#I wasn’t even sure when I sat down to do this if I could even still do this

[dannyriccsystem]

so random but could you do one where the reader flashes the driver 😭 during a podium, at home, wherever you feel like lol xx

TAKE A LOOK AT ME!

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

SUMMARY: You flash the drivers

WARNINGS: Mature, nudity, Y/N usage, not proofread

FEATURING: MV1, DR3, LN4, CL16, YT22, LH44, CS55, GR63, OP81

No Kimi or Ollie just because I feel a bit awkward writing them in this scenario 😇

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

Max was a busy guy. As your boyfriend, he always tried to make sure you were a part of his schedule one way or another. He didn’t want the two of you to grow distant, especially considering you were an anchor of sanity for him. Without you, he’d be a madman by now.

You always tried to reward him, whether it be with a gift or your undying love. He didn’t need these prizes, but Max certainly wouldn’t be complaining when he came home to a warm body to worship, or a good meal to keep himself full and happy. You took care of him just as much.

Today, he wanted to surprise you. It was a week off, and he woke up extra early to cook you breakfast. It was simple, nothing that required lots of skill or practice, but he knew you’d be happy nonetheless.

Indeed you were. You came waddling out into the kitchen, still partially asleep. One hand slid up your shirt to scratch your own stomach as you snatched a piece of bacon, humming in delight. “Max, baby,” You pointed to your half eaten bacon. “Cooked to perfection.”

He laughed and shook his head lightly, but you weren’t done. You held the piece between your teeth, using both hands to pull your pajama top up, letting your breasts spill free. His gaze dropped instantly, and he stared silently for what felt like hours.

He finally reached out to lift you, hoisting you up onto the counter. Max gently tugged your shirt back down. “That’s certainly one way to say thanks.” He kissed your lips, and then went back to cooking, leaving you to sit there. “Quit distracting me.” You both laughed.

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

Danny always went all out for you. He pulled out all the stops, and that included date night. You were at the highest rated restaurant in all of Monaco currently— The waitlist was months long, but Danny managed to weasel his way into an earlier reservation. You didn’t know how to show your thanks.

When he left to quickly use the restroom, you got to scheming. You couldn’t just repay him with sex, because you did that anyway. It had to be something new— Something that surprised him. He had all the money in the world, so gifts were a lost cause. What did you get for someone who had nearly everything?

When he returned, you had an idea in the back of your mind. You were both securely tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, with your back to the rest of the room. He sat down, giving you a quick smile before picking up his menu again. There was lots to look at, but the menu wasn’t your biggest concern.

“Danny,” His head snapped up at your voice, and his jaw dropped. You had quickly pulled down the neckline of your dress, and your boobs popped out. He leaped over the table, careful to not knock anything over, and pulled your dress back up to cover your chest.

“Woah!” He settled back down, eyes still wide. “In public? Baby you know I love your tits, and it was a great surprise, but maybe we should keep those for my eyes only.” You laughed, straightening your dress out.

“Alright, alright. I just wanted to surprise you.” You winked, and he huffed a dramatic sigh, his hand over his heart.

“You certainly surprised me.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

Even if it was meant to be silly, and he’d never admit it, the nickname ‘Lando Nowins’ had weighed heavily on your boyfriend’s performance. He really loathed it, and was practically seething every time someone dared to call him the mean name. It started way back when you guys first began dating, meaning that throughout his Lando Nowins era, you were still there to support him.

Years ago you made a promise with him that once he made it to P1, you’d flash him while he was up there. Now, in 2024, you were certain he had forgotten that silly little deal, which would make it all the more fun considering he’s just finished first in the Miami Grand Prix. He was already ecstatic with his win, unable to completely process the glory.

You waited until he made it to the top step, holding up his trophy with a victorious stance. Then, as his eyes locked with yours, you made the move. You grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, only for a split second, but he for sure got a view of your breasts.

He suddenly fell silent, a look of disbelief on his face as Charles and Max sprayed him with champagne. Nobody but him noticed, including the thousands of people watching from the stands. That was a moment for just him, displayed to the public.

He snapped out of it and joined the others in his celebration, but he couldn’t seem to get the image of your topless body out of his mind.

He found you in his drivers room afterwards, and immediately pushed you back up against the door, pulling your shirt up just enough to slide his head underneath, followed by your giggles.

“Did you forget about that promise?” You asked, holding back your laughter as he buried his face between your boobs.

“I did, and I’m glad I did.” He hummed, breathing you in. “A pleasant surprise.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

Charles was in one of his slumps lately. Ferrari had not been performing to his liking, and it was taking a toll on his mental state. It was obvious with the way he moped around the house, usually cuddling with Leo in silence.

You tried various things to cheer him up. You offered to go on a walk with him and Leo, made his favorite food, put on his favorite movie— Everything. You even tried terrible jokes, which usually just made him pity laugh. You finally decided to pull out your trump card— Something you had been saving for dire situations. You planned on using it to get out of an argument, or persuade him into doing you a favor, but this was more important.

You approached him during one of his moping sessions. He was sitting on the couch watching TV, that same frown that’s been haunting him the past week ever so present. You stood right in front of him, blocking his view. As he looked up, you pulled your shirt up, effectively flashing your tits.

He couldn’t help but smile, a laugh leaving his lips as he covered his eyes with one hand. “Mon ange, what are you doing?!”

“Cheering you up,” You replied before putting the hem of your shirt between your teeth, and climbing on his lap. He lowered his hands to your hips, staring down at your chest without shame.

“It worked. It definitely worked.” Yeah, you could feel that it worked.

—

YUKI TSUNODA - YT22

Yuki was not a morning person. It took forever to get that man out of bed, and then for the following thirty minutes he’d just complain about how he wanted to go back to sleep. Eventually he’d shut up and carry on with his day, but the whole ordeal was no fun for either of you.

“Yuuuukkki, wake up.” You were sat on your knees hunched over him, shaking his side. He groaned, grabbing his pillow and putting it over his ears— Acting like a drama queen, that’s for sure. “Yuki, it’s time to wake up! Quick, there’s a fire in the house!” No response. This guy had zero survival instincts.

You tried for probably another five minutes, using various tactics to wake him up. You even tried wafting the smell of his favorite food in front of his nose, but it didn’t work. You were finally starting to give up, deciding he could just sleep some more, when you suddenly remembered his greatest weakness: Your boobs.

“Yuki, my tits are out-” You were gonna finish your sentence by saying ‘you have to wake up to see’ but he immediately sat up, staring directly at you. You sat on your knees on the bed, your pajama top lifted to reveal your chest.

“I’m up.”

“I can’t believe that worked…”

—

LEWIS HAMILTON - LH44

Lewis was a guy who loved nature. He was always dragging you along on hikes, despite the fact they weren’t your favorite thing. He wanted to share his passions with you, and since racing wasn’t something you could quickly join in on, he figured hiking would be just as good.

You complained half the time, but then would be super ecstatic when you came back, like it was the best hike of your life. He didn’t really get your weird way of showing enthusiasm, but he found it entertaining nonetheless.

Today, you were extremely tired, but Lewis just kept pushing the limit. Every time you’d stop to catch your breath, he’d tell you “just a bit further.” Every. Single. Time.

You finally got sick of his nonsensical behavior, and decided to give him a reason to turn around. You stopped, taking a moment to catch your breath before calling out to him. He turned around to face you, and then you quickly lifted your shirt, leaving him speechless.

“Can we turn back now?” You asked as you lowered your shirt, leaning over to continue with your deep breathing.

You could hear him swallow, loud as hell. “Yes. Yes we can.” Good use of free will.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

You actually had a good reason for this. Ever since the move to Williams, Carlos hadn’t been feeling quite like himself. He was struggling with the major downgrade, even with the immense amount of support he was receiving. From you, from his new co-workers, from the fans. It certainly made the blow less harsh.

He just kept getting in his head about things. He wasn’t the smooth operator anymore— He was just your average racer, trying to drag a less than perfect car to the finish line. You could tell he wasn’t suffering on the track, so you chose to surprise him.

One day you came home a little later than normal, and he greeted you with a confused expression, along with his normal forehead kiss. “Where were you?” Coming home late typically meant you were running errands, but your hands were empty.

You didn’t give a proper reply. Instead, you lifted your shirt. Your breasts spilled free, but that’s not what he was focused on. Nestled between them was the number 55– His number. He melted on the spot, grabbing your hips.

“Do you like it?” He nodded, unable to say anything. He leaned down, but you gently pushed his head back. “I just got it done, so no kisses there.”

“Fine,” He grumbled begrudgingly, instead opting to kiss both breasts tenderly. “Your support means everything to me…”

—

GEORGE RUSSELL - GR63

Your boyfriend was always without his damn shirt. At home, after races, on his instagram— The world got to see his abs. At first you were always startled when he paraded around your home without a top on, but eventually it became part of the norm.

You could only wonder how he’d react if the roles were reversed. What if one day you just started to walk around with a shirt or bra? The curiosity got to be too much, so one day when you excused yourself to the bathroom, you stripped down to just your pants, letting everything up top hang loose.

You came back, flaunting yourself as if it were nothing abnormal. George noticed immediately, his eyes shamefully staring at your assets as your strutted by. He kept his firm gaze, jaw clenched and all, trained on you. Finally, he couldn’t keep silent anymore and addressed the elephant in the room.

“What are you doing?” You bit back a laugh, turning around to face him. He didn’t seem to mind, but it was definitely out of the ordinary.

“You walk around shirtless all the time. I just wanted to join.” He nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t even seem that fazed by your behavior.

George shrugged, “You got me there.”

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

Oscar Piastri was a gentleman at heart. He knew you were a capable person, but he always held doors open for you, pulled your seat out, offered you his jacket— Everything. He wasn’t stuck up about it, though. If the roles happened to be reversed, he’d politely accept your kind behavior.

Oscar is the type of guy to ask you if you want to come back to his house at the end of the date because he sincerely just wants to continue being around you, not because he’s looking for a quick fuck. He was the perfect guy— You, on the other hand, were his more devious match that paired with his gentlemanly demeanor perfectly.

He could tell you had something up your sleeve all night, because you were abnormally giggly. He just didn’t expect it to quite literally be up the sleeve of your jean jacket, which topped the nice dress you wore to the date nicely.

“A gift for you,” You held out a small photo, face down for him. He raised a brow, and hesitantly took the polaroid picture from you. His cheeks flared up in a bright red cover and he quickly laid it back down on the table, covering it with his hand.

“Why do you have that?!” It was a photo of you, wearing only a pair of heels and his racing helmet. You laughed at his dramatic reaction, sliding the photo back into your own grasp.

“Did you not like it?” You asked, faking a pout as you tucked it back into your bra.

“Well- Obviously I did, but why-?!” He shook his head, laughing at your antics.

“Why not?” Evil laughter ensued.

[mashtatosworld]

eyes on me (3)

summary: after the scandal shattered your world, Daesung is there to pick up the pieces. until the truth is revealed.

You lost everything.

Your career, your reputation, the love of your life - all gone in a slow, public collapse that made front-page news.

Every morning, you woke up waiting for the next headline. For the next article or tweet to twist your name into something even uglier.

GDragon’s Ex Leaks Tour Footage Producer Turned Traitor Insider Betrayal Ruins Big Bang Legacy

You’d long since been let go from your job. The word “liability” now echoed in every rejection email. Even when they didn’t say it outright, you could feel it hanging there.

A shadow on your shoulders. A stain you couldn’t scrub off.

The apartment was suffocating in its silence. Iye was gone. The shelves were dusty. The bed too cold. You moved through your days like a ghost, wrapped in oversized hoodies, waiting for a cease-and-desist letter to arrive at your door.

And it never came.

Until he did.

A soft knock on your door. You hesitated, unsure if it was someone from the press - until you peeked through the peephole and saw him.

Daesung.

A quiet smile and a Lego set tucked under his arm.

You stepped aside, wordlessly letting him in.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You sat cross-legged on the living room floor, the pieces scattered between you like a puzzle of the person you used to be.

Neither of you spoke for a long time. The clinking of plastic bricks filled the silence. And then:

"How are you, really?" he asked gently.

You didn’t look up.

“I’m waiting for his team to sue me,” you said, trying to make it sound like a joke. It wasn’t. “Every time I check the mail I think, ‘This is it. They’re finally going to destroy me completely.’”

Daesung sighed, his hands stilling. “They tried.”

You froze.

“But Jiyong stopped it,” he continued. “He refused to let it go forward.”

Your throat tightened.

“He still cares,” Daesung added quietly.

“Not enough,” you whispered, your voice cracking at the edges.

Your hands trembled as you tried to snap a tiny blue brick into place. You blinked fast, but it was no use. The tears came before you could stop them.

“I’m so alone,” you said, barely a whisper.

He reached out and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

You sobbed quietly against him. And he didn’t let go. Not once.

“I miss everything,” you mumbled. “The job. The apartment. Him.”

“I know.”

You pulled back slightly, your cheeks damp, your eyes swollen.

And then… there was a moment.

A long, still breath between you both. His hands still rested gently on your arms. Your face inches from his. And for a second, you thought he might -

But Daesung withdrew. Slowly. Carefully.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “You're still hurting. And in love with Jiyong."

You laughed bitterly, blinking back fresh tears. “Yeah, pathetic, isn't it? God, I need to move on already. I'm sure he's already onto the next."

“Don't say that.” Daesung said. "You're Jiyong and y/n... I don't think anyone could imagine you two with someone else. Even Jiyong."

You looked down, pulling at the cuff of your sock.

“Well, before you became a couple at least,” he mumbled quietly, turning over a Lego piece in his hand.

You looked up, staring at him.

“I liked you,” he admitted. “When we first met. I wanted to ask you out. But then…” he trailed off.

“Timing,” you muttered.

He smiled sadly. “Yeah. Timing.”

You leant back, letting the silence return. You stared down at the half-finished Lego structure. It was messy, crooked. Like you.

“I’m going to get better,” you said suddenly. “I have to. I’m tired of feeling like this. I need to… move on. From him. From everything.”

Daesung nodded. “What do you need? Whatever it is, I’ll help you.”

You hesitated. "I just want to feel something other than this. Something other than sad, angry, tired... disappointed.”

He was silent for a moment. “Well... I have an idea. It always works for me.”

You blinked at him, suspicious. “Should I be worried?

He just smiled. “Get your shoes.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The heater in Daesung’s car was a little too warm, and the air smelled faintly of the watermelon gum he always kept in the cupholder.

You were curled in the passenger seat, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, staring at the streetlights flicking by.

“Dae,” you groaned, eyeing the dashboard clock. “I really don’t want to do karaoke right now.”

“We’re not going to karaoke,” he said, as he rolled the windows down. All the way down.

The wind hit you instantly, cold and sharp and shocking, and then he cranked the radio up, volume climbing until the speakers buzzed.

The intro of Since U Been Gone came on, that familiar guitar riff slipping into your chest like it had been waiting for you.

“This is not better,” you laughed, voice barely cutting over the music. “What are we doing?!”

Daesung didn’t answer. He just turned the wheel, merging onto an open stretch of road, city lights melting into streaks around you. He grinned like a man with a secret.

“This,” he shouted, “isn’t karaoke.”

You stared at him.

“Now sing.”

“No.”

“SING.”

“Dae - ”

“COME ON,” he yelled, already launching into the chorus with so much conviction you were startled. “And all you'd ever hear me say - !”

You stared at him, torn between horror and hysterics.

“Is how I pictured me with you!” he continued, dramatically pointing at you. “That's all you'd ever hear me say - ”

You broke.

You cracked right open.

And then you screamed the lyrics with him - loud, raw, desperate.

"BUT SINCE YOU BEEN GONE!”

The wind whipped through your hair. Your voice tore out of your throat, carried with the cold air like a release.

You stuck your head halfway out the window, breath catching, eyes burning, the cold wind like a shot of adrenaline.

You couldn’t stop.

Every line of the song felt like it had lived in your ribs for years, waiting for this exact night.

You and Daesung were practically screaming, gasping from laughing between lyrics, your voices ragged but real.

The car flew through the quiet city, past midnight streets and blinking lights, with you two as the only chaos left awake.

When the song ended, he didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

The gentle quiet that followed was calm and not suffocating.

He glanced at you out the corner of his eye and saw your cheeks flushed from wind, lips curled into something like a real smile - not the practiced, hollow one.

The real thing.

“Better?” he asked, quieter now.

You looked at him, chest rising and falling fast.

For the first time in weeks, maybe months, you weren’t numb. You felt the burn in your lungs, the sting in your eyes, the ache in your jaw from smiling too hard.

You felt everything.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Better.”

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt like that - not good, not healed - but free.

Alive.

You turned back to look at Daesung and he was watching the road, eyes glassy with the wind and something else - that soft warmth that always came with him. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

And maybe nothing had changed. But something in you had.

The slump you’d been trapped in felt a little looser. The grief, a little lighter.

You looked over at him again, heart thudding a little steadier.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He reached over blindly and took your hand, squeezing it.

“Anytime.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Your life looked different now.

There was no camera crew chasing you, no curated social feeds, no extravagant tour buses or flashing lights. Just a tiny café near your new apartment and a simple routine you’d grown to love.

You poured flower-shaped foam into cappuccinos and listened to the hum of radio music under soft morning light. You still missed the old world. But it was a memory now - faded, fragile, and far away.

Now it was just you, Y/n from the café.

And Daesung.

He still came by often. Always with a crooked smile and something ridiculous to say. He’d sit by the window, sipping the coffee you made for him - always with a little heart drawn in the foam - and wait for your shift to end so he could walk you home.

On Thursdays, he made you dinner. It started casually, when he realised you barely remembered to eat. Now it was a ritual.

It was the best part of your week.

No talk of the past. No talk of him.

Until today.

Your phone wouldn’t stop ringing - five, six, seven calls in a row.

Your manager gave you a raised brow from the register. “Either answer it or switch it off, hon.”

You chuckled under your breath and pulled the device from your apron pocket.

And froze.

Ji 🖤

The name blazed across the screen like a ghost risen from the dead. You hadn't even changed his contact name since he blocked you. A photo of him holding a tiny, fuzzy Iye haunting you.

Your fingers trembled. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

The ringtone kept playing like a slow taunt. Your heart slammed against your ribs. You stared at it until the call ended - only for it to start again a second later.

Eventually, you powered it off.

“Didn’t want to answer?” your manager asked, concerned.

You shook your head slowly. “It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t.

A chill followed you the rest of the shift, even as the café filled with the comfort of clinking cups and low chatter. You were wiping down tables when the bell above the door chimed again.

Daesung.

But he didn’t smile this time. He didn’t order a drink or tease you about your latte art.

He just sat by the window, biting his nail, leg bouncing anxiously.

You knew something was wrong.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Your shift ended.

He carefully helped you into your coat, and the two of you walked together in silence.

The sky was a deep grey, the air crisp with the promise of winter. You tried talking - anything to break the tension.

“So what do you want to cook tonight? I bought those mushrooms you like - ”

“I need to tell you something,” he cut in gently.

You stopped walking, pausing in front of your apartment.

“There’s been a development in the case. Your name’s been cleared.”

You blinked. “What?”

“They found out it was someone at your old company. They impersonated you, hacked your credentials to access the footage. It’s all confirmed.”

You turned away, pulling your keys from your pocket and unlocking the door. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Y/n - ”

“It doesn’t,” you said sharply, stepping inside and heading straight to the kitchen. “At least now I won’t end up in court. That’s something.”

He followed, watching as you set out the cutting board and knives.

“Maybe you should go to court and sue whoever it was,” he said quietly. “Make them pay.”

“Let Jiyong sue them. He’s already having his legal team handle it, right?”

You began unpacking ingredients from your fridge. Daesung hesitated.

“He is,” he admitted.

You let out a soft, humourless laugh. “He couldn’t believe me until he had cold, hard evidence. Not a phone call. Not a conversation. Not even a question. Just silence.”

Daesung started chopping in your place, the kitchen filling with quiet sounds of preparation. A kind of peace.

Dinner was simple and warm - a spicy stir fry and soda, your new usual.

Then his phone buzzed on the table.

Jiyong.

He looked at you. “Should I answer?”

You scoffed. “Sure. Let him know you’re having dinner with me.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “He knows, y/n. I told him I’ve stayed in touch with you. We fought about it. For a couple weeks. Then he stopped bringing it up.”

“Too tired to fight anymore?” you murmured.

“Too scared to lose anyone else.”

You didn’t reply. Just stood and fetched the bottle of wine. You poured two glasses and handed him one.

“I thought you stopped drinking,” he said gently.

“I did.”

He raised a brow.

“This is a celebration,” you said, forcing a smile. “I’m no longer the world’s favourite backstabbing bitch.”

He accepted the glass, and you clinked yours gently against his. The wine tasted sharp. Almost sweet.

The two of you curled up on the couch and started a movie, horrors were your favourite.

And he never said a word in protest, but you were starting to suspect that maybe, despite his assurance he was happy to watch too, he was less of a fan. You'd occasionally catch his eyes squeezed shut or feel him jolt at the jump scares.

When it got late, you glanced over at him, voice soft. “Will you stay?”

He looked at you for a moment and nodded. “Yeah. I will.”

You turned off the lights and pulled the blanket over both of you. His arms found you naturally, curling around your waist, anchoring you in the moment.

And to him.

Just before sleep stole you, you felt his lips brush against your hairline.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

When morning came, the sun peeked softly through the curtains. The room was still. Warm.

And Daesung was gone.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

i fear i would have picked up...

also dae singing kelly clarkson? let's not question it and live in fantasy land together ok? great 🤣

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi , @deliciousmagazinequeen , @heartubeatusalon , @imminsugasgf

[izzih22]

do one where paige and azzi are hanging out with drew and they keep teasing him about a crush he has at school

Family Business

Note: hope y’all like it

The Bueckers’ living room was a mess of old video game controllers, chip bags, and half-finished root beers.

The summer sun was still slanting low through the windows, casting a soft golden light over everything, making the whole scene feel even more easy and familiar.

Paige sat sprawled on the couch, socked feet up on the coffee table, controller in hand.

Azzi was curled against her side, legs tucked up, watching the screen with a lazy smile.

Across from them, Drew — Paige’s little brother — sat in an armchair, scowling at his screen like it had personally offended him.

He’d been quiet for a few minutes now. Too quiet.

Which, for Paige, was blood in the water.

“Hey, Drew,” she said casually, not looking away from the TV. “Who’s that girl you were talking about earlier?”

Drew stiffened immediately. “What girl?”

Azzi perked up, sensing danger — and opportunity. “Ohhh, wait, there’s a girl?” she said, smiling way too sweetly.

Drew glared at them both. “There’s no girl.”

Paige snorted. “Right, because you’re blushing like a tomato for no reason.”

“I’m not!” Drew protested, cheeks definitely turning redder.

Azzi set her controller down, turning fully to face him.

“Okay, okay,” she said, voice dripping with fake seriousness. “We’re just concerned. As your older sisters, it’s our duty to know these things.”

Paige reached over and mussed Drew’s hair roughly, ignoring his half-hearted attempts to dodge her.

“Yeah, bro. We gotta vet her. Make sure she deserves you.”

“And,” Azzi added solemnly, “we need to know if she’s prettier than us.”

Drew groaned, shoving his face into a pillow. “Stopppp.”

Paige grinned and turned to Azzi. “Remember when he had that crush on that girl in fifth grade who didn’t even know his name?”

Azzi laughed, bright and easy. “Oh my gosh, and he made us practice how he was gonna say ‘hi’ to her in the kitchen for like three hours.”

“You made me!” Drew protested from under the pillow.

“You begged us!” Paige and Azzi chorused at the same time, then dissolved into laughter.

Drew pulled the pillow away, giving them both his best death glare.

“You two are the worst,” he grumbled.

Azzi leaned over and bumped his knee affectionately.

“Nah, you love us.”

Drew grunted, but there was no real heat behind it.

He did love them. Had for as long as he could remember.

Azzi wasn’t just Paige’s girlfriend — she was family.

She’d been around for so many years now, it felt weird to even separate them in his mind. She was just… Azzi. His big sister, whether the world called it that or not.

Paige turned back to the TV with a smirk.

“So,” she said casually. “What’s her name?”

“Nope,” Drew said immediately.

Azzi tilted her head, giving him the big, soft brown eyes she knew were impossible to resist.

“Pleeease?”

Drew tried. He really tried. But it was a losing battle.

He sighed dramatically, dropping his controller onto the floor.

“Fine. Her name’s Riley. She’s in my math class.”

Paige elbowed Azzi triumphantly.

“Knew it. Knew there was someone.”

Azzi giggled. “Is she cute?”

Drew shrugged, all tough and cool — and about as convincing as a wet cat.

“I guess.”

Paige leaned in, voice low and teasing.

“Have you talked to her yet? Or are we still at the ‘staring awkwardly from across the room’ phase?”

“Shut up,” Drew muttered, cheeks flaming again.

Azzi softened a little, nudging Paige.

“Be nice,” she said, grinning. She turned back to Drew, voice kinder. “You’re gonna crush it, Drew. You’re way cooler than you think.”

“Way cooler,” Paige agreed easily. “Especially when you don’t try so hard.”

“And,” Azzi said, laughing, “you’ve got two amazing role models.”

Drew groaned again. “God help me.”

Paige ruffled his hair one more time for good measure.

“You’re welcome, little man.”

Azzi smiled at Drew — warm, real.

“We got your back, okay? Always.”

Drew glanced between the two of them — his big sister, and the girl who had been there through everything right beside her — and, despite himself, he smiled a little too.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low but sure. “I know.”

They turned back to their game after that, the moment slipping away into the familiar rhythm of trash talk and laughter and teasing.

Just a regular afternoon.

But underneath it all, something steady and unspoken thrummed between them:

Family wasn’t always about blood.

Sometimes it was about the people who stayed.

The ones who made you laugh, and made you feel like maybe the world wasn’t so scary after all.

And in that messy living room in Minnesota, Drew knew he had two of the best.

[moondustbaby]

You Don’t Have To Do It All

Blue Collar!Rafe x Pregnant Wife!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

Summary: You are 7–8 months pregnant and working full-time as a middle school secretary during the chaotic start of the school year. When stress and exhaustion finally catch up to you, it leads to a quiet but emotional argument with Rafe — who only ever wanted you to slow down and let him take care of you.

⸻

The school office was louder than usual — copy machine jamming, phones ringing, the hallway filling with seventh graders who hadn’t quite mastered the concept of indoor voices.

You were holding it together… barely. Your back ached, your ankles were swollen, and the headache behind your eyes had been pulsing since about 8:17 a.m. But the worst part? The guilt. You couldn’t even finish entering attendance before the nurse called again — another kid sent down, probably faking a stomachache. You stood to get to the file cabinet and winced when your belly pulled tight, a dull cramp radiating through your lower back.

You didn’t even realize your hand had pressed to your stomach until the nurse raised an eyebrow.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

You forced a smile. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

That was an understatement.

By the time you made it home, the sun was dipping low and your head was throbbing. The second you walked through the door, Rafe was in front of you — hands on your shoulders, eyes narrowing at the tight lines on your face.

“Hey—” he caught your bag before you could set it down, “you don’t look good. What happened?”

You shook your head. “It’s fine, it was just a long day.”

Rafe didn’t answer right away. He just studied you. And when he noticed the way your hand moved instinctively to your stomach — that tiny gesture of discomfort — his jaw clenched.

“You need to sit down,” he muttered. “Now.”

“I just need a second to—”

“Sit down, baby.”

His tone wasn’t sharp, but it was enough to shut you up. You let him guide you to the couch. He knelt in front of you, both hands resting on your thighs, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your leggings.

“You had that look again,” he said, voice lower now. “The one you get when you’re hurting but trying to hide it from me.”

You blinked hard, throat tight. “I’m not trying to hide anything.”

“Yes, you are,” he said gently. “You’ve been doing it for weeks.”

Your chest burned.

Rafe sat back on his heels. “You remember this summer? When I said maybe you shouldn’t go back to work this year?”

You looked away, guilt flooding you fast. “Rafe…”

“No, I’m not mad,” he said quickly, but there was frustration buried in his voice. “I just— I knew this would happen. You’re doing too much. This baby is taking a toll on you, and you’re still trying to be everything for everyone at that damn school.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not that easy to just leave, Rafe. I care about my job. It matters to me.”

“I know that.” He ran a hand through his hair, breathing out slow. “But you matter more to me.”

That’s when the tears hit. They came out of nowhere — hot, overwhelming, fueled by exhaustion and hormones and the absolute truth of his words.

“I just… I feel like if I stop now, I’m letting everyone down. I don’t want people thinking I’m weak, or that I can’t handle this.”

Rafe moved fast then. Not angry — just desperate to get close to you. He sat beside you, pulling you into his chest, letting your sobs break against his shirt.

“Baby, you’re the strongest person I know. Nobody who loves you thinks you’re weak. But you don’t have to prove anything, not to me and sure as hell not to anyone else.”

You clung to him, fingers gripping his shirt.

“I hate feeling like this,” you whispered. “Like my body’s betraying me.”

He kissed your forehead. “It’s not. It’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to do — you’re growing our baby, sweetheart. That’s the most important job there is.”

You let out a shaky laugh, pulling back just enough to look at him.

“I should’ve listened to you.”

Rafe smirked. “Yeah, you should’ve. But I get why you didn’t.”

You laughed again, tired but lighter. And when Rafe kissed you — slow and deep and steady — you felt the tension start to melt from your shoulders.

Later, he helped you into the bath, rubbed your swollen feet without you asking, and tucked you into bed with your favorite oversized t-shirt and a heating pad for your back.

And when you apologized again for snapping earlier, he just shook his head and kissed your knuckles.

“Stop sayin’ sorry for needing me,” he murmured. “That’s what I’m here for. Always.”

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: something about working full-time while super pregnant just felt so real to me… like she’s trying so hard to keep it all together even though her body’s clearly over it. this is for my stressed out, emotional girlies who say “i’m fine” until they fully cry into their husband’s shirt. rafe’s just trying to get her to breathe and let him love her a little softer. hormones, micro angst, and comfort in the end — always.

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

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𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@lolabunnyworldss

[softtdaisy]

living the fantasy / Aaron Hotchner

summary. watching bodyguard with your bodyguard leads to you finally living your fantasy

words count. 2 011

what to expect. a very brief smut (not even sure we can call it that) but they have sex yes

a/n. this was absolutely not supposed to end like that but I got too involved with the scene so here it is (this was just a joke about the bodyguard watching bodyguard at first)

bodyguard masterlist | criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

Hotch had seen you angry before.

Because of something you had read online about yourself—or about him—you were even more defensive with him than when it’s about you.

Because your stalker made you change your plan—and you hated changing your plan, especially because of him.

Because things weren’t going the way they were intended—and it caused you some stress you clearly didn’t need.

So he wasn’t much surprised to see you like this. With a closed expression on your face, a look that could kill, and your fists tight and hidden under your crossed arms on your chest. Like you were ready to punch someone even though you weren’t the violent type. It wasn’t a first for him. 

No, Hotch was much more surprised by the fact the reason you were upset seemed frivolous to him.

“Are you really that upset?” he asked from the sofa, still watching you from there, preparing the popcorn. Poor Corn was paying the price of his mistake if he was listening to you.

You opened your mouth from the surprise and the shock that he was again acting like this was nothing. “How dare you ask? You have never seen Bodyguard!”

That was it.

The reason for your “fight.”

Your bodyguard had never seen the movie Bodyguard.

You learned this information through a very random conversation. 

You did an interview the other day where you had to go through a list of rom-com movies: the ones you had seen, the ones you didn’t, your favorites, and those you wouldn’t recommend. You were known by your fans as an expert on rom-coms, so it was no surprise that you had seen most of these movies and could give very detailed explanations on why you preferred one or another. 

When you came home, you made Hotch go through the same list just to tease him. He said he had seen Dirty Dancing at the theater because “I had dates when I was younger, you know,” Mamma Mia because one of his exes was a big musical fan, or Notting Hill with a British client who was nostalgic for home.

Yet, he hadn’t seen many recent ones—which you weren’t surprised to learn.

And then he confessed his betrayal. “Why would I have seen a movie that parodies my job?” He justified it very casually.

You took that personally. 

And decided that this Friday night would be a Bodyguard watch night.

You finally came back to the living room, still ignoring Hotch as much as you could. Something that amused him. He loved watching you pretend you didn’t care when you cared so much. 

He noticed your quick looks at him and the way your mouth was going upward slightly before you contained yourself. Trying so hard not to smile at him because you were supposed to be mad. Your fist loosened up only for you to play with your fingers—a habit he noticed when you were trying so hard not to speak. 

And so he waited until you sat by his side. “Do I have to like the movie?” he asked, turning his head to you and stealing some popcorn from your bowl. There he noticed it too: the way your eyes went down on his chest, hidden by a very tight black shirt that made his muscles more apparent and his arms look bigger. It wasn’t your fault Black made his skin look so good and you couldn’t resist some vein apparition. Blame a woman for having desire.

Then your eyes moved to his face again. “Don’t be surprised if I ask to change my bodyguard.” 

His laugh filled the room, and this time you couldn’t contain your smile. That sound was definitely your favorite.

To your biggest surprise, Hotch seemed focused on the movie playing.

To your biggest ignorance, he was only doing that because it mattered to you.

If you loved it this much, then he had to give it a try.

It became very clear at some point that the story on screen echoed the one you were living too. The singer being threatened by a stalker, having a bodyguard to protect her, and playfully fighting like cats and dogs. Hotch could see it. And he knew you did too.

Because again, he could read you like an open book. And it wasn’t only the movie that made you move like that on the couch; it was the feeling of seeing your own life on screen. The fear of never having a normal life again—even if your days weren’t normal before the stalker already. But it was your life. And you deserved to have it back.

Hotch didn’t think much—and maybe he should have considered what you were watching—but he put a hand on your thigh suddenly. “Stop moving,” he asked, his eyes still on the screen and his fingers resting on your leg. You could feel the heat of his skin against you, even through your pants. 

And you listened to him. Oh, you listened. Mostly because losing his touch was the worst thing that could happen right now.

And when the first love scene played on screen, you certainly couldn’t move. Even if you wanted to. And neither could Hotch. 

Maybe the way his fingers slightly gripped your thigh was moving. But maybe the way your hands naturally moved above his, intertwining your fingers with his, was indeed moving. Or maybe none of you were to blame since in front of you was playing the fantasy you were both trying to fight against.

You felt some kind of jealousy at the idea that the character got what you were wishing for—even though you knew the rest of the story.

Hotch felt some kind of disappointment that his professional behavior was preventing him from listening to his desire.

“He is right, you know,” he whispered after Frank—the bodyguard—decided to break off their affair right after their first night. Saying it could compromise his work, making him too personally attached to his client. 

And that was the truth, what was scaring Hotch the most. That if he let himself fall for you for real, then he wouldn’t be able to protect you properly. Even if, at this point, he was only pretending he hadn’t fallen already.

And if he were your bodyguard, he would have a hard time accepting that he failed his job. As your lover, he could never forgive himself.

But you didn’t answer. Actually, Hotch wasn’t even sure you had heard him. He gave you multiple quick looks through the movies, but your eyes never left the screen. 

Even the excellent profiler he was couldn’t point out if you were truly absorbed by the movie or if you were focusing on it to avoid the reality. He knew the reason for his incapacity was that his feelings were taking the lead. 

By the end of the movie, he heard you sob. He turned his head fully this time, not hiding that he was looking out for you. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” you said, pointing a finger at him and trying to hide behind a laugh why you wanted to cry. You always did that, hiding your true feelings behind a smile or a laugh. 

More than your romantic side that made it impossible for you not to cry, the movie was again hitting too close to home. The feeling that whatever you shared might never be enough. That reality might always bury your feelings and your relationship and make it impossible to keep it alive.

Without hesitating a single second, Hotch put his arm around your shoulder to bring you against him. “I won’t,” he added, and soon you felt his lips against your temple. A soft kiss that lasted longer than he intended to.

Because he needed it too. To feel you. For just a few seconds.

A few seconds. Something that encouraged you to slowly slip on his lap. Hotch followed your movement, his hands sliding on your back to your waist. Keeping you in place when you finally settle on him, your forehead against him. The song I Will Always Love You is playing in the back, like the echoes of your mind.

“Once,” you whispered. Your voice was trembling. Asking. Begging.

Hotch’s shaking breath was all you could hear. And feel it against your lips. 

He brought his hand to your hair, caressing it once, twice, before grabbing it slowly. “Once,” he replied in a whisper. 

He used his hand on your hair to bring your face closer, and closer, and closer, until there was no other choice for your lips to finally touch. It felt real and right to finally get to kiss Aaron Hotchner. 

You lived every single second of this kiss.

The taste of his lips—coffee and sweet from the popcorn.

The feeling of his lips—soft and a little dry—against yours.

The game of his tongue with yours—like a dance made only for you.

The softness of his finger on your cheek—caressing your skin.

The movement of his hips—moving unconsciously at your touch.

The acceleration of his heartbeat against you—letting you know he had the same desire as you.

To do more. To go further.

And so you weren’t surprised he followed your movement, letting him lay on the couch with you still on top of him. His resting hand on your back going under your shirt, caressing your naked skin like he needed to touch you. To feel you. To know you were real. 

And when you let your hand go under his shirt, when you felt his bulge grow against your thigh, you decided you couldn’t stop. Not now. Not this fast.

“Please” was all you said against his lips.

And maybe that was the hottest thing he had ever heard. You. Begging.

He tightened his grip on your hair, pulling your head so he could look at you. “Say it again,” he ordered. 

And you did it. You said it again.

You said please when his hand slowly moved from your back to your pants. 

You said please when you felt his fingers meeting your underwear, your skin, and your clitoris.

You said please, your head buried in his neck, when his fingers kept moving faster and faster.

You said please when he pulled away his hand before you could finish, only to get rid of your pants. 

He said please when you moved your hand to take away his jeans.

But you couldn’t say please no more when he finally got into you. Not when he was moving slowly first. Then faster, quickly. Harder, too.

And soon there were no words in any of your mouths except for both of your names echoing in the room. The silence from the movie being over and the noises made by your bodies meeting each other again, and again, and again.

You loved the way he was moving your head, like his grip on your hair, the way he needed to. 

Bringing your neck to his lips so he could kiss it.

Bringing your lips closer so he could kiss them too.

Or bringing your ear to his mouth so he could moan your name right into it. 

And when you both finished together, you thought that you might have found your new favorite melody. The way Aaron had a special way to moan your name. And the way he was so breathless under you now.

You moved your head, resting your chin on his chest to look at him. With his head slowly tilted backward so you could see his eyes closed, his eyelashes made him look like a soft man—certainly not the man who made you beg the whole way.

“Tell me,” you said in a low voice, your finger going up and down his chest slowly. “If I say please again, will we start again?”

He laughed. You felt it against you, in your bones and soul. 

He moved his head so he could look at you again. “Don’t tempt me.”

But the temptation was now too big to ignore. 

Tag List: @kiwriteswords @monzabee @raysmayhem-72 @kajjaka @pastelpinkflowerlife (if you want to be in it, ask me and I’ll be happy to add you x)

[grimesproperty]

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒

You and Eren are such close best friends, almost "platonic." You open up to Eren about your desire to gain more experience now that you both are in college. Being the sweet best friend he is, he listens to you. And being the sweet best friend you are.

You ask him if he can teach you a few things, even teaching you how he is gonna take your virginity.

EREN YEAGER X READER

cw: nsfw

—

You and Eren Yeager were... complicated.

Best friends, sure. Friends since your freshman year of college, when you spilled coffee all over his sketchpad in the library and he called you "an actual menace" and then bought you a refill because you looked like you were going to cry.

Four years later, nothing had really changed.

Except maybe everything.

Because now you were 21. And Eren wasn’t just your best friend anymore.

He was beautiful. Tall, broad-shouldered, messy brown hair tied into a lazy bun. Piercings glinting in his ear. Green eyes so sharp it felt like they could see through your clothes.

You told yourself you didn’t think about him like that. You lied.

And tonight?

Tonight you were making it worse.

You were sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing one of his hoodies and absolutely no pants. It wasn't weird. You’d always been like this around him. Comfortable.

But lately, comfortable didn’t feel like the right word.

Eren was sprawled out next to you, scrolling through his phone. His legs were bare except for a pair of loose gray sweats that hung way too low on his hips.

You tried not to look.

Failed.

"So," he said suddenly, setting his phone down, "you gonna tell me why you’ve been acting weird all week?"

You pulled your knees up to your chest. "I’m not acting weird."

"You literally flinched when I hugged you yesterday."

"I—I was startled."

He laughed under his breath, low and rough. "Right."

You hated how your stomach twisted at the sound of it.

There was a pause. One of those heavy, loaded silences that only happened when you were both thinking too much.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" he said finally, voice soft.

You swallowed hard.

Maybe it was the way he was looking at you. Like you were fragile. Like you mattered. Maybe it was the way you were tired of pretending. Maybe it was the fact that your body ached for something you couldn’t name when you were around him lately.

Whatever it was, it broke something open inside you.

"I’m... still a virgin," you blurted out.

The words hung in the air between you, sharp and heavy.

Eren blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, slowly, he sat up, facing you fully.

"Okay," he said carefully. "That's not a bad thing."

You stared down at your hands. "I just... everyone else has already—" You shook your head. "And I feel like... like I’m stuck. Like I'm behind or something."

He was quiet for a second.

Then he said, "You're not behind."

You risked a glance up at him.

His expression was unreadable. Jaw tight. Eyes dark.

You pressed on, heart pounding. "It’s not even about love or anything. I just... I want to know. I’m tired of being scared of it. Of... all of it."

Another pause.

His voice dropped lower. Rougher.

"You want someone to teach you."

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded, cheeks burning.

You couldn't look at him. Couldn't breathe.

"I trust you," you whispered.

The silence between you snapped like a wire pulled too tight.

Eren shifted closer, so close you could feel the heat of his bare chest through the thin hoodie you wore.

"You trust me," he repeated, voice almost a growl.

You nodded again, trembling.

He lifted a hand slowly—so fucking slowly—and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You don’t know what you’re asking for," he murmured.

"Maybe I do," you said, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounded.

His fingers brushed down your jaw. Barely a touch. Enough to make your whole body tense.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, voice wrecked.

"You don't have to," you said quickly, pulling back, heart hammering. "I just—I just needed to say it. I’m sorry. Forget it. I shouldn’t have—"

He caught your wrist gently, stopping you.

"Don't be sorry," he said hoarsely. "Just... give me a second. Okay?"

You sat there, frozen, pulse in your throat, while he closed his eyes for a long moment. Like he was fighting himself.

When he opened them again, his green eyes were darker than you’d ever seen.

"Come here," he said roughly.

You inched closer without thinking.

And when he kissed you—soft at first, testing, tasting—you realized it was already too late.

You weren’t just curious.

You wanted him.

Wanted him to touch you, to ruin you, to teach you everything.

And when his tongue slid into your mouth and he groaned low in his chest, you realized something else, too:

Eren wanted it just as badly.

Maybe more.

Maybe he always had.

The air between you and Eren was different now.

Charged. Dangerous.

You could barely breathe as you sat there on his bed, knees knocking together under the oversized hoodie—his hoodie—your bare legs brushing the soft sheets.

Eren hadn't let go of your wrist. His thumb was rubbing lazy, slow circles against your skin. Like he was trying to ground you. Or maybe himself.

"You want me to teach you," he said again, voice wrecked.

You nodded, unable to speak.

"Not just kissing, either," he added, leaning closer, lips brushing your ear. "You want more."

You whimpered before you could stop yourself.

It made him chuckle darkly—low and warm and filthy.

"Fuck," he muttered, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. "Okay. But we do this slow. You tell me if you want to stop at any point."

You nodded frantically.

"And you don't ever," he said, voice roughening, "ever have to do something you don’t want to. Got it?"

"Got it," you whispered.

His gaze darkened further, the green almost swallowed by black.

"You have no fucking idea what you're asking for," he said, voice a gravelly whisper. "But I'll teach you."

His hand slid up your thigh slowly—way too slowly—until he reached the hem of the hoodie.

You gasped when his fingers brushed your bare skin.

"First lesson," he murmured, smirking faintly. "How a kiss is supposed to feel."

Your breath hitched. Your thighs squeezed together instinctively. You didn't miss the way his eyes flickered down at the motion, nostrils flaring.

Eren leaned in, mouth hovering just a whisper from yours.

"You let the other person come to you," he said, voice almost hypnotic. "You don't chase it. You wait."

You swallowed hard. Nodded.

His lips brushed yours lightly—so light you barely felt it.

You whimpered again, desperate for more.

Eren smiled against your mouth.

"Good," he whispered. "You wait. You make them work for it."

He kissed you again, firmer this time. Still teasing.

His hand slid higher up your thigh, under the hoodie, fingers tracing slow, maddening patterns on your skin.

You tilted your chin up instinctively, chasing his mouth.

He pulled back just a fraction.

"Patience, baby," he rasped. "You gotta make them earn it."

You whimpered again, and he chuckled—low and dark and utterly wrecked.

Then finally—finally—he kissed you properly.

Deep. Slow. Consuming.

You felt the heat of him everywhere. The hard line of his chest pressing into you. The rough scrape of his palm sliding along your thigh, curling possessively around it.

You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound greedily.

When he finally pulled back, you were gasping, dizzy, desperate.

Your lips were swollen. Your skin burning.

Eren’s chest heaved as he looked down at you, eyes wild, hair falling loose from his bun.

"You feel that?" he growled, voice thick. "That’s how it’s supposed to feel."

You nodded dumbly, dazed.

He grinned crookedly, licking his bottom lip.

"Good girl," he murmured.

You almost collapsed on the spot.

You could barely think. Could barely breathe. Your pulse thundered in your ears, every nerve ending alive under his touch.

Eren pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb still dragging slowly, burning circles against the inside of your thigh.

"Lesson two," he rasped, voice dark and low. "Touching."

You blinked up at him, dazed.

He grabbed your hand—gently, but firmly—and brought it up to his chest.

"Start here," he muttered.

Your fingers curled instinctively around the front of his hoodie.

"No," Eren said, voice rough with something you couldn't name. He tugged his hoodie over his head in one swift motion, tossing it aside.

You gasped.

He was bare underneath—tattoos scattered across golden skin, muscle carved like it had been sculpted just for you.

Your mouth dried instantly.

Eren smirked lazily, watching your stunned expression.

"Touch me," he repeated, softer this time.

Your fingers trembled as you reached out—hesitating for a second, terrified to screw it up.

He caught your wrist again, gentler now, and pressed your hand flat against his chest.

You could feel everything.

The steady thud of his heart. The solid, burning heat of him. The way his breathing hitched the second you touched him.

"Good," he whispered.

You dragged your hand lower—over the plane of his chest, the ridges of his abs. Your fingertips brushed the trail of hair leading down beneath his sweatpants.

Eren hissed through his teeth, muscles tensing under your touch.

"Fuck, baby," he muttered. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

You smiled shyly, feeling a flicker of power surge through you.

You brushed your fingers across the tattoo on his ribs—a snake coiled around a dagger—and he groaned low in his throat.

"Lesson three," he gritted out. "Teasing."

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed.

He grinned—dark and hungry and wrecked.

"You gotta make it hurt a little," he said, voice thick. "Make them desperate. Like this—"

He dragged his hands up under the hoodie—your hoodie—splaying his palms against your bare waist, pulling you into his lap.

You squeaked, thighs straddling his.

You could feel him, hard and straining beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants.

You froze, heart slamming against your ribs.

Eren smirked lazily up at you.

"You feel that?" he murmured. "That's what you do to me."

You whimpered, clutching his shoulders.

He rocked his hips up just slightly—enough to grind against you.

You gasped.

"Eren—"

"Lesson four," he interrupted, voice almost shaking. "Grinding."

You whimpered again, feeling your core throb, slick pooling between your legs embarrassingly fast.

Eren grabbed your hips, guiding you into a slow, torturous grind against him.

"Just like that," he rasped. "Fuck, you're a natural."

You bit your lip hard, trying not to moan.

His eyes darkened even further.

"Don't hide it, baby," he growled. "I wanna hear you."

You whimpered brokenly as you rocked against him, the friction unbearable, electric.

Eren's hands tightened on your hips, the muscles in his arms straining.

His control was slipping—you could see it, feel it.

"You wanna know something?" he muttered, voice strained. "None of this is fucking platonic anymore."

You whimpered his name—and that broke him.

He surged up, kissing you fiercely—messy and desperate—tongue claiming yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip.

You moaned into his mouth, grinding harder, chasing the high.

"Eren, please," you gasped.

He pulled back just enough to growl:

"You want me to show you more?"

You nodded frantically, chest heaving.

His hands slid up your thighs, under the hoodie, grazing dangerously close to where you needed him most.

He smirked against your mouth.

"First," he whispered, "you gotta say it."

You whined in frustration.

"Say what?" you panted.

Eren's eyes gleamed wickedly.

"Tell me what you want, baby."

You squirmed, cheeks burning, brain short-circuiting.

"I want..." you started, voice trembling.

Eren waited, smug and wrecked all at once.

You swallowed hard.

"I want you to touch me," you whispered.

He grinned—dark and slow and victorious.

"Good girl," he murmured.

Then his fingers slid higher—higher—until they brushed the soaked fabric of your panties.

You gasped, hips bucking instinctively.

Eren groaned low in his chest, head dropping to your shoulder.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he muttered against your neck. "All for me."

You whimpered, clutching his hair.

And then—

He slipped a single finger under the fabric. Dragging it slowly and lightly along your folds. Barely touching, just teasing.

You nearly sobbed.

"Lesson five," he rasped. "Patience."

His finger traced your soaked folds so lightly, you could’ve screamed. You were trembling—hips bucking pathetically against his hand—whining in the back of your throat.

"Eren," you gasped, desperate. "Please—"

He hummed low against your throat, lazy and cruel and amused.

"Patience," he whispered again, his voice dark, wrecked, and starving. "Good things take time, baby."

You sobbed a little—not even caring anymore how pathetic you sounded.

Eren’s free hand tightened on your hip, holding you down firmly against him, grinding your clothed core against his throbbing length.

You could feel the heat of him through both your thin layers. Could feel how badly he wanted it too.

And still—he dragged his finger in slow, cruel circles over your clit. Feather-light. Not nearly enough. Barely anything at all.

"You’re driving me crazy," you whimpered, nails digging into his bare shoulders.

He laughed quietly—sadistic—then kissed your jaw, your throat, the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"You think you're suffering?" he rasped. "You have no fucking idea what you’re doing to me right now."

You whimpered again, grinding harder.

Eren grunted low in his chest, gripping you tighter.

"Fuck, baby," he growled. "You're so fucking wet... bet I could slip inside you right now and you’d take me so sweet."

You gasped, head dropping against his shoulder, body shuddering with need.

"You want that?" he muttered, hot against your skin. "Want me to fill you up?"

"Yes," you choked out without thinking, hips jerking. "Yes, Eren, please—"

He groaned like he was in pain.

"Not yet," he gritted. "Not until you're ready."

You whimpered brokenly.

"I am," you cried. "I swear—"

He cut you off by slipping a single finger inside you—just barely. Just the tip—teasing, mocking.

You gasped sharply, clenching around nothing.

"You're tight as fuck," he growled. "Gonna have to stretch you out real slow, baby."

You moaned helplessly, thighs trembling around his hips.

Eren pulled his finger back, dragging it slow over your swollen clit again, making you cry out.

"Lesson six," he panted. "Control."

You whimpered, body arching against him.

"If you can stay patient," he murmured, "I'll make you feel so fucking good you won't remember your own name."

You sobbed in frustration, tears pricking your eyes.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and tender.

"You trust me, right?" he whispered.

You nodded frantically, voice breaking.

"Good," he murmured. "Then let me take care of you."

He kissed you again—deeper this time—his tongue licking into your mouth lazily, almost sweetly, as his fingers resumed their torturous, feather-light teasing between your thighs.

You grinded against him desperately, seeking friction, chasing the high he was cruelly keeping just out of reach.

"Please," you sobbed against his mouth.

He chuckled darkly, breathless.

"You're so fucking cute when you beg," he growled. "Makes me wanna wreck you."

You whimpered, thighs quivering.

And then—

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore—

He slid one long finger inside you, all the way this time.

You cried out, clenching tight around him.

"Fuck," Eren groaned, forehead dropping to yours. "You're squeezing me so good, baby."

He pumped his finger slow and deep, dragging over every sensitive spot inside you.

You were a writhing, sobbing mess in his lap.

"One finger," he rasped. "You’re already losing your mind."

He added a second finger without warning, stretching you wider.

You gasped, clinging to him.

"Relax, baby," he whispered, kissing your temple. "Breathe."

You did—barely.

He moved his fingers in slow, delicious thrusts, curling them inside you just right.

You cried out, thighs trembling violently.

"Good girl," he praised, voice thick with lust. "Taking me so good."

You felt the coil tightening in your belly—hot and fast and out of control.

"Eren," you gasped. "I—I’m gonna—"

He pulled his fingers out suddenly.

You screamed in frustration, tears spilling down your cheeks.

Eren grinned—dark and wicked—and licked his fingers clean, eyes locked on yours.

"Taste so fucking good," he muttered, voice hoarse.

You whimpered brokenly.

"Why—" you gasped, voice wrecked. "Why'd you stop?"

He grinned lazily, pulling you closer until your soaked panties rubbed against his throbbing cock again.

"Lesson seven," he rasped against your mouth.

You clutched his shoulders, desperate.

"Denial," he whispered.

Your panties were ruined.

Your thighs were trembling.

Your mind was gone.

And Eren was still teasing you — cruel, patient, starving — holding you pinned in his lap, soaked core grinding against the hard line of his cock through his sweats.

"Look at you," he muttered against your ear, voice low and vicious. "Fucking dripping for me."

You sobbed out a noise that wasn’t even a word anymore.

He cupped the back of your neck roughly, forcing you to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.

"You want me to stop?" he rasped.

Your mouth opened — no sound came out.

You shook your head frantically.

"Say it," he growled.

"Don't stop," you whimpered.

His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with pure lust.

"You have no idea what you're asking for, baby," he muttered.

"I don't care," you cried, grinding desperately against him. "Please, Eren — please, I need you —"

He kissed you — brutal, hot, hungry — biting your bottom lip until you gasped.

"You think I’m just gonna fuck you sweet and gentle because it’s your first time?" he muttered against your mouth. "You’re wrong, baby."

He nipped down your throat — teeth scraping — hand sliding under your panties to finally touch you skin to skin.

You screamed — the feel of his fingers against your bare, swollen clit devastating.

"I’m gonna ruin you," he whispered.

You sobbed.

"Please," you begged again.

And then — —he lifted you slightly off his lap, pushed your panties aside roughly, gripped his cock in one hand—

—and rubbed the head through your soaked folds.

You gasped—full body jerk.

"You feel that?" he muttered. "That’s what’s about to stretch you open."

You could barely breathe, forehead pressed against his shoulder, nails raking down his back.

He groaned low at the feeling — you, clinging to him, desperate and ruined and ready to fall apart.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, voice rough. "You’re shaking."

You whimpered — a pleading, broken sound.

"You’re so fucking small," he gritted, positioning himself. "Gotta go slow. Gotta take my time."

You nodded frantically.

And then—

He pushed in.

Just the tip.

You screamed, whole body locking up around him.

Eren swore viciously, clutching your hips in a bruising grip.

"Fucking tight," he gasped.

You sobbed, forehead pressed against him.

"Relax, baby," he whispered hoarsely, kissing your temple. "You're doing so good."

You tried — you tried — relaxing as best you could.

And slowly—so painfully slow—he sank deeper.

You whimpered, tears leaking from your eyes.

Eren kissed them away, murmuring soft, filthy praises in your ear.

"Taking me so good," he muttered. "So fucking good for me."

You clenched around him, overwhelmed, trembling in his lap.

And when he finally bottomed out — fully seated inside you — you were gasping, shaking, completely wrecked.

Eren groaned into your skin.

"You feel that?" he rasped. "That’s mine now."

You sobbed.

"Yours," you gasped without thinking.

His hips twitched at that — a guttural, broken sound tearing from his throat.

"Fuck," he growled. "Say it again."

"Yours," you choked out, clinging to him. "I’m yours."

He kissed you — hard, brutal, messy.

And then he started moving.

Slow at first — so fucking slow — letting you feel every inch of him dragging against your tight, sensitive walls.

You were crying, overwhelmed with the feeling of him inside you — thick, deep, perfect.

Eren cursed under his breath, hands digging into your hips.

"God, baby," he panted. "You’re milking my cock so good."

You sobbed, burying your face in his neck.

He rocked you in his lap — slow, deep thrusts — groaning low every time you clenched around him.

"You were made for this," he muttered. "Made for me."

You nodded frantically, words beyond you now.

And then he snapped his hips harder — —once.You screamed.

"That’s it," he growled, thrusting harder. "That’s my good fucking girl."

You were gone — Mindless — Ruined — Completely his.

You tightened around him, thighs trembling violently.

"Eren—!" you sobbed. "I'm— I'm gonna—"

"Come for me, baby," he growled, fucking you through it. "Come all over my cock."

You screamed, body seizing — clenching around him so tight he cursed viciously, hips stuttering.

You were gushing around him — soaking him — vision going white.

And Eren— Eren thrust a few more brutal, desperate times—

And came inside you — hard, deep, endless — groaning your name like a prayer.

You collapsed against him, trembling.

He wrapped his arms tight around you, pressing kisses to your damp forehead, breathing you in like he’d never get enough.

"You’re mine now," he whispered.

You sobbed brokenly against his skin.

"Yours," you gasped again. "Always yours."

He smiled against your hair.

"Good girl."

The room smelled like sex and sweat and something dangerous.

You were still shaking in his lap — sore, full, overwhelmed — clinging to him like if you let go you’d fall apart completely.

Eren was breathing hard against your temple, one big hand rubbing slow, grounding circles over your back.

You felt… Destroyed. Safe. Utterly his.

"Shhh," he whispered, voice rough and low. "Got you. I got you."

You whimpered into his chest.

Your thighs were slick with both of you — your panties ruined, his sweats soaked — and you could still feel him pulsing faintly inside you.

"I didn’t hurt you, did I?" he murmured, pulling back just enough to search your face.

His green eyes — usually so cocky, mischievous, infuriating — were wrecked now, wide and frantic and tender.

You shook your head quickly.

"No," you rasped. "Good," he whispered, voice breaking a little. "Good girl.”

He kissed you again — softer this time — just his lips brushing yours, slow and sweet and unbearable.

You whimpered, clutching his shoulders.

He kissed you again, and again — desperate, messy little kisses like he couldn’t stop.

And then, without a word, he scooped you up into his arms — carrying you bridal style toward the bathroom.

You clung to him, dazed.

He kicked the door shut, set you gently down on the edge of the bathtub, and started running the shower — hot and steamy.

You sat there trembling, watching him.

He was still in just his sweats — clinging wetly to his hips — the outline of his cock still hard against the fabric.

His skin was flushed, bitten raw from where you’d scratched him.

And he looked wrecked.

Eren caught you staring and gave you a crooked, fucked-out little smile.

"Like what you see?" he teased, voice hoarse.

You blushed furiously.

He laughed — low and affectionate — and tugged his sweats down, not shy at all.

You sucked in a breath.

Even softening, he was huge — thick, flushed, wet with both of you.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively.

Eren saw — and his smile sharpened into something dark.

But he didn’t say anything. Just stepped into the shower and held a hand out to you.

"C'mere, baby."

You let him pull you up, strip you the rest of the way out of your ruined panties, and guide you into the spray.

The hot water hit your skin — and you whimpered, sore all over, every nerve ending lit up.

Eren pulled you tight against him under the water, cradling your head against his chest.

"You’re so fucking perfect," he murmured into your wet hair.

You whimpered.

He soaped you up slowly — running big hands gently over your arms, your back, the curve of your ass.

Everywhere he touched, you felt like you were burning.

When he got to between your legs, he hesitated — gentle, patient, watching your face.

"Okay?" he murmured.

You nodded quickly.

He touched you so slow — careful around your swollen, sensitive clit — cleaning you up with soft, reverent touches.

You gasped into his chest, trembling.

"You’re so sensitive," he murmured, almost in awe. "Fuck, baby."

You clung to him, panting.

Eren pressed soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw — murmuring nothing words, just your name and mine, mine, mine like he couldn’t help it.

When you were finally rinsed off, he shut the water off and wrapped you both in a big towel, carrying you back to the bed like you weighed nothing.

He tucked you under the covers, crawling in beside you — pulling you flush against him, chest to chest.

You felt everything — his warmth, his heartbeat, his length pressed lazily against your thigh.

He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in.

"You’re mine now," he murmured against your skin.

You shivered.

"I’ve always been yours," you whispered.

Eren groaned low, kissing you like it hurt.

And when you shifted against him, grinding ever so slightly — —he growled.

"You wanna go again, baby?" he muttered against your mouth. "You wanna learn some more lessons?"

You whimpered — helpless, wrecked, desperate for him.

"Please," you whispered. "Please, Eren — teach me."

He grinned — slow and wicked.

"Oh, I’m gonna teach you, baby."

And he kissed you again — —dragging you down, deeper and deeper, into him — —where there was no such thing as friendship anymore. Only this. Only us.

—

part two here

[motorsportbarbie13]

Hurricane - Part Four

{“I’ve uh…” Emma knows she should lie. Knows it’s in everyones best interest for her to lie but somewhere between Jimmy settling in her lap and the third insult on her intelligence, Emma has completely lost her ability to control her mouth. “I’ve been staying with Max while I get back on my feet.” “You’re sleeping with your boss?” Her mother screeches so loudly that Sassy goes skidding across the living room floor, tail puffed and terrified. “Jesus Christ! Mom! Are you for real right now?”}

warnings/notes: emma's mom is a *raging* bitch in this. alcohol consumption (poor coping skills ig) shoutout to my writing therapist @lestapiastrisgirl for always having my back <3 pairing: max verstappen x emma meyer (fem oc) word count: 6.6 k (jfc i can't shut UP about these two)

read hurricane on ao3 hurricane master list main master list ask me anything

Late afternoon sunlight spilled in through the floor to ceiling windows as Emma moved through the kitchen. They’d returned from Jeddah just last night, the brutal triple header having stolen so much from both Emma and Max, they had retreated to their bedrooms right after getting home. It had been nearly noon before either of them emerged the next day, with Max coming out first to make breakfast for the both of them. 

Breakfast between the Max and Emma on mornings when they were home had become somewhat of a tradition, a tradition that Emma was quickly becoming attached to. She didn’t allow that thought to full form in her head though. It was too dangerous. Too familiar to admit that she was getting attached to Max on more than a professional level. She didn’t want to admit the way she looked for him whenever she walked into a room. She didn’t want to admit how her heart pounded the entire time Max was in the car on the track and that she couldn’t fully settle until saw the checkered flag after a race and knew he’d be safely in the garage soon. 

Admitting any of that didn’t appeal to Emma at all, so she buried it all so deep down in her chest that there was no way it could ever surface. 

She tried to tell herself it was just kindness and convenience, this little breakfast tradition of theirs. Whoever woke up first would be the one to start the meal and Emma always made sure the fridge was stocked with bacon, eggs, and whatever fruit she thought Max might like that week. They hadn’t been doing it long but it was something that both of them looked forward to, even if neither put words to their feelings. Emma wasn’t willing to examine the fact that maybe Max did it because he wanted to take care of her and that she did it for the same exact reason. 

Shortly after the meal was cleaned up the morning after returning from Jeddah, Max had left in a flurry of athletic gear and gatorade, talking about playing Lando, Carlos, and Charles in a game of padel but that he’d be back in time for dinner and to text him what she wanted him to pick up from the market. 

Emma had drifted about the apartment for an hour or so after Max left, the exhaustion of being away from the only soft place she had to land had seeped deep in her bones somewhere between Bahrain and Jeddah. Everything she considered doing sounded like it required too much effort but guilt sat heavy in her chest in response to her desire to just relax. She knew Max wouldn’t mind, her not helping around the house. It wasn’t like the place was a disaster either but her idle hands felt wrong, like if she didn’t do something to productive she was ungrateful for everything Max had already done for her. 

Emma wanted to sit at the piano and play something but even that seemed to be too strenuous that day, her attention span for anything longer than a 15 second TikTok video was completely nonexistent. Emma was never sure how to handle days like this, the days where she was too tired to do much more than get up off the couch or do anything productive. These kinds of days had never been allowed in her home growing up. If you weren’t doing something productive or useful with your downtime, you were lazy. It was a mantra that was hammered into her consciousness so hard that even now, when she hadn’t lived at home for years, the words still haunted her. 

In the end, she had settled down on the couch before flipping through one of the dozens of streaming services Max had access to and settled on an old favorite: West Wing. Emma was half way through the episode where Mrs. Landingham was killed by a drunk driver in her brand new car, the anticipatory tears having started during the opening credits, when her phone buzzed to life. She half expected it to be Max telling her he’d decided to go out to dinner with the boys instead of coming home and that she was on her own for dinner but when she looked at the caller ID, her heart stuttered to a stop. 

MOM

“Of all the days for you to call…” Emma whispered, blowing out a breath. She spent several moments trying to decide if she had the strength to deal with her mother that afternoon. She knew the answer was ‘no’ but she’d been dodging her mom’s calls since before Japan so Emma knew it was time to face the music. 

As if he could sense her distress, Jimmy jumped up on the couch right as she answered, curling himself up into a ball in her lap and bumping her free hand with his head. Emma grinned down at the spotted cat. Max had insisted that Jimmy hated strangers and to not be surprised if he was quite standoffish but Jimmy had been nothing but sweet as sugar to Emma since day one. 

Much like his owner. 

Sliding the button on the screen of her phone, Emma lifted the device to her ear. “Hi Mom!” She tried to sound as happy as possible despite the aching exhaustion pulling at her extremities. 

“Emma, darling, how are you my dear?” The sickly sweet voice of her mother filled her ears, sending anxiety shooting down her spine. 

“I’m good, just trying to relax a bit.” 

“Ah, yes, I’m sure those girls you’re looking after run you quite ragged.” Something in her mother’s tone had Emma sitting up a bit straighter. She hadn’t lived through years of baiting and passive aggressive taunts to not recognize the beginnings of a fight brewing. 

“Well, about that…” Emma started, figuring there was no time like the present to fill her in on what had happened. Maybe her mother would surprise her and be on her side for once. 

“I had the most interesting discussion with Greta down the street this morning!” Her mother interrupts. 

Emma closes her eyes, dragging in a ragged breath. Clearly there was a reason for this call other than a friendly check in. These kinds of calls always came with an agenda set forth by Emma’s mother and Emma’s mother alone. She was helpless against it. The quicker she accepted that Gloria was in control of the call and she ws just alone for the ride, the quicker the call would be over and the sooner she could get back to crying over Mrs. Landingham. 

“Oh?” She asked reluctantly, knowing that this conversation has already been planned in advance and needed no help from Emma to move it along. 

“Yes! She said her and Frans were watching the Formula One race on Sunday evening and she said the funniest thing to me!” 

Emma’s heart stopped. Oh, here we go. 

Without waiting for a response, her mother continues. “She said that she swears she saw you at the race in one of the garages! I told her she must be mistaken because you were supposed to be in Monaco working the nanny job you insisted taking instead of returning to the school like your father and I had advised.” Her tone is light, innocent almost but Emma knows better. 

“Ah…well, Greta wasn’t wrong.” Emma’s stomach churns with anxiety as she fights to find the words. “I was in Jeddah for the race on Sunday.” 

Emma’s mother makes a small noise of surprise, even though Emma is fairly certain the surprise is feigned. “How nice of the family to give you the time off so quickly after starting a job!” She observes. 

Emma knows this is a trap but there’s nothing she can do about it but continue on. “Actually, I don’t work for the Dubois anymore, mom.” 

“Emma Jane Meyer, what are you talking about?” She asks sharply. 

There it was. The facts that her mother had been fishing for plainly stated and out in the open. Emma manages to stifle the heaving sigh she wants to let loose but she knows that’s a dangerous move, especially when her mother is out hunting for reasons to be angry.

 “It just didn’t work out mom, the family weren’t who they presented themselves to be.” 

On the other end of the phone, Emma’s mother makes a disapproving tutting sound that almost certainly was accompanied by a roll of her eyes. “Well then, why aren’t you back home? How are you living in Monaco of all places without a job?” 

“I do have a job, mom.” Emma learned long ago that short answers were the best way to deal with Gloria. 

“Oh!” The genuine surprise at the exclamation has a heavy weight settling itself directly on Emma’s chest, making it difficult for her to breathe. “Well, that’s certainly an improvement on where my mind was going!” God, Gloria was always so supportive. “Well, go on then, what are you doing? Did you find another teaching job that quickly? I’m surprised the family didn’t reach out to the school to let them know of your…record.” 

White hot searing pain slices at Emma’s heart as she sits there, listening to the surprise and backhanded compliments she had always been so intimately acquainted with. Emma can’t let her mom see that she’s gotten to her. She can never show that kind of weakness or she gets eaten alive. 

“Do you remember Victoria’s brother Max? I’m working as his personal assistant.” 

“All those years spent in university and you’re an assistant?” The way her mother says ‘assistant’ makes it sound like Emma was selling her body on the streets for drugs.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Emma closes her eyes. “It’s a good job mom. Max is busy and he needed the help. I’ve been to Japan, Bahrain, Cyprus and Saudi Arabia in the last three weeks alone. It’s actually a really good opportunity for me.” 

Gloria is silent for a beat, as if she’s struggling to find a chink in Emma’s existence. “He’s that racing car driver, yes?” 

“Yes, mom.” Emma fights the exhaustion that’s begging for her to be impatient and short with her mother because deep down, she knows it wouldn’t change anything anyway. “He drives Formula 1 cars for a living. That’s why Greta and Frans saw me on tv. I attend all the races with him and was watching him from the garage on Sunday.” 

“Well, what do you know about racing cars, Emma Jane?” The question is accusatory, as if she had somehow tricked Max into hiring her too. 

“Nothing, mother.” 

But she knew Max, and that was enough for her to care about something so foreign to her. 

“Then why in the world did he hire you?” 

Emma has to hold the phone away from her face for a moment, staring at the device like it was going to sting her. Why was she even entertaining this?

“I don’t know mother. Max is patient and the work I do is really racing adjacent. I don’t have to know about tire deg and sector times when all I do is manage his inbox and book his travel.” 

“Have you managed to find an apartment then? I’d imagine the Dubois didn’t allow you to stay. Max is certainly able to pay you well.” The speed at which Gloria changes the subject when she runs out of ammunition makes Emma’s head swim. 

“I’ve uh…” Emma knows she should lie. Knows it’s in everyones best interest for her to lie but somewhere between Jimmy settling in her lap and the third insult on her intelligence, Emma has completely lost her ability to control her mouth. “I’ve been staying with Max while I get back on my feet.” 

“You’re sleeping with your boss?” Her mother screeches so loudly that Sassy goes skidding across the living room floor, tail puffed and terrified. 

“Jesus Christ! Mom! Are you for real right now?” 

“Well, you quit your teaching job with no notice to take a nannying job, which you promptly got fired from and are now shacking up with the man who signs your paychecks! I don’t know if I’d recognize you if I passed you on the street, Emma Jane!” 

“Oh for the love…” Emma whispers more to herself than to Gloria. “I can’t do this anymore.” She continues, louder now so her mother can hear. “When you want to have a clam, adult conversation you know where to find me.” Emma finally snaps, stabbing at the red End button without waiting for a reply. 

The silence that floods the room should feel soothing after the barbed words being exchanged moments before but as Emma leans back into the overstuffed couch, Jimmy managing to be brave enough to climb into her lap again, Emma feels anything but soothed. She had tried so hard to be neutral, to not give into the baiting that she knew was the goal the entire time but once again, she had failed. 

As Emma scratched between Jimmy’s ears, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had finally reaching the breaking point with her mother. 

***

Emma was angry.

Max could hear it. 

It wasn’t sobs or shouting that he heard as he returned from padel later that evening though. No, that wasn’t how Max knew Emma was angry. He knew she was angry because the sound floating out of the apartment was loud and angry, the epitome of heat and anguish in musical form. 

The piece Emma poured over while he quietly set his things down in the kitchen was sharp, short, and exasperated. It’s rough, ragged, and raw, the way Emma was sorting her way though whatever had happened while he’d been gone. As he settled into the living room, he made enough noise so Emma knew that he was back but not enough to distract. 

This had become sort of a routine in the short time she’d been staying with him. In the evenings when they were both relaxing, Emma would sit down at the piano and work through whatever she was feeling that day and Max would quietly sit on the couch or slip into his sim rig on the opposite side of the living room, volume down, so he could race and listen to her music. 

Tonight was different though. He’d never heard her play like this before and the moment he settled on the couch, Jimmy instantly bounding over to him to curl up in his lap, he knew she was working through something that he wanted to be around for. 

While Emma hadn’t been working for him long, and living with him for just a bit longer, the nature of their jobs forced them together for long hours in stressful situations over and over again for weeks on end so Max felt like he’d had a good enough chance to get to know Emma, to be able to read her well. It was sometime in between Japan and Bahrain that Max noticed how she avoided any talk of her parents or her past. If the subject of home came up, she deftly dodged any questions asked of her and even when they were alone, Emma remained quiet and careful. It was almost as if she was walking around afraid to get into trouble despite being incredibly competent at her job and a fully capable adult. 

Max got glimpses of her though, the Emma that tucked herself away behind heavily fortified walls that no one was allowed to breech. On nights like these, nights like the quiet ones they’d had in Cyprus between the races in Bahrain and Jeddah, Max got to know Emma better through how she played the piano. He knew how precious those moments were because in those little glimpses when she let her walls tumble down around her, Max saw her. Saw the hurt, the anger, the rejection but he also saw the hope, the commitment, the passion she had. Emma revealed so much of herself while her fingers danced over the keys when she played while he listened, more than she probably realized. 

It was easy to pick up on the anger radiating off of her body that evening not only because Max knew her but because Max understood the anger. He’d heard it, felt it in his own body time and time again. Knew the hurt of disappointing parents with high expectations. Knew what the anger felt like because he’d dealt with that last week in Jeddah after his penalty on Oscar which had cost him the race. 

He knew she was angry because he recognized the same demons in Emma that he was fighting with on a daily basis. 

The piece ended a few minutes after Max had settled into the couch, the silence blanketing the dimly lit Monaco apartment. Warm yellow lights cast a golden glow over the two of them as Emma sat at the bench for a few moments, flexing her fingers and staring at the sheet music in front of her. 

“You okay over there, Sunshine?” 

Emma’s heart fluttered at the nickname Max had started using in the last few weeks. The nickname she was desperately trying not to like. The breath she filled her lungs with was ragged but getting everything out of her body was so cathartic Emma almost felt steadied. “I think so.” She replied softly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Emma turned to face Max for the first time since she’d sensed him in the living room with her. She appreciated the way he was just loud enough to ensure he didn’t startle her anymore but was never so overtly there that she was distracted. Max is still dressed for padle, although his dark blond hair is still a touch damp, so Emma assumes he had showered at the club. The way his icy blue eyes watch her with a quiet confidence has Emma nodding despite the way she wants to shut down. Vulnerability was never rewarded in her house growing up so opening up to someone like Max was a terrifying prospect. 

Max pats the couch cushion next to him as a grin stretches across his face, rewarding her for her bravery. When she settles down beside him, Emma brings her knees up to her chest before circling her arms around them so she’s tucked into a protected ball.

It takes an amazing feat of strength for Max not to reach out and pull her into his lap. 

“What happened?” He asks quietly when she doesn’t offer up an explanation to the distress still rolling off of her in waves. 

“My mother happened.” She replies lightly, almost as if it’s a joke and it all clicks into place for Max with just those three words. 

Max sits and listens as Emma recounts the entire nightmare story from beginning to end. With each sentence, each quote from her mother, Max’s chest tightens and his blood pressure risees. As Emma tells her story though, she finds herself feeling lighter with each word that passes her lips. She’s never spoken to anyone other than Victoria about her upbringing, about how her parents treated her as an afterthought and a burden. It was never something she liked talking about because talking about it meant making it real. And making it real meant admitting that she was so unlovable that even her own parents didn’t want her. 

With each bit of story she releases, Emma sinks a little bit deeper into Max’s side. He doesn’t notice it at first, neither of them do, but when she tells him how she ended up hanging up on Gloria after she accused her of sleeping with Max, he looks over to see her head nestled gently on his shoulder. His arm goes around her shoulders instinctively, only seeking to comfort her and offer a silent word of thanks for entrusting him with what Max knows is a difficult story to tell. 

After a few moments of silence, Emma rises again and approaches the piano. Max watches curiously as she sits back down on the bench, fingers stretching out for the keys once again. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, does the piano sound better than it did that first day?” He asks, trying to distract from the heavy feeling that hangs in the air still. 

Emma looks at him, head tilted like she’s surprised at the question. “You know what, it is.” She says after a beat. 

Max nods, satisfied grin hitching up at the corner of his mouth. “Good. I asked Charles to send over his piano guy to tune it while we were gone. I’ll let him know you approve.”  

Emma’s mouth drops open a bit at bit of information Max drops on her. “You…what?” 

Max looks at her and shrugs. “You said it was out of tune and so I wanted to fix it for you.” 

“You really are one of a kind, Verstappen.” She says with a shake of her head before turning back to the piano to play Clair de lune, something she knows is one of Max’s favorites. 

***

Max wasn’t sure how he’d done it but after an hour or two of cajoling, he’d gotten Emma to agree to go out with him, and the crew he’d played padle with that afternoon. He knew she needed it, could read it in the way her eyes went stormy and unfocused when she had been attempting to make dinner, the phone call from her mom still digging their cruel talons into her memory. 

Usually Emma fluttered around the kitchen while she was cooking, a quiet confidence radiating off of her while she deftly prepped whatever meal she’d been inspired to make that day. Max found himself sitting at the counter more often than not whenever she was in the kitchen, mesmerized by the way she moved around in the space that usually sat empty and silent, even when he was home. The way she seemed to know exactly what to start prepping, when to put something in the oven or in the pan, what seasonings to use without consulting a recipe most of the time. It was all fascinating to Max, who probably would’ve messed up boiling a pot of water. 

Tonight was different though. 

The pots clattered against each other just a bit louder than normal as she searched for the right one to sear the salmon Max had picked up at the market on his way home. Her movements as she chopped up the lemons for the sauce were stiffer than usual, more forced and stilted, compared to the smooth confidence he was used to from her. 

There weren’t big, body wracking sobs or tears, just quiet tight shoulders and less chatter as she worked to get dinner ready.

 He knew that she needed to get out of her head to escape the constant press of anger and anxiety because he’d been there and knew he’d go there again before the season was finished. Figuring out how to help Emma gave him hope that maybe he’d be able to pull himself out of his own spiral the next time it happened.

So when Max saw that familiar, long distance look in her eye he had called for a night out. She hadn’t been out in weeks, he reasoned, needed a chance to blow off some steam, didn’t she? There had been a quiet flicker of something on her face as Max stood in the kitchen telling her how she’d love Jimmy’z, how Charles and Lando and Carlos had been asking after her earlier that afternoon. She’d tried to argue that she didn’t have anything to wear that would be appropriate for a night out in Monaco but Max hadn’t bought that, insisting that anything she had in her closet would look perfect. 

“I’m not above begging, Sunshine.” Max had crooned as he put the last pan away after washing it by hand.

He didn’t miss the way she blushed at the nickname he’d become accustomed to calling lately.   

“Okay! Fine! You win.” She had laughed eventually, rolling her eyes but Max saw that smile creeping slowly across her face, bright and genuine. “It would be embarrassing to have to tell the boys how you got on your knees in front of me.” 

Max had gone pink at the image Emma’s words conjured in his mind. 

The image of him down on his knees for her was nothing compared to the images that popped into his mind the moment Emma stepped out of her bedroom an hour after agreeing to a night out. Her platinum blonde hair was twisted up in some sort of complicated braid situation creating a crown around of her head. Emma rarely wore her hair completely up but Max considered threatening another begging session to get her to wear it pulled back like that more often. The way it was swept up and out of her face showed off the long lines of her neck in such a dangerous way, Max’s grip on the marble countertop in front of him tightened painfully just looking at her and he hadn’t even gotten past her neck. 

The dangerously short lace dress that hugged curves Max hadn’t been aware she possessed fit her so sinfully well, his mouth ran dry. 

He must have been starting at the Ferrari red dress a little too hard because when Emma got closer, her face clouded with anxiety. “What?” She asked, awkwardly tugging at the spot where the fabric tightened around her hip. “Is it too much?” Emma huffed before dropping the sky high black heels in her hands down on the floor, the shoes clattering noisy against the tiled floor. “I knew it was too much. I’ll go change.” 

Emma made an attempt to turn around and retreat back to her bedroom but was stopped when Max surged forward, hands reaching for her without even thinking. He swore his fingers burned when they found the bare skin of her elbow. “You look good, Em! Perfect for Jimmy’z, I swear.” 

Emma flushed so deeply her cheeks nearly matched the red in her dress. “Yeah?” She murmured, slipping her feet into the heels in front of her. 

Max nods, “Yes, Sunshine. I promise.” 

She doesn’t look totally convinced but enough so that she continues back towards her bedroom. “Okay.” 

“You ready then?” 

He tries not to groan when Emma catches her bottom lip between her teeth, brows pinching together as if she’s already having second thoughts. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She says, nerves evident in the way she shrugs as if she’s not the most gorgeous person Max has ever seen in his entire life. 

“Perfect. Let’s go then.” 

***

Max regretted agreeing to this, he decided shortly after they arrived at Jimmy’z. The moment Lando had spotted Emma across the dance floor, his grin had gotten much too wolfish for Max’s liking. It got even worse as Emma weaved her way across the crowded club with him right behind her, his hand low on her back as he guided her through the crush of bodies. It felt like every single head in the darkened room swiveled in her direction, following her every move as if she were the sun and they were plants reaching towards her warmth. 

“Gentlemen!” Emma greeted, seemingly totally unaware of the effect she was having on every male in the room, including his friends. 

Lando stood first, opening his arms for a hug that Emma freely gave. “You look…” Lando’s gaze raked over Emma’s body and Max had to physically restrain himself from punching the McLaren driver. “Stunning tonight.” 

Emma went pink, ducking her head against the compliment Max knows she’s going to struggle to accept. “Thanks, Lan.” She murmurs and Max’s pulse stutters at the nickname. 

Carlos is Max’s next victim, taking Emma into his arms in a friendly hug but it sits all wrong in Max’s chest just the same. “So glad you agreed to come out with us tonight, Emma.” 

The casual kiss on the cheek Emma gives Carlos has Max seeing red. He clenches his jaw, forcing a tight smile onto his face as Emma’s passed to Charles. 

“You look good in Ferrari red, love. Maybe you should watch the next race from my garage.” Charles says, kissing her on both cheeks before he smirks over at Max’s murderous face. 

“Never going to happen, Charles.” Max grits out as Emma slips into the booth next to Lando. He slides into the booth on her other side, shooting Charles a glare that is meant to be intimidating. 

Charles just grins over his glass as he takes the seat across from the trio, beside Carlos. 

Max ignores it and dips his head towards Emma, the scent of her vanilla and spice perfume wrapping itself around his senses. “Do you want me to get you a drink?” 

Emma shakes her head before pointing towards Lando’s retreating frame, already making a beeline across the room towards the bar. “Lando’s got it, but thanks Max.” She chirps before leaning back into the plush leather booth. 

Max desperately shoves down the white hot sear of jealous that flashes in his chest. He listens quietly as Charles pulls Emma into a conversation he refuses to be a part of, focusing instead on the way her knee keeps touching his ever so casually. Every time he feels the press of her leg against his, he swears his heart stutters to a stop. 

Lando returns quickly, two glasses clutched tightly in his hands. “One double cran for the prettiest girl in Monaco.” He flirts, grinning like a schoolboy when he sees the muscle flutter in Max’s jaw. 

Max knows Lando’s MO. He’s seen it time and time again. He’s all charm and pretty words, designed to get his target to tumble into bed with him. Usually Max just rolls his eyes at his friends antics but with Emma it’s different. He feels…needlessly possessive and for someone who’s always gone out of his way to remain emotionally unavailable and unattached, it’s an unsettling feeling. 

Emma doesn’t belong to you, Max gently reminds himself. She’s his assistant, nothing more. She’s a grown woman who can choose who she wants to spend time with freely. Max just wished it was with him and not his on-track rival.  It was none of his business, truly and as he sat listening to Lando make Emma laugh he repeated that mantra over and over in his head. 

The conversations flows just as easily as the drinks do with the bottle service girls making several visits to the table, refilling the glasses as quickly as they’re drained. Emma is definitely tipsy by the time she finishes her third drink, the light dinner they’d shared a few hours earlier doing nothing to help slow the grip the alcohol has on her mood. Her laughter comes easier, a little louder than usual and she’s leaning into the Lando’s side with every sip that she takes. The way she’s returning Lando’s flirty banter, teasing him with the same energy he’s giving her, has Max’s jaw clenching. 

Suddenly, the DJ starts spinning a more sensual song, one that has Emma swaying back and forth before she downs her latest drink. Lando turns to Emma, a charming grin spreading across his face. “I’ve had enough chatting to last me the rest of the season. Dance with me?” 

He doesn’t even wait for a response before he’s standing and grabbing Emma’s hand. “It doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice!” She quips but gets up regardless, following Lando out of the VIP area and onto the dance floor. 

Max watches Emma go, hips swinging back and forth with her hand captured tightly in Lando’s as they disappear into the crowd. His knuckles go white around his gin and tonic watching the McLaren driver turn Emma around on the dance floor, his hands landing low on her hips as he pulls her into him. Her body is loose from the alcohol and she wraps her arms around Lando’s neck as easy as breathing. 

He watched, stony glare on his face, as Emma stepped even closer into Lando’s grasp. Her hips swayed in time to the music that thrummed through Max’s chest. The bass thumping in time to the beat of Lando’s hands exploring all the parts of Emma Max wished were his alone. 

“You’re going to give yourself lockjaw if you keep clenching that hard.” Charles remarks, amused smily kicking up at the corner of his mouth. 

“What?” Max’s eyes dart back towards Charles, mouth thinning into a straight line. 

“You’re trying to kill Lando with those daggers you’re shooting from your eyes.” Carlos observes, taking another sip of his drink, eyes bright with mischief. 

“I don’t know what you two are talking about. They’re just dancing.” 

“Uh huh.” Charles murmurs, though he sounds unconvinced. 

“It’s not like I own her, she’s just my assistant.” 

Charles snorts softly, rolling his eyes. “You haven’t stopped staring at her since you both walked through the door.” 

Max flicks his gaze back to where Lando and Emma still connected in every place that mattered on the dance floor. “She had a rough day, I’m just concerned.” 

“So that’s what we’re calling it these days? Concer? Because it reads more like obsession.” Carlos teases as he turns to watch the couple on the dance floor.  

Max shoots Carlos a look that has him grinning over the rim of his drink, brows rising into his hairline. The three men continue to drink in silence, Max not so subtly watching Lando paw at Emma opening, Charles and Carlos watching their the steam practically pour from their friends ears. 

As the song ends, Lando takes Emma’s hand and leads her back towards the booth. He slides in first, then, with a playful tug on her hand, pulls Emma down onto his lap. Emma laughs, bright and slightly breathless. It’s a sound that Max is used to only hearing when it’s aimed at him. Her eyes flick almost imperceptibly towards Max, a subtle fleeting glance to gauge his reaction. 

Max, jaw still tight, offers no reaction. He can’t. Refuses to give Lando the satisfaction and Emma a clue as to the storm roiling inside him. She’s vulnerable, drunk, and reeling from a difficult fight with her mother, now is not the time nor the place to get into a possessive pissing match with one of his best friends. So instead, he stares ahead, his expression carefully neutral, focusing on the flashing lights across the room as if they held the secrets of the universe. 

Seeing his response, a mischievous glint sparkles in Emma’s eye. She leans in close to Lando, her hand resting lightly on his arm to whisper in his ear, “I wore such a pretty dress just for Max and he’s barely looked at me all night” 

Lando doesn’t have to see her face to know Emma’s practically pouting. 

Normally, she wouldn’t share such a confession with anyone but the alcohol Emma’s consumed that night has her lips loose and her desire for Max ratcheted up a notch. Lando throws his head back, chuckling, his arm tightening around her waist. He didn’t mind being a means to an end for a night, especially if it meant cuddling up with a woman like Emma. 

Max doesn’t hear a single word she says but the sight of her whispering so intimately in Lando’s ear, the easy familiarity of their closeness, sends a primal wave of jealousy surging through his veins. His vision narrowed, the edges blurring a bit as his mind goes wild with speculation on what she could have been whispering in his ear. There was a feral growl building in his chest, a possessive rage that threatened to erupt. Max wanted to yank Emma away from Lando, right up off his lap, throw her over his shoulder and take her home where he fucked her so good she never wanted to look at another man ever again. He wanted to stake his claim. Wipe that sums grin off of his friends face. The causal touch, the shared secret, the blatant disregard for his presence. It was all too much. 

Max was on the verge of losing it and all he could do was sit there and take it.

The night continued on, the music pounding, the conversation blurring into a general hum that resembled a hive of hornets. Emma, despite her earlier energy from earlier, was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol and the emotional rollercoaster of the day. The vibrant energy of the club was beginning to feel like an overwhelmingly heavy warm woolen blanker: too warm and too heavy all over, all at once. 

Max watched from his place in the booth as she disentangled herself from Lando’s comfortable hold, a soft smile on her face. “Thanks for the seat, Lan.” 

Lando grinned up at her, boyish dimples winking up at her from the corner of his mouth. “Anytime, Emmy. Anytime.” 

Emma rolled her eyes at the nickname as her gaze drifted towards Max. He was sitting in the same spot he’d been in all night, still nursing the same drink from earlier. He watched as she took a few wobbly, tired steps to the other side of the table before slipping into the booth beside him. Her perfume, thick with the sweet scent of vanilla and cinnamon mixed with the smell of the vodka she’d been drinking that night, flooded Max’s nose. 

“Hi.” She breathed, head coming to rest into the crook of Max’s neck. 

He straightened, surprised by this sudden closeness after a night spent watching Lando paw at her. Max looked down, chin brushing the smooth silk of her hair as he battled the urge to bury his nose in the locks. 

“Everything okay, Sunshine?” He asked, voice gruff. 

Emma scooted closer, so that her thigh was pressed into his and their shoulders were overlapping. “Yeah, I’m just getting a little tired, I think. Everything just kind of hit me all at once.” She gave a small, whiny sigh, burrowing her head even deeper into his neck. 

Max stiffened, knowing that Charles, Carlos and Lando were watching them with curious stares but also realizing Emma was overly uninhibited at the moment. He didn’t want to push her away but he also didn’t want to cause a scene, knowing that both would certainly lead to Emma feeling embarrassed. 

“Can you take me home now?” She asked sleepily. 

Max blinked, his breath catching in the back of his throat. “Home?” 

Emma nodded, eyes fluttering shut despite the loud chaos of the club pulling just beyond their bubble. “Yeah. It’s just…my bed sounds really good right now and I kind of want to cuddle with Jimmy and Sassy before I fall asleep.” 

Max’s heart clenched painfully. 

“Yeah, of course.” He stood slowly, guiding Emma along with him. Her body sagged into his grasp as Emma stumbled a bit. 

“Oops!” She giggled before reaching back to snatch her clutch from the table. “I’m going to pilates at 9am tomorrow, do either of you want to come with me?” She asked Lando and Charles while leaning heavily into Max’s side. 

All three men exchanged glances before nodding, smirks on their faces. “Sure, Emmy.” Lando chuckled, knowing that there was no way Emma would be out of bed anywhere close to 9am. 

“See you guys later.” Max said before slipping his arm around Emma’s waist and turning her towards the door. She was sober enough to make it to the door herself but unsteady on her feet enough that she leaned into Max’s side the entire walk to his car. 

Tag List: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164 @xoxomansee

[caxasy]

at the end of caleb’s trailer, you can see him and mc play fighting and then she gets up from his chest (hes laying down on the boat, shes on top of him), but he immediately pulls er back down and into a hug and that is exactly what inspired this today thank u infold for that miniscule detail because it did send me into cardiac arrest.

“caleb! stop!”

the harmony of your guys’ shared laughter echoed in the open space around you. caleb was currently laying on the boat beneath you two, using his evol to keep it steady as the two of you rough housed.

his hands were tickling and digging into your sides, bringing forth an entire bodily reaction from you. laughter, but also jerking away from his invasive touch as you tried holding in your giggling. but caleb wasn’t having any of it. he wanted to hear you laugh. to see your smile, the crinkle in your eye as you finally let get of your laugh.

“course i can’t stop, darling,” he says in a sing song voice, continuing to prod at your side. it seems your self restraint truly collapsed with that last tickle since you collapsed onto his chest right as he dug into your side.

his smile only widened at the feeling of you pressed against him, pulling you in and holding you tight in a hug to feel you even more. the way your breath hit his neck and cheek as you tried regaining control of your breathing from your laughing fit. the way your thighs straddled his, feeling of your muscular chest against his own, as well. your one hand resting on the side of his face as the other propped you up so you wouldn’t be entirely collapsed onto him.

he gave a rough tug to your waist to make sure you were fully pressed against him.

“you’re so mean,” you heave, smacking his chest with your one hand a couple of times, only enciting a chuckle from.

“i made you laugh, that’s all that matters to me,” he confesses easily, grabbing your assailant hand in his and kissing your knuckles with utter swiftness. “if making you laugh is mean, then i guess i’m the villain, baby,”

the petname he uses so gently with you, a smile on his face the entire time he chides you, “don’t need to attack me in order to make me laugh,”

“not attacking, per se,”

“oh, it was very literally attacking. i’m still feeling the pain of your fingers digging into my side, caleb!”

“let me kiss it better then,” a mischievous look is on his face as his hands trail from your thighs to your waist, lifting the hems of your shirt. a spark almost ignites in his eyes as he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, your happy trail making him lick his lips. he was greedy and insatiable when it came to you and your body, you can’t blame him for acting like he was watching something so terribly interesting when he was really just staring at your body.

he loves every bit of you, including your happy trail.

before he could lift your shirt even higher, you smacked his hands away and also sat up off of him.

aware of how far you were from him now, as far as you can get when straddling the lap of someone resting in a row boat, he frowned and immediately grabbed your wrist.

“oh, no, no, no, where do you think you’re going?” he clicks his tongue as he pulls you back down onto his chest, hurriedly kissing your cheek before you could processs it and shove him away. “wanna feel you — don’t move so far,” he kisses your neck, leaving light pecks wherever he can place them.

“so needy,” you tease, but he only hums in confirmation.

“you already know how much i need you, [name], don’t make fun,” he nips your skin faster than you can react, truly resembling an attention starved puppy. begging for attention and love in any way he knows how.

“stay back, caleb,” you laugh once more, feeling his sloppy kisses on your neck.

“hm, no, can’t resist you,” he pulls you in even closer, peppering your face in kisses all over. he chuckles against your skin, cherishing how cute your scrunched up face is. “you’re telling your boyfriend to stay away? you don’t love me, hm?”

you can only yelp as a response because now he’s turning the both of you to lay on your sides.

“you’re like a big baby, y’know that?”

“i’m your baby,” he persists, smiling as he sees you roll your eyes, “and you’re my baby boy,”

his hand goes up to carress your cheek, the tips of his hair playing with your hair, as his thumb grazes itself up and down your soft skin. he’s looking at you as if you are the center of the universe, as if you are the one who hung up the moon and stars. nothing but adoration and love.

seeing his soft expression makes your face heat up, instinctively hiding it in the inside of his arm that was resting beneath your head as a cushioned support. he laughs at your reaction, going to lean in as he rests his forehead against yours.

“i want to experience an infinite amount of springs with you,” he confesses, “want to see you smile like this for as long as i live, want to hold you like forever,” his voice is soft and mellow as he whispers the sweetest words into your ear. “will you let me? let me be selfish and never let you go?” your throat has run dry from bashfulness as you nod, looking up at him from being tucked in his arms. he’s already watching you with a smile.

a dry laugh leaves his lips and he leans in closer, “wouldn’t have taken no for an answer anyway, baby boy, i’m all yours and you’re all mine. forever,” he kisses you gently, tilting your head back to rest in his arm as he presses into you.

it’s slow and sensual, he wants you to feel all of his love and affection for you poured into this one kiss. he moves to maneuver his body to slightly cover your own, legs slotted in between yours and broad shoulders casting a shadow from the sun over your body. the bangs of his hair tickle your face as him hovering above you makes them hang quite low. you both wish that you could stop time in this moment. the serenity of it all was already unbelievable.

he doesn’t pull away from the kiss until it’s necessary for you two. the smile is still present on his face, though. and his hand is still caressing your cheek.

“i love you,” he whispers, biting the inside of his cheek to restrain himself form leaning in for another kiss.

“i love you more, caleb,” the words you share are genuine and sincere, but can only barely scratch the surface of how much you truly care about your devoted lover. words always paled in comparison to the real feeling, the raw emotions that came with being in love with caleb.

but whenever you said those words that felt like they fell short, caleb’s brain always went haywire. while you may think they might not be enough for him to truly understand, he’s too busy feeling the butterflies in his stomach become more rapid, the heat in his face feel scorching, and the smile on his face uncontrollable. honestly, anything you say directed to caleb can make him feel like a little boy approaching his crush for the first time. but whenever you say “i love you” back to him, it really sends him spiraling into a frenzy of emotions.

“don’t think that’s possible, my darling,” he breathes out, leaning in once more and capturing you in another slow, passionate kiss.

and as you two moulded into one another, the outside world began disappearing and turning into a blur. it felt like a dream that neither of you wanted to wake up from. this was as close to perfection as you two could get. no matter where the two of you were, as long as you had each other you’d be happy.

[inlovewithfionaapple]

quite literally anything w/ spencer agnew!! maybe like a friends to lovers kinda vibe? or whatever you feel inspired by im not picky! thanks!!!!

just friends...right?

warnings: fluff, friends/co workers to lovers

wc: 754

an: i've been meaning to write something for him, but i haven't figured out what to write! thank you!! hope you like it!

smosh hq was always buzzing — filled with choatic energy, constant filming, half-finished cold brews, and in the midst of it all was spencer agnew, twirling a nerf ball around his fingers as he waited for the next sketch shoot to start.

"hey, dude, you ready?" y/n stood in the doorway to the green room, a smile playing at her mouth. she wore a smosh crew hoodie she would steal from wardrobe, sleeves pushed up, a pen tucked behind her ear.

spencer grinned — that easy, toothy grin he had — and tossed the ball up lazily.

 "born ready," he said, catching it one-handed.

y/n rolled her eyes dramatically. "yeah, you were absolutely ready just then, fully memorizing your lines. by throwing a foam ball at the ceiling."

he shrugged. "hey, it's called multitasking. brain exercise."

she snorted. it was so easy with spencer — like breathing. they'd started at smosh around the same time, both a little lost, a little wide-eyed, clinging to each other as the weirdness and brilliance of the place swallowed them up. at first it had been late-night editing sessions, swapping bad jokes, surviving impossible deadlines. then came the inside jokes, the way they’d wordlessly team up during improv games, the way spencer could always, always make her laugh — even when she was stressed, tired, or just over it.

and somewhere along the way... something shifted.

not that she was admitting it.

not when he was still spencer, still the guy who wore mismatched socks and made dad jokes and sometimes looked at her for a second too long 

"you’re spacing out," spencer teased, walking over and bumping his shoulder into hers. "nervous? you should be. i'm about to absolutely crush this sketch."

"ha, sure you are," y/n said, nudging him back. she smiled, but there was a funny, warm pressure building in her chest — the kind that had been creeping up more and more lately whenever he stood too close, laughed too loud, or said her name like it meant something.

maybe it did mean something.

maybe she was in way more trouble than she thought.

ater that day, after a chaotic filming session involving fake blood, a wig that wouldn't stay on, and ian corpsing so hard they had to reset six times, y/n collapsed onto the worn couch in the lounge, groaning dramatically.

"i don't think my brain works anymore," she announced to no one in particular.

spencer dropped down beside her, flopping his head back dramatically. "same. it's just soup up there now. good soup."

"bad soup," y/n corrected him. "chunky, cursed soup."

he laughed, and the sound of it wrapped around her like a hug she didn’t know she needed.

for a moment, they just sat there — the late afternoon light streaming through the cracked blinds, the murmur of the rest of the team still packing up equipment.

 it should have been easy. comfortable. it always was.

but now y/n could feel every inch of space between them.

 and every inch that wasn’t.

"hey," spencer said, voice softer than usual. he shifted to look at her properly. "you doing okay?"

she blinked, thrown by the seriousness in his tone.

 "yeah, just tired. long day."

he studied her for a second — really looked at her, like he was trying to read something between the lines.

 "you know you can tell me if it's more than that, right?"

her throat tightened.

 god, he was so good.

 too good.

"i'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. "promise."

spencer hesitated, then nodded. but he didn’t look convinced.

and when his hand brushed lightly against hers, whether on purpose or by accident, y/n didn’t move away.

she couldn't.

something electric zipped up her arm — stupid, cliché, heart-racing electricity — and she hated how much she liked it.

or maybe she didn’t hate it at all.

that night, y/n found herself staring at her phone long after she should've been asleep.

a new text from spencer blinked up at her:

[spencer]

 i had fun today.

 even tho you almost got me killed w the fake blood slip lol

 you're my favorite person to film with

 just thought you should know 💙

the little blue heart almost wrecked her.

y/n buried her face in her pillow and screamed into it softly.

because somewhere deep down, a truth she'd been avoiding finally crashed into her.

she didn’t just like spencer.

she was in love with him.

and now she had no idea what to do about it.

[paxaz535]

Just for Now

chapter 5

synopsis : when a group of students go on a school field trip are suddenly forced into a deadly real-life game of Mafia at a retreat center. They receive a message that tells them the game has started, and the only way of survival is by eliminating classmates and identifying the Mafias.

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note : and if i say this is probably the best thing i’ve written so far.. ?

(shorter chapter ONLY because im trying to spread this series)

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As the murmurs started up again and people began whispering in pairs, Paige stood up and walked over to you.

“Can we talk?” she asked, quiet enough that only you could hear.

You glanced around. No one was paying attention yet.

You nodded, following her down the hall, away from the group.

She stopped just outside one of the smaller side rooms and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The hallway was dim, quiet, like the game couldn’t reach you here.

“You really think it’s me?” she asked, no smile, no flirt, just straight honesty.

You met her eyes. “I don’t want to think it’s you.”

“Then don’t.”

“That’s not how this works, Paige.”

Her jaw tightened. “You know me. You’ve seen me. If I was playing dirty, you think you wouldn’t know by now?”

“That’s the problem,” you said, voice lower. “I don’t know. Not anymore.”

She stepped closer. “Then trust what you feel. Not what they’re trying to make you see.”

And just like that, she was gone—back down the hallway, swallowed by the buzz of the lobby again.

You stood there a second longer, heart in your throat.

Then came Marcus’s voice from inside: “Are we doing this, or what?”

You decided to check someone.

Not because you thought they were Mafia—more like the opposite. You needed to start crossing people off your list. Narrowing it down. Giving yourself room to breathe.

Still, something inside you whispered not to check those four.

Paige. Azzi. Nika. Aaliyah.

Why?

Why did part of you not want to know the truth?

Was it fear? Was it trust? Or was it something worse—something like hope?

You pushed the thought down and clicked on Kk’s name.

Kk’s occupation is: Citizen.

Cool.

Relief. Slight, but real.

You returned to the circle just in time to see everyone with their phones out, the voting options on each screen.

One by one, everyone started to vote.

You hesitated with yours.

Marcus? Sarah? One of the four? Nora?

You looked up, eyes catching Azzi’s for just a second.

She winked.

Your hand shook a little as you hovered over the screen.

Then, you pressed the name.

It was time.

The votes rolled in:

Stormi — Marcus

Paige — Marcus

Nora — Azzi

Jamie — Paige

Sarah — Marcus

Marcus — Sarah

Amari & Ines — Marcus

Allie & Morgan — Nora

Aubrey — Marcus

Aaliyah — Marcus

Nika — Marcus

Azzi — Marcus

Ayanna — Marcus

Ice — Marcus

Jana — Nora

Caroline — Nora

Ashlynn — Marcus

Kk — Marcus

And finally—

Rose — Nora.

Your name.

Your vote.

The final one.

As soon as it landed, Nora looked at you.

Her face—tight, confused, hurt.

Like you’d pulled the floor out from under her.

You couldn’t hold her gaze. Not for long.

Your stomach twisted. But you went with your gut. You had to. That’s what this role was. That’s what this game was.

Still, the guilt sat in your chest like a weight.

And the worst part?

You weren’t even sure if you’d made the right call.

Majority, Marcus.

The intercom crackled to life.

“With the most votes, Marcus will be executed.”

No one moved.

Marcus exhaled slowly. No argument. No begging. Just a deep, worn-out sigh as he stood up.

He didn’t look at anyone as he walked toward the hallway—just kept his head down, footsteps heavy.

Then, just as he disappeared behind the corner—

A scream.

Raw. Terrified. Real.

You flinched. A few people gasped. The room held its breath.

And then, the intercom spoke again:

“Marcus was… a citizen.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Your stomach dropped.

Because now that you all know Marcus wasn’t Mafia…

Then the four specific ones who voted him out?

Might be the very people you’ve been trying not to suspect.

And worse?

You might’ve just helped them win.

-

“She needs to die,” Aaliyah said, her voice cold and certain. “And she needs to die tonight.”

The room fell quiet.

Azzi and Paige exchanged a glance, tension already thick. Nika leaned against the wall, arms crossed, unreadable.

“She’s getting too close,” Aaliyah continued. “If we don’t get rid of her now, she’s going to figure us out.”

“She already is,” Nika added. “She voted smart last round. She’s watching us.”

Azzi shifted. “We can’t do anything unless all four of us agree. You know the rule.”

Every Mafia vote had to be unanimous.

No vote, no kill.

“Then agree,” Aaliyah snapped, looking directly at Paige.

Paige’s jaw clenched. She didn’t move.

“I’m not agreeing,” Azzi said, arms crossed. “Not tonight.”

Nika looked between them, fuming. “You’re letting your feelings get in the way.”

Paige turned sharply to Nika. “And you’re not?”

Nika raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“If it were Stormi’s name on the table, you’d be the first one saying no,” Paige said, her voice suddenly sharper, more raw than they were used to. “Don’t act like you’re above this just because it’s me and Azzi.”

Nika went quiet.

Azzi looked between them, unsettled.

Aaliyah shook her head in disbelief. “So that’s it? No vote tonight? We’re just gonna let her live?”

“No vote,” Paige said, looking down. “We’re going to let her live.”

The room stilled.

No one spoke. No one moved.

They all knew what that meant.

No kill.

“So then who?” Nika asked, her voice growing impatient.

“Nora’s also off the table,” Aaliyah replied, cutting through the tension. “If we kill her, then you might as well consider one of us dead.”

She was right. Nora had already gotten too close to the truth.

“Aaliyah’s right,” Paige said, voice quiet but firm. “Nora’s off the table. If we kill her now, it’ll confirm everything.”

Aaliyah nodded, her tone cold. “Exactly. We can’t risk it.”

There was a heavy silence. They all knew they needed to make a choice—someone had to be eliminated, but the wrong decision could expose them all.

Then Azzi spoke, her voice calm and steady.

“Jana.”

Everyone’s eyes snapped to her. Was she seriously suggesting someone?

“Why?” Nika asked, eyebrows furrowing.

Azzi leaned back slightly. “She’s been quiet. A lot of people been quiet, yeah, but she’s… different. Keeps to herself. Doesn’t stand out. She’s blending in too well. If she’s not Mafia, she could be a threat to us. People like her always make it to the end.”

Paige frowned, clearly not convinced. “She’s been too quiet, yeah. But why her? She hasn’t done anything to make her seem dangerous.”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed. “That’s exactly why. No one’s looking at her, and that makes her the perfect choice.”

The others stayed silent for a beat, processing her words.

“I also noticed something about her,” Azzi continued, her tone growing more deliberate. “Remember when Aubrey got voted out and everyone went all haywire?”

The group nodded, recalling the chaos that had followed Aubrey’s elimination. The tension was thick in the air that night, accusations flying left and right.

“Jana didn’t react. Didn’t hear a peep. Literally, everyone else said something but her.” Azzi’s gaze shifted between them, a challenge in her eyes. “Is that not weird?”

The room fell into silence as everyone turned this over in their minds.

Paige frowned, her mind working through the memory. Aubrey and Jana had been close. For Jana to say nothing when Aubrey had been voted out? It was unusual. Too calm, too detached.

“I think Azzi’s onto something,” Paige murmured after a long pause. “Jana usually reacts to everything. She should’ve reacted to Aubrey, but she didn’t.”

Aaliyah, who had been quietly listening, finally nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It’s strange, sure. Could be nothing… or it could be something.”

Azzi wasn’t finished, though. “And let’s not forget, she’s always observing. Never makes waves. But she’s quietly watching. That kind of behavior doesn’t sit right.”

Nika leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms. “True. The quieter they are, the more dangerous they can be.”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably as Azzi’s words hung in the air.

Paige’s gaze lingered on the others, her thoughts racing. They’d all agreed on the decision before, but now, something felt… heavier.

“Do we agree?” Aaliyah asked, breaking the silence. “Do we go for her?”

Paige looked at Azzi, then at the others. She nodded slowly. “I think we do.”

-

Another day, another person’s name to hear on the intercom.

“During the night, the mafia used their skill to execute Jana.”

Jana? That’s… weird.

You blinked, trying to process the news. It didn’t make sense. Jana had been… quiet. But why would the Mafia target her?

“Jana was the doctor.”

Oh. Oh.

Your stomach dropped as the full impact hit. Jana wasn’t just some quiet person in the background—she was the doctor. The very person who could’ve saved lives, who had been the key to keeping people alive. And now she was gone.

Holy shit.

You felt a mixture of confusion, shock, and a tinge of fear. The Mafia had killed the one person who could protect others. The game had just become a lot more dangerous.

You glanced around, watching the others’ reactions.

When the four—Paige, Azzi, Aaliyah, and Nika—heard that information, something shifted. A look of relief passed between them, barely noticeable but there. They’d been wanting to kill the doctor. Now that they had, it felt like a weight had been lifted, like they’d made a big move in the game.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

You were still here. You were still a problem.

The Mafia might have killed the doctor, but they’d left the cop alive. The one person who could potentially stop them. You weren’t stupid. They knew you were a threat, and you knew they were gunning for you next.

But for now, you were still here.

And you weren’t going down without a fight.

-

“This just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You were sitting with Stormi, Kk, Ice, and Sarah in the lounge, away from everyone else. You knew they were all citizens, so you felt comfortable talking openly.

“Why would the mafia kill the doctor and not the cop?” Ice asked, frowning.

You glanced at her. “In a way, they didn’t know Jana was the doctor. They probably killed her because she was quiet,” you reasoned.

“Hell, I didn’t even know,” you admitted. “I hadn’t had a chance to check her occupation.”

Everyone fell silent, the weight of the situation settling heavily over the room.

The longer you sat there, the more the silence grew suffocating. You could see it in everyone’s faces — confusion, fear, the creeping realization that none of you were truly safe.

Stormi was the first to speak. “If they’re just picking people off for being quiet, we’re screwed. Half of us aren’t even talking that much anymore.”

“Exactly,” Sarah said, hugging her knees to her chest. “It’s not about roles anymore. They’re guessing.”

“Which makes it even more dangerous,” Kk added, her voice barely above a whisper. “It means none of us can predict who’s next.”

You leaned back against the couch, trying to think. If the mafia was killing at random… how were you supposed to protect anyone? Your role gave you information, sure — but if you didn’t act fast enough, it wouldn’t matter.

“I’m not saying I am— ’cause I’m not — but if I were mafia, I would’ve killed you by now, Rose,” Ice said bluntly.

Her words hit harder than you expected. That question had been sitting heavy in your mind for a while now.

Why haven’t they taken you out?

It didn’t make sense. You agreed with Ice. If you were mafia, you would’ve taken out the police officer the second you found out. Everyone knew you were the Police — so why hadn’t they taken their chance?

“We’ll be right back,” Stormi said as she grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the corner of the lounge.

The others barely reacted, slipping into a nervous conversation among themselves. Everyone was still on edge.

You stumbled a little, confused. “What—?”

“I’m gonna need you to be completely honest with me,” Stormi said, her voice low and serious. She stared you down, her hand still gripping the front of your shirt.

You furrowed your eyebrows but nodded slowly, glancing down at her tight grip before looking back up at her face.

“Have you checked Paige, Azzi, Nika, or Aaliyah?”

Your heart dropped.

Why so specific?

“No. I haven’t,” you said.

Stormi sighed.

“Any reason why you haven’t?”

You were silent.

Why hadn’t you checked?

Were you avoiding something?

“I—”

You cut yourself off.

“Wait, is this about—”

Stormi closed her eyes. She let go of your shirt, dropping her hands to her sides.

“Why haven’t you checked them, Rose?” she asked again.

You swallowed hard, feeling stuck.

Then finally, you said it:

“The same reason that if it were you, you wouldn’t check Nika.”

Stormi froze.

She knew you were right.

She knew you hadn’t checked Paige and Azzi because you didn’t want to find out something you couldn’t undo.

“I don’t wanna believe it,” you muttered.

“Then check Aaliyah,” Stormi said.

You looked at her, confused. “Stor—”

“You don’t want them to die, right?” she interrupted.

By them, she meant Paige and Azzi.

And she was right.

You didn’t want them to die — but deep down, you had a sinking feeling that hope wouldn’t last forever.

You nodded.

“And I… I don’t want Nika to go,” Stormi admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

She was really starting to fall for her, and the thought that Nika might be Mafia was already tearing her apart.

“I liked Aaliyah. She was cool. But it’s time.”

You knew she was right.

So you did what you had to do.

You pulled out your phone and tapped Aaliyah’s name.

Aaliyah’s occupation: Mafia.

Fuck.

taglist: @iowahawkeyes22 @evry1luvzzae @kalan1z @evanpeterstoe

[tojisteddy]

party 4 u

or: Immortal!reader can’t stop falling in love with Kyle Garrick no matter how hard you try not to.

cw: 3k words (idk tbh) 18+ mdni, angst with plot, no smut, immortal!reader, mentions of death, mentions of blood, violence, heartbreak, unrequited love, reincarnation, no use of y/n.

a/n: another drabbles turned into a long story. Inspo is party 4 u by Charli xcx.

You’d been immortal since you made that fatal mistake. You’ve lived a thousand lives. Youve been a nurse, a dentist, a singer, a vet, bus driver— you name it, you’d probably done it. Especially in this long life. You’ve fell in and out of love, you’ve “died” countless times, had numerous pets, seen loved ones pass too many times.

But you keep getting stuck meeting and falling in love with all of Kyle Garrick reincarnations.

The first time you two met, was a war. Kyle devided and conquered just to have you. You were stunning, citizens of your country were sure you had been the child of the goddess Athena herself. It was a blessing to for anyone to see a glimpse of your glowing brown skin, angelic smile, the heavy crown that adorned your curls everywhere you went, lilac fabric that hugged every one of your curls.

Kyle was lost at the sight of you when you’d visited his country the first time. Astonished that someone could be so mezmorizng. And it wasn’t the way you looked, it was how you showed kindness to whoever you interacted with. From fellow important guests to servants and his countries citizens, all were treated with respect and dignity.

His citizens of course would politely bow for you, they would have to get used to it, you’d lift there heads with your delicate hands or worse, you’d bow back. Giving them a mischievous smile, “Lift your head. I’ve been told you have most wonderful fruit in the land, I’ve come to see it for myself. Plus, I have some friends who’ve been dying to try it back home.”

The citizens adored you, loved you even more when you tipped them. Joined in on the festivals dancing and games. You’d turn into another loved and precious goddess in his country without even trying.

Kyle decided, you wouldn’t be leaving his country after that.

At first there was such a burning hate on your love. He’d taken your family, your home, your loving citizens, your country— you, and made it his own. How dare he try to smile in your face, go on about his life like it was nothing. The man even tried to romance you. The audacity was laughable. Surprisingly enough he didn’t force you into anything. Didn’t want to eat? No issue. Didn’t want to sleep? No issue? Not even go and see daylight? No isssue.

Kyle played the long game.

Your grandmother, former queen of your country, didn’t raise quitters. They raised the best of the best, power no matter the circumstances. You caved, you didn’t know where your family was, but you would survive. Do what you had to, even if that was sharing your meals with the likes of him that stole you away. Taking slow walks around the palace, guards right behind and infront just in case you ran, enjoying the somber and quiet of the scenic view of the castle that overlooked the major town down below.

Correcting the fool when he didn’t understand the deeper meaning in the literature he read to you.

“No, no, no, it’s not just words Kyle. It’s about the wanting. The yearning. Despite everything, through thick and thin, he’s there waiting for her even if the woman got married. He’d wait for her.”

And that fool, would have the stupidest grin on his face. Completely swooning when he heard your voice fill his ears, even if you did sound terribly annoyed with his lack of comprehension. Literature wasn’t his favorite, you were though.

But he sat you down one night, right next to the large lake he’d built out for you. Surrounded by flowers it was rumored you’d liked, he took your hands in his, chills running up his arms when you fingers tickled his own.

“I-I’m in love with you.”

Well, obviously. You scuffed, glancing off.

“I know I’ve made a stupid decision doing all this. But I- if you could just think about falling for me, I’d be forever greatful. If you hate it, just push me away and I’ll give you back. But just for a little while, if you could think about it. Please?” Kyle looked to you with those stupid brown eyes, giving your hands a light squeeze. You let go, looking towards the star filled sky.

“The moon,” you sighed, feeling the cool air on your skin, “it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

But how could Kyle look at the moon at a time like this, when you sat so beautiful in your green dress, breasts spilling out with every breath you took, lashes long.

He was breathless, but nodded, “Yes, yes it is.”

Love is slow, a slow dance to the old song your mother used to hum to you to sleep, and then suddenly it’s filling you. Up, up, up till it’s over spilling— that’s what falling in love was. It’s enchanting, the feeling of true love. Kyle was a dream come true. You’d meet for lunch in his office, dates in town, endless conversations of the future, hopes and dreams. Sneaking kisses whenever he got close enough. Kyle was a sly dog who melted your heart so easily. If only he had done things right, had courted you like a gentleman.

But there was so much in the way, you were spoken for before Kyle took you. By some old cunt who didn’t see you as anything but a tool to control your country, with plans to destroy the lower class.

There was only one way to save it. Save you.

You were being introduced to new servants that would attend to you— Dimitri. He was your right hand since childhood. You sobbed as soon as you got the chance to be alone with him.

“Listen to me well your highness, you mustnt tell a soul, alright?” You nodded at his words.

“We are planning a revolution. We deserve our home back. I’m here to kill the king.” Your stomach dropped. Kill the king? Kill Kyle? No. No way.

“But the king- he- Dimitri, he’s not that bad-“ you stammered, you sounded foolish.

Dimitri’s eyes squinted at you, confused, “Do you know how many of our people he’s killed? How many people have been uprooted [+], because of him?”

“I understand-“

“No, you don’t understand!” He whisper yelled, crossing the room towards you. “My brother is gone because of him! It doesn’t matter if he tries to smile in our faces, or give us new homes— family is family. I will avenge my brother if it’s the last thing I do.”

Dimitri pulls out a knife and you stumble back into your vanity. “This is yours, your highness. You could do it. Right in his sleep in five nights. It will be perfect.”

You shake your head, eyes finding his that were shaking. Erratic. “Dimitri, I-I can’t. There has to be another way.”

“It’s for your country princess. Think of your people, your land, your family— your mother. You have to. Save your country [+].” He slips the pocket knife into your shaking palms. Enclosing it in your hand with a gentle pat.

“Five nights. You do it, or I will.” He repeats.

Your stomach continuously turned, what right did you have to fall in love with the man that attacked you home, your family?

You had no other choice. You either prove your love of your country by slitting his throat, or you take the blade the servant reserved for Kyle yourself.

You didn’t want to kill him. Kyle had so much to live for, he had a vision. Create a country that celebrated both your country’s history, marry you right at the border, on the shores, citizens from all around in attendance. But he ran into your knife, you’d thought you heard some strange noise, went to go investigate yourself. You two ran into each other, the knife entering his abdomen. Blood spread through his attire, you immediately went to him.

“It’s okay [+], it’s okay.” He coo’s Tears filled your eyes.

“It’s not okay! I need to get a physician. Give me one moment Kyle-“ but you can’t even stand to get before Kyle grips your wrist tightly.

“[+], it’s okay.” He insists, cupping your cheek, “I know about the plans. It’s okay.”

“Kyle, listen to me. That wasn’t- this wasn’t my plan. None of this was my plan. I didn’t want any of this! I wanted- I wanted to be-“ you choke on your own words.

I wanted to be with you.

“-I know.” He winces. It’s the words you two have left unsaid. Hanging in the air. He coughs, “Your family, is on the countryside. Safe. The counsil wanted the dead but- ugh- I could let them be treated like that. You take that jewelry box on the nightstand and run to them. For me, okay? Live your life just as you wanted [+].”

Why didn’t he tell you that sooner? Why didn’t he you that they’d been okay? Safe? Did he think you’d run once you’d heard those words? Never come back? You want to groan, punch him in the face, but you just shake your head, applying pressure onto the stab wound with trembling hands. Tears spilling over your face.

“I would’ve chosen you Kyle. A thousand times, I would’ve always chosen you.” You sob.

Faintly, the ends of lips curve up, caressing your cheek with his weak hand, “I’ve always loved- I love-“ Kyle chokes on his own blood. The words unable to come out. He gives you a nod, go. You kiss him like it’s the last time, gently on his pretty lips. Youre shaking when you scramble yourself up, one last look to his handsome face, then you grabbed the jewelry box and ran.

You didn’t even get to lay Kyle to rest, the guards were coming, you had to go in your blood stained dress, bare foot through the woods, still crying. You went exactly to the place he said your family was. It didn’t take long to hear that the king was dead. The revolution didn’t end up happening. Kyle’s younger brother taking the thrown. You prayed to the heavens to let you atone for your sins, let you see Kyle one more time.

But this wasn’t what you asked for. A curse fell upon you. You’ve tried everything to die, gotten in car crashes, took as many drugs as you could, stabbed yourself— to no avail. You were stuck on this earth until some other power took you.

You’d known John since he was a kid, about eight when his parents asked you to babysit him and his younger sister. John was one of the people few people who saw you, spotting out the tiredness in your deep brown eyes that hid behind your youth.

“You wanna take a nap? I’ll protect you and the baby,” He offered, big blue eyes peering up at you. You wanted to laugh, a cute little thing. Eager to prove himself, an adult label him as strong. “I’m good baby, thank you though.”

John had to be twenty five when he found out you were immortal. There was no way you, who had been twenty-three, nineteen years ago and still look exactly the same. No frown lines, no weight gained nor lost, no facial or body changes from surgery (and John was one that could tell). You were still his hot childhood crush from all those years that he gave up on. You’d confessed without a second thought, what did you have to lose at this point?

John was still the same as you’d known him to be; patient, understanding, protective— he was like a kid brother to you. Even though now, as you made your way over to him after him being in no man’s land for months with his comrades, the child you baby sat was getting old. Grays showing in his beard, more worry lines in his forehead, hairline receding, but he still looked at you with those giddy ocean blue eyes.

“Can’t believe you’re actually showing up [+].” You finally agreed to meet John and his friends. You needed a night out after the long and tedious move from Canada. You’d have a laugh and a drink, enjoy his friends company.

“It’s actually Shannon according to my documents.” Way of the world, there was no way you could live for 1000 years and not change your name a couple times. It’d been five years, you’re always off somewhere since you can never stay too longs people ask too many questions. You kept in contact with the aging man though, a few calls and texts here and there. John was so text savvy you couldn’t keep up with some of the things he’d sent you.

“We’re sat in the back, you can’t miss the man with the skull mask when you see it.”

Skull mask?

“Just trust me old woman, nothing to worry about!”

You hadn’t even realized you said your words aloud— hold it— old?

Your mouth opens in astonishment and amusement, “Now you listen here you little fuckin brat-“

“—The musics getting loud, can’t hear you!” And the call disconnects.

You chuckle to yourself, that old man was still such a fucking kid. The bars crowded, typical for Saturday night. The bar was filled with regular civilians and then the military folks who noticeably just got off of work. You’d seen that skull mask from a fair distance away, the brute was tall, out of place but had a glint in his eyes.

You didn’t even need to see the front of his face to know who it was. Brown skin, a short fade showing off his little curls atop of his head, big ears, and that annoyingly contagious laugh.

You’d felt nauseous.

Immediately turning on your heals and out the door.

John pout was noticeable through his beard, standing up and looking around for that head of curls you could never tame, mumbling where the hell you were.

Ghost cocked his head, licit ing his drink to sip on his beer, “She’s gone.”

Gone?

His phone buzzed.

‘Feeling sick. Let’s catch up next time.’

You weren’t one to run away from anything.

John knew that, not even that Great Dane came pouncing on you that scared him and his sister when he was kid, not when someone tried to rob you at knife point when he was ten and not when you had to perform cpr on his sister after she went swimming by herself when she wasn’t supposed to.

But there was one time, one singular time John remembers all too well because he’d never seen such fear in your eyes. You were shopping for him and his sisters school clothes, listening to the story his sister was rambling on about, and then your smile dropped when they touched. You almost dropped the bag in your hand. You lifted his sister and started walking in the opposite direction. “Why are we leaving? We just got here!” John whined standing in place.

Your eyes snapped to the little boy, and he almost gasped at the state of you. Those tired eyes were there again. “Just- damn it John-“ you squeezed your eyes shut in frustration then bent down, smoothing out his hair and gave him the best smile you could, “John, I need you to help me out? Watch my back for me, alright?”

Young John didnt hesitate to protect you, he saw you as a princess, just like the stories you’d told him as a child. And he your loyal servant. A mini Dimitri.

John hadn’t realized the stories you told him, which you’d tweaked to be age appropriate, were about you till you confessed you were immortal. And he’d remembered those details you said, like you were recalling something that just happened. Gaz fit the description to a T.

The man pressed you about when he randomly came over for lunch, dangling a bag of Nandos in hand.

You were a sucker for free food.

“Does- does the man you love— he’s the sergeant under me, isn’t he?” There’s an uncomfortable pause, the only sound of the mini tv and the crumbled bag on your kitchen table. You sniffed.

“You trynna upset me John? This was supposed to be a quaint meal.” You laugh his question off, continuing to eat and take a sip of wine. Day drinking on a week day? Not like you had shit else to do. You catch John in the corner of your eye, unmoving. Watching you, his eyebrows down in worry.

You sigh, setting you plate down and sipping your hands with a napkin, “If you could find him someone to love John, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“But [+]-“

“—John.” You raised you voice.

You lean over, resting you elbows on your knees and pushing your hair to your back. “I’ve fallin in love with Gaz over 100 times in my life. Fallin out of love with him 20 times. Both things you’ll never witness in your one life time. I’m stuck here while everyone leaves, and I mean everyone.”

“I’d just rather he’d never met me and live a proper life for once. Maybe God will free us from this endless cycle.” You look over at John, eyes glossy and clasping your own hands.

You plead, “Could you do this for me John? Please? Just this one time? Watch my back, like you’ve always done.”

Five months.

You’d watched Kyle go on dates for five months.

Price kept his promise to you.

Maybe it’s cynical. Delusional. But you wanted Kyle to find happiness to badly, you made sure John played the best wing man anyone’s ever seen. You’d given the old hag your description of Kyle’s type though he didn’t feed into it too much. He’d known you were what Gaz was looking for.

You and John were watching across the backyard of the party his friends were holding at their house that was too large. The music is loud and people were dancing, laughing and drinking to their hearts content. Times like this took you back. The late 60s, you and Kyle would dance any chance you could, till both your feet hurt but Kyle was the one who had to carry you home. You two would dance in clubs, basement parties, in the streets, while waiting in line at the grocery to that song your mom used to hum to you.

Another life Kyle died too soon. Too young. He drowned.

“I don’t think he’s happy doing all this [+].” John finally says, passing your cigarette back.

Ensuring his happiness didn’t make him happy?

Kyle was with talking to a girl across the way. She was pretty, short, perfectly blown out red hair, pretty green eyes, a slim body— anyone would fall for her. She was rubbing up Kyle’s arms while laughing at something he said.

Did it hurt? Of course it did.

But this was for the better. You could imagine him walking down the aisle, him grinning at her with his pearly whites, you would’ve killed to have that yourself. But you’re letting it go. Let that dream die.

“You don’t think he should be the one to choose who to love [+]? It’s his life you know.”

But the option would always end up being you. No matter what he did, no matter what you did. You were too magnets, drawn to each other no matter the time or place.

You shook your head, inhaling the cigarette between your fingers, “you wouldn’t get it.”

“I’m trying to, really I am. But if the kid loves you-“

“-You don’t think it’s painful for me John?” You snap, hands balling into fists, “Seein him be with someone else? Seeing him live a happy life without me?”

“Then be happy with him, [+]! Even if it’s just for a little while! Have you ever just decided to love him without thinking of the repercussions? Just love him as is. Maybe- then maybe-“

“—You don’t know what it’s like John!” You whisper yelled. You huffed, dragging him further out so no one could hear your conversation. “I’ve seen Kyle die over and over and over. There’s no happy ending for us! There will never be a happy ending for us. Can’t you get that!?”

“He’ll look at me but he won’t even know who I am! But I will. Me, who’s seen every side of him already John, every misstep, every flaw, every beauty— I’ve seen it. John I’m tired! I’m sick of having my heart broken.” You angrily wipe your tears.

It was like you were trapped in a revolving door.

“It’s always just me. Always. Someone has to move on.”

It was almost like insict when Kyle’s eyes fell on you. An, “where’ve you’ve been this whole time”. The woman in front of him was rambling but he couldn’t register it. Now when he found you smoking with John.

“Look out for my friend Shannon tonight. I think you’ll like her more than who Soap’s got you foolin around with.”

The younger man didn’t take his Captain serious at first. There was no way Price would try to set him up with an older woman, would he?

But there you were, young and beautiful. Your facial expressions dancing from irritated to amused, chuckling at whatever John had said. He indulged in the current conversation for a second and then lost sight of the two of you.

He pouted. “I’m sorry, i think my friend is callin me.”

“Hurry back!”

Gaz wouldn’t see her for the rest of the night.

Kyle made his way through the crowd, eyes trying to catch a glimpse of you one more time. Maybe you were already gone, just a one time face Gaz would see in his dreams. But his gut told him to keep looking for you and Price.

And there you were, on the dock, just the two of you. A silence between the two of you but a pout on your lips. Maybe Gaz could cheer you up.

Kyle glanced between you and Price as he walked over, shaking off his sudden nervousness when his eyes met the state of you. Face tear stained, mascara running, plump lips painted dark red. Long braids in a low pony tail with and edges laid, cigarette dancing between your fingers with a leather jacket hanging off your shoulders, and short black skirt. Gaz was enamored by you even though you knew you looked a mess. Goosebumps rolling up his arms as he extended his hand to greet you, “You must be Shannon, Price has been talking about you. ‘M Gaz.”

Oh, you know.

You sniff, head throbbing and heart breaking for the umpteenth time. He didn’t remember you, again.

Roll credits.

Another cycle on the carousel that was being in love with Kyle.

“It’s [+], actually.”

And he tilts his chiseled face, a pout forming, “You alright there [+]?”

And you’d get on this merry-go-round again and again, only for him, always for him. You extend your hand, grasping his large yet gentle hand in yours with a small smile. Just like you first met. Here we go again.

“I’m perfect now.”

a/n: to the three people who end up reading this. I love you. Lmk what you think. This is my first time writing for Gaz, hopefully I did okay.

[yelenaslyubov]

Something In The Air

main masterlist || yelena belova || requests

requested by yelenabelovasbxtch

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ pairing: yelena belova x female reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ warnings: MINORS DNI (18+) smut- reader receiving, strap on, praise kink, slight degradation, begging, choking, language, smoking

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ description: you spend your morning enjoying the first spring day in NYC when the woman you have had your eye on from across the street joins you for the day.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ word count: 3k

The rhythmic sound of your boots against the concrete pathway filled your ears, along with the joyful screams of children. It was the first sunny day of springtime in New York City and there were hundreds of people crowding Central Park with their picnic blankets, kites, and friends. There was something magical about the sun and how everyone reacted when it awoke from its slumber.

You breathed deeply and exhaled as the sun hit your skin. The rays began to warm your skin, realizing that you wouldn’t need your wool coat much longer. You were close to your destination where you planned on enjoying the first nice day by having a cup of coffee and reading a book.

The corner cafe was painted a beautiful green that matched the florals growing from above. You requested your usual order this time of year, along with a lemon loaf as an added treat. You brought your loaf and lavender latte outside to a small table on the street. You made yourself comfortable and sat down for a morning of relaxation.

Between the distractions of dogs passing by that you couldn’t pass up petting and the excitement in the air, you were able to finish half of your loaf and your coffee. You were around fifty pages into your book before a strange energy commanded you to pause. It felt as if someone was watching and observing your every move.

Though it was New York City and there were hundreds of people surrounding you at all times, it felt different. You looked around the cafe first, trying to pick up on any odd behavior. You looked across the other street corner where a different restaurant resided and saw a woman outside.

She was dressed in all black and wore sunglasses to shade her eyes from the heat. Even with her glasses, she was unmistakably staring straight at you. She locked eyes in your direction as she blew out a puff of smoke.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen the woman, but it was the first time she had been so forward. Maybe it was the sun making everyone act up, but you could feel her connection from across the street.

You tried to refocus yourself from the distraction, opening your book back up and reading where you left off. It was easy to get back in the swing for a few moments, but that was until a voice made you sit up.

“Good book?”

You looked up to see the woman in black standing in front of you. Not only was she much more attractive up close, but she had a strong accent that made your heart beat a little faster.

“Uhm, yeah, so far. I just started it.”

She nodded smugly. “Good because the second is even better.” You couldn’t help but let a small laugh escape from your mouth. “Mind if I sit?”

The right words couldn’t find you, so you gestured to the seat across from you, instructing her to sit down. She did so quickly, sitting and crossing her legs before pulling her sunglasses up on top of her head.

“I’m Yelena, and you are?”

Her confidence unsteadied you. It was not so often that you felt so strongly towards someone so quickly, which made your impending conversation more nerve wracking.

“I’m y/n.”

Yelena nodded while studying you. It was as if she was taking note of every small feature that you showcased. She was mentally writing everything down so she didn’t forget.

“Do you live around here?” she asked.

“Yeah, I live in the area. What about you?”

“Sometimes,” she smirked. You weren’t exactly sure how to interpret her response since she wasn’t giving you much to go off of. “What are you doing here all by yourself on a day like today?”

“A day like today?”

“The sun is out and everyone is with someone.”

“Must be something in the air, but I could say the same about you,” you smirked.

Yelena crossed her arms and smiled. “Fair enough. I guess that means I get to be your somebody today.”

Luckily, the heat warmed your cheeks enough to where Yelena couldn’t tell what was heat or embarrassment. “Seems like it.”

You were fully convinced that the weather had completely messed with your sense of reason as you began to have filthy thoughts over a woman you had just met. Though that wasn’t fully true. You had seen the woman before— several times actually. This was only the first time you had seen her up close and personal.

The idea that Yelena had also seen you from afar multiple times was thrilling. There was a familiarity to Yelena that made you just comfortable enough to ask her a very forward question.

“If you’re not doing anything, care for a drink? My place is a few blocks away.”

Yelena smirked as if she had been waiting for you to pop the question. “Sounds perfect.”

The walk went quickly with someone else by your side, especially when it was Yelena’s banter that kept you preoccupied. The sound of her voice was drowned out occasionally by your own thoughts, flashing in your mind like manifestations for the future.

You both made it to your apartment building in no time, climbing up the stairs before reaching your door. You fumbled awkwardly with your keys while Yelena stood behind you, looking back and forth down the hallway. The door opened with a squeak as you held it open for Yelena. She walked through before you shut the door behind you and locked it.

“You can put your things down here if you would-”

Before you could fully close the door, Yelena did the honors by slamming your back against it. Yelena dropped her things to the floor before grabbing your face and recklessly kissing you.

You couldn’t say you were completely surprised. Yelena had been making eyes at you from across the table, but you didn’t expect things to escalate this quickly.

Your body shivered from the feeling of her cold rings gliding across your skin. There wasn’t a place that was untouched by her hands.

In this short time you quickly understood Yelena’s force. She led with passion and power, which seemed to translate into every part of her life. Her grip on your hips could have made you wince in pain if it wasn’t for how aroused you were.

You almost lost your breath when Yelena kicked your foot off to the side to gain more access between your legs. Without missing a beat, her toned thigh shoved its way between your legs and upwards, pressing against your center.

You were having a hard time keeping your composure and Yelena could see that. “Come on, I know you want to,” she whispered.

Her words were dripping with dominance. You knew she wanted to see you whining and begging for it.

You did exactly as she wanted. You let yourself go, grinding your hips against her leg and silently begging for more friction. One of her hands situated itself on the curve of your lower back, guiding your movements.

“That’s it, just like that,” she spoke.

Your head hit the door with a thud from the force of it being sent back. Your chest was rising and falling at an increasing rate, and even more so as Yelena began unbuttoning your blouse one by one. She tore it open and sank her teeth into the soft flesh beneath it.

She kissed and licked above the lace that covered your breasts. You so desperately wanted everything off of you, but Yelena was more than content to have her way with you against the front door.

You tried to indicate your impatience by pulling away and leading her towards your bedroom, but Yelena was frozen in place.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Yelena said through gritted teeth.

“I thought things might be…easier in the bedroom?” you spoke while catching your breath.

“Oh, baby,” she said in such a way that sounded both condescending and enduring. “There’s nothing that can be done in there that I can’t do right here.”

You let a breathless chuckle slip before trying everything you could at matching her level. “I can think of one thing,” you smirked.

She finally got the hint and led the two of you into the bedroom while each of you stripped down to almost nothing. There were brief moments in which your lips disconnected, but you stayed flush against each other.

The back of your knees hit the bed quickly causing you to gracefully fall onto the bed. You reached for your bedside drawer, throwing the contents from inside towards Yelena. She made quick work of sliding the garment on while you adjusted yourself on the bed.

Yelena towered over you, staring down at your bare frame as if she had no shame in the gesture. Your face reddened the longer she stared and you slowly started to close your legs to try and hide some part of you that you could.

Yelena forced your leg outward without hesitation. “No,” she said, almost like a command. “Do you know how long I have been waiting to take you like this?”

A shiver ran down your spine, turning your skin cold and your brain fuzzy. You never thought there was a moment that Yelena had actually been paying attention to the distant looks from across the street. And you never thought in a million lifetimes this moment would be something that the woman would crave.

Before you could question any further, you reached for Yelena’s face and pulled her in close. You couldn’t wait another minute without so much as a small touch from her.

You tugged on her short hair, creating small whimpers that traveled from Yelena to your mouth. Coffee and tobacco had never tasted so good as the flavor lingered on Yelena’s tongue.

With every movement Yelena made, the tip of the strap kissed your cunt teasingly. She made it so hard to wait patiently when everything she was doing made your body react in the best ways.

Yelena kissed you harder and longer as a diversion to slowly sink the strap into you when you least expected it. You grabbed her shoulders suddenly and moaned at the feeling of taking all of her in. Yelena leaned farther over you to gain better access, which you used to your advantage. Your teeth grazed the curve of her neck and with every movement you bit down on Yelena’s skin.

You could taste the expensive cologne that coated her skin and blended so perfectly with her natural scent. She was practically a drug you found yourself lost in with each passing moment.

Yelena’s hips moved faster now, moving in and out of you with precision. Your hands traveled from her shoulders to her lower back. You placed your hands on Yelena’s ass, pushing her forward each time. While touching her you must have lost consciousness of yourself, your legs absentmindedly closing.

Yelena stopped, leaving you whining. That was nothing compared to the sight of Yelena using her knees to stretch your legs further apart. “What did I say about closing those pretty legs of yours, hmm?”

You would do anything to appease Yelena in these fleeting moments. You gave yourself to her so she could use you however she pleased.

Your legs were opened as wide as they could be while Yelena buried the strap deeper inside your pussy. You were a moaning mess, not caring if anyone heard the pleasure Yelena gave you.

Yelena’s hands were gripped so tight to your hips that you were sure to find bruises by morning. You didn’t care in the slightest, you even liked it. It would be a reminder that she was real and that the moment in fact happened outside of a dream.

She had a way of making you feel so damn beautiful while she was destroying you beyond comparison. Maybe it was the way her touch was rough with deep intention behind it— or it might even be the way she looked like a fallen angel on earth with the drippings of lust running down her forehead to bleed into her smudged eye makeup.

You had a burst of confidence. A moment of courage that reared its ugly head to prove something.

When Yelena loosened her grip only slightly, you used your strength to flatten Yelena out onto the bed while you straddled her without disconnecting. Her mouth was slightly agape in surprise at your finesse.

Her reaction gave you the drive you needed to keep going for her. You leaned forward, steadying yourself by grabbing onto the headboard. You moved your hips at an easy pace, one that wouldn’t allow you to finish as quickly since you predicted that Yelena would want power over that choice.

Yelena met you in the middle where she wrapped her arms around your back, pulling you flush against her. She kissed your neck while her hot breath set your skin alight. One of her hands pressed on your lower back, forcing your hips to move. Between the angle of your hips on Yelena’s hitting your most sensitive spots and her lips, you couldn’t stop the sounds that escaped from you now.

While you were fully bare, Yelena was still covered on top by a dark green vest that bore many pockets. Feeling that it was a bit unfair and a disgrace that Yelena was still clothed, you tried to sneak the vest off, pulling on the zipper quietly. When you got to the bottom, Yelena grabbed your hand, catching you in the act.

“If you’re going to act like a slut, I will gladly treat you like one,” Yelena grumbled. She quickly lived up to her expectations.

She dropped your hand before forcefully clutching your neck in her own hand. Yelena lightly choked you while guiding you to continue your relentless actions around her strap. You didn’t care how you received it, you just wanted Yelena’s touch to be never ending.

You bounced on her strap while it was becoming harder and harder to keep your orgasm suppressed. Heinous noises filled the room just as much as the smell of arousal.

The hand around your neck relaxed, but she wasn’t done. Her finger laced into your hair starting from the base of your head and extending down to the midsection of your hair. You gasped and whimpered when she twisted your hair and yanked down to expose your body to her.

“I bet you like it when I do that, baby,” she whispered. “You want me to use you however I wish, don’t you?”

You would have nodded if it weren’t for the fight grip she had on your hair that prevented you from moving your head. Whatever you did, you didn’t stop the movements of your hips. You wanted Yelena too badly.

Yelena began marking you wherever she could. To be honest, you didn’t know why it took her so long since you had been silently begging her for it the entire time.

Your chest was tattooed in pink and purple marks. You didn’t dare try to defy what Yelena wanted, even if you would pay for the fun later.

She also seemed to make it her mission to avoid the sensitivity of your nipples, somehow making it even hotter. You took it into your own hands, literally combing through her hair and guiding her head closer to your chest, but she seemed to resist your internal begging.

“Yelena…” you dared to speak.

You could feel her body become more rigid after muttering her name. “Say it again.”

You seemed to find her weakness. The use of her name caused her to abandon all means of resistance. Her lips and teeth found your nipples quickly after. She so delicately flicked your nipple with her tongue, teasing you while your body twitched in pleasure.

She sucked harder, taking you into her mouth. She licked back and forth, causing your body and voice to have a reaction.

“Fuck, Yelena!”

“Again,” she whispered.

She laid back now against the bed and watched you. She was the painter and you were her masterpiece that was finally coming together.

You leaned back and rested your hands on each of Yelena’s thighs, giving her the perfect view of you. You didn’t care how desperate you looked, you moved your hips recklessly, shifting back and forth and up and down.

“Yelena,” you continued to say, gaining volume with every word evoked.

When you were at your loudest, Yelena’s hand found your soaked clit. She knew well enough that you were close to your breaking point, so she helped you along.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Do you want to cum, baby?” Though your head was thrown back, you nodded fiercely. “What was that, I can’t hear you?”

“Yes, please,” you whispered.

“You’re going to have to be louder for me.”

“Please!”

Yelena rubbed your clit faster while her other hand pinched at your nipple. You took this as her way of allowing you to come undone.

Your body twitched and convulsed as you reached your climax around Yelena’s strap and fingers. You came with Yelena’s name on your tongue, just how she liked it.

Yelena didn’t stop touching you until you physically couldn’t stand the touch anymore, moving her hands away from you. You clumsily removed yourself from Yelena’s strap, falling down on the bed beside her.

The room seemed to be spinning as well as your thoughts. The best sex you ever had was with the woman you had been spying on for months. You did have one peculiar question to ask.

“What’s with the vest anyway?” You had seen her wear it either on top of or secretly under her garments.

“It’s complicated,” she sighed.

You sat in comfortable silence for several moments. You, as well as Yelena, needed to process the result of a pent up crush you each had for months— if you could even call it a crush.

“So,” Yelena broke the silence, “want to grab dinner some time?”

.

.

.

(thank you to my beautiful gf for the inspiration ;)

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[eaturheartout2021]

Can you pleaseeeeee do a simon ghost riley fic where the female reader is also on the team but she's like very introverted (not shy) doesn't talk much. She gets along well with everyone else but simon. She and simon got off on the wrong first impressions and they haven't been getting along ever since. BUT,,, she kinda had a crush on him and isn't ready to admit it so she just cover it up with acting like she hates him. ALSO,,,, I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR POSTS!

I read this request, kicked my feet and giggled 🤭 this is just *chefs kiss*

“Salt and Gunpowder”

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Reader

Word Count: ~1,500

CW: enemies-to-something-more, introverted reader, miscommunication, slow burn, banter, unresolved tension, reader is part of Task Force 141

⸻

You didn’t hate Simon Riley.

You just… didn’t like him.

Which was different.

You got along with the rest of the team fine. Soap made you laugh, even when you didn’t want to. Price respected your silence, never pushing you to talk more than you needed. Gaz? Charming and observant—he always seemed to know when you needed air.

But Ghost?

You were oil and water.

It started on your second day with the Task Force.

He’d made a comment—half-dismissive, half-curious—when you barely said two words in the pre-mission briefing.

“If she’s not gonna speak, what’s the point of having her here?”

He hadn’t meant for you to hear it. But you had. Loud and clear.

And you didn’t forget things like that.

So you snapped—just loud enough to make sure he heard.

“Maybe the point is I do more than talk.”

That was all it took.

Since then, every interaction was short, clipped, or needlessly barbed. Not yelling. Not fighting. Just… tension. Quiet and simmering, like a gun left loaded on the table.

He’d look at you like you were a puzzle missing too many pieces.

You’d look back like he was the last person on earth you wanted watching your six.

Except, you didn’t mean it. Not really.

Because sometimes, in the quiet between operations, you’d catch yourself watching him.

The way he moved—precise, silent. Always one step ahead. The way he talked only when necessary. Like he measured every word.

And God help you, the way his voice dropped when he said your name.

You weren’t proud of it. You weren’t ready to admit it. So you kept pretending.

Pretending that his presence didn’t spark something under your skin.

Pretending you weren’t already thinking about him too much.

Pretending that this wasn’t just friction—this was fire.

⸻

It wasn’t until a mission in the Scottish Highlands that things cracked.

The op had gone sideways—intel was off, numbers were worse than expected, and your extraction point was blown.

You and Ghost got separated from the others. Ended up hunkered in a half-collapsed sheep shed with no signal, dwindling ammo, and a cold wind howling outside like the end of the world.

“I’ll take first watch,” he said, voice neutral as always.

“I’m not tired.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You sat against the opposite wall, cleaning your knife just to avoid looking at him.

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

And then—

“Something I did?” he asked.

You blinked. Looked up. “What?”

“You act like I shot your dog every time we’re in the same room. Figured I might’ve missed something.”

You set your knife down, heart ticking faster.

“You said I didn’t belong.”

“I said I didn’t understand why you were here.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not.” He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “I don’t say things I don’t mean. If I thought you were useless, I’d have told Price to pull you.”

You looked away, jaw tightening. “Well, thanks for not doing that.”

Silence.

Then, softer: “I was wrong.”

Your head snapped up.

His mask was in place, but you could tell by his posture that he meant it. Ghost didn’t do performative apologies. He barely did talking.

“I watched you take down three targets last week with a combat knife and no backup. I’ve seen the way you move. You’re methodical. Quiet. Dangerous. I get it now.”

You stared at him, brain refusing to cooperate.

“…Are you complimenting me?”

“I’m apologizing,” he corrected. “But if you want to take it as a compliment too, that’s your call.”

You didn’t respond right away. The words stuck in your throat like gravel.

Then you said, without thinking, “You’re not what I thought you’d be either.”

That got his attention. “Oh?”

“I thought you were an asshole.” You shrugged. “Turns out you’re just… guarded.”

Another long pause. You held his gaze. He didn’t look away.

You wanted to stop there.

You should have.

But the words slipped out before you could catch them.

“And that’s what makes it worse.”

He tilted his head. “What?”

“That I don’t actually hate you.”

He froze.

“I wish I did,” you muttered. “It’d be easier than whatever this is.”

Something shifted in the air then. Not explosive. Not sudden.

Just real.

Ghost didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

But the way he looked at you? It was different now.

Like he was seeing you for the first time. Not the soldier. Not the mask you wore around everyone else.

You.

“I thought you hated me,” he said quietly. “Couldn’t figure out what I did.”

“You intimidated me,” you admitted. “But I don’t scare easy, so I turned it into attitude.”

His voice dropped, rough and unsteady. “Why would I intimidate you?”

You hesitated.

“Because I liked you.”

It hung there in the cold air, sharp as broken glass.

“I still do.”

He stood slowly, crossed the short space between you. Sat beside you, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat from his arm.

“I didn’t know,” he said. “Wasn’t sure you even wanted me around.”

“I didn’t,” you said. “Because I knew if I let you in, it’d feel like this.”

He let out a breath—half a laugh, half a sigh. “And how’s it feel?”

You turned to him, heart loud in your ears.

“Like trouble.”

He leaned in just slightly. Not enough to break the space—but enough to shatter the distance.

“You want me to back off?”

You could have said yes.

You should have.

Instead, you said, “Not yet.”

⸻

When you finally made it back to the others the next day—bruised, tired, cold—Soap took one look at you both and narrowed his eyes.

“You two good?” he asked, not bothering to hide his suspicion.

“Peachy,” you muttered, walking past.

Ghost followed, silent.

Price arched a brow. “Something change?”

“No,” Soap said, watching the two of you walk away. “But something cracked.”

Gaz just laughed. “Told you they’d either kill each other or fall in love.”

“Still time for both,” Price muttered.

⸻

That night, Ghost found you again. No words. Just quiet company, shoulder to shoulder, the silence finally comfortable.

You didn’t hate him.

You never did.

And now, maybe… just maybe…

he didn’t hate you either.



[bunnivez]

-ˋˏ 𐔌 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 … 𐦯 ˎˊ-

⟡ ݁₊ . 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! — Zoya… *pulls out wine* I haven’t heard of that name in a while…. (Finger crossed I finish my Angell request tonight as well)

She is everything to you. She was like the moon while you were... Well... You, looking up at the sky and admiring her. She’s intelligent, attractive, funny, and caring.

People in Syndicate know her for being ruthless, strong, and dangerous. Yet if only they knew how amazing she is—how much she cares for her people, how responsible she is, how great of a leader she is. Oh, you were in love with her, so deeply in love.

Yet, you can’t find the courage to tell her. Zoya has been your friend for years, ever since you were teenagers. It was you and her helping each other out until she eventually became the leader of The Legion. Even then, she still kept you closest to her, and you hate it.

You hated it because it made it difficult for you to move on from your feelings. The way your heart flutters when she laughs at your jokes, compliments you, teases you. You forget any negative thoughts when you’re with her.

It’s not until you’re alone when it hits you. She won’t ever look at you the same way you look at her. She cares about you, but in a way only a friend would. That’s all you were, her best friend of years.

You feel guilty honestly, guilty for being angry and sad over it. You can’t force her to love you like that, it isn’t right. You don’t even know how she feels about you. Are you just her friend? Is there a possibility you could be more? There are times when you feel like she’s hinting things, but you could just be reading too much into it.

If only it was simple for you to confess. You would get a quick answer but you’re scared. What if it ruins your friendship forever? Not to mention you can’t bear hearing the truth come from her.

Countless times you have written in your journal about it, desperate to let out your feelings and hope it would help you move on some way but it never worked. Distancing yourself wasn’t easy either, she’d always find a way to talk to you and make your walls fall, and you’d be back on square one.

“How have you been?” A voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked up. Before you stood Zoya, she sat down next to you on the bench and let out a sigh.

“You’ve been awfully quiet lately.”

“I know… It’s just i’ve been thinking.” You replied and stared at the floor.

“Oh? Of what exactly?” She sat straight and looked at you curiously. You bit the inside of your cheek and shook your head.

“Don’t worry about. It’s nothing serious I promise.” You shoot a small smile at her and relaxed your posture, “What have you been doing?”

She groaned a bit, “The usual. Some stupid gang group thought threatening The Legion was a smart idea and... Well, you can guess what happened.” She shrugged.

You giggled a bit, “You should just ignore them. They shouldn’t waste your time.” You rested your head to the side against her shoulder. A soft weight landed on your head seconds later. Today was a rare moment. Usually, there is chaos and noise around Syndicate, but today it was a bit calmer. Right now it felt like it was only you and Zoya and everyone else disappeared.

“Well.. It’s better to show them a lesson either way.” She said softly as she stared at the sunset. “Are you sure you’re alright? You seem.. Off.”

I love you.

Your throat went dry.

I want you.

You could feel your eyes water slowly.

Please kiss me.

Blinking, you tried your best to prevent your tears from falling. If you cried what explanation could you give her? You can’t tell her, you don’t have the courage to.

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” You said with a small smile.

I love you so much… Flaws and all.

⟢ 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐳 ᵎᵎ — do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt any of my works without my permission and or confirmation.

[rafesbimbo]

Exclusive Access pt.3

Warnings: 18+, 4.3k words, oral (f), mutual masturbation, dirty talk, Dark themes ??, RAFE IS A STALKER, innocent!reader, strip-tease, lots of kissing, use of pet names, intense yearning ۶ৎ NOT PROOF READ !!!, lmk if im missing anything!!

pairing: Jealous!Rafe Cameron x Camgirl!Reader

part one , part two

It got worse after that night.

For both of you.

You tried to pretend he wasn’t there.

You tried to pretend you didn’t feel his eyes in every shadow.

Didn’t feel his touch in every brush of cold air against your skin.

But Rafe...

Rafe couldn’t pretend anymore.

Every night without you was agony.

Every sunrise felt like another blade twisting in his gut.

He couldn’t sleep.

Couldn’t eat.

Couldn’t breathe without you clogging up his fucking lungs.

You were everywhere.

He’d drive past the diner at midnight, headlights off, just to see if you were still there.

He'd sit in the parking lot, smoking cigarettes down to the filter, staring at your window like a man waiting for salvation.

He didn’t touch anyone else.

Not even to get the ache out of his system.

No one would do.

No one but you.

The flowers started two days later.

Small at first.

White lilies tucked into the booth you always used at work.

Then pink roses — shy, almost sweet — left at your apartment door with no signature.

Then bigger arrangements.

Orchids, peonies, gardenias — expensive, excessive, like he was trying to drown you in pretty things.

Each bouquet came with a note.

Short.

Intimate.

Painful in their tenderness.

"You’re the only thing that makes this world bearable. I don’t want anyone else. I never will. Every day without you is worse than the last."

You told yourself you weren’t keeping the notes.

You told yourself you were throwing them away.

But they piled up anyway — tucked into a shoebox under your bed, hidden like a secret shame.

And Rafe?

He knew.

He knew

Sometimes, when you opened your mailbox, there’d be a letter.

Old-fashioned. Handwritten.

Pages of messy scrawl, like he couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

In one, he confessed:

I think about you more than I think about breathing.

I want to be good for you. I want to be better. I’d kill for you, sugar.

In another, darker:

I see the way men look at you. It makes my hands itch. It makes my heart bleed.

You belong to me. Even if you don’t want to admit it yet.

You should have been terrified.

You were.

But you were something else too.

Something worse.

Curious.

Drawn.

Like a moth beating itself bloody against a flame it couldn’t resist.

And Rafe?

Rafe was losing himself inch by inch.

Some nights he sat outside your building for hours, just... watching.

Making sure you were safe.

Making sure no one else got too close.

Convincing himself he could wait.

Convincing himself he could be patient.

But every second without you clawed at him.

Every laugh you gave to someone else shredded him inside out.

Every accidental glimpse of your smile made him want to tear the world apart, just to tuck you somewhere no one else could ever see.

He whispered your name into the darkness like a prayer.

One day you’d understand.

That you were already his.

Had been from the moment he first saw you behind that cheap little webcam, blushing and shy and perfect.

You were his sugar.

His salvation.

His curse.

And Rafe?

Rafe would wait forever if he had to.

Because loving you — needing you — was the only thing keeping him alive at all.

=========================

The notes kept coming.

Every day.

Every night.a

You stopped pretending you didn’t read them.

Stopped pretending they didn’t matter.

Each one carved deeper under your skin.

Each one left you raw and trembling in ways you couldn’t explain.

He wasn’t asking for anything.

He wasn’t begging.

He was waiting.

Loving you from a distance with a patience so violent it made your chest hurt.

And you hated yourself for it —

for the way you craved him back.

For the way you curled up in bed at night, clutching his letters to your chest, whispering his name into your pillow like a dirty secret.

You fought it.

You fought him.

But the more you pushed, the tighter the cord wrapped around your throat.

Around your heart

====================

The night you broke was a Tuesday.

Cold and mean and wet, the kind of night where the world felt hollow and cruel.

You found another bouquet waiting on your doorstep —

wildflowers this time, messy and beautiful, tied together with a rough piece of twine.

No card.

No note.

Just a single slip of paper tucked between the stems, smudged with rain:

Still waiting, sugar.

Still yours.

You stared at it.

Heart pounding.

Throat closing.

You stood there for what felt like hours, soaked to the bone, shaking with something too big to name.

And then — without thinking, without breathing —

you grabbed your coat.

Grabbed your keys.

And went looking for him.

You found him exactly where you knew he’d be.

Sitting in his truck, parked two blocks down from your building, engine off, window cracked just enough to let the smoke from his cigarette curl into the cold night air.

He didn’t see you at first.

Didn’t move.

Just sat there —

head back against the seat, eyes closed, mouth moving in silent prayers you couldn’t hear.

You stood on the sidewalk, heart rattling in your ribs.

Watching him.

Feeling the full, brutal weight of what you were about to do.

And still —

you moved.

One step.

Then another.

Until you were right outside his door, shivering, dripping rain onto the pavement.

He must’ve felt you.

Some instinct deeper than thought.

Because his eyes snapped open —

and when he saw you, he froze.

Like a man staring down a miracle.

Or a ghost.

Or the last breath he ever expected to take.

"Rafe," you whispered.

Voice thin.

Breaking.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

Just stared.

Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Like you’d vanish if he reached for you too fast.

You lifted a trembling hand —

and knocked once against the glass.

That tiny sound shattered him.

The door flew open.

He was on you in a second —

but he didn’t touch.

Didn’t grab.

Didn’t even move closer.

He just stood there, dripping wet too now, fists clenched at his sides like he was holding himself back with every scrap of willpower he had left.

You stared up at him —

the boy who’d spent months haunting you.

Loving you.

Waiting for you.

And you realized:

He’d never really wanted to steal you.

He just wanted you to choose him.

Slowly — so slowly — you reached out.

Curled your fingers into the front of his jacket.

Tugged.

His whole body jolted.

A shudder ran through him so deep it made you ache.

Still, he didn’t move until you whispered it:

"Rafe... please."

That single sentence broke him.

Undid him.

He cupped your face with trembling hands, like you were made of glass.

Pressed his forehead to yours, breath shaking against your lips.

"You’re mine," he rasped.

A confession.

A prayer.

A promise.

You nodded.

Tears mixing with the rain.

"Yours," you whispered back.

And for the first time in months —

Rafe Cameron smiled.

Soft and wild and starved —

like a man who'd finally found his way home.

===================

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Just breathing.

Just feeling.

The rain dripped from your lashes.

Your fingers clutched tighter into his jacket.

You could feel the way Rafe was trembling — this big, dangerous boy who could ruin you without even trying, shaking like you were the only thing holding him together.

And then —

slow as the tide pulling out to sea —

he leaned in.

His mouth brushed yours so lightly it barely counted as a kiss.

A whisper.

A plea.

He pulled back almost immediately, searching your face, waiting for a sign —

Begging without saying a word.

You whimpered.

Soft.

Needy.

You crushed your mouth back to his.

That was all he needed.

Rafe groaned — a low, guttural sound that made your knees buckle — and caught your face in both hands, kissing you like he was drowning and you were the only air left.

Not rough.

Not violent.

But desperate.

His lips moved over yours again and again, slow and deep and aching, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

Like he’d been dreaming of this for so long he couldn’t believe it was real.

You whimpered into his mouth, and his whole body shuddered against you, a helpless noise tearing from his throat.

"Sugar," he breathed.

"God, you’re so soft... so sweet... been waitin’ so fuckin' long—"

You clutched at him harder, soaking wet and shivering and starved for him in ways you didn’t know how to name.

He kissed you through it — patient, tender, worshipful — like he could feel how scared you were, how much you wanted him but didn’t know how to ask.

He was shaking just as bad.

Not from cold — from restraint.

From the agonizing, brutal need he was barely keeping caged.

Still, he didn’t push.

Didn’t try to take more than you gave.

Just held you — kissed you — poured every filthy, aching, adoring thing he felt into the way his mouth moved over yours.

Eventually, the cold got too sharp.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, voice cracking:

"Come inside?"

Rafe stared at you like you’d just handed him the stars.

Like you’d saved him.

He nodded once — a tiny, broken movement — and let you take his hand, leading him up the stairs, into your tiny apartment that smelled like vanilla candles and soft laundry.

The door clicked shut behind you.

The world outside disappeared.

Inside, everything slowed even more.

You stood there in the soft glow of the living room lamp, dripping rainwater onto the carpet, breathing hard, heart hammering in your ears.

Rafe didn’t move.

Didn’t rush.

Just stared at you —

— and the look in his eyes made your breath catch.

Like you were something sacred.

Like he was standing in front of an altar.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, voice raw and wrecked.

"You don’t even fuckin' know, do you?"

You shook your head, overwhelmed.

He smiled — a soft, broken thing — and stepped closer, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted.

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

When he reached out, his fingers skimmed your cheek — featherlight, reverent.

Tracing the line of your jaw, your throat, the hollow where your pulse fluttered wildly.

You whimpered again, and Rafe cursed under his breath, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

"Let me take care of you," he rasped.

"Please, sugar... let me show you how good I can be."

You nodded.

Tiny.

Breathless.

And that was it.

That was all Rafe needed.

He let out a shaky breath — like he was barely holding himself together — and stepped even closer.

His hands, still trembling, moved to your jacket first.

Fumbling the zipper like he’d never undressed someone before.

Like the idea of peeling away your layers had short-circuited his whole brain.

You laughed — soft and sweet and nervous — and Rafe groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder like he was about to fall apart right there.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"You’re killin' me, baby. You don't even know..."

You reached up, shy, and pushed the jacket off your shoulders yourself.

Rafe watched it fall to the floor like it was something sacred.

Like every inch of skin you revealed was another piece of heaven he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch.

He took his time.

His hands slid up your arms, slow and reverent, tracing every curve like he was memorizing you by feel.

The pads of his fingers skimming over your elbows, your shoulders, the dip of your waist.

Leaving goosebumps in their wake.

When he finally cupped your face again, you leaned into him without thinking.

Like you belonged there.

Like you wanted to.

He kissed you again — deeper this time, but still slow —

and you whimpered when his tongue brushed yours, tentative and gentle, like he was asking permission.

You gave it to him.

You gave him everything.

Your hands fisted in his damp shirt.

Tugging.

Begging.

Needing him closer, closer, closer —

He groaned into your mouth, the sound filthy and broken.

And for the first time, you felt the heavy, aching proof of how much he wanted you.

Hard against your stomach.

Throbbing.

Desperate.

Still — he didn’t push.

Didn’t grind against you.

Didn’t take.

Just shuddered and kissed you harder, like he could pour all of it into your mouth instead.

When you whimpered again — a high, needy sound you couldn’t have swallowed if you tried —

Rafe pulled back, gasping, forehead pressed to yours.

"Tell me what you need, baby," he rasped.

"Tell me — I'll do anything. Anything you want."

You stared up at him, trembling, heart breaking under the weight of how much he loved you.

How badly he was trying to be good.

You swallowed.

Opened your mouth.

Nothing came out at first.

Then, barely a whisper:

"Touch me... please."

Rafe made a sound you didn’t even recognize —

half-growl, half-whimper —

and dropped to his knees in front of you.

He kissed the bare skin just above your hip, hands sliding under your soaked shirt to push it higher, higher —

tugging it up and over your head with slow, reverent hands.

When you stood there in just your damp little bra, shivering and wide-eyed, Rafe leaned back on his heels, eyes dragging over you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

"Fuck," he whispered again, almost broken.

"You’re a fuckin’ angel, sugar. My sweet girl. My perfect fuckin’ girl."

His hands were on your hips now, gentle but firm, smoothing up to your waist and back down again like he couldn’t help himself.

Like he needed to touch every inch of you just to make sure you were real.

He nuzzled into your stomach, breathing you in, scattering kisses so soft they barely registered except for the way they made your whole body shiver.

You whimpered again, and Rafe's hands tightened — just for a second — before he caught himself, pulling back like he was terrified of hurting you.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he whispered.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

You shook your head so fast it made him smile —

that soft, broken smile like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.

"Need you," you whispered.

"need you so bad.."

He kissed the inside of your thigh through your jeans —

a desperate, reverent little kiss that made you gasp —

before reaching for your waistband.

Still slow.

Still giving you every chance to pull away.

When you didn’t — when you whined and arched into his touch —

he groaned again and started to peel the soaked denim down your legs, inch by slow, agonizing inch.

Every bit of skin he uncovered, he kissed.

The sharp point of your hip.

The soft curve of your thigh.

The delicate skin behind your knee.

By the time you stood there in just your panties, shivering and bare and aching, you were crying.

Silent, shaking tears sliding down your cheeks.

Rafe noticed immediately.

Shot up to his feet so fast you barely saw him move, cupping your face again, wiping the tears with his thumbs.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Hey, no, shh, sugar, don’t cry.."

You nodded, choking on a sob you didn’t even understand.

"Just— feels good," you whispered.

"Feels too good."

Rafe’s whole face crumpled.

He kissed you again, soft and slow and filthy, mouths wet and trembling, like he needed to taste your tears just to prove to himself you were real.

"I got you," he whispered between kisses.

"I got you, baby... gonna make you feel so good... so fuckin' good..."

Rafe kissed you until you stopped shaking.

Until your sobs melted into gasps.

Into tiny, desperate sounds that made his hands clench where they cradled your face.

He pulled back just enough to look at you —

really look at you —

and the way his eyes darkened made your whole body throb.

"Gonna make you feel good now, sugar," he rasped, voice low and wrecked.

"Gonna taste you... been dreaming about this — about you — for so fuckin' long."

You whimpered, thighs clenching together, but Rafe was already moving —

sinking back to his knees at your feet, hands skimming reverently down your body.

He kissed your belly again, slow and messy, leaving a slick trail of heat.

Then lower —

the dip of your hip, the soft curve of your inner thigh —

so close to where you needed him, but never rushing, never taking.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and paused —

looking up at you through wet lashes, pleading:

"Let me see you, baby. Please."

You nodded, dizzy, and lifted your hips just enough to let him pull them down.

Rafe’s breath caught.

Hard.

He dragged your panties down your legs with shaking hands, baring you inch by inch like he was unwrapping the most precious thing he’d ever been given.

When you stepped out of them, shy and trembling, he groaned low in his chest.

The sound of a man breaking.

He tossed the scrap of lace aside without looking.

Didn’t care about anything but you.

His hands slid up your calves, your knees, your thighs —

spreading you gently, reverently, just enough to see.

You flushed hot all over.

Tried to turn your face away, overwhelmed.

But Rafe caught your chin, made you look at him.

Made you see the devotion in his eyes.

"Goddamn," he breathed.

"You’re so fuckin’ pretty, sugar... so wet already... all for me?

You'd whimper.

His eyes fluttered shut for a second like he was in pain.

Like he was trying to memorize this moment forever.

"I’m gonna take my time," he said, voice rough with need.

"Gonna make you come on my tongue... over and over."

Then he kissed you there —

a slow, open-mouthed kiss right over your soaked, swollen clit —

and you sobbed.

He moaned into you like he was tasting something holy.

Something he’d been starving for.

His hands slid under your ass, holding you still, tilting you just right.

His tongue moved slow at first —

broad, heavy licks up your slit, savoring every inch.

Dragging across your clit with torturous, aching pressure that made your knees buckle.

You gasped, clutching at his hair, tugging without even meaning to —

and Rafe groaned, like your need made him harder, made him hungrier.

He mouthed at your clit, slow and messy, letting spit and slick coat his chin.

Suckling softly, then lapping at you like a man possessed.

No rhythm at first — just desperate worship.

"Taste so good, sugar," he mumbled against you.

"So fuckin’ sweet... fuck, can’t get enough..."

His tongue slid lower, teasing your entrance —

flicking, pressing, dipping inside —

and you cried out, hips jerking helplessly.

He held you down, moaning when you squirmed, like your writhing was the best thing he’d ever felt.

"That’s it," he panted.

"That’s my good girl... give it to me... wanna feel you come on my mouth, baby, c'mon..."

You were already so close it scared you.

The way your body tightened, pulling taut like a bowstring.

The way your thighs clamped around his head, trying to push him away and pull him closer all at once.

Rafe didn’t let go.

Didn’t stop.

He just wrapped his arms tighter around your thighs, grinding his mouth into you with filthy, desperate sounds, his nose bumping your clit in time with the frantic flicks of his tongue.

Your hands fisted in his hair, tugging hard, and he growled —

low and guttural —

sending vibrations through your core that made your vision blur.

You sobbed his name.

Over and over.

A broken, wrecked little chant.

"Rafe — Rafe — Rafe —"

That did it.

He groaned again, louder, sucking your clit into his mouth with devastating pressure —

and you shattered.

Your whole body went taut —

then broke apart, spasming against him as you came with a high, keening cry.

Rafe held you through it, moaning against your pulsing cunt, drinking down every tremor, every sob, every desperate, wrecked gasp.

He didn’t stop.

Even when you started to twitch, to push at his shoulders, too sensitive —

he just kept licking, softer now, coaxing you through every last aftershock until you were nothing but a boneless, sobbing mess in his hands.

When he finally pulled back, his face was wrecked —

chin slick with your arousal, lips swollen, eyes wild and reverent.

"You’re mine now," he whispered, voice thick and shaking.

"You hear me, sugar? Always fuckin’ mine."

You couldn’t even speak.

Just nodded, whimpering, reaching for him.

Needing him back against you.

Inside you.

Everywhere.

And Rafe — sweet, obsessed, broken Rafe —

crawled up your body, kissed your wrecked mouth, and whispered:

"Not done yet, baby... gonna make you feel even better..

=============

Later that night, after you’d both caught your breath —

after he’d kissed every inch of your body, whispered every filthy, worshipful thing he’d ever dreamed of saying —

you found yourself perched on the edge of your bed.

Still trembling.

Still wide-eyed.

Rafe sat back against your headboard, legs spread, shirt half-open, eyes wild and hungry on you.

His hand rested lazily on his cock —

thick, flushed, heavy in his palm —

but he wasn’t stroking yet.

Not really.

Just teasing himself, like he was trying to savor it.

Watching you with a hunger so sharp it almost hurt.

"Show me, sugar," he rasped, voice low and ruined.

"Give me a fuckin' show."

You blinked at him, cheeks burning.

"W-what?"

Rafe’s lips curled into a slow, wrecked smile.

He fisted himself once — a slow, filthy drag of his palm — and groaned under his breath.

"Strip for me, baby. Real slow."

"Like you do on that fuckin' cam."

"But this time... it’s just for me."

Your heart hammered against your ribs.

You could barely breathe.

But the way he looked at you —

like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted, ever needed —

made your thighs clench with desperate, aching heat.

You swallowed.

Nodded.

And rose shakily to your feet.

Rafe’s eyes never left you.

Not once.

Tracking every single movement like a predator locked on prey.

You started slow.

Just swaying your hips a little, hands sliding up your own sides, across your breasts, down your waist.

You bit your lip — shy and unsure —

but the way Rafe groaned when you tugged your ruined little panties back up your thighs gave you a rush of wicked confidence.

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband —

dragging them down, inch by slow, teasing inch.

Rafe’s breath hitched.

His hand started moving —

slow, steady strokes along his cock, squeezing the head just enough to make his whole body twitch.

"That’s it, sugar," he panted.

"God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect... show me what’s mine."

You stepped out of the panties, letting them fall to the floor.

Ran your hands up your thighs again, swaying a little more now.

Arching your back just enough to make your tits press tight against the too-small bra you still wore.

Rafe’s eyes darkened.

His hand moved faster.

His thighs tensed under his jeans, a vein popping along his neck.

"Take it off, baby," he rasped.

"Wanna see all of you."

You reached behind your back — fumbled for the clasp —

and Rafe’s hand squeezed almost painfully tight around his cock as the bra loosened.

You slid it off your shoulders slow, teasing, letting the straps fall one at a time.

Barer and barer with every heartbeat.

When you finally let it drop, standing there naked, flushed, trembling —

Rafe broke.

He let out a rough, shuddering groan —

stroking his cock hard now, frantic, messy, leaking precum down his fist.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

"You’re a fuckin' angel... my angel... gonna come just from lookin’ at you, sugar, fuck—"

You whimpered, thighs pressing together at the filthy, desperate sound of him.

At the way he stared at you like you were some vision he’d conjured out of a fever dream.

He fisted himself harder, faster.

Head thrown back against the wall, jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck stood out sharp and aching.

"Touch yourself, baby," he gasped.

"Please— wanna see you fall apart for me."

You whimpered again but obeyed —

hand sliding between your thighs, fingers brushing your slick folds.

The moment your fingers touched your clit, Rafe growled.

A savage, broken sound that made your knees shake.

"That’s it," he snarled.

"Rub that pretty little clit for me... show me how you get off, sugar... show me how sweet you sound when you come."

You couldn’t hold back anymore.

You circled your clit with trembling fingers, hips rocking helplessly, gasping his name over and over.

Rafe jerked himself harder, breathing ragged, cock twitching in his hand.

Watching you fall apart pushed him over the edge.

You saw it happen —

the way his whole body stiffened, the way his hips jerked up off the bed —

the way he roared your name as hot ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles, dripping down his fist, messy and feral.

"Sugar — fuck — fuuuck—"

He kept stroking himself through it, chasing every last drop, moaning low and wrecked.

His eyes locked on you the whole time —

wild, fevered, possessive.

Like he’d burn the whole world down just to keep you right there.

All his.

Forever.

tags: @xoxobellamy , @hanneh69 , @marinrscomplex , @love-4-rafey-lando

[charliedawn]

A Children’s Book

Joel Miller x Reader

One-Shot

Warning: Explicit and mention of sex

The air in the small cabin was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the wood and the distant sounds of the wilderness. You sat at the table, a notebook open in front of you, a pencil held loosely in your hand as you scribbled down thoughts and ideas. The flickering light of a nearby lantern cast a soft glow across your page, making the room feel cozy despite the harsh world outside.

Joel, sitting in the corner with his back to you, tinkered with his gear, the familiar sound of leather and metal filling the air. His mind wasn’t entirely on the task at hand, though. He couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder every now and then, his curiosity piqued by the unusual sound of your writing. He’d seen you do it before, but today, there was something different about the way you were absorbed in your work.

He fidgeted with the strap of his gun, trying to keep his attention focused. But it was hard to ignore you when you were so…intent.

The quiet scrape of your pencil across the paper seemed louder than usual, and Joel found his eyes drifting toward you again, this time more deliberately. He couldn’t help himself; his gaze softened as he watched the way you chewed the end of your pencil, as if considering the next line carefully. He had no idea what you were writing, but the concentration on your face made him wonder.

He shifted in his seat, pretending to adjust something on his pack, but his eyes darted back toward you once more. This time, you caught him.

"Got a problem, Joel ?" you asked, looking up momentarily from your notebook.

He froze for a moment, caught in the act, before he looked away. "Nah, just…didn’t know you were into writing," he muttered, turning back to his task, though his curiosity was still clear in his tone.

You raised an eyebrow. "I’m writing a children’s book. Thought it’d be nice to share some survival tips with the next generation."

Joel blinked, processing that. "A book…for kids ?" He shook his head, a soft laugh escaping. "What, you gonna teach ‘em how to use a knife to gut a rabbit or something ?"

You grinned at the thought. "Maybe. It’s a lot of basic stuff, really. How to make a fire, what to do when you’re lost, how to find food…the things that matter." You shrugged, your eyes shifting to the pages, as if you were still thinking about the content. "I figured it could help someone someday."

Joel studied you for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly. He wasn’t sure why, but the idea of you writing something for children made his heart tug. He cleared his throat, pushing the strange feeling aside. "Sounds…real useful."

You paused, meeting his gaze, before smirking. "I’m just trying to make sure we leave something behind, Joel. Something good."

For a moment, Joel didn’t say anything, just letting your words hang in the air between you. Then, he finally nodded, his voice quieter this time. "Well, if you need any…survival tips, you know where to find me."

You chuckled softly, a playful glint in your eye. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Joel sat back, still trying to keep his usual gruff exterior, but there was something soft in the way he looked at you now. Something like pride mixed with a bit of wonder, as though, for all the destruction the world had seen, there were still people like you, trying to bring a little light to it.

As the days passed, Joel became increasingly curious about your project. At first, it was just the occasional glance—his eyes would flicker toward your work as you sat at the table, absorbed in your notebook. But over time, that curiosity turned into something more. The subtle glances turned into longer stares, and he found himself edging closer when you weren’t paying attention.

You didn’t mind. In fact, you kind of liked the idea that he was invested in something you were doing, even if he was trying to hide it.

One evening, as you wrote about how to track animals through the forest, Joel slipped into the room, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. He wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all you. You glanced up at him, the corner of your lips twitching into a smile. "Need something, Miller ?"

He grunted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nah, just—just looking over your shoulder."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "You sure,? Because you’ve been doing that for the past five minutes."

Joel’s lips twitched, and he tried to cover it up with a huff. "I was just wondering if you got the details right. A track’s gotta be fresh, you know ? You don’t wanna confuse it with an old one."

You leaned back in your chair, your smile widening. "Alright, alright. You want to add some tips,? I could use some insight from a seasoned tracker like yourself."

Joel’s eyes flickered, clearly surprised, before he shrugged, trying to seem unaffected. "Yeah, well, if you’re gonna tell ‘em to find tracks, you should probably mention how to tell if the animal’s been spooked. Look for the way the soil’s disturbed—if it’s all torn up, it means they’re anxious, moving too fast. Probably running from something."

You jotted down the note, glancing at him. "Good one. Anything else ?"

He cleared his throat, looking a little sheepish. "When you’re building a shelter, make sure it’s got a little space between you and the ground, so you don’t freeze your ass off overnight. And always, always, build a fire upwind."

You leaned forward, looking up at him with a smile that bordered on playful. "You’ve got quite a bit to say for someone who claims he is not interested."

Joel’s face flushed slightly, but he looked away quickly. "Just don’t want you to leave out the important stuff. Kids need to know how to survive, even if they don’t realize it right away."

You nodded, writing down his suggestions. "I’ll make sure to add that. Anything else from the expert ?"

He paused, staring at the ground for a moment, his voice softer now. "Tell ’em about how important it is to trust your instincts. It’s not always about the rules. The world doesn’t work that way anymore." He cleared his throat, as if uncomfortable with the emotion in his voice. "Sometimes, you just gotta do what feels right."

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the rawness in his words. "I’ll add that too."

For the next few days, Joel would come by, sometimes just to sit quietly and offer suggestions, other times giving you his thoughts on what you’d written. You noticed a pattern in the way he’d slip his advice into your process—always indirect, like he didn’t want to admit he cared, but you could see it in the way he leaned over your shoulder, in the softness of his voice when he spoke.

It wasn’t until one afternoon, as you added the last few touches to a chapter about fishing techniques, that Joel spoke up again.

"You know," he started, looking over your shoulder again, "you’re gonna do more than just teach kids how to survive. You’re gonna show ’em how to keep going, no matter what. That’s something worth passing on."

You smiled, meeting his gaze for a moment. "I think you’ve been writing a little bit of this book, too."

Joel looked away, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Nah, just giving you a few pointers. It’s your book."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "I couldn’t have done it without you."

Joel didn’t respond right away, but the small, proud glint in his eyes was all the answer you needed.

You then signed the notebook and handed it to him. "Here. For the next generation. So that they don’t forget our old bones."

Joel paused, his hand hovering over the notebook you offered. He wasn’t the sentimental type—he never had been. But something about the way you spoke, so earnestly, made his chest tighten. Your words weren’t just a simple gesture. They were a reminder that, despite the weight of the world around you, there was something worth remembering. Something worth preserving.

He looked at the notebook for a long moment, the leather cover worn and the pages filled with your careful handwriting. He could almost see the children flipping through it, learning how to light a fire, how to make a shelter, how to survive when the world had forgotten how to be kind. He could see it.

Joel finally met your eyes, his grumpy expression softened. He took the notebook from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours just for a second, and held it carefully as if it might break. "You really think they’ll remember us ?" His voice was low, almost to himself, as if the idea itself made him uneasy.

You nodded, your gaze steady and unwavering. "I do. People forget the details, sure, but the lessons stick. And you…you’ve got a lot of ‘em to pass on, Joel."

He didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t used to being the one who taught or the one who left something behind for others. He was just trying to make it through the day, trying to keep the people he cared about safe. But looking at the notebook in his hands, feeling the weight of it, something in him stirred—a quiet sense of purpose that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

He sighed, trying to brush off the emotion that was creeping up on him. "Well, I’m not great with kids. I don’t know how much good I’ll do."

"You’d be surprised," you said with a small smile. "You’re already doing more than you think."

Joel chuckled softly, though it was more out of discomfort than anything else. “Guess I’ll add it to the list of things to teach.”

You laughed lightly, leaning back in your chair. "Maybe we should start with going over the hunting tips, so they don’t starve."

Joel nodded, his thumb grazing the edges of the notebook. "Yeah, that sounds like a good place to start."

He looked at you one more time, his face unreadable, before finally tucking the notebook into his pack. He might not be the sentimental type, but this was something he was keeping. Something worth holding onto. For the next generation, like you said. Maybe, just maybe, it’d make a difference.

That night, as it is only the two of you, you tell him. "Joel. I think…I am gonna add another chapter."

He looked at you quizzically. "Yeah ? What about ?"

You smiled and looked at him. "…About having people to count on."

He didn’t reply but—that didn’t mean he didn’t agree.

….

A few years later…

You sat on the front steps of your little house, a worn leather satchel at your side, your fingers nervously fidgeting with the strap. It had taken years—years of gathering scraps of paper, stitching them together by hand, carving out moments between survival and rebuilding to write, edit, and craft the book you had once dreamed of.

And now, it was finished.

Almost.

You needed one more thing.

You needed Joel.

The door creaked open behind you, and there he was—older, a little grayer at the temples, but still Joel. Still steady as a mountain, still the man who had once leaned over your shoulder and given you survival tips without asking for a word of thanks. His gaze softened when he saw you, sitting there looking all kinds of anxious.

"What’s got you twisted up ?" he asked, stepping down to join you, the wood steps groaning faintly under his boots.

You swallowed, heart thumping a little harder, and reached into your satchel. From it, you pulled out a thick, hand-bound copy of your book, the leather cover neatly tooled with simple, strong designs. You held it out to him with both hands, like you were offering something sacred.

"I was wondering…" you started, voice catching a little before you pushed on, "if you’d proof it for me. Look it over. Tell me if it looks alright."

Joel blinked, surprised, but he didn’t hesitate long. He reached out, calloused fingers brushing yours as he took the book carefully. He thumbed over the leather, tracing the stitching, the work you had put into it. You could see it in his eyes—he knew how much this meant to you.

"You did this yourself ?" he asked—impressed.

You nodded, feeling a little bashful. "Took a long time. I—I just want it to be right, Joel. I just want it to be as clear and useful as possible."

Joel was quiet for a long moment, turning the book over in his hands. He opened it slowly, careful not to crease the pages, and read the first few lines.

You twisted your hands in your lap, nerves eating you alive. "I know you’re busy. It’s just—you’re the only one I trust to really get it, to give me fair and useful feedback. Tell me if I missed anything."

Joel closed the book gently, thumb still hooked on the page he had been reading.

"I’ll do it," he replied. Joel gave you a faint, crooked smile—one of the rare ones that actually reached his eyes—and tucked the book carefully under his arm.

"I’ll take my time with it," he added, "Make sure it’s just right."

You nodded quickly. "Thank you, Joel. Really."

He tipped his head, eyes twinkling just a little. "Ain’t doin’ you a favor. Just makin’ sure the next generation knows the right way to do things. Like you said."

As he turned to leave, book clutched carefully in his hand, you watched him go with a warmth blooming in your chest. You had trusted him with your words, your heart stitched into paper and leather—and somehow, you knew he would guard it as fiercely as anything else he had ever fought to protect.

….

The next day, you were out in the garden patch behind your house, pulling up the stubborn winter weeds that had somehow survived the frost, when you heard the familiar sound of Joel’s boots crunching across the dirt.

You wiped your hands on your pants and turned, shielding your eyes against the low sun—and there he was, standing with that rare, honest-to-God smile tugging at his mouth. Not the tight, forced ones he sometimes gave when he didn’t know what else to do. This one was real. Warm.

He held the hand-bound book loosely at his side, the edges a little more worn now, as if it had been properly handled, lived with for a bit.

"I made Ellie read it with me," Joel informed you. He lifted the book slightly, tapping the cover with two fingers. "She found it awesome."

"Really ?"

Joel nodded, stepping closer. His shadow fell over you, a solid, grounding presence against the flickering nerves still dancing inside you. "She loved the way you wrote it. Said it was ‘real’…not sugarcoated. Not fake. Useful. And that she would have loved to have it—if she didn’t already have me that is." He gave a short, rough chuckle. "Pretty much the highest praise you’ll get outta her."

He scratched the back of his neck, glancing at the notebook, then back at you.

"You did good," he told you. "Real good."

Joel wasn’t a man who tossed around praise lightly. If he said something, he meant it. You nodded, trying to keep it together, feeling your throat tighten.

"Thank you, Joel."

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, he held the book out to you again.

"Y’know," he said, "Ellie had an idea. Said you oughta make more copies. Get ’em out there. Inside and outside Jackson. For anybody passin’ through."

He cleared his throat, almost like he was embarrassed for suggesting it. "Could save some lives."

You let yourself imagine it—the book in more hands. In the hands of some scared kid who needed a guide. In the hands of people trying to rebuild something better.

You smiled and nodded. "Then we’ll have to make a lot more covers."

Joel grinned, real and easy, and bumped your shoulder lightly with his hand—a small, steady show of support.

"We got time," he reassured you. "I’ll help."

And just like that, it wasn’t just your dream anymore. It was yours and Joel’s and Ellie’s—and maybe, if you were lucky, it would be everyone’s someday.

A few weeks later:

You bent to place another book on a moss-covered stone, just off the beaten path. You’d set them up in strategic places, near landmarks you and Joel knew would be safe, yet easy to find. The books were designed to be found—passed on to the ones who needed them the most. Each time you found that one of the books you had strategically placed was no longer there, you let out a short, sharp howl. It was your way of marking the moment—signifying that another survival kit was now in the hands of someone who might need it.

And when you howled, Joel stood there, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the trees, his eyes never leaving you. Another survival kit was out there, another piece of knowledge passed along to someone who needed it.

And somewhere, out in the wild, you both knew that another person, another survivor, was just one step closer to finding their way.

You didn’t notice the smile Joel had on his face when he heard you howl a second time upon discovering that another one of your books had been taken. Another life saved.

A few months later :

Joel could handle himself better than anyone you knew—but still, it didn’t sit right with you when no one could tell you exactly where he had gone off to with Abby. Something about the tightness in your gut pushed you to follow, your feet carrying you faster and faster through the streets of Jackson until you found yourself near the old gym. The streets just outside of Jackson were quieter today, the cold wind snapping little bits of dust and dead leaves through the air as you followed the trail Joel had left behind.

You quickened your pace, heart thudding harder with each step, until you finally rounded a low hill and came across the scene. That’s when you heard it—low voices, the tense sort of murmuring that made the hairs on your arms stand up.

You peered around the corner, heart hammering.

There he was. Joel, standing in the middle of the gym, surrounded. A few faces you recognized—others you didn’t. Abby stood nearby, holding a golf club in one hand, her knuckles white around it.

You immediately knew what this was.

A trap.

Your instincts screamed at you to do something, but instead, you forced yourself to slow down, to fix your expression into something light, something oblivious. Act natural, you thought, even as adrenaline burned under your skin. You walked out into the open, smiling bright like a fool, waving the notebook in the air.

"Hey, Joel !" you called, your voice carrying through the gym. You saw him flick his eyes to you—sharp, calculating. "Just finished that last page you said needed some modifications !"

You closed the distance casually, pretending like you didn’t see the weapons, didn’t notice the circle tightening. You moved right up to him, standing on your toes as if to kiss his cheek, your mouth brushing just past his skin to his ear.

"Last page. Knife. Use it," you whispered, barely a breath against his skin. Joel’s body tensed almost imperceptibly. In your hands, the notebook pressed lightly against his side where you had slid in a small, wickedly sharp knife, hidden between the pages. You felt him shift slightly, the weight transferring to his hip where the blade was tucked.

You pulled back with a sunny smile, tapping the notebook once like it was nothing but a delivery. Joel caught the slight nod you gave him—the unspoken signal between two people who knew how fast things could go to hell.

You stepped back, like you were going to leave, your hand brushing your side casually.

Then in one fluid motion, your gun was out.

And the air exploded.

The first shot rang out, echoing off the gym walls like a bomb. You weren’t aiming to kill—not yet—you hit the ground near Abby’s feet, the wall near one of the other strangers’ heads, just enough to make them flinch, scramble, scatter.

Chaos. Exactly what you needed. The distraction that Joel needed. In the blink of an eye, he was moving, knife flashing out from the book with brutal efficiency. He caught the closest guy in the arm, spinning him around, using him like a shield as the others shouted, shot and scrambled.

Joel’s voice was a low growl beside you, just loud enough for you to hear as he moved.

"Good instincts, darlin’."

You didn’t waste time. You stepped in tight behind him, keeping his blind side covered, your gun trained steady and fierce at anyone who thought about getting clever. Abby swung the gold club in a panic, but Joel ducked it easily, kicking it out of her grip with a sharp, practiced move that sent her stumbling back.

One of the others—a younger guy—tried to rush you. Bad mistake. You shot him clean through the knee without hesitation.

He dropped with a loud scream.

Joel didn’t even look. He trusted you had it covered.

The rest of them ?

Well, once they realized Joel Miller wasn’t going to be easy prey after all, they started backing off—muttering, cursing, dragging their wounded away. It wasn’t long before it was just you, Joel, and a wide empty space full of echoes and the stench of fear. You lowered your gun slowly, heart still hammering in your chest. Joel wiped the blood off the knife with a piece of torn cloth, tossing it aside casually.

He turned to you, breathing a little hard, but otherwise steady.

"You always carry a gun when you’re deliverin’ book edits ?" he drawled, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You grinned back, breathless but exhilarated. "Only when the editors are assholes."

Joel chuckled low in his throat, a sound you didn’t hear nearly often enough. He stepped closer, bumped your shoulder lightly with his own.

"C’mon," he said. "Let’s get outta here and collect Ellie before they decide to come back."

You nodded, holstering your gun, sticking close to Joel as you slipped out—grabbing Ellie on the way out.

…

A few days later, life had found a new kind of normal. You, Joel, and Ellie decided it was stupid to keep living separately after what happened. Three guns were better than one. Three pairs of eyes too. You’d found a bigger house at the edge of Jackson. Nothing fancy. Weathered wood, a stubborn front door that stuck when it got too cold. But it had enough space for all three of you, and more importantly—it felt safer, somehow, when you all shut the door behind you at night.

Ellie hadn’t said much right after the gym incident. She’d been quiet, tense, her mouth set in a hard line whenever anyone mentioned Abby’s name. You’d heard the rumors: Abby had run. Disappeared into the woods beyond Jackson’s walls.

Good riddance, you thought. But still—you didn’t take any chances. You kept your guns close, your knife even closer. Joel, too. He didn’t say it, but you knew—he was sleeping a little lighter, checking the windows before bed.

Then, one afternoon, as you were unpacking some of your things in the living room, Ellie came up behind you. You heard her before you saw her—a quiet shuffle of boots on old floorboards.

You turned just as she launched herself at you, her arms wrapping tight around your waist.

It shocked the breath out of you.

Ellie, who didn’t hug.

Ellie, who didn’t cry unless it was tearing out of her like a storm.

But here she was—small and shaking against you, her face buried against your side.

"Thank you," she mumbled thickly, voice cracking. "Thank you for saving that asshole."

You smiled, even as your throat tightened painfully. You ran your hand gently over her hair, smoothing it down like you would with a little sister.

"Couldn’t let him get taken out by a bunch of amateurs," you teased softly, feeling her laugh, wet and hiccupping, against you.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Joel standing in the kitchen doorway, watching. His arms were crossed, but there was something soft and unguarded in the way he looked at the two of you.

Family. Maybe not by blood. Maybe not by old-world definitions. But family all the same.

Joel’s voice was rough when he finally spoke.

"Dinner’s almost ready. Y’all wanna come eat before it gets cold ?"

You nodded against Ellie’s head, still holding her for just a second longer.

"Yeah. We’re coming."

Dinner was simple, but it tasted like heaven after the last few days—fresh bread, some roasted meat, canned veggies Joel had traded for. Ellie cracked bad jokes through mouthfuls of food, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, you heard real laughter. Not the sharp, defensive kind. The kind that warmed your chest.

Joel barely said much. But you caught him sneaking extra food onto your plate when you weren’t looking.

Subtle as a brick, that man.

Later, after Ellie went to her room, you grabbed your jacket and stepped out onto the porch. The night air was cool, carrying the smell of damp wood and far-off pine trees.

Joel joined you not long after, two chipped mugs of hot tea in hand. He passed you one wordlessly, settling into the chair beside yours with a low grunt. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping, listening to the quiet murmur of Jackson at night. It was nice—peaceful.

You took a long sip, feeling your mouth curl into a mischievous grin as you tilted your head toward him.

"By the way," you said, "don’t think I didn’t hear you that day."

Joel glanced at you, mug halfway to his lips, a brow lifting in that slow, suspicious way he had.

"Hear what ?"

You smirked cheekily. "You called me darlin’."

Joel froze for half a second. A tiny twitch of his mouth. He tried to play it off by taking a slow sip of his tea, but you saw the tips of his ears go a little pink in the porch light.

You pressed on, playful.

"Does that mean I got a shot, or are you just passin’ out compliments for free now that you’re retired, old man ?"

Joel huffed—an incredulous sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. He leaned back in his chair, legs stretching out in front of him, the picture of casual…but you saw the tension hiding in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed around his mug.

"Tch. Retired, huh ?" he muttered, shaking his head. "If this is retirement, remind me to stay workin’ forever."

But then he looked at you again—really looked—and he surprised you by adding.

"But yeah. You got a shot."

Your heart skipped, thudding hard in your chest. You tried to keep your cool, to match his easy, slow drawl.

"Oh yeah ?" you teased, but your voice was a little breathless now. "Gonna need more than just words, Miller. Gotta earn it."

Joel smirked, slow and devastating. That man’s smile was dangerous. Without a word, he set his mug down on the porch railing, stood, and leaned down. His hand brushed lightly against your jaw, tilting your face up.

"Been earnin’ it," he claimed. "Every damn day. Carryin’ yer books. Accompanyin’ you everywhere. Almost broke my back by the way. Also listened to yer incessant yappin’. I should call the elderly mistreatment’s community office…Should gimme somethin’ fer my troubles."

And before you could fire back some smartass reply, Joel closed the space between you and kissed you—firm, steady, real. You replied eagerly and smiled into the kiss. When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, he added in a rough whisper:

"But since ya saved my dumbass. Think it’s about time you cash in, darlin’."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, so loud you were sure he could hear it. But you didn’t pull away. You set your mug down carefully, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, pulling him back down to you.

Joel didn’t need much convincing.

The second kiss was rougher, hungrier. Less careful. You let him. You answered him in kind—hands sliding up into his hair, tugging gently, earning a low, rumbling sound from deep in his chest. When you finally broke apart for air, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads still pressed together.

Joel’s voice was raw when he spoke.

"Come inside."

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded, too breathless to trust your voice, and let him lead you back into the house. The door clicked shut behind you, the world sealing itself away. Joel was careful at first—gentle even, as he pressed you up against the wall just inside the front door, his hands braced on either side of you. He kissed you slow and deep. He trembled slightly when your hands slid under the hem of his shirt and traced the lines of his stomach, his back, his sides. His hand was in your hair now, his other resting at the small of your back. You tugged at his jacket, fumbling with the buttons between frantic kisses, and Joel chuckled low in his chest.

"Easy, darlin’," he murmured against your mouth, breath hot. "Ain’t goin’ nowhere."

Once his jacket discarded, you tugged at his shirt wordlessly. Joel chuckled low, breath hot against your ear.

"Bossy," he murmured teasingly, but he lifted his arms and let you peel it off him anyway. God, he was solid. Scarred and strong and real. You ran your hands over him, memorizing every inch you could reach. Your hands explored every scar, every worn muscle like you were learning a map that had been made just for you. Joel grunted softly when you kissed along his shoulder, a sound that made you shiver.

Joel kissed you again, more frantic now, walking you backward towards the couch. You fumbled your way towards the couch together—hands tugging, mouths brushing between half-broken laughs and gasps.

You bumped heads. He cursed under his breath when he fumbled with your buttons.

You giggled and he growled in frustration.

When he finally slid into you, he let out a sigh of relief. Finally…you both stilled—just breathing, just feeling and enjoying the moment—before moving together slow and steady. You clung to each other through it, through the ragged breaths and broken whispers and soft gasps in the dark.

He came quietly and you held him.

Later, when you were curled up together on the couch, the night cooling around you, Joel tucked your head under his chin, his hand splayed protectively over your back.

"Should’ve kissed you a long time ago," he said into your hair with a light smirk.

You smiled against his chest, your fingers drawing lazy circles on his skin.

"You’re makin’ up for lost time just fine, Miller."

He huffed a soft laugh and pressed another kiss to your temple. Joel then tucked you against him, one strong arm wrapped securely around your waist. His breathing evened out, but he didn’t let go—not even when you shifted, half-drowsy, to get more comfortable.

You heard him murmur something against your hair, soft and rough and too quiet to catch all the words. But you caught enough.

"Ya stuck with this old man now."

You smiled, heart aching in the best way, and pressed a kiss over his racing heartbeat.

"Wouldn’t have it any other way," you whispered back.

You both fell asleep in each other’s arms…

…

The morning sun filtered in slow and lazy, lighting up the house in soft gold.

You woke up warm—too warm—with the heavy, solid weight of Joel wrapped around you. He was still asleep, his breathing deep and steady. His arm was slung low across your waist, his face buried somewhere near the crook of your neck. You could feel the faint scrape of his stubble every time he exhaled.

You smiled sleepily, stretching your toes against the worn fabric of the couch. Every part of you ached in the best possible way. You were just about to close your eyes again when you heard it—the heavy thud thud thud of Ellie’s boots stomping down the stairs.

Crap. You barely had time to sit up halfway before the door burst open.

"Joel, have you seen my—" Ellie’s voice cut off like a snapped wire.

She froze at the door, wide-eyed, staring at the two of you tangled together on the couch. Joel stirred at the noise, groaning, blinking blearily up at her from where he was still practically draped over you.

For a full second, no one moved.

Then Ellie’s mouth dropped open in a slow, exaggerated O.

"OH. MY. GOD."

You felt your face burst into flames as you tried to scramble up, Joel groaning and grabbing for you instinctively, like his half-asleep brain was still convinced you were under attack. Ellie just stood there, hands on her hips now, grinning like the cat who caught the goddamn canary.

"I knew it !" she cackled. "I friggin’ knew it ! I told Dina ! I told her ! She owes me twenty bucks !"

Joel muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Jesus Christ under his breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. You tried to salvage what little dignity you had left, sitting up straighter and trying to pretend you didn’t look freshly wrecked.

"Ellie, go away," Joel grumbled, his voice still rough with sleep (and...other things).

Ellie didn’t budge. She just smirked harder, rocking back on her heels.

"Oh no. No, no, no. I’m soaking this in. This is the best thing that’s happened all week. Joel and Y/N, sittin’ in a tree—"

"Ellie," Joel growled warningly.

"—k-i-s-s-i-n-g—" she sang, practically bouncing now.

You groaned and buried your face in Joel’s shoulder while he just sighed heavily like a man questioning every life choice he’d ever made.

Finally, Ellie took pity (sort of) and snickered as she backed away toward the steps.

"I’ll let you lovebirds get back to it," she said innocently. "Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. And Dina. And maybe all of Jackson."

You heard her laughing as she stepped out.

You lifted your head just enough to glare weakly at Joel. "This is your fault."

He looked absolutely unrepentant, smirking that rare, small, boyish smile you didn’t get to see often enough.

"Worth it," he replied—completely unashamed.

And, damn him—you couldn’t even argue.

A year later, you and Joel found yourselves side by side at the kitchen table, the last embers of daylight flickering through the window. You’d both been tinkering in secret: Joel carving little wooden trinkets by the stove’s warmth, you hand-sewing the final pages of your newest book, A Life with the Millers. It was a story of your days together—campfires on the edge of Jackson, stormy nights on the porch, Ellie’s unstoppable brilliant mind, and all the small, fierce moments that made you a family.

When you set the finished manuscript down, the leather cover embossed with your initials intertwined, you caught Joel’s eye. He nodded, and you reached inside the back pocket to pull out a small, velvet-lined box. He mirrored you, lifting a nearly identical box from behind his own stack of carved wood.

He opened yours first. Nestled inside was a delicate ring—simple band, rough-hewn silver, as real and resilient as the man who’d taught you how to survive. Your breath caught watching his eyes light up. Then you opened his: the same ring, shaped by your own careful hands, each imperfection a promise of love that no apocalypse could erase.

Joel’s voice was low, thick with emotion you rarely heard. "I was gonna ask you to stay with me—permanently. Ellie likes you. I like you. Hell—even my brother likes you."

You smiled, tearing up as you slid your ring onto his finger and he did the same. "I mean—it is a nice ring. It would be a shame to let it go to waste…"

He reached across the table and took your hand in his—two rings shining softly in the lamplight.

"So," he started and smile, "you wanna write that new book together ?"

You squeezed his hand. "Every chapter. For the rest of our lives, baby."

Ellie’s distant giggle floated up from her room, a testament that even if she didn’t know the details, she’d heard enough. But in that moment, it was just you and Joel—ringed hands clasped, a new book between you, and a lifetime still to write.

"Hey, Joel ?"

He turned his head towards you.

"Yeah ?"

You smiled at him.

"I am glad you’re not dead."

His breath hitched before he let out a soft chuckle.

"Yeah. Me too, darlin’. Me too."