. Your second step is more confident and the third produces an odd metallic click. Then suddenly a pang rips through your foot and calf. You shriek in agony and horror as you collapse. 

You gnash your teeth together and writhe and whine. You shake in sheer pain and struggle to even get your shoulders off the ground. Your eyes flood and your cheeks stained with tears. You raise your head and look down at your foot. The spike is lodged into your heel and extends up into your leg.  

The sight churns in your stomach and you angle to puke onto the frozen strands of grass. More than the scene of gruesome mutilation, the agony makes you hurl. You can’t bear it. You’ve never felt anything this horrible in your life. 

You know you shouldn’t take it out but you can’t leave it in. The spike might be keeping your foot connected but you’d rather have the whole thing off. You sit up then splay again. You’re dizzy with the effort as your blood slowly seeps out around the base of the spike. 

You push yourself up again and hunch forward with all your weigh. You reach for your leg, bending it as you wretch again. You swallow the bile and touch the metal. A blinding whiteness strikes only to be shrouded in a smothering black void. 

You wake again. Shivering as the winds barrel over your body. You blink up at the clouds as your leg throbs. You look down at the nightmarish wound and drag yourself back towards the step. You notice the hole where the spike erupted up from. A trap. 

Stupid, stupid. 

You manage to get yourself up the steps before you pass out again. You sprawl and rouse with another tide of vomit spilling onto the porch. You heave as you use your uninjured foot to push towards the door. 

You finally get inside. Trembling in pain as much as the frigidity. You need to get the fire going. If you don’t bleed out, you’ll freeze to death. 

You get halfway to the couch before you devolve into another blank valley. You wake again to the wailing winds and the crisp cold. You won’t get that far. 

You grab the edge of the tattered rug and roll it around you. You don’t stop until you hit the couch. You quiver against the hard frame and chatter violently. Another swell of unconsciousness overwhelms you. 

A strike of lightning cuts through you and you wake screaming. A sudden pressure on your heel has you whimpering and begging. Your eyes are awash in agony and your body is pulsing violently. There’s a coil around your ankle and the clunk of metal on wood. 

You blink and find yourself no longer on the hard floor. You lay on the bed. The pain remains but you know the spike is gone. You shiver even as you’re trapped beneath at least a dozen layers of blankets. You can’t move. You won’t even think of it. 

Your head pounds and your body buzzes. How did you get here? There’s no way you got here on your own. 

The answer stalks in. His eyes meet yours and he hesitates before he comes to the bed. The vessel that was once Captain America lowers himself stiffly onto the mattress. His puts his rough palm to your forehead. He makes a guttural noise of disappointment. 

He’s disappointed? It’s his fault this happened. You laugh but the tension it cords in you sends another storm of pain through you.  

You wheeze and whine until you’re too weak to even spasm. You feel the sweat slaking down your body. He pulls down the blanket and you shiver worse than before. 

“I... have a fever,” you say aloud. He tilts his head as if in agreement. You let your head drift to the side and groan, “let me die.” 

He rests his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. He lowers his head and stays like that, as if he’s thinking, preparing for something. He peels the blankets down past your feet. You look down at your bandaged leg. 

He touches your calf daintily. That alone is like a zip of electricity. Your vision speckles and goes black again. Even as your thoughts fizzle to darkness, you still feel the pain. There is nothing else. 

[siriuslysmoking]

Villian and Violent

SPOILER WARNING ! SPOILER WARNING ! SPOILER WARNING!

If you haven't watched Outer Banks season 4 part 2, DO NOT I REPEAT DO NOT READ THIS

AN: this fic is strictly for @jlovesjj, I DO NOT write for Rafe <3, she is just a very very sad girl, in light of the recent events, I am trying to provide her with any comfort so she can stop crying. Thank you and good day.

Pairing: Rafe x Reader, bsf!JJ x reader

Warnings: It's sad, angst, death, violence, not edited (She's impatient)

You all look up to the statue that the crown was hopefully in. All you you could barely see due to the sand storm enclosing you all.

"Hey! I'm gonna go up and scope it out!" Rafe shouts over the deafening wind in your ears.

"I'm not leaving it up to him!" JJ shouts back to the group, you can practically feel Rafe rolling his eyes as he grabs your hand. Like hell is he letting you leave his sight.

"No, I'm with you!" Kiara says, joining JJ. You look back and barely see Sarah and John B struggling, She doesn't look okay, so you hear JJ shout to them.

"Hey! John B, you two sit this one out, okay? We'll find the crown..." That's the last you heard as you and Rafe make your way up the hill. Once you make it to the top of the hill, you and Rafe both meet each other's eyes. Then he starts trying to climb up the statue, he doesn't get three feet up, before the wind knocks him back down, You look at him and realise once he stands back up that it wasn't just the wind it was also his hand still bothering him. He holds it close you his chest, looking at you as both Kiara and JJ come racing up the hill.

"Hey! I can't get up there, not with this hand!" He shouts at JJ and Kie. You see them both have a conversation that you can't hear, even with them a few feet away, it's hard to hear yourself think.

"Right now this is our chance! They've taken everything away from us. They're not gonna take this too!" He pulls down his mouth covering so Kiara can hear him better. "I gotta do this, I gotta do this for all of us. I mean, hey, it was my fault to begin with. So, I mean, I should be the one to fix it."

They hug each other and JJ moves over to you and Rafe, getting ready to climb. You step up to him and say, "Hey, you're my best friend, so don't do anything stupid."

He hugs you and speaks, "I'll try."

He lets you go and looks to Rafe, Rafe helps him step up onto the platform, "You got it!"

"Hey! You'll get your cut!" JJ yells, before beginning his climb up. Rafe and you both climb down to stand with Kie and watch JJ as he moves up the statue. You hold Kiara's hand as you watch some of the old loose rocks fall around him. Suddenly he's only hanging on by one hand. You gasp as Kiara shouts his name.

Once he finally gets himself to the large platform you feel as though you can finally take a breath. As you watch JJ you hear a voice. "They have to be up here!"

You all meet each others eyes, Rafe speaks first, "Shit, here they come."

Kie shouts to JJ, trying to get his attention, but he seems confident that he can get the crown in time. "Hey! You stay here. I'll go down and buy us some time."

Kiara nods as you step to go with Rafe, "What? Rafe, are you crazy? They'll kill you!"

"I'm a killer too, I've got nothing to lose." He shouts then looks at you, "You're staying here."

"You can't make me." You yells back firmly. He knows that there is no use in fighting and you're losing time. he makes his way down the hill with you trailing behind him.

Rafe makes you stay back as you approach the group of Mercenaries, he has the luck of the storm not his side, so that they don't see him coming. He goes and cuts the man from behind, as he works with that man you see one heading your way. You're by the man's side so while he looks through the scope of his gun you shove the barrel down and jam the butt of the gun into his jaw. It knocks him down for a second before you step back and he grabs your ankle, tripping you. You stumble as he gets up and he makes his way towards you. Without any weapon, you're out of luck, he's already grabbed his gun, so you make a run for it.

You head into the small village, trying to outrun the guy. You stumble into a deserted house and looks for anything that could be considered a weapon.

"Come out you little bitch!" he shouts, by the door frame of the house, she sees the barrel of the gun and jumps out for the behind the wall and slams a stone to his head. Blood starts flowing from the top of his head, but that only slowed him down and made him more angry. He did happen to drop his gun of the impact, you grab it and slam the butt of the gun to his forehead before you can even think about what you're doing. he falls to the ground with a heavy 'thump', and you finally take a breath. You hang onto the gun, just for safekeeping, as you set a mission to find Rafe. That's when you hear a soft gunshot in the distance, you immediately perk up and try to run to the source, but with this wind and all the walls that carried it, it could be from anywhere. You head down different passageways and alleys and houses.

Once you travel far enough and the storm starts slowing down, you can finally hear something. You think it's Rafe, your worst fear is him being hurt or worse but what you come upon is much worse than anything you can imagine. You can now recognize that the sounds you heard was not in fact Rafe, it was Kie, she was leaning onto JJ's legs, crying, then you realise the small movements of JJ's chest is gone, that he sits there lifeless. You drop the heavy gun and start to tear up, Kiara doesn't even look your way, you don't think she even cares about anything other than JJ in this moment.

You start to feel your knees buckle before strong arms wrap around your middle, You'd try to get them off but you realise you have no more fight left in your body, after the days of being on the run with lack of food and water, it's finally caught up to you, and all it took was seeing your best friends body lifeless on the ground. You move a little, mumbling something about getting off of you and then you hear a whisper, "It's me, It's me."

At the sound of you boyfriends soft you, you finally let yourself fall, letting out a horrendous sound out of the back of your mouth. Rafe lets his back fall down the wall with you in his arms. You both sit the on the stone in each others arms as he rocks you back and forth.

You can't even think, a life without your best friend in it's not a life worth living.

Rafe shushes you, saying soft words into your ears. You don't even notice when the rest of the group stumbles upon you guys, you don't think you even care.

You feel pathetic as Rafe carries you back, he has to set you down to go up a large sand dune, but he doesn't let go of your hand at any point. You sit next to him as he buries a grave for JJ's body, you watch him as he lowers it into the sand, you shake as he slowly covers it back up with sand.

You sit with your back to his front as you sit before the fire. You have cried all your tears, your eyes feel dry and body feels weak, as Rafe supports your body. Your eyes get heavy as Rafe whispers to you, "you'll be alright, I promise."

You don't believe him, you think he's lying, but it was nice to hear anyways.

Likes and Reblogs are appreciated

[twola]

idk if this is too vague, but arthur/f!reader in the classic trope of, oh my god I can't believe we both almost just died sex? did they both almost drown? Was there a fire? did he save her life? who knows! i feel like arthur would sees the woman he loves almost die and immediately fuck about it

Okay this has been in my asks for WAY too long and it’s such a good one and I wanted to do it justice.

Left Unsaid

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

When he think's he's almost lost you in a run-in with a rival gang, Arthur quickly gets over his nervousness in approaching you.

The bloodcurdling scream jolts him from sleep, making him stumble up from where he was sitting on a rickety chair in the main room of the old cabin. At first, he thinks it's a dream, but when the sound of breaking glass pierces the night, Arthur shoots up; the chair falling to the ground in a clatter as he quickly shakes the vestiges of sleep from his mind.

This abandoned cabin off of Eris Field seemed the perfect place to spend the night instead of making the trek all the way back to Shady Belle tonight - your yawning from behind him on his horse had him chuckling as he made the decision to stay - doing the gentlemanly thing and giving you the bedroom with the old single bed. As much as he’d like to be sharing it with you - he remained externally aloof - proclaiming that he’d sleep on the chair in the main room. He certainly did not dare to ask to share your bed - not now, probably not ever. 

But the rustling and thumping behind the door where you sleep has his heart racing - his hand flies to his revolver as he readies himself to throw his shoulder into the door and shoot whatever it is that is making that noise, but the door bursts open before he gets the chance.

A man stands on the threshold - dirty, and grimy, with a faded gray woolen military uniform and a yellow bandana around his neck.

Of course, goddamn Lemoyne Raiders.

The raider holds up his knife in front of him, and in the din of movement and chaos around them, Arthur can see the liquid sheen over the steel in the man’s hand.

The knife, dripping with blood. The man, seemingly unharmed. The door, slightly ajar, to the bedroom where you slept.

A cold stone settles in Arthur’s gut as he puts the pieces together. In an instant, he snarls, diving toward the man with little regard for his own person, tackling him to the ground and ready to rip him apart with his bare hands for what he’s done to you. As Arthur mounts himself on the man’s chest and begins to strangle him, the movement knocks the oil lantern off the table, crashing to the wooden floor and immediately bursting into flame.

The man’s neck snaps between Arthur’s hands and he immediately leaps up, moving toward the bedroom where you were sleeping.

Another body crashes into him, a Lemoyne Raider dressed like he is straight out of a Civil War battle tackles Arthur to the ground, the two of them tumbling along the floor and breaking through the rickety door to the porch. Arthur rolls backward, unsheathing his hunting knife as he grits his teeth, ready to slice this damn bastard into shreds.

Of course, the wannabe soldier is no match for the hardened outlaw. They sure as hell don’t make them like they used to. Arthur easily dodges a swing of the man’s fist and throws his weight forward. He sinks his knife into the raider’s gut, and immediately shoves him to the ground. He gurgles blood from his mouth as Arthur rushes over him, back toward the house.

The flames burst out the windows as he barrels back toward the door, grabbing at the handle and cursing aloud as it burns him. 

The constriction in his chest has settled into a churning in his gut as he prepared to kick the door in. At this point would he be finding your charred, lifeless body, having bled out on the floor because he couldn’t protect you?

“Arthur-!”

He steps off the porch, not sure if he is lightheaded or hallucinating, but you move toward him, hitching your skirts, blood covering your blouse, your hair wild.

“Jesus-” He crashes into you, having nearly leaped the final few steps, crushing you into his chest, nearly causing you to stumble.

He yanks you back, large hands on your shoulders, and looks you up and down, eyeing the blood patch on your blouse.

“N-not mine.” You breathe, but he does not move his hand from your ribcage. It presses inward, against the wet cotton, splaying across your side as if he did not believe you, checking for where the knife would have marred your flesh.

“Arthur-” You whisper, your hands tight on his biceps, “I’m alright.”

His eyes dart back up to yours, searching, pupils dilated, breathing heavily.

“Ar-”

You’re cut off completely as he pulls you against him and presses his lips desperately against yours, muffling your surprised yelp as his tongue demands entrance into your mouth. After a moment of shock, you melt into his embrace, fingers tightening on his shirt sleeves as you open your mouth to him.

He kisses you like you are the air he breathes. Like you are some kind of salvation… like he thought he almost lost something.

Arthur pulls back, breathing heavily, a flush having taken over his face, “Christ-” he goes to unwind his arms from you, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

It’s his turn to be cut off as your hands immediately travel to the collar of his shirt and you pull him down to your lips to kiss him again, needy as you moan into his mouth.

His arms immediately recircle you, hands moving down from your ribs, down, down to your waist, your hips, your rear. Hooking his arms around the back of your thighs, you’re lifted up, squealing in surprise into his mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

Continuing to press into each other's mouths, you barely notice him walking the two of you back, further from the flaming cabin, into the woodline, and finally against a tree trunk a safe distance away. He pulls back, panting as you recline against it, his arms tight under your thighs.

He gazes upon your kiss-swollen lips; your heaving chest as you breathe heavily, your pupils blown wide in arousal. Arthur takes the opportunity to roll his hips once, his hardening cock pressing against your cunt, and your eyes flutter closed as a needy, breathy whine escapes your lips.

“Arthur-”

He does it again, maybe for his sake as much as your own, the blood rushing to his groin and filling his cock properly. He grits his teeth as the rolling becomes rutting, your gasps driving him insane.

Before he gets to the point of no return, he slows his hips and leans over to recapture your lips in another kiss. As he pulls his 

“Thinkin’ you was dead back there-” He pushes his lips to yours again, “Christ- I… I never told you-” 

One of his hands leaves your thighs, but you have no fear he’s going to drop you. He buries it in layers of cotton, pulling at your skirts to move them from his way, reaching your bloomers and pressing against your cunt, watching your face intently as you moan, the cotton separating you quickly dampening against his fingers.

He leans in again and groans against your neck. Grabbing the cotton tightly, he yanks until he feels the seams give way, the tearing sound ringing in his ears as he delves within the ruined fabric to your soaking folds. You jolt against him and whine loudly as he slides his fingers along the seam of your body.

Arthur covers your mouth with his own as he sinks his fingers into you, working you open as you clutch desperately at his shoulders.

After you’ve cried out several times in the night, his hand leaves you and you sigh at the loss, he shushes you gently as he works at the buttons of his trousers, finally freeing his cock from his pants after moments of fiddling. His hand returns to your thigh as he adjusts you in his arms. The head of his cock presses gently against the rim of your cunt.

Your hands move from his shoulders to cup his face, your thumb tracing his lower lip gently before he sucks the tip into his mouth, his eyes trained on yours.

He pulses his hips and his cockhead slips inside you. Your brows crinkle with the first vestiges of the ache of penetration, and he leans forward again to press his lips upon your forehead.

“What did you never tell me?” You whisper as he holds you on the cusp of joining, the precipice of sheathing himself into you.

One of his hands leaves your thigh, though you are completely unafraid of falling with your legs wrapped around him and the strength of his other arm. His fingers brush back a strand of your hair from your forehead, tucking it gently behind your ear before his rough and calloused palm rests on your cheek.

“You’d have died and I woulda never told you I’m in love with you.”

Your eyebrows raise in shock as you clutch at him, and while you remain silent, after a moment, you pull him closer with your legs, nudging his back with your ankles, and he slowly slides himself inside you, inch by inch, until your hips touch and you mewl with the stretch. He hums softly before slowly, gently, rocking his hips, starting a slow rhythm as you get used to him.

His powerful arms keep you suspended against the tree trunk with each roll of his hips, each glide of the inches of him in and out of you, well glossed and hot with your slick.

Arthur’s lips press to yours incessantly, muffling your gasps and whines as he presses into you. After one particularly deep thrust, you throw your head back in ecstasy, bumping against the trunk of the tree.

“Careful there, darlin’,” Arthur slows his hips, and tightening his grip on your thighs, he pulls you away from the tree, you yelp and tighten your legs around his hips. He chuckles softly as he walks you, still joined, a few steps from the tree and slowly lowers the both of you to the ground on a patch of grass. Spreading himself out over you, he buries his head against your neck as he lets go of your thighs, his forearms on either side of your shoulders, rocking his hips into yours again.

The staccato whine of the syllables of his name escapes you as you hook your ankles around each other over his back. Carding your hands through his hair, your fingers interweave between his honeyed strands, his hat long gone in your desperation to join yourselves.

He presses himself up above you as his thrusts become more erratic, his breathing loud and heavy as he pounds you into the ground.

“God-” you cry out as your hands grasp his shirt, “Arthur, yes-”

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, looming over you as he careens toward completion.

You arch your back, your thighs wrapping tighter around him as you begin to babble - “Yes- Arthur… I love you too-”, another gasp as he hits that spot within you, “God - I love you so much-”

That’s it. There it is, stripped bare and bleeding out like an open wound, his heart catching in his chest at your confession, and his amazement leaves him speechless as he thrusts into you once more, holding himself as deep as he can possibly get into you, feeling you pulse and clutch around him, wailing your pleasure into the night. It’s only a moment more before he has the wherewithal to yank himself from you, in the nick of time as he spurts his seed over your cunt, dripping white into the dark curls at the joining of your legs.

He’s gasping, you’re gasping, and he groans as he settles himself to the side of you, barely able to hold himself up with the exertion. Your legs hang open as you pant, flushed from your cheeks down your neck.

One of his large hands spreads out over your chest, against your racing heart, and you turn your head toward him, breathing out through your nose as a smile graces your lips.

“Probably should get outta here before any more stragglers find us.” He says, out of breath as he removes his hand to tuck himself back into his trousers. You nod and sit up, pulling your skirts down over your legs.

“D’ya think…” you trail off as you watch him rebutton his pants before he pushes himself to stand. His hair is ridiculously ruffled from the amount of times you've run your fingers through it.

“Mm?” He holds out his hand to you to help you up. 

You take it, and he pulls you up into his embrace, his hand secure on your lower back.

“Was wondering if we could spend the rest of the night in Rhodes or somewhere instead of heading all the way back to camp…” You ask as you lay a hand on his chest.

He squeezes you closer to him. 

“Sounds mighty nice… certainly wouldn't mind a stay in a hotel room tonight.”

[verstappensrealwife]

would you be able to write about lance stroll? possibly a story where she is his childhood best friend and they end up together. Smut if possible!!

Beyond Friendship's Boundaries - Lance Stroll x Reader

smut.

approx. 1960 words.

warnings: oral (fem!recieving), awkwardness in the start, sex (p in v). --- Also my horrid smut writing (I am yet to write a smut fic that i think i wrote well!) Hope you enjoy anyways <3

lance stroll masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

You and Lance had been inseparable since childhood, ever since that fateful day in kindergarten when his boundless energy collided with your unsuspecting form. As he barreled into you with the force of a tiny tornado, you found yourself sprawled on the ground, tears welling in your eyes. But even in that moment of chaos, Lance's instinctive kindness shone through as he scrambled to lift you up with all the might his pint-sized arms could muster.

"Sorry," he blurted out, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

With a sniffle and a shaky nod, you forgave him, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. His infectious grin, inherited from his mother's insistence that it could brighten anyone's day, worked its magic once again as you found yourself mirroring his smile. From that day forward, a bond was forged between you two that would withstand the tests of time and tide.

In the present moment, he found himself thousands of miles away in Australia, while you remained in Canada. Alone in the confines of his hotel room, he sat on the edge of the bed, consumed by thoughts of you that strayed far from the innocent memories of childhood. With a conflicted mind and a restless urge, he grasped his cock in his hand, indulging in fantasies that danced on the edge of forbidden desire.

If only you knew the depths of his depraved thoughts, he reasoned, you might recoil in horror or sever ties altogether. But in that solitary moment, consumed by the need for release before the impending race, such considerations faded into insignificance. He whispered your name like a forbidden prayer, his imagination weaving a tapestry of carnal delights where your bodies entwined in passion, where your desires ignited a flame that threatened to consume them both.

As he surrendered to the waves of pleasure crashing over him, he couldn't help but yearn for your presence, for the touch of your skin against his, for the possibility that you might reciprocate the intensity of his longing. In the darkness of his solitude, he dared to dream of a world where your desires aligned, where the boundaries between friendship and something more blurred into obscurity. But for now, all he could do was chase the fleeting ecstasy of release, his fantasies a bittersweet reminder of the distance between them and the unspoken truths that lingered in the silence.

Unbeknownst to him, the object of his affection stood mere inches from his hotel door, her heart thrumming with anticipation as she prepared to surprise her closest friend.

"Lance~" Your cheerful voice called through the door, sending Lance into a whirlwind of panic. Why were you here? When had you arrived? And most importantly, where on earth were his pants!? With a frantic scramble, he attempted to cover himself, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

As you swiped the card and entered the room, Lance's eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't believe you were here, standing before him in the flesh. But before he could gather his wits or even properly greet you, your exclamation filled the room, cutting through the air like a knife.

You couldn't help but yelp in surprise as you laid eyes on him. There he stood, with his messy hair tousled in disarray, a rosy flush painting his cheeks, and no shirt to conceal the sculpted contours of his chest. Beneath the sheets that draped over his lower half, there was an air of tantalising mystery, hinting at the forbidden pleasures that lay hidden from view. Thankfully he had found his boxers before you had walked in.

Caught off guard by the unexpected sight, you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks as your heart raced with a mixture of shock and embarrassment. It was a moment frozen in time, etched into your memory with vivid clarity, leaving you breathless and at a loss for words.

You stuttered out a few words, your voice wavering with uncertainty as you struggled to make sense of the unexpected scene before you. "Is this a bad time... I can leave," you managed to murmur, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"No!" His response was swift, almost desperate, as if the mere thought of you leaving sent a jolt of panic coursing through him. He hesitated for a moment, the realisation of his own desperation dawning on him, before quickly composing himself. But deep down, he couldn't deny the truth: he was desperate for you, in more ways than one.

You stared at him, your eyes wide with surprise and uncertainty, unsure of how to proceed in this newfound tension. "N- Not a bad time... uhm..." he stammered, his words trailing off into an awkward silence as he searched for the right thing to say.

As the tension hung heavy in the air, a palpable electricity crackling between you, Lance's heart pounded with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. In that charged moment, he couldn't deny the raw attraction that pulsed between them, igniting a fire that threatened to consume them both.

With a hesitant step forward, he closed the distance between you, his gaze locking with yours in a silent plea for understanding. "I... I want you here," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with desire and longing.

Your breath caught in your throat at his admission, your own desires laid bare in the vulnerable space between you. In a bold move, you closed the remaining gap between you, your fingers trembling as they reached out to touch his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

With a shared moment of unspoken consent, the floodgates of desire burst open, consuming them both in a whirlwind of passion and need. Lips met in a searing kiss, hungry and desperate, as years of unspoken longing erupted into a frenzy of desire.

Lost in the heat of the moment, Lance's hands roamed eagerly over your body, tracing every curve and contour as if committing them to memory. With each touch, each caress, the world fell away until there was only the two of you, lost in the throes of passion.

As the intensity of their desire reached its peak, they surrendered to the undeniable pull of their bodies, consumed by a hunger that could only be sated by each other. In that moment of blissful surrender, they knew that they had found something truly special, something worth fighting for amidst the chaos of their tangled emotions.

His movements were urgent, fueled by a hunger that threatened to consume them both as he pushed you gently onto the bed, his lips trailing a path of fire down your trembling body. Each kiss left a trail of tingling heat in its wake, igniting a blaze of desire that pulsed between you.

Reaching your legs, he knelt between your thighs, his breath catching in his throat at the sight beneath the dress you had worn just for him. His eyes drank in the sight of your exposed skin, the tantalising curve of your hips, and the promise of what lay hidden beneath.

"Fuck..." he mumbled, his voice husky with desire as he took in the sight before him. The realisation that you wore no underwear beneath the dress sent a surge of heat coursing through him, his heart pounding with anticipation.

His fingers trembled with longing as he reached for the hem of your dress, his touch gentle yet urgent as he pulled the fabric slowly upwards, revealing more of your intoxicating form with each passing moment. As the dress pooled around your waist, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him, he felt a primal need stir within him, urging him onward.

You could only moan in response, lost in a haze of pleasure and desire as his lips continued their journey, leaving a trail of kisses along your inner thighs. Your words dissolved into incoherent babbling, your mind consumed by the overwhelming sensations that pulsed through your body with each touch, each caress.

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine this moment would come to fruition, yet it consumed your every waking thought, an unrelenting desire that pulsed through your veins with a fierce intensity.

As he pushed his fingers into you, the sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, igniting a fire that burned with an intensity you had never known. With each skilled movement, he found the perfect spot, sending sparks of ecstasy dancing along your nerve endings.

His mouth followed, hot and hungry against your skin, eliciting a guttural moan of pleasure from deep within your throat. The sound echoed off the walls of the room, mingling with curses and cries of ecstasy as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming tide of sensation.

He pulled two earth-shattering orgasms from you with his skilled touch before finally entering you, the culmination of desire and passion reaching its peak. Position after position, they explored the depths of pleasure together, lost in a whirlwind of sensation and ecstasy that seemed to stretch into eternity.

For almost an hour, they moved as one, bodies entwined in a dance of primal desire. With each thrust, his dick found its mark, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you with every movement. It was a symphony of sensation, a crescendo of pleasure that built with each passing moment.

Despite his best efforts to prolong the inevitable, he could only resist for so long before the overwhelming tide of pleasure threatened to consume him. With a primal groan of ecstasy, he pulled out at the last moment, spilling his release over you in a cascade of pure bliss.

In the aftermath of their passionate encounter, they lay entwined in a tangle of limbs, their bodies still humming with the echoes of pleasure. With gentle caresses and soft whispers, they reassured each other of their mutual affection, basking in the warmth of their shared intimacy.

As they lay together in the quiet aftermath of their lovemaking, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, unspoken words lingering on the tip of their tongues. Lance shifted slightly, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along your arm as he mustered the courage to broach the subject that had been weighing on his mind.

"Hey," he began softly, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty, "can we talk about... us?"

You turned to him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of curiosity and warmth. "Of course," you replied, your heart fluttering with anticipation.

"I... I know we've always been friends," Lance started, his words hesitant as he struggled to articulate his feelings. "But after tonight, I can't help but wonder if there's something more between us."

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession, the air crackling with tension as you searched for the right words to respond. "I've thought about it too," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "What we have... it feels different now, doesn't it?"

Lance nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, it does," he agreed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "And I don't want to risk losing what we have, but... I can't shake the feeling that there's something special between us."

You reached out, intertwining your fingers with his in a silent gesture of solidarity. "I feel it too," you confessed, your heart swelling with emotion. "And maybe... maybe we owe it to ourselves to see where this could go."

Lance's smile widened, a flicker of hope dancing in his eyes. "I'd like that," he replied, his voice filled with conviction. "To us, whatever that may be."

"To us," you echoed, a surge of excitement coursing through you as you leaned in to press a tender kiss to his lips. In that moment, you both knew that whatever the future held, you were in it together, bound by the unbreakable bond of friendship and the tantalising promise of something more.

el fin.

Hope the smut was good. I tried not to use cringe words, key word tried. anyway. probably gonna have 2-3 fics out today :)

[yan-critter]

Hello!!! I just read your Childe fic and hhhoooooo boy that was a good one 😤😫🤩 if you have a moment could you perhaps write something for Blade from hsr?? If not that’s totally fine too!!!!! I love your writing btw 😊😊 have a nice day/night!!!

Hiya! It makes me really happy to hear that! I'm still pretty new to writing long smuts, so hopefully this wasn't too bad.

Enjoy!

★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★

Yan!Blade x GN!Reader (Smut, Light bondage, Oral, No gendered terms but reader is receiving)

Blade has always come off as cold, unapproachable, and generally lacking an interest. Both in life, and in people.

But now, lying arms bound on his bed with your legs tossed over his broad shoulders, you're not so sure.

In the dim lighting of his bedroom, Blade kneels before you, long hair brushing your skin as you watch the intense look in his eyes. The silk ties binding you rustle softly as he holds your ankles and approaches the space between your legs, stilted breathing echoing in the quiet room. His gaze fixated on the figure before him, bound and vulnerable, your body inviting as you wriggle in discomfort.

"Finally," he whispers, his voice straining with thinly-veiled lust. "You're mine. Now let me show you how good I can make you feel."

Your heart races as Blade draws closer, his presence suffocating yet.. strangely intoxicating. Fear mingled with a twisted sense of desire culminates in you as he wraps his hands around your thighs, slotting his head between them. It was clear how hard he was attempting to restrain himself, and it did nothing to soothe your nerves.

He dips his head, mouth latching onto you as he begins to lick and suck like an animal, groaning into your skin. You gasp, his slurping growing faster at your reaction. His mouth is skilled, practically glued to you as his tongue swirls around your most sensitive parts.

Giving an especially hard suck, you throw your head back, drool beginning to slip from the corner of your mouth as your legs shake. He pulls away to catch his breath, looking up at your disheveled self with a coy smile, clearly proud.

"I've watched you from afar, yearning for this moment," he confesses, his words dripping with fervent devotion. "You're the only one who truly understands me, who sees beyond the facade I wear for the world."

Before you can question what he meant by that, his tongue is on you again, taking a much more decisive rhythm as he sets his mind on making you come for him.

‘If you come, it means you love him’

Your legs begin to seize at the sudden onslaught, and his ravenous pace has you barreling towards you breaking point faster than ever. He's bucking into the mattress, and he nearly comes as your thighs begin to squeeze around his head, pulling him close.

He releases one of your legs in favor of sliding a thick finger into your heat, curling and rubbing at your walls in a way that has you brainless. You don't think you can take much more, pulling your free leg back to push at him, but it doesn't seem like he even noticed, and the building heat in your belly has your legs weak.

It isn't long before he finds that bundle of nerves that makes you see stars, and he merciless, abusing it until your vision goes white. You whine, body arching into his face and legs going ramrod straight as you come into his mouth. And by the way he moans, you can tell he came too.

“You did so well for me, I’m so glad.” He pants, a delirious look on his face as he wipes remnants of you off of his chin.

“You're so cute it's unfair. I want to keep you forever.”

You shiver, feeling the weight of his words like chains tightening around your soul. His love was suffocating, something dark that promised both ecstasy and agony in equal measure. You’re not sure if you like that.

"I'll protect you from anyone who dares to come between us," he vows, his grip on your bruised waist tightening as if to emphasize his point. "You'll never have to fear again, as long as you're by my side."

But as Blade poured his heart out, a chilling realization settled over you like a shroud. You’re a captive, not his lover, imprisoned by the very person who claimed to adore you.

In his twisted mind, love and possession were one and the same, and you were unfortunate enough to be the one to find out. As you gaze into his eyes, you see the depths of his madness, poorly hidden by his so-called love, a darkness that threatened to consume you whole.

Trapped in Blade's home, you wonder if you’ll ever find happiness in the confines of your cage.

And as he laves hot kisses along your sternum, you don't know how you ever considered the man anything but absolutely lovesick.

[seongwars]

ardently | ii

Pairing: Viscount!Choi San x Countess!Reader AU: non-idol | regency au Summary: After falling victim to one of Choi San’s many wagers, you vowed to a life of eternal spinsterhood. However, when the Choi family faces the imminent threat of losing their estate, the very man you swore you would never forgive re-enters your life.  Word Count: 6K Warnings: angst, use of firearms, mentions of fox hunting, broken limbs, incorrect use of regency terms (sorry history buffs)

Fic Masterlist

The late summer air felt stifling to San as he rode toward your family’s estate, a place he had visited many times before, though now it filled him with a growing sense of dread. The annual hunt hosted was an event of grand tradition—one that the ton anticipated. Yet for him, the weight of this particular invitation was heavy, almost suffocating. It wasn’t the hunt itself, nor the pressure to perform that unnerved him. 

It was you.

San had always been someone who commanded attention, whether he sought it or not. His charm, once something he wielded effortlessly in your presence, was now a weapon that had turned against him.

He had spent countless nights over the years replaying that moment in the garden, as if by thinking about it enough, he could somehow undo it. But no matter how many times he revisited it, the outcome was the same. Whenever you were near, it felt as though the air itself had grown colder. You would sweep past him at gatherings, head held high, never sparing him a second glance. 

The worst part was that he deserved it.

He had turned something precious—a genuine connection—into a game, a fleeting moment of amusement at the behest of his peers. And in doing so, had ruined any chance of earning your trust or your friendship, perhaps even more.

The Kang estate came into view, an impressive silhouette against the sky, and the knots in San’s stomach tightened. Your family’s grounds stretched for miles, the rolling hills and dense forests an ideal setting for a hunt. As they approached, the sounds of hounds baying echoed across the grounds, mixing with the distant chatter of arriving guests. 

The Choi family’s carriage came to a halt, and as San dismounted, his eyes scanned the scene before him. Servants and attendants hurried across the grounds tending to the horses and greeting guests, while members of the ton gathered in small clusters, discussing the day's upcoming events. 

It was then that he saw you, standing a short distance away with your shotgun, its polished barrel gleaming in the morning light. San froze as you lifted the gun with ease, pointing it directly at him, as though you were sizing him up—not just as a target for the hunt, but for something far more personal. 

Your expression was unreadable, but there was a glint in your eyes, one that sent a chill racing down his spine. His heart skipped a beat, every muscle in his body tensing as he wondered if you were serious or simply toying with him. 

You cocked the shotgun with a sharp, mechanical click, testing its weight as you held his gaze. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. San swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, unsure whether to laugh it off or raise his hands in surrender.

"Y/N, put that thing down!" your mother chided, hurrying over to meet the newly arrived guests. 

You slowly lowered the gun, your expression still unreadable, but the glint in your eyes sent a chill down his spine, making it clear your aim had been intentional. A subtle hint of a smirk tugged at your lips before you turned to greet San’s parents. 

"Viscount Choi, Viscountess!" your mother greeted warmly, gliding forward with her customary elegance. "It’s so good to see you both. Thank you for coming."

"We wouldn’t have it any other way!" Viscount Choi chortled, though his eyes flickered briefly to you, still holding your shotgun with a quiet air of defiance. "It seems your daughter is eager for the hunt."

Your mother let out a light, practiced laugh, though San could see the subtle tightness in her expression. "Yes, well, she’s always been spirited." She turned toward you, casting a glance meant to remind you of the decorum expected today. 

"Viscount, Viscountess," you greeted smoothly, your tone polite but detached. "I look forward to your participation in today’s events," you continued, your tone betraying no warmth, only obligation. "I wager we’ll have a successful hunt."

It was clear to San that, for you, the hunt was a game, but not in the way it was meant to be. It wasn’t about the thrill of the chase or the spoils—it was about proving a point. And today, it seemed, that point was directed squarely at him.

His mother, Viscountess Choi, sensing the strain, stepped forward to fill the silence. "Your estate is as breathtaking as ever, Lady Kang," she said with a warm smile, her eyes sweeping across the expansive grounds. "The weather is truly remarkable—we are very fortunate to be here!”

She turned slightly, gesturing toward the gathering of other guests, who were milling about near the stables, chatting and preparing for the hunt. The sharp glances of attendants could be seen, tending to the horses and ensuring all was in order for the event. Lady Kang’s expression brightened, her words now carrying the unmistakable energy of a seasoned hostess eager to see the event unfold smoothly.

"Come," your mother said, motioning toward the main group. "Let us join the rest of the guests."

Your mother, ever the perfect hostess, shifted her attention toward Viscount Choi with a smile. "Viscount," she said, her tone warm and accommodating, "we have arranged for an attendant for both you and Mr. Choi to ensure that everything is to your liking during the hunt. They will be available to assist with anything you need."

San nodded appreciatively, returning the smile. "You are too kind, Lady Kang. It is always a pleasure to be here. I look forward to the hunt."

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your irritation as you turned on your heel and headed toward the stables. San’s words echoed in your mind, hollow and rehearsed, like lines from a script. His charming smile felt disingenuous—just another part of the game he was playing.

"Pointing a gun at your guests? Bold, even for you,” came a familiar voice from behind you, dripping with amusement.

You turned to see Duke Jeong Yunho striding toward you, his eyes sparkling with amusement, as if he had just caught you in the middle of some mischief he couldn’t wait to comment on.

"He’s lucky I didn’t pull the trigger," you said lightly, your tone playful but carrying an edge that let Yunho know you weren’t entirely joking.

"You’ve certainly mastered the art of making a memorable impression. Though I have to wonder—were you aiming for him or his pride?"

You shot him a sideways glance, though it was more amused than annoyed. Yunho had always been this way—playful, quick-witted, and never one to miss an opportunity to tease you. Yet he was observant, capable of reading between the lines. It was part of the reason you found yourself oddly comfortable around him.

"He needed a reminder of where he stands."

Yunho laughed, a rich and infectious sound that drew the attention of a few nearby guests. "Don’t you think you might be pushing him a little too hard? Poor Mr. Choi looked like he was about to faint."

You scoffed, though your lips twitched in a small smile, betraying the hint of amusement in your eyes. "He’s not that delicate, and you know it."

San stood a few paces away, watching the casual banter between you and Yunho, his jaw tightening involuntarily. He told himself it shouldn’t matter. Yunho was a close friend of your brother, someone you’d grown up with. Of course, you’d be close. It was all perfectly innocent. Rational, even but still—why did it bother him so much?

"The future viscount has arrived!" Seonghwa’s voice rang out with unmistakable enthusiasm, cutting through the buzz of the gathering crowd. His face lit up in a wide grin as he spotted San approaching the rest of the hunting party. With open arms, he strode toward his friend, his usual air of refinement momentarily replaced by genuine warmth.

San’s tension eased, if only slightly, as Seonghwa approached. There was something grounding about his friend’s presence—steady and dependable. Seonghwa was always able to read the room, and his welcoming embrace was a reminder that not all the interactions today would be as strained as those with you.

"What kept you so long?" 

San managed a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Just... got held up." His gaze briefly flickered to where you stood, chatting with Yunho a few yards away. 

"Well, you’re here now, and just in time." Seonghwa gestured toward the members of the ton gathered near the stables, their horses saddled and ready, attendants bustling about to ensure the guests’ preparations were perfect. The hounds barked excitedly in the background, eager to begin as their handlers worked to keep them in check.

The attendant led San's horse over, reins in hand, and with a curt nod of thanks, he vaulted into the saddle with practiced ease. From his new vantage point, he could see the rest of the hunting party more clearly. There was a certain energy in the air—the guests were buzzing with excitement for the hunt, eager to prove their skill and prowess.

You were mounting your own horse, your posture elegant and composed, with the shotgun you’d teased him with earlier slung over your shoulder. San’s eyes lingered on you a moment longer than he intended, tracing the lines of your frame as you adjusted in the saddle. Yunho was, of course, right beside you, making a comment that drew a laugh from you—one that felt too comfortable, too familiar.

"I don’t blame her for fancying him," Wooyoung sighed dreamily, his voice laced with mockery. San shot him a pointed glance, his irritation clear, but Wooyoung just grinned, completely unapologetic as always. 

“What? If I were her, I’d rather be a Duchess than a Viscountess,” Wooyoung continued, his grin widening.

It’s not like that between them, he told himself firmly, trying to quell the unease rising in his gut. He wasn’t one to let Wooyoung’s jabs get to him, but somehow, this one lingered, leaving him uneasy and more unsettled than he cared to admit.

“I see you lot are still making my sister the topic of all your conversations,” a voice interrupted, sharp yet amused.

San's heart dropped, and Wooyoung froze, his easy grin faltering as both of them turned to face Earl Kang. Yeosang, perched on his horse with the quiet authority he always exuded, regarded them with a knowing look. His sharp eyes—so much like yours—flicked between San and Wooyoung, his lips twitching in a faint, almost smug, smirk.

"Earl Kang!" Wooyoung chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck as he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, clearly unsettled under Yeosang’s sharp gaze. "We were just... discussing how Ms. Kang is bound to have a successful hunt. Nothing serious."

Yeosang’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable, though his tone remained deceptively light. "But of course," he mused, voice smooth but edged with warning. "My sister does have quite the shot. We wouldn’t want any foxes slipping away now, would we?"

The subtle threat hung in the air, and San and Wooyoung exchanged a quick glance, both knowing full well not to push their luck any further.

“Well then, gentlemen,” Yeosang said after a moment, his tone polite but the undercurrent unmistakable. His eyes lingered on San, a beat too long, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Best of luck to you both.”

The hunt master’s horn echoed in the distance, its deep, resonant call signaling the start of the chase. The party moved smoothly into action, the steady rhythm of galloping hooves and excited murmurs weaving through the forest as they ventured deeper into the woods. Birds scattered from the treetops, startled by the thundering riders, while the crisp scent of pine and earth filled the air.

San rode just ahead of you, his posture effortlessly confident, flanked by Seonghwa and Wooyoung. The group was focused, each rider scanning the dense underbrush with sharp eyes and heightened senses, poised to react at the slightest hint of movement.

Tension filled the air, the thrill of the hunt creeping into the silence. Earlier, lighthearted banter had filled the morning, but now it had faded into a hushed anticipation. The excitement simmered beneath the surface, growing stronger with each passing minute. Even Wooyoung, typically the most talkative, had fallen silent, his gaze sharp and calculating, tracking every rustle of leaves and shadow in the trees.

The pace of the group slowed as they approached a small clearing, the riders fanning out to search for any signs of movement in the brush. There was a hum of anticipation, the soft murmur of voices as everyone prepared for the hunt to truly begin. San guided his horse forward, keeping to the edge of the group, his eyes scanning the treeline intensely. 

“The hounds have picked up a scent,” Yeosang muttered beside you, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the distant trees. “There’s something close.”

The horses were growing restless, sensing the change in atmosphere as well. Then, suddenly, from the front of the group, the hunt master called out. A flurry of motion erupted as a fox darted from the underbrush, its red coat flashing in the sunlight as it bolted toward the far side of the clearing. The hounds sprang to life, their barks rising in excitement as riders urged their horses forward.

San was among the first to move, kicking his horse into a swift gallop. He tore ahead with ease, his figure a blur as he charged into the chase, flying across the field. You followed close behind, urging your horse to keep pace with his. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as each stride brought you closer. When you finally caught up, a surge of satisfaction spurred you on, driving you to push even harder. The two of you were neck and neck, the thrill of the chase electrifying the space between you.

But just as you burst through the clearing, a sharp shout pierced the air.

You whipped around, eyes widening in shock as San’s horse reared violently. For a split second, it seemed like San might regain control, his hands gripping the reins tightly as he fought to steady the stallion. But in a wild flurry of dust, the horse bucked again, more violently this time, and San was thrown from the saddle. He hit the ground with brutal force, the sickening crack of bone ringing out as his arm twisted unnaturally beneath him.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched San hit the ground, the sound of his fall resonating in your ears. Time seems to slow for a moment, your mind struggling to process what just happened. The sight of him lying there, unmoving, his arm twisted at a terrible angle, sends a wave of panic crashing over you.

You glance around desperately, searching for someone—anyone—to help. But it’s just you and him, and the terrifying silence between. You dismount quickly, hands trembling as your feet hit the ground. For a moment, you hesitated, the bitterness that had long simmered between you both rising to the surface. But it feels distant now, irrelevant in the face of his pain. 

"San?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears. Your hand hovered above him, shaking as you reached for him, desperate for any sign of life. "San, can you hear me?"

He groaned softly, the sound weak but laced with pain, and you instinctively reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. San tensed, a sharp, pained wince crosses his face, and he goes still again, clearly unable to move with his arm twisted unnaturally beneath him. His breaths are shallow and rapid, each one shaky as if he’s fighting just to hold on.

“It’s going to be fine,” you whispered, voice trembling but desperate to sound steady, though you weren’t even sure if he could hear you. “Help will come.”

The clearing was empty, the woods eerily silent, and you were alone with him. You swallowed hard, forcing down the fear that threatened to swallow you whole, as you gently gripped his uninjured hand.

“Hang on, San. Please, hang on.”

San’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Despite the agony coursing through him, he managed a slight nod, though it was more instinctive than conscious. This wasn’t how you imagined your next encounter would go—you had always thought there would be words, sharp and cutting, arguments that would drag old wounds into the light. But now, none of that seems to matter. 

“Y/N!” Yeosang’s voice broke through the haze, sharp and desperate, yanking you back to reality. “What happened?” he demanded, kneeling beside San, his voice steady despite the urgency in his tone. 

Yeosang was never one to panic. He was always composed, steady, the one you could count on to think clearly when everyone else faltered. But now, the fear in his voice was unmistakable. It hit you hard—reminding you that even he wasn’t immune to the gravity of this moment.

“Something must have spooked his horse,” you replied, your voice shaky but determined. “He fell—I think he broke his arm and hit his head. He can barely move.”

The rest of the hunting party worked quickly, their voices rising and falling in a flurry of urgency as they attempted to stabilize San. Yeosang barked orders, directing members to fetch bandages, splints, and whatever they could find to tend to his injuries, while others hurried off to locate a physician. 

“Stay with him, Y/N.”

You blinked, the request jarring you. "Stay with him? Yeosang, what am I supposed to do?" Panic threaded through your words, uncertainty swirling in your mind. The idea of being alone with San, especially after everything that had transpired between you, filled you with hesitation.

Yeosang placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his voice gentle but firm. “Just be there for him.”

Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer, forcing your legs to move even as doubt gnawed at your mind. You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you placed it on his uninjured arm.

“Breathe. Focus on my voice.” With every word, you pushed through the discomfort, allowing your instincts to take over. You could do this. You could be here for him, even if it felt strange and uncertain. How could you admit that despite everything, despite all the resentment and hurt, seeing San like this tore at something deep inside you?

"You’ll be fine, I promise," you whispered, your thumb brushing gently against his arm. You weren’t sure if the words were meant for him or for yourself.

“A broken arm, likely a clean break, but the concussion is worrying. He’ll need to be monitored closely for the next few days,” Dr. Song said, rolling his sleeves down. 

You stood on the outskirts of the room, watching as the viscount and viscountess hovered anxiously while the doctor wrapped his arm in a sling and applied a poultice to reduce the swelling. There was a knot in your stomach, a strange feeling of guilt that you couldn’t quite shake. You hadn’t wanted this—hadn’t wished him harm, no matter the bitterness between you.

“We must send word home! We need to retrieve our belongings—anything that might make him more comfortable,” Viscountess Choi was frantic, her footsteps echoing across the wooden floor as she paced around the room. Her eyes darted from her son lying motionless in the bed to the doctor, who was wrapping up his examination, a reassuring calm contrasting sharply with her spiraling anxiety.

“What he needs right now is rest, my lady.” The Viscountess stopped mid-step, her mouth opening as if to protest, but Dr. Song, though young, didn’t waver under her gaze. 

“He’s sustained a broken arm, which I’ve set, and the concussion, while concerning, will heal in time. Moving him too much or worrying him unnecessarily will only delay his recovery. There’s no need to rush for additional belongings. His most important treatment is rest and a calm environment.”

“But he needs—”

Dr. Song remained unflinching, standing his ground despite the weight of her title and her fear. “I’ll be checking on him daily, my lady. He’s in capable hands and I can assure you Earl Kang will see to that. There’s no immediate need for anything beyond what he already has here.”

“It’s too dangerous to move him in this condition,” your mother’s calm, authoritative voice broke through the heaviness in the room. Though gentle, there was a firmness that left no room for argument. “San should stay here and recuperate at our estate,” she declared, the decision final.

Viscount Choi glanced up from the sofa, taken aback by the offer. “We couldn’t possibly impose,” he said, the surprise evident in his voice.

“Of course not!” your mother replied, her voice soothing yet resolute. “We have more than enough room, and it is the best course of action for his recovery! Dr. Song will ensure he is closely monitored and I’ve arranged for his meals to be brought to his room. If there is anything else he requires, we can send for it first thing in the morning.”

There was a brief pause, and for a moment, it seemed as though the Viscountess might continue her protest, but your mother’s reassuring presence and the doctor’s unwavering certainty seemed to quell her panic, if only slightly. She nodded, though her movements were stiff, reluctant.

“Very well,” Viscountess Choi murmured, though her voice was still tinged with worry. “But first thing tomorrow! He’ll be more comfortable with his belongings.”

You watched the exchange with a sinking feeling, knowing full well that once your mother made a decision, there was no changing her mind. Even though your brother was technically the Earl, wielding the title and all the responsibilities that came with it, there was an unspoken rule in the household—one everyone followed without question: when mama spoke, her word was law.

Though you wanted to protest, what could you say? To speak out would only make things worse—more awkward, more tense. And deep down, you knew your mother wasn’t wrong. San did need care, and this was the most practical solution. 

San woke up the next day in a haze, the sharp scent of herbs filling his senses. His entire body ached, but the searing pain in his arm was the worst of it. A dull throb pulsed through the limb, which was tightly wrapped in bandages and immobilized in a sling. He blinked groggily, trying to focus as the events of the previous day came rushing back—his horse, the fall, the crack of his bone hitting the ground.

He glanced down at his arm, the sight of it twisted in an unnatural position still haunted him, but the worst part was the helplessness. How long would it take for him to heal? How much strength would he lose in the meantime?

San recalled the moment after the fall, when you rushed to his side. He could still feel the weight of your hand on his shoulder, the quiet urgency in your voice as you tried to keep him conscious. Despite the pain, gratitude settled in his chest. You could have left him there or walked away but instead, you stayed.

“Mr. Choi?” a soft knock sounded at the door, followed by the voice of one of the house staff, tentative yet concerned. “Are you awake, sir?”

Gritting his teeth, he tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but the moment he put any weight on his arm, a sharp, excruciating pain shot through him, causing him to falter.

Before he could muster another attempt, the door creaked open slightly. “Oh! Oh goodness, Mr. Choi is awake!” the staff member gasped, clearly startled to see him moving. They turned quickly, hurrying down the hall. 

"Viscountess! My lady!" they called, their voice carrying through the estate.

Within moments, the hurried sound of footsteps filled the corridor. “San,” she breathed, rushing to his bedside. “Why didn’t you call for someone? You should be resting!”

San opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, she was already by his side, adjusting the pillows and fussing over him in a way that was both comforting and overwhelming. He winced slightly, trying to move his arm, but her sharp gaze caught it immediately.

"Don't," she scolded gently, yet firmly. “You’ll only make it worse.”

He sighed, his pride stinging more than the injury. “I’m fine, mother. Really.”

As Viscountess Choi settled into the chair beside his bed, her fingers hovered over his good hand. “You gave us all quite the scare,” she said, her voice quieter now, laced with an unexpected vulnerability. “How could this have happened?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he murmured, a shadow creeping into the back of his mind. His fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket, his body tensing beneath the sheets. There was a whisper of doubt that refused to leave, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. 

The horse had shown no signs of distress. None. Not a flicker of agitation, no warning before it suddenly bucked, sending him crashing to the ground. It had been a reliable animal, well-trained. Something about its reaction just didn’t add up—not in the way accidents usually did.

His thoughts darkened, the suspicion growing like a slow-burning fire: What if it wasn’t an accident? What if someone had tampered with his riding equipment? The idea wasn’t fully formed, but San could no longer shake the unsettling possibility that this had been no mere accident at all.

“I should let you know that you will be recovering here for the time being,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “The physician insists you rest, and I won’t have you rushing back home before you are fully healed.”

San frowned, shifting slightly under the weight of the blankets. “Mother, I—”

“I know it’s not what you want to hear,” she interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “But consider this a blessing in disguise.”

“A blessing?”

The Viscountess smoothed a hand over her gown, her eyes narrowing with that calculating look San knew all too well. 

“Yes, a blessing. You will have the time you need to heal, and…” She paused, her gaze drifting toward the door before returning to him. “You will also have the opportunity to grow closer to Y/N.”

San felt a knot tighten in his stomach, realizing where this conversation was headed. The subtle shift in his mother’s demeanor, the way her lips curled into a knowing smile, made it clear that she had plans for him—plans that involved you. 

“Mother, she has nothing to do with our debts– ” he began, but she held up a hand to silence him.

“You may not have received a response to the proposal yet, but that does not mean the matter is closed. In fact,” she continued, her eyes gleaming with purpose, “this is an excellent opportunity for you to spend time with her.”

“I’m not sure Y/N wants anything to do with me,” San muttered, his voice low. He looked away, his mind racing. He wasn’t sure what would come of this—whether you would even want to see him, let alone get closer. But in his current state, there was little he could do to resist the plan his parents had set in motion.

And despite everything—the pain, the tension between the both of you, and the mounting pressure from his parents—a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder if this was an opportunity to make amends with you. 

“Viscountess, I have this morning’s newspaper… for you,” your voice faltered as you stepped into the doorway of the guest room, holding out the latest edition. The words died on your lips when you saw San, awake and sitting up in bed.

The years had changed you—San could see it in the way you carried yourself, with a quiet strength in your posture that hadn’t been there before. You had grown and matured. The light in your eyes was different now—more knowing, more self-assured. In this moment, everything about you shone brighter, and he found himself looking at you with admiration and something deeper, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel until now.

"Y/N!" Her face lit up at the sight of you, bringing warmth and softness to the room. "Thank you, my dear," she said, taking the newspaper without even glancing at it and turning her attention to San with a determined expression. 

"I must speak with the staff about the upcoming arrangements if San is to be here for the next few weeks!" Her voice brimmed with enthusiasm, clearly thrilled at the prospect of her son’s recovery and the plans that lay ahead.

As the door closed behind her, the air in the room thickened, the sudden quiet almost suffocating. You shifted uncomfortably on your feet, unsure of what to say—or even what you should feel. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence carried the weight of all that had brought you to this point. It almost felt like the room was closing in around you as unspoken words hung between you. 

“Y/N, I… I mean Ms. Kang.”

“There is no need for formalities, Mr. Choi. Consider yourself a welcomed guest here at the estate.” You forced the words out, each syllable tinged with an edge of irritation. The formality felt like a barrier, a way to keep your emotions in check.

San shifted slightly, wincing as he tried to ease the discomfort. “I um…thank you for staying with me,” he murmured, his voice low and almost uncertain. “I can’t tell you what it meant to me, having you by my side.”

Heat rose to your face, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard, unsettling you in a way you didn’t want to admit. How could he say that? How could he look at you like that, with those eyes—eyes that once made you feel everything—now making you feel the exact opposite?

“Your mother would have been upset if something terrible happened to you,” you stammered, as you quickly glanced away. “I’m not sure my family could sustain that level of wrath.”

There had been a time when you would have rushed to his side without hesitation, when the thought of him in pain would have driven you mad. But the truth was, it was the sight of him, vulnerable and in pain, that stirred something in you you didn’t want to acknowledge. 

“I’m glad to see that you are well. I must attend to other matters now, Mr. Choi. Please excuse me,” you said, refusing to meet his eyes, knowing that if you did, it would only make things worse.

“Wait,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but sharp enough to stop you in your tracks. 

“Please disregard the letter from my father,” San continued, and this time his voice was more steady, though there was an unmistakable edge of desperation beneath it. “You don’t have to…you should not feel obligated to respond.”

You paused, your hand hovering over the door handle as his words sank in, your heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, reluctantly, you turned back to face him. He wasn’t looking at you—his gaze was fixed on his cast. 

The letter had arrived only days ago, a formal proposal, neatly sealed with the Choi family crest. It wasn’t filled with declarations of love or hope for a shared future—it was a promise. A transaction, born out of loyalty between two men, your late father and Viscount Choi, who had once been the closest of friends. But the reality was far more bitter. 

To the Choi’s this wasn’t about preserving friendship or honoring old promises—it was a cold, calculated move to clear their debts, using the goodwill between your families to their advantage.

They weren’t looking for a union—they were looking for an escape.

For San, it wasn’t even his mess to fix. He was trapped in this arrangement as much as you were, and yet somehow, that didn’t make the sting any less painful. But the voice in the back of your mind, the one that always seemed to grow louder in moments like this, fed into your worst fears. 

San was asking you to disregard the proposal, to reject it like it meant nothing. But his words took hold of your insecurities, dragging them to the surface. You were nothing but a game, a challenge to conquer. Your chest tightened, anger and hurt bubbling up in a way that you hadn’t expected. You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to keep your composure, but the frustration—the unfairness of it all—was too much.

“Are you mocking me?” The words came out before you could stop them, your voice trembling with a raw hurt you hated yourself for feeling. “You expect me to simply disregard it? As if it means nothing? As if I do not deserve a say in my own life?”

San’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock at your accusation. “No, that is not my intention, Y/N. I–I don’t want you to feel trapped or forced into something you do not want,” he insisted, desperation creeping into his voice, as if he were pleading for you to understand.

“Do you mean something you don’t want? Saving me from yourself, is that it? How noble of you,” you spat venomously. A bitter, hollow laugh escaped your lips. You narrowed your eyes, voice dropping to a cold, biting tone. 

"That's not what I meant!" he pleaded, his good hand twitched as if reaching for something he couldn't grasp. "I just—"

“Do not act as though you are granting me a favor when it is you who has already shown that I am not worth courting, let alone marrying.”

San flinched, your words hitting harder than any physical blow. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you turned, walking away before he could find the right words. The door slammed shut behind you, leaving him alone, staring at the empty space where you’d stood.

You knew it was unfair to bring up the past, to remind him that he had only courted you for the thrill of the chase. The shock in his eyes, the disbelief, didn’t matter anymore. You had spent too much time living with the knowledge, wondering if he had ever seen you as more than a game.

As you stormed down the corridor, you heard a shuffling behind you. You spun around, your eyes widening in surprise as you saw San, pale and breathless, following after you. His injured arm was cradled close to his body, but his steps were determined, his face etched with pain and stubborn resolve.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him risking further injury to catch up to you. "What are you doing?!" you hissed.

"I think the world of you," he rasped, his voice low and strained but filled with a fierce conviction that made your chest tighten. “And I will not let you become a pawn in my father’s machinations. I could never live with myself if I stood by and let him—let anyone—trap you in a life that doesn’t reflect your desires or dreams," he continued, his voice softer now, almost tender. 

A moment of silence lingered between you, brimming with unspoken emotions. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of everything he wasn’t saying.

What did he mean by that?

The question echoed in your mind, yet your attention was drawn solely to the intensity of his gaze and the unfiltered honesty woven into his words. It felt as though he was offering you a glimpse of his heart, laying bare his thoughts and feelings in a way that made your own pulse quicken.

And it terrified you.

<< i | iii >>

[ashessonfire]

FIRST KISS WITH KAZ!!! Maybe through fabric or just working through his touch aversion to get there

'Need' - Kaz Brekker x reader

Prompt - An overview of the relationship which brings the Bastard of the Barrel's hardened walls crashing down. But how long will it take for him to show his true longing for you? - Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader(gender neutral) - Warnings: Mentions of Kaz's trauma but nothing too detailed, just Kaz being desperate to be with you :) - A/N: Thank you so much for requesting anon! I hope this is okay, its my first fic ever so please leave any criticism or improvements you may have. also please let me know if we like this style of writing <33 PLEASE REQUEST!!

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Kaz had many things he wanted. Kruge, power, and revenge were among his most desired, however there was only one thing that he slowly began to realize he truly needed.

You.

After a long period of brushed hands and stolen glances, the Bastard of the Barrel had finally confessed his fondness for you, planting the seed of a rough but beautiful love. Even before the possibility of a true relationship bloomed, you knew that any form of intimacy was a weakness for Kaz, and an opportunity for his enemies to strike.

In order to counter this, you and Kaz spent endless hours breaking down his barriers within the confines of his room at the slat, and on occasion the office at the crow club. It began with small acts of service, bring Kaz tea when he was working too long, him bringing small gifts back from the market, even exchanged notes of gratitude or compliments.

As Kaz began to remove his armour, he reluctantly allowed you closer and closer, until the two of you began to work on his undeniable fear of physical contact.

It started off slowly and rarely, with his gloves still permanently clinging to his scarred hands as he adjusted to touching your arm or hand through several layers of material. Each attempt left Kaz with a bubbling feeling in his chest as if he was longing for something he couldn’t quite place, although he pushed down any thought of needing you more than he already did.

Each gentle smile, kind touch, or loving word chipped his armour more, growing the intensity of the feeling within his chest. A need for you.

This feeling buried itself deep within Kaz’s heart, growing in intensity each time he saw you, and consuming him completely if he ever saw you in the embrace of another.

Kaz trusted you fully, at least to his personal limit, having been raised by a city full of deception and misfortune himself. As a result, he would never blame you for seeking comfort in the touch of others despite your relationship, he knew it was cruel to deny you this, and was confident in your loyalty and love for him.

Yet his heart and mind found it easy to experience a taste of bitterness towards whoever was fortunate enough to be graced with a swift hug or gentle touch from you, often being another of his crows.

Deep down he knew it was immature of him to have something as low as jealousy completely overtake him, but each touch they received sent daggers flying directly through his chest, lodging themselves deeply into his already aching heart.

The boiling jealousy would be quickly dispelled as you made your way over to him, brushing your fingers over his gloved ones and smiling softly at the clearly frustrated boy.

As time went on, the touch Kaz’s body could allow increased, both in receiving and giving. Words of praise besides the touch aided in the rocky yet manageable journey, however eye contact was easily the most efficient way of communicating what both lovers meant.

To most throughout the barrel, a quick glance from the infamous Dregs leader is enough to set even the fiercest gang member’s blood racing, chilling their insides simultaneously with its razor-like edge.

Yet somehow, after studying your beautiful bosses face for long enough, you cracked the code on his impenetrable gaze, soon being able to decipher even the smallest slips of emotion through a twitch or a shift in his glare. Kaz often contemplated how you managed to read him so efficiently, settling on you perhaps using one of his own lock-picking techniques to unravel his emotions and ultimately, his heart.

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As a result of this skill, you were immediately able to sense a change in Kaz’s stance and mood as you gently shut the door to his office behind you and made your way over to his desk. “I brought you tea my love,” you quietly said, not wanting to provoke the clearly tense man in front of you.

Frequently Kaz would be in difficult moods after jobs, his mind buzzing with adrenaline and further plans for more tasks he needed to instantly begin planning. As you broke down his barriers, you managed to reduce this urgency, always gaining at least an hour or two to help him; bringing him tea, running him hot water to wash with, finding new books to discuss and read together, or even just admiring the city from the rooftops.

However this was different, the job was supposedly simple, but every aspect had gone awry and almost cost multiple dregs their lives. After complicated missions such as these, you knew Kaz needed space to breath, with a single glance in your direction a clear indicator of whether your presence was needed or not in that moment (however he always called for you as soon as he was able).

Tension radiated through the air, and although you weren’t afraid of his tempers like the others, you were feeling uneasy at your own inability to read what was crossing his mind. His shoulders were hunched as he slowly lifted his blistering gaze to meet yours, lacking the usual softness they held only for you, yet not containing any hostility.

He huffed out a sigh, stormy eyes locked on yours, thoughts racing inside, but not translating to his eyes, your only window into his troublesome mind. “I don’t know what to do” he finally muttered as you patiently waited for him to formulate his words.

After many hours spent with him, you had learnt how strenuous verbal communication was for him, and how often he just needed time to articulate his answers and force them out into the open. So, as he settled back into the silence of the office, you shifted the chair opposite to his and made yourself comfortable, allowing him to calm his raging thoughts with your familiar presence.

“Its too much. Each time we leave and come back it grips me, tighter and tighter,” he stumbles out, forcing the sounds of each word out of his mouth as if he is battling with his mind to allow them to be heard. Despite your lack of context, you gave a soft reassuring smile, nodding towards him and taking a sip of your tea to allow him a moment to breathe and continue.

“On jobs, or at the club, I can’t escape it,” he states breathlessly, before continuing, “How is it possible to need something so badly, yet my greatest need is the one thing I cannot truly have?” immediately signalling that this must be about his feeling of imprisonment his body forces upon him.

He slowly rose from his seat, limping towards you with a strong air of determination, eyes glued to yours as you scanned him in a failed attempt to decode his actions. You gazed up as he loomed over you, planting himself only a few feet away, the proximity making a beautiful warmth spread through your chest at his comfortability with you.

“I know I cannot give you what you need. You reassure me, yet I know it is not enough to live behind walls, barriers, defences.” He states, voice shaking at the end of each cadence, showing an impressive amount of bravery to admit his deepest concerns to you. He continued, “But I cannot live that way either,” his face leaning closer to yours, your breath suddenly hitching in your throat, cheeks glowing with a rosy flush.

“It’s too much, knowing I cannot have you in the way that you deserve. That…” he trails off, face shifting closer to yours with each word, inch by inch breaking down both of your defences. After swallowing thickly and regaining himself, he continues “That I want.”

By now his breath sends warm ripples across your skin, rendering you speechless at Kaz’s ability to fight his demons, striking them down for just enough time to reach you, even for a moment.

“But I know what I want, and I will be damned if anything stops me from getting it,” he demands, dangerously low, conflicting with the vulnerability displaying in his eyes, showing his internal conflict as he pushes his boundaries to the limit, leaving you certain the waters are chest high by now. However, his next action dispels any thoughts you had before, rendering you stunned.

“I want you,” he whispers before crashing his lips against yours.

Although it couldn’t have lasted longer than 3 seconds, the bliss that overwhelmed the pair of you was astounding, pure love radiating between you without the waters washing away the moment. Shortly after, the ocean regained its grip, forcing him to stumble back a good few feet, shaking violently and gripping the desk for support.

What surprised you the most was his expression.

He wore the faintest, yet most heartfelt smile you had ever seen grace his lips, filled with pride at his victory and ability to not only communicate, but finally act on his desires.

Your eyes pricked with tears as the emotions overcame you, your chest filling to the brim with love for the man, however you knew better than to stay any longer and prolong the inevitable current that was already overwhelming him. You stood quietly, slowly removing your jacket and placing it neatly on the table, eyes permanently glued to Kaz to ensure you remained a suitable distance.

He shakily nodded his head in thanks, breathing becoming shallower as he attempted to regain a sense of rhythm, grabbing the coat and waveringly making his way around his desk.

Early in the process of unravelling his fear of touch, you discovered that he found great solace in items of yours, especially for the times when he couldn’t convince his own mind that you were warm and present, not like the frigid bodies that plagued him. They gave him a piece of yourself to grasp onto when your physical presence was too much.

It shattered your heart into splinters at the idea of leaving him in this state, but you knew it was what he needed, and the certainty that within an hour or two he would be calling for your presence brought a sense of calm over you.

As you reached to lightly close the door, you looked up to find him staring at you through his trembling state, a triumphant look still faintly glittering in his eyes. You sent him a comforting smile, tears creating a glassy sheen over your eyes, illuminated by the candlelit office.

“I’m proud of you Kaz. So proud, more than you could ever know. I’ll see you later my love,” you breathed, loud enough for him to hear.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you shut the door, as the pride, pain, and love overwhelmed your senses. A lone tear slipped as you descended the stairs to process the night’s event, which unbeknownst to you, mirrored the boy sat in his office.

Kaz also shed a single tear amongst the panic his body forced upon him, however instead of the pure pain, grief, and dread that usually fell, a strong sense of victory escaped with that tear too.

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[sergentreckless]

You Drive Me Crazy

Boone x Reader (Twisters)

Summary: Your pretty red nails have Boone going crazy for you

WC: 1833

A/N: Omg hi, so this is the first fic I've ever written and I need legit feedback, so please message me if you have any thoughts :) I hope you like it <3 I'm a bit nervous for it, but I like it, I'm thinking of making a pt 2. if y'all like it. Okay love youuuuu

Warnings: Smut for sure, more smutty thoughts I guess, desperate thoughts, I think that's it? let me know if i missed any, I'm new to this

Boone’s eyes locked on you from across the parking lot, where you stood chatting with Tyler about what storm you were chasing today. You looked wonderfully done up, yet he could tell it took no effort at all. How could you possibly look so good standing there in jean shorts and a tee? It might help that your shirt cut off a little above the waist band of your shorts, showing a bit of your bare tummy and a glint of your belly button piercing. It drove him wild.

You look up from the tablet you and Tyler are hovered over and notice Boone staring at you. Thinking nothing of it, you shoot him a sweet smile and wiggle your fingers in his direction, giving him a silent hello. He blushes at your smile, sending you one back, but that isn’t what keeps his gazed fixed on you. Yes, you were beautiful, of course he would want to look at you, though he wouldn’t admit that to anyone. No, what really caught his eye, kept his attention, was your bright red nails. Medium in length, rounded off, knowing if you kept them in any other shape, they would break off, and you certainly couldn’t have that. You kept your nails in good condition, not having many opportunities to keep many of your things or appearances extravagant, as you were being constantly tossed around by the wind and rain that came with tornadoes.

 Distracted by the thoughts of what those beautiful, soft hands would look and feel like, running down his midriff, playing with the elastic of his boxers, slowly making your way down, and grasping onto his—“Boone, are you ready to head out?” you asked him when you stopped in front of him with a light hearted, excited smile plastered across your face. You had jogged over to him after he hadn’t responded to yours or Tyler’s calls, figuring he just had a lot on his mind, not at all unhappy to come closer to snap him out of it.

Truth be told, you always had a bit of a thing for Boone, his exhilarating personality always giving you so much energy, not to mention, he was amazing to look at, his moustache being one of the features you appreciate most about him.

Boone nodded his head eagerly, still star struck by you, opting to not open his mouth, as he didn’t trust himself to not say something stupid. The two of you walked side by side back towards the red ultra-modded truck the three of you would be barrelling into as soon as you reached it.

 Boone couldn’t help but fixate on how your hand wrapped around the handle of your door, watching your pretty red nails fold around the silver plastic. He couldn’t help his thoughts from wandering back to what he had been thinking of moments ago. Those hands looked so pretty wrapped around that handle, what would they look like wrapped around him? The thought got his blood pumping, the images of your delicate fingers with those decorated nails gripping his length, slowly moving up and down, overflowed his mind.

He quickly tore his eyes away from you, hopping in the truck and sitting down hastily, as not to get caught with the tent in his pants. He tried not to let his overactive imagination get him into trouble, but he was having a hard time controlling the perverted thoughts that raced through his brain. He couldn’t get the thought of it out of his head. How was he going to survive an entire day in the truck with you? At least he didn’t have to sit in the back with you… well he wasn’t supposed to until Tyler raced over to the truck with Kate, motioning Boone to the back seat so Kate could work her magic and find you the perfect storm. Boone’s heart pounded and his stomach did a few flips. Now he truly had no idea how he was going to get through the day, the urge to touch you, grab at you, and squeeze you burning in his head.

            He was right, this was torture… but he loved it. He loved seeing the excitement on your face as Tyler drove into the pelting rain, ready to see the tornado you had all been waiting for. He saw your eyes brighten and your hands shoot up to your face, your reaction to a bail of hay intercepting your path. Thankfully your driver was good at his job, as reckless as he could be, and he avoided the bail with no problems at all. Boone’s eyes were fixed on your hands as they shot to your face, still haunted by the thoughts of them all over him. He had a moment of realization, comparing how he had always thought before to how he was thinking now. Any time he had thought of hands being put to use, he always imagined his on you, not yours on him. He was always having thoughts about what his strong hands would look like wrapped around your beautiful throat, gently cutting off your air supply, making you dizzy, and sending you into a different dimension. Or how his fingers would look disappearing into your warm, wet pussy, pushing in and out, trying to draw out as many moans from you as he possibly could. God, he was so desperate to hear what you sounded like when he was worshipping your body.

--

Your chase wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, not for you as Wranglers, that is. You ran your experiment, and collected your data as planned, and had a lot of fun along the way. You had noticed Boone had been quiet all day. It had you a bit worried, he was never that way. He always had something to say or a noise to make, expressing himself constantly; you loved it about him.

Arriving at the motel, you had all gone your separate ways, having a tiring day. Yes, everything had gone to plan, but being whipped around in a tornado is exhausting none the less. You unlocked the motel room door with the key Kate had given you five minutes earlier. After bidding her a good night, you set off to relax. You closed the door and set you bag on the floor next to the bed and headed off to the bathroom to wash your face, in hopes of feeling a bit more fresh. As soon as your hands felt the chill from the water, you heard a gentle knock on your door. Curious as to who could be knocking on your door so late at night, you gazed through the peep hole, seeing the man you were always sneaking glances at. As soon as you recognized who it was, your heart skipped several beats, releasing a slight panic throughout your body. You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down and removed the only barrier that separated the two of you.

“You know, you really shouldn’t open the door for a random person in the middle of the night,” Boone quipped, raising one eyebrow, as if he knew better than you. You chuckled slightly, more preoccupied with the fact that he showed up at your door at all. “You know I could see you, right?” you ask back, gesturing to the little circle in the upper-center of the door. You step aside to let him in, assuming he has come for a reason. He steps through the threshold and stares at you as you shut the door.

 You turn around to face him, wondering why he decided to pay you a late night visit. The silence gets heavy, weighing on the both of you, as neither of you know exactly what to say. You both open your mouths, ready to speak, even if the words weren’t well thought through. You see Boone ready to speak, so you instinctively close your mouth, ready to listen to whatever he has to say. He takes a few moments to think about what he wants to say, seeing how patiently you are willing to wait for him.

His arms extend out to your waist as he steps forward, hoping you won’t mind him touching you. After everything you have unknowingly put him through today, you deserve to know how he feels. Though he had a job to do, you were so distracting that he couldn’t focus on it all day. Instead, his thoughts were filled with visions of your hands wrapped around his cock. He wished his thoughts had stopped at that, but of course he was craving more and more. With the fantasy ever evolving, he started imagining what the addition of your mouth would look like. How pretty your lips would look wrapped about his dick, even better if your lipstick matched your nails, leaving lip marks all along him. Thinking of you sucking him off while stroking whatever of his length you couldn’t fit in your mouth. The thoughts made him so frustrated, he had to come see you to do something about the rock in his pants that wouldn’t go away until it fulfilled it’s purpose: filling you to the brim. You lean into his touch, relishing in the warmth his hands brought to your waist. Looking up at him, you meet his intense gaze, you can tell he wants something more from you. And you are so happy to give it to him. “You know, pretty girl, you’ve been driving me crazy all day.” You can’t help but notice the southern drawl in his voice, heat rushing through your body, centering at your most intimate area. “Oh yeah? How so?” you ask back, half of you flattered and the other half of you genuinely curious of what it is about you that is driving him crazy so you know for the future. “Those cute little shorts you’re wearing and that gorgeous smile drive me crazy baby, but… I just can’t stop imagining what those beautiful hands can do. How beautiful would your nails look wrapped around my dick?” he asked, pulling you closer to him. You look up at him through your eyelashes, looking as innocent as ever, sending an electric shock though his body at the sight. He grabs your chin with a firm, yet loving grip. “You truly do drive me crazy darlin’, I just can’t help myself when it comes to you.” He drags your face to meet his, locking your lips in a deep and passionate kiss. “You have been torturing me all day long, you know that?” he exclaims, bringing you in for another intense kiss. “Sitting there, looking all pretty, not knowing what you’re doing to me…” he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, looking at your mouth like he is holding himself back from devouring it. “I guess I’m just going to have to show you how much you really do drive me crazy."

[oskea93]

Kansas Anymore: Drabble #1

Tyler Owens x OC

Summary: In which Riley Owens, the ex-wife of the infamous Tornado Wrangler, has 36 hours to come to terms if moving to a whole new country with their small daughter is something she truly wants to do.

Warnings: Cursing, angst

✶ Chapter One ✶ Chapter Two ✶

■ Italics = Flashback

■ A/N: So this is just a little outtake update. These drabbles will be focused in the past and will spill the tea on Tyler and Riley's relationship - good and bad. I am gonna start writing chapter three in the coming days so be on the lookout for that... And I may have another fic on the brain... Stay tuned ❤️

■ Taglist is available - just drop a comment! Would love to hear your thoughts, questions, or maybe just drop by to say hello! Can’t wait to hear from y'all

TL:  @ellesmythe  @18lkpeters @hookslove1592  @djs8891 @smoothdogsgirl @queenslandlover-93 @imjustamehbleh @love2write2626 @lt-jakeseresin @starcrossedtrek

@lauraseresin @axolotllover225 @kmc1989

“You can’t be serious right now!” My knuckles were white as my fingers curled tightly around the handle that sat above the window. “You’re gonna get us killed – fucking turn around!”

The car veered sharply around a corner, tires squealing against the asphalt. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing like a drum in my ears. The sky was pitch black, the only light coming from the dim glow of the dashboard and the constant flash of lightening high in the sky.

“Relax, I’ve got this!” Tyler’s voice was steady, but I could see the tension in his clenched jaw and the way his eyes darted to the rearview mirror as the funnel barreled closer.

“Relax? Are you kidding me?” I shouted over the roar of the engine. “We’re not in some action movie! You’re gonna get us both killed!”

He didn’t answer, just pressed harder on the gas pedal. The speedometer needle climbed higher, and I could feel the car vibrating with the effort. I glanced out the window, trees blurring into a dark smear as we raced past them.

“We can’t outrun a tornado, Tyler!” I yelled, the panic rising in my throat. “This is insane!”

Tyler glanced over, his hands reaching over, pulling the belt tighter across my chest. “Wanna bet?”

The wind howled outside, shaking the truck as if it were a toy. Debris flew past the windshield, some of it slamming against the car with loud thuds. I could barely see the road ahead; the rain was falling in sheets, and the wipers struggled to keep up.

“Tyler, please!” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it cracked with fear. “We need to find shelter, now!”

He ignored me, his eyes fixed on the road, his knuckles as white as mine on the steering wheel. The car hit a pothole, and we were jolted violently, my head smacking against the window despite the seatbelt. Pain shot through my skull, and I tasted blood.

“Damn it, Tyler!” I screamed, tears blurring my vision. “This isn’t worth it!”

In the distance, I could see the tornado’s massive funnel, an ominous silhouette against the flashes of lightning. It was like a monstrous black snake, twisting and writhing, consuming everything in its path. The sound was deafening, a constant roar that drowned out even our screaming.

“God dammit, Riley!” Tyler yelled. “I fucking got this!”

But the tornado was gaining on us, its monstrous form growing larger and more terrifying by the second. The air pressure dropped, my ears popping painfully. The car swerved again, narrowly missing a fallen tree branch.

“Tyler, we’re not gonna make it!” I sobbed, clutching the handle above the window as if it were a lifeline. My mind raced, picturing the car being lifted and tossed like a rag doll, the metal crumpling, the glass shattering. This couldn’t be how it ended.

With a final, desperate glance at the rearview mirror, Tyler seemed to make a decision. He yanked the wheel to the right, sending us skidding off the road and into a muddy field. The tires spun, struggling for traction, but Tyler kept the pedal to the metal, urging the car forward.

There wasn’t a house in sight – just an open field. I kept my eyes trained on the scene in front of us, glancing every other second to see how Tyler was reacting. His once cool and calm façade was now replaced by worry and fear – feelings that the so-called tornado wrangler never dared to show.

The car's headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the swirling chaos of wind and rain. The tornado’s monstrous form was a dark shadow against the flashes of lightning, growing larger and more menacing by the second. The air pressure dropped even further, making it hard to breathe, my ears popping painfully.

“Tyler, what are we going to do?” I cried, my voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. “There’s no place to hide!”

Tyler’s eyes darted around, searching for any sign of shelter, but the field stretched endlessly in every direction, offering no refuge. The car hit another bump, and I was thrown against the door, my heart racing faster than ever.

“Just hold on, Riley!” Tyler shouted; his voice tinged with desperation. The tires struggled to find traction in the muddy ground, the car fishtailing wildly.

I wasn’t the praying type – never having grown up going to church and all that, but at that moment I was desperate. “Please God – please God.” I whispered the words like a mantra, hoping some higher power would hear me, even if I had never believed before.

The wind howled around us, the noise deafening, as debris began to pelt the car. The windows rattled, threatening to shatter. The car lurched as it hit another rut, and I could hear Tyler cursing under his breath, fighting to keep control.

“Look!” Tyler yelled, pointing ahead. Through the sheets of rain, I could make out the faint outline of a small bridge, its weathered wood barely standing against the storm.

Tyler didn’t hesitate. He gunned the engine, aiming straight for the structure. The car bounced and jostled over the uneven ground, the structure growing larger and larger in our view. As we neared, Tyler slammed on the brakes, sending the car skidding to a halt against the side of the bridge. Without a word, we both threw open our doors and ran for cover, the wind nearly knocking us off our feet.

“Hold onto that pile!” Tyler’s voice was barely heard over the roar of the wind as I wrapped my arms around the wooden fixture. Tyler’s body hovered over mine as the rain pelted us sideways, mud and debris hitting us as the tornado approached. The red truck that Tyler treasured began to be pulled away only to be slammed back into the side of the bridge, my screams being overshadowed by the wind as nature’s force laid upon us. The wooden planks shuddered as the rusty nails began to give way, ripping off the top.

The bridge groaned and creaked, the old wood and metal straining under the sheer force of the tornado. Splinters flew through the air like missiles, and I pressed my face against the wooden pile, trying to shield myself from the onslaught. Tyler’s grip on me tightened, his body a protective barrier against the fury outside.

“We’re going to make it!” Tyler shouted, though his voice was filled with equal parts determination and fear. I held onto his words like a lifeline, my heart pounding in my chest.

The wind howled louder, and I could feel the bridge lifting slightly beneath us, threatening to be torn from its foundations. My mind raced with images of us being flung into the storm, the bridge collapsing, and Tyler’s truck being swallowed by the tornado. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying for the nightmare to end.

The noise was deafening, a relentless cacophony of wind, rain, and destruction. I felt like I was being pulled in every direction, the tornado’s force almost too much to bear. But Tyler’s presence kept me grounded, his unwavering strength giving me hope.

“Just a little longer!” Tyler yelled, his voice barely audible over the storm. “It’s almost over!”

A loud crack echoed through the air as one of the bridge’s support beams snapped, the structure shuddering violently. I tightened my grip on the pile, my knuckles white with the effort. The wind seemed to intensify, and I could feel my body being lifted slightly off the ground, the pull of the tornado almost irresistible.

And then, as suddenly as it began, the wind started to die down. The roar of the tornado faded, replaced by the steady patter of rain and the distant rumble of thunder. The pressure around us eased, and I dared to open my eyes.

The bridge was still standing, though barely. The top was partially ripped off, and debris was scattered everywhere, but we were alive. Tyler loosened his hold on me, glancing around to assess the damage.

“I think it’s moving away,” he said, his voice filled with cautious relief.

My eyes moved around, my body still shaking as tears started to prick against my eyes. The bridge was a tattered mess but for some reason we were still here – still alive. “You okay, baby?” Tyler’s hand caressed my arm, turning me to face him as he checked for any visible injuries. “Looks like everyth-“

“You stupid fucking asshole!” His body fell back at the force of my push.

Tyler's eyes widened in shock as he stumbled back, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in my demeanor. “What the hell, Riley!”

I could feel the anger boiling inside me, a mixture of fear, relief, and frustration. "You almost got us killed, Tyler! What were you thinking, driving straight into the storm like that?"

His eyes stayed connected with mine, searching for the right words but knowing they would still be wrong in my view. “Baby—” He sighed. “It’s a part of the job – tornadoes are my job.”

I stared at him, incredulous. "Your job? Your job is to drag me into life-and-death situations without even a warning? Without any regard for our safety?"

Tyler ran a hand through his hair, his face a mix of guilt and defensiveness. "I didn't expect it to get this bad. I thought we could get through it like we always do."

"Like we always do?" I echoed, my voice rising. "This isn't some routine storm chase, Tyler. This was a goddamn tornado! I could have died out there! We both could have!"

He took a step closer, his expression softening. "Riley, I know you're scared. I was scared too. But this is what I do. I study storms, I chase them. I can't just sit on the sidelines."

"But why drag me into it?" I asked, tears welling up in my eyes. "I didn't sign up for this."

Tyler took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. "Because I need you with me. You're my anchor, Riley. You keep me grounded. I thought... I thought having you there would make it easier."

I shook my head, the tears spilling over. "It's not easier, Tyler. It's terrifying. I can't go through that again."

He stayed silent for a moment, “Would this be a bad time to ask you to marry me?”

My head jerking up, meeting his gaze, “What?”

I watched as he slowly reached into his denim pocket, pulling out the diamond ring. “I’ve had it in my pocket for about a week now – lost the damn box – almost lost the fucking ring a time or two.”

The tension in the air was palpable as Tyler revealed the ring. Despite the fear and adrenaline coursing through me from the storm, my heart skipped a beat. His eyes were earnest, filled with a mix of hope and apprehension.

"Riley," he began, his voice trembling slightly. "I know this isn't the most romantic proposal, and I know I've put you through hell. But I love you. I want to spend my life with you, chasing storms or not."

I stared at the ring, sparkling even under the dim light, and then back at Tyler. The weight of the moment pressed down on me, the reality of our dangerous lives juxtaposed with the promise of a future together. It was as if the storm outside mirrored the turmoil within me.

"Tyler," I whispered, my voice breaking. "This is crazy. You’re crazy."

He nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. "Maybe I am. But I’m crazy about you, Riley."

A laugh bubbled up, mingling with my tears. Despite everything, despite the fear and the chaos, there was love. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

I took a deep breath, my hand reaching out to touch the ring. "Yes," I said, my voice steadying. "Yes, I'll marry you."

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Tyler's face lit up with joy, and he slipped the ring onto my finger. It felt strange, comforting and surreal all at once. But in that instant, surrounded by the remnants of the storm, it felt right.

Tyler pulled me into an embrace, holding me tight as if he was afraid to let go. I could feel his heart pounding against mine, a rhythm that matched my own. The storm outside seemed to quiet, as if acknowledging the significance of our moment.

"I promise," Tyler murmured into my hair, "I'll do everything I can to keep you safe. I know it's dangerous out there, but I can't imagine facing it without you."

[giuseppe-yuki]

👻 anais' halloween blurbos 👻

summary: it's well known that formula 1 was a cutthroat and and merciless sport. that's why, when murder and other shenanigans are legalized by the fia during race weekends to add a little drama in the paddock, all hell breaks loose. fans going missing, reporters being found dead, team employees writhing in pain for no apparent reason. it seemed like everyone would do most anything to win the sparkling championship trophy. luckily for a few select drivers, they have a little advantage with supernatural powers on their side.

or: supernatural!reader x driver mini oneshots (kind of purge!au (?))

warnings: mentions of death, gore, murder, hurting people, and curse words

total w.c.: 5k

picture credits from pinterest :)

I - fallen angel - yt22

II - vampire - op81

III - ghost - zg24

IV - bat!shapeshifter - pg10

V - witch - gr63

VI - hellhound!shapeshifter - cs55

a/n: a quick little project i meant to put out before halloween but i got a little sidetracked with my other fics... i'm going to pretend that it's still spooky season and totally NOT november :P

ALSO i feel obligated to say i don't condone doing anything in these blurbs irl- hurting people for any reason is NOT okay.

I - fallen angel - yt22

yuki always called you an angel. with your entrancing looks and ability to light up any room that you were in, it was hard not to compare you to an ethereal being. when you walk outside holding yuki's hand, you don't miss the stares of envious women and salicious men when the way the sun seemed to create a halo around your head, and air seemed to shimmer around you. little did he know, you were an angel. well, you used to be, until some petty arguments and pointed fingers resulted in you losing your wings and falling into the mortal world. now, you spent your life dedicated to tempt others to sin.

this worked perfectly, because while yuki focused on dominating on track and getting maximum points, you could use your full power and focus on other aspects- like making sure your boyfriend didn't get fucked over by unfair officials of the sport.

"do good out there, okay?" you say to your boyfriend, giving him a hug and a kiss on his recognizable japanese maple leaf helmet.

he smiles back at you, only visible through his flipped-up visor.

soon enough, it was lights out, and the drivers were sent on their way, throttling around the night track.

you settle in a padded chair that a starstruck engineer pulled up for you while monitoring the multiple tvs that lined the garage. most of them showed the live feeds of the drivers aggressively battling on track, using dirty racing to cut their way to the lead. you took pleasure in seeing yuki gain several positions as he overtook the battling fernando and liam. his engineers burst in rambunctious applause, but it quiets down rather quickly, notifying you that something was amiss.

you turn around to see the engineers crowded around a singular data computer. storming out of your chair, you snatch a nearby engineer's arm, roughly turning him around.

"can you tell me what just happened?" you ask with mock-sweetness, pointing your chin the whispering group of engineers that hid the computer screen from your eyes.

he gulps, knowing that you had the power to hurt him, especially with the fia's rules, and stammers out an answer, even if he knew you wouldn't like it.

"w-w-well," he stutters, "apparently, the stewards gave yuki a penalty for false start and forcing a driver off track. he'll have to- um- serve it when he comes in for a pitstop."

there's no way, you think, angrily. a false start and forcing a driver off track? what a load of bullshit. were they actually even watching the race? someone had to pay for this.

your heels clacked as you strutted through the linoleum floors of the fia building. the walls shook from the sheer forces of the cars on track barreling by, probably halfway through the race. stalking through the stale white hallways and up a flight of stairs, you finally find the room you were looking for- a dark wooden one that proudly held a silver sign that had the words 'stewards' carved into it neatly. you take a deep breath and turn on your full dazzling skills before knocking gently on the door.

an older gentleman, shirt marked with the telltale fia symbol and orange lanyard, opens the door. the perfect victim. he falters a bit when sees you, practically glowing, even in the hallway's dim lighting.

"c-c-can i help you miss?" he asks, face turning a bit red and hand instinctively reaching up to to loosen his collar. you tended to have that affect on people when you wanted to.

"yes," you drawl, purposely batting your long lashes at him. "i have a something to show you."

he shakes his head nervously, eyes glued to something that was definitely not your face. "no, no, no, i have a job to do-"

"oh, come on," you say, pouting, "it's just down the hall!"

you turn and strut down the hall, purposefully showing off your long legs, knowing that there was no doubt he would follow you out of the room. when you turn back around at the end of the hall, the steward, like you predicted, had naively followed you like a dog to a bone.

you don't even make sure that no one was close by before plunging a dagger straight into his heart. he slumps down on the ground, blood flowing out of the fatal wound. you blow him a kiss, before flouncing away back towards yuki's garage. that will teach the stewards a lesson before giving your boyfriend unfair penalties.

II - vampire - op81

when oscar met you, you seemed like a shy little thing with your timid personality and reserved smiles. he swore that you could do nothing wrong. i mean, how could you, when you were scared of such small things like sunburns or funnily enough, garlic bread? the first time he introduced you to the paddock as his girlfriend, he kept a good watch on you. if he didn't, he was so sure that they were going to eat you alive just to gain an advantage on him.

and that's also why, when he heard the news of yet another important paddock member going missing, he was so sure that it was you.

"fuck!" oscar shouts, raking a hand through his sweaty hair. "i leave to do one five minute interview and she disappears!"

ignoring the stares of the reporters and cameramen who turn in surprise to his outburst, he yanks the clip-on mic off of his fireproofs and chucks it at his interviewer's head. if he found his girlfriend dead on the floor, bleeding out, it would be this stupid interviewer's fault.

he stalks off without a word, listing potential places that his girlfriend could possibly be taken in his head.

behind him, lando skips in the shadow of oscar's steps, grinning around the rubber straw of his water bottle that was clenched between his teeth.

"you better hurry, osc!" he trills, "you know what happened to ocon's little girlfriend when she went missing- she was found-"

oscar snaps back, interrupting lando. "yes i know, she was found at the bottom of a goddamn dumpster. you don't have to remind me."

it was a fresh memory in his head. ever since the fia allowed murder, during race weekends, all hell had broke loose. vip guests dropping dead, officials found with broken necks. whoever had murdered poor ocon's girlfriend had did a great deal of damage mentally on esteban, resulting in multiple poor finishes for him during race weekends. oscar never thought it would happen to himself.

frustrated, he roughly shoves lando away from him, pointing in the direction of the red bull garage.

"why don't you go blow up max's tyre like you did in australia or something!" he shouts, clearly annoyed by lando's constant pestering.

oscar doesn't wait for a response from lando before sprinting down to the mclaren motorhome. he checks each individual door to the bathroom, kitchen, and computer rooms when he finally stumbles upon a door with a blood red liquid seeping out the bottom. a muffled thud sounds from within, and he winces automatically.

he closes his eyes, praying that you died a peaceful death, before slowly turning the silver knob of the storage closet.

to his surprise, the the grey, pale, body of otmar szafnauer thumps out into the hallway, head rolling. the side of his neck is a bloody mess, probably the source of the pool of blood now seeping into the carpet and staining the edge of his racing shoes. there, stood primly behind otmar's repulsive body, is you, without a drop of blood on your pretty pink dress. you send oscar a bashful smile, revealing your fangs covered in the cherry-red liquid.

picking up your skirts, you step over the ex-alpine team manager and carefully close the door to the rather stuffy closet you were just in. he'll probably be found by the janitor in the next 24 hours or so.

you peck a quick kiss on oscar's cheek, unknowingly getting a bit of blood on his skin.

"i got rid of otmar for you, baby," you say quietly, fiddling with your fingers. "i hope you don't mind- i heard he gave you a hard time last year."

III - ghost - zg24

you were dead. no, literally. you passed away 5 years ago- beheaded after you fell off of a high building you suppose, going off of how you could pull your head off your neck if you wanted to, and the fact that you always had phantom back pains. it worked out quite beautifully that you were dead already when the fia announced its new rule.

as opposed to the girlfriends of several other select drivers that tended to play a rather active part in gaining the best advantage for their boyfriends on track, you tended to be a little more laid back. however, one thing you could never excuse was when people talked shit about your boyfriend, zhou.

zhou grips your hand tightly in his as you both walked down through the paddock. you loved how his fashionable clothes glittered brightly under the lit lamp posts that lined the walkway. the sun had set, which meant the night race was starting soon. the crowds of fans in the paddock had somehow gotten thicker, and the hired security that zhou had gotten struggled just the tiniest bit holding the horde back.

like you always do when you get nervous, you flicker in-between your solid and ghost form. your boyfriend clocks this right away, especially since that this meant his hand, which was holding firmly holding yours, passed right through you. he stops, looking at you concerningly.

"hey, you alright?" he asks, brows furrowed. "i can-" before he can finish his sentence, an apple flies out of the crowd of fans and bounces off his shoulder, landing at the place where your translucent foot is supposed to be.

the fan that threw it begins to shout obscene remarks directed at both you and zhou, before being dragged away by security.

an anger flares through you. who did she think she was? throwing an apple at your boyfriend's head? that had to count as a murder attempt.

you flicker more rapidly between your states, to which zhou takes your hand.

"hey, it's fine," your boyfriend says, squeezing your hand comfortingly. "forget it- my security will deal with them. let's go to the garage, okay?"

you nod slowly, letting your boyfriend lead the way, but oh, you don't forget.

you wait, in your ghost form, in the metal supports of the grandstand. drifting aimlessly, you pop up here and there to scare the crap out of some random fan, when you finally spot your target. the fan from earlier tirelessly climbs the lengthy walk to the grandstands. she's decked out in alpine merch, which makes you scoff. why criticize zhou's team when the very team she was rooting for wasn't doing so well either?

you watch as she settles herself at the very top seat of the grandstand, waving her little alpine flag. what a pity. if only she wasn't so rude. when the cars roar around the corner and she stands up to cheer, it isn't hard for you to reach out your hands and push. a look of recognition registers in her face before she falls backwards off of the high-up stands. she screams, but who hears her over the loud engines as they make their way around the turn? except you, of course. she lands on the ground with a sick splat, likely breaking her back and neck the way you did when you died. you float for a moment over the carnage before floating away to your rightful spot in zhou's garage. serves her right, you suppose.

IV - bat!shapeshifter - pg10

the second pierre found out about your special "ability," he didn't hesitate to take advantage of it. sending you to spy on the other team's cars? check. going to pester the invasive reporters who only cared about spreading yet another rumor? check. monitoring around him to make sure there wasn't any people trying to attack him in the paddock? check.

you didn't mind of course- anything to help your boyfriend one step closer to his end goal. you hated seeing him coming home, again and again, dejected over the progress he's made, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he raced.

today, a night race, gave you an opportunity to give your boyfriend another chance at points. with the sky being pitch black, it made it easier to navigate around without being seen.

in the garage, under the harsh incandescent lights, engineers and alpine employees mill around, checking data and making any final adjustments to the car. before long, pierre gets the green lights to drive up to the starting spots on the track. just prior to pulling on his helmet and climbing into his shitbox of a car, he pulls you close.

"remember what we talked about, okay?" he whispers into your ear, playing it off as a tight hug.

you nod, pressing a kiss to his freshly-shaven jaw.

"of course, baby," you respond earnestly.

when the car rumbles awake and your boyfriend steers the car towards the starting grid postions, you take off running as well. taking a flying leap behind the car, you shift into your bat form and fly up, up, up, into the rapidly darkening sky.

you sit patiently on a tree branch near the track, watching carefully with your sensitive night vision. like you planned, when you spot the telltale black carbon-fiber and vibrant red bull car pull in towards the pitlanes, you dive bomb down back towards the garages. it takes a second, maybe even quicker, to find the engineers poised with the fresh tyres ready for max verstappen's pretty little rb20. you don't hesitate to sink your pointy teeth into their unprotected necks, one by one. the venom in your saliva works quick, and by the time max pulls into his pitstop spot, his pit crew all lay on the ground, incapacitated.

huh, that worked suprisingly well, you think, soaring away from the crime scene. maybe you should try that again in the next prix.

V - witch - gr63

with the fia implementing the barbarous rules at every prix at every calendar, you would think people would be more scared to come. however, it seemed like the audience doubled, if not tripled ever since the rule was announced. something about 'the thrill of it,' lewis had said when you asked him. so, like the crowds of fans lingering in the fanzones, the vips and sponsors visiting the paddock club increased significantly, eager to get a look at the track action and drama between drivers like it was some drama movie.

so, the only thing that made sense to do was to profit off of it, of course. with your magic and brewing pot at hand, you could do most anything to the pompous rich pricks who wanted nothing more than an in to the thrilling secrets of the bloodthirsty sport of formula 1.

"what are you wearing tonight, darling?" the vip asks, flaunting her massive diamond ring in your peripheral vision, obviously fishing for complements. it shined tauntingly in the colored overhead lights at the exclusive paddock club event. jazzy music and the clinking of glasses drown out the pretentious conversations of yet another pair of billionaires talking about their newest private jet acquisition or supercar purchase.

you fake a half-hearted smile at her, smoothing down your own outfit.

"i'm not really sure. i just pulled it out of my closet, i suppose."

failing to get a proper response from you, she smooths down her own glittering dress haughtily and brushes her carefully styled hair behind her ears.

"well, i'm wearing all ysl. the heels themselves cost at least 1.3k!" she exclaims, pointing to the rather painful-looking heels holding up her feet.

just then, your boyfriend appears next to you, lips wide in a smile.

"hello, darling," he says, handing you a drink from the bar. it's a small glass of margarita, coincidentally matching the one in the pompous vip's hand.

"it's not poisoned, i promise," he says to you, making you roll your eyes. the vip, hearing this, laughs.

"so exciting, isn't it? with all the fia's rules, i can't wait to finally see some more drama on track tomorrow," she says giddily, as if george wasn't in grave danger every day, on track and in the paddock because of people like her. dropping her voice down to a scandalous whisper, she continues, "i heard, some fan fell- or was pushed off the grandstands last night!" she giggles, waving her hand. "honestly though, i would probably jump too, if i had to sit in those grimy seats."

you and george both exchange looks of disgust, but she doesn't catch it as a well-dressed gentleman walks up with a grin, giving her a polite hug.

"ah! ricca, how nice to see you again! i haven't seen you since- what, our little outing to bali a month ago? wanted a little bit of racing action now huh?" he asks, swishing his whiskey on the rocks. he turns after finishing his sentence, as if just realizing you and your boyfriend's presence. his gives the both of you a demeaning look, as if you were the ones butting into the conversation instead of him. however, after a beat, his eyes grow wide, and it is obvious when it clicks in his brain where he has seen george.

"oh my!" he proclaims, clutching his chest. "you're that- that racing driver! what's your name again? lando norrin? ferdinand alonso?"

that really said a lot about the reason these socialites were here. who the fuck was ferdinand?

your boyfriend, like the kind-hearted person he was, pastes on a smile and gently corrects the man.

"er- no, sir. i'm george russell- driver for mercedes."

"as i thought," he states with no shame. he then loudly clinks his drink with the young lady, ricca's, glass, and they both down their respective liquids.

you literally could not take it anymore.

"let me take those onto the bar for you," you offer helpfully to the affluent pair. "another whiskey and margarita?"

they have the decency to thank you tipsily before shoving the empty glasses in your hand. you turn back to george, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"i'll be right back," you whisper.

squeezing through the crush of the crowd, you station yourself in an mostly empty table in the corner of the room placed next to a floor-to-ceiling window. the empty glasses in your hand clink when you set it on the table, the last dregs of the drinks swirling at the bottom of the glasses. a quick wave of your hand summons fresh ice cubes in each glass, and a practiced flick of your middle finger and thumb sends a stream of margarita and whiskey out of thin air into its respective glasses. from your pocket, you retrieve a vial of silver liquid that you brewed just about every grand prix. with a hint of nightshade, wings of a spanish fly, and ground up pearls, it made the drinker do whatever you wanted, really. after carefully pouring half into each drink, you throw the empty vial into the air, where it is promptly teleported to your vial cabinet back in george's driver room.

perfect.

before heading back, you take one last look through the glass that presented the night sky and darkened track below. the track still had streaks of black from the burnt rubber from the race only a few hours ago.

it was a wonderful sport really. it was a shame that implemented these barbaric rules that forced your hand. but if that's what you had to do for george, then you would do it.

it didn't take very long for the potion to take effect. you could tell from their slurred speech and slow movements that one could pass off as being drunk.

deciding to waste no time, you pull out your quill pen and paper out of a hidden pocket in your dress. it levitates in the air, visible to only you.

with a nod to george, you both go through the usual spiel- bank account numbers? passwords? credit card numbers?

the vips list off the information as if it is public knowledge, unknowingly allowing your quill to copy the numbers and sensitive information into your notebook.

when you are satisfied, you slip the notebook back into your pocket.

"alright, i think we're done here, georgie," you say to your boyfriend, ignoring the two figures that sway, silent, next to the two of you.

george pouts.

"aww, i was really having fun with that!" he whines.

"well," you shoot back, raising an eyebrow. "do you want to stay at this god-forsaken place where you might be stabbed by "ferdinand" alonso for no reason or do you want to go home to our comfy flat?"

he shrugs.

"i guess you have a point," he says unhappily.

taking his hand, you lead him out of the still-packed event, but not before slipping another vial of blood-red liquid into their drinks- mind-wiping serum that worked perfectly every single time, except the fact that it also had a tiny side effect of excruciating pain that lasted a few hours.

eh, they deserved it for not even knowing your boyfriend's name.

tomorrow- if they even survived- they would wake up to see their bank accounts drained. you suppose you should send them a thank-you letter next time for single-handedly sponsoring the next merc upgrades, even if they didn't know it.

VI - hellhound!shapeshifter - cs55

at this point in time, you didn't care anymore. you dared one person- a fan, an official, or opposing team member to try again to break into carlos' driver room. they never seemed to learn their lesson of how loyal and protective you were of your boyfriend. one bite with your teeth are sure to dismember an arm and one swipe of your paw could brake even the most sturdy tire drills, as demonstrated with the last haas mechanic that tried in vain to murder carlos.

it might not seem like it, the way you were curled in carlos' arms on his couch. you practically had your face buried in his red branded hoodie, half-asleep, while he scrolled mindlessly on his phone. it's so soft and comfy, you can't help let out a soft snore as you drift off.

carlos laughs, chest rumbling, patting your head with his free hand. "i thought you were supposed to be on guard, protecting me, mi amor!"

opening your eyes a tiny bit, you pull yourself even closer to carlos, reveling in the warmth of his body.

"i am on alert," you defend, but it doesn't help your case the way your voice comes out muffled from being pressed against his hoodie. "i am always list-"

footsteps.

you hear a pair of scuffled footsteps from the hallway outside of carlos' door, thanks to your exceptional hearing. it slowly drags closer and closer to the only door out of the room, a slow patter of sneaker on pavement that is only audible to you.

without wasting a second, you leap up off the couch and shift into your hellhound form, baring your sharp teeth towards the door, poised, ready to attack whatever poor soul that had decided had your boyfriend was an easy target.

behind you, carlos slides off the couch slowly, recognizing something was wrong.

a knock sounds on the door, making him flinch and eliciting a warning growl from you. however, when both you and carlos don't move an inch toward the entryway, the door slowly slides open.

you muster up all the power you have to leap straight at the attacker, making sure to aim for the neck. but before you can pounce and go for the kill, carlos roughly yanks you back by the scruff of your neck.

"woahwoahwoah," he says to you, pushing your foaming mouth away from the cowering man in the doorway. "it's fine- it's okay!"

you snap at the man once, making sure to purposely show off your canines, but back off a little into the room. if carlos said the man was safe, you wouldn't go against his words.

carlos scratches his head, briefly apologizing to what you realize was his head race engineer, riccardo adami, explaining the precautions he had to take in light of the fia's new rules.

riccardo laughs nervously, but proceeds to let carlos know that he is wanted in the media pen.

carlos holds your hand in his when you stroll down the lighted walkways of the paddock. you flounce your way past the plush couches next to the walkway and the little cafe/bar that served absolutely bomb coffee and cocktails. honestly, you missed the times before the fia's stupid fucking rule where you could drink cocktails with alex's girlfriend or gossip with yuki's girlfriend without fearing that they would poison your drinks or strangle you behind the mclaren hospitality just to help their boyfriends. you guess you still could if you really wanted to, though. maybe you'll do the poisoning and strangling if really needed.

lost in thought, you miss the fake smile the interviewer gives you before dragging your boyfriend off into the media pen.

throwing yourself onto the said couches from before, you convince yourself that he'd probably be fine, but you make sure to keep an eye out and train yourself to listen to any concerning sounds within all the chatter and crowds.

to your surprise, the interview ends quite early, and you have hardly taken a sip of your iced coffee (even though it was, like, 8pm a the track) before carlos storms out of the media pen.

"you okay?" you ask your boyfriend concerningly as you take another swig of the still-full iced coffee in your hand.

carlos huffs angrily, running a hand through his hair, before grasping your free hand to lead you back to his driver's room.

"it's fine, let's just go," he says dismissively, straight-up dragging you behind him.

you pull him to stop with your strength, and glare at him with your arms crossed.

"no! carlos sainz, you tell me what happened in there," you demand.

he rolls his eyes. "well, that stupid interviewer just kept on asking me questions about my thoughts on the missing otmar, dead steward, the fan "falling" from the stands, and all that bullshit that i said didn't want to talk about. i told her i wanted to talk about the race, but then she just responded with a question about my reaction to max's pit crew being injected with some type of venom. i was so done at that point, i just walked out."

you frown. that woman sure sounded like a bitch. honing in your hearing to find the woman through the noise in the media pen, you hear what you assume to be the interviewer mention carlos' name.

"...no, and like i felt like he was so hard to work with," she laughs.

perhaps she was talking to a friend in the media pen?

"...yeah, and he wouldn't answer any of my questions- like what am i going to put in my article? nothing?" she says incredulously. "honestly," she continues, "i hope he dies next on the grid, so it'll make it easier for the next poor reporter who has do an article on him, because then, she won't have to go through the misery of interviewing him!"

a symphony of giggles from a group follow her sentence, a few muttering their agreement.

you turn back to carlos, purposely blocking off the noise of the media pen in your ear, and give him a genuine smile. pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek, you comfort him, "i'm sorry that happened to you, baby. i'm sure it won't happen again- ever."

true to your word, you wait until carlos is proccupied with arguing with charles in the hospitality about one of the controversial on-track battles that took place earlier in the day when you make your move.

the sky is dark, throughly littered with sparkling diamonds, when you pad through the mostly-empty paddock towards the media pen. several fans and officials, seeing your demonic form, scamper out of the way in an effort to avoid your wrath.

you spot your target with your sharp eyesight immediately, walking wobbly in her high heels with a clipboard in one hand. several of her reporter friends huddle next to her, their laughs echoing through the darkened paddock.

time to enact your plan.

stopping a meter behind them, you use your sharp claws to draw a circle on the ground. with three taps of your paw and a breath of fire into the middle, the pavement slides away to reveal a portal into a fiery pit. you're not too sure where it leads, but you don't really plan on finding out either.

silently scampering over to the group, you clamp your jaws down the legs of one of the people that you heard agreeing with the interviewer. you ignore the group's screams before roughly dragging the woman towards the pit. she falls, and it's not long before her yells are covered up in the rumble of the flames.

even when the group scatters in different ways, it doesn't take long with your supernatural speed to catch up to them and drag each person into the pit. you purposely save the main interviewer for last.

when she lies at the edge of the pit, arm bleeding profusely from the wounds from your teeth, you shift back into your human form.

"don't fucking talk shit about my boyfriend ever again," you snarl.

with a shove from your arm, she falls backwards into the deep fire pit with the rest of her "friends."

if carlos was hard to work with, you bet whatever demons down there were so much more harder to work with. oh well, that was her problem.

[crappymixtape]

🌾 tyler owens masterlist

hi, lovely. welcome to my tyler owens masterlist! everything is organized below, so please browse the shelves and find what you're looking for. if you can't find it, please don't hesitate to message me or search by tag ( i've tagged it all accordingly by content: smut, fluff, angst, etc – and length: series or not, etc ) ♥️ kate

( LONGER / SERIALIZED OR MULTI–PART FICS, NOTED IF COMPLETE OR IN–PROGRESS, STEVE x YOU // mature content marked appropriately )

🌪 HANG ON TIGHT, BABY – IN-PROGRESS ( potential for more! ) main fic -> ( part 1 ) ( part 2 ) ( part 3 )

favored to win in barrel racing for the upcoming rodeo, you’re out in the corral practicing when your obnoxious neighbor, tyler owens, swings by to say hi, but when the wind picks up you both won’t have a choice but to trust each other • 18+  | ( 3.0k – TW: natural disasters, tornado, injuries • witty banter as foreplay, fluff in their own way, enemies to idiots in love, tyler owens x reader )

( SMALLER, ONE-SHOTS / BLURBS / REQUESTS / HEAD CANONS, STEVE x YOU // mature content marked appropriately )

TO COME !