#Give me those old men right now
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These writers really don't give a shit about Storm after all, huh
#x men 97#x men storm#I knew all the way back when it was revealed that pt 1 of Lifedeath was getting reduced for the sake of a Mojo ep#that Storm was getting done dirty#but this is just crazy#they showed us a fraction of how powerful she was in Lifedeath pt 2#only to have her get knocked out the sky#then show her at Bastion's mercy as if she can't just zap him right there cuz she tied up#jean and mags both get moments to show off their power#Storm gets to struggle to lift up a space rock with Jean#and now Storm doesn't even show up again in a future/past timeline#what in the fuck#and don't talk to me bout no Logan and Morph!#those two have been getting all the little moments this season and constant screentime#Storm got a halfassed attempt at a Lifedeath adaption#and then back to the same old same old with her playing the part of everyone's Mammy#she gets to be team leader once and only gives out an order once!!!#can't even have her be the one to pull a Steven Universe on Bastion despite setting it up last episode!!!!!!!#storm deserved better
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Sharing a bed with kny men
Pairings: Yoriichi x fem!reader; Sanemi x fem!reader
Word Count: 5,7k (lmao)
Warnings: injury in Yoriichi's part, smut in Sanemi's part so read if you're 18+, this is a long ass fic y'all, not proofread
This is actually my first time posting Sanemi smut and I'm super scared. Let me know what you think 🥹🤍
Also, do you want me to do other characters too?🫶
Yoriichi
I heard you @laurencrsnt 🫶
All your life, you never even thought about the possibility that maybe, you’ll encounter a demon someday. Why you, out of all people? Why especially you?
Even now with its cold eyes glaring down at you and your shoulder ripped open by its claws, you fail to find an answer for that. Is it your fate to die right here, when you only went out at night in order to buy medicine for your little sister who has fever? Is dying the cruelest death really your destiny when you wish for nothing more than growing old and watching your own children live their lives?
It’s unfair.
You shouldn’t lay here, crumpled onto the still wet street. You shouldn’t feel the sensation of your eyes watering, your hands trembling, your heart racing.
This shouldn’t be your last day walking on this earth. You didn’t even have the chance to find the man of your dreams yet…
It’s ridiculous and you know it, that spark of determination that rushes through your bones. All of the sudden you spring back onto your feet and start running. Out of the city, away from the lit streets straight into the dark woods.
Even if you have to die here, you won’t give up this easily. You won’t allow this demon to end your life without putting up a fight.
“Why do you girls always think you can run away, huh? It’s too easy to sweep you off your feet”, the demon behind you comments dryly.
With a swift motion of his hand, it digs open your tender flesh all over again, sends your violent scream echoing through the lonely forest. You fall to the ground like a bag of rice, your torn leg now refusing its service completely.
“Let me go!”, you shriek in horror.
No, you don’t want to die here, you just want to go back to bed and forget about this.
But the forest ground isn’t your bed and the demon in front of you who’s ready to slice through your throat isn’t only a nightmare.
Your heart sinks to the floor, body suddenly feeling numb and lifeless. You will die here.
“I’ll keep you in good memory. Well, at least for tonight”, the demon jeers at you.
You close your eyes, desperately try to imagine your little sister. She’ll find herself a loving husband and her very own family without any doubt. Even without you around, her life will turn out alright. Even without you around, life goes on. You don’t have to feel sad or guilty, you just have to let go…
“Get away from that woman.”
A low male voice, so charismatic that you think you might dream. He sure must be handsome. Men with voices like that always have a matching face.
A slicing blade, a dull thud. But no claws that dig into your flesh one last time, no bow of relief that you’ve been awaiting for quite some time by now. Your eyelids start shivering. When is this finally over?
“Are you alright? Please allow me to help you up.”
The second something touches your skin, your eyes snap open in an instant. But they aren’t greeted by those venomous red orbs from earlier. No, these ones are soft but strong and have that calming fuchsia color. This isn’t a demon.
This is a man.
“Don’t be afraid. The demon is gone”, he continues speaking with his low voice.
You have no control over your own body and shivering limbs. It’s impossible for you to say a single word. Are you really out of danger? Is it really over?
When he pulls you off the ground, a violent scream escapes your lips. No, you don’t want to die, you don’t want your life to end tonight. Not like this, not without saying goodbye.
“Please calm down, everything is alright now”, the stranger tries to reassure you, but his words don’t even reach your ringing ears.
You gasp for air like a fish on land, forehead now covered in ice cold sweat. This can’t be your end.
If Yoriichi doesn’t act now, you might faint due to your stress. But what is he supposed to do? You don’t seem to listen to his words and touching you might only make it worse. Maybe you need, assurance?
“I won’t hurt you, see? My hands have no intention of doing you any harm.”
Gently, he glides his fingertips up and down your uninjured harm. Despite the look of horror on your face and your gaping wounds, you do have a lovely face and truly remarkable eyes.
“I came here to help you”, he continues until his fingertips finally brush over your tear-soaked face.
What is this feeling of warmth deep inside his chest? You aren’t the first woman he saved from the claws of a demon.
“I would like to accompany you on your way back home-“
“No”, you suddenly blurt out.
Even though lying in bed on your own was all you were able to think about just a few moments ago, the thought feels like a threat now. What if another demon follows you back home? What if your little sister gets attacked because of your foolishness? No, you simply can’t go back now. But on the other hand…Just the thought of sleeping alone here in the woods runs shivers down your spine.
“I…I’ll find a place to stay. Otherwise…they might harm my sister…”, you mutter.
“Allow me to escort you to my estate, then.”
You yank your head to the side in sheer disbelief, eyes searching for a spark of humor in his calming orbs. Is he really serious about that? After all, you’re a stranger. He doesn’t even know your name. Now that you think of it…who is this?
“How can I know for sure that you aren’t a demon yourself?”
“Take my hand”, he instructs you gently.
Is this really a good idea? You take a deep breath in, try to calm down your pounding heart. What do you have to lose?
When your shaky fingers wrap themselves around his much larger hand, you get ingulfed by warmth. His palms feel rough but also comforting against your bruised skin.
“Demons are cold since they are dead”, he explains briefly.
“But I am not. I am a demon slayer. It is my only destiny to safe innocent souls from their death.”
Oh. Your gaze drifts towards a katana that hangs dangles from his belt. No, demon don’t find with those weapons. So, are those words really true?
“You…You want to help me?”
“I’d love to help you if you allow me to.”
What has gotten into him? Did he really offer you to hold his hand, let alone to sleep at his house so you don’t have to fear the night on your own? Never in his life, Yoriichi allowed himself to develop feelings apart from empathy for those around him.
But those eyes. Those eyes of yours really captivate him, devour him fully. How is he supposed to leave you out here, soaked in your own blood with bruises all over your body?
“You…really would?”
Is this really okay? When you were a child, your mother told you over and over that you aren’t allowed to talk to strangers, let alone man.
But…does that also include the handsome, charismatic and armored ones?
“I keep my word. Also, your wounds need care as well. Please, allow me to help you.”
What do you have to lose.
“If that’s the case, I’d love to take your offer”, you reply shyly.
“I’m glad to hear that. I will show you the way-“
A loud groan escapes your lips before you’re able to stop it. His charismatic eyes almost made you forget about the gaping wound the monster from before inflicted on you.
Almost.
“You shouldn’t move your leg with a wound like that. I will carry you to my estate.”
“You will…carry me?”, you mutter with widened eyes.
But just when you try to take a step forward, his words become painfully clear. No, there really is no way you’ll be able to walk anywhere with that leg. But allowing him to carry you?
“I might be a little heavy.”
“Let me assure you, you aren’t heavy at all.”
“Fine…”, you grumble.
“But only a few meters.”
Gently, he stranger wraps his arms around your shoulder and knees before he starts walking.
He smells good. Like a field of flowers on a sunny day. And the way his heart beats against your cheek reminds you that you’re still alive, that you survived somehow.
This man saved you.
“I didn’t even thank you.”
“There’s no need to thank me. This is the least I can do for you after I almost came too late.”
He stares blankly at the blood that still drips from your leg. Just a few seconds later and that demon would have killed you with him simply watching. Why? Why is he not able to save them all, why is he still not good enough to stop this madness?
“Don’t tense up, don’t think anything less of yourself because I was injured. I was a fool for leaving the house this late at night on my own.”
Despite the fact that cold sweat still runs down your forehead and even though your fingertips still shake in shock, you cup his cheek and force his troubled eyes to look at you.
“I am beyond thankful for my rescue. The worst thing about dying today would have been leaving my little sister behind. But you saved me. And not only that, you even offered me a safe place to stay for the night. I really don’t know if…If I’d be able to sleep on my own tonight…”
The stranger doesn’t say a word, his eyes roaming around your face without a real aim.
���Oh, I didn’t even ask. What’s your name?”
“My name is not important-“
“I’m (y/n)”, you introduce yourself friendly.
“My…my name is Yoriichi”, the man carrying you mumbles.
Yoriichi. An unusual name that you’ve never heard before.
“That name suits you well.”
“We’ll arrive soon. I hope you don’t expect a big mansion since I am living in a rather small cottage-“
“I’m living in a tiny barrack in the city. A house in the woods sounds like a dream”, you mutter.
The second you open your eyes again, you find yourself in a wooden cabin with a plain futon lying on the floor and an improvised kitchen in the back of the house. Nothing special, very fitting for the man who gently lowers you onto the futon.
“I will take care of your wounds now”, he announces before taking off his haori and katana.
Without his threatful weapon dangling from his belt, he looks like a normal man.
If it wasn’t for those captivating eyes. He has to be the most breathtaking man you’ve ever seen.
“Fortunately, the cut on your leg isn’t deep. I’ll disinfect the wound and bandage it”, he explains briefly before his skilled hands spring into action.
“You really are good at everything”, you comment.
He’s so gentle that even the alcohol that disinfects your wound doesn’t seem to burn. Why have you never stumbled across him? You were so sure that you know each and every man around that it almost drove you insane. But him? He’s different from all the others. He’s truly special.
“You will have to take your kimono off. I need access to the wound on your shoulder.”
Oh.
“Y-yeah, sure…”
Hesitantly, you pull the blood-soaked fabric down your shoulder so that only your chest is still covered. Yoriichi’s eyes seem to gleam in the moonlight like liquid metal.
“You look lovely”, he flusters into the night.
He doesn’t know what has gotten into him. Is it the alcohol rising up his nose, the smell of blood that radiates from your bruised body that makes him say those strange things?
No. It has to be because of those eyes of yours. Those eyes that captivated him from the moment he first saw them.
"Thank you," you stammer, your cheeks flushing as you nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
"You too," you add quickly, immediately regretting your awkward response.
Both you and Yoriichi swallow hard, the atmosphere in the room suddenly changing.
“I am finished. You should rest for tonight. After all, this was a draining fight for you”, he mutters while getting up.
You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, heart still hammering so roughly against your ribcage that you’re almost sure he’s able to hear it. What was this tension?
“But…this is your futon-“
“You are my guest. Of course, I will sleep on the floor on the other side of the room.”
Oh. A wave of disappointment rushes over you before you’re able to stop it. What were you expecting, secretly hoping? That this man will share a bed with you?
Honestly, yes.
“You…you really don’t have to…”
Oh, how much Yoriichi wished he wouldn’t have to.
“I insist on taking the floor.”
“I actually want you to sleep by my side. Please.”
The begging tone in your voice stops him mid-track.
“This night was…horrible. A little company would definitely help, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all”, he replies a little too hasty.
“I just don’t want to invade your personal space. After all, I’m a stranger.”
“A really kind stranger”, you add shyly.
Are you acting out of line? You shouldn’t push him to sleep next to you when his offer to let you sleep here is already generous enough, right?
“Forget my question, I was acting out of line-“
“No, not at all. I would love sleeping besides you.”
He crosses the room in an instant and kneels down next to you.
“But let me know whenever I become too much.”
What a ridiculous thought. Why would he ever become too much? Him, your savior, that remarkable man.
You scoot over until your back is pressed against the cool wall, eyes still fixated on his gleaming eyes. Will you really be able to sleep tonight when this is the first time ever a man lies beside you?
And what a handsome one on top.
“You should try to sleep now. Nothing will happen to you as long as I am here”, he reassures you.
That is the least he can do after failing to protect you in the first place.
“Again, thank you for all of this. I definitely own you a favor”, you mumble.
Suddenly your lids start to get heavy, your mind slows down bit by bit. Maybe this rough night really took its toll on you. Is It the safety he radiates, his calming smell? In the matter of seconds, only your low and even breath is heard.
Finally, Yoriichi is able to allow himself a closer look at you. You look so peaceful and innocent with a face so remarkably beautiful that he can’t stop staring. You have to be the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. A man like him really doesn’t deserve lying next to a woman like you. Maybe he should give you space, leave you now that you fell asleep-
With a quiet groan, you draw closer to him in your sleep until your head rests on top of his chest and with your arms wrapped around his upper body.
He doesn’t dare to move an inch, eyes widen in utter surprise. Is this…cuddling? His mind races back and forth, eyes resting on your calm features. What is he supposed to do now?
Hesitantly, he allows his hand to rest on your back. What an unknown sensation, all those feelings that rise up his chest right where your hand rests.
For the first time since forever, he is the one who feels safe.
He is the one who feels loved.
He is the one who feels warm.
And you? You cuddle yourself against him until the sun rises all over again.
Sanemi Shinazugawa
This one's for you @muichirolover14 🤍
“This is bullshit”, the man walking next to you mumbles under his breath.
“Keep focused. It was Kagaya-sama’s personal wish that the two of us go on this mission together”, you mumble with a fake smile decorating your bright red lips.
And that’s the only reason why you agreed in the first place. Why else would you pretend to be Sanemi Shinazugawa’s personal concubine if it wasn’t for Kagaya-sama and this undercover mission?
The plan is pretty simple. Countless people, including other demon slayers, lost their lives in this little innocent village that becomes a red-light district at night. Nobody knows why or who is responsible for this.
One of the upper moons, maybe.
It just made sense to dress you up as a concubine. After all, you are the light hashira, a mighty swordswoman and probably the most talented out of Mitsuri and Shinobu when it comes to acting.
And then there’s him. You glance at Sanemi’s annoyed face from the side. Why on earth did Kagaya-sama choose him? What about Rengoku, Giyu, Obanai, Tengen, Gyomei? Aren’t they a way better fit?
You sign to yourself.
Truth is, they aren’t. While Rengoku, Obanai, Tengen and Gyomei would stand out immediately, Giyu would never be able to sell you as his concubine. No, no one except the wind hashira is able to make this look natural.
No one but him looks this good in a dark green kimono.
What?
“Stop staring at me like that, brat”, he hisses through gritted teeth.
“I was just hoping you might disappear if I stare long enough, idiot”, you bite back in frustration.
Why does he always have to be so mean, though? You really tried to get along with him countless times, put on the most precious smile whenever you talked to him and made sure to always bring him ohagi whenever you had the chance to. But Sanemi Shinazugawa never stopped hating you. And eventually, a part of you started to dislike him as well. That one part though…
You allow your eyes a minor glimpse at his barely exposed chest. That tiny part deep within your head is somehow still drawn to him. And you hate it.
“Aren’t concubines supposed to shut up?”
“Watch your mouth or I’ll leave immediately.”
“Both of us know you wouldn’t do that.”
You let out your shaky breath, your hand crushing his while you wear the same friendly smile as before.
“Don’t mess with me, Shinazugawa”, you speak out with low voice.
His face tenses up ever so slightly, hand fighting for freedom out of your merciless grasp.
“You’ll regret talking to me like that when we’re alone, brat.”
-at the estate-
“I’d like to show you to my newest possession. Please introduce yourself”, Sanemi speaks out.
Like Amane-sama showed you, you bow in front of the man that looks you up and down with his filthy eyes.
“My name is Kiyomi”, you introduce yourself oh so sweetly.
“That name really suits you. What a beauty you are. I’m sure I’d find a lot of paying customers for you here”, the disgusting man purrs and stretches out his hand in order to touch your face.
“Don’t touch the goods”, Sanemi barks at him immediately before slapping his dirty hand away.
Who does this guy think he is, trying to touch you so casually? No. That jerk isn’t allowed to caress your face. The plain thought of men like him getting to put their hands on you…
Sanemi’s guts turn.
“Aren’t you here to sell her and yourself for the night? If that’s the case, she won’t be your good anymore for the next few hours but mine.”
He smiles at you through rotten teeth, his breath almost forcing you to choke. You are only here to detect the demon who is responsible for the countless deaths in this area. You don’t have to touch any of these men. None of them will touch you.
What about Sanemi, though? An uneasy feeling rises up your chest when your eye catches a group of women who stare him up and down with lust in their eyes. Will he allow himself a taste before continuing with this mission? Will he find a woman he is attracted to? All of them look flawless, too good to even consider the service of a paid men. But if that man looks like Sanemi…
“You will find your room to the right. This is where the female customers choose their good. After paying, you belong to them”, the man explains briefly while showing both of you around.
“Why would these women pay for the services of a man? This is a noble region that is well-inhabited by countless men”, you blurt out.
“It’s not about them being men. It’s about looks. Only the fine-looking men even get the chance to work here for the night”, he explains briefly.
Fine-looking man, huh? Well, there is no doubt in the fact that Sanemi suits that description way too good. With his firm muscles highlighted by scars from countless battles, he looks like a walking god. Let alone his perfect face, his eyes that now look soft and seducing without being irritated constantly. His white hair that frames his features perfectly.
“As for the women, we look for a broad variety of bodies, looks and personalities. You are very easy on the eye and mysterious. I’m sure countless customers will fall for that.”
“And what…what services do they expect?”
The man in front of you bursts out in hysteric laughter, you can feel Sanemi’s eyes piercing through your skull.
“What they expect? Intercourse and everything that revolves around it, of course! Do you think they pay you for some cuddles and nice words?”
You swallow hard. There is no need to do that, right? You’ll somehow shrug them off and investigate this place at night. Maybe you’ll find the demon right away and-
“Now, you are a fine-looking man. Who is this?”, a woman suddenly purrs out of the shadows.
“A new worker for the night”, the disgusting man explains with a dirty smile.
“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll definitely make a reservation.”
“It would be an honor, my lady”, suddenly replies in the same cheeky tone
Your guts turn in an instant, eyes narrowing slightly as you watch how a smile forms itself on Sanemi’s usual resting lips.
“What a gentleman he is. I cannot wait to meet you.”
“The honor is on my side, my lady.”
And then he steps in front of her. Elegantly, he grabs the hand she already holds out and kisses her knuckles. Your heartrate quickens, the warm flush that starts creeping up your face barely covered by your makeup.
Fucking asshole. So he’s acting like a jerk towards you all this time while treating other women like this? You hate the knot that forms itself in your throat, the disgusting feeling of disappointment that rushes over you.
Does he really hate you this much?
“Well, I think I should introduce myself to the customers as well. Have a pleasant night, Sir”, your monotone voice speaks out on its own.
With one last bow towards him, you follow the man into the women’s corridor without even gifting him a single look. Sanemi can’t help but furrow his eyebrows at your sudden reaction. Did you really want to get rid of him so badly? Maybe you’ll actually meet up with some of those guys and…
“Are you interested-“
“I will meet up with you later this evening, my lady. Please excuse me.”
Without another look or word, he storms into his assigned room and closes the door behind him.
Sanemi’s mind starts going insane. What if you actually like one of those guys? Or what if one of them hurts you, tries to force you into something you don’t want? He heard the worst stuff about places like this.
Fuck, he shouldn’t have let you go in the first place. Why you? This mission is way too dangerous for someone like you, for someone this gorgeous-
“I’m losing my fucking mind”, he mutters through gritted teeth.
“I can’t do this”, you breathe out in sheer panic while lying in bed.
No, just the thought of Sanemi having the fun of his life with that girl from earlier feels like ripping your beating heart out of your chest. Will he really share a bed with them?
If it’s for the mission, he definitely would. Nothing is greater than his urge to kill demons, especially when it comes to an upper ranked one. That little sacrifice wouldn’t stop him.
And it breaks your dumb heart.
A hard knock on the door rips you out of your running thoughts. Is this your first customer? All color drains from your face, eyes widen in horror with every bow against the wooden door.
“Just a moment”, your shaky voice shouts.
You…Do you have to look presentable? You have to think about the things you can tell him. Maybe you don’t even have to sleep with him, maybe this will distract you from the things Sanemi is probably doing right now.
You open the door.
And stare straight into the furious eyes of Sanemi Shinazugawa.
Before you’re even able to react, he pushes himself into your room and closes the door behind him before yanking you against the wall.
“What did you do?”, he hisses through gritted teeth.
Your heart starts hammering roughly against your ribcage. Him? Here?
“What the hell are you doing he-“
“Answer my question right now!”, he barks into your face.
“I didn’t do anything!”, you shriek.
“What the hell has gotten into you!?”
“Has somebody touched you?”
His rough hands start running up and down your neck, yank the sleeves of your kimono upwards in a haste.
“What?”, you breathe out.
What the hell is going on? Just when you managed to pull your arm away from him, he grabs your wrist again with his face only inches away from yours.
“Did somebody touch you?”, he screams into your face.
“No!”, you cry back.
“But why would you even care? It looked like you had plenty of fun!”
He shakes his head while looking at you in utter surprise and confusion.
“What non-sense are you talking now-“
“Did you sleep with that woman from earlier when I was gone?”
God, you hate the way your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, you hate the way your eyes fill with hot tears. He came here to confront you with all those accusations while he was out there having the time of his life, while all you were able to think about is him?
“No, I didn’t sleep with anyone!”
“Stop lying to me!”
“You’re the only one I want!”, he suddenly blurts out breathlessly.
“What?”, you utter in hushed panic.
This has to be a cruel joke, an unforgiving way to stop you from doing anything. Sanemi Shinazugawa, wanting you?
“Since I first saw you with your fucking perfect face and so melodic voice, I can’t think about anything else! You, sleeping with some random guy while I’m just a few doors away. I can’t take it!”
He grabs your head with both hands, eyes staring at you so intensely that you feel like collapsing any minute. If that’s really true, if that’s really how he feels…
“But…I want you too”, you squirm.
“I always wanted you, Sanemi.”
His lips crash against yours with so much power that you almost fall over. Suddenly his hands are all over your body, tongue unforgiving as he discovers your mouth with a passion you’ve never felt before. You allow your very own hands to finally discover the deep valleys of his muscular back, to let your hasty fingertips wander over his tight chest.
It becomes unbearable. Everything starts to become unbearable. That minor gap between your bodies, the clothes that still deny you full access to his naked skin, the feeling of not having enough.
“I need more”, you whimper against his lips, not even knowing what exactly you’re asking about.
Sanemi lifts you up with ease, not even breaking the kiss when he pushes you onto the bed with his massive body lingering on top of you.
You feel like suffocating in the most exquisite way.
“I’ll give you whatever you want”, he breathes against your lips that now find your neck.
A whimper escapes your mouth before you can stop his, body rearing up underneath him.
“S-Sanemi!”
“Fuck”, he hisses before his dark eyes meet you again in distress.
“Tell me you want this.”
“I…what?”
You can’t produce a single logical sound, head still spinning from the unknown sensation that starts building up inside your stomach. Is this what desire feels like?
“Tell me you want this too. Tell me you want me.”
“I wanted you all this time”, you reply without thinking twice.
With a swift motion, you find yourself engulfed by his arms with his lips caressing yours all over again. Like in trance, you begin opening his kimono, expose his bare skin to your merciless eyes.
“You look so shamelessly good”, you whimper.
Oh, how often you pondered about how his chest feels like, if his scars are soft or as rough as his walls.
“Can I…?”
His hands grab the ends of your kimono, eyes staring down at you flustered. Is that blush creeping up his cheeks?
“It’s just…You know…I’ve never done this before…”, you stammer.
“Do I look like I did, idiot?”, he mutters while gently taking off your kimono until you lay underneath him.
Completely naked.
“I mean, yes…”
“No, I didn’t”, he barks.
“I guess I waited for someone special…”
“I did as well”, you reply in an instant.
Is this real or are you dreaming? Sanemi Shinazugawa laying on top of you fully nude. Sanemi Shinazugawa stating that he likes you. Sanemi Shinazugawa’s hand that start moving downwards…
Until he reaches between your legs and simply takes your breath away.
“Are you okay?”, he mutters, eyes filled with worry.
You nod absently, eyes rolling back into your skull. God, this feels like heaven. When a groan escapes his lips, you completely lose yourself. Out of instinct, you grab his neck and yank him even closer towards you, your hot breath clashing against his face.
“Sanemi!”
His name sounds like a prayer coming from your mouth, forces his fingers to move even faster. Is this good? Is he doing everything alright? Your whimpers grow louder and louder, nails digging into his now oversensitive skin with so much pressure that it threatens to burst. You look so gorgeous with your eyes pressed shut, your delicate mouth forming an “o”.
And then you burst right underneath him, scream his name over and over again with your legs shaking. He can’t wait no longer, can’t contain himself another second.
“I need you”, he mutters.
“Please, let me have you.”
“Yes”, you breathe out, mind still spinning when the firework that just exploded in your lower body slowly starts wearing off.
Until you feel him all over again. But this time, not his fingers. Your glossy eyes widen in utter surprise when he carefully stretches you out and disappears inside of you, hands holding onto him for dear life.
“Are you okay?”, he whimpers.
“Please…give me…more…”
He almost loses his mind, the new sensation almost eating him up alive. Countless nights, he dreamed about what it might be like to have you, what it would feel like. But the reality is so much better than any dream.
Sanemi picks up his pace and grabs your waist passionately in order to keep you in place. Over and over, again and again your sticky skin collides with his until he threatens to burst.
“You’re mine”, he presses out through gritted teeth while pounding into you.
“I’m all yours, Sanemi!”, you cry out, nails now leaving marks on his skin.
“I need…ah! I need you! Please!”
He knows exactly what you’re asking for. One last time, he picks up the pace while holding onto you for dear life.
Until finally, you scream his name. Finally, he’s able to let it all go.
“(y/n)!”
He collapses on top of you, his weight leaving you dizzy and unable to move. None of you dares to make a move, the only thing that’s filling the room being your shaky and sharp breaths.
“I love you, (y/n)”, Sanemi finally mutters, his hand caressing your cheek oh so gently.
“I love you too-“
“Mission report, mission report! Kagaya-sama requires a mission re- AH!”
“Get out of here right now!”, Sanemi barks at the crow that casually entered the room.
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?”
“Get out!”, Sanemi screams on top of his lungs before yanking up and hunting the crow butt-naked through the room
Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld
@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake
@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345
@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp
@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt
#Kny#kny x reader#kny fanfic#kny yoriichi#kny sanemi#kny fluff#kny smut#Demon slayer#demon slayer x y/n#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer x you#demon slayer x female reader#demon slayer fanfic#demon slayer smut#kimetsu yoriichi#yoriichi tsugikuni#demon slayer yoriichi#yoriichi x reader#yoriichi x you#yoriichi fluff#sanemi#sanemi shinazugawa#sanemi shinaguzawa#demon slayer sanemi#sanemi x reader#sanemi x y/n#sanemi x you#sanemi smut#sanemi fluff#demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba
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La Regina
Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics
Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader
Summary: a girl raised at her father’s knee goes from rising star to princess to queen (or in which becoming a legend runs in the Schumacher family)
You bounce excitedly in the passenger seat of your papa’s car as he pulls into the parking lot of the karting track. At 5-years-old, you’re too young to race officially, but he promised to let you drive some practice laps after the scheduled competition today.
“Remember, Maus, listen closely to the instructors and stay safe out there,” Michael says, ruffling your hair affectionately before getting out.
You scramble out after him, having to jog to keep up with his long strides across the parking lot. You reach to take his hand, but freeze when a small crowd starts converging around your papa. Men in bright vests are rushing over, cameras flashing rapidly.
“Whoa, what’s going on?” You ask, startled by the commotion.
Before Michael can respond, a curly-haired woman thrusts a baby into his arms. “Oh my god, can you just hold her for one second? I need a picture!”
Your papa looks bewildered but graciously cradles the infant, giving an awkward smile as more and more people start shoving pieces of paper and pens in front of him.
“Excuse me, please, I have my daughter with me today,” he tries saying over the chaos, but no one is listening.
You shrink back, overwhelmed by the pushing crowd and flurry of voices pleading for autographs and photos. Where did all these people come from? This has never happened before when you’ve gone karting with your papa.
Sensing your unease, Michael gently passes the baby back to its mother and kneels down in front of you. “Hey, it’s okay, Maus. Why don’t you wait for me over there?” He gestures to a bench off to the side.
Part of you wants to cling to him, scared of all the strangers crowding around so aggressively. But you also don’t want him to have to worry about you on top of everything else. You nod bravely and make your way through the throng to the little bench, watching apprehensively as your papa tries politely handling the requests.
After what feels like forever, the crowd finally starts dispersing, though a few linger behind like stubborn cats begging for scraps. Michael shakes the last few hands and accepts some papers to sign before gratefully escaping over to you.
“I’m so sorry about that, Maus,” he says, looking apologetic as he plops down on the bench. “I didn’t expect such a scene on what’s supposed to be our fun day.”
“It’s okay, Papa.” You lean against his side, still a bit rattled but comforted by his familiar warmth. “Who were all those people? Why did they want your … uhh …“ You can’t quite remember the word for the scribbles people ask famous people for.
“Autographs,” Michael supplies with an amused chuckle, wrapping an arm around you. “And they wanted photos too, I suppose. I’m … well, I’m quite a famous racecar driver.”
You cock your head, trying to process this concept of your papa being some kind of celebrity. As far as you’re concerned, he’s just your goofy, loving dad who takes you karting and makes the silliest voices for all your stuffed animals at home.
“Really? Like the famous famous people on TV?” You’ve seen the paparazzi swarming the actors and musicians during awards shows, but you’d never imagined that could happen to your own papa.
Michael nods, drawing you closer with a squeeze. “Yes, somewhat like that, though it’s a bit excessive at a small karting event.” He laughs again and brushes some of your wayward hair from your face. “But you’re right, to you I’m just Papa. I don’t expect anything more from my favorite Maus.”
You beam at the affectionate nickname, all the earlier stress melting away. Who cares if strangers want your papa’s autograph or photos? All that matters is you two spending the day together like always.
“Can we go get our karts now?” You ask eagerly, bouncing a little on the bench. “I want to show you how fast I can go!”
“Of course!” Michael jumps up and scoops you into his arms with a playful growl, making you shriek giddily. “My little speed demon is going to leave me in the dust.”
He swings you up onto his shoulders and you cling on tightly as he strides toward the pit area. A few more people spot him and make a move closer with cameras and sharpies extended, but seem to think better of it when they see you perched up high.
The two of you spend the next couple hours karting together, trading places taking warm up laps and cheering each other on. At one point, a young attendant working the pit area approaches Michael somewhat nervously.
“Um, excuse me, Mr. Schumacher?” He’s clutching a crumpled baseball cap in one hand, ducking his head shyly. “I’m just such a huge fan, would you mind taking a photo and signing this for me after your session?”
Your papa smiles kindly at the young man and takes the cap. “Not at all, no problem.” As the attendant walks away, looking elated, Michael turns to you with a wink. “See? That’s how you politely ask for an autograph.”
You giggle and mime zipping your lips. “Don’t worry, Papa, I won’t let the fame go to my head when I’m a famous racecar driver too someday.”
Scooping you up once more, Michael presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “That’s my girl. Now, last few laps — let’s see who can go the fastest without ending up in the grass!”
As evening starts falling, the two of you make your way back through the now nearly deserted lot after returning the rental karts. Most of the other karters have cleared out, leaving just you two strolling unhurriedly back to the car.
“Well Maus, despite the, uh, overexcited fans, I’d call this day a success,” Michael says, swinging your joined hands idly. “We both had our fun on the track, and I think you handled that crowd back there like a champ.”
You smile up at him, still so proud just to be his daughter. “I don’t care about all those other people, papa. As long as I have you, that’s all I need.”
Stopping beside the car, Michael crouches down and cups your face in his calloused racing palms, looking at you with such fierce adoration.
“Maus, you have me, always. No matter what happens out there,” he gestures vaguely at the empty track, “When I’m with you, I’m just Papa. My greatest accomplishment, my biggest award, is being your father. Verstanden?”
You launch yourself into his arms, hugging as tightly as you can. “Verstanden, Papa. I love you.”
“Ich liebe dich mehr, Maus,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your hair. “Now, what do you say we go get some victory ice cream?”
As the two of you climb into the car, you can’t keep the smile off your face, practically glowing with contentment. Sure, maybe your papa is some big famous racecar driver that everybody wants a piece of. But really, he’s just your papa — and you’re his whole world.
***
The ringing of the house phone cuts through the tense silence like a knife. You shrink further into the couch cushions as your mother rushes to answer it, shoulders visibly taut.
“Hello? No, I cannot make any comment at this time. Yes, I understand there is interest but-” Corinna breaks off, rubbing her temples wearily. “Please respect our privacy as a family right now. Thank you.”
She hangs up and leans against the wall, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. Before she can even draw a full breath, the phone rings again, shrill and insistent. With a muffled curse, your mother snatches it up.
“What? I told you, I cannot give any statements! This is a private matter. How did you even get this number?”
You watch apprehensively as she responds again, her voice rising in distress. In the days since your papa’s skiing accident, it seems like the entire world has been hounding your family, desperate for any scrap of information.
On the TV across the room, the endless cycle of news reports drones on lowly. Images of your papa’s broken, still body being rushed from the slopes into a helicopter. Flashing advancer texts speculating on his chances of recovery from the traumatic head injury.
It makes you feel ill.
Beside you on the couch, Mick sits blank-faced, looking nearly as pale and worn as your mother. At 14, he understands the gravity of the situation all too well. Your big brother has always idolized your papa, hoping to follow in his racing footsteps one day as well. The thought of him not being there to see the realization of that dream is devastating.
Gina is curled up in the armchair, her shoulders shaking every so often with muffled sobs. At 16, she’s arguably been taking this the hardest of all you kids. She keeps her face stoically dry in front of your mother, but you can see how red and puffy her eyes are from constant crying.
As for you, at 11-years-old, you’re somehow both numb and feeling everything all at once. Part of you still can’t fully process that this nightmare is real. That your hero, your papa, could be lying comatose in a hospital, hovering between life and death. The other part of you is overwhelmed in a tsunami of terror, panic, anger, sadness — any and every emotion crashing through you at all hours.
“Kids, I’m so sorry about this,” your mother says, defeated, as she rejoins you in the living room after ending her latest call. The bags under her eyes seem to have deepened further overnight. “I know this is incredibly difficult and intrusive. But your papa is … he’s a public figure. People are concerned.”
“Incredibly insensitive is what they’re being,” Gina spits, uncurling herself from the chair enough to shoot your mother a resentful look. “We’re going through actual hell and all these people care about is getting a sound bite for the evening news!”
Corinna looks pained but doesn’t rebuke her. “I know, liebling, I know. But your papa has millions of fans all over the world who have followed his career for decades. Whether we like it or not, they care about him … and about us by extension.”
You think back to that day at the karting track all those years ago when you first realized your papa was what people called “famous”. How all those strangers clamored around him so aggressively just for a photo or an autograph. That level of fandom seemed exciting and novel at the time, when you were just a naïve 5-year-old. Now you see it for how intrusive and violating it is, this sense of entitlement people have to the private life of a public figure.
The phone starts ringing again, shattering the fragile quiet. Your mother squeezes her eyes shut and makes no move to get it this time. After four rings, the call goes to voicemail. A moment later, the tinny sound of an Italian voicemail being left blares through the speaker.
“Scusi, scusi, please, if there is any update on the condition of the great Michael Schumacher, any information at all! We are all holding vigils and saying prayers, but we must know how he fares! The world is watching and waiting!”
The words, pleading and demanding all at once, are like a slap across your face. The man’s voice is laced with such desperation, as if your papa’s life is mere entertainment to be consumedby the masses. You feel abruptly furious, incensed that a stranger’s morbid curiosity is given the same weight as your family’s anguish.
“Turn it off,” Mick mutters through clenched teeth, hunching over on the couch. “Just turn it off, Mama.”
Corinna nods numbly and reaches to end the voicemail, her mouth set in a grim line. Buzzing fills the room again as the TV drones on, the reporters’ voices a dull roar that you can no longer discern actual words from as your ears ring with white noise.
The shrill ringing of the phone cuts through once more, like a record scratching in your brain. Your mother flinches violently, hands coming up to clamp over her ears as she squeezes her eyes shut, finally at her breaking point.
Unable to watch this torture anymore, you surge to your feet and storm across the living room. You rip the phone from its cradle and hurl it against the far wall, the plastic casing shattering loudly. The ringing blessedly ends, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake.
Mick and Gina stare at you with wide, stunned eyes. Your mother simply deflates, sliding down the wall to the floor as the adrenaline drains from her body. For several beats, no one dares breathe too loudly. Then, Gina starts to shake her head slowly, tears slipping free.
“Brava,” she murmurs, the barest hint of approval in her voice.
Your mother doesn’t scold you for the outburst. She merely reaches out a hand, silently beckoning you closer until you slowly cross the room again and sink to your knees in front of her. She cups your face in her palms, her own cheeks glistening with fresh tears.
“You’re right, liebling, you’re right,” she whispers brokenly. “This is about our family, not … not the world thinking they’re owed something.”
She pulls your head against her shoulder and you cling to her tightly as she begins to weep in earnest, great shuddering sobs wracking her whole frame. Gina scrambles over and tucks herself against your mother’s other side, and soon all three of you are tangled in each other’s arms, letting the tidal wave of grief crest over you.
Mick stays frozen on the couch, watching over your huddle with dark, haunted eyes. For the first time since this ordeal began, the four of you are united in simply feeling, truly letting yourselves shatter. No more putting on brave faces or pretending to be okay — from this moment, you can finally grieve as a family behind closed doors, blockading out the rest of the cruel, prying world.
Later that evening, after crying yourselves into an exhausted stupor, you drift up the stairs and sequester yourself in your bedroom. You bypass the framed photos of your papa on your nightstand, the sight of his bright smile and twinkling eyes too searing at the moment. Instead, you sink to your knees in the middle of the floor and clasp your hands tightly, bowing your head to murmur desperate pleas.
“Please, please let my papa be okay. I don’t care about all his fame or the stupid reporters. I just want him to get better and come home to us. He’s not just the famous Michael Schumacher to me. He’s Papa. He’s my whole world.”
The words spill out in a torrent, all the fear and longing you’ve been bottling up for the better part of a week erupting forth. You plead to any higher power that may be listening, bargaining away your future, your dreams, anything — as long as your papa pulls through this nightmare.
How many times had you taken for granted those moments of him just being your dad — making you pancakes on Saturday mornings, dozing on the couch during family movie nights, playfully tossing you into the pool when you grew too whiny in the summer heat? You’d give anything to have those simple, precious daddy-daughter moments back.
“The world can have his trophies and titles,” you whisper fiercely, tears slipping free to patter on the carpet. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want my papa. Please, please bring him back to us.”
You curl in on yourself, forehead pressing into the floor as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. All the adoring fans, the fawning media, the hangers-on clamoring for a piece of his glory — they only know the manufactured public persona of Michael Schumacher, legendary racer and famous celebrity. But to you, he’s always just been the quiet hero tucking you into bed at night, the gentle presence reading stories in funny voices, the mighty protector pulling you in for all-encompassing bear hugs.
You miss that wonderful, silly, tender father more than anything in the world. You don’t give a damn about his racing accolades or his fame. You just desperately need your papa back home where he belongs — with his family, the people who loved and treasured him most as simply Michael.
Just Michael. Your one and only papa.
The raw ache of that longing consumes you utterly. You lay there amid the fading light from your bedroom windows, dreams and memories of your papa flickering behind your eyelids as you plead to any benevolent force that may be listening. All you want is the chance to make more joyful memories with him, to hear his rich laugh, to keep basking in his unconditional love for years and years to come.
Please, you beg the universe silently, one last time. Please let this nightmare end. Don’t let the brightest light in my world be extinguished before its time.
Let me have my papa back.
***
A tense hush has fallen over the dining room table, the clinking of utensils against plates the only sound cutting through the thick silence. Gina avoids everyone’s eyes, pushing food around her plate listlessly. Mick stares down at his half-eaten dinner, jaw working like he’s chewing over something weighty. You pick at a bread roll, too knotted with anxiety to muster much appetite.
Your mother is the one to finally break the stifling quiet, clearing her throat. “Kids, I know these last few weeks have been … incredibly difficult for us all.”
You risk a glance up at Corinna. Her eyes are tight at the corners, her mouth a taut line. Just like all of you, the constant vigil at your papa’s bedside, combined with the relentless badgering from the media, has clearly taken its toll.
“But we have to keep trying to be a family, yes?” She reaches across the table to grip your hand. “We’re all Michael has right now. We have to … to stick together for him.”
You nod numbly, swallowing hard around the lump in your throat at the reminder of your papa’s unchanged condition. The waiting, the not knowing if or when he’ll wake up, is a special kind of torment you wouldn’t wish on anyone.
Mick abruptly shoves his plate away, the porcelain scraping loudly across the wood. You all flinch a little at the harsh sound.
“I’ve been thinking ...” he starts, then seems to reconsider his words, shoulders tightening fractionally. “Well, Y/N, you know how I … how I race under Mama’s last name?”
You frown slightly, uncertain where he’s going with this. “Betsch, yes. Because you wanted to make your own name without the expectation and pressure of being Michael Schumacher’s son.”
He dips his chin once, looking almost pained. “Exactly. And I think … I think maybe you should consider doing the same.”
The words sit heavy and convolulenting between you all like a sack of wet cement. You blink dumbly, hardly comprehending what he’s suggesting at first. When the implication hits you, you actually recoil as if he’d slapped you across the face.
“What? No. No, absolutely not, Mick. How can you even say that?”
“Y/N, just hear me out,” he pleads, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “With Papa … with what happened, the paparazzi and the fans, they’re going to be watching our every move even more than before. Especially you since you’re planning to continue competing-”
“Don’t you dare make this about his condition,” you spit, fury thrumming through your veins like struck lightning. “And of course I plan to keep racing — it’s what Papa would want! I’m not going to hide from his name like it’s some shameful thing!”
Gina is watching the exchange with wide, startled eyes, her food forgotten. Mick runs an agitated hand through his hair, shaking his head firmly.
“It’s not about hiding or shame, it’s about protecting yourself! Don’t you see how crazy things have gotten? All the reporters harassing us, the fans leaving awful messages online hoping for updates ...”
He leans forward, expression almost desperate. “If you race as Betsch, you can compete without having that extra spotlight. You can just be a normal kid on the track without people peering in.”
Heat rushes up the back of your neck in waves of humiliation and rage. How dare he insinuate that inheriting your papa’s legacy is some kind of burden to be shrugged off? That the name Schumacher is a burden to bear rather than a badge of honor?
“I’m not you, Mick,” you bite out, fists clenching beneath the table. “Maybe racing under Mama’s name helped you deal with the pressure better and that’s fine. But I’m proud to be Michael Schumacher’s daughter! And if people can’t respect that, if they think it means they own a piece of me, then they can go to hell!”
“Language!” Your mother gasps, both appalled and slightly impressed. But you ignore her admonishment, too fired up to rein it in now.
“What, you think pretending to be someone else is going to spare me from living in Papa’s shadow anyway?” You shake your head adamantly, leaning across the table towards Mick. “It’s not, and you know it. Even if I raced under a fake name, everyone is still going to know exactly who I am and make comparisons.”
Slamming your palms on the table, you surge to your feet, chair screeching harshly against the floor. All the pain and uncertainty of these past few weeks is bubbling over into bitter, biting words.
“So why should I hide it? Why can’t I take pride in my name and my heritage? Maybe it’ll mean more scrutiny, but it’s a million times better than feeling like I have to be ashamed! Like I can’t fully honor Papa and make him proud!”
Chest heaving, you stare down a wide-eyed Mick, almost daring him to challenge you further. He seems to read the conviction blazing in your eyes, features softening into chagrin.
“You’re right ...” he murmurs with a wince. “You’re right, Y/N, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
You hold his repentant gaze for a long moment before deflating back into your chair with a muted thud. In the ringing silence, you can hear your mother’s soft sniffles from the far end of the table. When you look over, she has her head bowed, hands pressed to her eyes as she cries quietly.
“M-Mama?” Gina ventures in a small voice, reaching across to grasp her mother’s wrist. “What’s wrong?”
Corinna lowers her hands, swiping at the tears streaking her cheeks. When she meets your bewildered gaze, her expression is a complicated brew of pride and heart-wrenching sadness.
“Nothing is wrong, liebling,” she assures Gina with a watery smile, before turning back to you. “Y/N, you’re so much like your papa, do you know that? So brave and determined … so full of that same fighting spirit.”
She dips her chin, lips trembling faintly. “He would be so proud to hear you defend his name like that. To see you ready to take on the weight of wearing it, regardless of what the world throws at you.”
More tears spill forth, but she brushes them away impatiently with the backs of her hands.
“But liebchen, you have to understand … Michael spent decades bearing that scrutiny and expectation. People analyzing his every move, always under a spotlight so harsh it burned. I never wanted that for any of you.”
Sliding her chair back, your mother crosses to kneel before you, cradling your face gently between her palms. Her eyes are shining but intensely serious, almost pleading with you.
“The Schumacher name casts such a long shadow, one so great that your own light can be eclipsed before you ever have a chance to properly shine. I don’t want you smothered by that burden, mein schatz. I want you free to make your own amazing mark on this world, completely unchained.”
You feel your throat grow tight at her words, the weight of them ringing so true and terribly sad. You reach up to circle your fingers around her wrists, holding her hands to your cheeks like vices.
“I know, Mama, I know,” you whisper roughly. “But that light you want me to shine? Papa is the one who sparked it inside me in the first place.”
You meet her watery gaze steadily, willing her to understand the conviction taking root inside you.
“The joy and passion I have for racing doesn’t come from some anonymous dream. It comes from him — from the nights he spent giving me a play-by-play of his biggest victories, from the days we spent at the karting tracks making memories, from everything I want so desperately to honor.”
Leaning forward until your brows nearly touch, you let the pleasing words spill out directly from your heart.
“So please, please don’t ask me to race as anyone other than your daughter, yes, but also proudly as Michael Schumacher’s daughter. That name isn’t a burden or a shadow to me. It’s something I want to carry forward and make blaze even brighter.”
Your mother’s eyes slip shut as she draws in a shuddering breath. For a long moment, she simply holds your face cradled in her palms, seeming to bask in your impassioned words. When her eyes finally open again, they are overflowing with a fierce tenderness.
“Oh liebchen,” she murmurs, voice thick with an odd mix of grief and wonder. “You are your father’s daughter through and through. So determined, so unafraid to face the world head on ...”
She strokes her thumbs along the apples of your cheeks, swiping away the dampness there. “I only hope he knows just how brightly his fire still burns in you. How it is living on in the most brilliant way.”
Surging up onto her knees, your mother pulls you into a fierce embrace, tucking your head beneath her chin. You cling to her tightly, drawing strength from her warmth, her tireless support and love. Over her shoulder, you can see Mick and Gina watching silently, their own eyes overly bright.
When your mother finally leans back, cupping your face once more, her expression has regained some of its usual firmness and resolution.
“Very well, then,” she nods, offering you a watery but determined smile. “If you truly feel ready to take on the world, to claim that name and legacy as yours, then we will face it together. As a family.”
She rises lithely to her feet, drawing you up along with her. Gathering Mick and Gina in with the sweep of her arms, she folds you all in her protective embrace, holding your foreheads together in the center.
“You may be Schumachers, but that name does not define or limit you,” she declares, quiet but firm. “It is simply one part of your identity, one piece of the incredible legacy you inherited. What you choose to make of it, how brightly you make that legacy burn, is up to you alone.”
She pulls back just enough to meet each of your eyes in turn, her own gleaming with resolute pride.
“So let them watch, let them scrutinize and sneer and make their judgments. You will simply keep chasing your passions and living your truths. Yes, the world may know you as Schumachers, but you alone will define what that name represents, now and for generations to come.”
***
The roar of the engines fades as you cross the finish line, taking the chequered flag. The broadcast team erupts in excitement.
“Unbelievable! Y/N Schumacher has done it — the daughter of the legendary Michael Schumacher wins the Formula 2 championship in her rookie year!”
You can hardly believe it yourself as you start your cooldown lap, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The pit crew is cheering wildly, holding up the #1 sign. Your race engineer is on the radio, his voice cracking with joy. “You’re a champion, Y/N! A first-year champion!”
“What an incredible drive from the young German. Shades of her father with that relentless determination and racecraft. She’s carried on the Schumacher name proudly.”
As you return to the pit lane, you spot Mick getting out of his own car. He has a huge smile on his face, eyes shining with pride. You take a moment to drink it all in as you bring your car to a stop and he’s the first one there, ripping off your helmet so he can hug you tightly.
“You did it! I’m so proud of you!” He’s beaming as he pulls back to look at you.
“Aww, Mick ...” You blink back happy tears, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what you’ve accomplished. “I couldn’t have done it without you pushing me every single race.”
Mick shakes his head dismissively. “This was all you. You were the faster driver this season, plain and simple.” His face falls a little. “I really thought I had you there at the end, but you just wouldn’t give up.”
You grin cheekily. “Of course not! I’m a Schumacher — we never give up.”
“What a beautiful moment between the siblings. You can see the immense pride Mick has for his sister, despite coming up just short of winning the championship himself.”
The rest of the team surrounds the two of you, lifting you both up onto their shoulders as the celebrations kick into full gear. You lock eyes with Mick over the sea of smiling faces and he winks at you contentedly.
Later, after you’ve returned to the garage, you find a quiet moment alone with Mick. He pulls you into another hug, this one more lingering.
“I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You’ve worked so incredibly hard for this.” Mick’s voice is thick with emotion.
You squeeze him tightly. “Thank you, Mick. That means everything coming from you.”
He pulls back, cupping your face fondly. “I remember when we were kids, dreaming of following in Papa’s footsteps. And now look at us!”
You laugh, a few happy tears spilling over. “I know, it’s crazy! I couldn’t have done this without your help, you know. You’ve been by my side every step of the way.”
“A storybook ending for the Schumacher siblings. Y/N cementing herself as a future star, with her older brother not far behind.”
Mick shakes his head adamantly. “No, Y/N, this was all your talent and determination. I just got a front row seat to watching greatness in the making.” His eyes are shining with sincerity.
You throw your arms around his neck, struck by how lucky you are to have such an amazing brother. “I love you, Mick. Thank you for always believing in me.”
He hugs you fiercely. “I’ll always believe in you. You’re a champion now, but I know this is just the beginning for you.”
The team arrives then, champagne bottles in hand and ready to continue the celebration. You pull back and grin at Mick mischievously, cracking open the first bottle with a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you … for now.”
The bubbly liquid sprays everywhere as you both dissolve into laughter, reveling in this perfect moment of sibling bonding and love. Mick pulls you into a wet hug, so proud and grateful to share this with you.
“And an iconic image — the Schumacher children celebrating a Formula 2 title just like their father did in the upper series so many times before. A changing of the guard, with the name Schumacher set to dazzle racing fans once more for years to come.”
Later that night, after you’ve showered off the champagne and slipped into comfy clothes, there’s a soft knock at your hotel room door. You open it to find Mick standing there, shifting awkwardly.
“Hey, you’ve got a second?” His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, like he’s been crying.
“Of course, what’s up?” You gesture him inside, concerned by his demeanor.
Mick enters slowly, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. He seems to be struggling to find the words.
You rest a hand on his arm. “Mick, you can tell me anything, you know that.”
He nods jerkily, finally meeting your eyes. “I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You have no idea how much it means to me to see you accomplishing your dreams.” His voice catches with emotion.
“But?” You prod gently.
Mick’s eyes water again. “But … it’s also really hard for me. This was my dream first, you know? To become a champion like Papa.” He swipes at the tears angrily. “And now you’ve beaten me to it. I’m just … I’m struggling with that a bit.”
Your heart clenches at his quiet admission. You pull Mick into a tight hug, rubbing his back soothingly. “Oh, Mick … I’m so sorry. I never wanted to take that away from you.”
He shakes his head against your shoulder. “No, no, it’s not your fault at all. You earned this, fair and square. I’m just … dealing with some complicated emotions, I guess.”
You push him back by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes intently. “Mick, listen to me. You are one of the most naturally gifted drivers I’ve ever seen. This is not the end for you, not even close. You’re going to be a champion too, I know it.”
Mick seems to deflate slightly at your words, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You really think so?”
“I know so,” you state firmly. “We’re going to take this to the top level together. And we’re going to make Papa even more proud than he already is.”
A slow smile spreads across Mick’s face. “Together,” he repeats, reaching out to take your hand and give it a squeeze.
You squeeze back reassuringly. “Always together. You and me, just like when we were kids. We’re a team, remember?”
Mick nods, the brightness returning to his eyes. He seems lighter now, the melancholy cloud lifted by your words of encouragement.
On impulse, you throw your arms around him again, nearly knocking him over with the force of your hug. Mick laughs delightedly, squeezing you just as tightly.
“Thank you, Y/N. I needed to hear that from you,” he murmurs shakily into your hair.
You pull back just enough to grin at him cheekily. “What are little sisters for?”
Mick lets out a surprised bark of laughter, warmth and affection shining from every part of his expression as he gazes at you fondly. “You’ll always be my little sis, champion or not.”
It’s your turn to laugh, swatting at his chest playfully. “Well this little sis just kicked your ass this season, so show some respect!”
Mick’s eyes crinkle with mirth. “I’ll remember that for next year, believe me.”
***
It’s a crisp autumn evening at the Schumacher family home in the Swiss Alps. You’re curled up on the plush couch in the living room, flipping through a magazine while your brother paces back and forth anxiously.
“Will you please sit down?” You ask, eyeing him over the top of the pages. “You’re making me dizzy.”
Mick runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. “Sorry, I’m just … worked up, I guess.”
You set the magazine aside. “About what? We haven’t had a race in weeks.”
He stops his pacing to face you. “You know the season’s almost over, right? And Haas still hasn’t said anything about re-signing me for next year.”
“Oh, Mick.” You offer him a sympathetic look. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. You’ve had a solid season.”
Mick flops down next to you, deflating a little. “I don’t know. There are so many other options on the table. What if Haas decides to go a different direction?”
“Then you’ll find another seat,” you say firmly. “Any team would be lucky to have you behind the wheel.”
He manages a half-smile. “Thanks. I just wish I had your confidence sometimes.”
“What can I say?” You flash him a cheeky grin. “It’s a gift.”
The peaceful moment is shattered as both of your phones start ringing in unison. You exchange a puzzled look before digging them out.
“My manager,” Mick says, furrowing his brow as he answers. “Hello?”
You do the same, pressing the phone to your ear. “Hey, Nicolas, what’s up?”
For the next few minutes, you and Mick are silent, listening intently with rapidly changing expressions — yours elated, his crestfallen. When you finally hang up, Mick is staring at the floor, lips pressed into a tight line.
“Well?” He asks, voice tight. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
You take a deep breath, trying to tamp down your surging excitement. “Ferrari wants me for next season.”
Mick’s face falls even further, if possible. “You’re kidding.”
“I wouldn’t joke about this!” You can’t keep the grin from overtaking your features. “Can you believe it? Driving for the Scuderia! It’s a dream come true!”
“Yeah, for you maybe,” Mick mutters darkly.
You blink at his tone, smile fading slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He drags a hand down his face wearily. “Haas declined to re-sign me for next year.”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What? No, that can’t be right!”
“Afraid so.” Mick’s voice is flat, resigned. “They said something about … needing to bring in fresh blood or some bullshit excuse.”
You scoot closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Mick, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”
“Don’t be.” He tries for a nonchalant shrug, but it comes off as dejected. “At least one of us is moving up in the world.”
“Yeah, but at what cost?” You protest. “We’re teammates! We were supposed to take on Formula 1 together!”
Mick snorts humorlessly. “Looks like that’s not going to happen after all.”
An uncomfortable silence stretches between you. You open your mouth, searching for the right words of reassurance, but come up empty. How can you comfort him when your own dream has come true at his expense?
“Hey.” Mick’s somber tone breaks the quiet. “I’m happy for you, you know. Really, I am.”
You meet his sincere gaze, feeling your eyes start to well up. “I know. But that doesn’t make this any less shitty for you.”
He manages a rueful smile. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”
“So what are you going to do now?” You ask quietly.
Mick lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Keep grinding, I guess. Look for another seat, any seat, even if it’s not in F1 next season.”
“You can’t give up on F1!” You protest instantly. “You’re too good for that, Mick.”
“Am I, though?” He lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Face it, Y/N, you’ve always been the better driver. This just proves it.”
You shake your head adamantly. “That’s not true at all! You’re every bit as talented as me.”
“Then why did Ferrari pick you instead of me?” There’s no accusation in his words, just weariness.
You falter, mind churning as you search for an answer that won’t come. “I … don’t know.”
“Exactly.” Mick closes his eyes briefly. “Maybe it’s for the best. At least this way, one of us still gets to live out the Schumacher legacy and race for Ferrari. Carry on the family name, you know?”
“But you’re a Schumacher too,” you say, feeling your throat start to tighten with unshed tears. “It should be both of us out there, not just me.”
Mick reaches over to give your hand a comforting squeeze. “Hey, don’t cry about it. I’ll be okay, really.”
“How can you be so calm about this?” You swipe angrily at the moisture gathering in your eyes. “It’s not fair, Mick. It’s just not fair at all.”
He levels you with a look that’s decades older than his years. “Life rarely is. You know that as well as I do.”
You fall silent, unable to formulate a response. He’s right, you realize with a pang. The two of you, of all people, should understand that success and failure often go hand-in-hand, even for the most talented competitors.
Pursing your lips, you lean forward and pull Mick into a fierce hug. He tenses for a split second before wrapping his arms around you tightly.
“I’m still so proud of you,” you murmur into the crook of his neck. “No matter what happens, you’ll always be my incredible big brother.”
Mick lets out a shaky exhale against your hair. “And you’re the most badass little sister a guy could ask for. Ferrari has no idea what they’re in for.”
You pull back just far enough to meet his eyes, emboldened by the warm affection shining in them.
“Just promise me one thing?” You ask.
He arches an eyebrow quizzically. “What’s that?”
A mischievous grin tugs at your lips. “That you’re not going to take it easy on me whenever you’re back on the grid.”
***
You take a deep breath as you pull your sleek new Ferrari up to the iconic factory in Maranello. This place holds so many memories — some joyful, others bittersweet. Your father cemented himself as a legend here, and you can’t help but feel the weight of that legacy on your shoulders now more than ever.
The door swings open and there stands Fred Vasseur offering you a warm smile. “Y/N, welcome home.”
You return the smile, unable to mask the flood of emotions. “It’s good to be back, Fred.”
He gestures for you to follow him inside. “I’m sure this place brings back quite a few memories.”
“You have no idea,” you murmur, taking in the familiar sights and smells. The rosso corsa that coats every surface, the scent of machinery and high-octane fuel … it’s intoxicating.
A tiny you runs through the hallways, giggling madly as your frantic mother tries to catch up. “Mick! Y/N! Get back here this instant!”
Mick peeks out from behind a workbench, sticking his tongue out at Gina, who playfully swats at him. You spot the perfect hiding spot — a massive green recycling bin tucked in the corner ...
“Y/N? Are you still with me?” Fred’s voice breaks you from your reverie.
You shake your head. “Sorry, got a bit lost in thought there. This place just … feels like stepping into the past.”
Fred nods knowingly. “I can only imagine. But today is about your future with the team.” He leads you through the winding corridors, pointing out various departments. “Over here is aerodynamics, that hallway takes you to the design labs ...”
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Your father’s voice echoes down the corridor, his tone playful but tinged with desperation. You stifle a giggle from your hiding spot as his footsteps draw closer.
“Michael, any luck?” That’s Paolo, one of the mechanics. You chance a peek and see half the team has been enlisted to search for you.
Your dad scrubs a hand over his face. “She’s too good at this game. Should’ve known better than to play hide-and-seek in a place this size.”
You chuckle softly at the memory, prompting a curious look from Fred. “Sorry, just … reminiscing again.”
He gives you an easy grin. “By all means, feel free to share. I’d love to hear some of those old stories.”
You take a breath, composing yourself before launching into the tale. “Well, there was this one time when I was maybe … four or five? Mick and I were causing an unholy ruckus as usual, and Papa suggested a game of hide-and-seek to wear us out. Big mistake on his part.”
Fred’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “Let me guess, you proved to be a master hider?”
“You could say that.” You grin mischievously. “I found this big recycling bin, crawled inside, and stayed completely silent while the whole team tore the place apart looking for me. Papa was just about to call in the overalls for backup when Paolo finally peeked in the bin.”
Fred throws his head back with a hearty laugh. “I can just picture your poor father’s face when they found you! He must’ve been both relieved and completely exasperated.”
You nod. “Oh, he wore that particular blend of emotions often when we were young terrors around here.”
The two of you continue chatting amicably as Fred shows you around the various facilities — the simulator room, the engine workshop, even the gym and physiotherapy center. With each new area unveiled, another flood of nostalgia washes over you.
You and Mick sprint into the wide-open workshop, engines and miscellaneous car pieces scattered all around. Gina is closing in, her longer legs giving her an advantage.
“Got you now, you little gremlins!” She scoops Mick up with one arm, then turns her sights on you.
You let out a shriek of laughter, dodging around a massive piece of equipment as your mother joins the chase. “Come here, Maus! It’s time for your nap!”
You shake your head furiously. “No nap! No nap!”
Corinna’s hand finally snags the back of your shirt, and you erupt into a fit of giggles as she pulls you into a hug ...
“That’s some smile you’ve got going there,” Fred notes with a wry grin. “I take it another happy memory?”
You give an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. Just … remembering how this place used to be our personal jungle gym. Mick, Gina, and I would run absolute loops around Mama while she tried to wrangle us for nap time.”
Fred chuckles fondly. “I can picture three tiny terrors leaving chaos in their wake.” His expression softens. “It must be incredibly special to be back here after all these years. To follow in your father’s footsteps like this.”
You swallow hard against the swell of emotions. “It’s … overwhelming, if I’m being honest. But in the best possible way.” You glance around at the familiar setting with new eyes. “These halls practically raised me. And now … now I get to write my own chapter here.”
Fred gives your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You’ve got a long road ahead, but I have complete faith you’ll make us all proud, Y/N.”
You straighten your shoulders, giving him a determined nod. “I’m ready.”
As you follow him further into the factory, you can’t help but revel in the rush of coming full circle. Yes, this team, this place, is indelibly woven into your childhood. But now … now it’s time to create new memories.
To race.
To win.
To become a legend.
***
The crowd outside the Ferrari headquarters swells as you emerge from the famous red doors for the first time as an official Scuderia Ferrari driver. Shouts and cheers erupt from every direction, fans pressing forward eagerly with pens and photos clutched in their hands.
“Over here, Y/N!”
“Un selfie, per favore!”
“Can you sign this for my daughter?”
You plaster on a polite smile, trying to graciously oblige as many autograph and photo requests as possible. But the throngs only grow more insistent, hands grabbing at you from all angles as the crowd closes in. Your heart races and you feel yourself starting to panic at the lack of personal space.
“Per favore, let her breathe!” An insistent voice cuts through the commotion in lightly accented Italian.
The crowd parts slightly as a familiar, lean figure pushes through — your new teammate. His green eyes meet yours with a reassuring look as he plants himself firmly by your side.
“Give her some space!” Charles barks out in English this time. “She can’t breathe!”
You shoot him a grateful glance as the fans reluctantly take a step back. Charles gently takes your arm and pulls you out of the scrum.
“Sorry about that,” he says with an apologetic smile, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. “I know how intense they can be around here.”
“No, thank you,” you reply earnestly. “I was about two seconds away from an anxiety attack.”
Charles chuckles. “Well, we can’t have the new driver cracking under pressure on day one.”
You make a face at his teasing remark. “Watch it, pretty boy.”
Laughing, Charles puts his arm around your shoulders in a friendly gesture. “Come on, I know just the place to escape the madness for a bit. Dinner’s on me.”
He guides you across the plaza and down a side street to a cozy trattoria — Ristorante Montana, known as the unofficial “Ferrari restaurant” frequented by team members. As you enter, a stout woman with a warm, welcoming smile emerges from the back.
“Ah, Charles! Welcome back. And this must be ...” Her eyes widen as they land on you. “Oh, la piccola principessa is all grown up!”
Flustered, you open your mouth to respond, but the woman has already swept you up in a tight embrace.
“Rossella, you’re smothering the poor girl!” A elderly man’s voice calls out in amused rebuke.
“Hush, Maurizio, and pour us some wine!” Rossella releases you and holds you at arm’s length, beaming. “Michael’s little girl, all woman now. I’ll never forget the first time your father brought you in here as a bambina.”
She gestures to a framed photo hanging on the wall of a much younger Rossella standing next to Michael, who is holding a grinning toddler — unmistakably you.
“He was so proud,” Rossella continues misty-eyed. “Just like I know he would be of you today, following in your father’s footsteps.”
You swallow hard, touched by the warm welcome and memory. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Charles watching you with a soft smile.
Rossella shifts gears abruptly, all business. “Now, what will you two have? The usual for you, Charles? And for you, la principessa, I insist you try the gnocchi al ragú. Just like my nonna used to make it.”
As Rossella whisks off to the kitchen, Maurizio appears with a bottle of deep red wine and two glasses.
“To new beginnings,” he toasts with a wink, pouring for you and Charles.
You raise your glass to clink against Charles’ with a smile. “New beginnings.”
Over pasta and wine, you and Charles fall into an easy rapport, bantering back and forth as the weight of the evening’s earlier stress dissipates. You find yourself repeatedly distracted by the dimpled grin that lights up his face whenever he laughs at one of your quips.
“So is this a regular hazing ritual you put all the rookies through?” You ask innocently. “Get them away from the crowds and ply them with wine so they’re too drunk to be nervous on day one?”
Charles barks out a laugh. “You’ve found me out! Although I do seem to recall my own initiation being a lot harder. Maybe I’m going soft in my old age.”
“Old age? You’re what …12?” You retort, eyes dancing with mirth.
The waiter arrives with the dessert menu, but Rossella shoos him away.
“No, no menu. I’m bringing you the tiramisu to share. My secret recipe.”
Charles groans in delight. “You’re a legend, Rossella.”
She pats his cheek affectionately before disappearing again. A comfortable silence falls between you and Charles as you each take a bite of the rich, velvety tiramisu.
“Mmmm, this is literally heaven,” you murmur happily.
Charles hums in agreement around another forkful.
Your eyes catch movement out of the corner and you turn to see Rossella returning, carrying a large framed photo under her arm. She sets it down on the empty chair next to you with a proud grin.
It’s a glamor shot of you from a recent photoshoot for Vogue Italia — hair and makeup impeccable, lips parted in a secret smile as you gaze directly at the camera.
Rossella rests a hand on your shoulder. “For me, bellissima? So we can hang la principessa right next to il padre.”
Touched, you take the proffered sharpie and scribble out a quick inscription before signing your name with a flourish at the bottom.
“Grazie mille,” Rossella breathes, throwing an arm around you to squeeze you against her ample frame. “You’ve made this old heart very happy tonight.”
When she finally releases you, you see Charles watching you both with a soft, almost wistful expression. You raise your eyebrows at him in question, but he just shakes his head with a smile.
As you and Charles prepare to depart, Rossella calls out once more. “You come back soon, eh principessa? I have more pictures to collect.”
You throw her a wink over your shoulder. “D’accordo, d’accordo. We’ll be back soon!”
Out on the street, you pause, conscious of the evening rapidly drawing to a close. You turn to Charles, studying him properly for the first time. His deep green eyes crinkle at the corners as he meets your gaze.
“Thank you,” you say sincerely. “Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t swooped in to rescue me back there.”
Charles shrugs nonchalantly, but his expression is kind. “We look out for our own in Ferrari. That’s what teammates are for, no?”
A beat passes, the momentary tension thickening between you. Then Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat.
“Anyway, I should let you get going before your handlers send out a search party. Need me to call you a car?”
“No, no I’m good,” you reply quickly, trying to mask your disappointment at the night ending. “My performance coach has the car around front.”
You start to turn away, then impulsively pivot back. Rising up on your toes, you throw your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a brief, platonic hug.
“Seriously, thank you,” you murmur in his ear. “For everything.”
As you pull back, your faces are just inches apart. Charles’ eyes are warm, his gaze intense. For a dizzying moment, you’re certain he’s going to kiss you. Then just as suddenly, the moment passes and he steps back with a friendly smile.
“Anytime, princesse. I’ll see you bright and early next week for our first time running the SF-23 on the simulator.”
With a wink, he turns and saunters off down the street, hands shoved in his pockets in that effortlessly cool way of his. You let out a long breath, flustered and exhilarated all at once.
Your performance coach has indeed been waiting with the car, looking mildly concerned. “Everything alright?”
You flash her a bright smile, practically skipping to the car. “It is now, Mara. It absolutely is.”
Your first day as a Ferrari driver was certainly more than you bargained for. But as you settle into the plush leather seats, you can’t wipe the silly grin off your face. Something tells you this new chapter with the Scuderia is going to be an adventure — in more ways than one.
As Mara pulls away from the curb, you catch a final glimpse of Charles striding confidently down the street. Even from a distance, you can make out the dimpled smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
Leaning back against the headrest, you think back to the memory of his arm slung casually around your shoulders and sigh contentedly. Yes, you have a feeling this is just the beginning of what’s shaping up to be a very interesting partnership with Charles Leclerc.
***
Sebastian looks over the wine list, pretending to be engrossed in selecting the perfect vintage as he peers over the top of the menu. His eyes are fixated on the entrance to the upscale Italian restaurant, waiting for Charles and you to arrive.
This had better work, he thinks to himself. The two of you have been making googly eyes at each other for months now, but are both too stubborn to make a move.
Finally, the hostess leads Charles and you into the dining room. Sebastian ducks down, pulling the brim of his fedora lower over his face and adjusting the fake mustache he’s wearing as a disguise. He watches as the hostess shows Charles and you to an intimate table for two by the window, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating your faces.
“There must be some mistake,” Charles says, looking around in confusion. “I was under the impression we were meeting Sebastian here for dinner?”
You look equally perplexed. “That’s what he told me too. He said to meet at 8 o’clock sharp.”
“Well this is just awkward,” Charles runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Should we wait for him or ...”
Before you can respond, the waiter arrives with a basket of bread and butter. “Good evening, my name is Gerardo and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“Actually, we’re still waiting on-” Charles begins, but the waiter cuts him off.
“Ah yes, Mr. Vettel asked me to inform you that he will be unable to join this evening after all. A last minute obligation came up. He insisted I take excellent care of you both and that the evening is on his treat.” Gerardo smiles broadly. “So what will you have to drink?”
Sebastian smirks to himself at his cleverly orchestrated ruse from his secluded table in the back corner. He watches with bated breath as a flustered Charles and you exchange an awkward look.
“I’ll have a glass of Chianti,” you say finally, breaking the tension.
“Make that two,” Charles adds with a resigned sigh.
As Gerardo heads off to grab your drinks, an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. “You know, we don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Charles says, ever the gentleman. “I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding.”
“Don’t be silly,” you reply, offering him a warm smile that makes Sebastian’s heart melt a little. “It would be rude to ruin the evening Sebastian so carefully planned, even if he’s not actually here to enjoy it.”
Charles visibly relaxes at your acceptance of the situation. “You’re right, of course. If it’s a free dinner, we would be fools to turn that down!”
You both share a laugh, finally breaking the ice. Sebastian feels a swell of pride watching the two of you start to let your guards down around each other.
Over the next hour or so, Sebastian is delighted to see Charles and you become more at ease, trading jokes and stories over several delectable courses of pasta, veal, and freshly baked focaccia. He’s never seen either of you look so lighthearted and carefree, nor has he witnessed two people connect on such an organic, genuine level before. It’s positively magical to behold.
Gerardo arrives once more, this time bearing a decadent slice of torta della nonna for you to share for dessert. “Compliments of the house,” he announces with a wink before departing.
You immediately dig into the lemony confection with gusto. “Oh my god, this is dangerously good,” you moan through a mouthful of pastry cream and flaky crust.
Charles tries and fails to stifle a laugh at your unabashed enthusiasm. “You’ve got a little ...” he gestures vaguely at the corners of your mouth.
“What? Where?” You ask, attempting to wipe the stray crumbs and smears of powdered sugar from your cheeks.
“Here, let me,” Charles says softly, reaching across the table with his cloth napkin.
Sebastian watches with bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest, as Charles tenderly swipes the napkin along your lips, his thumb grazing your cheek in the process. The moment seems to last an eternity, the two of you locked in each other’s smoldering gaze.
Then, ever so slowly, Charles leans across the table towards you. Sebastian can scarcely breathe as he witnesses the magnetic pull drawing the two of you together. This is it, this is finally happening, he marvels silently.
Sebastian lets out an inadvertent yelp of glee and instantly slaps his hands over his mouth. A table of nearby diners turns to gawk at the strange mustached man.
“Ahem, sorry! Hairball,” Sebastian rasps out in a terrible Italian accent. He slinks down in the booth, burning with embarrassment as the other patrons slowly turn away with disgusted looks.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charles and you also turn towards the commotion, the heated moment effectively ruined. Damn it, he was so close!
You and Charles eventually turn back towards each other, the awkwardness having returned. “We should, uh, probably ask for the check soon,” Charles mumbles, unable to meet your eyes.
“Yeah, I’ve got an early training session in the morning anyway,” you reply, the disappointment evident in your voice as you stare down at the table.
Inwardly cursing his rotten luck, Sebastian motions for the bill and slips his black credit card into the folder when Gerardo brings it. He knows the only way to redeem this night is to insist you and Charles stay for one more drink. Maybe add a little more wine confidence to help reignite that spark you both nearly combusted over just moments ago.
As Gerardo whisks away to process Sebastian’s payment, the older German steels his nerves. He removes his ridiculous disguise, straightens his tie, and makes his way over to your table with purpose.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” Sebastian asks with an exaggerated wink as he reaches you. “It appears Mr. Leclerc and Miss Schumacher were stood up this evening. For shame!”
“Ah, Seb!” Charles laughs in surprise at seeing his friend and former teammate. “We should have known you were behind this madness.”
You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “You’re a menace! I can’t believe you tricked us like that.”
Sebastian claps his hands together and flashes you both a devilish grin. “What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic who cannot abide two clearly smitten people tiptoeing around each other any longer. Now, Gerardo is going to bring you the finest Barolo they have, on my dime, and you are going to remedy this sexual tension situation once and for all over another bottle or three!”
Charles opens his mouth to protest, but you laugh delightedly and nod towards Sebastian. “You know what, I could go for another drink. What do you say, Charles?”
The older Ferrari driver seems to wilt under the weight of your brilliant smile, Sebastian can’t fault the man for that. “Ah, what the hell,” Charles shrugs, throwing his arm around the back of your chair. “Let’s see where this night takes us!”
Sebastian settles in, pouring you all generous glasses of the deep ruby wine when Gerardo delivers it. He may be getting on in years, but his matchmaking job has only just begun. One way or another, he’s determined to ensure his two protégés quit stumbling over each other and finally discover the romance that’s been blossoming under their noses all along.
Sipping his wine, Sebastian gazes at you and Charles, sees the tenderness flickering in both your eyes as you lean in closer together over the candlelight. He smiles contentedly to himself.
Mission accomplished.
***
The paddock is mostly deserted at this late hour, the muffled sounds of the teams packing up drifting in from the garages. You linger near the Ferrari motorhome, watching Charles sitting alone on a stack of tires, shoulders slumped. He’s been increasingly withdrawn these past few days leading up to the Japanese Grand Prix.
You approach slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Charles? You okay?”
He looks up, managing a small smile when he sees you. “Hey, mon amour.”
There’s a weariness to his voice that tugs at your heart. You take a seat beside him, letting your arm brush against his in a subtle show of support. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
Charles is silent for a long moment, pulling his helmet off and turning it over in his hands. “It’s Suzuka,” he finally says, so softly you have to lean in to hear him. “Being back here … it’s difficult.”
Your brow furrows. Right, this is where Jules Bianchi crashed, his accident eventually proving fatal. Charles had been incredibly close with his mentor and godfather. “I can’t even imagine how painful this must be.” You cover his hand with yours. “Having to race on the same track ...”
“I relive that day over and over.” Charles’s accented voice is thick with emotion. “I can still see the footage of his car slamming into the crane, like it’s burned into my mind. He was my friend, my godfather, like a brother to me. And now every year, I have to come back to this place that took him from us far too soon.” He squeezes his eyes shut, a stray tear escaping.
“Oh, Charles ...” You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. His body is rigid at first before melting against you, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him tightly as his breath hitches with suppressed sobs, your own eyes stinging. How many times has he bottled up this grief, putting on a brave face for the world?
“I’m so sorry,” you murmur, stroking his back. “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve carried all these years. But Jules wouldn’t want you torturing yourself like this.” You pull away enough to frame his face with your hands, meeting his reddened eyes. “He’d want you to keep living, to keep pursuing your dream that he helped nurture. He’d be so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”
Charles manages a watery smile, covering one of your hands with his. “You’re right. Thank you, chérie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours with a shuddering sigh. “I just miss him so much some days. Like an ache I can’t shake.”
“I know.” You brush away the dampness on his cheeks with your thumbs. “Believe me, I understand that ache all too well.”
A crease forms between Charles’s brows as he regards you intently. “Your papa.”
You give a solemn nod. “Everyone talks about him like he’s gone. But he’s not, he’s still here, still breathing. It’s just … he’s not the same man I grew up with anymore.” You blink back tears of your own. “Sometimes I’ll see flashes that remind me so much of how Papa used to be. And then that illusion is shattered and I’m grieving all over again for the person he was.”
Charles’ arms wrap around you fully, tucking your head under his chin. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be. Seeing those glimpses of the man he was, only to have that hope ripped away.” He presses his lips to the crown of your head. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
You let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, definitely doesn’t feel like it most days.” Pulling away, you try for a smile. “But we Schumachers are fighters. We don’t stay down for long.”
“That’s my girl.” Charles grins, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m lucky to have you by my side through all of this craziness. I don’t know what I’d do without your support, especially this weekend.”
“Are you kidding?” You turn to fully face him, clasping his hands in yours. “Charles, you’ve been my rock too, you know that? Signing with Ferrari this year, following in my father’s footsteps … the pressure has been immense. But you’ve never let me crumble under it. You’re always there with a laugh or a hug or some silly joke to make me smile even on the hardest days.”
Charles’s grin turns lopsided, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes your heart flutter. “Well, someone has to keep that ego of yours from inflating too much, future champion.” He leans in until his lips are a mere breath from yours. “But in all seriousness, we’re in this together, okay? No matter what the future holds, I’ll always have your back.”
“I know,” you murmur, feeling his words like a soothing balm over the parts of your heart still aching for your father as you once knew him. “And I’ll always have yours. We’re a team, on and off the track.” You close the distance between you, kissing him deeply.
Charles returns the kiss with fervor, his fingers threading through your hair to hold you close. The worries plaguing you both seem to temporarily fade into the background amid the warmth and solidity of his embrace. When you finally break apart, breathless, his emerald gaze holds an intensity that steals the air from your lungs in the best way.
“Je t’aime,” he murmurs, the endearment like a vow falling from his lips. “No matter what happens out there tomorrow, or any other race day, that will never change. You and me against the world, princesse.”
You flash him a coy smile, feeling desire begin to simmer low in your belly. “Is that a promise, Mr. Leclerc?”
“Mmm, I can make it one if you’d like.” Charles waggles his eyebrows, making you giggle as his hands roam freely over your back and sides, pulling you flush against him. His voice drops to a husky whisper. “Maybe I can find more convincing ways to pledge my devotion once we’re back at the hotel.”
“I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to that,” you say breathily, leaning in to nip at his lower lip in a way that makes him groan. “Though if memory serves, I seem to recall you saying something about honoring the team’s curfew tonight?” You trail openmouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw. “Wouldn’t want to be … sleep deprived before the race.”
Charles’s fingers flex against your hips as he lets out a shuddering breath. “You’re really testing my willpower here.”
“Payback for all those times you’ve tortured me.” You punctuate the statement with a sharp nip to the sensitive skin below his ear, making him jerk against you with a strangled sound. Pulling back, you smirk at the glazed look in his eyes. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
He blinks slowly, then his gaze narrows in a way that makes heat flare across your skin. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that later.” His voice is low, almost a growl that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.
“I look forward to it.” You lean in until your lips are nearly brushing his again.
“Tease,” Charles accuses, though his kiss quickly swallows any further retort.
You lose yourself in the press of his mouth, the exploring glide of his hands over your body, the undeniable chemistry that still sometimes takes your breath away. When you finally break apart, gasping for air, you stay wrapped in each other’s arms, foreheads resting together.
“Thank you,” Charles murmurs after a long beat of comfortable silence. “For always knowing how to pull me out of my own head. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“That’s what partners are for,” you say simply, brushing back the silken strands of chestnut hair falling over his forehead. His eyes are so warm, so full of love and adoration, you feel it envelop you like a cozy blanket. “I’ll always be here to lean on, just like you are for me.”
Charles catches your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. “And I’m grateful for that every single day. Facing the good times and bad, together.” His thumb strokes over your knuckles. “I know Suzuka will never be easy, not with the weight of the memories here. But you make the burden feel lighter. Like no matter what, I’ll be okay as long as I have you by my side.”
You lean in, brushing a featherlight kiss across his lips. “Always. No matter what the future holds, you’re stuck with me, Leclerc.”
A slow, utterly content smile spreads across his face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He steals another lingering kiss before glancing toward the pit area, where the last few stragglers are packing up for the night. “As much as I’d love to keep you all to myself, I suppose we should try to get some rest before tomorrow.”
Sliding off the tire stack, he offers you his hand, that warm gleam still dancing in his forest-colored eyes. “Though maybe we could indulge in a long, hot shower first? You know, to … unwind after such an emotionally draining evening.”
You raise an eyebrow at his transparent attempt at nonchalance, but can’t help a smirk from tugging at your lips. “Why, Mr. Leclerc, are you propositioning me?”
“Would that be so terrible?” He tugs you into his arms, leaving a trail of teasing kisses along your jaw. “After all, we did have quite the … charged conversation just now. I’d hate for all that pent-up tension to distract us on track tomorrow.”
You let out a breathless giggle as his wandering hands and lips leave tingles across your skin. “Well, when you put it that way … I suppose a nice, relaxing shower could be just what we need to clear our heads.” Looping your arms around his neck, you meet his heated gaze through lowered lashes. “Lead the way, liebling.”
Charles’ responding grin is nothing short of wolfish. “With pleasure.” Scooping you up in his arms, he heads for the parking lot at a swift pace, leaving the weight of Suzuka and its ghosts behind for the night.
***
The roar of the crowd is deafening as you bring your Ferrari across the finish line, tires smoking from the incredible pace. Your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio, congratulating you, but the words are drowned out by the thunderous cheers echoing around the Autodromo Nazionale Monza.
You can hardly believe it. Your first season with the Scuderia and you’ve just won the Italian Grand Prix — on the hallowed ground that your father once ruled. The sea of fans decked out in red is a sight to behold, celebrating wildly as you complete the cool-down lap.
Pulling into parc fermé, you kill the engine, the high-pitched whine slowly dying away. Undoing the straps, you clamber out, still trying to process what just happened. This is really real.
“You!”
The familiar voice makes you turn. It’s Charles, beaming from ear-to-ear despite settling for second place today. He pulls you into a massive hug, squeezing you tightly.
“I can’t believe you just did that! Amazing drive!”
You laugh, giddy with joy and adrenaline. “I still can’t believe it either! Everything just … clicked.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Charles chuckles, ruffling your sweat-damp hair. “You were incredible out there. Absolutely brilliant.”
Hearing the praise from your boyfriend means everything. You know how hard he’s worked, how much he’s sacrificed to get this far. And he’s still your biggest supporter.
The two of you finally pull apart as the rest of the team makes their presence known, congratulating you with bearhugs and massive pats on the back. You did it — you brought the victory home for Ferrari at the Temple of Speed.
After the chaos of the post-race celebrations dies down a little, it’s time for the podium ceremony. You can’t wait to stand up there, basking in the adulation of the wildly passionate Tifosi. As you make your way out with Charles and the third place finisher, the crowd’s cheers swell to a new eardrum-bursting level.
Climbing the steps, you take your spot on the top level, heart racing as you look out over the endless sea of fans. The air is filled with brilliant red smoke, passionate flag-wavers creating mesmerizing patterns. You’ve seen Grands Prix in Italy before, but being up here, having actually won — it’s on another level entirely.
Speeches are made, anthems are played, and then it’s time to crack open the podium champagne. As the bottles are picked up, a rolling chant starts building in the grandstands:
“La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”
The sound shakes you to your core. Tears instantly spring to your eyes.
Charles, beside you on the second step, grins and nudges you. “Listen to them! You’ve done it — you’ve made them fall in love with you just like they did with your father.”
Looking down at him with misty eyes, you mouth, “Thank you,” so overwhelmed that you can’t speak. He slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. The two of you share a soft kiss as the chanting grows louder and louder.
As you pull back, gazing out over the surging tide of humanity, faces beaming up at you in adoration, it finally sinks in. This moment — winning at Monza for Ferrari, with Charles by your side, the Tifosi embracing you wholeheartedly — is beyond anything you ever could have dreamed.
The emotions pour out in waves of joy and pride and disbelief. You raise your bottle high, echoing the chants and cheering your heart out to the crowd. They roar back even louder, feeding off your energy in the way that only this group of diehard fans can.
Once the champagne showers subside, giddy fans whistling at you and Charles canoodling on the podium, it’s time to head back down. But the celebrations are just getting started. The team wants to keep the party going.
On the drive over to Maranello, you find yourself sandwiched in the backseat between Charles and your race engineer, Ricky. Everyone is grinning like maniacs, high on the thrill of victory, singing drinking songs at the top of their lungs.
“Solo per lei! Principessa di Monza!” Ricky bellows, gently elbowing you. The rest join in, filling the car with the chant of “Only for her! Princess of Monza!” You can’t stop giggling, leaning into Charles, deliriously happy.
Once you finally roll up to the factory, the party spills out of the car and into the streets. The entire workforce has turned out, waving huge Ferrari flags, beating drums and sounding air horns in celebration. You’re immediately swarmed, being passed from hug to hug as champagne is sprayed in joyful arcs.
They finally manage to sweep you, Charles, and most of your garages inside the factory, where long banquet tables have been set up in the main hall. An enormous cheer goes up as you enter, sparkling wine sloshing from hastily poured glasses all around you.
The meal that follows is a total blur — amazing food, flowing alcohol, raucous toasts, and the happiest pandemonium you’ve ever witnessed. You keep getting tugged from conversation to conversation, everyone wanting to hear how the race played out from your lips. Charles sticks by your side the whole time, looking on with sheer pride.
At one point, you end up going shot for shot with Fred Vasseur, the team principal pouring vodka like his job depends on it. “La mia principessa!” He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy. “You’ve made us all so proud today!”
He hoists his glass. “To our Princess! The Princess of Monza!”
The chant starts up again all around you. “La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”
You beam at them all, squeezing Fred’s hand. No words can describe this feeling, being embraced so completely by your team — your family. This is what you’ve dreamed about since you were a little girl. Following in your father’s footsteps, bringing glory to Ferrari, carrying on the legend.
The party rages on long into the night. At some point, you lose track of time completely, delirious with exhaustion from the whirlwind of emotion.
You come around for a moment, blinking in the dim glow of the factory lights. There’s quiet rumbles of laughter around you, echoing off the walls. Looking around blearily, you realize you’ve been tucked into a makeshift bed fashioned from a pile of Ferrari t-shirts, nestled in one of the car assembly spaces.
Charles is there too, cradled against your side, one arm wrapped protectively around you. The rest of the team — your PR officers, engineers, mechanics, everyone — is strewn about in similar nests, all of them totally conked out.
With a contented sigh, you snuggle deeper into Charles’ embrace, feeling his lips brush the top of your head. This bizarre, wonderful scene seems to encapsulate everything about being part of the Ferrari family. It’s chaotic and overwhelming and unlike anything else in the world.
But most of all, it’s home.
As you start to drift back to sleep, savoring the lingering scent of champagne and motor oil, one final chant echoes in your head:
La principessa di Monza.
La principessa di Ferrari.
***
11 Months Later
The last few laps feel like they’re happening in slow motion. Every turn, every gear shift, every tiny input to the steering wheel is magnified tenfold as the circuits count down. The pressure is immense, but you’ve been here before. You can do this.
“Stay calm, stay focused,” your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “The calculations look good. Just bring it home steady.”
Nodding to yourself, you downshift entering the stadium section, the roar of the massive crowd surrounding the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez swelling in your ears. This is it — your chance to join the likes of motorsport’s greatest heroes by winning the Formula 1 World Championship.
Your first victory at Monza, being crowned the “Principessa di Ferrari” by the adoring Tifosi, was a dream come true. But this … this is what you’ve worked towards since you were old enough to understand what your father achieved. To etch your name into the history books forever.
The laps tick by agonizingly. Every time the pitboard comes into view, your heart rate spikes. But you’ve got a comfortable gap to second place, managing the race perfectly. Just a few more corners now.
“Final lap, final lap,” your engineer calls out. “Looking brilliant. Stay comfortable and you’ve got this!”
You suck in a deep breath to steady your nerves. Out of the sweeping Curve 3 and onto the pit straight, the crowd’s thunderous cheers are reaching fever pitch. You can see the seas of red-clad fans absolutely losing their minds, knowing the woman they idolize is about to achieve immortality.
Crossing the finish line, you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding for what feels like ages. The emotion is overwhelming — a combination of pure elation, disbelief, and total exhaustion.
You did it.
World Champion at last!
You cruise around, yelling unintelligibly into the radio as the celebrations kick off around the circuit. There’s confetti in the air, smoke flares going off in brilliant shades of red, and a full-throated roar that could probably be heard all the way back in Europe.
Pulling into parc fermé, you switch off the car, letting the weight of the moment sink in. Tears of joy prick at your eyes as the magnitude of your achievement hits home. Ever since you were a little girl, running around watching your papa, this has been the ultimate dream for you.
And now, it’s finally happened. You’re a World Champion. Just like him.
The first person to reach you is Charles. He comes sprinting over from his own car, bounding past the marshals without a second look. One glimpse of the huge smile plastered across his face is all it takes for you to dissolve into giggles and delirious tears.
“You did it! You brilliant, brilliant woman, you did it!” He shouts, grabbing you up in his arms and spinning you around in a whirlwind hug.
“I can’t believe it, Charles! It felt like a dream … like it wasn’t really happening!”
You’re both laughing and crying at the same time, drunk on the euphoria of the moment. Clutching each other tightly, you press your foreheads together, trying in vain to compose yourselves.
“I’m so proud of you,” Charles murmurs, gazing at you with adoring eyes. “You worked so incredibly hard for this. You deserve everything.”
Surging forward, you capture his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. For a few brief moments, the two of you are alone, lost in the depth of your emotions and your all-encompassing love for each other. Nothing else in the world matters but this perfect second frozen in time.
You finally break apart, breathless, when the rest of the team sweeps in to congratulate you. They swarm around in a laughing, whooping mass, jumping up and down, hugging, chanting your name over and over.
“To our champion! The Queen!”
The cry comes from Antonio, one of the veteran mechanics who’s been with the team since your papa’s days. He clasps your hands tightly, gazing at you with pride.
“Sei la regina! The Queen of Ferrari!” He hollers over the raucous din, tears shining in his eyes. “Just like your father, you’ll reign forever!”
Your eyes start brimming over again, overwhelmed. The tears roll down your cheeks, smearing streaks of sweat and grime from the race. But you can’t stop beaming.
All at once, the rest of the crew picks up on Antonio’s declaration. Their cheers and chants coalesce into one booming refrain:
“La Re-gi-na! La Re-gi-na!”
The sheer adulation washes over you in waves, every face beaming up at you in utter reverence. You find yourself struggling to take it all in. In a few incredible seasons, you’ve elevated yourself into the realm of legend in their eyes.
Charles wraps his arms around you from behind, steadying you as your knees start to go weak. You can feel his smile radiant against your neck as he cheers and whoops right along with the rest of them.
“You hear them?” He chuckles, kissing your temple. “It’s all for you, mia regina! My Queen.”
Hearing your love, your partner, your other half call you that sets off a fresh round of giggles and sobs. Turning in his embrace, you loop your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply.
When you finally part, you look out over the still-roaring crowd, many of them carrying elaborate signs with intricate drawings depicting you as a regal sovereign. Some have fashioned ornate crowns out of random merch and foam, holding them high. Others set off flares and smoke bombs in Ferrari red.
For a moment, their euphoric cheers fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears. Closing your eyes, you let the enormity of the moment wash over you, embracing the pride and humility and disbelieving joy.
This is your coronation. The new ruler of the Scuderia — la regina di Ferrari.
“La Regina di Ferrari! La Regina del Mondo!”
You can only chuckle in disbelief, Antonio and Ricky carefully taking your hands to hoist you up onto their shoulders in throne-like celebration. Charles is right by your side, standing vigil as your King Consort.
As the party spreads out around you, confetti and smoke filling the air, you look out across the ecstatic crowd. All you see are fervent faces, worshiping you as their new Queen of the World.
It’s a delirious scene that you never, ever could’ve imagined. And yet it feels so natural, so right. Like you were born to be in the center of this storm of jubilation. This is your true home.
And now, you’ve taken your rightful place as its ruler.
Mexico City burns long into the night in tribute to the newly-coronated Queen. Tomorrow, the party will likely continue all the way back to Maranello. But in this moment, you’re lost in the swirl of ecstasy, allowing yourself to be swept up in the currents of adoration.
La Regina di Ferrari.
La Regina del Mondo.
***
Eight Years Later
Jules can barely contain his excitement as you and Charles help him into the little red race suit. He’s practically vibrating with energy, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.
“Easy there, petit coureur,” Charles chuckles, ruffling Jules’ hair affectionately. “We’ll get you suited up and on the track soon enough.”
“I’m gonna beat everyone!” Jules declares confidently. You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.
“That’s my boy,” you say with a wink. “Just like your Papa and me.”
Charles grins and pulls Jules into a hug. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? Today’s just for fun though, remember? No official points or anything.”
“I know, I know,” Jules says impatiently. “But I’m still gonna win!”
You laugh and swing him up into your arms, peppering his face with kisses until he squeals with delight. “Whatever you say, liebling. Now let’s get you out on that track!”
The three of you make your way out to the karting circuit, hand-in-hand. You can already see a small crowd starting to form along the fences, phones and cameras at the ready. A familiar scenario, even at such a low-key local event.
“Mama, Papa, look!” Jules points excitedly. “Those people want to take pictures!”
“That’s right, schatzi,” you say gently. “Your Papa and I are pretty well known in motorsports.”
“Like movie stars?” His eyes go wide.
Charles laughs. “Something like that, I suppose. More like … really famous racecar drivers.”
“Whoa ...” Jules seems to be processing this new realization. “You’re the best ever, right? The bestest?”
You share an amused look with Charles. “Well, we’ve had our fair share of success,” you hedge.
“Your mother is a multi-time World Champion,” Charles says proudly. “As am I. We did pretty okay, I think.”
“Woooaahh!” Jules looks absolutely awestruck, like his little mind has been blown. It’s both adorable and bittersweet — your own child, only just now grasping the level of your accomplishments and fame.
The crowd has grown considerably by the time you reach the pit area, people pressing against the barriers in hopes of getting a glimpse of the royal family of Maranello. A small team of event staff try valiantly to keep order, but it’s a losing battle.
“Excuse me! Y/N! Can we get a photo?”
“Charles! Over here, please!”
“Oh my god, is that little Jules? He’s so cute!”
Jules clings a bit closer to you and Charles, startled by the commotion. You pull him protectively against your side.
“It’s okay,” you murmur. “Just some fans who are excited to see us.”
Charles gives the crowd a regretful smile and a small wave before ushering you both past the security team and into the pit area. The calmer, more controlled setting seems to ease Jules’ nerves.
“Why were all those people yelling and taking pictures?” He asks with a small frown.
“Like I said, we’re pretty famous racers,” Charles explains patiently. “A lot of people know who we are and want our autographs or photos with us.”
“Like celebrities!” Jules says, the admiring light returning to his eyes.
You laugh and ruffle his hair again. “Something like that, yeah. Your Papa and I have had a very successful racing career over the years.”
“The best careers,” Charles amends with a wink at you. “Multiple world titles each.”
“World titles?” Jules looks utterly baffled by the concept. “Like … the best in the whole world?”
“Exactly,” you confirm, feeling that familiar swell of pride. “We were the fastest drivers in the world, for a few years at least.”
“Whooaa ...” Jules seems torn between awe and disbelief. “You’re like … superheroes!”
You and Charles both crack up at the adorable comparison.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Charles laughs, “but I suppose to some we come pretty close, eh?”
He scoops Jules up and swings him around, making him shriek with laughter. You watch them with a content smile, suddenly aware of how blessed you are to have this life — your incredible husband, your precious son, the career successes you both achieved. It’s more than you ever could have dreamed.
“Alright,” Papa says, setting Jules back down. “Why don’t you go grab your kart and we’ll get you out on the track? Think you can take on the world champions?”
Jules gives a determined nod, that familiar fire blazing in his eyes — the same look you’ve seen in your husband’s familiar green ones a thousand times over the years. “You bet! I’ll show you how it’s done!”
With one last hair ruffle, you send him scampering off excitedly. Charles slides an arm around your waist, pulling you close.
“He’s something else, isn’t he?” He murmurs against your temple. “So much like us at that age. I can already tell he’s going to be a hell of a driver someday.”
You lean into his embrace with a contented sigh. “He is … and just look at how the crowd reacted to him. He’s barely grasped that we’re famous, and now he’s already getting mobbed himself. Our little star in the making.”
Charles makes a rueful sound. “We’re going to have to get used to that, I suppose.”
“Oh, I think we can handle it,” you say lightly. “We’ve had plenty of practice being in the spotlight, after all.”
He laughs and drops a kiss to your hair. “That’s true enough. As long as we stick together, we can get through anything.”
“Exactly.” You turn in his arms to face him properly, cupping his jaw tenderly. “You, me, Jules … nothing else matters as long as we have each other.”
Charles’ eyes are warm with devotion as he gazes down at you. “My soulmate. My family. How did I ever get so lucky?”
He leans in to kiss you, slow and sweet, the rest of the world temporarily fading away. You lose yourself in the familiar comfort of his embrace, the love you share-
“Ewww, gross! Stop kissing!”
You break apart with a laugh to find Jules making over-exaggerated gagging noises nearby.
“And the moment’s ruined,” Charles teases, keeping an arm looped around your waist.
You bend down to Jules’ eye level with a mock stern look. “You just wait until you’re all grown up with a sweetheart of your own. Then you’ll understand.”
He scrunches up his nose theatrically. “Never! Girls are gross!”
You and Charles share an amused look.
“If you say so,” Charles chuckles. “Now let’s get that kart fired up.”
Jules’ entire demeanor shifts in an instant, that fierce competitiveness surfacing once again. He scrambles into the cockpit of his little kart and takes firm hold of the wheel, looking suddenly years beyond his age.
“You’re going down!” He declares brazenly. “I’ll leave you both in the dust!”
And just like that, the proud parents are replaced by your familiar racing mentalities — the thrill of competition, the desire to win. You share a conspiratorial grin with Charles.
“Is that so?” He taunts playfully. “In that case, no more taking it easy on you two.”
You bend down to kiss Jules’ forehead, unable to resist a parting quip. “Promise you won’t be sad … because Mama always wins.”
With that, Charles heads off to grab his own kart, leaving you and Jules alone for a brief moment. He looks up at you with shining eyes.
“You’re my hero, Mama,” he says simply. “And Papa too. I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”
You feel your heart swell fit to burst, filled with more love than you could possibly put into words. Bending down, you pull your beautiful little boy into a fierce hug, eyes shining with unshed happy tears.
“Oh liebling … you already are. You’re everything we could have dreamed of and more.”
You press a lingering kiss to the top of his head, overwhelmed with affection. When you finally pull back, there are indeed tears shining in your eyes.
“Now go show your parents what you’ve got, baby,” you say with a watery smile. “I can’t wait to see you out there.”
Jules gives you a determined nod, eyes blazing with that trademark fire. “You got it, Mama! Get ready to lose!”
With that, he slams down the visor on his helmet and revs the little engine. You step back with a laugh, watching him peel out onto the track with all the confidence and flair of a seasoned pro. Like parents, like son indeed.
By the time Charles rejoins you, his own kart idling beside yours, Jules has already completed a couple of warm up laps. You can’t resist shooting Charles a smug grin.
“Well, well … looks like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He drives just like you.”
Charles snorts, clearly trying to downplay his obvious pride. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s all your genes coming through.”
You open your mouth to protest, but a sudden commotion from the fences draws your attention. The crowd has grown even larger, people pressing against the barriers with raised phones and voices calling out excitedly.
“Oh my god, it’s them!”
“They’re so cute together!!”
“Over here, please! This way!”
You share a resigned look with Charles as event staff rush to try and control the growing swarm.
“This is what it’s going to be like from now on, isn’t it?” You murmur. “Our little family, constantly in the spotlight.”
Charles shrugs, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he watches Jules blaze by. “What else is new? We’ve been there our whole careers. At least this time, we get to share the fame together … as a family.”
You lean into his side with a contented smile. Out on the track, Jules whips past in a blur of determination, completely unbothered by the fawning crowd. Just a little boy living out his dream, regardless of who his parents might be.
“You know what?” You say softly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Charles drops a kiss to your hair as the roar of the crowd and engines swells around you. “Me neither, mon amour. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#charles leclerc#cl16#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x y/n#scuderia ferrari#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc drabble
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VEE WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME
so you drag joel to a party at the tipsy bison where logan howlett catches your eye. he’s just as gray and just as grumpy. joel’s not one to share, but you can be very persuasive and there’s no way in hell you’re not ending the night stuffed with both of their cocks.
#i’m going to pass away#give me those grumpy old men right now#i can take them both#not in a fight#joel miller#logan howlett#i’m going insane#also welcome to the logan rot club vee <3
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day six: not so home for christmas | oscar piastri social media au
pairing: oscar piastri x fem reader
oscar and y/n are having their first christmas in monaco because of a snow storm, unfortunately this also means they're now hosting most of the grid as well.
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liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 137,094 others
tagged: oscarpiastri
yourusername: thanks a lot snow storm :( i guess it's our first ever christmas here in monaco
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user1: yall global warming might just be real
user2: you're only just realising it now ?
charles_leclerc: you kids and your complaining - a white christmas in monaco, what more could you want?
yourusername: a christmas at home with our families?
charles_leclerc: families? when you're in your adopted father-in-law's home city, i'd watch your tone if i were you
oscarpiastri: if you think of your kids as often as you say then you should be worried that your aussie son is going to FREEZE to death :(
charles_leclerc: if it's the bbq you crave, you can still do that?
yourusername: it's snowing? and he is NOT bringing our bbq inside
charles_leclerc: okay jeez, not much christmas spirit here i see
oscarpiastri: we miss our families, sue us
user3: wait... if they couldn't get out of nice... who else couldn't
user4: the storm kicked in like a day ago right?
user5: based on instagram activity, my guess is that max, lando, ollie (idk why he was in monaco anyway), kimi (i think he's attached to ollie), alex (and lily) and george
user6: i know it would never happen but wouldn't it be so cute if we got a grid christmas dinner
yourusername: please don't give them any ideas
oscarpiastri: i only just got rid of them 😩
landonorris: so, just out of interest, is y/n still free to maybe wrap my presents for me?
yourusername: do i look like the christmas fairy to you?
landonorris: well i know for a fact that oscar's ass was not wrapping those presents
oscarpiastri: well y/n actually likes doing things for me soooooo
landonorris: PLEASE Y/N I'LL HAVE TO RESORT TO USING TIN FOIL
yourusername: tin foil... please you are a 25 year old man
landonorris: does it look like i'm a man who has sellotape in his house?
yourusername: no.
user7: y/n is like a full time mum to a load of men all older than her
user8: she better get ready to cook for them at christmas because none of these men can cook for themselves
oscarpiastri
liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 692,108 others
tagged: yourusername & landonorris
oscarpiastri: i'm not sure how this went from our lonely christmas away from both of our families to babysitting half of the grid but what the hell, sure
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user10: i personally blame all of you for this
user11: and what??? i'm so excited
user12: i hope they post nothing more just to spite your ass
charles_leclerc: i’m kinda offended no one thought of coming to mine :/
maxverstappen1: you’re shit at cooking
charles_leclerc: how would you know?
maxverstappen1: i saw it in your vlog
charles_leclerc: you watch my vlogs???
maxverstappen1: NO?
yourusername: okay queens stop flirting and get back to your stations in the kitchen
charles_leclerc: can we flirt there?
yourusername: if you're still peeling - knock yourselves out
user13: y/n basically confirming lestappen? wow christmas DID come early this year
user14: the real question is why she would let those menaces in the kitchen?
yourusername: i have seen how much these people eat, i need help even from the useless
yourusername: also if they want certain dishes from home they have to help
maxverstappen1: i am CORING AS MANY APPLES AS I CAN I PROMISE THE APPLE BEIGNETS WILL BE WORTH IT
oscarpiastri: i know they will be, y/n is making them
maxverstappen1: okay buddy, i don't see you helping
oscarpiastri: i am keeping everyone else in line, that's a full time job as well
user15: who made the youngest couple in charge of these fools?
user16: a comedic genius
yourusername: they're annoying but i'll deal with them for you
oscarpiastri: you make such sacrifices for me, i love you
yourusername: i love you more
alexalbon: we're really not that bad you guys are being dramatic
yourusername: george walked up to our mantle piece, pointed at my baby picture and said "ugly. my condolences" ?
alexalbon: that's george ? he's mean to everyone
yourusername: HE'S IN THAT BABY'S HOUSE
olliebearman
liked by charles_leclerc, estebanocon and 418,934 others
tagged: yourusername, oscarpiastri & kimiantonelli
olliebearman: first christmas with my big brother :))))
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user17: yall be on oscar about him holding onto the leclerc family joke but the real enemy is ollie
olliebearman: i think it's cute
olliebearman: and it's NOT a joke
user18: you know what? yeah i'd also keep going with the joke i need to get in that leclerc family
olliebearman: the real catch here is y/n she's going to teach me to crochet :)
yourusername: we can make little bear mans !!!
user19: the grid dad stuff was cringey... but grid brother well that's hitting like crack i fear
charles_leclerc: grid dads are cringey ??? count your days
user19: sorry?
charles_leclerc: i (and my family) will NOT tolerate sebastian vettel slander. not now not EVER
fernandoalo_oficial: and me?
charles_leclerc: i couldn't give a fuck about you old man
fernandoalo_oficial: excuse me
fernandoalo_oficial: i'll have you know i am just as much oscar's father as you are
charles_leclerc: and how have you come to that OBVIOUSLY WRONG conclusion
fernandoalo_oficial: WELL i don't know maybe his REAL grid dad is actually mark webber who i have a well documented homoerotic relationship with and therefore oscar and most importantly Y/N are my children
charles_leclerc: what a load of bullshit
charles_leclerc: if grid children were based on homoerotic tension then i'd be father to all of the red bull juniors and max would have custody of the FDA
maxverstappen1: well....
pepemarti: hi !!!
dinobeganovic: hey.....
yourusername: what happened to the original plot of the movie
user20: i think the cabin fever is getting to them
lilymunhe: no they're like this all of the time it's exhausting
yourusername: tell me about it
olliebearman: but not me :(
yourusername: no we love you
oscarpiastri: you are the least annoying one
olliebearman: omg thank you :3
yourusername
liked by maxverstappen1, alexalbon and 163,207 others
tagged: oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc & landonorris
yourusername: not so home for christmas but with family nonetheless
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user22: what was the dress code here?
landonorris: what we had left? all the dry cleaners are closed because of the storm
yourusername: you take ALL of your clothes to the dry cleaners?
landonorris: why wouldn't i do that...
yourusername: yk what, whatever !
user23: omg of course leo was there as well
yourusername: we only invited charles for him
charles_leclerc: excuse me?
landonorris: he was invited ????
oscarpiastri: well he was staying in monaco anyway and you guys all invoked your squatters rights in my house so what was one more
landonorris: i am not squatting? my ass is already big enough as it is
yourusername: i know your ass is big because YOU'RE ALWAYS SAT ON IT
oscarpiastri: god i love you
yourusername: i love you even more
oscarpiastri: nuh uh not possible
yourusername: i love you so much i'm not even that angry about half of the grid crashing our christmas
oscarpiastri: i love you so much that i personally barged a child out of the way to get you your eras tour merch
yourusername: i do love my merch.... but not as much as i love you
oscarpiastri: you're so romantic
georgerussell63: right that's it, i am SICK of you people pretending you are not enjoying our presence
yourusername: did i or did i not say family ???
oscarpiastri: george i'd appreciate if you didn't talk to y/n this way
maxverstappen1: yeah back the fuck off
georgerussell63: why is max here?
maxverstappen1: ummmm y/n busted her ass to make apple beignets for me so i had some netherlands with me at christmas so i would die for her. i am somwhat fond of oscar as well
maxverstappen1: so fuck with them, you fuck with me
maxverstappen1: and you seem to like doing that recently
yourusername: awwww thanks max!
oscarpiastri: we are fond of you too buddy
georgerussell63: how did i lose this?
user24: max out here getting wags on his side
maxverstappen1: that's my ma
maxverstappen1: wait that makes my homoerotic tension with charles incest
maxverstappen1: that's my home girl
oscarpiastri
liked by landonorris, jackdoohan and 1,094,577 others
tagged: yourusername
oscarpiastri: y/n absolutely smashed our makeshift grid christmas and she said she'll accept thanks in qualifying tows or easy passes on track 👍
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user25: oh they want me dead
user26: i would do questionable things to get a slice of that cake
user27: drop the recipe please xxx
yourusername: oh babe i be following the tiktoks like the rest of yall - i'll repost it
user28: woman of the people
yourusername: babe i don't really remember saying those exact words...
oscarpiastri: PLEASE ! they don't say no to you now you've filled their stomachs
landonorris: he's not wrong
maxverstappen1: you're in my will now
charles_leclerc: you're now my favourite daughter in law
yourusername: i'm your only daughter in law?
charles_leclerc: idk kimi and ollie are pretty attached with their weird tension
landonorris: like father like son
charles_leclerc: huh?
landonorris: huh?
oscarpiastri: ^^ see !!!! y/n please !!!
yourusername: fine.
yourusername: thank you all for coming, i hope you enjoyed dinner and your time with us. i loved spending time with you all but if you wish, i will be accepting thanks in the form of qualifying tows and easy passes for oscar or pornstar martinis from any hospitality
yourusername: happy?
oscarpiastri: yes
oscarpiastri: YOU HEARD THE WOMAN GUYS
maxverstappen1: oh i love y/n but i'd rather put you in the wall than let that ugly orange car past without a fight
georgerussell63: @fia i told yall
yourusername: are you ever gonna give that up ?
georgerussell63: no? and i KNOW IT WAS YOU WHO SAT ME NEXT TO HIM AT DINNER
yourusername: you'll never prove it :P
user29: oscar is such a sassy man
yourusername: he gets it from his momma
oscarpiastri: and you :)
yourusername: i will say your ability to watch my reality tv with you is a big factor in how much i love you
landonorris: is that why oscar once woke me up the night before a race by shouting "get her ass lisa" ???
oscarpiastri: we watch real housewives together on facetime :)
charles_leclerc
liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55 and 1,130,672 others
tagged: yourusername & oscarpiastri
charles_leclerc: i made the right choice in son and most importantly daughter in law
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user31: okay the cinnamon buns have thrown me over the edge now
user32: i NEED to know who asked for them
alexalbon: guilty 💅 and they slapped thanks y/m
oscarpiastri: we've been dating for years? like when i was still in f3?
charles_leclerc: semantics
oscarpiastri: no i met and charmed y/n all on my own thank you very much
charles_leclerc: because she saw the future and the potential of our prosperous family !!!
oscarpiastri: at this point, whatever you wanna hear old man
charles_leclerc: relegated below ollie
olliebearman: score !!!
user33: oh these people are never letting this joke die are they
user34: i think we're stuck with it
charles_leclerc: are you people sick of whimsy ???
charles_leclerc: i am ALLOWED to flex my son's amazing choice in women, especially a woman who will make me a swiss roll on demand
yourusername: he does have amazing taste
oscarpiastri: thank you :3
yourusername: as much as you guys were somewhat annoying, we had an amazing christmas xx
oscarpiastri: please do not bother us until march
charles_leclerc: fine. but we're still on for the double date in melbourne?
charles_leclerc: (maybe triple? idk ollie can just bring kimi)
kimiantonelli: score !!!
yourusername: we would love to !
oscarpiastri: i guess you could meet my actual family ?
charles_leclerc: not now oscar, let me enjoy chritmas with you all before you remind me of that
oscarpiastri: okay?
user35: y/n and oscar actually have the patience of saints because if these clowns crashed my christmas i'd be on the news
yourusername: any christmas is perfect with him
oscarpiastri: with y/n, i can get through even the most annoying people
user35: okay yall didn't have to flex on me that hard damn
fin.
note: here's day six! i'm not sure if you guys saw my update post but this series won't be done by christmas day but will stretch to NYE because unfortunately my cat has to be put down :( i've had him for nearly 19 years and it's really hard to think about him being gone so i'm just spending as much time as possible with him atm. anyway, i hope you enjoyed !! xx
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 instagram au#f1 x you#f1#f1 social media au#oscar piastri instagram au#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri#oscar piastri social media au#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri smau
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Text
𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
genre: explicit smut, minors dni, childhood bestfriends to lovers, tlou'verse, jackson era, mild hurt/comfort
word count: 4.9k
summary: When your boyfriend is desperate to win back what he lost, he bets on you this time without your knowledge. And everyone knows you don't go back on your word when it comes to Joel Miller.
warnings: okay so technically not cheating because your boyfriend literally gambled you buuut if that's not your thing I totally get it, piv, dirty talk, choking, spitting, size kink, soft!joel & feral!joel, he likes hearing how big he is, affectionate whore calling™, a hint of analplay, oral (receiving and giving)
a/n: another joel fic inspired by p.orn, we love to see it
a special thank you to @nothoughtsjustmeds for the beta! 💕
Joel was never that into gambling.
Back before everything had gone to shit, that had always been more Tommy’s forte than his own. Joel doesn’t remember the amount of times he’d had to bail his brother out, either by protecting him while putting himself in the middle or by giving him loans he’d never ever see again. Joel hadn’t minded. Tommy was his baby brother after all. As long as he was safe Joel was happy—annoyed, for sure, but happy.
He was surprised when he learned that Jackson had a pretty heavy gambling scene and that Tommy wasn’t a part of it. He didn’t know why that was, because even on the nights where he had to go bail him out and bring him home all bloodied and bruised, Tommy just made the same mistakes. Not even Sarah’s worried expression, while she peered from between the wooden stair railing, deterred him from it.
Guess it was different when your own kid was on the way.
However, despite his lack of interest in gambling, he found himself betting away what little he had for someone else—someone he thought he would never see again. But honestly, he wasn’t half bad at it so he didn’t mind it that much. His only complaint was when he had to get messy hunting down those who didn’t pay up.
One by one the men around the table folded, only leaving Joel and Liam. A huge stack of weaponry lies in the middle of the table, Liam’s eyes constantly flit between the stack and Joel. They stare at each other long and hard. Joel knows that he’s going to win. He usually did with these face-offs.
Liam folds.
A small smile tugs at the corner of Joel’s lips. There’s nothing better than to take what someone he absolutely detests wants.
“Let’s go again,” Liam grunts, his forehead shining with sweat.
Joel raises an eyebrow, “You don’t have anythin’ else to bet on.”
“Come on now, Miller,” Liam leans back into his chair. “There must be something that you want.”
Joel’s eyes bore into his long enough for the man to grow uncomfortable and nervous. Only then did he speak.
“You still have that pretty girlfriend?”
Someone Joel didn’t bother learning the name of pipes up from his right, “I thought we were only betting huntin’ supplies this time.”
“Come on, let the man try to win his rifle back.” Joel grins.
“Fuck you, Miller.”
“Careful now,” he slowly places his elbows on the old table, his weight on it enough to let out a threatening creak. He cocks his head to the side, his smile small but still there. “My kindness wears thin.”
Liam’s an addict. And of course, he says yes.
“You fucking gambled me away?!” your voice is shaking, body trembling all over as you pace back and forth in front of the couch Liam was nestled on top of. At least he has the decency to look guilty. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Liam? I’m your girlfriend, not some kind of deer hide you can put on the table.”
“Look I said I was sorry alright?” He stands up fast enough to make you flinch. He holds you by the shoulders, thumbs moving in a soothing manner. “Won’t happen again, I promise.”
You scoff, “We both know that’s a lie.” You lift your chin up in defiance. “I won’t do it. I have free will. You can’t make me.”
That makes Liam sweat. You can’t blame him, you’ve heard of Joel’s. . . outbursts. But honestly, that’s the least of your worries. You’re mostly confused as to why Joel asked for you specifically. You’re positive that he’d been avoiding you ever since he came into Jackson, only talking to you a handful of times. Why now? And why like this?
“Baby,” Liam whines, snapping you away from your thoughts. “You have to. He’s crazy, he’ll kill me.”
“You should’ve thought of that before.”
“Please. All you’d have to do is entertain him for the night, make him happy.”
“So to be his plaything? Is that what you want?”
“Maybe he’ll ask you to cook him dinner, hell if I know.”
“Sure,” you roll your eyes. “I’m sure he’ll just want something to eat.”
You give him one more look before slipping away from his gentle hold. Your heartbeat is slow, hours spreading across every beat, making your chest feel heavy and lightheaded.
“Fine,” you cave, wrapping yourself with your shaking arms. “But after this, I’m done, Liam. I’m so tired of bailing you out.”
“You can’t leave, where would you go?”
The soft tone he used while begging you to spread your legs for Joel quickly turns into a tone with sharp, dagger-like edges. You don’t say anything. Don’t answer him or agree with him. You’re lost in a broken world.
And now, amongst all the things you’ve been through, you have to see the pity in your childhood best friend’s eyes.
You don’t want to be here. You don’t. It’s embarrassing.
Your boyfriend is in the other room, brooding on his couch, examining his life choices. You’re not doing any better. Your robe loose over your shoulders, the chill of the bedroom settling over your skin. It’s especially embarrassing because it’s Joel for crying out loud. You’ve known each other since you were kids causing mischief all around the neighborhood. You still remember the time you fell and scraped your knee, how he kissed it better and placed a pink bandaid over it because it was your favorite color.
Why the hell had he asked for you? To humiliate you? Well, he definitely succeeded.
The door opens and you jolt. His presence is large in the room, making you shudder despite yourself. Your pulse quickens. You shouldn’t be afraid of him yet here you are, trembling like a newborn doe. He closes the door with a gentle click, the wood creaking and solidifying your fate.
You haven’t known him for years. Even before the outbreak had torn the world apart. You had moved away two years prior and after everything went down you never expected to see him again. When he showed up in Jackson you barely recognized him. He looked rugged, more salt than pepper in his beard, his eyes drained of life. He had scars that ran deep and he had found a kid along the way. You were surprised but relieved to see he still had a big heart.
You were ashamed the first time you two sat down after years. Everyone knew of Liam’s gambling problem, he couldn’t help it, and you knew that Joel knew. You hated the idea of him pitying you, of him seeing the world weighing down on you. You’ve heard from around that Joel also started to place bets. Nothing too big though, unlike your boyfriend who would bet on almost anything in the house. You knew those bets could turn out violent and people feared Joel. Even in a safe utopia like Jackson, the kind of man he’d become traveled from ear to ear, striking fear. And when someone that owed him money ended up with a bloody nose and broken jaw. . . no one dared to deny him of anything.
And it seemed like you were no exception.
Joel stands in front of you, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, exposing sinewy muscle. He stands close. Close enough that you feel his breath on your lips. Your eyelids flutter before you avert them, tears stinging the corners.
You drop the robe, the old fabric pooling at your ankles. You’re left in a decent enough-looking bra and somewhat matching underwear.
“Not interested,” Your entire body goes taut, eyes wide. You hear the blood rush in your ears. Joel moves past you and takes a seat on the bed, crossing his arms over the expanse of his broad chest. You stare at him and a thick knot forms in your throat. He gives you a brief look before explaining. “I only wanted to teach your boyfriend a lesson. He’s reckless. One of these days he’s gonna be in real debt to me and, darlin’, I don’t want you gettin’ caught in the middle.”
Your heart drops. You don’t know what you’ve been expecting but it certainly isn’t this. Tears blurring your vision, you quickly bend over and scoop up your robe, throwing it over your shoulders. Somewhere along memory lane, you forgot to remind yourself that Joel was your first; first crush, first love, first kiss, first time. But it just hadn’t worked out. You had stayed close friends until you moved away, he had Sarah, you had a promising career. You were planning on getting back to him. It just never came to be. Liam didn’t know you knew Joel, only Tommy knew about the connection you two had, mainly because he was there.
And now you had Liam—Boyfriend who calls you names because he hates everything, Liam. Shitty boyfriend, Liam. Boyfriend who put you up as a prize, Liam.
It’s just too much. All of it. Your heart can’t handle how unfair it all is. The pity Joel shows you, the way Liam treats you. He loves you, you know that much, but he just doesn’t care enough to treat you right or tend to you when he’s so broken himself. He doesn’t understand that you would take care of him just as much.
And now you’re just a shell. A shell of your former self.
The first salty tear slips from your lashes, it’s followed by another and then another.
You manage to reach the end of the bed on shaky legs, collapsing, you cover your face, heaving silently into your palms. You don’t want Liam to hear you cry, deep down you want him to think Joel is fucking you this very instant. You want him to feel guilt, or at least a sliver of the way you feel.
There’s a gentle hand on your shoulder. Your brain doesn’t even register that Joel is pulling you into his chest, wrapping solid arms around your shaking frame. He holds the back of your neck, squeezing tenderly just like he did when your mom yelled at you and he wanted to calm you down.
“Why are you cryin’?” he mumbles. “I told you I’m not gonna do anythin’ to you. Or to him. I just wanted him to think before he put you in any danger. What if it wasn’t me there? Not everyone is as they seem in this town.”
After all this time Joel Miller is still looking out for you.
“It’s not that,” you answer, between sniffled and muffled hiccups. “I’m embarrassed and so fucking tired. I don’t want you thinking I’m some damsel in distress, even though me crying isn’t really helping,” you take a deep breath and peel yourself unwillingly from his chest. “I don’t feel good about myself. I never do with him. I just feel like shit with some more shit thrown over. And well. . . now I know that you don’t want me either. It’s just too much. But I’ll be okay, thank you for looking out after me even though I’m a mess.”
He suddenly grips your chin and pulls you close enough that your noses almost touch, “What the hell makes you think that I don’t want you?”
“You. . .” with a sigh, you look away. “You didn’t want to fuck me.”
“You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”
Squeezing your chin, he forces your gaze back to him. His lips are parted, pupils wide enough to hide the chocolate brown of his eyes. He seems just as surprised as you feel. Arousal pools between your legs, heat dripping down the curve of your spine. You press your thighs together and swallow.
Joel’s hand moves up to your cheek and cups it gently, thumb toying with the corner of your lip, “I just never thought you’d be interested if I’m bein’ honest. Especially not after. . . everything I’ve done.”
“You’ve done what you’ve had to do to survive,” you kiss the curve of his palm and he shifts, coming even closer. “I always wanted to come back to you, you know? You’re my first love, Joel Miller. Deep down I always wanted you to be the last.”
Joel was never an emotional guy. He always had trouble expressing what he thought and felt, thinking he always had to hide behind large invisible walls. The outbreak had put a magnifying glass over that quality of his. You can only tell that your words affected him by how the crease between his brows softens and his cheeks gain a subtle red hue.
He only grunts as he forcefully brings your hand to his crotch, his cock hard and throbbing under your palm. His lips skim down your neck, kissing where your pulse beats frantically. Joel grinds into your palm, “You still want to fuck with your boyfriend waiting in the living room?”
“God, yes.”
You stand up and he parts his legs for you, allowing you to take your rightful place between them. Looking up, his fingers dance up your shoulders, pushing off the robe so it once again pools at your feet. The fabric of your bra has worn away with time, meaning that your nipples meet no resistance as they stiffen under his gaze. Joel licks his lips and brings both thumbs to the peaks, rubbing them until they’re fully hard.
Then he suddenly shoves you closer to him, your aching nipple met with his wanting mouth. He sucks through the fabric. Saliva darkens the color. He sucks and moans each individual nipple until both are hard like diamonds and only then do you find yourself on the bed, his mouth still on you, starving for more. Your back forms the perfect arch, the sheets feeling like silk against your skin despite them being years old—almost rotten.
He drags his lips down your body, rough facial hair tickling your skin, your hips helplessly stutters into the air. Two large hands pin your hips down. You can’t help the noises that tumble from your lips. For the first time, you’re feeling whole. He lays soft kisses against your inner thighs and finally, he reaches where you want him most.
Joel sucks your clit through the fabric and your body jerks, seeking the heat of his mouth against your bare cunt instead. He smiles, digging his blunt nails into your flesh.
“Patience,” he licks a stripe down your clothed folds. “I want you to be loud, sweetheart. Make noise for me. If you want me to fuck you, that’s my price—your sounds.”
Liam never liked the sounds you made. Unless you were mimicking porn and whispering how close you were, which was a very rare occasion.
Joel slides his hands up to the softness of your stomach, squeezing gently. Like you might fade away at any given second. He kisses the lips of your pussy and his eyes flutter closed.
“Doesn’t it feel good,” he begins, his southern drawl more prominent as his voice grows deeper. “To have that prick in the next room listenin’ to me fuck you, riddled with guilt because he bet on his pretty girlfriend?”
It does feel good. “You think I’m pretty?”
“‘Course I do,” his brows furrow, eyes finding yours. “Prettiest girl I’ve known since the first day my dick got hard.”
The words send a tingle up your spine but Joel doesn’t allow you to linger on them for long. He slides your underwear to the side. The fabric sticky with slick, he immediately presses his lips deep into your cunt, tongue swirling around your entrance and teasing it by pushing in the tip. You cry out and grip his head, your legs pressing against his ears. Your heart hammers within the confinements of your ribcage.
“Gonna ruin you,” he groans, licking himself deeper and rutting the bed. Your eyes roll back, your body melting with every fat stroke of his tongue.
Joel takes you apart slowly. His jaw moves, head lazily going from left to right. You feel so wet, soaked, from both his mouth and your slick. It’s almost like he goes slower the more soaked you are. He draws various shapes around your throbbing clit. You're left withering under him, shaking, begging, and moaning his name loud enough that the entirety of Jackson could probably hear. The wet smack of his mouth is followed by loud slurps and groans, and your stomach coils tight.
After all these years, Joel Miller had certainly learned a few new tricks. He wasn’t that same teenager anymore, though, neither were you. He feels different, yet he also feels the same. Like a familiar wind stroking your skin.
“So damn wet and sweet like honey, fuck.”
He moves away and you nearly cry out of frustration, fingers burrowing into the old sheets. You only move when you hear the deafening sound of a belt buckle coming loose. Joel’s pants drop to his ankles, cock painfully hard and slightly curving to the side. Your mouth waters, “No underwear?”
“Got too lazy to wash’em last Sunday,” he lazily strokes himself. Today is Tuesday. He’s been going commando all this time. More saliva fills your mouth, you don’t know why but the thought excites you and he seems to notice. “You always did get turned on by the weirdest things,” he mutters. “Now get on your knees, sweetheart. Been waitin’ a long time to feel those lips again.”
You pout, “Forearms are sexy, ask anyone.”
Joel sighs and shakes his head, his dark gaze makes you clench around nothing. He ignores your comment entirely. “Don’t make me say it again.”
You sink to your knees immediately after that.
He’s so much thicker than you remember. The bulbous head a beautiful shade of red, shiny beads of precome gathered at the slit. You notice the vein meandering down the underside of his cock and you trace it with the tip of your tongue. The blood pumps harder in response, his length twitches and smears the shiny pearls against your cheek.
You moan as you finally take him between your lips. The corners of your mouth sting from how wide you need to open to accommodate him. You manage to take him half way in, swirling your tongue, you hollow out your cheeks.
“That’s it—That’s it, fuck—suck me harder, sweetheart, please—” his hips rock forward, his cock filling your mouth until the head is hitting the back of your throat. You choke on him and his head falls at the way your throat constricts around the width of him. He then pulls out, prompting you to look up. His hair is a mess, lips swollen and parted. “Use your spit, need you to wet my cock good if you want me to fit darlin’. I ain’t that teenager anymore.”
You kiss the soft crease between his balls, rolling them with your tongue. You’re delighted to witness how he shudders at the soft caress of your lips, “I can see that.”
“Get on with it then.”
Joel sounds almost annoyed—no, not annoyed, but eager, desperate—to have your mouth wrapped around him with Liam in the other room. You don’t want to make him wait so you slowly allow a thin line of saliva to drip from between your lips. His thighs tense when it touches the head of his cock.
“Is his dick as big as mine?” he asks, jaw locked, words bouncing off of clenched teeth.
“No,” you gasp, dragging your lips down the length of him while staring at him through heavy lashes. “No, it’s not as big as yours.”
Suddenly you’re lifted to your feet, your body nothing but a ragdoll as he pushes you to the bed, the old mattress creaking with protest at the added weight.
“Play with that fuckin’ pussy for me, I want to see it.” He wraps a hand around his weeping cock, his strokes hard and calculated. Your breasts tingle as you push a hand between your thighs, he clicks his tongue in disapproval, approaching the end of the bed. “Spread your legs wide, honey.”
As soon as you open your legs and spread your folds for him to see how soaked you are, he’s quick to climb up the bed. Turning you to your side, he gets right behind you. Joel wets his own fingers, sucking on them with a loud groan before replacing yours with his own. He rubs your clit with precise movements, each stroke hitting the mark and making you see bright, dazzling stars. Your body moves on its own. Heat pools between your legs, your hips grinding back to feel the heft of him on your ass.
“Joel, please,” you whimper. “Please, fuck me, please—”
His lips touch your cheek and he breathes heavily, his chest heaving and rattling with every exhale. You feel the head of his cock slowly sinking into you, stretching you wide as his lips decorate your sweaty skin with fleeting kisses.
“You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ well, honey,” your eyes roll back, a mild pain blossoming from where you two connect. He brushes his fingers over your clit, the sharp pleasure shortening your breath. “That’s it. That’s my girl takin’ my big cock so well. So good. So good for me.”
Your jaw drops as you take him inch by inch. He continuously plays with your clit, kissing you and whispering words of praise while his tongue plays with your earlobe. You feel like mush. Like dough that only he can mold. Your lashes grow wet with tears, your heart beating so wild that you swear he can hear it as well. Joel slightly pulls back his hips and pushes back in, your breath catches in your throat, and soon enough he begins fucking you with shallow thrusts.
“Is this what you wanted, huh?” he mutters into your ear. You nod helplessly, your body burning from the inside out. “Tell me, louder, come on,” a smack echoes in the small room, and pain blossoms over your ass cheek. “Come on, louder.”
“Yes!” you cry out. In a weak attempt to meet his thrusts, you roll your hips. “Yes, this is what I wanted. I’ve never stopped thinking about it—never stopped thinking about you.”
“Is this pussy mine?”
“Yes, it’s fucking yours.”
Your voice must’ve come out too much like a whisper because Joel’s pace quickens. He fucks you hard, deep, hammering into you until you’re struggling for air. He wraps thick fingers around your neck, squeezing until there’s pressure building under your eyes, your lungs burning.
He loosens his grip around your throat, “I wanna hear it, come on now, don’t make me beg for it. Tell me, is it mine?”
“Yours! It’s fucking yours!”
Suddenly Joel is underneath you and you’re on top, his hips relentless as he snaps his hips up into you. It feels even better now. The way his cock massages your walls shooting crackles of electricity up your spine. He holds your ass with both hands and spreads you for his liking.
You moan his name and when you look down, seeing him staring at your face, a sudden gush of embarrassment overwhelms you and with a small whimper, you cover his eyes with both your hands. Joel grits his teeth at that. He fucks you harder, the vicious way he presses inside making you gasp and drop your hands so you can brace yourself by flattening your palms over his chest. His eyes flash with anger.
“Why the fuck—” he growls, “would you cover my eyes?”
“I–I got embarrassed—” you squeeze your eyes shut and open them back again. You push down your hips, taking him to the hilt as a form of apology, but he doesn’t seem to accept it and holds you still. Your head falls back with his every thrust.
“If you ever pull that stunt again, I’ll take you over my knee,” he rasps, ignoring the way your pussy clenches at his words.
His finger teases your asshole and beads of sweat gather at your tailbone. Joel’s grin is dangerous, something you’d run away from rather than run towards. But you can’t help it. A wanton moan rattles your throat, your pussy clenching hard around his cock. He presses forward, burying his finger down to the first knuckle. You shudder over and over, your body building tension and releasing it simultaneously.
“You like that, wildflower?” he groans, thrusting his finger in and out while snapping his hips up. “You enjoy it when I play with your tight little asshole?”
“Fuck, fuck—Joel—yes, yes I do.”
His other hand snakes around the back of your neck and yanks you down. His damp lips touch your ear, “Gonna fuck this hole one day, pretty thing. . . gonna fuck it so hard you’re not gonna be able to stand for weeks.”
Before you can catch your breath, you’re being hauled towards the closed door, the emptiness you feel sudden and cold. He pulls your hips up, presses your cheek against the barely standing wood. Your hard nipples graze against the surface, a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine. Again, Joel thrusts forward, filling you to the brim. The mild pain tingles within your lower abdomen and you melt against him, eyes rolling back as you wiggle your ass for him.
With every rock of his hips, your body hits the door with a thud and you’re sure Liam can hear every forceful fuck, “Tell him how fuckin’ bigger I am than him—I wanna fuckin’ hear, it come on.”
“He’s so much bigger than you!” you groan, bracing your palm against the door. “You hear me, Liam? Never had a bigger cock in my life, I’m soaked.”
Liam’s muffled voice follows through, “Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is wrong with you? You fucking whore!”
You know it shouldn’t, but his words still jar you.
“I’ll fuckin’ break his hands for that, don’t you worry darlin’,” Joel mutters into your skin, his words marking you as something untouchable. “And I’ll make it fuckin’ hurt.” He then kisses your shoulder and shouts towards the door, slamming especially hard this time so the thud of you hitting the door echoes. “You’re the one who gambled her like some kind of prize you dickhead. Don’t blame her for feelin’ good about it!”
“You could never satisfy me,” you say barely above a whisper, like you’re not entirely sure you’re allowed to feel good about this. About finally having him all to yourself.
“That’s it, tell him,” Joel growls, pushing his cock even deeper. You swear that if you looked down at your stomach, you’d see a bulge, as impossible as that sounds. “Tell him.”
You desperately grab at Joel’s forearms, feeling the sinewy muscle tense. Your slick drips down his length and wets the inside of your thighs. With a loud moan you repeat your words and it feels delightful.
You only smile when you hear the outer door close shut. Liam is gone.
“Yes yes yes,” Joel murmurs into your neck, ramming into you harder. “That’s it, come on my cock, sweetheart, please—I wanna feel it—”
Your breath catches in your throat, body seizing, “B—Bed,” you manage to choke out.
If he pulled out, you’re not aware. His body is a constant presence against your back, lips always latched on to a patch of skin, tasting the salt. Joel lays you down gently and pushes your legs high enough that it grazes your forehead with every desperate snap of his hips.
“Is this what you want?” he groans, the wet noises of him fucking into the tight fist of your cunt bouncing off the walls.
“Yes, Joel— this is what I want.”
“My whore,” he leans over and grinds into you. He slips his tongue into your mouth, sucks on your tongue. The back of your thighs ache with protest but you whimper into the kiss anyway. Breaking the kiss, Joel breathes into you, “My good sweet little whore,” and another kiss.
Your eyes roll back, “So deep,” you groan, breaking the kiss.
“Deeper deeper deeper,” Joel mocks you by mimicking your dazed tone with his drawl. He slowly pushes in, holding himself there, he halts your breath. “How’s that, wildflower? Deep enough for you?”
“Oh god, Joel—” you choke. You fist the sheets, your cunt fluttering and throbbing. He doesn’t move, he flexes his cock and the pressure of that is enough to break you.
Joel wasn’t expecting it, this much your muddled brain is able to realize from the shocked groan he lets out. His lips find purchase on your forehead, kissing and mumbling praise as your entire body clenches and releases, your pussy gushing around him. You feel the trickles of fresh wetness ripping out of you and all you can do is take it when Joel resumes his thrusts, fucking you through your messy orgasm.
Despite your insistent begging of wanting him to come inside, Joel pulls out, coming undone instantly as he does so. He rubs himself over your mound, thick ropes of come spurting across your stomach and even the underside of your right breast. He releases your legs and they fall limply to his sides.
Joel kisses you long and deep, his weight comforting above your trembling body. When he finally pulls away, he lets out a low chuckle and brushes your noses together.
“I think he left, sweetheart.”
“Good,” you mumble and press a quick kiss to his flushed lips. “All I want is you.”
Liam’s not your boyfriend anymore.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfic#tlou fanfic#the last of us fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfiction
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Heart song (OP81)
summary: in the middle of dating rumors, current music industry hit, y/n l/n releases a love song which leaves no space to deny her relationship. -> based on this request
fc: olivia rodrigo
cw: bad language,
a/n: the only bands I listen to are a bunch of old men or a bunch of dead man, safe to say I don't know much about bands so I made her a solo artist.
liked by: oscar piastri, sabrinacarpenter, and 1,556,895 more
yourusername: something coming soon, or whatever
comments:
ynsleftshoe: oscar in the likes before me again
hooklinesinker: girl same! and I got notifications on cococroissant: the struggle of making it here before pee ass tree vrom vrom is real
ynupdates: mother is cooking and eating for real
sabrinacarpenter: so excited for it!
justonechange: the bond between two girls scorned by a man is unbreakable breakmyback: sabrina is so me right now
likealovesong: my hears are about to be blessed again! thank you god for answering my prayers
liked by landonorris and 1,345 more
f1wagupdates: seems like a new wag may be entering the paddock, showcasing papaya!
mclaren driver, oscar piastri, has been spotted being touchy and affectionate with pop star, y/n l/n. this is not the first time the two have been spotted together.
comments:
vroomyroom: what the hell is lando doing in the likes of a wag updates page
norrizzz: he's so messy fr
user454: seriously what's wrong with you people, leave them alone!
justanichident: oscar's lucky he's good that polite cat smile because those hands do be wondering
breakmyback: I too am no better than a man (I'd be touching y/n's ass all the time if I could)
user334: ow! they're so cute together!
user331: power couple vibes
user564: ew, he can do so much better
user887: SHE can do much better
liked by hattiepiastri, nicolepiastri, yourusername and 1.345.221 more
oscarpiastri: great vacation, lots of sun
comments:
macmylarens: if bwoah was an instagram caption it would be tht
rockabye: who does bro think he's fooling with that soft launch
dropstoproll: like sir, we all know that's y/n l/n, now give us some good content
landonorris: you really poured your heart out with that caption mate
ynupdates: I spy with my little eye, y/n in the likes
justonechange: so ... he's not that bad
user423: I get y/n, he's hot
liked by sabrinacarpenter, oscarpiastri, landonorris and 1.978.645 more
yourusername: Summer When Everybody Ever Thought, Love In Knowledge Existed, Yellow Orchids Unidentified
see you on august 19th ;)
comments:
ynupdates: NEW ALBUM ALERT!!!
breakmyback: I don't care if a man driving in circles for living inspired it, new music is coming!
sabrinacarpenter: that caption triggered my dyslexia
justonechange: no because same user332: I thought I was the only one!
dotsaredotting: hear me out, the aesthethic of this album is orange (so far), and there's a car, mclaren F1 team is orange ("papaya" or wtv), oscar piastri drives for mclaren, oscar is soft launching, they wore spotted together = they're dating
crazyonce: this is so delulu it may be trululu
ynupdates: in case you thought you were crazy for not getting the caption, every words starts with a capital latters and all the letters together spell SWEET LIKE YOU which is either a song on the album or the name of the album
liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, hattiepiastri, and 2.021.331 more
yourusername: the way sun shines over beaches, the first taste of summer peaches, yellowed pages of a favorite book it may all be sweet but not sweet like you.
my new album, sweet like you, is now available to stream. this is such a special album for me which is why it's dedicated to such a special person. I love you, Osc, keep on being sweet.
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liked by yourusername, sabrinacarpenter, landonorris and 1.987.554 more
oscarpiastri: every day I'm grateful I get to have you. you're the sun of my morning, the stars of my evening, the breath of my lungs and the song of my heart. I love you, y/n.
comments:
landonorris: wow, you actually poured your heart out with this one
sabrinacarpenter: she was mine first car boy, remember that
hattiepiastri: I hope you know how much cooler than you your girlfriend is
yourusername: love you too, my sweet boy <3
comments have been limited on this post
#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1 x you#f1 x female reader#f1 fanfic#formula 1 x reader#formula one imagine#formula 1 x you#formula 1#f1 smau#oscar piastri x y/n#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri fanfic#op81#op81 x reader#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri smau#op81 x you#op81 x y/n#op81 social media au#op81 smau
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DO YOU HATE ME THAT MUCH? — Billy Butcher
Summary: Butcher gives orders for you to stay back from the fight. You hardly comply and prove differently; he starts thinking in a very improper manner about you.
Pairing: Billy Butcher x female!supe reader.
Word count: 2k.
Warnings: smut!! hate sex, unprotected sex, fingering, enemies to fuck buddies, reader can control blood and explode shit (like Victoria Neuman lol), the usual mentions of violence.
Notes: this is a request made by @thatcharmingmushroom for my 400 followers drabbles celebration. I'm sorry I took soooo damn long on this, but I hope you like it and thank you so much for the idea because I had so much fun with it! I picked the Herogasm episode for this tho hehe
☕ if you like my writing support me with a ko-fi !
GEN MASTERLIST!
taglist is here!
On the hunt for Payback, you made your way to infiltrate Herogasm along with Butcher, Hughie and the new asshole, Soldier Boy, not caring that the British dick ordered you a thousand times to stay back.
For different reasons, you were kind of forced to stay with the team, and while you didn’t really get along with any of them, Butcher was by far the one you hated the most. And, in the end, when Soldier Boy burned the whole place to the ground with a blast and Homelander arrived, you couldn’t stand there doing nothing. While the three men tried to hold down Homelander, you used your blood to create strong whips around his limbs, trying to tie him to the ground as Soldier Boy prepared to blast, yet again.
But just in seconds, Homelander recharged himself and pushed them all aside, cutting your whips, and flashing you quickly with his heat vision before storming out. Your blood blades barely made it to the hole he left in the roof as the supe just disappeared, flying away like a scared bitch.
“Well,” you started after an instant of staying silent. “I guess we fucking failed.”
Butcher shot you a dark glare as he walked straight until he stopped in front of you. “You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.
You held his eyes as he towered you with his broad figure. He looked even more intimidating now he started playing the supe, injecting himself with Compund V. “I don’t care.”
There was this smug smirk on his face as you talked back. You knew he hated you; you knew you hated him. But as fucking weird your powers were, controling blood and exploding people with their own, Butcher found you interesting and stupidly astonishing. But of course, he wasn’t going to admit it. They were just intrusive thoughts about you and how hot you were, defying his direct orders of strictly not coming to the supe-orgy. Yeah, Homelander was a fucking cunt, and he would take care of Soldier Boy soon too. Right now, he just needed something to take the stress out after another stupid failure. His hand would work later once back at the motel, he decided.
Butcher leaned down, until his lips almost brushed the shell of your ear. “We’ll see about that.”
“Why do I have to keep listening to you?” you asked as Butcher followed back to the motel.
You stopped right out of your door, because of course you weren’t going to share a room with him and the old asshole. Hughie, who went inside their room, was the only decent human being between all of them, but still, you had to take care of yourself from those fuckers. Besides, the British idiot wouldn’t stop the verbal vomiting the whole fucking trip and you were growing sick of it.
“Because, for starters, you’re a fucking newbie here,” Butcher replied, smirking hatefully. “And second, your powers are fucking out of control. You need training and keep your mouth shut.”
You rolled your eyes, showing him your wrists. “I already healed myself from the cuts I made. Perhaps I should use your blood next time?”
“No, there’s no next time for you.”
“You don’t decide that, Butcher,” you crossed your arms over your chest, tired of being treated like a stupid kid. “I’m helping on this, I want him dead. And if any of you idiots don’t kill him, then I will.”
He curved an eyebrow, not showing any signs of being taken aback at your words, but inside, he was just in awe as before. You really hated Homelander as much as he did, however, you didn’t have a fucking plan. You would attack first, ask questions later. In any way, since when could he care about that? He had no idea.
“Hey,” Soldier Boy talked behind Butcher and stepped in closer between both of you. “You fucking stay back from this, you ain’t doing shit with your blood whips.”
Furious, you motioned your hand to draw fresh blood from a wound on his cheek and created a sharp blade, cutting his skin lightly. Soldier Boy clenched his jaw before smirking at you.
“Talk to me like that ever again and I’ll blow your dick, and not the way you like it,” you warned through your teeth.
Soldier Boy wiped the blood off the fresh wound, and smiled anew before patting Butcher on the shoulder. “She’s all yours, pal.”
With that, the old supe disappeared in the next room. You just wanted this to be over, so you turned around to get inside your room, but Butcher wouldn’t leave you alone just yet, putting his foot between the door and the frame, holding it with his super strength.
“What the fuck you want now?!” you yelled at him as he made his way inside, slamming the door closed.
“Imma have to call the fucking CIA if you don’t calm down your ass,” he threatened between his teeth.
“You wouldn’t-”
“I can, and I fucking will,” he insisted, taking slow strides, making you step back from him until your back met the wall.
His eyes were getting dangerously dark and you could smell the sweat and dry blood coming from him. You noticed his pulse was increasing, and you grinned. Your mind jumped to an unsafe place where you probably knew what Butcher was feeling right now. The heat and coming down the high of what could have been the end of both yours and his enemy was too much to burden. Little did he know that you were the kind of person that used to take out the stress with something, or someone. Just like him.
“From one to ten, how much do you hate me?” you asked all of the sudden, looking straight into his eyes.
Butcher’s fierceful gaze turned into confusion. “What?”
“How fucking much do you hate me?” you repeated yourself steadier.
Butcher rolled his eyes before answering in a whisper. “I’d choose a one thousand scale for that.”
“Good, I hate you too,” you replied with a smirk before pulling him for a kiss that turned heated too fast, but you didn’t care.
You needed release. Something quick, hard and hot to take it out of your system. He was perfect for the task, and by the way his tongue tasted your mouth, you found out that he wouldn’t step back. At least you hoped so. The tension between both of you was so damn sharp and it was just a matter of time for that bomb to explode, and you preferred it this way instead of fighting each other to death.
Gripping the neck of his shirt to get even closer as you kissed, Butcher’s hands roamed all over your hips, running on your sides until he met the flesh of your ass on your jeans, pressing you towards his chest. You gasped against his mouth when he started to unzip your pants, you worked immediately on the buttons of his shirt. Desperately, you discharged his shirt, the fabric being followed to his pants, and he undressed you with the same eagerness until you were only panties and bra.
Butcher lifted you up from the ground, hands on your thighs as he guided you to the mattress. He crawled on top of you, spreading your legs with his big, rough hands and leaning down to lick down at your chest and rip your bra off. His action made you gasp out loud at the same time he sucked on a nipple like a starved man.
“You're a fucking beast,” you whimpered, feeling his hands peeling off your panties and leaving you completely exposed at his mercy.
You tugged at his jeans and he pulled them down along with his boxers as quickly as he could, taking out his dick with that smug smile on his stupid face. He noticed your eyes taking the sight of his half nakedness, biting your lip slightly once you focused on his hard cock pressing on your crotch. It only made you wet.
“Well, I plan to fuck you like one,” he said, grabbing the back of your legs and rubbing the tip of his cock against your wet folds.
“Show me, don’t talk- fuck!”
You let out a rather loud moan when he rubbed your clit with his fingers, playing with your entrance until he inserted a single, thick digit in your pussy. Butcher stretched you out with a finger, then slid a second one, scissoring them to reach your deepest spots as your walls clenched around his digits. You kept whimpering and moaning as he increased the thrusts of his hand.
“Bloody fuck, these are the only sounds I like coming from your mouth, luv,” he hissed, sensing that you almost came on his fingers.
Right before you reached your high, he pulled out and you groaned in annoyance, feeling empty once again.
“Shit,” you breathed out.
He positioned between your legs anew, getting comfortable as he started to push his tip against your slit. The grip of his hands on your thighs became a little harsh once he entered you slowly, the thickness of his cock splitting you open.
“What a tight cunt I always knew you’d be,” he grunted, filling you up completely and leaning down to mark your neck with his teeth.
His mouth and thrusts earned him your sweet moans as he fucked you senseless. The burning soon turned into pleasure. Your nails scratched his back while moaning incoherent words. His hands on your thighs would leave marks on your skin, but it felt so damn good. You needed a little bit of pain to remind you that you were alive, rotting for that sweet bliss only sex could give you.
Moans escaped from your throat and mingled with his deep groans and the sound of your skin against his own, the headboard of the bed hitting the wall with every of his hard thrusts. You pulled him down for a wet kiss when you felt closer and closer to come undone.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” you gasped.
Butcher increased the rhythm of his thrusts, his cock throbbing as your walls started to clench around him.
“You’ll be the death of me,” he mumbled against your mouth.
“Do you still hate me?” you asked, trying to catch your breath. You reached down to rub your clit. You were so close, almost there.
“If I keep fucking you like this then I might change my mind- holy fuck!”
In that moment, you came hard with a string of curses and clenching your walls around his cock. The pound of his hips increased and he fucked you through your orgasm to reach his own. You continued rubbing your clit, fingers finding the place where you two connected, meeting his cock coated with your juices when he pulled out just slightly to slam back inside again.
Butcher emptied his cum inside you, mumbling dirty words against your ear. His rhythm slowing down eventually, fucking his seed in your pussy. Once he came down from his high, he pulled out and rolled by your side on the bed. Your body started to ache but in the best way possible. It was the best fuck you had in a long time. After a couple of minutes in complete silence you decided to talk, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“I hope you keep hating on me…”
He turned slightly to see your blank face. “Why?”
“I love hate-fucking.”
He scoffed with a smile curving on his lips. “You bet I enjoyed this too.”
Within a second, you climbed on top of him. Thighs straddling his lap as you rubbed your cunt on his soft cock.
“Second round? You can eat me out and suck your cum out of me,” you gave him a wink, rolling your hips and leaning down for a quick kiss.
“Dirty girl,” Butcher whispered on your lips. “Perhaps put your mouth into good use.”
“I like how that sounds,” you smiled back at him.
Billy Butcher taglist
@delaynew
@thesilmarillionblog
@feyresqueen
@drasticemotions
#billy butcher smut#billy butcher x reader#billy butcher x y/n#billy butcher x female reader#billy butcher imagines#billy butcher imagine#billy butcher the boys
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Loved your writing of arcane characters saying things they regret during an argument. Would you be willing to do a version with Jayce, Viktor and Silco? I apologize if you don't prefer to write about these characters, you can ignore this
Arcane men saying things they'll regret during an argument. | Viktor, Jayce, Silco x Gn!Reader
Oh, I absolutely am willing to do that, Anon!! These are going to be pretty irredeemable, though, so there is not going to be a part two to this... anyways, enjoy!!<3
Content: Season 2 spoilers!!, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, break ups, swearing, gaslighting, toxic behavior, sfw
Reader has no mentioned pronouns.
((Not proofread))
》VIKTOR
"This... isn't you anymore, Viktor. A-And I refuse to keep lying to myself like this either!" You hissed out one night, unable to keep it in any longer. You were losing your mind in this compound of his, unable to understand how seemingly no one was able to recognize how wrong everything was. People who were "healed" by him weren't the same after. They turned into robotic and uncanny husks of their old selves.
A terrifying sight that unnerved you deeply. And only you here.
The nail in the coffin was perhaps the skeptical appearance of Councilor Salo. Never in your life had you ever seen him give a damn about anyone but himself. He lived a life of riches and materialism, far from the selfless and minimalistic lifestyle found here. But after your boyfriend healed him of his inability to walk, he suddenly preached the same ideals that everyone else did.
Peace, love, and community.
Those were the important pillars of this idyllic place Viktor had created, and yet you couldn't see past the clear red flags that weaved themselves in their white attire. You were never much of a genius like he was, but it didn't take much brainpower to understand that this was not a great place to be in. No matter how hard he attempted to convince you of that.
"... I'm sorry you feel that way. But I'm afraid I can not follow your reasoning for this claim. I am myself... just someone greater. More meaningful. Isn't that beautiful?" His voice was so gentle and patient in comparison to yours. Something that wasn't unusual to him. But the way he used that tone now made you sick. "Terrifying is a better word, actually... Why can't you see that this is just wrong? You're not healing anyone-" "-But I am. Look around you. Is that not enough for you to finally believe me, my love? I want to create a better world... one in which we can live freely together." Your mind spun, his words ringing in your head dangerously. And you hated every second of it.
This isn't the man you loved anymore. He must have died that fateful day when the sky fell from above, and he covered you with his body to save you. His last act of kindness as your boyfriend and lover before he perished and left behind whoever he was. And you'd be damned if the last good memory got tainted too.
"No. I will not let you play with my mind anymore. I've had enough." You pushed past him, wanting to finally escape this borderline cult. Originally, you had only followed after him because you couldn't bear being without him. Jayce was right, though. He really was different now.
"Hm... it seems like I was right about you after all." You stopped in your tracks yet didn't dare face him. "You truly are not worth saving... you can't grasp the beauty of what I have made. I suppose everyone's claims for your low intelligence were, unfortunately, right. What a shame." How could a devil have such a soothing, loving voice? Why did the monster that now lurked in your shadow have to have your lovers face? The cruelty was too much to bear.
Who would have thought that you'd finally leave him for good after all the years you've taken care of him? This moment felt so surreal and yet ironically freeing as well. The end was near. "Did you... ever even love me?" You asked aimlessly, but didn't wait to hear his answer.
Perhaps if you had, however, you would've seen that sudden spark of surprise in his eyes, as you slipped out of his fingers for good at last.
》JAYCE
You had looked everywhere for him. And after also asking everyone under the sun if they had seen your boyfriend, you had eventually determined that he must've somehow gone missing. Worried sick, it pained you knowing that there wasn't much you could do either, considering that everyone was too busy getting ready for a borderline war and Caitlyn became unreachable as a result. Yet just as you began to lose hope, your dear lover finally returned... but he wasn't the same.
He didn't look the same, nor did he act the same, in fact. He looked so different that it even visibly startled you when you found him rummaging through his once shared laboratory. You had just returned from another wrap around the building in hopes of finding it, and whilst you'd consider yourself lucky this time around, all you now felt was genuine dread.
"Jayce...? What happened to you? I looked for you everywhere and-" You stilled at the intense look he gave you, his face flinching for a moment, as though his mind couldn't comprehend your image. Glancing over at his peculiar weapon of choice, you felt unnerved at how even that looked uncanny. The entire situation was unnerving you deeply, to say the least. "You... You shouldn't be here." He finally muttered, his voice deeper and colder than it ever was. Jayce always had such a fun and warm voice. If you didn't know any better, you would've questioned who he was a while ago.
"Hey... tell me where you were, okay?" You said, trying a more gentle approach as you neared him, eyes focused on his clearly injured leg. Had he been kidnapped? You doubted it. So what made him end up like this? Nothing you could come with explained his appearance. His hair and beard were way longer than they should have gotten in the short span of time he was gone, too.
Reaching down carefully, you tried to inspect his leg, but he seemed less receptive to the idea. Or so you assumed, after he shoved you away roughly and held the hammer to your face at impressive speed. His eyes were glossy, as though he wasn't entirely all there. He was reliving a terrifying moment in his mind, unaware of the horror you were going through. Never could you have ever thought of ending up in this position with him. "Jayce! What the hell are you doing-?" "-Get away! I know what you are... you've been sent by him too, weren't you?" You let out a shriek when he swung the hammer at you, only giving you a fraction of a second to jump out of the way.
Falling onto your behind, you quickly crawled backward and away from him, tears welling up in your eyes. Your scream seemed to at least wake him up, though, as he finally lowered his weapon and blinked at you in surprise. "Fucks sake! What is wrong with you?" You yelled out, yet as fast as his face softened, it hardened again. "... Sorry... I need to leave." Quickly making his way past you, he only barely escaped your presence before you grabbed onto the fabric of his pants. "Why? Where are you going? Why can't you tell me anything?"
The look in his eyes made you shrink away. This wasn't your Jayce anymore. "... The future of everyone in Piltover hinges on me being there on time. Now, make yourself useful for once and get out of my way." Shaking you off harshly, he left you crying on the cold floor of the once lively laboratory, not once looking back.
》SILCO
When you first met Silco, you were both still leading simple lives in the last drop with his brother and all of your other friends in Zaun. The lanes were harsh and, at times, cruel, yet you fought through the agony of it all together. Years down the line later, you find yourself still reminiscing on those heavenly days, particularly those of your lover who had turned for the worst in the time being. And the question of why you didn't listen to Vander's warnings came to mind again then. Perhaps you were just too used to excusing everything his brother did, especially after he had attempted to drown him so horrifically, which left him permanently injured.
But even so... why didn't you just listen? Why did it take so many years for you to finally throw the towel and leave for good? Finally realise that the man you loved was a monster? A disgusting and evil monster who was willing to use the plight of others for his own gain. And for what? Money? Fame? Power? It was all an ego trip you had far more than enough of. Zaun was his playground, and an escape was impossible. You'd be, however damned if you didn't at least try to anyways. Even if just in Vander's honor as a long-awaited apology.
Pushing past the crowd in the stuffy, full Last drop, you finally reached his office upstairs. Not caring about formalities anymore, you knocked and opened the door without awaiting a reply. If death met you behind it, then so be it. "Ah, darling, in a hurry today, aren't you?" "We need to talk. Alone." Short and straight to the point. Raising a brow, he shared a look with Jinx, who was just done giving him his daily "medicine". Oh, how you hated your lover's dearest creation. Shimmer. The exact thing that had ruined your lives for good. But you pushed away your disdain for the task at hand.
Giving Jinx a dismissive wave of his hand, you waited for her to be gone for good before taking a breath to speak. But Silco beat you to it. Always so painfully perceptive. "The answer is no, if you're here asking to leave. I refuse to let you go, dear. You have no one else but me after all. You wouldn't survive on your own." He always underestimated you, so this wasn't an all to surprising response. And if you were just a couple of months younger, you would have maybe agreed and backed off. But you were sick of his games.
"I didn't come here to ask for permission, Silco. I'm here to say goodbye." The slightest, softest crack at the last word gave you away horribly. You certainly didn't expect your feelings for the man to betray you, but even that won't stop you now. Said man just hummed in response as he stood up to face the window. His hands calmly lit a cigar, very much unbothered. But you knew that your sentence had gotten to him anyway with how his hand shook ever so slightly. Out of anger, most likely.
"So you think you can do whatever you want? Leave after you've spent so many years at my side? Your hands aren't as clean as you think they are, darling. Even yours are a bright violet." A reference to the shimmer vials on his desk. He knew how much you hated it, so this felt like a jab. A jab at the deep guilt you felt every day for enabling the death of all of your friends indirectly. If only you had stopped him from the start... then maybe you wouldn't have to feel the dread that ruined you from the inside anymore.
"I've accepted my flaws and sins a long time ago. I may not be better than you... but sometimes, in order to end the cycle, you have to walk away and leave some things behind." You suddenly felt so content, his cold and terrible words not reaching you anymore. You were so close to leaving. So close to leaving Zaun and Piltover like you've always dreamed. But Silco just scoffed in disbelief.
"Hah, don't give me that self-righteous shit... I've been there for you for so many years, dear. I've taken care of you, fed you, and loved you to my best ability for so long. The least you could do is be grateful for my kindness." "So you think I'm a burden?" The silence was deafening, but it was enough to confirm your long-standing suspicions. He had lost his love for you a long time ago. Perhaps the side that loved you so purely drowned in the river with him.
"... Goodbye. I hope one day you can walk away too." You turned and began walking out then, suddenly realising that it's finally over. Shoving your hands into the pocket of your coat, you felt the ticket for the skyship you had to take. "Don't you dare leave. Don't you dare it-" All bark and no bite as usual. There was no stopping you now, and he knew it. He was letting you go after all. You could just hope that one day he'd listen to your words and end the cycle, too.
What a shame that you won't be there at his side to see it, however... maybe in another life then.
#arcane#arcane x genderneutral reader#arcane x reader#arcane x y/n#arcane x you#arcane viktor#arcane viktor x reader#viktor#viktor x reader#arcane silco#arcane silco x reader#silco x reader#silco#arcane jayce#arcane jayce x reader#jayce#jayce x reader
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@lunariadew asked: 'Can you write a poly fic maby like a feel good fic or date night or something with all the boys! I’m greedy and I think there’s not enough poly fics as there should be'
Nothing profound this time around! Just some good old-fashioned shenanigans. I've wanted to do a fic with all the boys for SO long (Infold, hire me to write a sitcom-style show for the guys, PLEASE) I've kept it platonic since it's early stages; it's open to interpretation about how many sparks are flying and between whom exactly..... 👀 But if ppl want more of this, I'm all over it. Platonic or romantic? I'll play it by ear!
Game Night
L&DS Boys X Reader
Summary: The most important men in your life can manage one evening together, right? For you? Please? Pretty please?
Genre: Fluff + humour
Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, some swearing, a lil conflict, non-canon (I know some of the guys probably know each-other but we're pretending they don't 😇)
| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!
“Rafayel… what do you think this is?”
The artist stands at your open door, wearing a self-assured smile and one of the flashier outfits you’ve seen him in, and that’s really saying something. Between you is a bouquet of lilies, petals curled like frozen licks of fire that compliment— deliberately, if you had to guess— the warmer fires within his eyes. Those eyes narrow at your question.
“What do you think it is?” he says suspiciously, lowering the flowers.
“…Game night?”
You’re not sure why you phrase it so tentatively. You know what it is; you’re the host. You open your door wider, stepping aside to give Rafayel a better view of the apartment behind you, and the remainder of his smile sinks.
“Hi,” Xavier calls out, and you don’t have to see him to know he’s giving a wholesome sort of wave.
“Hi…” Rafayel answers, barely more than a whisper as his eyes flit between everyone else in the room, because he’s the last to arrive. “Game night, yeah,” he nods assertively, “I knew that.” Then a deep breath: “Can I, like, put these somewhere—”
“Kitchen counter,” you gesture.
“Got it.” He doesn’t have to be told twice.
Closing the door behind him, you watch as he skirts past the lounge and makes for your kitchen, where another bouquet already lies waiting. He zeroes in on it. “Looks like mine’s not the only heart you’re breaking tonight, huh, cutie? What are these—” he pokes at a petal— “daturas?”
“They’re her favourite,” speaks a distinctly low voice.
Rafayel doesn’t look up. He plonks his bouquet on top of the other and winces: “They’re really not, though.”
“He’s right,” you chip in, giving Sylus a sheepish smile, and now Rafayel looks up, beaming.
“She likes roses,” Zayne says, with the calm confidence he’d quote a medical journal. On the sofa beside him, Xavier nods, and you grin at them both.
“Noted,” Sylus chuckles.
Rafayel’s less convinced. “Since when?!”
“Since forever, Raf. I like lilies too, so I didn’t say anything, ‘kay?” You beckon him back to the lounge, ignoring his splutters of disbelief. “C’mere, let me introduce you to everyone.”
The man slinks to your side like a reluctant shadow, and your hands find your hips. “This is Zayne. Xavier,” you point out, putting faces to names; Rafayel’s heard stories about each. Then you nod towards Sylus. “Over there’s Skye.”
From his place by the window, Sylus lifts a hand in greeting.
“So… yeah,” you finish. Oh, wait! “Guys, this is—”
“They know who I am,” Rafayel shrugs, his fame apparently heavy on his shoulders. He glances around the room for validation, but he gets none, so he tries again. “You do know who I am, right?”
“Sorry,” Xavier admits with an awkward smile, glancing back at Sylus: you?
The man has to think about it. You know for a fact he’s traded more than one of Rafayel’s paintings for a profit, but he smirks and gives an even more exaggerated shrug than the artist himself.
Really?
“You’re Rafayel,” Zayne states plainly.
“Yeah! See, I told you, cutie—”
“You slipped on a paintbrush and checked yourself into Akso, right? The nurses still talk about it.”
Rafayel’s enthusiasm drains. He looks conflicted as he mulls over the additional information. “In, like, a good way?” he hazards.
Zayne stares back at him, wielding silence like a scalpel before cutting deeper with a: “…sure.”
You bite back a smile. Leaving the two to discuss the finer details of Rafayel’s notoriety at the hospital, you wander over to the kitchen, where you fish out a vase from the back of a cupboard. You fill it, set it down on the counter, then reach for Sylus’s bouquet. There’s a black satin ribbon; you untie it.
“Are you sure this is a good idea, sweetie?” asks the man himself, joining you discreetly.
The others can’t really hear you— they’re still talking. “What,” you smirk, retrieving your scissors from a drawer, “you worried Xavier’s gonna arrest you?”
Sylus laughs lowly, quietly. “That’s adorable.”
“Good.” You pick up a flower and trim a leaf from the stem. “Because even if he wanted to—” you wave it, just short of his face— “I’d protect you, ok?”
He regards the flower beneath his nose. Smiles smugly. “These can be toxic, sweetie.”
“Really? Whoops.” You put it down, then snatch up a lily from Rafayel’s bouquet. “En Garde!”
“These too.”
“What the hell?”
The flame-red flower drops from your fingers, and Sylus laughs more sincerely. “Stick to roses, kitten. Or…” He moves his hand over his deconstructed bouquet, his Evol pruning the rest of the leaves from the stems. A tendril of it gathers the flowers, delivering them to him so he can hold them out to you with a flourish. “Live dangerously. Who am I to judge?”
You take them, then plop them into the vase. “Cute.”
“I’m here all week,” he grins. “You’d better wash your hands, hmm?”
With a hmph of agreement, you turn to the sink. You spend half a minute, rubbing soap and warm water over your hands, and when you turn back around— still drying them— something is different. The lilies are gone. Sylus is looking at you, innocuous.
“Real mature, Skye.”
He makes no effort to defend himself. You’re about to tell him that his magic better extend to making flowers reappear when your attention is whipped back to the lounge. The voices from that side have raised, so you lean forward on your kitchen island, watching their owners in a sort of stakeout.
“I take it you have a plan,” Sylus whispers, leaning with you.
You look at him. He looks back. “The plan is for hosts,” you scold, “not guests.” He’s much too close so you step away, reaching for the vase of daturas and holding them threateningly out, like you’re not afraid to use them. “Go back to the guests, deserter.”
Sylus lifts his hands in surrender, smirking in a way that says he knows he’s met his match. You shoo him further, back into enemy lines, then resume your stakeout. Xavier is sharing his own “embarrassing” medical story— talking about a time where he once passed out from exhaustion while fighting at your side, and you think it’s supposed to make Rafayel feel better.
It doesn’t, of course, and even Zayne is gazing down at the floor, self-conscious.
Sylus meets your eyes across the room, signals with a tip of his head: now's a good time for that master plan, sweetie.
Right. Your plan. Your master plan, yeah.
…
“You should have picked the doctor.”
Sylus’s words are near-silent: for you, not anyone else, and you pretend you don’t hear them. “But no,” he carries on, because he knows you can, “you just had to have the artist.”
“It’s Pictionary!” you snap, drawing all eyes in the room.
Lounging beside you, Sylus feigns an amused surprise, as though he hasn’t just been trying to elicit that exact reaction. On the other sofa, Zayne and Xavier stare, taken more genuinely aback. You give a smile of apology.
“Guys, concentrate!” Rafayel clicks his fingers at you. He’s stood in the centre of the space by a large drawing pad, and he goes back to frantically sketching on it. The drawing is… interesting. Abstract. Maybe even beautiful? But you don’t have a clue what it is.
“Thirty seconds,” warns Zayne, studying the little egg-timer he’s guarding.
You tilt your head at the drawing. There’s maybe a— wait, where did those extra colours come from? Where did he even get those pens? Anyway… there’s a circle. “A globe?” you guess. “Earth! No? Umm… oh! The sun! The moon!”
Rafayel shakes his head with every suggestion, adding even more intricate, unhelpful scribbles. Is that a fifth pen?! You nudge your other teammate, calling for back-up.
Sylus regards the drawing listlessly. “A unicorn.”
“What?!” Rafayel’s tone has reached a pitch that almost makes you wince. “No! C’mon, are you even trying?”
“No,” Sylus lilts with a pleasant smile, lifting the drink he’s been nursing to his lips.
You kick his foot. “A bowl of fruit!” you exclaim, determined to make up for the lack of enthusiasm. “A plate? A plate with food? Breakfast! Lunch! Dinner!”
“Time’s up,” Zayne interrupts, and it’s a mercy, really; you deflate with a sigh.
Rafayel puts his hands on his hips as he takes a step back to observe his work. He tucks four fine-liners back into his pocket— purses his lips as though he really can’t see a problem— and he’s keeping you all in suspense.
Sylus is up in an instant, stealing a card from where it’s been discarded on the coffee table. He reads the answer, then rolls his eyes. The original pen was also abandoned, so he plucks it up, then strides to the drawing pad.
He draws an oval. Then a triangle.
“A fish! A fish!” you cry out.
“You’re good at this, sweetie,” Sylus grins. He puts the lid on the pen with a click before dropping it into Rafayel’s hand.
“Is it my turn?” Xavier asks, trying to relieve the tension of the room. He gets up and smiles as Rafayel passes him the pen. “Your drawing is pretty. The composition is really—”
“Don’t,” Rafayel says. “Like, thanks? But don’t.”
“Fair enough,” Xavier chuckles.
You all prepare for the next round: Zayne handing you the egg-timer, Xavier re-organising the stack of prompt cards. Sylus takes a photo of the drawing pad before ambling back over— a moping Rafayel in tow— and they both sink down either side of you. You glance at the latter, giggling. “A fish, Raf? Really?”
“So I didn’t just wanna draw you some basic fish, ok?” The artist crosses his arms with a pout. “But fine, enjoy mediocrity, I guess.”
To your left, Sylus raises his glass in toast to the notion. There’s a noise: Xavier tearing the used page from the pad. You look up. “Xavier, can I have that?”
“Sure.” He brings it over to you.
You look at the drawing again, holding it at arm’s length and rotating it experimentally. You’re seeing a lot, but nothing that screams ‘fish’. There’s a circle, still. Oh! “It’s a fish bowl! Wait, wait, wait— is that Reddie?”
“Yeah!” Rafayel beams.
“Aww!”
The renewed team spirit drops off with Sylus; he’s on his phone, not paying attention. He seems to sense your scrutiny because he peers up, gives a ghost of a smile, then returns to whatever he’s doing. Meanwhile, Xavier is ready for his turn, so he signals for you to start the timer. You give him a thumbs up as you turn it over. “Go!”
He starts drawing.
“A car,” Zayne guesses after all of five seconds. Correct. Next. “A river? No. Oh. A snake.” Yes. “A cupcake?” Also yes. (In fairness, he was never going to struggle with that one.) “A person? Ok. Oh, a scientist, no? Ah, a doctor.” Yes again, and really— what?
Zayne continues to list correct answers, though thankfully, that’s the last of the coincidences. You watch on, vaguely in awe, until you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You check it casually, aware that Sylus is next to you, looking down at it too.
It’s a text from him: The drawing… Can I have it?
You glance up at him subtly, meeting his eyes and giving a discreet yet firm shake of your head. He frowns. You’re not having this debate here, now, so you let your gaze return to the drawing pad while idly retrieving your drink.
A few seconds later, there’s another text: Found buyer
Then another: Quarter of a mil
You almost choke on that drink.
“Umm… cutie?” Rafayel asks, poking you. He points at the timer you’ve left on the coffee table, and the top half is empty.
“Shit, yeah. That’s time!” you call.
Xavier stops drawing. The small, crude sketches behind him have reached double digits. He looks really proud. “Great! How many was that?”
His eyes find you. Zayne and Rafayel’s, too. Were you supposed to be counting? Uh—
“Eleven,” says Sylus, and it’s way too smug to be a lie.
“Awesome!” Xavier flips the drawing pad over to where you’ve been tallying point totals. He adds eleven marks to one side. “That’s—” he counts both— “ah, thirty-three to nine.”
A silence falls over the room. Unsure of what else to do, you give a half-hearted round of applause and Xavier laughs awkwardly, still humble, despite it all. “I think we’re kinda done with Pictionary, yeah?” you suggest, rising from your seat. “I should probably get started on food, anyway.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.”
The insistence came from Xavier, and you freeze suspiciously; he’s never turned down free food.
“You’ve already done so much,” he explains, “setting this all up for us. You should relax, really! Leave it to me.”
The word ‘relax’ is not synonymous with the image of Xavier anywhere near your kitchen, but he’s looking at you so earnestly, blue eyes brimming with warmth, and what are you supposed to say? No thanks, Xavier— I value my life? Everyone’s watching you. Gods help you. “That’s really sweet, Xavier. Thanks.”
Your fellow Hunter’s smile widens even more. He heads off to the kitchen, a spring to his step that makes your heart sink with dread. “Actually—” you glance at your ex-teammates— “could you two go help him? Zayne and I’ll tidy up over here.”
Rafayel and Sylus do as they’re asked, even though their expressions remind you that cooking is not, typically, a three-man job. It’s tactical, though. You wanted a moment alone with Zayne. “Are you ok?” you ask, once the others are out of earshot. “I know this must all be a lot. The guys can be, well… yeah.”
He knows what you mean, right?
Zayne has slipped away from the couch; he’s crouched on the floor, collecting a few prompt cards that have wandered astray. He glances up at you, pushing his glasses back on his nose. “I’m ok,” he assures with a fond smile. “Thank you, though.”
“You’re welcome.” He hands you the cards and you slot them back into their deck. Then you turn to the drawing pad. “You and Xavier make a good team, huh?”
The doctor straightens to his full height. “Mmm. It helped that we didn’t spend the entire game comparing the size of our… drawing abilities.”
You laugh unashamedly. The pen’s still at-hand, so you pick it up— reward another point.
Zayne chuckles.
“Food’s gonna be a while.”
You both turn, following the voice back to Sylus, who has apparently decided he’s had his fill of kitchen duty. What was that— a minute? He seems to have anticipated your dissatisfaction, because he’s brought a bribe with him: the box of chocolates that had come with his bouquet. It’s already open and he holds it out, tempting you.
He’s right— you don’t know when you’ll next be eating— so you select a heart-shaped chocolate, popping it into your mouth with a smile and a muffled: “thanks.”
Sylus smiles back. Then he holds the box out to Zayne. “Doctor?”
It takes a nod of encouragement from you to prompt Zayne into taking something. He chooses a white chocolate truffle, mumbles his own thanks, but Sylus doesn’t relent— not yet. He shakes the box slightly, incitingly, and he doesn’t move it away until Zayne takes two more.
Your physician shoots you a surreptitious smile as Sylus falls back onto the couch, content he’s won your hearts, and that he won’t be sent back to the kitchen anytime soon. His long fingers lift another chocolate from the box, and he meets your eyes as he slips it slowly past his lips, humming like he’s enjoying himself.
You cross your arms, unimpressed. He gives you the least convincing look of innocence you’ve ever seen.
There’s an exclamation from the kitchen: “Hey, where did my flowers go!?”
Shit. You hastily push the drawing pad aside then scurry over to assist Rafayel. You don’t have a plan, exactly; it’s not like you can help him look for them. “Umm… they’re around, Raf. I moved them somewhere safer, that’s all.”
“Where?”
“Uh—”
“Does it matter?” Sylus speaks from behind you, because he and Zayne are close at your heels. “She said they’re somewhere safe.” He leans on the kitchen island. “Don’t you trust her?”
Rafayel scoffs. “I trust her plenty.”
“So prove it. Drop it.”
“Skye,” you caution, “stop.”
Sylus does stop, but not because you asked. He’s done enough already, hasn’t he? Rafayel is bristling with indignance— a lit fuse— and behind him, Xavier sneakily checks the trash can, looking relieved at what he doesn’t find. He gives you a subtle glance: Where actually are the flowers?
You lift a shoulder an inch: Beats me!
There’s a soft, almost imperceptible crackle, and it draws your eyes to the vase of daturas between you all. They’ve caught light— their petals twisting, darkening, within larger flowers of fire.
“Rafayel!” you gasp. “No, no, no, the fire alarm!”
The torched flowers are encased, all of a sudden, in a fine layer of shimmering frost. Sylus blinks down at them, unmoved by their destruction. Zayne’s hand is still outstretched, snowflakes etched over his palm. Then something… odd happens. The ice doesn’t stop. It spreads over the rest of the kitchen island, to all of your bewilderment.
“Zayne?” Your voice is fraught with worry, but you don’t give a damn about your kitchen.
The man winces, and you so rarely see him out of control. The silver-white patterns have crawled up his wrist, and the ice continues to spread; even Sylus steps back. Sharp, jagged crystals start to form— inching out towards everyone.
“Zayne!” you try again.
His chest rises as he drags air through his teeth; it looks like it hurts, but the ice does stop. The others are still, suspended by momentary uncertainty, and you rush to Zayne’s side, taking his hand.
“What the hell was that?” Rafayel remarks, shaking away his surprise and thawing an icicle that’s way too close for comfort.
“He wouldn’t have needed to use his Evol if you hadn’t used yours.”
It’s Xavier, strangely— you would have expected Sylus. The Hunter’s tone is gentle as always, but there’s something behind it, this time: a frustration that lends an edge.
Rafayel hears it too. “Hey, I’m not the one who started this!” He points to Sylus. “He—”
“Has been lighting fires all evening,” Xavier finishes. “But at least his were only figurative.”
Sylus laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh where you just know he’s vying to make things worse. “Look at that,” he says, “the boy next door can bite.”
Xavier’s eyes sharpen. Beside you, Zayne slips his hand from yours. It’s an instinct you know well. This moment is volatile, and you have to be ready. It could go a dozen different ways; it’s just waiting for a spark.
“Guys,” you manage to get out, “please, just… everyone, take a breath, ok? Everything’s fine, we just have to—”
A spark.
There’s smoke. Actual smoke. “Xavier, behind you!” Zayne alerts.
It’s creeping out of the oven and Xavier turns— eyes wide— to open its door before any of you can stop him. Thicker smoke billows out, filling the air, and you all scramble away from it. The fire alarm triggers. You think Rafayel’s shouting something, but you can’t really hear him. Then Sylus is shouting. Maybe even Zayne. The alarm is piercing your ears and making you dizzy— or is it the smoke?
You feel a hand on your shoulder and suddenly everything changes.
There’s cool air, brushing over your skin, and it’s dark; you’re outside the building. You can still hear the alarm, shrill but further away, and your window is easy to spot: there’s a red light flashing behind it. Sylus leans into your vision, saying your name.
“Stay here,” he tells you, “alright?”
He’s gone in another moment, lost to a flicker of crimson-black darkness.
Gods, you’re so stupid.
…
You sit on a short wall outside of your building, and the street is full of people. You recognise most of them: neighbours. Every single one is mad at you. You’re all waiting for the alarm to cut out— for the all-clear to be given. The fire wasn’t that serious in the end, but there’s still a procedure. You would know; this isn’t exactly your first evacuation.
The guys are safe, which is good, because it means you can kill them later. They’ve all gotten lost in the throng, and your neighbours can keep them. Maybe they’ll kill them for you.
“Hey, cutie.”
You were staring down at your feet, but you look up at Rafayel’s voice. He’s coming towards you, evoking a sense of déjà vu, because he’s clutching a bouquet of flame lilies. That’s… the bouquet of flame lilies. How?
“Skye gave ‘em back to me,” he explains, chuckling at your expression, and he’s close enough now to hold the flowers out to you. “I don’t know where he was keeping them. His Evol’s weird, huh?”
“Yeah,” you say timidly, taking the bouquet and gazing down into the petals; they still smell sweet.
Rafayel sits next to you, shuffling close, and he leans his head on your shoulder with a tired sigh. You want to be mad at him. You really, really do— but you’re suddenly not.
“I’m sorry, Rafayel.” The admission barely makes it out of your throat.
You feel his head lift. “You’re sorry?”
“I know it was just a misunderstanding,” you speak into the flowers, “but tonight… wasn’t what you were expecting, I get it. I mean, I kinda threw you into the deep end with all this. You didn’t know you were gonna be around other people, and I—”
“Whoa— cut that out, yeah? You’re killing me, cutie. I spend the whole evening causing trouble, and you’re gonna take all the blame? Nope. Not happening. It was a collaborative effort at least, ok?”
You giggle. “Ok.”
“Good.” His head slumps back down on your shoulder, and yours tilts to rest against it. “Thanks, though. Really,” he whispers, so quiet you almost don’t notice.
Footsteps and familiar voices draw you from the intimacy of the moment. The others are wandering back to you, having finally escaped the veritable mob of your neighbours. They all look tired.
Xavier settles down on the other side of you, and Zayne sits beside him. Sylus takes a seat next to Rafayel with a huff, but he’s not half as unhappy as he’s pretending to be.
All of you sit in silence, gazes flitting between your window— where there are still glimpses of moving figures— and everyone else who’s been evacuated. For the first time all evening, the quiet isn’t tense. It’s peaceful. Easy.
“We’ll do better next time,” Zayne speaks softly.
Next time? You scoff. “Do any of you actually want there to be a next time?”
“I had fun,” Sylus chuckles. He’s taken his coin from his pocket, and he flips it, amusing himself.
“I had fun too,” Xavier grins.
“Cooking again, Xavier?” quips one of your neighbours, as they happen to pass by.
The man beside you laughs, but you can tell it’s forced. Your hand finds his; you give it a little squeeze, letting him know that it wasn’t his fault. His heart was in the right place. It’s always in the right place.
You nudge Rafayel away from you so you can sit up straighter, your free hand rubbing your arm, caressing prickled skin. You’re about to ask for a jacket when something heavy drapes over your shoulders. It’s a coat— still warm— and its owner is stood behind you; you didn’t even notice him get up.
“Thanks, Sylus,” you smile.
All eyes turn to you. What are they—?
Oh.
#🖋rach is actually writing#xavier x reader#zayne x reader#rafayel x reader#sylus x reader#love and deepspace#lads x reader#lads x mc#shen xinghui#li shen#qi yu#qin che#lads#lnds#l&ds
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Post!prision!Reid seeing his daughter for the first time after he gets out 🥹 he gets so emotional because he can finally hold his baby again!
OMG OMG OMG!!!! can you imagine how teary he'd be!! post!prison dad!spencer x mom!reader, I hope you enjoy <3
You wish you could’ve been with the team at the prison, see him come out there in person, but you’re still on bedrest with your baby girl. Georgia is only a couple weeks old, but she’s so much Spencer’s twin- the same unruly curls, the same nose and the same want of you.
You’d written all about her in your letters to Spencer, describing every feature he’s going to see today in so much detail you were sure he would see her clearly in his mind.
“Honey?” He doesn’t shout lest he wake his daughter as he walks in, his fingers twitching with the need to see both of you.
“I’m on the sofa baby,” it’s almost as if he was never gone. You lean over the sofa to see him pass through the kitchen, his hands holding a small bag. “I’m sorry I can’t stand to kiss you, Spence.”
He tuts, leaning down over you, “Nonsense, how’re you feeling?” His eyes flit over to the cot beside you, roving over your daughter before settling back on you.
“Like I missed you longer than you’ve been gone.” You’re waterlogged immediately and Spencer rounds the sofa to pull you into him.
“I missed you too,” his lips press into your temple, “God I missed you both so much.” Tears wet your hairline but you can’t seem to care, Spencer’s home and he’s able to see your baby girl together. What more could you want?
“I brought you some snacks, I figured you hadn’t been able to get any of your cravings.” He says gently, opening a bag to show you all the chocolate malt balls, the yoghurt raisins and the nuts you’d just run out of. “I got something for Georgia too.”
“Spence,” you gasp when you see the orange stuffed octopus that he pulls out, it’s just as big as Georgia is now. He wipes the tears that fall on your cheeks, kissing your nose before opening the tub of nuts for you. “Seventh smartest animal in the world.” you recall softly.
“Can I hold her?” He asks finally and you nod, watching him stand and hover over the bassinet.
“Just scoop her up Spence, she’s going to be so happy you’re home.”
Spencer doesn’t say a word, practically holding his breath as he does as you say- scooping Georgia up in record time and holding her close to his chest. There’s a moment right after she wriggles a bit when she settles and Spencer feels an ungodly wave of emotion crash into him.
Of course, he’d read that men only feel like fathers the moment they hold their babies, and everyone had told him (everyone being Derek and JJ) that you can’t control the way your heart kind of cracks open to make room for this new love, but he still hadn’t expected it to be so immediate and visceral.
“Hi Georgia,” he whispers, his tears rolling down the bridge of his nose as he strokes her cheek. “Hi sweet girl.” You’re enamoured already, looking at Spencer holding your daughter like she’s made of fine China. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were born, baby. But I promise I’m not missing anything else where you’re concerned.”
Tears pool in your eyes as your daughter wakes up, no crying or wailing, just small coos and gurgles as she looks at Spencer.
“It’s your daddy, Georgia.” You murmur, sniffling and wiping your eyes as Spencer hiccups as she reaches for his face, her little fist bumping into his jaw.
Her almond eyes stare up at him, blinking all slow as she takes him in. Then she smiles, as if she's put a face to the man who spoke to her every night, telling her all the facts he'd read and learnt about babies, animals and whatever soothing topic he could find to tell her while she lived in your belly.
“Your mom lied to me, you look just like her.” You scoff, rolling your eyes as Spencer gives you a little glare. “Those eyes are all her, Peach. Maybe you won’t get your daddy’s brain either- it’s no fun being smart and getting beat up.” You throw a cashew at Spencer then, making him chuckle and come sit beside you.
“I’m so happy you’re home.” You whisper, stroking Georgia’s cheek as you press yours into Spencer’s bicep.
“I’m happy to be back, angel.” his eyes remain transfixed to Georgia all day, holding her and touching her foot when he can’t because you have to feed her. Spencer thinks to himself that he’d live through prison a thousand times over if every time he gets out, he can come back to this moment, to the peace and serenity in your home with you and your little girl and the life you’d made together colouring every wall of the house.
#spencerreid#spencer reid#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x black reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x yn#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#dad!spencer#dad!spencer reid#dr spencer reid#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fanfic
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hi, my love! i hope you’re doing okay!
i’d be really interested to see the protectiveness of the marauders and how it plays out in a poly!marauders dynamic. say something happens to r (can be as minor or as severe as you prefer). how would each marauder react and how would their dynamics bounce off each other? would it make the situation better or worse?
I find it funny picturing r attempting to wrangle all three of her boys from throwing hands (especially if it was a mistake or a miscommunication between r and the “offender”) and they’re bouncing off each other and riling themselves up more and she’s just like, ffs I’m so sorry and tries her best to manhandle her three boyfriends away for a stern talking to. Like, thank you guys for protecting me and all that but a) t’was a mistake / miscommunication, and b) i can sort my own shit and will ask if i need back up (Sirius in the back like no need to ask, i’m ready to go bby). Everyone’s like wtf Remus?! because he’s usually the chill one and it’s just a cluserfuck of misplaced angst and fluffy humour.
this might overlap with some other requests you’ve written, so feel free to ignore or tweak as you see fit! no idea if this makes any sense but hope it’s fun to write if you decide to!
Hi lovely! I've done a couple fics with protective marauders before, so I wanted to try something a little different based on your prompt. I had a different vision in my head than how it turned out, but I hope you like it <3
cw: alcohol, sexual assault, violence
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.7k words
You’ve been known to be a…somewhat short-fused drunk. It’s not that you’ll get angry with anyone for anything, only that the sort of behavior that you might normally try to ignore, you…don’t. This is usually the behavior of men.
It’s one of those nights where the club is made up of about forty percent young girls and sixty percent older, eagle-eyed men. You’re glad for your boyfriends, who ward off the other men like a force field around you. You feel lucky to have it and disgusted to need it.
James’ laughter is loud and bright as you spin him around after he does you. You echo it, pleased at having inspired such a sound. With his large, sturdy build, it’s rare for James to get very drunk, but he’s about where you are now. Which is to say, you’ve been sloppily dancing and giggling with each other for the last hour.
Remus rolls his eyes fondly when James nearly spins himself out of balance, steadying him with a hand on his back.
“I’m gonna go take a piss,” Sirius shouts.
James laughs again, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. “Classy, babe.”
“Bugger off.” Sirius shoves him playfully into Remus’ chest.
You dance with them both for a minute longer before leaning in to shout, “Okay if I go get more drinks?”
Remus eyes you both for a second, but nods. “Alright. I’ll come with you.”
“No, stay.” You set a hand on his chest. “Don’t let Jamie dance alone. I’ll be right back, yeah?”
You don’t give him a chance to respond as you head for the bar. It’s crowded, but you’re not about to worm between some middle-aged men to get to the front. You stand up on your toes and wait to catch the bartender’s eye.
“What’s your name?” Suddenly there’s a warm body pressed up behind yours, hands on your hips.
Your blood, already warmed by alcohol, turns hot in an instant. You step forward, too quick for the man behind you to follow. Turn to look him in the eyes.
“Don’t touch me,” you say firmly.
“Okay.” The man raises his eyebrows at you. He looks nearly old enough to be your father—certainly old enough to be someone’s father—with waxy skin and thinning hair combed over the front of his head. He’s in a suit like he came here from work. “Sorry, relax. I just think you’re beautiful.”
“I’m here with someone.” Someones, you could say, but you’ve learned it’s easier in some situations to make it sound like you only have one partner, for brevity’s sake. And there’s nothing you desire more than for this interaction to be brief.
He gives a little laugh. “Don’t take things so seriously, I’m only complimenting you. Do you like to dance?”
You give him a hard look. “Only with my boyfriend.”
“You look like you dance.” His eyes skim down your frame, raptorial. “I can tell. You have the body for it.”
No sooner does his large, meaty hand connect with your ass than you’re grabbing it by the wrist, your free hand balling and aiming for his face.
His surprised grunt comes in sync with a “Woah!” from behind you.
You turn to find Remus and James, looking like they’ve just broken through the crowd. James is staring at you with wide eyes. One of the men near you at the bar sets a hand on your shoulder, pulling you away from the creep and forcing you to drop his wrist, but Remus is there in an instant.
“Oi.” He grabs you, removing the man’s hand and caging you in his arms. “She’s fine.”
“She hit him!” the man accuses. The guy from before is leaning forward with a hand pressed over his face.
James is incredulous. “Did you see what he did to her?”
The other man looks between you like he’s realized he’s missing something, and Remus takes a couple of steps back from the crowd with you in his arms. Meanwhile, your attacker seems to be recovering from his shock. He lowers his hand to reveal a discolored mark on his jaw, gaping at you.
“You fucking cunt!”
James gives him a hard shove, and more shouting starts up around the bar, various other patrons either cheering the fight on or trying to break it up. Remus grabs James by his shirt, tugging him along as he herds you towards the exit. “Alright, we’re going, we’re going.”
Your journey out of the building is hurried and difficult to follow in your addled state, but everything seems to catch up to you when the dark club gives way to glaring fluorescent streetlights. You bend over under a wave of nausea.
“Hey.” James sounds more sober than he had a few minutes ago. He stoops to look at you, your eyes wet. “You okay?”
Remus says something to him quietly, passing James the car keys. He unwinds his arm from around you and kisses your head.
“I’ll be right back,” he says gently. “Go wait in the car, okay?”
“Okay…” Your voice is hardly a whimper. “Where are you going?”
But Remus is already gone, waving down the bouncer outside of the club.
You turn to James. “Where is he going?”
Tears blink out of your eyes as you ask. The corners of James’ mouth turn down sympathetically.
“Oh, my girl.” He wraps a big arm around your shoulders, kissing your head as he leads you towards the car. “What’s wrong? Does your hand hurt?”
You shake your head, though it does a little. Your knuckles and the tops of your fingers feel odd and sore, and there’s a throbbing that goes all the way down to your wrist. That’s not what’s bothering you, though. You’re not sure if you can pick what’s bothering you. The predatory stares you’ve endured all night; the sickening realization of the man’s body pressed up against yours; his easy, blithe laughter; your own white-hot anger, there and gone before you could take account of yourself—it’s all too much.
“I can’t believe I hit him,” you admit tearfully.
James lets out a little laugh. “I saw, baby.” He unlocks the car, opening the back door.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I—oh, okay.” James doesn’t stop you when you don’t get in, instead sitting on the floor of the car with your feet on the gravel parking lot. He sits beside you. “It’s okay if you did. He deserved it.”
You put your head in your hands. “I don’t hit people.”
He makes a soft sound. A big hand lands between your shoulder blades, rubbing softly. “I know you don’t, sweetheart. It’s…I get that you wouldn’t usually, but I think this counts as a special circumstance. Rem, he saw what was happening, but we couldn’t get to you fast enough. I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself, you know?”
You don’t reply, and he lets you sit in silence for a while, your weeping gradually stopping. When Remus comes back, it’s with Sirius in tow.
“What the fuck happened?” Sirius asks tipsily. “I was looking for you!”
“Did Remus not tell you?” James sounds excited to be the one to share the news.
“Alright, dove?” Remus asks at a more reasonable volume, crouching in front of you. “Does your hand hurt? Can I see?”
“No, he’s being bloody tight-lipped.” Sirius ruffles Remus’ hair. “Just said you had to go. Oi, you alright, lovely?”
“She punched a guy in the face,” James says proudly.
“She what?” Sirius’ mouth pops open. You shrink some under his gaze. “Baby, you what?”
“I didn’t mean to!” you insist, though it’s hard to stay miserable when two of your boyfriends look so obviously delighted.
Sirius shakes his head, awestruck. “What did I miss?”
James fills him in quickly while Remus prods at your hand, eventually commending you on a rather clean hit after he’s certain you didn’t break anything. Sirius can hardly keep his mouth shut while James talks, nor can James keep from using a series of vulgar names for the man who’d touched you, though he checks on you a couple of times to be sure his storytelling isn’t upsetting you. When he’s done, Sirius’ stare has darkened, his arms crossing as he leans against the side of the car.
“Do we think he could perhaps use a matching bruise on the other side?” he muses, gaze flicking to the entrance of the club. “Maybe one of you could point him out to me.”
“You’ll get to see him soon,” says Remus. You look at him questioningly, but he only gives you a small smile. Cryptic.
“Really, she’s already handled it rather well herself.” James slides his arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on your head. “You should have seen it, I had no idea she could punch like that.”
“Me neither,” you sigh.
Just then, the door to the club bangs open. Two bouncers come out in their uniform black tees, hauling between them another man.
“Alright, alright, leave off!” The creep from earlier struggles in their grasp. All three of your boyfriends tense. As he comes through the doorway, his discolored jaw catches the light.
Sirius whistles. “Shit. That is bloody gorgeous.”
You feel the beginnings of a smile tugging at your lips, but try to remain contrite. You catch Remus’ eye.
“It was pretty impressive,” he says, also smiling.
You chew your lip. “You don’t think it was wrong?”
“What’s wrong about it?” Sirius asks. “He touched you, you touched him. I’d have done the same if I were there.”
Remus rolls his eyes. “We know, love.”
“I’m just saying, I could make it symmetrical…”
“No,” Remus says sternly. He helps you up, ushering you into the backseat. “It’s time to go home.”
James buckles in beside you while Remus gets into the driver’s seat. Sirius lingers outside the car.
“He’s not gotten far yet, are we sure…”
“Aw, baby, does your hand hurt?” James asks loudly.
Sirius turns, crawling in to get a look. “Shit, did you bruise something? How’d you make a fist?”
James reaches across him to shut the door, and Remus drives away.
#poly!marauders#poly!marauders x reader#poly marauders#poly marauders x reader#poly!marauders x fem!reader#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders x y/n#poly!marauders x self insert#poly!marauders fanfiction#poly!marauders fanfic#poly!marauders fic#poly!marauders hurt/comfort#poly!marauders angst#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders drabble#poly!marauders blurb#poly!marauders oneshot#james potter#james potter x reader#sirius black#sirius black x reader#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#the marauders#marauders x reader#hp marauders#marauders era
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Damaged Goods
Summary: The belief that they were both undeserving of love led Spencer and Reader into each other's arms. If they can’t find love, they can at least soothe their need for physical affection, right?
“You kiss me with your mouth wide open like you’re not afraid of swallowing poison. I taste the good and bad in you and want them both. We call this bravery.” - Anita Ofokansi
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Category: Smut, Angst with a hopeful ending
Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) negative self-talk and self-deprecation (both Reader and Spencer, also in the context of sex!), implied past trauma (nothing explicit), some dark/cynical humor, loneliness, crying (also during sex), showering together, oral (fem receiving), unprotected penetrative sex
Author’s Note: I hope you guys are ready for some smangst! This is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Friends with Benefits challenge!
Word count: 4.3k
Masterlist
It was as if Spencer had expected you when he opened his door, a sympathetic smile spread over his face and the first buttons of his shirt already undone. As if he had known that you weren’t planning on wasting any time to get him undressed once you stepped inside his apartment.
“He stood you up, huh?” Spencer concluded after reading your expression.
A defeated sigh escaped your lips. “I don't even know why I still try with those stupid dating apps.”
“Probably because you don't want to end up old and alone like me,” he chuckled, his tone laced with cynicism.
“You're not old,” you countered as you stepped closer to him. “And right now you’re not alone either.”
“Technically correct.”
You came to a halt not even an arm’s length away from him. His sight wandered over your face, obviously trying to interpret your current state of mind. It was rare that Spencer made the first step in your encounters. It was important to him to make sure you were the one in control.
“I need you, Spencer,” you finally confessed.
There was a certain desperation audible in your voice but it was nothing Spencer hadn’t heard before. He stepped towards you to close the distance between your bodies.
“Come here,” he whispered as he placed his hands on your waist.
What Spencer had to offer was the next best thing to love you could get. So you didn’t hesitate to give into the temptation of feeling his body pressed against yours for the umpteenth time in those past few weeks.
Unlike the men before him, Spencer was not scared to get close to you even after telling him the secrets from your past. He didn't budge when you tried to push him away, well aware of the darkness he’d face once he stepped closer. He wasn’t afraid that you could suck him into the void that captured the place in your chest where your heart once was.
What he saw when he looked into the abyss that was your soul felt familiar, almost comforting. It reminded him of the demons that possessed his own soul. It broke his heart to see you hurting. However, as morbid as it was, it also made him feel less lonely in his own suffering.
One particularly lonely night a few weeks ago led you into his arms for the first time – and subsequently into his bed – to at least soothe the yearning for physical affection.
There was no romantic attraction to be found between the two of you. You came to an agreement that you were both too marred to even speak of romance hypothetically. Too large was the risk of potential self-destruction that could follow a union of two such damaged hearts.
This was a purely physical thing – a way to pretend that your love lives weren’t completely doomed. Sleeping with Spencer was like committing to a symbiosis, a mutual agreement to use the other’s body to appease this pain that wouldn’t go away.
You reminded yourself of that when his lips made contact with yours that night. He kissed you like a starving man, never quite able to satiate the burning hunger of his soul. What you had to offer was good enough for now, though.
As he walked you into his bedroom, it almost felt like following a routine the two of you had adopted. Just a few skilled movements were enough to stand completely bare in front of each other, greedy hands groping whatever flesh was in reach.
When you finally lay down on the mattress, Spencer’s lips chased every curve and dip of your body, almost as if he was determined to find the secret remedy to finally end your suffering.
Only there was none.
The inner turmoil never went away but during those hours you were able to tune it out. It was nothing but a distant memory once Spencer laid down between your legs. He collected your honeyed wetness on his tongue until you were squirming underneath him, desperate to find relief.
“Not yet,” he breathed as he sat up between your legs.
He leaned over you, sharing your own taste with you as he kissed you again. At the same moment his tongue entered your mouth, you could feel his hardness pressing into your entrance. There was no need to be reluctant, no moment of questioning if what you were doing would taint the other one. His mouth left your lips to bite into your neck instead, unafraid that his venom could ever hurt you.
Everything I touch starts rotting, Spencer once chuckled when you tried to save one of his house plants. Cynical as ever, he had said it with a grin on his face but you knew that there was more meaning behind his words than he would ever admit.
It was different with you, though. The damage had already been done by the hands of other people. There was no innocence that could have been defiled. There was nothing Spencer could do to wound you worse than them, no matter how little he thought of himself.
Maybe that was the real reason it was so easy for him to lose himself inside your embrace. You could see it in his eyes as he entered you. He was allowed to be himself with you, to feel lust and affection despite his hardship, despite the lack of true love.
Those sensations were a mutual experience, too. With Spencer you were never worried about being rejected. Together you had created your own safe space, a bright pink bubble within the darkness where you could truly be yourselves with one another.
In perfect unity you began moving with each other, each thrust of hips answered by your body grinding against him. Together you chased the feeling of sweet release, the moment of pure bliss.
“Fuck,” Spencer muttered against your lips, announcing that it wouldn’t be much longer now.
You slowed down your movements, desperately trying to prolong this moment, to indulge some more in this short reprieve of the mess that was your life.
“Please, hold on,” you begged him as you felt tears pricking in the corners of your eyes.
Suddenly and without a warning Spencer stopped moving to kiss away the tears from your cheeks instead. He tasted the saline on your skin and imagined that it had been kissed by the ocean instead of the cruel reality.
“Are you okay?” He cooed when he found your eyes.
“No,” you breathed. “But when am I ever?”
“Do you want to stop?” He offered, obviously concerned with you.
You shook your head as you pushed against his shoulders to urge him to lie down beside you. Climbing into his lap, you found your place on top of him while Spencer’s hands grabbed your hips.
“Is that okay?” You wanted to make sure before continuing.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “You know very well that I need this just as much as you do.”
With your hand wrapped around his length you guided him into your body once more. Spencer threw his head back into the pillow as you started moving at a slow, almost torturous pace. Not much time passed until the both of you danced along the edge of euphoria again.
It only took a few skilled motions until you finally fell over the edge, taking Spencer right with you. The high subsided a lot quicker than you would have liked and with that the bright pink bubble you had created burst again.
Spencer held you for the rest of the night, even after the both of you had long fallen asleep. Only when morning came did he dare to let go of your body as he got out of bed. When you heard him turn on the shower, your entire body began tingling as the longing to bask in the warmth his skin radiated became overwhelming.
With quiet steps you approached the bathroom and opened the door.
“Do you need something?” You heard Spencer’s voice from behind the shower curtain.
You stepped closer to the shower before asking, “Can I join you?”
“Of course.” He pulled back the curtain to let you step in, offering a hand so you wouldn’t slip.
It was only a little awkward to stand in front of Spencer completely naked in bright daylight. He didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, sharing both the warm water and the heat his body provided with you. You weren’t sure what it was exactly that you were looking for when you joined him in his morning shower, but it was nice to just be close to him.
You stepped back to find his eyes and he noticed your ambivalence. Before he had a chance to ask, you giggled, “I’m trying to decide whether I want to get clean or dirty.”
Spencer joined you with his own laughter. “Well,” he chuckled as he grabbed the shampoo bottle, “let’s start by getting you clean.”
He began shampooing your hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world to him. This act of innocent affection shocked your entire system. Suddenly you were unable to form a coherent sentence, the only thing that mattered in that moment was the sensation of Spencer running his fingertips over your scalp. A part of you wanted to fight this experience of being taken care of but a much bigger, much more desperate part simply indulged in the sensation.
When you couldn’t get much cleaner, you reciprocated this pure act. Spencer didn’t resist, instead his body became pliable under your touch as you helped him wash his hair and skin. It almost felt like a sacred act to rid him of the remaining soap. Your sight followed the bubbles as they ran down his legs and disappeared in the drain.
You couldn’t quite explain it but somehow this shower felt more intimate than any sexual act you had shared in the past. It wasn’t your intention but it felt like something between the two of you had shifted as you stepped out of the bathroom and got dressed.
It felt like the safest option to lighten the mood with your usual playful banter.
“My therapist said something stupid the other day,” you finally broke the silence.
“Did she say that you should stop sleeping with me? Because then I might need to have a serious conversation with her,” Spencer joked.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Dr. Reid. I never mention you in therapy,” you lied.
He saw right through you but let it go anyway. “Right,” he said instead.
Spencer walked right behind you as you made your way over to his kitchen to make some coffee.
“She said that I need to start learning to love myself before someone else can fall in love with me.” The coffee maker made a hissing noise right as the last word left your lips.
“Yikes,” Spencer deadpanned. “Good luck with that.”
“I know, right? I’ll probably end up old and alone like you,” you snickered.
Spencer laughed at your words. “I was talking about the coffee maker but I deserved that.”
The ringing of your phone distracted you from your mission to make coffee. When you got it out of your purse, you saw a message from the guy who stood you up last night.
“The guy from last night is asking for another date. Apparently he didn’t show up because of some work emergency,” you explained with your eyes still glued to the screen.
Spencer huffed in response. “You're not seriously considering it?”
“What choice do I have? It’s not like people are lining up to finally date me.”
He rolled his eyes as he poured some coffee in a mug. “He’s not the right person for you. You should say no,” was his final advice.
“That's the thing with damaged goods though, isn’t it? People can sense that we are not worthy of their time, that they can do better. So we have no choice than to settle for something, or rather someone not quite perfect.”
Months ago you had come to an agreement to stop cheering each other up when it came to your love lives. There was a mutual understanding that telling the other one they would for sure get their happily-ever-after soon didn't help at all. It was sort of comforting to be able to talk about the unadorned truth with one another.
“There's a difference between not quite perfect and absolute dipshit though,” Spencer retorted.
His choice of words made you laugh. It was rare that Spencer used crude language but he never minced matters when talking about your Tinder chronicles.
He found your eyes and added, “You deserve better than that.”
Half jokingly, half seriously you asked, “Do I really?”
A smirk formed on his face when he teased, “Well…”
You playfully punched his arm and laughed, “Don't be a dick, Spencer! Now I’m going to go on this date out of spite!”
Spencer had seen the worst of you and he was aware that you’d probably fall back into old habits quickly, even if that guy was decent. That poor man didn't stand a chance to fight through all those walls you had so carefully built to protect your heart.
There was another, unspoken reason why the two of you had stopped cheering each other up so long ago. In the unlikely case that you would actually finally find your soulmate, what would that mean for Spencer? That he had been more broken than you all along?
It’s not that he didn't want you to find happiness. But the thought that he might be left behind was devastating. Ending up old and alone was only a tolerable thought if he could have you by his side.
So Spencer did what he knew best and started pushing you away.
Several days passed without hearing a word from him. It wasn’t the first time this had happened and it was nothing you could hold against him – you had done the same thing before. It couldn't have been a coincidence that right when you were supposed to leave for your date, you found yourself standing in front of Spencer’s apartment door instead.
Three firm knocks announced your presence. You heard some shuffling on the other side of the door but he didn't open. It was to be expected. You got his spare key out from your purse to enter his place uninvited.
It was the couch where you found him, his arms wrapped around his knees, making him appear so much smaller than he really was. He was wearing an old Caltech shirt and sweatpants and his hair looked even more unruly than usual. The redness around his eyes revealed that he had been crying.
Instead of greeting you, he groaned, “I shouldn't have given you my key.”
“Well,” you shrugged as you sat down beside him. “Too late.”
“I mean it, you shouldn't be here.”
“Nice try,” you quipped. “You should know by now that you can't scare me off that easily.”
The truth was that he didn't want you to leave, even when the words that left his mouth claimed the opposite. You had proven to him over and over again that no matter how many of his scars he let you see, you stayed.
Old habits die hard, though. So he still tried walking away, even if he wouldn't get far. You watched as he disappeared in the bedroom and threw the door shut behind him. The sound didn't even make you flinch.
Slowly you counted to ten before you got up to follow him. He knew you better than that but he still had a surprised expression on his face when he saw you walking through his bedroom door. A part of him still believed that there would come a point where all this darkness became too overwhelming even for you.
“I won’t leave,” you reminded him, a loving softness laced over your voice.
You sat down beside him on the bed when he started crying again. To your surprise he didn’t wince when you reached for his hand.
“Talk to me,” you finally offered.
“You don't understand,” Spencer whimpered. “I feel so alone.”
Right as the words left his lips, he looked up at you, tears still running down his cheeks. He looked at you and remembered that what he said was wrong.
Because you did understand.
And he knew that very well.
That was when he remembered that it wasn’t his apartment you should be at right now. He took a deep breath before wiping away his tears.
“You're gonna be late for your date,” he stated, his eyes glued to the floor.
Your words were genuine when you countered, “You're so much more important than a stupid date, Spencer.”
After hearing those words, he leaned over to catch your lips with his without a warning. The fervor he displayed knocked the air out of your lungs. He kissed you greedily, his hands grabbing your waist to push you against his body.
His tongue begged for entrance and you granted it, melting into him with this kiss that tasted more salty than you would have liked. How easy it would have been to fall back into your old routine, to lose yourself inside his arms as you both chased a quick solution to a problem that couldn't be fixed.
His hands started searching for the softness your body had to offer, calloused fingertips brushing over the velvet of the skin he found underneath your shirt. It was not like you didn't yearn for it too, for this make-believe game you liked to play. More than anything did you crave the sensation of his touch, this moment that briefly let you forget all the marks past lovers had left on your body.
It didn't feel right, though. Not anymore.
Spencer instantly sensed your hesitance and pulled back to find your eyes. Never before had he looked more vulnerable than in that moment.
“I don't think it’s a good idea,” you breathed as your hands found his face to wipe his tears away.
Spencer pulled away from you, denying you the access to his skin.
“So it's okay if you cry during sex, but when I do it, that's where you draw the line?” He huffed.
The harshness of his words shocked you but you could see the regret in his eyes instantly.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”
You reached for his hand as you softly spoke, “It’s okay. You're upset, I get it.”
Several moments of silence passed. Seconds of contemplating how to proceed until you decided to offer him the comfort he craved anyway.
You leaned in for another kiss. It was a lot softer and slower than before but Spencer took what he could get. When you got ahold of the hem of his shirt to take it off, he pulled back.
“Wait, I’m not sure about this,” he stuttered. “I don't want you to feel like–”
“Spencer,” you interrupted him. “Do you trust me?”
A quiet breath fell from his lips before he nodded. “More than I ever thought possible.”
With that there was no more resistance to be found when you continued undressing him. He moved with you until only underwear was covering your bodies.
“Lie down,” you cooed and he did as you said.
Unlike your previous encounters, it was apparent that what the both of you craved was not sex this time. You laid down beside him to pull him into your arms, no distance allowed between the two of you. His skin was pressed against yours, so much so that it became impossible to tell where your body ended and his began.
He left featherlight kisses on your neck before resting his head against your shoulder. You held him as close as you could, not daring to loosen the grip you had around his body.
With his arms and legs all bent and folded to fit inside your embrace, there was no more trace of the tall man he usually was. He seemed small, almost fragile. Even more so when another fit of sobs shot through his body.
Spencer trembled inside your arms and you held him. You held him until he had successfully cried himself to sleep.
At least that was what you thought. The harbingers of your own slumber had already begun numbing your senses when you suddenly felt his lips brushing over your cheek.
“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispered almost inaudibly.
I know, you thought but were already too far gone to answer him.
When you opened your eyes the next morning, you found Spencer already awake, looking at you. His eyes were still a bit swollen but his facial features looked soft, almost content.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you whined as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes.
“Like what?” He mumbled.
“Like a lovesick fool!”
Spencer didn't seem surprised at your words. It seemed like he was aware that you had heard what he said to you last night.
“What if I am?” He asked, a smirk spread over his face.
Now was not the time for your usual sarcastic banter. Not when everything you had with him was about to implode.
You sat up in the bed and warned him, “Stop it, Spencer.”
He shook his head, “I can’t keep pretending. It’s the truth.”
You got up to get dressed while you huffed, “How can it be true after you have seen the worst of me.”
“I have seen the worst of you and I still love you.”
You started pacing up and down his bedroom, trying to come up with something to say to that. Spencer got up too and put his clothes on. You came to a halt about an arm’s length away from him before you said, “This is not what love should feel like.”
“How would you know?” He countered.
His words seemed cruel but they were true. You didn't know what love actually felt like. There was this image you had in your head of an innocent, saccharine kind of love that probably only existed in fiction.
Spencer didn't let it go just yet. There was a certain insecurity audible in his voice when he practically begged you, “Look at me and tell me that you don’t feel the same way ”
Instead of looking at him, your sight fell to the floor. “What I feel is the urge to leave.”
It was to be expected that this would be your reaction. Spencer knew you well enough to be aware of the risk he took by confessing his feelings. He suspected that you reciprocated them but were still too afraid to admit it.
He stepped out of your way and gestured towards the door. “I’m not gonna stop you.”
To your own surprise, you hesitated.
“What are we doing, Spencer?”
A very timid smile appeared on his face when he realized that you didn't follow your instincts to leave. Maybe there was hope after all.
“I’m not sure,” Spencer answered. “…but I’m willing to find out.”
It wasn’t like this thought had never crossed your mind. In fact, there was a part of your brain that sometimes overpowered anything else and let you fantasize about a potential future with him.
However, you were very familiar with the demons Spencer had to fight every day. And you were even more aware of your own darkness. You were afraid that the combination of those things might become a poisonous mixture that had the potential to destroy the both of you.
So it was only logical to voice your concerns. “I don’t think I can make you happy.”
“It’s not your job to make me happy,” he sighed. “But maybe there is a chance that we could find happiness together. In little those moments, just like before, when we woke up together. Or when we took a shower the other day. Maybe those little things add up one day to something bigger. To something better. Something worth taking the risk.”
You looked at the door once more but decided to sit down at his bedside instead of leaving.
You found his eyes and breathed, “Okay.”
Spencer sat down beside you. “Okay?”
What you had with him was imperfect and not at all what you had imagined. Some might think what you were about to do was stupid, maybe even reckless. It was only a matter of time until one of you got hurt, got caught in the crossfire of the intensity of your emotions. But maybe it was worth giving it a chance.
Yes, some might call it reckless. But in that moment you thought of it as bravery.
“Yes.” You confirmed. “Let’s give it a try.”
A split second after you said those words, you felt Spencer’s lips on yours. The kiss felt different than the ones before. There was no desperation or insatiable hunger noticeable in his actions. This kiss was sweet, almost innocent. It was a way to melt into one another with no hurry, no need to compensate for something you’d never truly experience.
Soon you were both shedding each layer of clothing before lying down on the bed to continue the kiss without any barrier between you. His chest was firmly pressed against yours and you could feel his heart thumping against your skin, almost as if it was looking for its counterpart inside your ribcage.
You could feel your heart calling out to him. For the first time you didn't want to be with him to shield your heart from the rest of the world, no. This time you wanted to open up, to give Spencer a chance to feel your affection.
“I love you,” you whispered between kisses.
He leaned back to smile at you and you could feel how his love entered your body, how it was on a mission to bring light to even the darkest corners of your soul.
“I love you, too.”
Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.
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#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid smut#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#doctor spencer reid#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds smut#criminal minds#criminal minds angst#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction
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hiii! i was wondering if i could request a hotch x bau! reader where they’re dating and they vouch to keep their work life and love life separate but they’re both terrible at hiding how protective they are over eachother
"I'll stay here." Reid decides, already knee-deep in maps and colored pens, as if anyone thought he'd jump up and volunteer to interview the victim's family.
"Right." Aaron nods, "JJ and Prentiss are already on their way to the last crime scene."
"That leaves us to canvass the unsub's safe zone." Rossi glances between you, Aaron, and Morgan, "Y/N, come with me-"
"No." Aaron interjects, stoicism returning just as quickly as it had been abandoned.
"O-kay," Morgan glances at Hotch with a furrowed brow, misinterpreting Hotch's protests, "Y/N, come with me. They can talk about old white man stuff in the car, or whatever they're gonna do."
"No." Aaron repeats, just as unhelpful as the first time he'd said it.
You're squirming on your feet, now. He's not being subtle, even if he is being confusing. Derek and Rossi may not know why Aaron wants to keep you with him, but now they know that he does, and you're sure it won't take them long to discern why he doesn't want you gallivanting across a potential crime scene with anyone other than him.
"Right... So you take Y/N, then." Rossi says what Hotch won't, "That's okay, Morgan and I can talk about whatever's up your butt today while we're driving."
If it were anyone but Rossi, they'd have ended up with desk duty for eight weeks. But both men manage to escape sharing a snicker at Hotch's expense, and you follow dutifully after your boss as he leads you out to one of the SUVs in the parking lot.
You're waiting for the closing of his door to begin scolding him for his reckless, but he decides to make the situation ten times worse by beating you to the car and holding your door open for you. You're sure Rossi and Morgan are watching from their own SUV, and you're glad the windows are up so that you don't have to hear their jeering.
"Hotch," You speak through tightly clenched teeth, but you get in without protest, and you huff as you slam the seatbelt into its latch, which Aaron waits for before he closes your door.
"You're not subtle." You speak the second that his door shuts, "Aaron, did you forget all of our coworkers are profilers? They're going to figure us out if you don't stop giving us away like that!"
"I don't care if they figure us out." Aaron admits, hands on the wheel though his attention stays on you as he pointedly stays parked, "I don't feel comfortable letting you enter a potentially dangerous situation with anyone but me."
"Morgan wouldn't let anything happen to me," You bargain, "And neither would Rossi. Hell, you think a criminal's gonna try fighting Derek to get to me? No one's crazy enough to go up against those muscles."
"But they would be looking to take down the unsub first, and thinking of you second. I'm thinking of you first."
A thick silence hangs in the air after his words; perhaps he's realizing what he's just said- it's weight, its implications.
You put it into words, "That's not professional, Hotch. That's- that's not how a profiler is supposed to act."
"Well then I guess I'm not a very good profiler anymore." He concedes, sighing as he turns to face the road and begins driving, now minutes behind Rossi and Morgan, "Just stay with me, and let me protect you."
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner scenario#aaron hotchner oneshot#aaron hotchner one-shot#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotchner headcanons#aaron hotchner headcanon#aaron hotchner hc#aaron hotchner hcs#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner dialogue#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction#aaron hotchner smut
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Title: In Which Gojo Satoru Commits Regicide.
Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader (JJK).
Word Count: 0.7k.
TW: Mentions of Consensual Sex and Off-Screen Violence. I Am Coping, But I Am Also Pissed. Be Patient, I Beg of You.
Live Dove: Tender and Sweet.
You’d been a little confused when Satoru came home uncharacteristically giddy in spite of the bitingly cold February weather, and a little more than confused when he said he had something to show you, took you by the arm, and teleported you out of your apartment entirely (after waiting for you to give your clear and enthusiastic consent, of course). You had no idea where he was taking you, but it only took a single second of whipping your head in either direction, a single glimpse of those awful bright yellow curtains and tacky eagle rug, to know where you were.
“Satoru,” you gasped, and his grin widened. “Is this the oval office?”
“The one and only.” His voice was low and smug, his tone more than enough to prove that he already knew you like your surprise. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he swept the content the presidential desk in the floor with his free hand and lifted you onto its outer edge, placing himself in the space between your open legs as if brought there by a gravitational pull. You draped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a long, deep kiss as sweet as apple pie, or funnel cake, or other true symbols of American culture that were formed through a broad, grassroot endearment rather than a bunch of gross old men deciding they’d look cool on a flag three-hundred years ago.
Reminded of gross old men, you pulled away with another sharp gasp. “But, ‘toru, what if he catches us?”
You had no problem with getting your back blown out by your loving boyfriend in one of the most sacred rooms in the United States, but if that lead-paint poisoned geezer happened to walk in (if he even could walk on his own, anymore), it’d totally ruin the mood. Satoru only laughed. “Don’t worry, baby,” And then, flashing you a quick wink, “I made sure to clear the place out for us.”
“Satoru, you didn’t!”
“Guess some fascists just can’t handle their blunt force damage,” he said, shrugging. Suddenly, your expression dropped, and Satoru noticed right away. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“Well, it’s not that the racist, senile felon didn’t deserve to have his skull caved in by a bisexual transgender man – since, y’know, we’re both bisexual and transgender.” Satoru nodded, affirming the fact that you two were similarly transgender and also bisexual, which you were. “It’s just – now that misogynistic white supremacist who jerks off to Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale every night before fucking his couch is going to be president, and that that kind of sucks too.”
“James David Vance?” Satoru asked, refusing to use his initially and therefore highlighting how stupidly pretentious his name was. “You think too little of me, sweetheart.”
Possibly for the third time, you gasped. “Is he…?”
“Mhm. Took care of him right before I came home, got him right as he was coming out of his filler appointment. Beat him to death with a copy of his own book and everything, after leaving it a one-star review on Goodreads, of course.” Again, he shrugged, but smile gave away his self-satisfaction. “It’s all in a day’s work for the world’s strongest and most politically active sorcerer, I guess.”
“But, if that pathetic old man and his castrated lapdog are both dead, then who’s the president?”
“Check the news, baby.”
You fished your phone out of your pocket as Satoru sucked hickeys into your neck, obviously waiting until he had your full attention to go further. Again, you gasped. You were starting to lose count of how many times that’d happened, so far. “Abortions and insulin are provided upon request and also free now?!”
“Oh, wait, are they?” You turned your screen in his direction, and Satoru hummed in approval. Everyone’s quality of life had gotten a lot better since your good friend, Nanami Kento, was placed onto the Supreme Court in the final days of Biden’s term. “Sick. Not what I was talking about, though – scroll down.”
You scrolled down, and gasped once more. Your throat was starting to hurt. “Everyone in the country’s unanimously ellected the first female president?”
“Not just any female president,” he said, smirking and tapping on a trust-worthy article from a reliable and non-partisan source. “Say her name for me, baby.”
The final gasp you gaspt was the loudest and most gasp-like of all.
“Hatsune Miku?!”
#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jjk imagines#gojo satou x reader#gojo x reader#tw politics#tw trump
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BFFS- S.JY & P.SH
♡ Sunghoon x Fem! reader x Jake
Synopsis: Your best friends show you how real men treat women.
WC: 4.6k
Warnings: Mentions of cheating, threesome, cursing, Jakehoon call reader princess a lot
Smut warnings: Kissing, oral(f&m), handjobs, unprotected sex, double penetration, anal, slight manhandling, squirting, cream pie, reader maybe almost passes out, aftercare(i love)
This is fiction and the scenarios are completely fake and from my brain, none of the characters are like this in real life, MDNI!
A/N: This took me three days to write,, pls bear with me as I figure out my writing style. Jakehoon have me going brain dumb and I rlly needed to write this to get it out of my system, enjoy!
You slouched back in your seat, lolling your head to the side to watch the scenery as big open fields pass by quickly. Sighing in disappointment of your “girls day” gone wrong.
“Okay- what do you mean the Airbnb was cancelled? How do you even cancel one of those?” Sunghoon whines in the front seat while giving Jake directions to the nearest hotel. A real passenger princess, he is.
Jake’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, irritated at the faulty trip plan he had made for the three of you. “I don’t know.” He mutters through gritted teeth. “I wasn’t the one that canceled it. The host did, said something about a family emergency.”
Your eyes grow lazy as the sun sets, watching as the calming twilight takes over the sky. You couldn’t care any less about the Airbnb, just wanting to settle into the nearest bed and relax. So, when Jake finally pulls into the parking lot of the nearest hotel, you’re the first one to hop out of the car.
“Jesus, this place is scary.” You whisper to yourself but Sunghoon picks up on it, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer. “Sorry, Princess. I know this trip was supposed to be for you to relax and let go but we’re on a bit of a delay. The fun can start tomorrow.” He ruffles your hair a bit before you pull away to grab your suitcase. “Don’t even worry about it.”
He takes your suitcase in his hand while also holding his own, forearm flexing under his expensive Tiffany bracelet. “Seriously, Y/N. I’m sorry it’s not going as planned.” Jake is frowning next to you as you walk to the front desk and you shake your head at him. “Please, guys. I know you’re trying your best to make me feel better.”
You turn back to Sunghoon who is now holding your room key, ushering you to the fragile looking stairs that creak under each step. “Room 127.” He mutters out as you turn the corner, nodding his head towards the very end of a long hallway of doors.
Grabbing the key from him to run ahead of them, you open the creaky door to let them in first. “Thanks, Princess.” Jake follows behind Sunghoon through the threshold, kissing your temple in gratitude.
They both huff as they set down the luggage, immediately scanning the room to analyze your living situation. There’s two small beds with a nightstand between, an old CRT TV that probably doesn’t work, a scary painting of a cottage in a forest on the wall next to the bathroom door, and a tiny kitchen with only a small counter, mini fridge, and a table for two.
“Well,” Sunghoon sighs, plopping down onto a bed, “Let’s get comfy.” He smiles and even if this hotel is old and creepy, his grin makes you feel like you’re home. “Thank you, guys.” You’re hit with a sudden sense of sadness and guilt. “I know you guys like trips but this was so last minute because of me and I feel bad for making you guys go through this.”
Jake sits down next to Sunghoon, grabbing one of your hands to lead you to stand in front of them. “Don’t even worry about it. We planned this for you. No best friend of mine is going to get cheated on and then rot in bed for all of eternity.” Sunghoon nods in agreement, taking your other hand in his. “That’s right. We’re for lifers and I’d be an asshole to leave my bestie in the dirt just because she got a little closed off and depressed.”
You squeeze both of their hands, smiling down at their big, loving eyes. “You guys are sweet.” You feel a lump in your throat starting to form, and get suddenly too embarrassed of being emotional to be serious, “But you need to stop with the TikTok slang, I can’t take it seriously.” You joke and they both grin at your attempt to be funny, different from your recently quiet and moody personality.
“Why don’t you go take a shower and when we’re all done washing up, we can put a movie on my laptop, hm?” Sunghoon stands up and Jake follows, leading all three of you to check out the bathroom. As expected, the area is small with just a sink, toilet, and small shower. “Good thing I brought my own soaps.”
Just as you turn to grab your garment bag, a large cockroach is running across the floor and Jake is quick to step on it, hearing the loud splat as it’s squished against the tile. “Wow, I am not sleeping tonight”.
♡.
You mindlessly scroll through social media as your best friends are focused on the horror movie playing on the small screen in front of you, huddled up in a big blanket that’s covering them from head to toe, save for their eyes. All three of you are laying on your stomachs, and you’d feel them jerk and hear small squeals every now and then as they get scared, then teasing each other for being pussies which results in them rolling around on the bed trying to push each other off.
You sigh as you click on a certain story that makes your stomach drop, the video audio blasting as music plays through speakers and your screen flashes bright colorful lights while people dance and grind on each other.
“What are you doing? You’re not even watching the movie!” Jake nudges your side and you nudge him back, pushing him into Sunghoon who is laying next to him. “Yeah, we put this on for you!” Sunghoon joins in on the whining, reaching over Jake to steal your phone. “What are you looking at anyways-” He cuts himself off as he watches the video on your phone, suddenly tapping on the person’s profile. “Your ex? Seriously?”
You sink further into the bed with guilt, avoiding eye contact with the both of them as they stare at you in disbelief. “Why haven’t you blocked him yet?” Jake sounds hurt by this, maybe because you promised him you’d block the man after you left him. “I-I don’t know,” You huff, “I can’t just let go of him like that.” You watch the way Sunghoon’s jaw clenches in anger, then relaxes as he starts speaking again. “Y/N, he cheated on you. He doesn’t love you and you shouldn’t be trying to hold onto him like that anymore.” He doesn’t sound angry, but it’s serious enough to hit you where it hurts, taking a deep breath as tears start blurring your vision.
Before you have time to process it, Jake sits up and pulls you into his lap, sitting you sideways on one of his thighs. “You know he’s not trying to be rude.” He cups your face and wipes the falling tears away with his thumb. “We just want what’s best for you, and that asshole is definitely not the best.” Sunghoon hums in agreement, placing a hand on the back of your head and petting you soothingly.
“Let us show you how a real man treats his girl.” Sunghoon’s voice is low, almost a whisper and you can feel his breath on your neck. “W-what?” You sniffle, wiping any tears left on your cheek. “You heard me, babe. Let us make you feel good.” He pulls you off of Jake’s lap, laying you on the bed and kneels on one side of you as Jake kneels on the other side.
They both watch you with big, hopeful eyes, patiently waiting for your answer. You could moan just from the way they devour you with their gaze, so you decide to nod in agreement instead. Jake immediately leans down to kiss you, pressing his lips gently against yours while his hands hold your face. Sunghoon’s hands trail up your thighs and hips to hold your waist, pushing under your cropped tank top to grip your skin softly.
You moan quietly against Jake’s lips and he smiles at the way you’re easily relaxing into two pairs of hands. Sunghoon shifts lower, getting comfortable between your legs as he massages the flesh of your thighs. You moan into the kiss again, this time parting your lips slightly, but enough for Jake to slip his tongue through. At the first brush of his tongue against yours you stiffen, hands coming up to grip his hair.
Sunghoon softly squeezes your hip, grabbing your attention away from Jake and you pull away from the kiss with a string of saliva connecting your lips, blushing lightly at the vulgar image. Looking down at Sunghoon, he’s dangerously close to your core, with just your pajama bottoms and underwear in the way. “Can I take these off?” He asks softly, as if trying to make you as comfortable as possible. You whisper out a “yes” and Sunghoon smiles before pressing a kiss to your clothed thigh.
You look back up at Jake who is now groping you from over your thin tank top, watching the way your breasts squish under the weight of his palm. Your back arches slightly, pushing your chest closer to him while you pull him down for another kiss. His mouth opens as soon as your lips touch, letting you stick your tongue in and kiss him nasty enough for spit to trail down your chin and onto your neck.
Jake pulls away, kissing down your cheek to your jaw and neck, lapping at the saliva trail and sucking harshly at the joint of your neck and shoulder. Your back arches higher, grinding your hips against nothing as you realize Sunghoon has gotten your lower half completely bare. You pull your hands away from Jake and shoot up, covering yourself and blushing shyly.
“C‘mon, Princess, show me your pretty pussy.” He nips at your thigh, lightly tapping them to encourage you. Hesitantly, you spread your legs open as he stares down, licking his lips and smirking proudly. “That’s my girl.” He lifts off of his stomach to hover above you, knees on either side of you as Jake takes his spot between your legs. They moved so swiftly you almost didn’t realize that it was Sunghoon you were now kissing.
The way his lips move against yours is different than Jake, softer and less messy but just as hungry. He places his hands on your boobs, softly pinching one nipple and rolling it between his fingers. “A-ah” You whimper into his mouth, lightly biting his bottom lip and he whimpers back in response, shooting butterflies straight down to your core. Jake watches as more slick spills out of you, his cock large and heavy straining against his sweats.
He wastes no time, blowing cold air against your cunt and giving you no chance to complain about teasing as he licks a long stripe up your slit and retracts his tongue back into his mouth to hum at the taste. You shudder at the feeling of him softly kissing your clit, poking his tongue out to gently flick it against you as you press your body up and against Sunghoon.
He takes this as an invitation to continue undressing you, lifting your shirt over your head and staring holes into your chest. Before you can cover yourself again, he catches you and pins your arms above your head with one hand, while the other grabs your face, squishing your cheeks hard enough for your lips to plump up. “God, you’re beautiful.” He leans back down, kissing you softly and pulling away with a smack.
Behind him, Jake is sucking and licking every part of you he can, letting mixes of your slick and his saliva run down his chin and smear on his face. He takes your clit between his lips and sucks harshly. “Fuck- Jake, oh my god.” You moan loudly, pulling Sunghoon closer so he can kiss all over your chest, sucking dark purple and red bruises against your skin.
You assume this is what heaven is. Two hot men kissing and sucking on the most sensitive and intimate parts of you, their hands roaming all over your body to squeeze whatever they feel. You almost forgot that they’re your best friends.
Sunghoon pulls you out of your thoughts as he flicks his tongue over your nipple, softly taking it into his mouth and sucking on it desperately. This sends you over the edge, suddenly feeling too close to your orgasm that your thighs start to tingle and your breathing is unsteady. “Holy shit, g-gonna cum.” You barely have time to warn them before your thighs are closing around Jake’s head, one hand in his hair and the other in Sunghoon’s as he drools against your chest.
“That’s it, baby. Let him taste you.” Sunghoon groans into your ear, his length growing impossibly harder as you lose yourself. Jake doesn’t let go of your clit, instead going further and slipping a finger inside of you easily. “Jesus, you’re soaking.” He smiles as more slick spills out of you, wetting the bed and trailing down his forearm.
“Ah! Too much!” You whine as Jake starts curling his finger, never letting your clit leave his mouth. “It’s okay princess, have to get you prepped for us.” He adds another finger, moaning against your heat at the way he easily slips his digits in, curling them up as your hips chase the feeling.
Sunghoon takes your hand that’s in his hair and trails it down his body, landing on his hard-on. You look up at him as his eyebrows are furrowed, lip caught between his teeth as you gently palm him through his pants. “Go on, take it out.” He wiggles his hips cutely and you nod eagerly.
You fumble with his belt, having to stop a few times to moan and grind against Jake’s fingers. You finally loosen it, popping open the button and unzipping so you can tug his pants down his thighs aggressively. “Relax, baby, I’m not going anywhere.” You blush and look back up at him, and he can’t help but cup your face, using his thumb to play with your bottom lip. You stick your tongue out to lick the top of his finger and the sight is overwhelming.
He mutters a quiet “fuck” and stumbles off of the bed, pulling his jeans and boxers down before hopping back onto the bed and kneeling at your side again. You take his length in your hand, going cross eyed at how close it is to your face. He’s huge, and you’re starting to doubt your ability to please him. You inhale deeply, softly stroking him just enough to keep him content as you gather yourself.
You don’t notice the way he smiles down at you, taking in just how sexy you look holding his cock while being stuffed with Jake’s mouth and fingers. He’s never admit, however, how many times he’d jerked off imagining this situation or how many times he planned something like this with Jake.
You lean foward to kiss his bare thigh, leading a trail up to his base and up his shaft, then leaving one final kiss on his tip. He throws his head back at the soft feeling, already sensitive and ready to cum on your pretty face. Jake reaches impossibly deep inside of you and you can’t help the loud moan that escapes, warm breath fanning against Sunghoon’s length. He visibly stiffens before grabbing his cock and swiping it across your lips, coating them with shiny pre-cum.
You stick your tongue out just enough to taste him, but not enough to fit him inside your mouth and he groans at your teasing. The sound is enough to send a shock through your body, bringing you to your second orgasm. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck-“ you’re barely able to moan before Sunghoon quickly slides his cock into your mouth, forcing you to gag and choke through your orgasm.
Quickly pulling off, you take a deep breath before shoving Sunghoon back in your mouth, taking half of him down and jerking off the rest while Jake laps up the mess between your thighs. Your thighs start to shake, closing shut around Jake’s head again, attempting to shove him off of you with your free hand. Of course, he doesn’t let up and just uses his strength to force your thighs back open, this time hooking his arms around them to shove his face back in.
He aims straight for your rim, cleaning the mess that’s still leaking from your cunt. It’s a new sensation, something you haven’t tried out before, although now you’re not opposed to trying it again sometime. Who knows, maybe a second time with your best friend.
You gag loudly as Sunghoon’s hips snap and he shoves himself deeper into your mouth, but he halts when you don’t complain and instead take him deeper, testing how far you can take him until you’re reaching the base and nuzzling your nose against his patch of hair.
You breathe in through your nose to keep yourself there longer, saliva pooling in your mouth and spilling out onto your chin and down Sunghoon’s girth. “Fuck, babe, you’re nasty.” He pulls away suddenly, forcing himself out of your mouth and you get the chance to finally moan, acknowledging Jake and letting him know you haven’t forgotten about him.
How could you forget about him, with the way he laps from your soaking cunt to your rim, eating you out like he’s been starved his whole life. You even catch a glimpse of him rutting his hips against the bed, chasing any friction he can to soothe his aching cock.
“Jake” you rasp out, pulling his head up to look you in the eyes. The way his hair is messy and his eyes are wide and needy is almost enough to make you cum a third time. “You must be hurting…” you nod your head towards him, motioning to his very obvious painful boner. “Let me help.” He wants to reject you, feeling guilty after promising he’ll take care of you, why make you return the favor?
With the way you look at him with pleading eyes, though, he doesn’t hesitate to undo his sweats, pulling them straight down along with his boxers, and then reaches for the hem of his shirt to pull it off. Sunghoon does the same, using his own shirt to wipe the spit from your chin and neck.
Settling on his knees the same way Sunghoon is, he’s already breathing heavy just from imagining you touching him. So, when you take him in your hand and rub your thumb over his slit, he’s letting out a loud whine that has you craving more. You stroke Sunghoon in one hand while leaning towards Jake to take his tip in your mouth. He immediately bucks his hips forward, then pulls all the way back to apologize.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry- ahh!” You don’t care about his apology, only wanting to hear more of his needy whines as you lick from his base to tip, suckling on the head and looking up to catch his reaction. Just seeing him looking so wrecked just from a few seconds of touching has you moaning around his cock, stroking Sunghoon faster with a tight grip.
Sunghoon thrusts his hips, chasing your fist with every pull and tug, his groans and curses raising in volume each time. Meanwhile Jake’s eyes close tightly, one hand resting on the back of your head while the other holds your cheek, feeling the way it hollows as you take him down your throat. The image is far from unholy. Sitting there, taking one cock down your throat while jerking another.
Feeling bad for Sunghoon, you release Jake but continue stroking him, turning to take Sunghoon in your mouth. “Fuck, just like that. Pretty mouth knows exactly what to do, hm?” His praises make you whine, grinding your own hips down on the bed but missing any possible friction.
Of course, even after two orgasms you crave more. You need more whines and moans from both of them, showing you just how good you make them feel.
You turn back to Jake, taking his cock all the way down your throat, staying there, letting the drool spill from the corners of your mouth as tears do the same from your eyes. He’s choking out a moan, strings of curses falling upon deaf ears as you put your sole focus on getting him to finish. You know exactly what you need to do.
Pulling your head back, you gently lift his cock to stroke it as you turn your neck to lick and suck at his balls. His hips halt, thighs shaking as he grips your hair painfully rough. “God, Fuck- I’m gonna cum.” He cries out, legs continuing to shake as you take him back into your mouth, running your tongue across his slit until he’s filling your mouth with cum.
His whines seem to set something off in Sunghoon, who’s now cursing loudly as he shoots his own ropes of cum across your cheek and down your neck and chest. You don’t know why all it took was Jake to climax for him to finally cum, but maybe you’ll ask him about that another time.
They both stay kneeling, catching their breaths as you fall onto your back against the pillows, legs weak but still sticky between your thighs. “We’re not done, baby.” Jake leans down to peck your lips when he notices your worried look. Falling next to you, he lays down and pulls you on top of him, hands soothing down your sides in a comforting way.
He pulls your face down for another kiss, breaking it to speak lowly in your ear. “Want me to fuck you?” You already know you’re spilling down your thighs again, looking down to watch the way your pussy sits perfectly on his still hard length. You don’t reply, instead grinding down and forward, sliding yourself against him.
“Yeah? Think you can take it?” You’re in a trance from the way he’s speaking to you, holding you, like you’re precious to him. You nod eagerly, sitting up on your knees to rub his tip across your slit, hearing the slick noises of your arousal. Taking a deep breath, you slowly ease him into you, sitting down and wincing at the way he impales you just from a few inches.
Jake’s face is angelic, eyebrows slightly furrowed but his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, turning white at how hard he’s biting. You finally sit all the way down, feeling him twitch inside of you as you slowly rock your hips, falling forward to moan in his neck. His hands tightly grip your waist, holding you still as he pulls out then slides himself back in, throwing his head back in a loud moan.
You thrust yourself down, meeting his own thrusts halfway as he picks up the pace, low skin slapping sounds filling the room. You completely forgot that Sunghoon was behind you, until his hands are palming your butt, and his lips find their place on your back. His gentle kisses up your spine give you chills, clenching down on Jake who whimpers at the sensation.
“Think you can take both of us?” Sunghoon kisses your ear, giving you no time to respond as he stands back up to do something from behind you that you can’t see. “What?” You ask in a small voice, but it’s answered right away when you feel him spit onto the crack of your ass, saliva sliding down and coating your rim.
You try to turn around but Jake pulls you back into a harsh kiss, tongue massaging your own and pulling whines from your throat. He distracts you enough for you to forget about Sunghoon again, while he gently prods his tip at your entrance. “Hoon! What are you- ah!” You’re cut off as he easily slides in, the new sensation knocking your breath out of you.
“Ever take it in the ass, baby?” He leans down to peck your cheek, slowly inching himself in with each thrust. Once he’s fully inside, he pulls back out to the tip just to slam himself back inside. Jake takes this as the green light to also thrust into you again, bucking his hips up at the same pace as Sunghoon.
If you thought you were in heaven earlier, you wouldn’t know what to call this. This act of whatever love or lust this is. Perhaps it was just your friends’ way of declaring their love for you. Or, just trying to prove how a man should treat you, how he should fuck you. You can’t complain though, having both holes filled by big, girthy cocks is something you thought you could only dream of.
And as Jake sensually sucks on your lower lip, and Sunghoon is leaving dark hickeys on your neck, you think you might be in love. With both of them.
One particular thrust from Sunghoon has him throwing you foward and onto Jake’s chest, crying out in pleasure while his grip on your hips is painful. He leans down, keeping one hand on your hip as the other arm is crossing your chest, catching your neck between his forearm and bicep, puling you back up to kneeling with Jake still inside of your cunt.
With your back pressed to Sunghoon’s chest and his length deep inside your ass, you bounce harder, faster, both of them filling you so pleasurably you cry out, tears falling from your eyes as you scream with a horse voice. “Fuck- God, yes! I’m c-cumming!” You go silent with your jaw slack as your orgasm washes over you, every inch of your body tingling as you clench impossibly tight on both of them, with just the sound of light splashing and skin slapping keeping you conscious.
Your eyes are closed but you can feel the way Jake stops thrusting, filling you with his thick warm liquid and Sunghoon soon follows, releasing himself into your hole enough to have it dripping past your rim and back onto himself.
You collapse onto your butt next to Jake, noticing the large wet spot left on the bed covers. “Did…did I do that?” You ask shyly, blushing as Sunghoon nods and kneels next to you, pulling you to lay down with him and spooning you while you wrap one arm around Jake’s abdomen.
You feel like you’ve truly ascended, as if this is the universe’s way of rewarding you for every good deed you’ve committed. Having two warm men holding onto you, kissing you, loving you like you deserve. You’d take this any day, even if it’s with your best friends.
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